Chapter 15 - Walter Asked Me The Wrong Question One Last Time
I missed my flight.
Not because I was chasing the mystery.
Because military travel changed the departure time overnight and the email went to spam.
Some endings deserve less symbolism.
The next flight left after noon.
I had five hours.
I walked across the highway to base instead of returning to the café.
Fort Danner looked ordinary.
Concrete buildings.
Morning formations.
People complaining about parking.
Six years ago had not left a visible scar on the place.
That annoyed me.
Marcus met me outside headquarters.
“You missed your flight.”
“Rescheduled.”
He nodded.
Walter's question sat between my thoughts.
Do you still want to follow her?
I asked Marcus.
He immediately knew.
“Walter told you.”
“Yes.”
“What does it mean?”
Marcus looked toward the parade field.
“I have a guess.”
“I didn't ask for a guess.”
He almost smiled.
“Then I don't know.”
That was better.
“Did Maya have another transfer plan?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Washington state.”
“Did I apply?”
“For a nearby unit.”
I knew that.
“What else?”
Marcus hesitated.
“Maya was thinking about leaving active duty.”
That was new.
“For what?”
“Graduate school.”
“What field?”
“Public health.”
I smiled faintly.
A medic who never ran despite buying expensive shoes.
Somehow public health fit.
“Was I leaving too?”
“No.”
“Then what does follow mean?”
Marcus shook his head.
“She may have meant the transfer. She may have meant school. She may have meant stop building your life around her.”
I looked at him sharply.
“That last one sounds like you.”
“Probably.”
At least he admitted it.
“I’m not taking it.”
“Good.”
We walked toward the parking lot.
“Are you staying in the Army?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Certain?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“More accurate.”
I stopped beside my rental car.
“Marcus.”
He turned.
“You rewrote that transfer statement.”
“Yes.”
“Are you correcting it?”
His face tightened.
“Already submitted an amendment.”
“Because of me?”
“Because it was wrong.”
I could have thanked him.
Didn't.
That was his job now.
My mother called before I left base.
I answered.
“Are you coming home this weekend?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to bring out the rest of the archived messages?”
“No.”
She went quiet.
“Not ever?”
“I didn't say ever.”
She laughed softly.
“I deserved that.”
“Yes.”
Then:
“Rachel?”
“What?”
“If you remember something, you don't have to tell me.”
I stopped.
That was new.
“Okay.”
I drove back to the café one last time.
Walter was carrying boxes from the stockroom.
Calvin pointed at my watch.
“Flight.”
“I know.”
Walter put the box down.
“You forgot something?”
“No.”
“Then?”
I looked at Table Seven.
“I wanted coffee.”
Calvin said:
“That is objectively the least believable thing you've said all week.”
I sat.
Walter joined me.
Not across.
One chair over.
Less like an interview.
He did not ask whether I had remembered anything else.
We talked about Maya buying shoes she never used.
About Walter’s old dog.
About the fact that Calvin had been trying to replace the café’s espresso machine for eight years.
Ten minutes of information that did not require memory to be meaningful.
Then someone behind the counter dropped a metal spoon.
The sound struck something in me.
I saw rain against a car window.
Maya beside me.
Alive.
Annoyed.
My own voice:
“You don’t get to leave and call it brave just because staying is hard.”
Maya turned toward me.
Her answer did not come.
The fragment ended.
I gripped the coffee cup.
Walter noticed.
He went still.
Did not ask.
I looked at him.
“That was new.”
His eyes filled.
“Do you want to tell me?”
“No.”
He nodded.
A minute passed.
Then he made the mistake.
“Was she mad at me?”
I looked at him.
He shut his eyes.
“Sorry.”
There he was again.
A father trying to turn every surviving piece of his daughter toward himself.
But this time he caught it before I had to.
I stood.
“My flight.”
Walter nodded.
At the door, I stopped.
“Walter.”
“Yes?”
“I might come back.”
His face changed.
I raised one hand before hope could sprint ahead of me.
“I said might.”
He smiled.
“I heard you.”
Outside, my phone buzzed.
A message from Marcus.
One line.
Maya’s Washington transfer was approved the morning of the crash. You were not on it.
I stared at the screen.
That did not answer Walter’s question.
It made it stranger.
If I had not planned to follow Maya geographically, what had she meant?
Do you still want to follow her?
I could ask Marcus for his theory.
Read the rest of the archive.
Call my mother.
Go back inside and ask Walter what Maya’s face looked like when she said it.
Instead I put the phone away.
Across the café window, Walter was already carrying boxes again.
He wasn't watching me leave.
I liked that.
I walked toward my car.
Halfway there, another fragment came.
Maya in the passenger seat.
Rain.
Her voice, clearer this time:
“You don’t have to come with me to stop making yourself useful to everyone.”
Then nothing.
I stood beside the car for a long time.
Maybe that was the answer.
Maybe it was only the beginning of one.
May you like
My flight was still waiting.
I got in.
