Requiem for a Soldier (Requiem #1)

Chapter 26: Midsummer's Eve

June 21

Ryan

"How about here?" Ana asks, spreading her arms out wide and twirling. The stuffed backpack causes her to lose her balance and nearly spin out of control. She giggles and her cheeks look a little pink. I can't tell if she's embarrassed or just warm.

I look around, inspecting the meadow she's picked for our impromptu summer solstice camping trip. Her Midsummer's Eve party, as she's been calling it since she talked me into this trip yesterday. Casper frolics around her feet, his white fur quickly becoming brown in the dirt and mud. Ana smiles up at the sun shining down on us from high in the sky. For a moment, I just watch her bathe her face in sunlight, her smile shining as radiantly as the sun. She looks back at me expectantly.

"This is fine," I say quickly, walking past her to unpack the tent.

She sighs happily behind me. "Isn't this weather so great?" she asks.

"It's a bit warm," I say. It's actually borderline unbearably hot. I wish we could have stayed in the shade.

Ana laughs at me. "In Arizona, this is nothing. We could go for weeks in summer without the temperature dropping this low. Why don't you just take off that flannel shirt?"

I instantly tense up and go on the defensive. Strategy number 1: deflect by deception.

"I'm not wearing anything under it," I lie.

"Wait a minute." Ana comes around to stand inside my field of view. "Are you telling me that you're a famous Hollywood celebrity and you DIDN'T take your shirt off in front of people?"

That certainly didn't work. Strategy number 2: deflect with distraction.

"Not Hollywood. Reality TV is not acting. Besides, my family lives in the Pacific Palisades, not Hollywood."

"Nuance," she says, brushing aside my attempt to skirt her question. "I'd bet money that if I had my cell phone right now, I could find a picture of you shirtless in five seconds flat."

This is not going at all how I'd like. Strategy number 3: go on the offensive.

"If I were teasing you for refusing to take your shirt off, would you like that?" I snap.

Ana's smirk disappears as her eyes widen, her eyebrows shoot up, and she takes a step back. She is silent for a moment, looking shocked and a little bit offended.

That may have been more "losing my temper" than "strategic avoidance." Despite my irritation at her behavior, I start to regret my choice of words.

"OK, point taken. Sorry." Her joking tone and jovial mood are gone. "Come on, Casper," she says, dumping her backpack on the ground. "Let's go find some sticks."

While Ana gathers firewood, I set up the tent and continue to stew over the sour turn to our conversation. She was right; before the attack, I'd never been shy about going shirtless. Back then my physique was impressive. I maintained myself well and it showed. I still do, but now it's different. Now half of me looks like Frankenstein's monster dipped in boiling acid. My face was lucky enough to sustain primarily just burns, not deep lacerations and hard shrapnel impacts. The same can't be said about the rest of my body.

But she did have a point about relief from the oppressive heat. Slowly, I unbutton the flannel shirt. A light breeze ruffles the short-sleeved cotton tee I wear underneath the flannel. As long as I don't pull my arms through the sleeves, I'm not exposing any additional burned flesh aside from a small patch on my neck.

When Ana returns with an armload of sticks, she doesn't say anything about the change to my wardrobe or the fact that I blatantly lied to her. She carefully avoids any mention of the incident as the afternoon drags on. But it hangs over us like a dark cloud as we go fishing, hiking, and trudge back to the campsite to make dinner. Finally, Ana breaks as we're finishing dinner.