The Nurse's Bodyguard

The restaurant they entered could have been located in any city in the U.S. Although it was crowded at the dinner hour, they were quickly ushered into a booth. Settled into her spot, Claire studied her surroundings. The tables were covered in white cloths and graced with small vases of flowers and votive candles. The aroma of garlic, basil and tomatoes permeated the room. The patrons were a decided mix of locals and visitors, mostly dining in pairs and small groups. A waiter handed them each a menu and in passable English asked for drink orders.

“Would you like some wine?” Luke asked.

“No, thanks. I don’t drink much, but go ahead if you wish.”

“Can’t tonight. I’m actually ‘on call.’” Luke requested a soda from the waiter.

“I’ll have the same,” Claire said, and the server nodded, saying he’d be back shortly for their order.

“On call for what?” Claire asked. “Is it for the embassy?”

“No, it’s for my day job. Actually, day, night, whenever job. I don’t exactly keep regular hours. The embassy gig is necessary because I’m Navy and they don’t have enough Marine officers here to do weekend duty—long story—anyway, I’m glad now to have done it because that’s how I met you.” His quick smile was genuine, and Claire felt an odd flutter in her stomach. She blushed and glanced down to her menu.

“So, tell me about your ‘whenever job.’”

He shrugged. “I review surveillance feeds all day and write reports to send up the chain of command. Sometimes I go into the field to verify impressions...pretty routine stuff...”

Claire doubted that anything he did was routine, but he seemed hesitant to go deeper. “How long have you been here doing surveillance?”

“About a year. Before that, I was stationed in several places—mostly the Persian Gulf and the Middle East.” He’d been studying her face and abruptly changed the subject. “You have the most unusual eyes I’ve ever seen.” His voice was quiet, with a pensive quality, almost as if he’d spoken his thoughts out loud.

Claire glanced down at her napkin and then back up to catch his gaze. “Yes, uh...” She shifted awkwardly and pressed her lips together. “It’s called ‘sectoral heterochromia iridis’ if you want the technical name. Basically, it’s just an irregular pigmentation of the iris.” She took a breath. “I’ve had to respond to questions about it all my life...”

He looked sympathetic but didn’t drop the subject. “So you get a lot of people staring when they notice?” It was both question and comment. “I get the same reaction when anyone sees my feet.”

His offhand comment startled a giggle from Claire, and she couldn’t prevent a side glance to the floor to study his shoes. He hadn’t been joking. Luke’s eyes crinkled at the corners at her raised eyebrows.

In seconds, she grew serious again. “When I was a kid it really bothered me when people said something about my eyes. I hated being different from the other kids, and I was really shy.” She looked up again; his gaze had not faltered. “Anyway, when I was old enough I made my parents get me colored contacts, so my eyes would just be brown. That helped a lot, but...” She sighed deeply. “Well, I was so happy with the contacts that I stupidly wore them all the time. After about a year, I ended up with pretty severe corneal ulcerations, and came close to needing a cornea transplant. That was the end of the contacts and so...” She gave him a small frown and motioned to her glasses.

He shook his head and murmured, “Kids can be dumb... I think they’re beautiful.”

The room suddenly seemed to be closing in and Claire felt a little dizzy. That feeling was accompanied by a lightness in her chest and tears threatened. She blinked self-consciously and returned her gaze to her napkin. Her heart rate soared and her stomach quivered. He couldn’t know that with that simple statement—with those four words—Luke had helped salve a wound that was more than twenty years old. In that brief moment, years of distress and embarrassment over her unusual eyes were replaced by a sense of release edging into quiet exultation.

He had called them beautiful.

Claire’s attention was brought back to the moment when the waiter placed cool glasses of Coke in front of them. “What you want to eat?” he asked.

Luke shifted his gaze to the waiter and said, “Sorry, we’re not ready. Can you give us a minute?”

“Of course. I will return shortly.” He moved on to the adjacent booth.

Slightly dazed, Claire took a sip to quench her suddenly dry mouth. Setting the glass down, she picked up her menu and tried to focus. She was not entirely successful.

“Their pizza is terrific, but they do great lasagna and pasta, too.”

Claire was still reeling from the emotional onslaught brought on by his comment, but she managed to say, “I’ve had my heart set on pizza since you mentioned it. I’m partial to pepperoni but hate anchovies. Otherwise, I like pretty much anything.”

“Got it. Note to self, in the future, don’t order pizza with anchovies.”

Claire smiled then, recognizing the implications of his comment. As Luke turned to get the attention of the waiter, his cell phone rang. He glanced at her and said something under his breath before pulling the device from his pocket. After scanning the caller ID, he pushed a button on the phone and growled, “Llewellyn.”

Although there was little overt change in Luke’s expression, she saw a muscle flex in his jaw. “How long ago?” He nodded absently at the response and looked pensive. “How many?...Have you notified ROK command?...Okay, contact them to be on alert status.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll be there in about fifteen.” Luke ended the call and then glared at Claire. Shaking his head, he sighed deeply.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve gotta go.” His scowl was almost comical. “Maybe I’m being punished for being mean to my brothers or not cleaning my room or something...” He got the attention of the waiter. “We have to leave. Please give me the check.”

The waiter nodded and said, “One minute.” He departed toward the kitchen.

“Anything serious?” Claire asked.

“No, not really. Looks like there’s a squid boat in the Japan Sea with too many people.”

She blinked. “Why does the U.S. Army care how many people are on a squid boat? Are they afraid the boat will sink?”

He chuckled. “Uh, no. But a larger-than-normal contingent of men could be a potential threat to the mainland. Most likely, though, they’re North Korean refugees.”

She nodded, her curiosity piqued. “But it’s night. How do you know how many people are on a random fishing boat somewhere out at sea?”

Luke gave her an enigmatic look but didn’t answer.

“Oh...I get it. If you told me, you’d have to kill me?”

He chuckled. “Nothing that dire. But I’m not going to tell you.”

She giggled and then became more serious. “What happens if they are refugees?”

His smile faded. “There are surprisingly few people who actually escape from the north. No one can get through the DMZ because of the mines and heavy fortification. A few hundred per year come through China, but the Chinese government really discourages that and will send them back if they’re caught—and it’s very bad for those who are sent back. Fewer people come by boat, mostly because they lack the resources and opportunity. At any rate, the ROK—Republic of Korea—never turns them away. There are lots of agencies here to help refugees assimilate...”

He was interrupted when the waiter gave him the check. Luke glanced at it then pulled several bills from his wallet and handed them to the waiter. “Thanks. We’ll try again tomorrow.” He rose and waited for Claire, then stood to one side, indicating that she should precede him.

“You know,” Claire said as they left the restaurant, “I’ve heard that when some people go on blind dates, they’ll have a friend call them an hour into the evening with an ‘emergency,’ to give them a way out...” She winked at him.

Luke scoffed. “Believe me, honey, this is not one of those times.” He looked relieved that she was actually joking with him. “Can we...um... Would you consider trying again tomorrow?” His eyes were practically pleading.

She smiled. “Yes, of course. But if you get another mysterious phone call before I get pizza, I’ll be very suspicious!”

“I promise. If you’ll come with me again, no phone calls!”

As they approached the Kia, he glanced at Claire. “What kind of identification do you have with you?”

“Huh?”

“Do you happen to have your temporary passport?”

“Well, yes.” She touched her purse. “Why?”

“What about a driver’s license or some kind of picture ID?”