Chapter 4 - The Admiral's Call
The next morning, the gray autumn light filtered through the hotel room blinds, casting long shadows across the desk where I sat in my PT gear, reviewing operational readiness reports on my secure laptop.
My phone buzzed violently against the wood.
I looked at the caller ID: VADM Arthur Vance – COMNAVAIRPAC.
I tapped the screen immediately and brought the phone to my ear. "Commander Maddox reporting, Admiral."
"At ease, Lauren," Vice Admiral Vance’s gravelly, authoritative voice boomed through the speaker. "I hope I'm not interrupting your leave, but I just got off a very interesting phone call from a retired Marine colonel named Miles Kerr."
A faint smile touched the corner of my lips. "I imagine Miles had quite a few things to say, sir."
"You could say that," Vance chuckled, though his tone quickly shifted to professional gravity. "He told me about your Thanksgiving dinner theatricals. Said you dropped your challenge coin and stunned a room full of arrogant civilians into total silence."
"It wasn't quite theatrical, Admiral. More like an unplanned structural collapse."
"Well, structural collapses happen for a reason," Vance said smoothly. "Which brings me to why I'm calling. The Pentagon just approved the expansion of the joint strike-fighter tactical integration program at NAS Lemoore. They need a senior instructor with combat command experience to head up the curriculum redesign. Top secret clearance, direct liaison with allied air wings."
My breath hitched slightly. Lemoore. California. Central command for the West Coast Hornet fleet.
"Sir, my current tour at Fallon isn't up for another eight months," I noted.
"I can cut your orders by noon today if you want them," Vance replied without hesitation. "In fact, given your recent... domestic developments, I figured a change of scenery might do you some good. Miles Kerr mentioned your husband's family didn't exactly appreciate your pedigree. The Navy appreciates you, Lauren. And we need you where the stakes are high."
I looked out the hotel window toward the horizon, where civilian cars crawled along the wet highway. Behind me, the bedroom door remained firmly shut, separating me from a man who had traded his loyalty for the fragile comfort of his family's approval.
"Cut the orders, Admiral," I said steadily. "I'll be ready to report on Monday."
"Understood, Northstar. Welcome home," Vance said, and the line went dead.
When Evan walked out of the suite's living room twenty minutes later, looking sleep-deprived and miserable in his rumpled dress shirt, I was already standing by the doorway with my sea bag zipped and packed.
"Lauren... what’s going on?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. "Where are your bags?"
"I've been reassigned to Lemoore, Evan," I said, zipping my jacket. "My orders came through this morning. I'm driving down to California today."
Evan stared at me, panic washing over his face. "Without me? Lauren, we can talk about this! We can go to counseling! You can't just up and move across the country!"
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"I didn't up and move across the country, Evan. The United States Navy called, and unlike you, I answered." I pulled a thick manila envelope from my portfolio and laid it squarely in the center of the kitchen island. "My lawyer drafted the preliminary separation papers. You'll find them right there. Sign them, or let your family's lawyers handle it. Either way, it's over."
Before he could utter another word, I walked out the door, letting it click shut behind me with the finality of a locked vault.
