“We can still do our hot air balloon dream in New Mexico, wineries in California, and a marathon in New York City?” asked Ford.
“That’s for starters, there, you bomber pilot.”
They held hands and talked about their future together. Their dreams of travel, experiences, kids, and where they wanted to live when they got married. The things they wanted to do together was endless. No limits to their adventures. They were in love and full of warm emotions towards each other.
Still holding hands, they got to M Street off the bridge, made a right turn to head eastbound, and walked to Clyde’s Restaurant. The big glass window that faced the sidewalk was exceptional people watching, and the foot and car traffic was just starting to pick-up for a Friday evening. With the sun already set and the night kicking in, the city was ready to start humming with excitement. Their table was always the first one in on the right, in the bar section, and tonight was no exception.
The waitress came over, greeted them, and Ford ordered an Old Ox Black Ox draught and Emily ordered a house white wine. They looked at menus for a few seconds before Emily excused herself to the ladies room. Ford enjoyed the people watching outside on the street, looking through the glass windows, and realized how different South Dakota really was. This, to him, was a city that never slept.
While sitting in the stall in the bathroom, Emily’s phone rang on vibrate. She looked at the screen and saw it was Mark Savona.
“Bullocks. No way, Mark. Not answering,” Emily said quietly. She finished her business in the bathroom, then walked through the bar, glancing at the college basketball games being aired. Emily then felt her phone vibrating again. Ignoring it, she made her way through the Friday night crowd of happy and young DC people.
“Sorry, there was a line. Ladies room,” nodding to the rear of the restaurant.
“Yeah, I understand. Just enjoying the view here,” Ford said, smiling to Emily. “I missed you. Sit down!”
“I will, I will!” she said, laughing, and sat. Glancing at the menu, she looked up. “I forgot to ask you earlier, Ford, are you still doing your volunteering next week with Team Rubicon Global?”
Emily placed her phone on the table next to Ford’s, and they looked at the menu together. Not three seconds went by, and the phone rang again, vibrating on the table. Emily pretended to ignore it.
“Yeah, I am. Team Rubicon Headquarters out of El Segundo, ah, in Los Angeles. But Emily. Emily… you-hoo. Emily, you have a call,” Ford said, looking down at the phone.
“Oh, sorry. That’s ok, I’ll get it later. What does Team Rubicon Global do again? Tell me about them,” she said.
“Well, it’s for anyone who wants to help others in need. Some guys I know, William, Jake, and Clay started it for veterans to provide disaster relief to those affected by natural disasters. Ah, can be either domestic or international. They….ah, Team Rubicon, link up skills and experiences of military veterans with some first responders, a few medical professionals, and modern technology.”
“Oh, I love it. Maybe I can volunteer with you?” Emily asked.
“Sure. Absolutely. They also have Team Rubicon United Kingdom to help those in need back at your home.” Ford looked down closer at the phone, and turned it sideways so he could read it.
“Hey, who is Mark S.?” he asked, looking down at the smart phone screen.
“Oh, he is someone from work. It’s ok,” she said, not looking up off the menu. “He’s just a co-worker.”
The vibrations stopped, and Ford could see that Mark S called four times.
“You have four missed calls from Mark S., Emily,” Ford told her, “sounds like an emergency at the IMF,” Ford said, putting his hands up in quotes when he said emergency, said with full sarcasm.
Emily didn’t know if Ford was being serious, because banks don’t have the same emergencies like he did in a high-performance fighter and bomber aircraft. Especially yesterday after the fire he was involved with.
She sighed with disgust. “Would you mind, Ford, if I returned his call? I am so sorry,” she asked.
“No. No, of course not. What would you like me to order for you?”
“Thank you. Let’s get the Crab Tower, and I’ll have the Grilled Chicken Salad,” Emily replied.
The waitress came over and Ford ordered for both of them, and added another round of drinks. Clyde’s was standing room only now, and the noise was picking up. Plus, the music was up a bit, too, and the atmosphere was electric for a good time.
Ford looked through the window, and then at the doorway. He immediately recognized two guys entering, both with short hair, the dead giveaway for fellow military members.
“Wait, I know these guys coming in,” Ford said, giving a wave as they came in the door.
“Dude! Whoa! What’s up, man? We just heard of the fire in Ellsworth. You alright?” said Brian George, a fellow B-1 pilot from Dyess AFB in Texas. Brian gave him a high-five, and his buddy with him shook his hand.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Wow, news travels fast. In town for the Andrews AFB Conference?” replied Ford.
“Yup, just ended today. Boring as usual. General so and so, another General so and so… boring. Hey, look, you saved that guy’s life! That’s the word on the street,” said Brian.
“It was nothing,” putting his head down for moment, being humble. “Hey, this is my girlfriend, Emily Liv…”
Before Ford could do the full introduction to his pilot buddies, Emily had already placed the call. She smiled, waved, then turned toward the wall and covered up the phone a bit with her hand.
“She’s on a call from work. Anyway, fellas, great to see you. Thanks again. Don’t want to keep you from a drink. I’ll come over later for a beer,” Mark said to the two fellow pilots, and they went inside.
“Hello, Mark, this is Emily,” she said, talking into her phone, returning his call.
“What’s up, sister. Hey, we’ve had a few new developments here at the office. Robert is here with me. Ahh, the… new developments are significant. We need you to come in,” Mark said.
“What? No, not now,” Emily replied. “I told you only if it was an emergency.”
“Yes, now. It’s hot. Big news,” Mark said.
“I’m out to dinner. I’m not coming in,” Emily told him.
“Yes.”
“No, I’m not,” Emily replied.
“Yes, we need you.”
“Nope, not happening.”
Ford looked at her, and was wondering what was so important on a Friday night.
“Come on, Emily!” Robert yelled in the background, “Weeee neeeed youuuu.”
Emily closed her eyes, opened them, and looked at Ford. Ford nodded, held her hand, and gripped it warmly.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly.
“Look Mark, I’ll come back to the office, but it’s not going to be all night. Yes?” Emily told Mark.
“You got it, lady. I’ll get you at the Metro and bring you in,” Mark said.
Emily disconnected and ended the call, looking down at the table, then up at Ford.
“I’m sorry, Ford. Something has turned up at work, and I need to return for a bit.”
“Okay. I understand, Emily. I do. Just catch up with me at the Caps game. I’ll send you your ticket as an attachment, and, ahh… just meet me there,” Ford reassured her.
Emily did feel badly, but knew it would not be that long. It also would not take long for her to get from her Metro line over to the Verizon Center, home of the Washington Capitals, the Washington, D.C. based NHL hockey team.
“Thank you, Ford.” She looked at her smart phone. “Just got it. Oh, section 101? Is that good?”
“Yes. Fantastic seats. It will be a great game. Against the Flames,” moving is hand to shoo her to the doorway “okay, get going… so you can hurry back.”