by Patricia Grenelle
The scent of sea air filled my nostrils the moment I stepped out of my car at Camp Edwards, Massachusetts, for my three-month tour of duty. It was early summer and comfortably warm. I surveyed my new surroundings. Yes, this was exactly what I needed.
My second soon-to-be ex-husband’s parting words, “Don’t come back,” crept into my serenity. It had been a huge mistake eloping to Vegas with a guy I’d met on TDY. I had left a prized position as a Personnel Senior Sergeant to marry that loser. Yet that was just one of my many regrets for trusting that cheating, controlling jerk.
But I was free again and planned to make the most of my time in Cape Cod.
“Hello,” I said, smiling at the civilian behind the counter of the billeting office. The renovated World War II building reminded me of Basic Combat Training from over ten years earlier at Fort McClellan, Alabama. I had enlisted to escape the confines and control of my first husband.
“I’m Sergeant First Class (SFC) Britt,” I said, “the new NCOIC for the 10th Mountain Division Field Artillery Evaluation Team,” I said.
“Ah yes, SFC Britt…,” he said, and handed me a file to sign. “Some Colonel’s been asking about your arrival,” he said, before assigning me quarters and handing me a map.
I approached the three-bedroom house and wondered if it had been a former officer’s quarters from when Camp Edwards was in its heyday. I selected a bedroom, unpacked my bags, and checked out the rest of the building. The refrigerator was empty except for some sauce packets from a take-out restaurant. I found a laundry room located in the basement with some leftover detergent. As I came back upstairs, I heard a voice.
“Hello,” a man called through the open front door. “I’m Colonel Brown, who you’ll be working for while you’re here.” He took a much-needed breath. “How are you?” He reached out a fleshy hand that held mine a little too long. What had I gotten myself into?
“I’m good. Thank you, sir,” I said, as I recovered my hand.
He was slightly taller than my five-foot-five frame, overweight, balding, with a paunch. His smile seemed genuine. He wore a wedding band.
“Can we sit down and discuss the job?” he asked, not waiting for acknowledgment before marching to the dining room, where he sat down and opened the case.
I left the front door open because it made me feel more comfortable.
“You and I need to prepare the headquarters building for the evaluation teams’ arrival in thirty days.” He seemed rushed, as though it was happening tomorrow. I sat down as he pulled out various forms and documents to show me. And for the next two and a half hours, he droned on about everything we needed to do.
I stifled a yawn. It was getting late, the sun was setting, and after driving most of the day, I was tired.
Just when I thought I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, a woman moved into the quarters. She introduced herself as Captain Smith and told us she would be here for four weeks working on an assignment across the post. I felt slightly more comfortable with someone else in that old house.
“We can discuss this more tomorrow at the headquarters building,” the Colonel said, pointing to a location on the map. “I’ll see you here at 0800.”
“Yes, sir. Goodnight,” I said, somewhat baffled. Had he decided to end our meeting because of my new housemate’s arrival? Or had he just realized how late it had gotten?
“Goodnight,” he said and walked out the door.
Our new administrative headquarters was in an older office building with an enormous reception area that provided ample space for two clerks. The colonel claimed the office next to the only bathroom.
I later learned that men generally ignored the sign on the door, attached with a string that read, “Men” on one side and “Women” on the other. Luckily, the latrine had enclosed stalls. As a result, I invariably found myself in the restroom with a man, which was generally a surprise to us both, but we just carried on.
I occupied a desk just outside the colonel’s office. Another desk was set up for my clerk, who was yet to be assigned.
One evening, I hung out with some local civilian employees. We went to a Chinese restaurant, and when I received my fortune cookie, it read, “You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you meet Prince Charming,” I dismissed it with a laugh, but a small part of me was hopeful. Though I had kissed a lot of frogs, I still believed in the possibility of true love.
With nothing better to do before the first team arrived, I would often join the colonel and go on long walks in the evenings for exercise, where we discussed everything from trivial topics to our marriages and relationships. We visited Boston one Saturday and had an enjoyable dinner together. We became friends of a sort.
I came to realize he was basically harmless. During those first few weeks, he made it clear that he was interested in more than just a professional relationship, though I was not interested in more than friendship. He hadn’t made any inappropriate advances toward me, but there were times when he seemed overly friendly—a little too earnest. Through it all, I tried to remain congenial and respectful. I wondered if he was just one of those soldiers who lived by the “What goes on TDY, stays on TDY” motto.
About a week into our three-month tour, a clerk arrived. She was a small, slender, and somewhat nervous woman. When the colonel commented on her work in a firm tone, she broke down and cried in front of him—in uniform. I was astounded and seriously embarrassed, knowing that some men judged all women based on the actions of the few. I dressed her down and advised that she never disgrace the uniform like that again. She was relieved of duty and replaced with a male corporal. This meant that I would be the only female in the office as all the evaluators were field artillery—a specialty not open to women until 2015.
As the only woman, I encountered my share of attention. Most of it was harmless flirting, and after my recent breakup, the friendly banter soothed my broken heart just a little. Although I’d been in situations—with men who crossed the line to vulgar—with inappropriate comments or unseemly touching, that created an uncomfortable environment. Like most military women, I laughed it off. What choice did we have? Make a big deal about it, then be ostracized for the rest of the tour? Sexual harassment was not even acknowledged back then, and policies did not exist.
When the first team arrived, the colonel and I were set up and ready for action like a well-oiled machine. We guided the first rotation of evaluators through the process, and activities progressed without a hitch.
When the second rotation was enroute, we learned there were no accommodations for them on post. “I have bad news and good news,” I told them when they arrived. They looked skeptical. “There’s no room at the inn, so you’ll be in a motel in Falmouth for the duration of your TDY.” A cheer sounded. I gave them their reservations, and they dispersed.
The team leader, a major, came in separately from the others. “Hello, sir, welcome,” I said when he entered the office. “No rooms are available on post, so you’ll be staying at the Falmouth Holiday Inn.” I handed him the registration information.
“I’m Ed, by the way.” He offered an electric smile that could dazzle even the most hardened heart and extended his hand in a succinct, professional manner. He stood out—not just because of his crisp uniform and gleaming boots, but because of how he carried himself, a blend of authority and approachability.
I grinned back.
The colonel came out of his office, introduced himself, and extended his hand.
“Welcome,” He said. “Let us know if you need anything.”
“Alright, sir. I will.” They shook hands, and the colonel went back to his office.
The major sat in the chair next to my desk as I walked to the copier. “The last team told me to check you out,” he said.
I stopped mid-step, turned, and said, “Oh really? What did they say?”
“Just that you were efficient,” he said.
I noticed his name was misspelled on the board, so I corrected it.
“What do you do around here for fun?” he asked.
“The officer’s club is hosting a lobster dinner tonight.” I offered.
“That sounds great.”
“So, you’ll go then?” I asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight?”
“Yes, absolutely,” I said.
After he left, the colonel exited his office and said, “Don’t forget about the lobster dinner tonight.” He leaned in closer to me and whispered, “Don’t invite that major.”
I was happy to report, “Oh, I already did.” He grumbled a little but didn’t say anything more.
At dinner, Ed regaled us with stories about growing up on his father’s Florida orange grove and jokes about a fictional “Roadkill Restaurant,” I found myself laughing uncontrollably. One by one, our dinner companions excused themselves, but Ed and I remained, lost in conversation that flowed as naturally as if we’d known each other for years.
After dinner, we moved from the dining room to the adjacent lounge. We gravitated toward each other, caught in a magnetic pull that felt both intoxicating and dangerous. Ed spoke of his military experiences, sharing tales of deployments that had tested his resolve, and his faith, as well as moments of vulnerability that revealed the human beneath the uniform. He explained that he was an unwavering Roman Catholic.
As we continued to talk, I felt something shift within me—a blossoming realization that perhaps this connection was more than just a fleeting moment. There was an ease to our conversation, a rhythm that felt natural. Each lingering glance drew me deeper into the warmth of his presence.
When he reached across the table to brush his fingers against mine, the simple touch sent a jolt through me. I looked down at our hands, a delicate connection that felt both stimulating and terrifying. I felt vulnerable yet thrilled, teetering on the edge.
“Do you believe in fate?” he asked, his voice low and serious, pulling me back into the moment.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, my heart pounding at the thought he might be experiencing these same feelings. “But I think sometimes God has a way of bringing people together when they least expect it.”
He smiled a slow, genuine smile that lit up his entire face. “I think you might be right.” “You know, I wasn’t supposed to be on the evaluation team this year. My commander said he’d find someone else to go. He did, but my replacement broke his leg last week. So here I am.”
I couldn’t help but think of my fortune cookie and wondered if this could be real. I didn’t want to make the same mistake of rushing into anything, which had led to the instability and lack of fulfillment of the last four years.
At that moment, surrounded by the warmth of the lounge’s fireplace and the possibilities that lay ahead, I felt a spark of hope igniting within me.
I told Ed that Camp Edwards hadn’t been in my plans, either.
“So, it really is fate that brought us together then,” he said. We smiled at each other, our eyes filled with longing.
We left the club together, and in the parking lot, under the stars, his kiss ignited a fire. Our connection transcended the physical; it was spiritual, emotional, and intellectual—and it left me breathless. Only one night, and I was already into this guy. I was afraid, based on my past experiences, that good things never lasted. I felt it had to slow down a bit, but it didn’t. We were together that night and as much as possible through the end of his rotation.
The next morning, we went to a cafe on post for breakfast. We sat across from each other, the clinking of cups and the low murmur of conversations forming a cozy backdrop. I watched him as he took a sip of his coffee, his lips curling slightly around the rim of the mug, and I felt a flutter in my chest—a giddy mix of anticipation and nervousness.
“You know,” he said, setting the cup down with a gentle thud, “I used to think coffee was just a caffeine fix. But now, it feels like a ritual. Like sharing a moment.” I leaned in closer, drawn by the warmth of his words.
I tucked a stray hair behind my ear and felt the weight of his gaze. “I used to drink it just to stay awake,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “But now… I think I’m starting to appreciate the little things.”
He nodded, and the corners of his mouth tilted up in a way that made my heart race. “It’s funny how the simplest things can change,” he replied, tracing his finger along the rim of his mug. “Like how a cup of coffee can turn into a moment shared with someone you’ve just met.” The way he spoke, with a softness that made me feel safe, sent shivers down my spine. He leaned back in his chair, his presence both calming and exhilarating, and I couldn’t help but notice the way the light danced in his hair and the way his laughter filled the spaces between us.
“If you could be anyone in the world, who would you want to be? And why?” he asked suddenly, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.
I hesitated, the weight of my past swirling around in my mind, but something about his gaze urged me to share. “I would be you.” I paused. “Because you seem to really have your life together and you know where you are going.”
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “You’re joking, right?”
I paused, searching for the right words. “No, I’m being totally honest. You seem happy and satisfied with your life and know how to get where you want to go.” I caught his eye, and the intensity of our connection sent a thrill through me.
“Maybe we should consider going there together,” he suggested, a playful smile dancing on his lips. My heart skipped at the thought.
“Maybe we should,” I replied, the words spilling out before I could think twice. I was happy he was not in my chain of command, so concerns about fraternization were limited. Whenever we were outside, in uniform, I saluted him, but he just folded into laughter and never returned it. Each moment crackled with unacknowledged tension, a shared secret.
As I gazed into his eyes, I wondered if he felt it, too. The world outside was fraught with challenges—deployments looming, responsibilities weighing heavy—but in our stolen moments, we crafted a sanctuary. I was drawn to his strength, yet it was his vulnerability that truly captivated me. He was not just an Army Major; he was a man navigating the same uncertainties I faced.
Over the following weeks, we spent our free time exploring Cape Cod towns, singing songs from decades past, and going for dinner and drinks. At Wood’s Hole, we sat in an elegant restaurant on the water, so lost in each other’s eyes that I can’t remember if we ate anything.
Our relationship deepened during our weekends together. The first Friday after Ed left Camp Edwards, he flew back down. We saw the movie Ghost, whose theme song, “Unchained Melody,” became our song. The next weekend we met halfway between our duty stations. At dinner, we talked about everything. Suddenly, he said, “I want you to call me George, my middle name, reserved only for those closest to me.”
“Okay…George” I said. Trying it out. “I want to learn more about Catholicism,” I said, knowing how important his faith was to him. I had been raised Lutheran but veered away from that church, after they changed their Sunday service format, in search of something more like what I remembered from my childhood. We visited a religious bookstore and stocked up on reading material for both of us.
When we went to Mass that weekend, as incense wafted over the sanctuary and lyrical Latin verses filled my ears, I was surprised to learn that the Catholic service was what I’d been longing for. As I sat in the pew, I envisioned myself walking down the aisle in a white wedding dress—though I kept it to myself.
The Friday before my tour at Camp Edwards came to an end, fate intervened. I received a call from the Tennessee State Personnel Office.
“Your name has come up on the register for employment as a Parole Officer,” a man with an authoritative voice said. “You need to report on Monday.”
“I’m currently on active military duty, which ends in three days,” I said. “I can be there next Monday.”
His response was rather shocking. “Either you show up in Tennessee on Monday, or you’re off the employment register.” This meant no opportunities for any other position. I hung up the phone, frustrated by the injustice of it all. It reminded me of the Tennessee “good ole’ boy network,” like when I had applied for a management position and was told I would have to be hired on as a secretary before consideration for leadership, despite having a college degree. Yet there was nothing I could do. The Uniformed Services Employment and Reemployment Act that might have protected me wasn’t enacted until October 13, 1994.
During one of our weekend rendezvous in upstate New York, Ed and I were in the coffee shop on post. After researching the want ads in the local newspaper, I said, “Oh look, I could qualify for these three positions.”
Ed looked surprised and hesitantly asked, “Are you considering moving here?”
“Well, the thought crossed my mind,” I said. “In Tennessee, I’m not only homeless, but I also have no job prospects.”
“Really?” He was incredulous. “That would be wonderful. I can help you move.”
Faced with a choice between trying to end my tour early to take a job as a Tennessee Parole Officer or following my heart to upstate New York, I chose love. Ed helped me move to a cute apartment near a mall, and I found work directing a teen runaway program while pursuing my first master’s degree in psychology.
Ed’s Christmas proposal later that year led to an April 1991 wedding, followed by a formal ceremony in Florida, where I walked down the aisle in a white wedding gown. I had come a long way from the words “Don’t come back.” I learned the importance of getting to know the right person by building trust, compatibility, and emotional connection. Now, as we celebrate our thirty-fourth anniversary in 2025, I realize that true love isn’t just about finding someone who makes you laugh or shares your interests. It’s about discovering someone who intuitively understands your thoughts before they are spoken, embraces your strengths and vulnerabilities, and shares your vision for the future.
That fortune cookie had been right; I had just needed to kiss the right frog.
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Dr. Grenelle is a retired Forensic Psychologist who lives with her husband and Goldendoodle, JP, in the Sonoran Desert. She spent seventeen years in the Army Reserve.
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