As the evening wore on, Mavis made herself get up and mingle, instead of just sitting by the sidelines like an old grandma.
Which she wasn’t yet. Although the idea of Nina having a baby, of really being a grandmother, gave her a thrill of anticipation. Maybe someday.
Still, though, Mavis was fifty, not eighty, and she could socialize just as well as the young people. She started moving through the crowd and saying hello.
She knew most of the attendees, since the rehearsal dinner had mostly been for the pack and close family and friends. But she ended up introducing herself to a group of men she’d never seen before, clustered together in a corner.
Goodness, they were enormous. Well over six feet, all of them, and with an air that suggested former military to Mavis.
“Let me guess,” she said with a smile as she approached. “You all must have served with Cal in the Marines.”
“Got it in one, ma’am,” said the tallest of them. He had short military-styled hair, though the cut didn’t disguise the warm auburn color. His eyes were a striking green. “Though we’re all retired now. I’m Ken Turner.”
“Carlos Gonzalez,” said the next man, shaking her hand. His voice was quiet, but his handshake was firm, and though he was probably as old as Mavis, he was handsome enough to be in the movies, with silver-touched black hair and piercing black eyes.
“Nate Sanders,” said the third man. His hair was grown out into a wavy cut, and was a honey-blond that disguised any gray that might be creeping in. His posture was the most relaxed of the four of them, without any hint of Marine-Corps-style bearing. “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he added with a sweet Southern twang.
“And I’m Ty Neal,” the last one finished. He was a broad-shouldered black man—it was nice, Mavis thought, to see another brown face in overwhelmingly pale Montana—and his smile was warm, his golden-brown eyes kind as he shook Mavis hand.
“Well,” she said. “How long has it been since you’ve all been the same room? Or do you have reunions often?”
“It’s been about ten years,” said the first man, Ken.
“Probably about the right amount of time for a break from these clowns,” Nate told her in his Southern drawl. “I’ve had just about enough civilization in the interim to tide me over.”
“If you’re calling someone a clown,” Ken said dryly, “then maybe someone should let this good lady know who she’s hearing it from. I seem to remember one night involving an MRE, night-vision goggles, and military-grade pepper spray—”
“This coming from the man who switched out the Sergeant Major’s toothpaste for, hmm, what was it again?” Ty put in.
An argument arose about what exactly Ken had swapped the Sergeant Major’s toothpaste with, while Mavis watched with a combination of amusement and wistfulness. These men had clearly picked up where they’d left off ten years ago, sharing jokes and good-natured insults, but with an undercurrent of real affection and camaraderie that was obvious even to an outsider like her.
She wished she had a group of friends like that, people who would stand by her even as they brought up old in-jokes and ribbed each other about incidents that had happened long ago.
The argument was rising in volume—“You’re telling me that Nate wasn’t out with a girl that night, he was sneaking around the tent pulling what exactly?” Ty boomed—and Mavis was about to discreetly slip away, leaving the men to their reminiscing, when another voice cut in.
“I see leaving the Corps hasn’t civilized any of you.”
The voice wasn’t loud, but it somehow sliced through the veterans’ back-and-forth, impossible to ignore. Mavis watched, fascinated, as the four men snapped to attention, as though the years they’d spent as civilians had just melted away.
“Sir,” said Ken. “Our apologies.”
The newcomer, a tall, handsome man in a dress uniform covered in symbols and medals that Mavis couldn’t parse at all, looked them over. “I left you alone for fifteen minutes, and you’re causing a disturbance with a lady present.” He turned to Mavis. “I apologize for my men. Colonel Wilson Hanes.” He held out his hand.
“Mavis Williams,” Mavis said, feeling almost like she should be fluttering a fan. The Colonel was a big, imposing man. Even more than his size, which was as considerable as any of the other Marines’, he seemed to exude authority and confidence. But his grip, when she shook, was gentle—not like the rest of the men, who’d all seemed to be demonstrating their strength with their handshakes.
She pulled herself together enough to say, “There’s no need to apologize. I was just going to leave them to their catching-up and go get a drink.”
There was a chorus of protests, but Colonel Hanes held up a hand, and they died instantly away. He turned back to Mavis. “Would you like company?”
She smiled. The slightly formal, old-fashioned air about him was charming. Not to mention the way he played these tough retired Marines like a violin. “Yes, thank you.” She looked at the four other men. “It was very nice to meet all of you.”
“You as well,” said Carlos, still noticeably more soft-spoken than the rest of the men’s You toos. Mavis smiled at all of them and stepped away at the Colonel’s side.
“I hope you don’t mind the intrusion,” he said apologetically, as they walked to the drinks table. “I noticed them getting rowdy, and I thought you might want an out.”
“Not at all,” she said. “Anyway, they don’t need a stranger around while they’re catching up. Although—” She cast a look back. “You don’t want to stay back with them, catch up too?”
He shook his head, smiling. Mavis was struck again by how handsome he was. His short military-style hair only served to accentuate the strong, clean lines of his face. And the imposing uniform didn’t hide the strong musculature underneath; he was clearly in good shape for his age, which was probably about the same as hers—fiftyish or so.