Carnal Innocence. Julie Miller

wonder Retired Brigadier General Hal McCormick kept dozing off. She was reliable, sensible, boring old Caitlin. The only daughter in a long, tough tradition of rugged military men. She had no rank of distinction in front of her name like her brother Ethan’s “Major.” No notorious tag line to follow her name like her brother Travis’s “Action Man.”

      She answered to the inauspicious title of Ms. McCormick. And her tag line went something like “Dull As Dishwater.” “Same Old, Same Old.” “Good Girl.”

      Her father probably never dozed when one of her brothers was recounting a military mission or listing the names of dignitaries he’d hobnobbed with at a diplomatic function.

      Caitlin carried her suitcase into her bedroom and set it down with a heavy sigh. While she unpacked, she pulled her cellphone from her purse and punched in her father’s number. She did share her brothers’ dutiful habits. Being responsible meant checking in as per her father’s request.

      He picked up on the second ring. “McCormick.” Her father’s gruff voice held less bark than it had in years past, but Caitlin still found herself subconsciously anxious to please him.

      “It’s me.”

      The general’s tone never softened, but she knew there’d be a smile on his face. “How’s my best girl?”

      Caitlin smiled at their secret code. “A-okay, Daddy.”

      “Was your trip uneventful?”

      Caitlin’s breath seeped out in a humiliated sigh. Uneventful. Was there any other way to describe her life?

      But her father didn’t need to hear her complain. “I got home just fine.” Looking around her apartment, she despaired at how much work it needed, but he didn’t need to hear that, either. “I really enjoyed our visit.”

      “Me, too.” He cleared his throat. Uh-oh. Prelude to fatherly lecture. “Be sure you call the doctor tomorrow. I’m sorry the chemicals we used to clean the boat got to you.”

      “It was just an allergic reaction. A mild attack. I have an ample supply of all my meds,” she assured him. “My asthma is just fine. I’m fine.”

      “Your mother used to take care of all that stuff when she was alive.”

      “That was when I was a little girl. I’m twenty-seven years old now, Dad. I can take care of myself.”

      Though straight talk and some TLC usually brought her father around to her point of view, some days—like this one—he made her feel as if she was stuck in a time warp. As if she was still that toddler who’d run out across the tarmac to welcome her daddy home from overseas, instead of an adult who still loved her daddy but who wanted the chance to make her own mistakes and earn her own triumphs without her omnipresent family waiting to oversee every choice she made.

      After several more reassurances that her Memorial Day asthma attack had not been life threatening, Caitlin gave her father her love and promised to call again over the weekend.

      “Unless you have a hot date…”

      Caitlin laughed. She hadn’t realized hot date was in her father’s vocabulary. Without a division of troops to worry about any longer, the general focused all of his concerns on his three children. “Don’t worry, Dad. When I get serious about a guy, I’ll be sure you get to meet him.”

      “Damn straight. I don’t want some sweet-talker like your brother Travis turning your head and gettin’ you into trouble.”

      “Me? Trouble?” She wished. “I’m the most down-to-earth of all your children.” Not counting her rich fantasy life—that would remain her own little secret. “Don’t you trust me?”

      “Of course I do. But you’re my youngest.” It was a needless reminder of how well her two older brothers and her father overprotected her. “You’re also the one I rushed to the hospital when Travis brought home that cat and you stopped breathing.”

      He still thought she was that ten-year-old girl whose allergies and asthma hadn’t yet been diagnosed. Caitlin tried to remember this was love, not control, talking. “Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t let any man tell me what to do. I won’t let any man give me a cat, either.”

      Her father laughed as she’d intended. “Good girl.”

      Good girl. Responsible. Levelheaded. In other words…? Boring.

      She needed to get a life. Maybe she just needed to live the one she had. She knew the one she wanted—one filled with adventure. One in which her father didn’t worry about her health. One in which her brothers didn’t request personal leave so they could check out her latest boyfriend to make sure he passed muster and minded his manners.

      She wanted a life with the heady adrenaline rush of having her mind engaged in a creative challenge. A life filled with fascinating people. A life filled with great sex—okay, any sex—with a real, live, breathing man instead of one of her bad-boy fantasies. A life in which her body cooperated with her goals—where she’d push herself to her limits and then soar far beyond them.

      An Olympic athlete.

      A movie star.

      An astronaut.

      A spy.

      “Yeah, right.”

      She didn’t realize she’d muttered her frustration out loud until her father spoke. “What’s that, sweetie?”

      Caitlin pulled herself to attention and covered her slip. “Nothing, Dad. I’d better go. I have some things to take care of here.”

      “All right. Call if you need anything.”

      They said their goodbyes and hung up. Caitlin pushed aside her gloomy spiraling thoughts. So she wanted independence and adventure, huh? Without alarming her father or putting half the Marine Corps on her tail?

      Fat chance.

      Maybe she’d best stick to her books.

      Sure, she was doing her part to keep the public schools of Alexandria, Virginia, running smoothly. And her eighth-grade students could reconnoiter a sentence with the best in the country, uncovering subordinate clauses and adverbs long before they infiltrated high school. But what was she doing for fun and excitement in her life?

      Caitlin picked up her roommate’s discarded sweater from the floor of the closet and sighed with fatigue. Today, it seemed, she was destined for nothing more laudable or exciting than cleaning up after Cassie.

      She spotted the sticky residue of fast food on the plate beside the telephone on the entryway table and cringed. The leather-bound book that her roommate had used for a coaster caught her eye next. “Cassie!”

      Caitlin picked up the paper cup and muttered an unladylike oath. The cup had been sitting there long enough to soften up and spring a leak. The book was now marked with a permanent circular tattoo. After trashing the cup, Caitlin thumbed through the pages, bemoaning the damage to one of her favorite stories.

      “Sydney Carton, my hero.” She opened A Tale of Two Cities to the last page and read the final line. “‘It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done…”’ Caitlin closed the book and hugged it to her chest. “You got a bum deal, Syd.”

      How many times had she rewritten the ending in her imagination? In her version, Dickens’s scoundrel of the French Revolution was rescued at the guillotine by a resourceful American woman. Let Charles Darnay have his sweet, good-girl heroine. Caitlin and Sydney always ended up in a little grass hut on the beach in Tahiti in her happy ending. Sometimes they ended up naked on the beach itself.

      Caitlin returned the book to the hanging shelf above the telephone table. Being an English teacher as she was, the symbolism of closing the book on her fantasy life wasn’t lost on her. Was it really asking too much for fate to break her out of her rut?

      Her gaze traveled down to the table, beyond