It Was His Eyes

  It was his eyes that told me he loves me. And he wasn't my husband. Who was standing right beside me.

 Those eyes, that look,  really took me aback. I was having trouble focusing on what they were saying - they kept droning on while my mind was examining all the facts: I've never met this person in my entire life. My husband is next to me. That didn't stop the look. My son was exploring the room. The presence of a complete family didn't stop the look. And although my hair can look nice on a good day, even when I was 20-something with hair that bounced and behaved all the way down to a much cuter, slimmer butt - even I wasn't that much in love with my hair.

  No one falls in love to that extent at first sight. This - this was someone who knew me intimately and loved me deeply.

  I tried to bring my focus back to what they were talking about. Something about security. Perimeters. I glanced up at the wall over a work station. A map of the base and a large photo of a security fence.

  That's when it clicked. Even though he wasn't in a police uniform, none of them were - he had to have seen the videos. The black square in laughing head's hand had been a camera. I knew that for certain now. Those eyes had seen me laughing, playing, twirling Isaac around to music, my long hair spinning up in the air behind us.

  His days were spent mostly underground at Fort Greely, Delta Junction, Alaska, protecting the missile defense of our country. But at some point, he had come back to the surface, to a meeting with the military police. To watch videos of me before we arrived.

  It was his eyes that told me so.