Duty(37)

We sit down to eat, and Lance plows through his burger and even his veggies at hyper speed, something that shocks me. Like most three-year-olds, he normally hates veggies, but when I try one, I realize what Aaron did. They've been soaking in sweet pickling vinegar and have a tangy crunch to them. “Where'd you learn this?”

“You get to swapping all sorts of weird stuff during Ranger school,” Aaron says with a shrug. “One of the guys had a hobby of cooking. I added just a little bit of sugar. I hope it's not too much?”

I munch on a carrot stick and shake my head. “Perfect. Thank you.”

After Lance goes down for his nap, snoring away on Aaron's spread out comforter on his couch, I help Aaron wash up the dishes, drying them after he washes them and setting them in his rack. “Did you enjoy lunch?”

“We both did,” I say with a small smile. “I've said it a lot today, but I'll say it again. Thank you.”

Aaron grins, then nods as he scrubs his spatula until it gleams and hands it to me. “I didn't want you to feel like I went to great lengths. I mean, I know that's not your style. Or at least it wasn't. Some of our best times were with about two bucks in snacks and walking through the woods.”

I laugh softly, nodding. “That's true. We never did need much to have a good time.”

Aaron grows serious and turns to look at me. “I guess it's that time, huh?”

“I guess,” I say, not frowning, but my smile dimming. “This isn’t a conversation I’ve been looking forward to, you know. So if I stumble or say something stupid, can you cut me some slack?”

Aaron's tense little laugh and nod reassures me a little bit, but I’m not quite convinced. He goes over to the small dining room table he's got, where we both sit down. I can see him reach for my hand, but then he pulls back, uncertain. “Sorry. Old habits are popping up seeing you. You . . . you haven't changed that much since West Point.”

I shake my head, looking back over my shoulder at the living room, then at him. “I've changed a lot, I think.”

Aaron follows my gaze, nodding. “Uhm, can I ask?”

“Yes.”

A heavy silence drops between us as Aaron reads the meaning of my words. When he speaks again, there's a hint of anger. I guess I can understand that. “When did you find out?”

“When I went through processing at Fort Lewis. Best guess, Lance was conceived that last weekend in New York city,” I tell him quietly. “Please don't be angry, Aaron. If I could have told you, I would have. Lance . . . Lance is the greatest gift you ever gave me.”

Aaron’s hand is clenched, but he's trying to keep himself under control, and there's only a hint of tension in his voice when he speaks up again. “I understand not saying anything officially, even if I don't like it. But Lindsey . . . why not tell me at least unofficially? My God, what were you thinking?”

Before I can say anything, Aaron gets up, his eyes blazing. And even though all I’ve done is confirm what he already knew, he's pissed, and I worry. Aaron takes a deep breath, letting it out in a shuddering exhalation. “Excuse me, Lindsey. I thought I was ready to hear it. I mean, I suspected it since I first laid eyes on him. I've spent a few days expecting this, but I need to take a moment outside.”

I nod, swallowing my fear as Aaron stalks out of the house and into his back yard, where I watch him pace back and forth. While I can't hear him, I can read his lips as he talks to himself.

Four years. Four f*cking years!

What the hell was she doing, not telling me? Did she not think I could handle it?

Fuck! A kid? How the f*ck? I mean, I know how the f*ck it happened, we never did use protection, but . . . FUCK!

Aaron rubs his hands through his hair, squatting down, and I lose sight of what he's saying. Still, I can read the tension in his back, and I worry. Did I make a mistake coming here? I get up. Perhaps this has been a bad idea. There's too much time, too many long nights between who we were and who we are now, and I don't know if that gap can be bridged.

I go out to the back yard, where Aaron is still squatting, and I see that he's clenched his hands so tightly his knuckles are white. I keep my distance. I don't want to have him lash out and do something we'll both regret. “Aaron . . . maybe I should take Lance and leave.”

“No . . . don't,” Aaron says, looking up at me. “Lindsey, you owe me an answer. I asked you why, and I've been out here trying to figure that out. Why? Why didn't you tell me?”

He gets up and walks toward me, the anger being replaced with uncertainty and hurt. I've hurt him, and I never understood just how much until right now. I reach out, and for the first time in four years, I take his hand. He's still strong and gentle, and part of me yearns for more already. He goes tense, but he doesn't pull away, something that eases my fears a little at least. “Because you’re a great man with a bright future. I knew that four years ago, and seeing you this afternoon with Lance, I know that you haven't changed. Because I can see in your eyes the same crazy, noble thoughts that were running through your head four years ago in New York outside the museum.”

“And what thoughts were those?” Aaron asks. I can still tell he’s trying to control his anger. His cheek is twitching like he does when he's pissed off and trying to control it. “Was it all that bad? Was being with me all that bad?”