Duty(40)
“Not at all, sir,” Pillman replies, the two of us walking under the trees. We keep our eyes open, checking that each position is set up right with one person in four providing perimeter security while catching a breather. Pillman and I will be in the middle of the perimeter, and I've got the radio operator scratching out a shallow position for each of us now. I'm a Lieutenant. It's my job to be under fire, not safe in a cozy foxhole. I don't need much more than two feet deep. “What's on your mind?”
“I ran into someone that I knew back at West Point,” I tell him, leaving as many details out as I can, “and she's got a kid. Cute kid, and I told Captain Bradley during some of the slack time in the Monday schedule that I'm going to put in for the Big Brother program. Mom's happy, I think, especially since she's got Saturday duty next weekend, and I agreed to watch the boy then. He’s three, though. To be honest with you, Sergeant, I have no f*cking clue what to do with a three-year-old for a full-duty shift on a Saturday. Got any advice?”
Pillman chuckles, then goes serious. “No shit, LT, for a kid at that age, you’ve gotta be on your toes. When my son was three, he had two speeds. Full-on go and dead stop. Kids around three, they're hyperactive psychopaths half the time. Are you having him come to your house or are you going to theirs?”
“Ah, I don't know. I just agreed to do it the Saturday before this,” I tell him, lifting my helmet and rubbing at my head. I hate the helmet. It's hot and it itches, and you always end up with a 'donut ring' in the top of your head afterward from the way the webbing presses against your head. Then again, I guess if it saves my brain from getting separated from my skull, I'll feel differently. “Advice is appreciated.”
“If the kid doesn't know you that well, and it's a long time like it sounds, I'd recommend doing it at his house. He'll have games and toys there, and you can still take him somewhere to play if he gets fidgety. When we get back tomorrow, remind me to give you a list of good parks in the area, places you can take him. Avoid anything like Chuck E. Cheese's, no matter how much he might beg you. The food is shit, and the ones around here are dirty as hell.”
I laugh, grateful for his advice. “Now, did Top give you any hints at the pow-wow about what might be coming down the pipe tonight?”
“Just that if you want any sleep, sir, you might want to get some before the sun goes down. Munch an MRE and grab a dirt rack, because we're in for a long night.”
Sounds like a proper Regulator end to a good exercise. “Okay then. Make sure everyone's got a full belly, full canteens, and full magazines. We'll take care of business as we can.”
“On it, sir. And sir?”
I'm walking away, getting ready to check the other side of the platoon area, and stop, turning back. “Yeah?”
Sergeant Pillman gives me a quirky grin, trying not to laugh. “Have fun next Saturday. It's going to be harder than the bad guys tonight. Just warning you.”
Parking my car outside of Lindsey's house, Pillman's words come back to haunt me as I stand outside her door. I realize that in the four years since Lindsey and I first met, I've never been to her living space before. We were always meeting up outside of cadet area, on bikes, or someplace else. Our “bed” was made of grass, except for New York City that created Lance.
Lance . . . my son, but not my son. I didn't tell Lindsey when they came to my house, but every time he and I were working together or playing, it felt like something missing from my life had come back, and that for a while, my life felt complete. I had my son and his beautiful mother, and I had to remind myself twice that I was just daydreaming. Yeah, I was angry about having it kept from me, but when she said I could come over today and take care of Lance, I haven’t been so happy in years. Even with Pillman's warning, I'm kind of excited. Nervous, but excited.
I knock softly on the door. It’s only six thirty, and I figure that Lance is most likely asleep. Lindsey opens the door, and I'm struck again at how beautiful she is, even when she's in her ACUs. “Aaron, you came right on time. Come in.”
I step inside, and my first impression is that her house is both new but strangely familiar to me. Part of it is that she lives in enlisted housing, and as part of my platoon leader duties, I've been to the houses of the three guys in my platoon that are married and live in base housing for E-5s and below. I know where the bathroom is, where the kitchen is, and even how to adjust the ancient f*cking air conditioner if we need it. I know that the tile that makes up the floor feels cold to bare feet even in the summer, and that there's a good chance Lindsey has a rug already in her living room to take care of that chill for Lance. Still, the details are different, and I look around, taking it all in.
She's done her best, I can see. The furniture is all in decent shape, considering that a three-year-old boy lives here, and Lance himself is sleeping comfortably on the couch. “There he is. Lindsey, this is . . . it's a nice home.”
Lindsey smiles, and I think she even blushes a little. “Thanks. I'd talk more, but I have to make formation. His cereal's in the cabinet, and he'll normally wake up on his own by seven thirty. If not, it's okay. I let him sleep as long as he wants on Saturdays. Secondary car seat's in the kitchen too. If you want to take him somewhere, I'm cool with that. Also, I left you a little list of things he's okay to do and a few things not to do on the fridge. It's pretty basic. I'll have my phone. They won't mind that, but I may not reply right away unless it's an emergency, so if you have a question, send me a text message. Oh, and you've got free range on the kitchen for yourself. That's totally cool with me. Just tell me what you decide to eat.”