Chapter 5

Okay ... Eddie was supposed to be here for this weekend foray. All I got was the 'OMG! Dad's sick. I gotta go!" an hour before we were supposed to leave, and a promising (at least for him and his dad) update on Saturday. And it was Saturday night and after ten and I was in my hotel room cycling through eighty channels of 'nothing's on TV'. I finally gave up, plugged my iPod into the bedside radio and punched up the bedtime playlist. Sleep came easily.

It usually did. That's the good part. The bad part came later.

"Mount up and MOVE!" And the crack of the first mortar round. I was sitting straight up in bed, beads of sweat forming. Wide awake. I'd heard every round. The screams of pain from my men. The victorious yelling of our attackers. The cracks of rifle fire, the ear-splitting explosions of RPGs, the hot, sticky feel of blood, mine, my men's, even that last attacker before I lost consciousness.

I succumbed to a pill from a VA prescription. I hated myself for that. I fought the urge to give up and accept the medication as a solution.

I was still reliving that day when the chemistry took effect.

I was trying to shake off the groggy head the next morning, sitting in the lobby next to the hotel coffee pot.

"You don't look like you slept well," a soft voice said from behind me. Jo.

"Hi, princess," I said. "No, I didn't. Ended up taking a pill, and now my head feels like wet sawdust."

"Is there something I can do to help?" she asked.

"You showed up. Said hi. That's a big help, all by itself."

She smiled. "We have time to go find breakfast if you want. The bus leaves at ten, and if you don't mind your girlfriend riding with you, she doesn't mind missing the bus."

"You got a deal, Jo. Let's go find something for breakfast. You have any ideas in mind?"

"I don't usually do this, but I think I want a good ol' American breakfast. Bacon. Eggs. Pancakes."

"Are you planning on packing and leaving now, or do we plan on coming back?"

"Sir, this is my breakfast attire so we can leave right after we eat." She spun around. I was sitting. She was standing, leggy, wearing jeans that fit nicely and her ass was at eye level. Headache or no headache, that view was pleasant.

"Then let us depart, little lady," I said, rising and offering her my arm. Several orchestra members were wandering around. We were noticed.

This time we went straight to my SUV and drove off. She was punching on her iPhone as we left the parking lot. "Okay, here's one that's not a chain and Yelp gives good reviews. And we're between the early church crowd and the late church crowd."

"Lead on," I said. "I shall buy my sweetie pancakes and bacon."

"Eggs. Don't forget eggs. And orange juice. And coffee."

I glanced sideways. God, what a beauty.

"So why didn't you sleep, Stoney?"

"It's hard to talk about, Jo. Really is."

"I can listen really good, you know."

"I believe you can, Jo. I just can't talk about it. Not yet. Not now. Something I have to deal with."

"Stoney, we're friends. I want to help, but I don't want to push. You could've called me last night. Even if we didn't talk, I could've been there."

Her voice was soft, caring. Soft. Caring. Genuine. If I was going to talk to somebody, it would be somebody who sounded like Jo. Sounded like Jo. I'd actually sat through a couple of sessions with real live counselors. The army provides those. So does the Veterans' Administration. Each time, though, I felt like the counselor was filling out the forms for Patient # 564392. Jo made me feel almost like Patient #1 of 1. Scratch 'patient'. Make that 'friend'.

"Jo," I said, "Some things happened long ago and far away and I have dreams..."

"Nightmares," was the soft reply. "Dad talks about some. Sat me down when he got back from Iraq and said that everybody has them except people who are complete psychotics. And he said that some people's are worse than others." She paused. "Stoney, friend. Mom sat up some nights holding Dad. Holding. Just holding. Not even talking." She continued. "My dad is a rock. You don't get to be an Army colonel by being dumb, and he was a commander of a combat battalion in Iraq. Wasn't, from what I understand, one of those 'I'll be behind this wall in my CP (Author's note: Command Post) and you can tell me what's going on later' commanders."

"My commanders were like that. Jo, I was like that."

"I can't believe you would be any other way, Stoney. You stepped up Friday."

"Little bit different. I ... we were attacked by a drunk musician."

She snorted. "We musicians are a tough bunch, buddy. One of these days we'll go to the gym."

"I don't do gyms very often. I got the boat."

"Oh, yeah ... One of these days I want to see it. When do you have time? I mean, this weekend..."

I smiled. "If I hadn't gone to Austin with you guys, I'd've probably been there. Sometimes I go after work Friday and spend the weekend. Got everything I need except a few groceries."

"Do you just stay at the marina or do you go out?"

"Fifty-fifty. Sometimes I just stay there at the dock and piddle around on the million things old boats always need. Sometimes I go out, find a spot in the bay, drop anchor, and let the waves rock me to sleep. Especially in the cool months. Too many mosquitoes in the summer, and I don't relish the heat and humidity AND mosquitoes."

"By yourself?" she looked a bit concerned.

"Usually. I've gotten a couple of like-minded guys and we've done some sailing out in the Gulf, but guys usually want activities that involve girls, and..."

"Do you bring girls out?"

I knew, was actually sort of surprised, but I knew where this was heading. Softly, gently, but still heading in that direction. "No. Not often. Never overnight. Any girl I'd be interested in would see spending the night on a boat as implied consent that certain activities might be acceptable, whether that was what I had in mind or not."

She laughed. "That's sort of like that guy who said he never wanted to join a club that would accept him as a member."

"I'll buy that," I said. "I'm not saying that I wouldn't bring a girl out, and I'm not saying that if I did, that certain activities would be presumed. It's just that I desire laughter and intelligent conversation that doesn't involve the front page of People Magazine and uses a multi-syllabic vocabulary."

"You're awfully picky, you know..." Jo said.

"Oh, it's worse than that. I know that I live in a city and I live in an apartment, but I don't consider myself an urban male and as a result, I will not accept an urban female. I mean, if she's going to make sailing part of her life, then those long painted nails aren't going to cut it. And if she thinks that sort of thing is attractive to me, then she hasn't taken time to find out about me."

"You're still picky," Jo said, idly looking at the hands of a flutist.

"I go out from time to time, usually with friends," I said. "Bars and clubs are not a suitable venue to find prospective mates."

"Prospective mates?" she said.

"Female friends. Prospective mates. Yeah, I am friends with a few women, but only on a very casual level. They see this," I said, passing a finger down the scar line, "and it takes a lot to get past it. So 'friends' is as good as it gets."

"With benefits?" Jo asked shyly. Then, "I'm sorry. That's a bit personal. I don't mean to pry. It's your private life."

"It's a legitimate question. The answer is 'no'. Sex is not just a physical thing to me. If it was, then life would be different. It's not. A person can get sex easily. Pay for it. Or, like you say, 'friends with benefits'. Or a casual hookup from a casual meeting." I sighed. "That's not me. So..."

"So I understand, then. You really are a throwback from a bygone era. Is there a time machine somewhere that I don't know about?"

"Things don't die abruptly when civilization changes, Jo. Somebody has to be the first. Then there's the swell, the era of an idea, a condition, a set of standards. And then as the age dies, the numbers who hold the idea thin out, and eventually there has to be the last one."

"You're not the last one," Jo said. "but the numbers are getting thin on the ground." A heavy sigh and then, "You know, this is so awfully serious," in a little girl's voice. "How about that Mozart concerto for Flute and Harp?"

She reached into the back seat and in a couple of minutes a silver flute touched trained lips and magic resulted. She played bits, and then she played snippets of other pieces, happy, lively, lilting, uplifting. She dropped the instrument to her lap.

"Better?"

"Better," I said. "Definitely better."

"We'll call it my little bit of magic."

"Die Zauberflöte," I said.

Giggle. "Yeah. Magic Flute. For you it works. You're smiling, Stoney."

"Couple of good reasons to smile, Jo. Pretty music. Prettier girl."

I got a big smile in return. "Thank you for thinking so."

"You gave me something that you knew would get to me, Jo."

"You need a reason to smile more, Stoney. It does you well."

"Scars and all?" I was suddenly self-conscious.

"A smile is a smile. Yours says 'thank you' better than words." And she put her hand over mine. "Friends help friends, you know. You sort of opened up and showed a bit of yourself. Got sad. Your friend, that would be me, wanted you happy."

The remainder of the drive back to campus was filled with more or less happy and light conversations about educational issues (for her) and work issues (for me). When we parked, I helped her carry her bags to her apartment. She unlocked the door and let me in. We dropped the bags in her room. I glanced around. Twin bed. Neatly made up. Photos on the dresser. Her at the age of maybe nine or ten and a red-headed woman and a man wearing Army dress uniform. Her as a teen with a Corgi.

She saw my eyes, picked up the picture of the three people. "This is me when I was ten. Dad was getting ready to go to Iraq." She picked up the other picture. "This is my last picture with Bobbie. He left us that year. I was sixteen and I cried for a week."

"Cute dog. Mine was a chocolate Labrador. Loved 'im more than my brother."

"Bobbie WAS my brother. It's hard for a military family to move around with a pet, but Dad did it for me, quarantines, extra travel expenses, all that. I look back at that and I think I was very much indulged, at least that part."

"You seem to be one of the more sane examples of an army brat," I said.

"I know a little about that," she said. "You want a cold drink? We can sit for a while unless you have to run."

"No place I could go compares to hanging around with you," I said.

"Look, Stoney," she said while closing the refrigerator. "I was serious about boyfriend-girlfriend. Not just while we were in Austin."

"I was hoping something along those lines. So, you doing anything tomorrow? Noonish?"

Her eyes sparkled. "What do you have in mind?"

"Unless you have plans, I thought we'd go check on the boat. Bring some stuff for a picnic lunch there."