Chapter 9

Chuck's turn:

Dinner at sister's house progressed without fisticuffs, verbal assaults or other mayhem, and having checked that block on my list of things I think I should do if I'm getting married again, I was happy when Jenn and I walked out of their house.

"Well?" I questioned. "What do you think?"

"Nice people. No transmission in the kitchen. No car up on blocks in the front yard. Horrible lack of black velvet paintings and Elvis Collector Edition plates." She caught my look. "Unlike my previous relationship."

"They're good people, even though I'd never tell either on in person. Just wish the kids had been there to meet you."

"Oh, fret not, Chuck. I can deal with kids."

I glanced at her.

"At any level you might wish to entertain." She smiled a bit. "Or not."

"I hadn't given any thought to future reproductive activities," I said.

"I have. For years. But I kept picturing myself like some of my friends and co-workers who were trying to raise a kid with an absent daddy or a present daddy who saw self-medication as a major lifestyle choice. I won't have children unless they will have a father."

"Serious topic. I suppose we should have some ideas before we do that whole 'until death us do part' thing."

"Have you thought about it, Chuck?"

"Of course I have. I'm like you, though ... doesn't make sense to create a child that both parties aren't committed to bringing up properly. I just couldn't see #1 as the motherly type. Fortunately, neither could she."

"Oh."

"Am I to expect you to be as competent as a mommy as you appear to be as an emergency care nurse?"

"I suppose. I know most of the mechanics of such things, having been a babysitter since I was thirteen, for one, and I don't know how many rotations in pediatrics since then."

"Okay," I said. "You know which ends to watch. What about that 24-7 responsibility?"

"As long as I can occasionally roll over at 2 AM and say, 'Baby, can you take this one?' I'm pretty sure you're good enough for that."

"Rather clinical approach, don't you think?" I smiled.

"Oh, perhaps you'd rather me come at you halfway into your second six-pack with 'Honey, dem pills didn't work! I'm pregnant!"

"Oh, yeah, that'd be just peachy!"

"Happens more often that you want to think," Jenn said. "You should hear some of the stories I hear at the hospitals.

"You should hear some the stories I hear at work," I countered. "Some people are just so oblivious..."

I felt her wiggle sideways in her seat. "But you have given it some thought."

"Of course I have. But it takes two to tango, you know. And I don't take that lightly. I've seen enough single mommies and their terribly warped offspring..."

"I bet," Jenn replied. "You're kind of like a single mommy's dream, you know. A paycheck."

"I always thought that the dream was a dong and a paycheck."

"Dong's optional. You work out of town, there are plenty of dongs out there. And appliances."

"Rather callous, aren't we?" I was getting used to this brown-haired thing next to me jumping right into my pocket in conversations now.

"Just stating fact," she said. "The truth shouldn't hurt unless it oughtta." She did that smirk thing again. "Relax, future hubby. I'm not going to turn up pregnant any time soon. I'm just saying..."

My turn. "That would have an adverse effect on a pair of perfectly delightful titties."

She worked up an evil eye for me. "You are just enjoying an ancillary function. Little Chuck Junior gets first call when he shows up."

"I can live with that." I could, you know. I had some amount of experience with post-partum breast characteristics. Didn't think I needed to go into details with Jenn. I surmised that she would expect that I'd seen a few. Even numbers, of course.

"It's the way it's supposed to be," she said confidently. "I mean, I'm not going to be all 'earth mother' and all that, but breastfeeding is good for the kid."

"So I've heard." I paused. "And you do think we should be married first?"

"Naturally," Jenn smiled. "And a year or two of getting our lives together and fitting and melding and making darned sure that you're right for me and I'm right for you."

"I think we are."

"Well, good. We're gonna give it a try, anyway. And I'm optimistic."

"And delicious."

"You! Sir, I think you want me for my body!" Giggle.

"Among other things. We can't sit around discussing classical music ALL the time..."

"Not when I can curl up on top of you to the Moonlight Sonata to bask in the afterglow."

"How in the heavens did I miss the supernova that spawned you, Jenn?"

"Oh, you were probably just like me, trudging up the path you thought you had to walk."

"That's a good one."

"Too busy with life to actually, you know, LIVE." Her hand cirled my bicep. "Let's live. I don't mean we have to make a big splash in the universe. I just want us to be the ones that people look to and say 'They love each other. Life's good around them."

"I can do that," I said.

We pulled into the driveway in the dark. The lights came on when my truck got near the house. I did a quick scan. Nothing unusual. We got out and went inside. Got myself pressed backward against the door as I closed it behind me.

"Home!" she said. "Feels like home." Kisses. "Now, your sister said you were an Army veteran. Really?"

"Yep! I don't make much of a deal about it. Most people couldn't care less, except for the ones who bought into that 'crazed veteran on the edge of snapping' business."

"But I told you I was..."

"And I would've told you too when the subject came up."

"What'd you do?"

"Grunt. Infantry. Squad leader. Mostly."

"Mostly?" She looked at me and she KNEW there was more to the story. "What about the part that wasn't 'mostly'?"

"I can shoot. Really well. They saw to it that I had a rifle and a nice spot to shoot from and asked me to shoot people. I did."

"Do you still own guns?"

"Yes I do. My house. My castle. I defend that which is mine." I sucked in a breath, watching her face. "Is this the part where Jenn heads for the hills?"

"I was a medic. I was required to train with weapons. I can hold my own. And you can't get me out of here just because you have different hardware than other people."

"This is the South. EVERYBODY has that hardware. Mine is kind of specialized."

"Specialized? As in???"

"I LIKE shooting. I still shoot competitively."

She stepped back, crossed her arms, and skewered me with her eyes. "Okay, buddy boy. Show me what you got."

"In the spare bedroom, then. I can't believe you didn't peek into that closet."

"Son, I was already bothering you for a place to stay. Didn't want to become persona non grata by sticking my nose where it didn't belong."

"Open it then."

Inside, neatly arranged, were a few gun cases. On the hanger was my hardback shooting jacket. The stool and carry bag and rolled up mat were in there. I was equipped for my hobby.

"I suppose I need to explain," I told her as I pulled one of my rifle cases out of the closet. "Highpower rifle competition has about as much to do with shooting under combat conditions as ballet has with kung fu. I compete in highpower. Usually in the 'military rifle' class. Sometimes in what they call 'F-class'."

I popped the latches on the case, opening.

"That's almost an M-16," she said. She looked at me. "Can I?"

"Sure. It's not..." Before I could finish telling her it wasn't loaded, she had the bolt back, checking the chamber. Okay, now THAT is different. The rifle went to her shoulder almost naturally, too, and I noted a finger held well away from the trigger.

"Heavier than I remember," she said.

"Match conditioned. Heavy barrel. Weight in the buttstock for stability."

"Can I dry-fire it?"

"Sure." After all, I'd watched her clear it. I watched her trigger finger. First pad went on the trigger. She racked a bit back to put some tension on her back, nestled the stock into her shoulder pocket, laid her head over...

"That black thumbtack on the wall is there for a reason, isn't it?" she questioned.

"Yep."

She drew a breath, let half out, then <<Click!!!>>.

"Memories..."

"You know what you're doing?"

"I actually LIKED shooting."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. When can we go play?"

"Maybe after work..."

"Show me more!" Sounded like the kid in the candy store. I showed her some of my other guns. Like I said, I like to play the games.

"So you have enough guns so that if you went to a match and brought me, I could shoot, too?"

I nodded. I know guys that would die to have wives interested in their hobbies. Conversely, I knew guys who had wives they got away from through their hobbies. Apparently I was becoming a member of the first group.

"It'd take a bit of prep, but yeah, everybody has a first time. If that's what you want."

"I won't know until I try, huh?" she looked at me, her eyes, happy, bright, expectant.

"You're nuts, you know," I said. "You're really something special."

"I'm just me."

I had to kiss 'just me'. "Now, just so you know, here's where some of the other guns are located. I showed her around.

"You're..." she changed to a facsimile of a breathless new reporterette, "one of those horrible paranoid gun nuts, sir!"

"My house. My rights. And even though it's a nice neighborhood, you never know. Last year I sat with scared neighbors for twenty minutes waiting for cops to show up. Daughter's loser boyfriend broke into the garage and stole a bunch of stuff. Twenty minutes. Not good odds."

"And you KNOW I'm kidding. What pistols do you have?"

Something in her eyes... "I'll show you mine if you show me yours..."

"First, this!" She opened her purse and produced a card. "I'm legal. Second..." She pulled out a neat little semi-auto. " .380," she said. "Any bigger and it would be too heavy. And I know ... I have to leave it in my car when I'm at work, but still, if it's legal, I carry."

Now I'm REALLY thinking. "Is this something that you and Bert did together?"

She gimleted me with her brown eyes. "Hell no! We were going through one of those rough patches. He took off to a job somewhere in Georgia. I took the classes. He never knew..."

"He never hit you, did he?"

"No. That would've been a bad mistake. No, he was a stupid drunk. Verbally abusive. But things could change. A smart person prepares. Besides, living with Bert on MY income, we didn't get into the most upscale accommodations."

"So I'm parsing all this and thinking you had your stuff together in so many ways..."

She smiled wanly. "But I was still with Bert. I know. Personal growth and all that..."

"Sorry about darkening things, dearest," I said.

She swung an arm around my neck, hauling us together. "You are my personal growth. YOU are the guy I should've been mature enough to look for in the first place instead of wallowing around aimlessly until God killed my car."

"You're really something, Jenn. I'm not sure what, but I really like it."

"Good. Like me in the shower, okay?"

That's a perfectly wonderful ruse to add another notch in our little honeymoon. Married or not, this IS the honeymoon. Showering is a happy thing with a lots more, "Let me help you with THAT" than is actually necessary for good hygiene. Well, at least the first shower was long, luxurious and lascivious. Then we got to the bedroom and ... breathless half an hour later, she turned to me. "Another quick shower? I don't want to go job-hunting while smelling like an orgy."

"But I LIKE you smelling like an orgy."

"Beast." Giggle. Oh! Look! It's hard again!"

Okay, let me be the first to admit that my Sunday night routine was severely impacted by the presence of a Jenn in my life. Somewhere along the evening we both managed to lay out clothes for the next day. I didn't watch TV. The computer was untouched.