by Bobby Akart
When the doors opened, his visions of solitude quickly evaporated into a mirage, as two Air Force duffle bags had been tossed on the floor in front of him, and the sounds of laughter emanating from the kitchen filled the open floor plan.
Gunner shook his head in disbelief and dropped his rucksack near the duffels. He turned to the right, rounding the corner leading to the kitchen without being noticed by its noisy occupants. He managed a smile as he took in the view.
In front of the sink was his seventy-two-year-old father, Granville Fox, lovingly referred to by everyone as Pop. He was wearing a pair of Bermuda shorts, a white tee shirt and a yellow-and-white apron around his neck.
To his left was Gunner’s childhood friend, and now a member of his quick-reaction force team, Cameron Mills. Cam, as she’d been called since they’d met in fourth grade, had joined the Air Force prior to Gunner. They’d attended USAF Special Operations School together at Hurlburt Field and were eventually paired on several missions.
Gunner took in the scene. The nine-foot-long kitchen table that doubled as an island was covered in wax paper, baking sheets, recipe books, and a myriad of ingredients ranging from flour to flavorings. Despite the hellacious mess the two had created, the aroma of fresh baked something-or-others filled the room and immediately reminded Gunner that he hadn’t taken the time to eat that afternoon.
Pop and Cam were completely immersed in the task at hand, which, to the best of Gunner’s poignant analysis, seemed to be baking for an Army, or a bake sale. Since his mom had died, Gunner’s dad had found a variety of ways to cope, including learning the basics of running a household.
Mom had handled all of the chores from cooking to cleaning to making sure her boys were well taken care of. As a result, Pop was never allowed to participate in any of the day-to-day household functions and found himself at a loss when she suddenly died from cancer. Over time, he’d learned to fend for himself, and after a year or so of microwaveable dinners and takeout, he learned to cook. The final step, one that also involved stepping out into the social world, was joining the local bake club.
Yes, Apalachicola had a bake club that gathered once a month. The demographic was about what one would expect—older ladies, many of whom were widowed, and all of whom had the perfect recipe with just the right secret ingredient to make a pie or cake or muffin better than the rest.
The bake club had a secondary purpose—teaching newlywed young women the art of preparing baked goods and meals for their husbands, many of whom were stationed at nearby Tyndall Air Force Base. So there was a mix of grandmothers and twentysomethings who got together in one another’s homes every month to discuss baking, cooking, plus the caring and nurturing of the men in their life.
And then along came Pop. As the twenty-first century was well underway, and despite the fact that society had made leaps and bounds in terms of social interaction, there were still some frontiers left unexplored. Until Pop arrived on the scene, the Apalachicola Bake Club had been one of those.
In a historic first, a story that even made the Apalach Times, Pop was welcomed into the previously ladies-only Apalachicola Bake Club. He was welcomed with open arms and made into a mascot of sorts.
Then he got serious. He studied and practiced, invading Gunner’s kitchen from time to time because, as Pop chided, somebody’s got to use it. Soon, when various social organizations and clubs held bake sales or fundraisers, his offerings became in high demand, eventually becoming more popular than the goodies prepared by even the oldest members of the bake club.
It didn’t take long until a friendly rivalry between clubbers turned into a claws-out, fangs-bared, I’m-gonna-show-them-who-makes-the-best-pineapple-upside-down-cake competition. Pop continued to attend club functions, but he rarely introduced his best work, saving that for special events. Gunner’s home had become Pop’s test kitchen, and obviously, tonight, there was a lot of testing going on.
Gunner shook his head in disbelief and strolled to the refrigerator in search of a Hooter Brown Ale, which was now being brewed in twelve-ounce bottles. Oyster City Brewing had gone regional, much to the delight of Southerners, but adding to the perpetual headaches of the microbrewer’s founders.
He glanced toward the sofa that faced the glass wall panels overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. He was surprised that Howard, his basset hound, hadn’t come to greet him at the elevator. Gunner surmised that Howard was exhausted by all the activity, as he heard a faint snore coming from that direction.
Gunner opened the refrigerator and froze. There was no beer. There was no food. There was no nothing but mixing bowls of a variety of doughs, all covered with Saran wrap, and a couple of trays of cookies awaiting their turn in the oven.
He set his jaw and gritted his teeth. Then he took a deep breath and exhaled. Now these two had crossed a line. He decided to make his presence known.
“What the hell, you guys? Where’s my beer?”
Pop was startled and jumped a little. Cam swung around with a wooden spatula as if she were going to make some type of ninja move on her assailant.
“Gunner!” she shouted. After tossing the spatula on the table and wiping her hands on the matching apron to Pop’s, she approached her friend and partner to exchange a brief hug.
Their relationship was purely professional when in the presence of others, with Cam overcompensating for being a woman by working hard to be one of the guys. When she was alone with Gunner and Pop, she was more like a sister, a best pal, who’d grown up with Gunner through high school until they’d followed different career paths, eventually reuniting at Hurlburt Field.
“Hello, son,” said Pop with a smile. “Um, Cam came to visit and I told her I was thinking about trying out a couple of recipes. Well, you know, one thing led to another and, um … hungry?”
Gunner laughed and reached down to pluck a cookie off an oblong platter. White chocolate with macadamia nuts, coupled with a hint of nutmeg. Pretty good, Gunner thought to himself. He’d never been one for baked treats, but until Pop joined the how-to-cook-three-square-meals club, if there was such a thing, cookies would have to do.
“Hungry, yes. Thirsty, hell yeah. What did y’all do with my beer?”
“Don’t panic, Gunner,” replied Cam, shaking her head. “I brought the Yeti cooler from downstairs and filled it with ice and your beloved Hooter Brown. And, out of respect for the king of this fabulous castle, I didn’t drink any until you came home.”
“Wise move, Cam,” he said with a chuckle. She pointed toward the kitchen pantry, which was tucked away behind a pocket door adjacent to the refrigerator. Gunner grabbed a beer, which was much colder than if it had been stored in the refrigerator. As he returned, he asked, “What did you guys do to Howard? It’s not like him to sleep through my coming home.”
“We filled his tummy with yummies,” replied Pop.
“Cookies? Come on, Pop. He’s too old for—”
“No, not cookies. I fixed him some rice and burger, topped with Nummy Tum-Tum pumpkin.”
Gunner set his beer on the table and ran his fingers through his hair. This evening was straight out of an episode of The Twilight Zone. “Nummy what? Pumpkin?”
“Yeah, it’ll be good for him, so I picked some up at Publix in Tallahassee. It’s called Nummy Tum-Tum pumpkin.”
“Is it for dogs? And what’s so good about it?”
Pop paused and wandered toward the sofa as if to make sure Howard had, in fact, survived the meal. He rubbed the pup’s considerable belly, causing Howard to stretch and let out a long fart. “Yes, son, it’s good for him. It promotes digestive health, which will make him poop better.”
Gunner rolled his eyes. “He poops just fine, Pop.”
Cam tried to stifle a laugh, as this conversation was destined to devolve into something not befitting a baking session.
“Son, he’s having difficulty. Haven’t you heard him strain?”
“Good lord, Pop. Seriously? No, I haven’t listened to whether Howard is stra
ining as he takes a—”
“He’s straining, and I can’t give him Senokot, so Nummy Tum-Tum pumpkin is the solution.”
Gunner wanted it to end, so he grabbed his beer and surrendered the argument. Pop – one. Gunner – zero.
He passed Pop in the kitchen and shook his head in disbelief. Just as he was about to take a seat, he heard the elevator get called to the ground floor.
“Now what?” he muttered to himself.
Chapter 19
Thursday, April 5
Dog Island
Florida Panhandle
The elevator doors opened and two heavy duffle bags were thrown out, joining Cam’s and Gunner’s gear with a thud. A voice boomed through the opening.
“Hi, honey. I’m home!”
Gunner closed his eyes and allowed his chin to drop to his chest. Jesus, take the wheel.
“Bear, what a surprise!” shouted Cam from the kitchen.
Gunner wished he were back in the F/A XX, flying into the heavens.
“Hey, am I too late for the samples?”
“Front and center, Sergeant,” ordered Pop, a former USAF staff sergeant himself. “I’ve got something I think you’ll like.”
Staff Sergeant Bear King reported to duty, casually acknowledging Gunner as he passed. “Hey, Gunner.”
Gunner raised his beer and tipped the top of the bottle in response. He loved Dog Island because there was no way to access it by car, making arrival very difficult. Somehow, these invaders had figured out a way to descend upon his home anyway.
“I think you’ll like these,” said Pop.
He presented the plate to Bear, who grabbed a handful of the cookies. He wasn’t shy.
He passed the cookies under his nose and took a deep breath. “Oh, man. Snickerdoodles. My favorite. Are these Mom’s recipe?” When Bear first met Gunner, it had been at Mom and Pop’s house. The team had been deployed, and Bear had swung by with Cam in tow on the way to Eglin. Mom insisted that Gunner’s new partner try her snickerdoodle cookies. Bear immediately fell in love with the chewy centers covered with cinnamon sugar.
“They are,” replied Pop. “There’s a slight improvement, however. They’re gluten-free.”
“Huh?” asked a puzzled Bear. “What’s wrong with gluten?”
“It can lead to a number of problems, Sergeant, from nerve damage to osteoporosis to infertility.”
“Really? This gluten stuff can keep me from, you know—” Bear’s voice trailed off as he raised his muscular right arm and flexed his bicep. He slapped the palm of his left hand over his bicep and then flexed his forearm, a gesture that, in his mind, emulated a showing of his sexual prowess.
Cam immediately picked up on what the man-child was referring to. “No, you idiot. Infertility has nothing to do with your ability to make your manhood perform.”
“Whew, that’s a relief,” said Bear, and he crammed an entire cookie into his mouth all at once. While he munched it down, he approached his attractive, single partner. “Since I’ve had one, maybe I should make sure your theory is correct.”
Cam started laughing and slowly backed away from Bear, but continued teasing him to induce his approach. She leaned back toward the kitchen counter as Bear came closer, and when he was a few feet away, she slid her hands behind her and opened the kitchen drawer. In a flash, she produced two ten-inch kitchen knives and presented them to her assailant.
“Let’s not, okay?” she said with a grin.
Bear, who stood six feet four and weighed two hundred forty pounds, stopped in his tracks. Gunner, who’d been watching the interaction between the two, knew that Cam had a plan to exploit the big man’s greatest weakness—the opposite sex.
“Sure, Cam. Jeez. I was just teasin’.” Bear devoured another cookie and then he turned his attention to Gunner, who’d just finished his beer.
“Say, Gunner, can I get you a beer?”
“Yeah, brother. Grab one for yourself and Cam, too.” Gunner smiled, as he knew that was what Bear wanted to begin with.
“Roger that.”
Cam playfully shoved Bear and then gave him a big hug. The two joked with one another, but when on mission, they’d saved each other’s lives on more than one occasion. The trio shared a close-knit relationship, one that was all business when it needed to be, but fun and games when they were alone. As a unit, their interaction wasn’t complicated by jealousy, judgments, or sexual interests. It was if they’d been molded into a single cohesive fighting force, with the combination of their talents rolled into one machine.
Staff Sergeant Barrett King had been an all-American football standout at the Air Force Academy, where he was also an Academic all-American. Born in Texas, Bear often played the dumb-Southern-country-boy routine to throw his adversaries off guard. In fact, he had a keen sense of awareness and an innate ability to read people. He was rarely caught off guard, except when Cam took advantage of his sole weakness—women.
Gunner had to ask the question, but he already knew what the most likely answer was. “So, Bear, it’s good to see you. I couldn’t help but notice you brought two large duffels with you.”
“Um, yeah, about those,” Bear began, shyly stammering his words. “You see, um—”
Gunner let out a hearty laugh. “She kicked you out again, didn’t she?”
Bear grimaced and shook his head from side to side, a motion totally inapposite to the answer. “Yeah, man. I mean, I told her she was kinda overreacting and that a text message doesn’t mean anything. But, um—”
“What kind of text message?” asked Gunner.
“Well, I met this girl in a bar, you know, spring-break type. Well, she sent me this picture of her. And that was it.”
“No, Bear, there’s more,” said Gunner, who knew his friend well.
“Well, she didn’t have any clothes on, but, hey, that wasn’t my fault!”
Cam started laughing and then said in an accusatory tone, “You were sexting!”
“No, I wasn’t!” Bear shot back.
“Did you send her a snap of that thing? You know, put the slinky on her?”
Bear flopped on the sofa, causing Howard to rise into the air slightly on the other end. Somehow the basset hound managed to maintain his slumber.
“All right, maybe I did. I stopped by Shalimar Cheers on Eglin Parkway last night after training at the range. You know, I was with the younger guys, and they eat up the attention they get from the girls who are down on spring break. Anyway, there was this one girl, cute, you know. Well, we had too many beers and she asked me if I wanted to see what she had under the hood.”
Pop’s interest was now piqued. “She said under the hood?”
“Yeah, Pop. I mean, this chick was stacked, so, you know, I’m a guy. I was just kinda curious. Anyway, she asked for my phone number and said she’d text me a picture. She sent it to me and I was totally impressed, you follow?”
“Yeah, I follow,” said Cam, who was truly enjoying the whole exchange. “So, let me guess, moron, you snuck off to the men’s room, whipped it out, and showed her what you’ve got under your hood. Am I right?”
Bear blushed as much as a black man was capable of blushing. He sheepishly nodded his head.
“Wait! Wait!” Cam was a little too enthusiastic, but funny nonetheless. “You gotta let me finish the story. So you two played show-and-don’t-tell, right? Then you get home late, smelling like a brewery. You hustle off to the shower to wash away your sins, and guess who sneaks a peek at your cell phone.”
The whole time that Cam was summarizing the events as they occurred, Bear grimaced and nodded his head in agreement.
“My old lady saw the texts and threw my ass out of the house,” the man-child groaned.
Gunner kicked off his shoes and slumped in his chair. He made eye contact with the trio of misfits who stood before him and then directed his attention back to Bear. “So, let me guess. Now your problem is my problem.”
“No, man. It’s not like that. I won’t be
a problem. I swear. You’ll hardly know I’m here. I can slum it on the couch. Or take the guest room upstairs.”
Gunner quickly responded, “There’s no bed up there. It’s a weight room, remember?”
“Plus, I claimed the couch already,” insisted Cam, drawing a look from Gunner. She hadn’t explained what she was doing there yet.
Bear frowned, trying to think up more options. “How about the hammock in the back? Seriously, just let me crash a few days until my old lady comes back to her senses.”
Pop, the fatherly figure to these three, stepped in. “Bear, it seems to me that she has come to her senses. First of all, you’ve been having sleepovers at her place for years and you haven’t even thought about putting a ring on her finger. Then, let’s recap, shall we? This isn’t the first time you’ve been kicked out of her place for chasin’ tail, is it?”
“Nah, Pop. You know how it is. A strong, chiseled, good-lookin’ black man, who’s smart too, is in high demand. I feel a sense of duty to womankind to make sure everybody gets a piece of this.” Bear raised his arms and flexed both of his massive biceps at once.
Cam rolled her eyes and threw a kitchen towel at him. “Dude, you’re so full of yourself. If you were my boyfriend, I would’ve shot you.”
Bear fought back. “Oh, who are you to judge? How many boyfriends have you been through? A dozen in the last year?”
“That’s not true, and you know it,” Cam defended. “Dates are not boyfriends, technically.”
“Oh, okay. Booty calls.”
Cam stuck out her jaw and came after Bear. He curled up on the sofa and tried to pull a cushion over his head to protect himself from the onslaught of fists pounding his arms and back.
Gunner pleaded with his team to calm down. “Come on, you guys. Howard’s gonna get pissed, start bellowing, and you know the saying, when Howard ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”
