She leaned in and hugged my arm and then said regally, “Home James.” I glanced at my watch, crap, my breakdown lasted almost an hour. She just held me the whole time?
Before long she had me navigate to an apartment complex close to the 833rd Transportation Battalion headquarters. I wondered again if Guardian One was located there, or nearby. Bad questions to be having in my head. Better for operational security that I never know the answer.
We sat in the car a minute then I exhaled and hopped out and ran around to open her door. I walked her to her door to make sure she was safe then said, “Goodnight Valkyrie One. Nice to know a real angel is behind the voice.”
She grinned up at me like a pleased kitten at the comment then stood on her tip toes and once again laid a feather light kiss on my lips. Lingering for three heartbeats, I know because I counted them. Then she blushed and said. “Call me, Kenz.” I nodded and she disappeared through her door. I stood there a moment, just grinning like a fool, twirled in place with a smile, then made my way back to the car. Damn, it was going to be almost zero two hundred when I got back, I hope Nana didn't stay up.
Chapter 6 – Will
The alarm on my watch chimed once and my eyes snapped open. As usual, I was in a cold sweat as the nightmares faded. I hit the button on it and the clock face glowed dimly red, illuminating the hands. Zero Five Hundred. I blinked for a moment wondering why I hadn't woke up before the chime before I remembered where I was. My biological clock was set to Camp Guinevere time.
I took a deep breath then sat up. Nana had waited up for me last night and I felt like crap about it. It was an oddly surreal feeling when I retired to my old bedroom. It was just like it was when I finished high school. I looked at the posters on the wall and my old collection of music CDs stacked on the top of the dresser. It was like another life, back when I was young and innocent. I grinned at the huge poster of Penny from Leather and Heels on the back of the door. I had a megga schoolgirl crush on her back then, she was such a bad girl.
I rolled out of bed and onto the floor and started my push-ups. I kept glancing at the colorful cover of my scrapbook on the nightstand as I did my workout. Once I finished my sit-ups, I looked in the drawers and grabbed a t-shirt to go running in. I held it in front of me, now that was a hell of a thing. How did I ever fit that tiny thing?
I remember the rail thin girl I had been, five foot eleven and still growing in my senior year. Which brought to mind all the Beanpole and Long Lezzie jokes the other girls threw at me back then. Long before I bulked up with muscle. I was really proud of my body now.
I tossed the shirt back into the drawer with the others and sighed as I again put on my BDUs. I'd have to pick up com civvies in town today. Can't be wandering around all GI Jane all the time. I tried to leave quietly so I didn't wake up Nana, but before I got half way to the front door, she poked her head out of her bedroom in a fluffy pink robe. She had concern on her face and I just smiled. “Just getting in my morning run. Be back in thirty.” She nodded and smiled and withdrew back into her room.
I took off running the familiar neighborhood, and kicked past the Woodland Park Zoo and up onto Aurora Avenue. I was both amazed and relived how little had actually changed in twenty years as I ran south, crossing the Aurora Avenue bridge into Downtown. I had heard stories from some career Army like me, who had gone home after years in the service to find their towns almost unrecognizable.
I paused on the bridge, soaring so far above the waters of Lake Union, it was an inspiring sight. To the west, the Fremont Drawbridge was up, allowing a cargo vessel to pass through. I inhaled the familiar smell of a coastside city and resumed my run, kicking up the pace to make up for the time I spent on the bridge lollygagging.
I turned and went back the way I came. I had promised Nana I'd be back in thirty minutes, so I'd get just over four and a half miles in, that was ok, I'd just extend my run the next morning. When I got back, the almost orgasmic smell of Nana's cooking assaulted me and my mouth started watering. I waved at her as I passed through to the bathroom to shower.
I thought about how I missed this place without even realizing it while I cleaned up. With so many familiar things around me, it almost felt like home. I went back to my room and put on my last clean set of fatigues. I stepped into the hall and pulled aside the little accordion door at the end of it and started a load with all of my laundry.
Then I joined Nana in the kitchen. She had a huge breakfast for two waiting on a little kitchen table. I was salivating as I stepped up to her as she was sliding some sort of heavenly smelling omelet creation onto a plate, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Morning Nana.”
She smiled at me as she slid the skillet into the sink. “Morning Kenz, did you have a good run?” I shrugged and helped her bring the last of the food to the table.
We started chatting about nonsensical things as I ate possibly the best meal I have had in decades. I had forgotten just how good Nana Z's cooking was. There is a reason she owns one of the most celebrated eateries in Seattle. The Pike Bakery has won more awards than even Alessandro's Italian Kitchen here. I kept up with it through the newspaper clippings dad would send.
Before I enlisted, she used to travel around the city with her van with “Mama Z's” painted on the side. It pulled a portable oven that she would bake fresh bread, scones, and pastries in. She was always in demand. It wasn't until years after I had enlisted that she somehow stumbled into the most amazingly affordable lease option on a place at the busiest location in Seattle, Pike Place Market.
I smiled as I ate possibly the fluffiest omelet I had ever had, with a perfect mix of cheese and ham, the onions and peppers gave a perfect balance of texture and taste. I grinned because she had also made a huge helping of those shredded hash browns that I love that always make her roll her eyes at my unsophisticated palette.
When I was washing down the last bite of a wonderful meal, I realized something. “Shouldn't you be at the Pike prepping for the day?”
She paused and looked at me almost sadly, then said dismissively, “Oh pish posh. I'm taking the week off so that we can lay poor George to rest. Crystal has a five-star chef coming in to keep the Pike running for me. He owes her a favor.”
Crystal? Again? I asked, “Who is this Crystal woman anyway?”
She smiled as we cleared the table and started washing the dishes. I automatically grabbed the dish towel and dried as she washed, almost like it were muscle memory form the two years I lived with her so long ago. She said, “She is just a sweet woman who likes to take care of her friends. She reminds me a lot of your mother, Trina.” I saw a flicker of loss in her eyes when she mentioned Mom.
I just smiled reassuringly at her as I took the last pot and hung it on the baker's rack hanging above the range on the central island in the kitchen. “Well, I have to thank her for that as well.”
I inhaled deeply. Not able to push the topic off and I said a little hoarsely, “I have to call the funeral home to convey our wishes. Then at nine thirty to discuss his will with Dad's lawyer. He'd like you and Dad's crew there. I don't have any way to contact them...”
She pulled out her cell and held it up. “I'll handle them, and of course I'll be there, there is no other place I'd be baby.” She paused taking a breath then looking up into my eyes. “He was like a son to me you know. He was a good man who took care of my daughter, and then after...” She left mom's death unspoken. “He took care of me, not many men would do that for a mother-in-law.” She reached her hand out and I grabbed it. “He took good care of you. You were his shining star and he did the best he could.”
My vision was getting a little watery and I just nodded, he was the best dad a girl could ask for. The best he could, was far better than most girl's fathers. He helped me grow into a strong woman who knows who she is.
She made her calls, but I had to wait until nine to make my calls. I finished my laundry and retired to my bedroom and sat on my bed, looking around while I waited. I kept gla
ncing at my scrapbook on the nightstand. Finally, I reached over and grabbed it. Monica and I had started it right after I had come to live with Nana in my Junior year. I worked on that thing all the way up to the day I shipped out to Basic.
I opened the cover and ran my fingers over the pictures, concert and movie tickets, and a letter from Monica swearing on our friendship. Reading it now, I could see she was interested in me as more than a friend, I was just dense back then and it took me far too long to realize it and move on it.
I smiled in spite of myself. I still couldn't bring myself to be angry at the girl for dumping me in a letter. She had helped me realize who I am. I traced her face with a touch of melancholy. She looked so young there, I snorted as I looked at the tall, gangly girl towering over her, but so did I.
I turned the page and stopped at one picture that made me smile. There was an image of one of the first people to inspire me besides my Dad. There was this badass senior that had transferred from another school. Rumor has it that she was kicked out of her other school for fighting.
You'd think she was a bully after seeing her and hearing that talk, but she was the exact opposite. I mean she had the badass look down, with some ever present army boots that she said were her father's. But she was one of the friendliest girls, who had a huge hate on for bullies. She would champion everyone and come down on anybody that picked on anyone who was different. Her name was Vee Taylor.
She was one of the three people in my life that inspired me. She showed me that by stepping up and standing up for others, one person can make a difference. She wasn't afraid of who she was and that sort of inspired me to finally accept who I was, and admit to myself that I was attracted to women.
She made it half way to the end of the year before she was expelled for fighting a bully who was picking on an autistic student. I hear she made a name for herself later, in poetry or something like that. Good for her.
I kept flipping the pages and found myself smiling. It basically chronicled my relationship with Monica as it grew. I covered my mouth with the picture of us in our dresses, going to our senior prom as a couple. I swear to God, dad had a happy tear in his eye when he took that picture.
Monica never flinched at all the bigots we had to face at the dance, we only had eyes for each other, and my dad had taught me to be strong. The school board had a conniption fit when they heard what we had done. But I hear same sex dates are not that uncommon at school functions anymore in most of the states.
My heart sped up when I turned the page and there were dozens of clippings of news articles about my personal hero. Anabella West. She was a deaf woman from my hometown of Vancouver just a couple years older than me at the time.
She fought the city council for removing her from volunteer positions with the city when they discovered she was gay and in a relationship with none other than Mandy Fay Harris if you can believe it. The bad girl of rock herself.
She fought them and won. Not only that but she championed several worthy causes, like the teen suicide hotline and more facilities for the homeless. She was a force unto herself and I had marveled that a young woman could take on all of that, walk through the fires of hate and ignorance and come out stronger. She reinforced for me that we should always fight for others, no matter the cost. She was the inspiration for me joining the military. I wanted to make a difference and fight for what was right.
I grinned at the thought that she was now a congresswoman, shaking up the foundations of the government and causing change. Still fighting for what is right.
The three people that shaped the soldier I would become were my dad, Vee Taylor, and Anabella West. That reminded me of something and I dug in my duffle bag and pulled out an old tattered magazine with an article about Anabella in it titled, “The Unstoppable Force”. I slid the magazine into the scrapbook and closed it. I ran my fingers over the book then put it back on the nightstand.
I noticed the time on the little alarm clock there and blinked, it was already nine, where had the time gone? I walked out to the living room and grabbed the landline and called the funeral home. The person sounded almost mechanical to me, the way they expressed their sympathies while also trying to upsell their services to “honor” my father. Dad and I had discussed this once, and I knew what he wanted, cremation and a simple urn. But I couldn't leave it at that, I opted for a military urn for his time in the National Guard Reserves.
The funeral director would contact the VA Tahoma National Cemetery to arrange internment for Friday and handle the obituary and notification of the service. When I got off the phone with him, I was cold and felt that surreal feeling again knowing that Dad just wasn't with us anymore. That's when I realized Nana was sitting beside me on the couch.
I looked at her with my lips pressed firmly in a line then laid my head on top of hers. We just sat there silently for a minute before I took a deep breath and sat up. “Let's get this over with?” She nodded and we stood together. I looked down at myself. “I'll need to pick up some civvies today so I don't stand out so much in public.”
She chuckled with a smile only a grandmother could give. “You were born to stand out baby girl.”
I shook my head at her with a little smile and we stood and made our way to the car. I punched in the address for Dad's lawyer, Kincade Stenson, and we were off.
Dad always had a knack for finding the right person for any given job. Sometimes his choices were unorthodox but it never took long to determine that they were inspired. When we arrived at the strip mall, I turned to Nana and arched an eyebrow. She shrugged and gave me a crooked smile, letting me know she was a little confused too. I mean... a strip mall?
We looked beside a dry cleaners and there was a small door with lettering that read Kincade L. Stenson, Esquire. I snorted and pulled the door open for my grandmother. My father's lawyer is in a strip mall... it was sort of fitting in an ironic way.
We passed a restroom in the entry hall and stepped into a one room office that looked like it belonged in a supermarket manager's backroom or something. I smiled at Dad's crew, Ren, Iris, and Joseph, who were sitting in mismatched chairs in front of the little Formica-covered desk that was virtually surrounded by overstuffed filing cabinets.
They stood and greeted Nana, then Iris froze when she looked at me. “Oh my god! McKenzie!? Wow! I almost didn't recognize you. You filled out well!”
I bent down and engulfed the little woman in a hug, dangling her feet off the ground. I set her down and grinned. “Hi Aunt Iris, you haven't changed a bit.” Though it was odd seeing her graying hair that used to be shiny black. Well, I guess she is in her fifties now.
She chuckled. “No need to be diplomatic Kenz. But thank you.” I grinned at her. She was the knife thrower in the show. She taught me how, and that skill has saved my life on a couple occasions.
I turned to the two men who were now standing beside me, I shook their hands heartily. “Uncle Ren, Uncle Joe.” They weren't really my aunt and uncles, but they had raised me just as much as Dad did in the Wild West Extravaganza. It was like having a whole troop of parents.
Joe nodded. “You look good girl. You do us all proud.” The rest nodded agreement. He made a show of running his hand across his shiny bald dome, grinned, and tilted his head toward mine and said, “We're almost twins now.”
I rolled my eyes at the man. Even back in the day he had a rapidly receding hairline. I thought the new look made him look more distinguished. I said, “It's more convenient like this in the desert.”
I turned to the Man who had been standing behind the desk who had moved around to greet us. He put a hand out and I gave it a firm shake as I sized the man up. The man was a mix of ambulance chaser cliches. He looked like a used car salesman slash cowboy wannabe.
He wore a God awful green plaid suit with a bright green shirt and a red bow tie. Not a clip-on, but a honest to goodness bow tie. A belt with a huge silver horseshoe belt buckle held up his pants and he wore ostrich skin cowboy boots to com
plete his ensemble.
His thick hair was so grey it was almost white, all slicked back and hanging down to his shoulders in the back. His well weathered face was a road map of wrinkles. But he did have a genuine smile under the walrus style mustache.
I would have thought the man was a bottom-feeder type lawyer if not for three facts. The first being that Dad had chosen the man and Dad had an uncanny knack for picking the diamonds in the rough and he was almost never wrong. The man had a firm handshake, not the type where they try to overpower you, but the type that conveys confidence. And finally, his eyes. They had a spark of sharp intelligence as he met my eyes, I could tell he was peripherally taking in my appearance and bearing, and categorizing me. This man was not who he projected with his most likely practiced appearance... the eyes never lie.
I knew he was aware of my mirrored scrutiny and his smile widened slightly as he said, “Miss Meyers. Kincade L. Stenson, Esquire. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.” Then his voice and demeanor softened almost imperceptibly. “I just wish it were under different circumstances.”
I nodded and released his hand and turned to Nana. “And this is my grandmother...”
He interrupted, “Of course, Mrs. Zatta. George thought of you like his mother.” He took her hand in both hands and shook lightly. Then he looked around and darted over to the far wall and grabbed an old plastic lawn-chair and a folding chair that were leaning up against it. He unfolded them and put them in front of the desk, completing a semi-circle with the others. “Pleas ladies, have a seat.”
We sat and he rushed around his desk and sat. His eyes seemed to momentarily rest on each of us, like he was evaluating us. He nodded, almost imperceptibly again then slid one of two stacks of papers on his desk forward slightly. He grabbed the second stack and turned and put it on top of an industrial grade paper shredder in front of the floor to ceiling window behind him.
He turned and said, “Before we start, does anyone need anything to drink? Coffee, water?” Nobody spoke up and he pursed his lips and said, “So you all know, George was not just my client, he was a friend, and I am terribly sorry for your loss. The man gave me a chance years back when nobody was giving me a second look. Most of my clients were referred to me by him or by the people he referred to me. He was a good, honest, and hardworking man and father.”
Dead Shot Page 5
