by Lori Leger
“What the hell, man? You trying to tell me something?”
Ben shook his head and grinned. “A buddy of ours sent this all the way from Hawaii and the one thing I do know is that it ain’t mouthwash.”
Badge’s face stretched in a huge grin. “Teej sent you that? What’d he have to say?”
Ben pulled a notecard with a hand written message inside and held it up to read it. “He says, Happy New Year to the best damn bunch of Jarheads I’ve ever had the pleasure of serving alongside. Kinda wish I was with you guys … then again, kinda not.” He held up a snapshot of the man in question, sitting in a wheelchair, with a gorgeous redhead sitting on his lap.
Badge let loose a low whistle. “Day-uhm. Those long legs of hers almost make up for the one he lost. You think she’s legit?”
Ben shrugged as he reached for Badge’s now empty canteen and poured a share of the alcohol in it. “You know T.J. as well as I do. We probably won’t know unless we hear wedding bells. Hold off on that until everybody else is here.”
Within a few minutes, D-dub, Max, and Blake had all shown up with their canteens in tow. They passed around the photo and message from T.J., all commenting on his good fortune with the redhead as Ben filled their canteens with the man’s generous donation of “mouthwash”. The five of them lifted their canteens in unison as Ben lead with a short, but sincere, “To Teej. Thanks for giving us a taste of something other than the same old shit.” One more rousing round of “Oorahs”and they drank to the Marine brother who’d lost his leg to sniper fire during their previous deployment.
“Oh man, that’s good stuff.”
“Shit’s smooth, ain’t it?”
“I almost forgot what alcohol tastes like.”
“Let me see the brand of that mouthwash again? I’m gonna hafta buy stock in that shit.” D-dub’s comment drew snorts of laughter from the other four.
They toasted to fellow Marines, to the new upcoming year, or anything else for that matter, for the sake of toasting. Once they’d finished off the last of their alcohol, D-dub stared mournfully at his canteen. “Well, hell. It was good while it lasted. Thanks for sharing with us, Bones.”
Blake nodded in agreement. “Yep. I gotta admit, if somebody sent that to me, I’d be tempted to keep it to myself.”
Another round of thanks and agreements had Ben shaking his head. “That’s ‘cause you jerk-offs are a bunch of alcoholic mofos, and you’re Yankees. Now see, you could all learn something from me.” He placed his hand on his chest. “I’m a man from the great southern state of Louisiana, brought up by good people with Cajun backgrounds, and taught good old Cajun hospitality.” He leaned over to retrieve something from his duffle. “The Cajun way is to give thanks for good fortune, and to share it with others whenever possible.” He lifted a second large mouthwash bottle. “And that’s how we laissez les bon temps rouler in Louisiana.”
The next hour had them trading stories from their own escapades with drinking, fighting, women, and family, in general.
Max took another drink from his canteen and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Man, the last night before I joined the Corps, I was doing this same thing. We got together at my best friend, Bobby’s house. Next thing we knew, my buddy, Joe gets up to go to the head and he stops at the hallway—I mean freezes. Then he says, real quiet-like. ‘Bobby, you don’t have a pet skunk by any chance, do ya?’ Bobby says, ‘Dude, what the fuck are you talking about?’ Joe lifts up his arm and points down the hallway. ‘Don’t freak out, guys, he says, but there’s one right there.’ He starts backin’ up real slow to the door, motions us to follow him.”
“What’d you do, man?” Blake asked.
“I got the hell outta there. We all did, as calmly as we could. I’d been sprayed by a skunk once in my lifetime, and I wasn’t about to let it happen again. We left the front door open and sat in my quad cab waiting for that son of a bitch to leave. It would walk up to the front door, stick its head out every now and then, and then turn around and go back inside. Finally, around two in the morning, it waddled on out and went on its way.”
Ben took a pull from his canteen and recapped it. “That’ll put a hell of a damper on a going away party. You ever find out how it got inside?”
“One of the guys had gone out to smoke and left the back door unlatched. It was a brick home on a slab. It wasn’t difficult for the damn thing to come in or out.” He shook his head. “I was ten years old the one time I got sprayed. I was spending the week with my grandparents in southern Missouri. I went hunting in the woods in back of their house, and my paw paw’s old dog scared one up.” He grimaced from the memory. “My poor grandma bought every damn can of tomato juice in town and I had to bathe in that shit. She burned my clothes and my brand new Nike’s, too. She said it’d be easier than trying to get the stink out.”
“That sucks, man.”
“I know, right? I couldn’t have been wearing my old, cheap shoes.” He shook his head. “Fucking skunk.”
“I never got sprayed, but my little brother did when he was about six,” Blake offered. “Mom bathed him in tomato juice, too.”
Ben squinted at Blake. “Was that the brother you told me about, the one with the UTI when he went to the doc?”
Blake chuckled. “It sure was.”
Ben busted out laughing. “Man, you gotta tell ‘em that story.”
“Tell us, man,” Badge urged.
“Well, my little brother, Richie, was ten years old, but Richie was a tall kid, so he could have passed for eleven or twelve. He tells my mom he’s got a problem—down there.” Blake pointed to his crotch area. “He’s all embarrassed, doesn’t want Mom to go in with him, and our dad’s on a business trip. So mom asks me, I’m 17 at the time, if I’d go in the examination room with Richie to see the doctor.
Now I lived in a small town, and the doc has been practicing forever, right? The old dude must have been close to eighty at the time. He examines Richie and he asks him if he ever masturbated. Richie nods, says ‘Sure I do.’”
A round of snorts accompanied Blake’s story and he held up one hand to continue.
“Doc asks, “Does it burn when you ejaculate?” Richie gives me this look, and I can see it in his face—clearly the kid doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”
Another round of low chuckles filtered through the guys listening to the story as Blake continued.
“Now, I’m already shocked as all shit that my little brother is jerking off at ten—especially since I didn’t start until I was a mature man of twelve. I tell him, ‘You know, when it squirts out.’ Richie nods yeah and tells the doc, “Oh, yeah man. It burns like fire.” So, the doc asks him how many times a day he masturbated, with ejaculation, on average. Richie mulls this over for a few seconds and says all matter of fact like, ‘About six times a day.’”
Badge choked on the last pull from his canteen.
“Wh—what?” Max stammered.
Blake nodded. “I’m telling you man. The doc almost passed the fuck out.”
D-dub stared at him in shock. “Dude, you’re shittin’ me.”
Blake raised both hands. “Hang on. It took a few minutes to straighten it all out, but it turned out Richie got the word masturbate confused with urinate.” Their corner of the tent exploded with laughter.
Max finally caught his breath enough to face Blake. “Did the old doctor have a heart attack?”
“No, but he retired a week later. Said he didn’t think he could survive anymore surprises like that one. And believe me, everybody in town knew what happened by the next day.”
“Poor kid, so much for doctor-patient confidentiality,” Max muttered.
Blake shook his head. “Doc never said a word. I, on the other hand, told everybody I knew. That shit was too damn funny not to share.”
As their laughter finally dissipated, the sounds of someone singing Auld Lang Syne drifted over to them from somewhere outside of their tent. Realizing they’d laughed and drank thei
r way to the New Year, the five of them raised their canteens.
Ben chose a simple toast. “To the New Year, my brothers. May we all end it the same way we started, alive and with our limbs and privates in one piece, along with sharp minds, and our sanity intact.”
“Well, except for D-dub,” Badge added. “Because we all know it’s too late for that bat-shit crazy mo-fo.” His comment triggered one last round of chuckles, along with one ‘fuck-you very much’ before they tipped their canteens to finish off the last of the celebratory eighty-proof ‘mouthwash’. They stood and shook hands among each other before heading back to either the head or their own bunks.
“New Year’s eve sucks without fireworks, man.”
Ben shook his head, grinning at D-dub’s grumbled complaint as his buddy walked away. Blake’s reply sobered him immediately.
Damn, D-dub, we’re on the opposite side of the world from everyone we love. And the one thing you miss is fireworks?”
Badge called out to them. “Step outside our perimeter and set off a few rounds.”
“Yeah, bro. You’ll get your fireworks,” Max added.
Ben sat with his back against his pack and pulled up the pictures of Haley on his phone, wishing for a single minute with her, knowing it wouldn’t be enough.
Less than four months. How had a girl he’d only known for that short a time period crept into his heart as she had? He didn’t believe in telling anyone he loved them unless he was totally committed. Family members, sure—hell, you gotta love your family, but a woman? Nah—he’d vowed early on he wouldn’t be like other guys he’d known. They’d tell chicks they loved them to get a piece of ass, then dump ‘em, and move on to the next one. Not his style.
Coming from divorced parents, who’d both found loving relationships later and remarried, he knew that commitment to one person wasn’t meant to be taken lightly. He’d always known that once he found someone he wanted to be with, he’d be with her until death, whoever’s came first.
He flipped through photos of Haley with her horse, Dakota, and her red terrier dog, Paisley, with him, with her parents, with Tex, with his siblings, barrel racing, frowning, smiling, and laughing.
Did he love her already? He thought so. Could he tell her yet? No way. Thinking something wasn’t good enough to bring love into the equation. He had to be sure. He had to know she’d never look at another man, and that he’d never look at another woman. Once he married, he didn’t want divorce mixed into the equation.
“Happy New Year, Haley. I hope you’re still around this time next year so I can say it face to face.” He turned off his phone to save the battery and stuffed it in his bag, before stretching out to catch some shut-eye. He couldn’t turn off the images of her appearing behind his lids, flipping from one to another like a high definition slide show.
She’d come to him in Hawaii on May 5th. May 5th was less than five months away. “Oh God,” he groaned. God, please let the next few months fly by. He ached to see her, to hold her in his arms. They would have an entire week together—and five or six months later, he would be home for good.
What’s a year? A year was nothing compared to forever. He made Haley repeat it to him at the end of every conversation, whether it was in a phone call, Skype, or text message. To his relief, it always seemed to make her stronger. That strength made it a little easier for him to end those calls.
He winced at a particular memory of Haley crying in his arms. God help him if she ever fell apart during a phone call or a Skype session as she did near the end of his visit home. He would never let her know how tough that was for him to witness, to feel her body shaking, wracked with sobs as she lay crying on his chest, completely inconsolable.
He prayed now for God to keep giving her strength. To show him what to do so he could help her pull from that reserve of strength. He wanted it for her, but it was also selfish on his part. Because here, on nights like this, away from all the comforts of home, the only thing he wanted more than to be home, was to be home with Haley.
Tex knocked several times before he heard a muffled call to enter. He hesitated slightly, hoping he hadn’t interrupted something personal. His fears proved unfounded as Mitch finally pulled the door open. The sight of his old buddy wearing an apron that said “Warning: The FDA recommends you wait until after the meal to insult the cook!” had him smothering his laughter.
“Hey, brother. Should I be watching for an interview in the Retired-Marine edition of Good Housekeeping, or something? You look like a souped-up version of Betty fucking Crocker—on steroids.”
Mitch raised his hand, along with an eyebrow as a word of warning. “Nix the f-bombs bro. The kid’s here.” Then he extended his hand. “Oohrah, brother. Meagan insisted—didn’t want me to get barbeque sauce on her ‘favorite shirt’.”
“I hope you aren’t finished yet. Cause you know your pit skills don’t hold a fu—flipping candle to mine.” Tex took the time to wipe his boots on the rug at the front door before walking inside.
“I don’t know, man. I’ve been getting some practice.”
“Pfft—I’ll be the judge of that.”
Meagan exited the kitchen wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “I thought I detected the distinct aroma of pure Texas BS in the air.” She lifted her nose and pulled in a deep breath.
He performed a suave, three-fingered adjustment to the brim of his Stetson and grinned. “Hey now, don’t mess with Texas, sweetheart.”
She beamed up at him. “How are you, good-looking? You ready to ring in the New Year with us?”
Tex wrapped his arms around her for a big hug, ending it by lifting her off her feet. “Yes I am, and you know you adore the smell of Texas BS.”
Meagan laughed as her feet touched the floor again. “Well, sure. Otherwise, I’d have called it a stench, rather than aroma.”
He rested both hands on her shoulders. “When you gonna give up on teaching that crazy Cajun some class and move on back to God’s country with me?” He gave her a clearly visible wink as Mitch slipped his arms around her waist from behind.
She clasped her hands around Mitchell’s and cocked her head to speak to him. “Don’t worry babe, you and I both know better, don’t we?”
Mitch kissed the side of Meagan’s neck as he returned the wink from Tex. “Uh huh. That’s sour grapes talking because he threw out his last chance at love to let a stripper take a spin around his pole.”
“Hey, I got a hell of a lap dance out of it once the doors closed.” He leaned in closer to finish. “And it didn’t cost me a dime.”
Meagan shook her head and headed back toward the kitchen. “You are such a pig, and oh, so predictable.”
Tex pointed at her. “And you’re judgmental. Strippers have to make a living too, you know. Some of those girls are stripping to pay for college.”
She turned, her fists resting on her hips. “I’m well aware of that. I don’t blame the stripper. I blame you for keeping my best friend waiting to hear from you while you enjoyed your lap-dance, free or otherwise.” She turned her back on him but grumbled the entire trip back into the kitchen area. “Then had the nerve to come back here, acting all shocked when she didn’t attack you like a starving woman would a chicken fried steak.”
Tex followed Mitch into the kitchen. He leaned his massive bulk against the door, crossing one boot over the other. “Okay, Megs, now that we all know I’m the scum of the earth, tell me one thing. In your honest opinion, is there anything I can do to steal her out from under Bo McAllister’s nose?”
Meagan looked up from stirring the meat mixture for the rice dressing. Her shoulders drooped suddenly as she released a long sigh. “Honestly, Tex? At this point, I don’t think she’s all that serious about Bo. But, as far as you’re concerned—” Mouth pursed, she shook her head slowly. “She’s not big on giving second chances, even from ex-Marine cowboys like you.”
Tex did some shuffling in his size 14 Luchesse boots. “I guess I knew that all along.” He removed his
hat to rake his fingers through his hair. “Guess it’s time to move on, then.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, Tex, but we uh, kinda figured that out already.” Mitch and Meagan shared a look loaded with reticence.
Tex narrowed his gaze at her. “What the hell does that mean?”
“We set you up with someone for tonight.” She spoke quickly, as though she didn’t want to lose her nerve.
He glared first at Meagan, then Mitch. “I don’t do blind dates. Bro, you know that.”
Mitch nodded. “I know that, and it’s not a date. I told you we were having some people over for an early supper before we go to the club tonight. She’s one of the people.”
“And these other people you got coming to this shin-dig—they’re all couples, I suppose.”
“It’s all people you’ve met before—Sarah, my sister, and her husband, Tanner, Red McAllister’s sister, Annie, and her husband, Drake LeBlanc, and … Drake’s secretary, Aubrey Abshire, who happens to be a very nice lady.”
“Nice?” Tex was about ready to knock that smug look right off of Mitchell’s face. “You better come up with something besides nice, or my ass is outta here.”
Mitch shrugged. “I mean, she could stand to lose a few pounds, or a hundred, and if she ever gets that huge, hairy wart removed from her nose, I’m sure it’ll do a lot to improve her profile. Of course the triple chin …”
Tex straightened and shook his head before jamming his hat back on and heading toward the door without another word.
Meagan muttered a low curse aimed at her fiancé. “Honestly, Mitch, are you trying to chase him away? Aubrey’s gorgeous, Tex.” She grabbed her phone from the cabinet. “Hang on and I’ll show you a picture of her.”
“I want to see a full-body shot, too, not one of those ‘selfie’ pictures women take. I heard they doctor those things up then plaster ‘em all over Facepage, or whatever the fu—hell they call it.”
“No, no—this was taken at a birthday party we all attended last week. Look, there’s Aubrey.” Meagan pointed to a red head standing to one side in a group shot.
