“At that time the Army was having a hard time filling its recruiting goals, so they had a guaranteed job program. You told them what you wanted to do, your MOS, they called it.
“It stood for Military Occupation Specialty or something like that, I think. Anyway, if they couldn’t get you that job you could opt out of going in.
“So I told them I wanted to be a military policeman and they gave me a physical. They gave me a book to look at, and each page had a bunch of multi-colored dots all mixed together. There was a hidden number and I had to tell them the number that was mixed in with the dots on each page.
“Well, most of the pages were no problem. But there were three pages that I swear had no number on them. Or at least I couldn’t see them.
“Honest to God, I thought that recruiter was messing with me. I wanted to stand up from my chair and punch him for playing a practical joke on me…”
“Shhhh. I think I hear someone coming.”
-47-
Sami doused the flashlight and they watched from the dark part of Bay 24 as David came into view.
He was walking down the mine’s main corridor heading toward the livestock bay.
And he was carrying a bucket.
He was on his way to milk old Daisy and to feed the stock.
And he was whistling, of all things, “Oh What a Night.”
They waited until he was out of sight and Sami whispered, “And then what happened?”
He told me I couldn’t be a military policeman because I had trouble differentiating between some shades of green, some shades of brown and some shades of red.”
“So what does that have to do with not being able to be a military policeman?”
“I asked the same question.”
“And…?”
“The recruiter explained that if I had a shootout with a bad guy and he was hiding in the bushes, I might not be able to see him if the leaves were certain shades of greens and browns.
“He said if that happened the bad guy could shoot at me all day long and I couldn’t return fire because he’d blend in with the bushes.
“It kinda made sense, sorta. So I told him forget the military police job. To make me a fireman instead. I’d kinda wanted to be a fireman since I was a little boy.
“But he said I couldn’t be a fireman either.
“I asked him why and he said that the fire hydrants on all military bases are painted brown.
“And that if I was driving a fire truck at night and the hydrants were the wrong shade of brown, that I’d ever be able to find them.
“He said the base would all burn down while I was stumbling around in the dark trying to find the darned hydrants.”
“He tried to talk me into signing up anyway. He said I could be a cook or work at a water plant or something.
“He said most soldiers didn’t really care about their MOS. They just wanted a steady paycheck and three hots a day and the chance to travel all over the world.
“He said I’d get to see Europe for free.”
“Wow. So what did you tell him?”
“I told him never mind. I went and worked at the windshield factory.”
“I’m glad he didn’t talk you into it.”
“Why?”
“Because you would have gone to Germany and met some pretty young fraulein with long blond hair and pigtails named Gretchen. And you’d have married her and had forty seven kids and I never would have been able to make you mine.”
“No way.”
“Which part, no way?”
“No way I’d have gone to Germany. I hate German food.”
He found another balloon that might be pink and held it up for her to see.
“Now you’re talking, big boy. That’s a pink one. Now how do we blow them up?”
“Heck, I don’t know.”
“Where are the instructions?”
Had Hannah and Sarah been around they’d have made a joke about the pair.
“Hey Hannah, how many Samis and Brads does it take to blow up two balloons?”
“I don’t know, Sarah. How many?”
“Way more than two, that’s for sure.”
They finally figured it out by poring over the instruction sheet which came with the kit.
And five minutes later they had two helium filled balloons, one pink and one blue, and were making their way back to the dining room.
There were a couple of early birds sitting in the corner drinking coffee, but they didn’t pay the pair any mind.
Their timing was about perfect though. Karen had already put out the coffee and was busy in the kitchen. She wouldn’t be out again for a little while. And the morning rush was due to start any minute now.
Sami tied the balloons to the back of her chair and sat down. Brad got them two cups of coffee and sat across from her.
“Now,” Sami said, “We’ll see which of these dummies can figure it out.”
-48-
As it turned out, the first two of the “dummies” to walk through were Bryan and Sarah Snyder.
Both looked like walking death.
Not from lack of coffee, but because Sarah had caught a cold a couple of days before.
And she believed in sharing her things with her husband.
Everything. Even sicknesses.
Neither looked like they got much sleep the night before.
Both said “Good morning” to Sami and Brad as they walked by.
Bryan kept walking to the coffee pot.
Sarah made it halfway there and stopped short.
She turned around and cocked her head to one side.
She said, “Wait. What?”
Sami just smiled.
That was all it took to confirm Sarah’s question. She squealed like a young girl being stalked by a big hairy spider.
Then she danced back to Sami and pulled the girl from her chair. She hugged her like there was no tomorrow.
Karen came running from the back of the kitchen to see if someone was hurt. She saw the balloons and needed no explanation. She was on Sami and Sarah in a heartbeat, her hands covered in butter and getting it all over her friends’ clothing.
They didn’t care.
Bryan, half sick, half asleep and all clueless, looked to Brad for some kind of explanation for the women’s bizarre behavior.
Brad was no help. He just shrugged.
“Must be a girl thing,” Bryan said to no one in particular and went back to pouring his coffee.
Debbie, who was halfway down the corridor and heading to check on Charlotte, heard the squeal and mistook it for a scream. She assumed somebody was hurt and ran to the source of the sound to assess the situation.
She saw the balloons and joined the congratulations.
All in all, every woman who saw the balloons knew exactly what they meant.
Only a couple of the men did.
It must, as Bryan observed, have been a girl thing.
-49-
Frank woke himself up by rolling over onto his wound.
He felt the bandage.
It was soaked.
It seeped all the time. That was nothing new. That was part of the reason Josie insisted the packing be removed and changed, and a new dressing added, several times a day.
But this time it seeped much more than it normally did.
She slept with a “prepper’s night-light,” a candle, and it provided just enough of a glow to show the dim outline of her body as she lay in her own cot several feet away from Frank.
He thought about waking her up to ask about the wet bandage; whether he should be concerned about it.
But no. He’d let her sleep. She’d been kind to him. Way more kind than she had to be.
Even when she figured out her was a cop, or used to be, she didn’t rat him out.
She was right. Her brothers, who’d run afoul of the law several times, considered all law enforcement officers the enemy. Had they known what she knew it wouldn’t have fared well for him.
>
But she held her tongue.
She had a bit of a hard exterior. But that was because she’d never had an easy life.
Her inner person, the one few people saw, was being revealed a bit at a time. And the more Frank saw, the more he liked it.
He watched her while she slept.
With her eyes closed, sleeping peacefully, she looked the part of an angel. Quite attractive. Not quite beautiful but close to it.
As he watched she turned to her left to get more comfortable.
The top buttons of her pajama top had worked their way loose and it fell open, exposing her left breast.
Frank should have turned away. Should have closed his eyes. It was what a true gentleman would have done.
But he couldn’t look away.
He was a man, and as a man found beauty in a woman’s breasts. He didn’t know quite why. No man can explain quite why.
Perhaps it was because such an intimate part of a woman’s body, almost always hidden, strikes a feeling of feasting on a forbidden fruit for a man’s eyes.
Or perhaps it was just something more basic.
Frank, like most men, found a woman’s body to be a beautiful thing. It wasn’t particularly a sexual thing necessarily. Especially for a man Frank’s age.
Eva had once asked Frank why men stared when a beautiful woman walked by. Or why some men bought magazines with foldout centers of naked women.
He thought about the question, then responded, “I suppose it’s for the same reason we stare at the Mona Lisa. It, like a woman’s body, is a work of art. It’s a thing of beauty.
“It’s by far the best of God’s creations.”
In the dim glow of the candle he watched her breathe.
Watched her breast rise and fall with each breath.
And marveled at the way she looked.
He wanted to touch her.
But not the breast. She alone had the right to decide who should touch her there.
No, he wanted to touch her long chestnut hair. To run his fingers through it.
To caress her face.
He wanted to watch her close her eyes and hear her sigh as he softly ran his finger down her cheek.
Something suddenly occurred to him.
And it terrified him.
Frank was sixty four years old.
She was… what did she tell him?
Twenty nine?
Could he really be falling in love with her?
-50-
He knew he shouldn’t but he continued to watch.
Part of him wished she’d open her eyes, to catch him watching her.
Part of him wanted to know how she’d react to it. Whether she’d be offended.
Or possibly flattered.
Most of him, though, hoped she wouldn’t open her eyes. That she’d go on peacefully sleeping.
And continue to let him enjoy the show.
That part of him, the biggest part of him, was afraid she’d be outraged. That she might chastise him for not looking away. That she might feel violated by his watching her.
In a way he felt dirty.
But he couldn’t look away.
She rolled over again.
Her back was to him now.
The breast was gone, and in all likelihood he’d never see it again.
But she was still a sight to behold.
The curves of her body. The shape of her head, and the small tuft of premature gray he hadn’t noticed before.
Maybe that part was just the candle’s meager light playing tricks on him.
He’d make a point to check it out later, and to ask her about it.
His eyelids started to get heavy and he drifted back to sleep.
An hour later he was once again flat on his back, having rolled there to get more comfortable.
He heard a soft voice in the inky blackness.
“Frank, you need to wake up.”
He assumed it was a dream and ignored it.
Then it came again. Only it was a little different this time.
“Frank, honey, you need to wake up.”
At first he ignored it again. Then something struck him.
Did she just call him honey?
He still assumed he was dreaming. He felt the giddiness of a little boy the first time a girl winks at him or reaches out to hold his hand.
It was a very pleasant feeling and a very pleasant dream.
Then his mostly-conscious conscience checked him.
“Stop it Frank! She’s way too young for you!”
He heard the voice again, and tried to tune out the voice of reason trying to set him straight.
This time it was a bit more firm, a bit more adamant.
“Frank, wake up!”
He opened one eye. It was a conscious statement. One which said, “But I don’t wanna wake up.”
It wasn’t a dream. Josie was standing over him, a concerned look on her face.
The second eye came open. He decided if he got to see Josie it was worth waking up.
He realized then just how bad he had it.
“Good morning, doll.”
He’d flirted with her before. Almost from the beginning. But this time it felt different.
This time, despite his trying to convince himself otherwise, he actually meant it.
And she hadn’t a clue.
“Frank, I need to change your dressing. You’ve soaked through your bandage and your t-shirt.”
“I know.”
Luckily she didn’t ask how he knew.
He’d have felt obliged to tell her he’d awakened earlier and watched her as she was sleeping.
He might have let it slip that her breast fell free from her pajama top and that he studied it for a considerable amount of time.
And no good would come of that.
She ignored his comment and said, “Take off your shirt. Let’s get that thing changed.”
He pulled off his shirt and she sat on a camp stool at his side.
He noticed her pajama top was now buttoned and he couldn’t help a feeling of disappointment.
-51-
She was already wearing latex gloves, having scrubbed up and donning them while she was trying to coax him awake.
She pulled off the tape holding the two sanitary napkins in place and tossed the whole thing into a nearby wastebasket.
Then she very tenderly pulled out the packing gauze pads, one at a time. Some of them stubbornly stuck to the wound and she winced a couple of times.
“I’m sorry, did that hurt you?”
Frank placed his hands beneath his head and was watching her face, not the wound.
“I’m a former Marine. I’m tough. The only way you can hurt me is to break my heart.”
She paused and gave him the strangest look, as though trying to understand the meaning behind his statement.
They locked eyes for several moments, after which she said, in a rather hoarse voice, “I would never do that.”
He smiled, not yet realizing he’d spend the rest of the day trying to figure out what she meant by it.
She went back to the task at hand.
“You must have tossed and turned in your sleep,” she finally decided. “You tore some of the healing tissue and opened up some bleeders.”
“Is that a major problem?”
“Not necessarily. I can cauterize them. And the tissue will regenerate. It’s just a tiny step backward on your journey.
“I’m glad. You had me worried for a minute.”
He smiled.
Then he went for it.
“I told you you were falling in love with me.”
She ignored the comment.
But she didn’t deny it.
“You’re starting to smell, Frank. Would you like for me to give you a sponge bath?”
“Honey, you have no idea how much I’d like for you to give me a sponge bath.”
Outside the tent, unbeknownst to either of them, Crazy Eddie sat on a stool.
He was about fifty yards from the tent, mumbling to himself.
In a scene reminiscent of the classic film The Godfather, he was referring to some handwritten notes and rehearsing a short speech.
Several people passed by but no one came close.
Eddie had a reputation as a loose cannon, and no one wanted to say the wrong thing and incur his wrath.
Besides, he talked to himself all the time. It certainly wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.
Forty five minutes passed, and Eddie’s speech was about as polished as it would ever be.
He stood up and walked toward Josie’s tent.
But he didn’t have to call out to her. As he approached the tent’s zipper went up and she emerged.
She was glowing and just a little bit flushed.
“Hi Josie. How are you?”
She smiled broadly and said, “Oh, I’m fine Eddie. How are you doing?”
There was no sarcasm in her voice. None of the usual sharpness either. That wasn’t like her. Not like her at all. She was pure bliss in a bottle.
“I’m okay. I was wondering if I could see Mister Frank.”
The sarcasm returned.
“Mister Frank? All of a sudden he’s Mister Frank?”
Eddie blushed and looked at his feet.
“You’re not carrying any hidden weapons, are you Eddie? No hand grenades or bazookas hidden up your sleeves or anything?”
“Geez… no. That would be dumb.”
“Wait here. I’ll see if Mister Frank is accepting visitors.”
She returned a minute later and said, “He said he’ll see you if you promise not to attack him again.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“And I’m gonna be in there just to make sure there isn’t any trouble.”
“Okay…”
She stepped back through the tent flaps with Eddie close behind her.
Frank was just a bit uneasy. He was weaponless and wounded, lying flat on his back, about to encounter a much younger and much bigger man.
But he needn’t have worried.
Eddie sat on the same camp stool Josie had used to change Frank’s dressing. He got through the first three words before becoming tongue-tied and having to pause.
Final Dawn: Book 12: Where Could He Be? Page 16
