by Ginger Booth
I blinked. No, I hadn’t realized that. “He’s gay enough,” I claimed. “That was what I was thinking in the tree. That we’d saved each other, and could easily fall head over heels in love in a situation like that. But Dwayne saved him before, in Amman. And you saved me from HomeSec, and in West Virginia. We already had our heroes. Both of us.”
“Cam’s better looking.”
I grinned up at him. “Not to me.” I brushed his too-short hair with my fingers. “Do wish you’d let your hair grow out again. In my mind, you still have bushy hair like the day you saved me. But yeah, it wasn’t your looks I fell in love with. It was you.”
He chuckled. “Just saved from HomeSec, and you were already making demands. ‘Never mind Amenac and my life. We’ve got a shot at saving New York City. Go back in there and retrieve some jerk I just met.’ A woman with chutzpah. But you slept with my best friend that night. Not me.”
I nodded and snuggled into him. “You snuck up on me,” I confided. “One night I watched you reading a bed-time story to Angel, and realized I wanted to keep you. But it was still too soon after Zack died, and I felt raw, shied away from the thought. I have pictures for you on my phone from Zack’s grave the other night. Not very good ones. It was dark.”
“You said good-bye for both of us?” he whispered. He loved Zack too, for longer than I did.
I nodded. “Hey, Emmett? Do you think we’re getting more intimate? Over time.”
“Um, yeah?” he dubiously agreed. “Darlin’… Let’s think what made us more intimate. Losing Zack. Losing Angel. Losing each other because Project Reunion got in the way. Losing you because Canton kidnapped and raped you. Most fights we’ve had.”
“Oy. When you put it that way.”
“Yeah, let’s not go out of our way to get more intimate, darlin’. I mean, I trust us. We’ve been there, done that. We get through it. Then we’re more intimate. Deal with what comes. Don’t go looking for trouble.”
“Point taken. Although, was it my imagination, or did you get angry when I suggested a quick wedding?”
“We ought to get dressed.” We disentangled and got to it. But he eventually answered the question.
“I’m kinda mixed on the wedding thing, Dee. My first was a justice of the peace. Susie isn’t religious. But momma came, with the step-dad.”
“To Abu Dhabi?”
“Near Albany. Susie’s from Upstate. Back there now, actually, with her parents.”
“I did not know that.”
Emmett shrugged. “Glad she made it out of the Emirates. I wondered. Not a lot I could do about it. Doesn’t matter much more than that, Dee.”
“OK.” What a cold epilogue to a marriage. But I would have thought less of him if he didn’t care whether his ex-wife was OK. I hadn’t realized it was so easy to check.
“It’s your first wedding,” he resumed the original discussion. “So I kinda feel like it ought to be whatever you want. That said, I like parties more than you do. And I got all these army buddies to invite.” He grinned, but the grin faded. “Wouldn’t feel like a real wedding, though, without momma. Your family?”
I finished smoothing leggings-over-socks and simple velour dress-over-leggings. My blue velour dress had seen better days. Mottled all over and faded like bluejeans with bleach, the dress had magically survived mass disinfection and wended its way back to me through the Navy in New York Harbor, after last Thanksgiving. It felt like a lucky dress now. I checked the results in the mirror and decided to add a scarf.
“You’re my family now, Emmett, and Alex and Shelley. Mangal. Cam. Carlos. Pam. Amenac-PR and the Resco Raj. Friends. I’d like to see Jay again. My brother. I don’t need them for the wedding, though.”
Found it – a crimson silk pashima shawl. The ensemble looked good and would keep me warm, and had a layer to shed for dancing. Perfect. I sat to apply makeup to match.
Emmett looked great, out of uniform. That was rare these days. His tight button-up jeans weren’t so tight any more, but snug enough. Over that he had a royal purple button-down shirt, tails free. He lounged sideways on the bed watching me, sock-clad toes crossed and looking adorable.
“You know the best part of the wedding?” I said. “When I throw the bouquet and we leave in triumph. Escape, shut the door, no phones, ditch the dress.” Kind of like a few minutes ago, actually.
“Uh-huh. Ready to face today’s party? Together.” He held out his pinkie finger.
I linked his pinkie with mine. “Hold on loosely?”
He nodded with a smile. “But don’t let go,” he completed the song couplet.
“Hey, hey, it’s himself!” Emmett called out with a grin, as we emerged into the living room. “Really great to see you, Dwayne!” He enveloped the bouncy young captain in a hug, then I took a turn.
If Dwayne arrived in uniform, he’d already ditched it in favor of skinny jeans and a silky maroon sweater, showing off his buffed dancer’s physique to perfection. His dreadlocks danced free around cafe-au-lait jawline. A number of superior officers, including his blond husband Cam, had tried and failed to persuade Dwayne of the need for a military haircut. If anyone got testy, he put his hair in a man-bun to keep it off his collar as per female regulations, and argued that a double standard was sexist. Fastidious Cam detested the man bun, so Dwayne’s dreadlocks won again.
“Hello, hello!” Dwayne responded in kind. “Thank you so much for taking care of my sweetie!”
“Managed to cheer up Puddleglum yet?” Emmett asked, with a dour glance at Cam.
Cam hunkered lower into the same spot in the couch where he’d been installed when we returned from Long Island, piled with blankets.
“What’s a Puddleglum?” Dwayne asked.
“Chronicles of Narnia?” Emmett hinted.
“Fiction?” Dwayne said. “Cam reads, nonfiction. I do email.”
“Uh-huh,” Emmett said. “Glad you’re here, to cheer up Cam. And take him away.”
“Are we not having fun?” Dwayne asked, in melodramatic surprise.
Cam turtled down further.
Emmett said, “Your husband thinks I should be court-martialed, taken out back and shot. Kinda cranky.”
“Oh, my,” Dwayne said. “Sweetie, you have been a bad guest. I’ll see what I can do to cheer him up.” He drew a couple fingers along Cam’s jaw. Cam looked cheerier instantly.
“Appreciate that,” Emmett said. “If not, I can help haul him up to bed without his supper.” He shrugged. “Or you could feed him supper.”
Dwayne laughed. “I wondered about this Valentine’s party concept. Usually couples get away alone together.”
Emmett nodded. “Just did that. It was great. But, we have house guests.”
“It was Gladys’ idea,” Cam finally spoke. “After we lost the house guest she liked. The housekeeper is shacking up with Carlos Mora,” he added for Dwayne’s benefit.
I thought the party was Emmett’s idea, but let it go. “Gladys likes you, too, Cam,” I insisted. “Less fond of Ash and Deborah.”
“I remember that,” Dwayne agreed, eyes twinkling. “Threatened him with a butcher knife over Halloween, didn’t she?”
“Uh-huh. All friends now,” Emmett claimed. “Except Cam and me.”
“And you two will make up soon,” I insisted. “Excuse me, I ought to check my messages. Then we can get this party started!”
I slipped into the office and traded silent nods of greeting with Ash Margolis and Carlos Mora, both busy on laptops, and sat down to my own. As expected, the map database was still rough on tsunami high tide lines. But better data continued to pour in, and usage numbers were taking off nicely. A few arguable bug reports were collecting, but Alixandria was on top of it as project manager. I shot her another quick attagirl to keep up the good work.
I’d entrusted one of Pam’s contestants today, Eddie York, to audition as guest editor for the night’s PR broadcast. York directed a TV news station out of Portland Maine before the Calm. He moved to Ne
w Hampshire to avoid becoming Canadian. I’d monitored his plans this morning en route to the city. Mangal and the censors were supervising this afternoon, with Pam and Dave monitoring as well. In theory, that should have been bullet-proof. But I owed them a chance to ask me questions and get answers. No one raised any flags, though. I didn’t take the time to look over York’s final story lineup.
“Carlos?” I asked. “Everything copacetic for tonight’s broadcast on your end?”
He glanced at the time in surprise, then checked his email queue on computer and phone. “Nobody’s complaining. Looks like a go.” He didn’t personally review every story. Several well-trained assistants did that. They only advanced judgment calls to Carlos.
“Well then, gentlemen. Let us party!”
Two workaholics froze, fingers comically poised over keyboards. Ash clicked his computer shut first. Carlos succumbed to just one more quick check, then followed suit.
Cam and Dwayne were alone together in the living room for the moment, so we trooped into the kitchen side of the house to meet our matches. Gladys had done us proud on appetizers and beverages, prettily arrayed on the marble-topped kitchen island overlooking the dining room. I squelched a twinge of guilt at the fact Deborah helped her with the food, and I didn’t. But in truth, I’d brought half of the spread home from Connecticut, including the craft beers, cheeses, and quiche. Gladys just retrieved it from the car and set it out at the right temperature, with Deborah assisting.
Emmett was kibitzing with them. I relieved him of his beer and stole a swig. One beer between the two of us was more than we usually drank.
“Sir,” Emmett greeted Ash, in a relaxed drawl. “Am I released for the evening?”
“So far as I know,” Ash agreed, hand awkwardly on Deborah’s back. He’d given her a brusque peck on the cheek. “Don’t call me sir.”
“Why did he call you sir?” Deborah inquired, frowning. “Kosher enough,” she added, pointing out several selections on the buffet for Ash.
Ash waved a hand in irritation. “Temporary. Food looks good. What’s the plan?” He sampled a tamale, one of the items I hadn’t met yet. “This tamale is excellent.”
“Carlos cooks,” Gladys purred, firmly ensconced under Carlos’ arm. “He gave me pointers on cooking with cornmeal.”
“You have all sorts of skills, don’t you, Carlos?” Ash said, eyes narrowed.
Carlos shrugged. “Central Americans eat corn.”
I suspected Ash’s competitive streak was transferring from Emmett to Carlos after the week’s events. Good riddance. “The plan is to eat, dance, and make love not war,” I said. “And go to bed early.”
“Maybe 8:00,” Emmett confirmed. “Darlin’, Deborah and Ash are taking Pete’s room, top floor.”
I nodded, pleased. That allowed Cam and Dwayne to claim Ash’s usual room across the stairwell from us, and with Carlos and Gladys down below, no two couples had to share wall or ceiling. Our brownstone was huge.
We grazed. We quaffed beer. We small-talked. Gradually, Ash quit competing with everyone. Dwayne rolled Cam in on the office chair he was using as a wheelchair. Once Cam had eaten and drunk a bit, I draped myself around his neck, hugging him from behind.
“Feeling better, boyfriend?” I asked him, cheek to cheek. “Dwayne’s good for you. You’re losing that thousand-yard stare.”
“Yeah, girlfriend, I needed that,” Cam agreed, hugging my arms back.
“I like your hubby. Stop fighting with mine,” I murmured. Cam tensed. “Not as tough as he looks, you know.”
Cam slowly released the tension. “I do know. None of us are,” he conceded.
I squeezed him happily and swiveled his chair a little, swinging my hips. Emmett stopped that by placing a hand on my butt. “Time to dance,” he announced. “House, mood lighting, ground floor. And house, play music, I’ll Be There For You, by the Rembrandts.”
The voice interface to our house could do all sorts of things now. My adventures in Pittsburgh were an inspiration, and I kept tweaking. But we probably used it as a jukebox more than anything else.
Dwayne and Emmett and I had a sock-sliding race onto the gleaming hardwood floor of the living room. Emmett won. Our elegant leather furniture, an isolated island in the vast expanse of living room, was quickly shifted to maximize the dance floor. Showboat that he was, Dwayne led the dancing and drew everyone in.
“Dibs!” Emmett called out once the first song finished, and requested a song I’d never heard of. Groans quickly followed as country-western erupted from the sound system – not too popular in the Northeast. Emmett grinned and grabbed me for some swing dancing, while a twangy-voiced woman crooned about how it hurt to be in love with an army boy.
Emmett swung me out, curled me in, twirled me, even slid me down the floor between his legs at one point, then picked me up by the waist to pivot me through an arc. The slippery floor almost made a third dance partner, and we’d practiced moves to make the most of it.
We ended up laughing so hard from the fun of it, that the others agreed to a few more country songs, for them to try swing. Dwayne knew the moves, so we reshuffled into three teaching couples. Ash and Carlos took turns sitting it out with Cam, or dancing with me. I was used to getting physical with Cam, but it was a new experience getting close enough to Ash and Carlos to smell them, and feel their greater mass and higher and lower centers of gravity compared to Emmett. Good dancers, courteous but not too shy.
Emmett danced with Gladys. Clearly they’d been practicing when I wasn’t around, and upstaged us all. Dwayne was an experienced dance teacher, and magically transformed the rather stiff and awkward Deborah. In no time, she was swinging around lithely and laughing with the rest of us.
Cam confided to me once that he was chagrined when he and the younger Dwayne had their first joint-money talk. He expected starving artist. Instead, Dwayne not only made more money teaching fitness classes than Cam’s army salary, he had higher savings to boot. He was raking in twenty grand in Christmas tips alone. At the time, I made sympathetic noises to Cam and bit my tongue. My salary at UNC before the Calm probably beat Cam and Emmett’s combined. And I worked from home with nobody shooting at me.
Emmett knew his country-western music. Each song’s lyrics bloomed goofier than the last, working up to Cheeseburgers in Paradise. Everyone applied the lessons they’d learned with their own partners for the last swing set. I didn’t pay much attention to how the others got on. It felt too good to be back in Emmett’s hands, grinning as he twirled us around.
I’ll say this for military couples – no couch potatoes in this group. We were in excellent shape and having a grand time, endorphins flowing faster than the beer. I was grateful to take a more intimate breather when Ash declared a slow dance next. I forgot about the other couples while Emmett pressed us together hip to hip. Clearly Gladys was enjoying this interlude too, and called another slow song to back it up.
Dwayne broke off from a semi-private lap dance for Cam, and called a musical chorus line number for the next song. He got us all high-kicking and hip-bumping between couples. The man had a vocation as a choreographer.
“Almost six,” Carlos cried, and killed the music, to general groans. He turned on the big monitor on the living room wall. I collapsed into the couch on top of my hubby.
“Dee and Carlos are the only ones who have to watch the news,” Emmett suggested. “We could adjourn for appetizers.”
Carlos shook his head.
The broadcast opened with a triumph. Yes! The Seabrook nuclear plant in New Hampshire was successfully shutting down. All nuclear plants in Hudson and New England were now under control. Two more plants, not in immediate danger, would also shut down as staff became available. The tsunami hadn’t reached them, but continued sea level rise put them at risk. Not enough safety margin to weather storm surges.
It’s funny how some problems make me so anxious that I refuse to admit them. It’s a laughing surprise when the tension suddenly unwinds and
falls off. Our nuclear plants were OK! We traded high fives all around the living room, with a few shouts of the army ‘Hoo-ah!’
The grins crumpled to solemnity as our anchor Jennifer continued to the next item.
22
Interesting fact: After the United States was officially disbanded, Greater Virginia attempted to resurrect the U.S. Constitution. The process bogged down in deciding what exactly that meant. For instance, Admiral O’Hara would be commander-in-chief over the President. Foreign policy was constrained by the fact that neighboring super-states controlled all of Virginia’s borders. Eleven months into this muddle, the tsunami occurred before national elections could form a new government. In the meantime, Virginia Rescos were required to gain local government approval for any plans involving land use.
The Southeast wasn’t so lucky. The nuclear plant in Surry Virginia had gone into meltdown, and Brunswick in Carolina as well. Sketchy video showed pandemonium, highways completely blocked by broken-down vehicles, as civilians tried to evacuate a 15 mile radius of Surry in a panic. This densely populated area included Newport News, Williamsburg, Yorktown, and some suburbs of Norfolk. Norfolk itself and all its shipyards, and Virginia Beach, had been hammered by the tsunami directly, as well as the southern tip of the Delmarva peninsula.
Video from the low-slung Carolina coast was quieter. There were few left alive to evacuate there.
“God help them,” Emmett murmured in my ear, hugging me close.
In passing, Jennifer mentioned that two nuclear plants in South Florida closed without explanation only days before the tsunami. The ‘Floribama’ government had no comment. Pam’s dramatic story snuck in as a side comment.
Then Ivan Link, Governor-General of New England, read a careful statement. Effective immediately, he transferred civilian command of New England to Sean Cullen of Hudson. Link himself would focus on remediation in hard-hit Narragansett and the Boston area. He would continue in command of the New England Army, under Sean Cullen as commander-in-chief, though militia and National Guard would report through Hudson channels. He noted that Hudson was the best prepared super-state on the eastern seaboard.
