Fire and Forget

by Matt Gallagher

  “I don’t think so. That was supposed to fix things. Mainly since we got back from our trip home to Michigan. So it’s not . . . it’s not that. It’s all the other stuff. I told him that he doesn’t need to go back, because of his, well, because he’s already been over there and done his part.”

  “Absolutely right.”

  “But he doesn’t listen to me. He only listens to Sergeant Snow, who says they’re going to finish the job this time. And Will thinks that if he stays here, he’d be abandoning the platoon.”

  Brett grimaced and removed his arm from her shoulder. “That’s . . . gallant, I guess. But there are plenty of soldiers. Who’s Sergeant Snow?”

  “His squad leader. Will absolutely worships him. He went to Diyala and his tank got bombed.”

  “Oh.”

  “He won a big award for pulling out his driver before it blew up. The Silver Star.”

  “Oh.”

  “He’s overly demanding and unfair, but I understand why. Or at least I think I do. I try to.”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “Every time I try to talk to Will about this, he either ignores me or tells me he’s fine and not to worry, but I just want him to talk to me.”

  “Well,” Brett said, bringing his hands together, “you want to know what I think?”

  “Of course.”

  “You sure? You might not like it.”

  “Brett.”

  “I think that you need to be selfish about this.”

  She frowned and stared at a Hawaiian queen on the wall made of red and yellow circles standing by a sea of blue circles. The queen held a spear in one hand and a dark Tiki mask in the other. A strong gust of wind blew by the shop, bending the palm trees by the windows into upside-down horseshoes. Rainwater cut across the air sideways.

  “It’s okay to be selfish about this,” he continued. “It doesn’t help either of you, being stuck in an unhealthy relationship.”

  “It’s not—”

  “He’s self-destructive, controlling, and emotionally abusive.”

  “That’s not fair.” Her cheeks flushed as she said this. “I don’t think he is, I don’t think he is those things.”

  “That’s the way it seems to me, Liz. Being a soldier is a wonderful thing, but that doesn’t erase all of the other aspects of his personality. And he’s about to go back to the place that contributed to making him that way. Did he even consider you or your relationship?”

  “He did. We talked about it.”

  The smile stretched out again. “And did it change his decision?”

  “No.”

  “No. Remember—he signed on that dotted line, not you, and now he wants to drag you into that world, too. And it’s not like you’re married or anything. How can he possibly expect you to stay with him for an entire year while he’s away? You told me that you two broke up the last time he went to Iraq. Do you really want to go through all that again?”

  “It was just for a month. And that was because . . . never mind, it doesn’t matter. He’s going to need me. He will need my support. I know that this time.”

  “That’s his self-centered worldview talking. He’s using you as a crutch instead of dealing with his problems. You have your own life to lead—you’re young, fun, social, and there’s a lot going on beyond these wars. You need to ask yourself—is this what you really want? To be a military wife for the rest of your life, wondering when or if your husband will return? And even if he does, whether he’ll ever be normal again? You want to support him. I understand that, and that’s very noble of you. You’re a good person. But that doesn’t mean you have to stay with him right now. You can always just get back together when he comes back. Until then, you can support him the same way the rest of us do.”

  Liz held her gaze steady, and though her eyes were wide, she didn’t speak. Brett looked back without blinking.

  “Well?”

  “I didn’t know you felt so strongly about it,” she said. “And I’m not at all sure what ‘support him the same way the rest of us do’ means. These guys have been completely abandoned by the rest of the country.”

  “I don’t think that’s true,” Brett said. “And it’s not about me feeling strongly, because I don’t. It’s your life. I just think you should be reasonable about this.”

  Liz’s back bristled and she tilted her head. “Most things in life aren’t reasonable. I love him, Brett. I’ve loved him ever since I broke my ankle ice skating at the Valentine’s Day formal, and he stayed with me at the hospital all night, just holding my hand and making jokes about the drugs I was going to get. I love him.”

  Brett unclasped his hands and smiled. “Of course you do! And that’s what is most important.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “I’m going to find him tonight at Sergeant Snow’s house. He leaves Tuesday, after all. Things are going to be fine with us this time. I just need to remind him of that.”

  “If that’s what you want to do.”

  Brett stared behind Liz at the clouds outside, rolling off of the mountainside. The tops of the distant cliffs were now visible from the coffee shop, bearing down from above like a mouth of green razorblades. The wind whistled sharply and the sound of rain echoed through the coffee shop. The barista watched his only customers from behind the front counter and grinned to himself.

  “Stupid tropics,” Brett said, yawning. “Always storming.” A clap of thunder shook the windows. “See? There it goes.”

  * * *

  “Why is that person sitting in the rain?”

  “Because,” Cheryl said to Sunny, “some people like the rain.” The two sat under a covered patio, feeding breadcrumbs to a group of wild chickens. The night was dark and still. Grey clouds hung in the sky like ornaments, masking a dull moonrise. The area around the house was a jungle, all thick, wet leaves and sticky air. Across the two-lane road, black rock crags formed the land’s first line of defense against crashing metallic waves.

  “I don’t like the rain, Grandma,” Sunny said, as she tugged at a pair of overalls. “It’s ugly and sad. I like pretty things.”

  Cheryl laughed. “Of course you do, sweetheart. That’s why your name is Sunny!” She tickled the girl with bony fingers and continued. “But rain isn’t always sad. You remember what comes after rain, don’t you?”

  “Rainbows!”

  The noise caused Will to look over at them from the adjacent yard. He squinted at first, adjusting to the porch light. Sitting alone in a lawn chair with a bottle in his hand, he waved and called out.

  “Hello!”

  Slender in a white T-shirt and cargo shorts, he didn’t seem to notice that his clothes were drenched. A baseball hat with a marlin on the front of it crowned a head of short, brown hair. A small, pink scar the width of a piece of silly string ran down from his left earlobe to the top of his neck. Cheryl told him to come over. Will grounded the bottle and walked through the gate in the fence that separated the two yards, joining them under the covered patio. He moved through the group of chickens without care, the birds parting around him in disturbed squawks, though most quickly returned to their previous positions.

  “Evening.”

  “You are soaked to the bone!” Cheryl said. “That fire water may keep you warm, but it won’t keep you from getting sick.”

  Will smiled. “I don’t mind the rain here.”

  “Are you crazy? Grandma says that crazy people live next door. Is that why you don’t feel the rain?”

  “Sunny!” Cheryl said, while Will laughed again.

  “Your name is Sunny?” he asked.

  “Yeah. And this is my grandma, Grandma.”

  “You may call me Cheryl, if you’d like.”

  Will studied the old woman’s pointed nose and sunken eye sockets. Sunny was also thin but all limbs, like a colt. Her skin glinted with the deep brown of an Islander, contrasting with the milky complexion of both adults. The girl’s overalls were bright orange and ca
ked with mud at the knees and hips, matching her hands.

  “Pleased to meet you both. My name is Will.” He paused. “Kind of a boring name, when you compare it to Sunny.”

  “Do you want another name?” Sunny asked.

  “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

  Cheryl whispered something to Sunny, whose eyes widened in agreement.

  “You have a new name, now,” Sunny said. “You are Jade. ’Cause you have green eyes.”

  “Jade? I like it, although I’ll admit to hoping for something a bit more . . . disreputable.”

  “You’re silly,” Sunny said.

  “Well that’s a good thing, Sunny,” he said. “Because you seem to be far too serious of a girl for . . . eleven, twelve?”

  “I’m eight!”

  “Eight years old, and already you can recognize crazy people? Impressive. I didn’t learn how to do that until I was at least ten.”

  “I don’t think you’re crazy,” Sunny said. “How old are you?”

  “I’m twenty-three. Which is pretty old.”

  A loud crash echoed across the yard from the house next door. This was followed by shouting, which was in turn followed by glass shattering. More shouting followed.

  “My friends. My platoon.”

  “Ah,” Cheryl said.

  “I’ve lived here my whole life, and they always break things,” Sunny said. “I don’t like them, and I told the ugly man that lives there that I don’t like them. He has bad breath! Why do your friends always break things?”

  Will looked at her and frowned. “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess because that’s why we’re here. To break things.”

  “Do you live up here, too, Jade?”

  “I don’t. I live in Waikiki. I like it up here, though. It’s calming. I wish I’d moved up here when I had the chance.”

  “Are you going to Iraq too, then?” Cheryl asked. Will nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be,” he said. “I don’t mind. I’ve been there before, so it should be easier this time.”

  “And what do you do in the military?” Cheryl asked.

  “I’m a scout.”

  “Is that a good thing to be in war?”

  Will thought for a few seconds and then said, “I’m proud of it.”

  Cheryl shook her head and closed her eyes. “You’re not even old enough to shave.”

  “Ehh, I won’t be able to grow a beard at fifty. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Want to see something?” Sunny asked Will.

  “It depends entirely on what you want me to see,” he said.

  “Follow me.”

  “Wilco.”

  “Huh? What’s a wilco?”

  “Oh, sorry. It means will comply. Which means, okay, I’ll follow you.”

  Sunny grabbed Will’s hand and took him into the rain and to the backyard. She led him to a silky oak tree in the back corner, through a maze of plants and bushes, the dull moon providing just enough light to guide them there. Sunny knelt onto the ground, tucking her legs underneath her knees. She pointed to a spot in the dirt and then rubbed it with her hands, getting a fresh batch of mud on her palms.

  “That’s where Lady Gills lives now.”

  “Lady Gills?”

  “My goldfish. She used to live in the house, but now she’s in Heaven.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” Will said.

  “Grandma says that Lady Gills is happier now,” Sunny said. “But I’m not.”

  “You should get another goldfish, maybe.”

  “We did. But it’s not the same. Lady Gills Number Two isn’t as much fun as Lady Gills was.”

  Will stared at the spot in the dirt. “They never are.”

  “I want a pet iguana next! But Grandma says iguanas aren’t allowed in Hawaii, so I want a gecko or a chameleon instead.”

  “You’ve lost me now. I hate lizards. All of them.”

  Sunny stood up and pulled at her hair, getting wet mud in both of her thick, black braids.

  “Do you like my pigtails?”

  “Yes, I like them very much.”

  “Do you like my overalls?”

  “I do. They’re very colorful.”

  “You just told Grandma that you’re going to go to war.”

  “I did.”

  “War is the place where you kill people,” Sunny said. “I know about it.”

  “Yes. Bad people, though. I’m just going to kill the bad people.”

  “I’ve never killed anything. One time, though, I got super mad at Jamie Takemoto because he kicked my sand castle, and I told him I could kill him if I wanted to, and I made him cry. Have you?”

  “Have I ever what? Gotten my sand castle kicked? Of course.”

  “No, Jade. Have you ever gotten so mad you killed something?”

  “Do insects count? Like spiders and stuff?”

  “No,” Sunny said. “It only counts if they bleed. And bugs don’t bleed.”

  ‘Well . . . maybe,” Will said, looking at the oak trunk. “Or no. No, I’ve probably never killed anything.”

  Will followed Sunny back to the porch, where Cheryl watched them. The chickens made way for their return. Sunny sat back down, cross-legged on the floor, while Will remained standing.

  “Sunny, you’ve been playing in the mud again,” Cheryl said.

  “No I haven’t, Grandma.”

  “Don’t lie to me, young lady.”

  Sunny rolled her eyes and rested her chin on her hands, grunting in the process. Her grandma shook her head and turned her attention to Will.

  “Are you leaving anyone special behind?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “Well. Kind of.”

  The rain had eased to a drizzle. Most of the wild chickens wandered off in search of more food. A few remained, and a red rooster with a full black tail strutted over to Sunny. She picked it up, put it in her lap, and stroked its feathers.

  “This is my favorite thing in the whole world,” she said. “His name is Bob.”

  “Bob?” Will asked. “That’s quite a name for a chicken. Well, Mister Bob”—he pressed the rooster’s claw into his hand and shook it—“it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Sunny laughed. “He’s not a chicken, Jade. He’s a rooster. And he’s the prettiest, most funnest rooster on the entire North Shore. Grandma said so.”

  Cheryl nodded.

  “And even though Grandma named him, he’s all mine.” She emphasized this by squeezing the rooster close to her chest. The rooster flapped its wings in protest, and Sunny sat it down on the floor.

  “I’m bored,” she said, yawning.

  Cheryl looked into the house where a clock hung on the wall.

  “It’s nearly nine o’clock! It’s past your bedtime, Sunny.”

  Sunny yawned again.

  “I’m fine!” she said. “I want to stay up with you and Jade and talk grown-up talk.”

  “You go brush your teeth and crawl into bed. And wash your hands. I’ll be in soon.”

  “No!”

  Cheryl’s face snapped toward her granddaughter so swiftly the wrinkles and bags under her eyes quivered. “If you’re not in bed and asleep in five minutes, we’re going to spend all day tomorrow doing math. Which means no TV and no playtime outside with Bob. And definitely no iguana or gecko, ever.”

  Sunny’s eyebrows shot up, and her mouth dangled open. She stood up and shook hands with Will.

  “Okay. Good night, Grandma. Good night, Jade.”

  “Night,” Will said.

  Once Sunny was inside, Cheryl turned to Will, who was looking out at the sea. Wave after wave of wild blue crashed into the crags with increasing recklessness, allowing some of the seawater to spill onto the shore. For the first time all evening, the smell of storm filled the air.

  “Where are her parents?” he asked.

  “On the Big Island for the week. A much deserved vacation.”

  Will smiled. “Good for them.”

  She sta
rted to say something but instead waited for him to continue. He didn’t, and a strained quiet seized the porch. They listened to the night song of crickets and the rumblings of waves. A burst of summer wind blew through the yard, followed by a distant, lone thunderclap. A few minutes later, Cheryl stood up and cleared her throat.

  “Well, Will, I wish you the best of luck, and know we’ll keep you in our thoughts and prayers. Would you mind trying to keep it down tonight? We’ve got a little girl sleeping over here.”

  “Of course. And thank you. Have a good night, ma’am.”

  Cheryl walked inside. Will went to his chair, picked up the bottle, and rejoined the platoon.

  * * *

  Will sat on a couch on the front patio. He watched the sun creep over a slow, steady ocean surf. A bottle rested by his feet, and he held a lukewarm can of beer. His eyes were coral red, and he reeked of cigar smoke. Now shirtless, he rubbed the pair of dull-gold, crossed sabers tattooed onto his right shoulder.

  A small smile emerged on his face. “What the fuck happened last night?” he said. “Oh, yes. Well. That’s the end of that. Finally.” He laughed to himself. “I bet she regrets trying to get me to leave the party.” He bit his bottom lip and tapped his forehead. The smile faded away. “I wish she hadn’t cried like that. Would’ve made things easier.”

  Time passed and the sun rose.

  Turning his eyes toward the sky, Will stared at an empty blue. “In case You care,” he says, “I’m at peace.”

  A group of wild chickens wandered up the driveway.

  “Why, hello there. How is the prettiest, most funnest rooster on the entire North Shore feeling this morning?”

  Will stood up and grabbed the rooster with the black tail. The other chickens dashed away.

  The rooster flapped its wings in protest and attempted to bite and scratch him, but he held it tight to his chest. Walking around to the back of the house, he clutched the rooster by its neck and repeatedly smashed it against the cement pavement until it ceased to move or squawk. He walked around to the front of the house and tossed the rooster into a cooler. He cleaned his hands on the grass, and sat back down on the couch.

  “There it is,” he said. “There it is.”

  15

  RED STEEL INDIA