“So what? Am I an outlaw?”
“No. More like the wolf that my father fears will lead his little girl astray, into the woods, so to speak. You are older and presumably worldlier. He won’t like that. He was even suspicious of Jack who is my age.”
Will put his hands in his front pockets. He rocked sideways back and forth.
“Aw, shucks, Sergeant Haugen. I ain’t never even…uh… I” He sighed. “Okay, Karen, if you don’t want me to come over I won’t.”
An uncomfortable heat rose within her. Why should she allow her father to control her so? She loved him, yes, but he wasn’t faultless. She could withstand his disapproval, but what rationale could he have for disliking Will without even knowing him.
“Can you pick me up at six?”
In the Haugen living room that night, Sergeant Roy Haugen, having earlier been asked to be “nice” to Will, did his best to question Karen’s date as amiably as he could, given that Will was much older than his daughter and worse, that he was just passing through. What father wouldn’t have his misgivings? Only his wife knew the story of how Haugen’s sister Maya had disappeared one day after striking up an acquaintance with an older man no one in town knew. Yes, that man was much older than this one, but the parallel was the same.
He’d decided, after painful deliberation, not to tell his daughters the story. He and Maja had been close. Indeed, at times, she had been more a mother to him than their mother had been to either of them. Perhaps she ran away from home and changed her name, escaping the oppressive atmosphere that surrounded them. Didn’t he do the same thing by joining the air force? The dark alternative explanation of her disappearance was unbearable to think about. He pictured himself crying in front of his children if he told the tale. Unacceptable.
“So what brings you to these parts?” asked Haugen, after Karen had made the introductions.
Will had been coached. He was to be vague, to mention the GBSD, only if he wished to have her and her father turn frosty. He understood what she felt was at stake: a good relationship with him and with her father.
“I was on my way to see my mother but found a job on a farm nearby.”
“How long do you plan to stay?”
“Oh, I don’t know. For a while. It could be a long time. There’s lot of work to do.”
“So you’re a hired hand.”
“Yes, I guess I am.”
Something about that answer irked Sergeant Haugen. A frown displaced his forced smile. The guy was working on a farm. Why did it only now occur to him that he was a hired hand? He was a vagabond for sure.
“You guess?”
“We should get going, Dad,” said Karen.
“Just a minute,” he said gruffly. “What did you do before you decided to see your mother? What kind of work?”
Roy Haugen thought he now saw dishonesty in the man’s face and would shortly be fed some bullshit.
“I haven’t had a regular job since I was discharged from the marines.”
It was as if the curtain had been drawn on the second act of a play which had appeared, in act one, to be a gloomy family drama, but had now revealed itself to be a light-hearted comedy.
“The marines?” said Roy Haugen.
“Yes, I was in Afghanistan.”
“He has a purple heart,” said Karen.
“Karen!” said Will.
“No. No,” said Roy Haugen. “I’m glad to hear it. Not that you were wounded. I mean, a couple of my friends were marines.” He laughed at the inanity of what he’d said.
Karen took Will by the arm.
“We have to go.”
“Have a good time,” said Amy.
“Nice meeting you, Sergeant Haugen, Mrs. Haugen.”
“Likewise,” said Roy Haugen, slightly off balance.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
They went to an early showing of a sci fi movie. A small family of extraterrestrials had left their dying planet (shades of global warming) to settle in a little Mojave Desert community where they were in constant fear of being discovered. Karen identified with the heroine, a sixteen-year-old extraterrestrial girl angry at her parents for having tricked her into leaving home. When the movie ended they emerged from darkness into twilight.
They had no plans. Karen suggested they go for a walk on a trail through the woods by the Souris River. In twelve minutes they were there, parking the car on the side of the road. Will took a small blanket from the trunk of the car.
“To sit on,” he said.
“Do you always have a blanket with you?”
“Only on special occasions.”
He had foreseen the possibility of some exploration of hills and valleys. He was even prepared for a comprehensive expedition, though he was not hopeful.
The moon was almost full, the woods dark. Holding hands they slowly made their way to the river, walked a short distance, and then, once at the bank, sat on the blanket.
“Do you come here often?” asked Will.
“That’s a pick-up line, isn’t it?”
“Not an original one. I once read a book where a demon picked up a girl in a bar by telling her he had a tail, which he really did have.”
“I’ve never been here before but a girl friend of mine told me about this place.”
Will put his arm around her, kissing her on the lips, a lingering kiss. They lay down next to each other, she supine, he prone and up on elbows. The next kiss invited her tongue to tango with his and it did. He put his hand on a breast. She stiffened.
“You’re supposed to ask permission to do that,” she said.
“May I touch your breasts?” he whispered.
She sighed. He rolled over on his back so he wouldn’t be tempted to ignore her wishes.
“Yes, but only that,” she said finally.
He unbuttoned her blouse.
“May I take off your bra?”
He saw her nod in the moonlight.
She had to roll a bit to the side for him to reach the clasp.
When he began to kiss her nipples without asking permission, she didn’t protest.
He put his hand under her skirt waist and stroked her abdomen in circles, again without asking.
“May I touch you?”
A long pause.
“I guess, but nothing else.”
She wanted very much for him to touch her, but her excitement made it hard for her to think. What if she’d say “yes” instead of “I guess?” What would that make her?
Now simultaneously he gently nibbled on a nipple while stroking her below. Her back arched.
“Would you like to…make love?”
Her ardor evaporated.
She sat up.
“I wasn’t raised like that,” she said, aware of the incongruity, given her fierce enjoyment of what she had been experiencing.
“Are you a virgin?”
It wasn’t a bad word, but she hesitated before applying it to herself.
“I know I’m old fashioned, but I think intimacy should be reserved for marriage.”
Deflated now, Will was annoyed. He could not say that she’d been a tease, a tease in the worst sense of the word, but he nevertheless felt as if he’d been teased. He didn’t want to be angry with her, but he was.
He sat up and stared at the moon. Maybe if it had been full things would have gone better. Nonsense and he knew it.
“Let’s go,” said Will.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Roy Haugen arrived home late and after dinner sat with Amy in the living room. Since the kids were in the house, he kept his voice low.
He’d been on a routine launch site inspection when he got a call to report immediately to the missile wing commandant’s office.
Colonel Nichols said, “At ease, Sergeant Haugen. Please take a seat.
“First of all, as you know, those grenades haven’t turned up, but I’m thinking they may never have been on that Humvee in the first place so I’m looking into the men on duty at the armor
y that day who loaded the grenades into the vehicle. Anyway, that’s just an update.
“I want to tell you about an incident recently that I don’t know what to make of. A woman wrote me a letter. Let me read you a part of it. She’s describing a visitor here.”
* * *
‘…the man looked around the room like he was in a daze. Not drunk, mind you, but in some sort of intoxicated state. He appeared frightened of looking at his hands which he kept under the table. He wouldn’t look at me but at one point fluttered his fingers at me… It is an outrage that someone who could start World War III is taking drugs.’
* * *
Nichols continued. “The man she’s referring to was a missile launch officer, at least that’s what he told her. Now I don’t know what to think. This is the lady people are seeing around town who’s anti-missile in the first place. Maybe she made this up, though I doubt it. Through my own sources I happen to know your wife is friendly with this lady. Do you know whom I’m talking about?”
“Yes, sir,” I do.
“I’d like you to speak with her and find out what you can about the man, if there was a man. How does that sound to you, Sergeant?
“Fine, sir. I’ll get right on it.”
“That O’Hare woman may be a nuisance but she sure as hell is right to get ticked off about drug use on base, not to mention drug use by a launch officer. I’m authorizing you to question anyone else on the base you think might be involved. That includes those with higher rank. Just tell them Colonel Nichols sent you. And if you think you’ve got the bastard, get a couple of MPs if you have to and search his place.”
“Would you like a drink?” said Amy, seeing her husband’s distress. This was a miserable assignment, sure to cause ill will, the identification of the airman probably impossible to discover unless O’Hare had failed to mention some distinguishing feature like an eagle tattoo on his forehead. He saw this assignment as punishment over the grenade loss, though he clearly had nothing to do with that.
“That’s a good idea. Gin and tonic, please.”
They drank together.
“I’ll talk with her, too,” said Amy. “Let me do it first.”
“Please do. Get a description of the guy, but don’t worry too much about identifying him. I’m going to question every single launch officer who was off duty that day. Maybe someone will be a bad liar.
But he got a better idea. After compiling a list of the thirty off-duty launch control officers on the day of the visit, he also obtained their identification photos. He told his wife to scratch her visit to O’Hare. He’d go see her.
He wore his dress uniform, which like his other uniforms displayed the insignia of the 91st missile wing: an upright fist in an armored glove holding three bolts of lightning and an olive branch. Under the escutcheon the words, “Poised for Peace.”
Before this moment he’d given no thought to how he knocked on doors. But an intense door-knocking could be frightening. He did not wish to frighten her. Nor did he wish to knock so gently that she didn’t hear him. To complicate matters somewhat, this was a screen door. He knocked on the metal frame.
She opened the door and welcomed him in, assuming as he later discovered, that he was here to accept her open invitation to all the airmen on base to drop by for coffee and cake.
“I’m Edna O’Hare as you know. Welcome.”
She held out her hand for him to shake.
“I’m Roy Haugen. I’d like to speak with you about the intoxicated visitor you had a while ago.”
They sat at the dining room table.
“Colonel Nichols was as distressed as you by the thought that airmen may be taking mind-altering drugs. I’m going to show you some pictures.”
Less than a third of the way through the photos she said, “That’s the man.”
It was as easy as that. Sergeant Haugen was in the security squadron and didn’t know the launch officers well, if at all. This man was a stranger to him, but Haugen would soon discover who he is.
“We haven’t proven that this man was on drugs, so the colonel would prefer you not talk about this with anyone else until we have the truth. It would look bad for the base.”
“I’ve already talked with a few people about it.”
Haugen wrinkled his nose as if smelling something bad. He considered asking her to talk with no one else about it, but thought he’d said enough.
“Are you going to make it public if it’s true. I mean, that the missileers are using drugs?”
“You don’t care much for the Minuteman, do you?”
“I don’t care much for any ground-based ballistic missile. You might as well spray paint bullseyes on the silos. And if we scrapped the GBSD, can you imagine what a hundred billion dollars or so could do for our roads, schools, hospitals, and so on?”
“Is there much support for your position in town?” asked Haugen.
“No, not much, but I’ve just started.”
“Thank you for helping out with the photos.”
He had his hand on the doorknob, about to leave when she asked, “You’re not related to Karen Haugen, are you?” As soon as she’d said it, she looked worried.
“You know Karen?”
She hesitated.
“We’ve met.”
“Under what circumstances?”
Karen had approached her after reading one of the flyers, explained Edna.
“Has she been out here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You’ll forgive me for saying so, but this is beginning to feel like an interrogation.”
“It’s not an interrogation. Karen’s my daughter. I was just curious.”
Haugen asked several more questions but learned nothing more.
“Come back sometime if you want to talk about the rockets.”
Chapter Forty
On a Sunday morning, when Karen would ordinarily be at church with her family, she was driving to Edna O’Hare’s along with Suzy whom she’d dragooned to go with her.
“I’m only doing this because we’re friends,” said Suzy. “But a team of wild horses couldn’t drag me into the parade you guys are planning. Anyway, I don’t think the city will give you a permit. Can you imagine Minot endorsing a protest against the air force base?”
“It’s not against the air force base. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“I know. I know. It’s against the rockets. It’s the same thing.”
“It is not.”
“Okay,” said Suzy. “Let’s talk about something else. How about Will?”
“I told you what he wanted to do.”
“Yeah. He wanted to do it, that revolting slug. All he cares about in the world is possessing your body for his diabolic lust. I mean how disgusting can you get?”
“Just because I have different standards than you doesn’t make me anymore a prude than it makes you a slut.”
“I do appreciate that.”
“I do this thing sometimes when I’m driving,” said Karen, changing the subject. “Imagine that the car is not moving. Stare straight ahead and picture the highway—the whole Earth—is rolling toward you and under the car.”
“Ooh. It’s kind of scary,” said Suzy.
“Yeah. Kind of hypnotic.”
Five minutes later Suzy returned to the old topic.
“You’re attracted to him, aren’t you?”
“What kind of question is that. Do you think I would have let him…let him touch me, if I weren’t?”
“You know, Karen, you said we have different standards and that’s true, but I think you have your parents’ standards, not your own. Do you think my parents would approve of my sex life if they knew about it? Do you?”
Karen tightened her hands on the wheel, while Suzy continued.
“How is intimate touching so different—morally different—from, if you’ll forgive me the word—intercourse. With birth control, of course.”
They maintaine
d silence for the rest of the way to O’Hare’s.
Two blue sofas, one longer than the other, and two blue armchairs composed the living room’s rectangular sitting area, a coffee table the centerpiece, replete with coffee pot, cream pitcher, sugar cubes, cups, saucers, spoons, and cookies.
Edna and Rasmussen sat on the large sofa. Suzy and Karen on the small one and Will on one of the chairs. One chair remained empty.
“Are we expecting someone?” said Rasmussen, indicating the empty chair.
“No. Nobody else. Maybe my husband’s sitting in it at the moment. He’d be happy to be here.”
Suzy wondered what she’d gotten herself into, noting that Karen and Will looked anywhere but at each other.
Edna thanked them for coming but told them she just wanted to discuss an idea with them, that she didn’t expect any commitment as participation might be dangerous. There wasn’t much to discuss. Edna planned to walk north on Main Street, South starting at 2nd Avenue, South West.
“That’s where we’re most likely to be seen because of the shops. I won’t be doing anything different, just handing out leaflets and talking to people, but I hope some of the college kids will join us. I contacted this girl Betty Carlson who works on the college newspaper. She’s interested in joining and bringing along some friends. Do any of you think a march is a bad idea?”
“Are you going to ask for a permit?” asked Rasmussen.
“I imagine we won’t be more than a handful of people. Do you really think it’s necessary?”
“It would be good to have one,” said Rasmussen, “and if you didn’t you could march anyway, though you might get a fine.”
Karen had already found the city’s Event/Parade Permit request site on her phone.
“This looks easy,” she said. “It doesn’t even ask what kind of parade we’re planning.”
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