“You didn’t spend the night before breakfast—”
“No, Dad.I had just come back from—somewhere.”
While his father maintained a Top-Secret Clearance, he still had no need to know, and classified details rested on that two-pronged fork.
“But you like her?”
“What’s not to like?She’s former Army.Officer.Captain, actually.A nurse.”
“That’s what she did and does, but how do you feel about her?Do you like her, son?”
He studied his dad for a long breath before saying, “She reminds me a lot of Mom.”
“Well, in that case, you should probably start making plans.”
Jerry walked over to his dad and put his hand on his shoulder.“I’m sorry, I don’t visit enough.I think it’s part of the job.I love you and I love Mabel.”
His dad grabbed him in a fierce hug and quickly let him go.“We know that, son.I’m proud of you, and I know exactly what your life is like.You don’t have to explain.We’re just happy to see you when we can.”
Mabel called from the front room.“I’m ready!Come on!I’m ready!Presents!”
Jerry raised an eyebrow.“I didn’t bring her anything because, as you know, I mailed her present weeks ago.”
His dad slapped him on the shoulder, and they walked to the door.“I know.She loved it, by the way.When you said you were coming.I went ahead and got her something from you.She’s gonna love it just as much.”
Jerry couldn’t help but look behind him as they left the kitchen.But his mom was not at the sink.Nor did she labor at the stove, filling the house with Christmas baking.And she never would again in his lifetime.
Fort Campbell, Kentucky
February
The wind beat against the ready room window as a late February snowstorm howled outside.He should be at the chapel, sitting next to Olive, enjoying a sermon from his favorite chaplain in the rotation of chaplains.Instead, he stared at a Monopoly board, battling Fisher and Brock for Realtor dominance.The room smelled like microwave popcorn and coffee.
“Show me the money, Jerry Maguire,” Fisher grinned, shaking the dice cup.His lean frame slouched in the leather chair, socked feet kicked up on an empty ammo crate they used as an end table.“Two hotels on Park Place—five hundred bucks.”
Jerry snorted, shoving fake bills across the table.“Robbery.You’re worse than the brass with TDY cuts.”
Brock laughed, a New York Yankees baseball cap covering his head.“Says the guy who owns all the railroads.You’re just mad Trout’s fleecing you first.”
“Strategy,” Jerry said, dry as the desert in Djibouti.He rolled a six, then moved his top hat past Fisher’s remaining hotels.“This is the dumbest game.You’re both toast when I can build that hotel on Baltic.”
Two inches of ice topped by an inch of snow, followed by another ice storm in a thirty-six-hour timespan, had grounded everything.It was barely safe to walk outside, much less drive.The commanding general had closed Fort Campbell to anything except emergency services.As much as he enjoyed the break in training, he’d love to have the ability to get to Clarksville and spend some time with Olive.
“This game may be stupid, but we’re not dumb enough to challenge you to a dart game ever again,” Brock explained.“Who throws seven bullseyes in a row?You’re not human, man.”
Fisher said, “It’s like playing golf with Waller.”
Jerry had made it back to Fort Campbell in time to take Olive out for New Year’s Eve.They’d enjoyed a movie, Chinese food, and a long kiss under a gazebo covered in Christmas lights.Between her shifts and his training, they’d managed a couple more breakfasts, two lunches, and two dinners.He’d also met her at her car after an all-night shift again, coffee in one hand, a bag with buttery croissants in the other.
But they talked every day on the phone, texted each other all day, and had not missed a chapel service together yet.Now, snowed in, he missed her—the strawberry smell of her hair, the smile always present in her eyes, that constellation of freckles across her nose.
“You know something boys?”Jerry mused.“I am getting pretty sick and tired of snow.”
Fisher rolled, landing on Jerry’s railroad.“Hundred bucks.No free rides.Cough it up, Trout.”Fisher smirked, tossing the cash.Before he could retort with a quip, Jerry’s phone chirped.He expected to see Olive’s name, but instead saw Phil Osbourne’s.
“Pause, boys.Gotta take this.”
Brock made kissing noises, and Jerry shook his head as he swiped.“Ozzy, what’s up, brother?”
