by Amy Brent
“It’s too late, you need to push, now.” The midwife told her, and then brought her hands up between Shareena’s legs as the head started to emerge. “You’re almost there, one more big push.”
Shareena groaned and bared down, the baby sliding out with the help of gravity. Breathing hard, she nearly roared as one more big push delivered the shoulders and body into the hands of the waiting midwife.
The midwife brought the baby up to Shareena’s chest, and had her sit back on the edge of the bed, because she was now trembling.
“Just have to wait for the placenta, and we’ll be done soon. Hold your baby, she’s beautiful, look at her. Did you guys decide a name?” The midwife asked as she assessed the baby as quietly as possible not to disturb either new mother or baby as Shareena held the baby to her chest.
“Jade. Jade Adella.” Shareena said and squeaked when the baby latched on to nurse, without any assistance or help.
The midwife smiled, “That’s good, and that will help your uterus to contract and to expel the placenta. Let her nurse.”
Shareena nodded, and stared at the baby in complete awe, words escaping her in that moment.
Charlie hugged his arm around Shareena, and watched his new daughter eat. Feeling stunned by the experience. It had been intense, passionate, and a calm before the storm. Yet he wouldn’t trade a minute of it.
“There’s only one thing missing,” Charlie finally announced.
Shareena looked up at him and tilted her head, confused, “What is that?”
“You still haven’t married me.”
“Oh. That.” Shareena laughed, “I guess she’s just in time to be the flower girl?”
“Absolutely.” Charlie said and felt complete. His world was whole, he finally felt like nothing was missing.
THE SEAL’S SURPRISE BABY
I knew I was going to have a tough night when the group of marines walked into the bar.
It was a Tuesday night, which was usually a pretty slow night. We had all the regulars here: the handful of lonely men who sat on the same bar stools every night, nursing their drinks; the couple who got a table near the window, splitting a bottle of wine; and the table full of rowdy college kids, who always insisted on getting the exact same table and always got separate checks. I was keeping myself busy stocking up behind the bar, taking advantage of the slow period to make sure we had plenty of napkins, straws, and sliced limes. But then half a dozen burly men with buzz cuts and boisterous attitudes strolled in and took over two tables near the center of the room.
One of them walked up to me and slapped his hands down on the bar, grinning wide. He wasn't in uniform, but I could tell he was a marine by the dog tags around his neck and the USMC t-shirt he wore. A couple of his friends were wearing fatigues, probably having just gotten off duty. They'd no doubt come from the base a few miles up the road, near the docks.
“Couple of pitchers of whatever you've got on tap, little lady,” he said.
I turned an annoyed look on him. I hated being called “little lady,” both because it was a sexist term meant to put a woman in her place, and because at my weight, no one called me “little” without meaning it ironically. But I kept it professional, and simply asked him, “You boys want to run a tab?”
He handed me a credit card to swipe. “You bet. And keep 'em coming, okay?”
I poured him the first two pitchers and added them to the tab. The marines worked up quite a ruckus as they started drinking, I kept an eye on them as I served the few other customers that came in. I usually didn't have any serious trouble when the boys from the base came down here. They were loud, they took up a lot of space, but they were good tippers and they didn't harass anyone. Mostly, they just gave me a headache.
That would have been all, if not for the second group that came in about half an hour later. There were four of them, and they were as muscular and hopped up on testosterone as the first bunch, though they were quieter about it. They had more of a deadly grace about them. They took a seat at a table near the back, and one of them walked up to place an order.
When I poured drinks for the man and his buddies, he looked me right in the eye and said, “Thank you, ma'am.” He had a slight southern accent, and held himself with more dignity than I would have expected. He wasn't too tall, but he was broad in the shoulders and had a solid build. He wore a navy blue t-shirt with a logo on the breast, depicting an eagle clutching an anchor and a trident in its talons. Above the logo were the words “U.S. Navy SEAL.”
He took the drinks back to his friends and they sat and shared a toast. I didn't expect any trouble from them at that point. But I was in for more than I'd bargained for.
I noticed the marines leaning close and whispering something to each other, right before one of them came over with their empty pitchers and ordered a refill.
I filled the pitchers and handed them to him. Then he leaned close and asked, “And can you do something for me, sweetheart? Send a round of drinks to our friends over there.” He nodded towards the SEALs.
I took a deep breath, knowing where this was going. “What do you want me to send them?”
He smirked. “Four Shirley Temples.”
I sighed and shook my head. I made the drinks—as long as they were paying customers, I'd give them what they wanted—but I gave the marine a serious look and said, “I don't want any trouble from you boys, now, you hear? You keep this nice and friendly.”
“Don't worry, Miss,” he said with a wink. “We're just showing our navy buddies our appreciation.”
I delivered the four bright pink cocktails to the SEALs' table and nodded over to the marines. “Courtesy of your friends there, gentlemen.”
The SEALs frowned at the drinks and cast some scowls at the marines. But the man I'd spoken to earlier played it real cool. He picked up the drink and turned to the marines, raising his glass in a salute. The rest of the SEALs followed suite.
“Mighty kind of you ladies to buy us a round of your favorite drinks,” he said.
The marines scowled. A couple of them slapped each other on the arms and pointed at the SEALs, leaning close and whispering to each other. Both groups cast death glares across the room at each other.
“Don't go starting trouble, you understand?” I told the SEAL.
He nodded and took a sip of his Shirley Temple. “Nothing to worry about, ma'am. I wouldn't dream of letting anything inappropriate happen in your bar.”
“You'd better not.” I headed back to the bar to deal with a couple of other orders from my regulars. I kept watching the marines and the SEALs as much as I could. I knew their types, and I knew this little pissing contest wasn't over yet.
The next round started a little later, after both groups had a few more beers in them. A couple of them headed to the men's room. When they returned, one of the taller SEALs patted one of the marines on the shoulder and said loud enough for the whole bar to hear, “We need to get these boys out on a boat. This boy here clearly doesn't have his sea legs.”
The marine just glared at him, clearly not getting the joke.
The SEAL snickered and added, “I saw you swaying in there so bad it looked like you were about to fall in! And don't they teach you marine boys how to aim.”
The marine stepped closer, shoving his face in the SEAL's. “I keep trying to work on my aim,” he said, “but your momma can't seem to hold still and keep her mouth open.”
And that was the trigger that set off the whole lot of them.
The SEAL that had just been insulted raised a fist. All of the men at both tables shot to their feet. The gentlemanly one moved the quickest, grabbing his buddy's arm before he could take a swing. “Now, Charlie, don't go doing anything that would make the nice lady kick us out of here, all right?”
I raised my chin and looked all the men over in a broad sweep. “You all settle your britches, you hear me? I thought they taught y'all better manners than this.”
The men slowly separated, a couple of them st
raightening their shirts and holding their chins up high. Though one of the marines couldn't quite manage to keep his mouth shut. “The navy needs to teach their boys when they've bitten off more than they can chew.”
The tall SEAL, Charlie, looked over his shoulder at the six marines and said, “Maybe he's right, fellas. Six on four? Maybe a couple of us should sit this one out and give them a fighting chance.”
The marines made condescending sounds and laughed. “Maybe you should shut your mouth before you say something that makes me forget my manners,” one said. He made a fist and slammed it into the palm of his other hand.
I slammed my hand down on the bar. “That is enough!” I shouted. “All of you, out, now. You're all done here.”
There were various protests, with both sides blaming the other. Fingers were pointed, names were called, and curses were hurled across the room.
I wasn't sure who swung the first punch, but before I knew it, the entire group of them was engaged in a giant rumble. I grabbed my phone and called the police, ducking behind the bar as fists started flying. One of the men broke a glass pitcher over another's head. Two men started grappling and they fell back onto one of the tables. It collapsed under their weight and shattered into a thousand pieces. Another man was slammed back into the wall, knocking down several pictures and a neon sign, which broke and sent up sparks.
The gentleman started pulling his men back as quickly as he could, forcing them to withdraw from the brawl. A couple of the marines tried to rush him, but he held up his hands towards them, palms out. “I think we all proved we've had too much to drink tonight,” he said, staring both of the marines down. “How about we call this one a draw and stop before someone gets seriously hurt.”
The marines grumbled to themselves, but they backed down. A few moments later, the police arrived. All of the men, marines and SEALs together, were marched outside. The police checked to make sure no one else in the bar was hurt, then they started taking witness statements. All of the stories varied, with no one quite sure which group had started the whole fiasco. I was just grateful to have the men out of here before things had gotten any worse.
A squad of MPs from the base showed up to take custody of the men. I knew they'd all get a slap on the wrist, and maybe be stuck with latrine duty for a few weeks to teach them a lesson, but that would be it.
By the time the police, the MPs, and the drunken louts had all left, all of my regular customers had gone as well. I was left with an empty bar and a bunch of smashed furniture. I sighed and grabbed a broom, then started cleaning up the mess.
The worst part about the whole thing, aside from the damages to the bar, was that since both groups had been hauled off, none of them had been able to leave me a tip.
* * *
CHAPTER 2:
The next day, I opened the bar early. There were at least a few hundred dollars worth of damages from the fight, and I had to bring in some extra business to make up for the cost. A couple of my regulars wandered in the door not long after I turned on the neon OPEN sign, though they weren't some of my best tippers.
I went through my day feeling the weight of last night on my shoulders. Watching the marines and the SEALs brawl had shaken me. Don't get me wrong, I'm no wilting flower. I've tossed a drunk or three out on the curb when I had to, and being a big girl gave me a lot more upper body strength than most people gave me credit for. But that was different than trying to break up an all-out brawl among trained soldiers. These had been men who were trained to kill, and there had been no way I was putting myself in between them.
I was still considering what to do about the whole situation when one of the navy SEALs walked in the front door. It was the gentlemanly one, the one who'd called me “ma'am.” The only reason I didn't tell him to turn around and leave the moment I saw him was because he'd been the one working to break up the fight.
“I hope you left your friends back at the base,” I said as he approached the bar. “I'm not looking for any more trouble here tonight.”
“No trouble, ma'am,” he said. “My boys are going to spend the next few weeks regretting what they did here, after the way our superiors dragged them over the coals. I can assure you, they were not behaving the way the navy expects of its men.”
“Well, good,” I said, somewhat mollified. “Just as long as they learn their lesson and don't do this sort of thing again.”
“I'd also like to pay for the damages,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “I feel responsible, and I'd like to make it up to you.”
“You don't have to do that,” I said, though in truth I very much wanted to be reimbursed. “I've got insurance...”
“Please, ma'am. I insist.” He handed me a folded check. “And again, I apologize. You have yourself a nice day.”
“I...” Before I could say anything else, he turned and walked out the door. “Well, thank you.”
I shook my head and unfolded the check. Then my eyes just about fell out of my head.
He'd written out the check for the amount of $10,000.
I growled under my breath and stepped out from behind the bar, hurrying to try to catch up with him. I pushed the door open and stepped outside into the fading daylight. “Hey, what the hell is this? Some kind of a joke?”
I looked around, but all I saw was a military Humvee, already driving off. If the man heard me, he gave no sign of it.
I was left standing there, holding the check, wondering what I was supposed to do with it. I didn't believe for one minute that it would be any good. Though if it was some kind of prank, I figured I could at least try to deposit it. If it overdrew the man's checking account, that would be just the kind of punishment he deserved for messing with me.
I sighed and shoved the check into my pocket, then headed back inside. I had had about all I could handle of military men, though at least this time I'd managed to avoid having anything broken.
* * *
CHAPTER 3:
I waited until the end of the week, when I was depositing the bar's receipts for the week, to take the check down to the bank. The teller did a double-take when she saw it, but she didn't say anything about it. I almost told her that I thought it was a prank, but I decided to keep my mouth shut and see what happened.
Over the next few days, I mostly forgot all about it. It was business as usual, and the weekend was always a busy time for me. I made sure to tell my other bartenders and waitresses about the fight, and warned them that they should call the police if anything like that happened again. We got a few men from the base who came in Friday and Saturday night, but I didn't recognize any faces from the night of the brawl, and none of the military men caused any problems.
I'd practically forgotten about the whole thing until days later, when I was going over my bookkeeping for the end of the month. I booted up the computer in my office and started going over all of the daily sales reports from the bar, tallying my deposits and deducting the various expenses that had to be paid: the lease on the building, the liquor license, the beer costs, the electric bill, and so on. It wasn't until I saw the bar's account balance that I realized something was off.
There was actually $10,000 more in the account than the ledgers showed. The mystery man's check had cleared. I hadn't even bothered to record it in my books, but there it was.
“Well, I'll be.”
I sat there, staring at the monitor, unable to form a coherent thought. $10,000 was a lot of money. I could take a vacation. Pay off what was left on my car. Fix the walk-in freezer in the back so that it would stop icing over. I could do just about anything.
But more than the thought of what I'd do with the money, my mind focused on the mystery of the navy SEAL. How had he come by that kind of money? I didn't really know much about military pay grades, but I was pretty sure they didn't pay enough to cover something like this.
The question bothered me for days and days. I kept wondering who this man was, and how he had come by that kind of money. I wondered if he
was up to some kind of illegal smuggling operation. It didn't seem to fit his character, but I couldn't think of another explanation. Super rich men didn't just up and join the navy. Did they?
I finally got to the point that I just couldn't stand not knowing. One afternoon while I was getting ready to open the bar, I set aside my work and sat at the computer to look up a phone number for the base. I found a contact number for concerns from the general public, dialed it, and waited until a gruff-sounding man answered the phone.
After he introduced himself, I said, “Hi, umm, this is going to sound kind of strange.”
I heard him sigh into the phone. “Yes?”
“Well, see, it's about one of the men from your base.”
“Can you give me his name?” he asked. I heard noises over the phone, as if he were rustling through a desk for a pen.
“Well, I don't know his name exactly.”
“What is this regarding?” he asked.
“Well...” I bit my lip, trying to figure out how to explain it without sounding like a nutcase. “See, there was a fight at my bar the other day...”
“Ahh. Yes, ma'am. I can assure you, the men involved in that incident have already been disciplined.”
“No, you see...” I sighed, rubbing at my eyes. “One of the men came back, to pay for the damages? And, well, he wrote me a check.”
“All right,” the man said. His tone was growing impatient.
“And, well, it was for $10,000.”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“Hello?”
“Yes, ma'am,” the man said. “That would be Rick Donaldson.”
My eyes widened. I was surprised the man on the phone would know who I was looking for, just like that. “He...he's one of your men, then?”
“Yes, ma'am. Navy SEAL, Chief Petty Officer. We call him Richy Rick.”
“You mean Richy Rich?” I asked.
“No, ma'am. Close. The boys got the name from the old cartoon.”