Moment of Weakness

by KG MacGregor

  Now standing before the mirror, she felt like a kid on the first day of school. Her shirt and cargo shorts were the latest in breathable microfiber. She hadn’t wanted Marleigh to think her a slob. Instead she’d think her a dork.

  In the kitchen, she hurriedly scanned the pantry shelves for ideas. The clock was ticking on her promise to pick up Marleigh at ten. “Do we have any peanut butter?”

  “Your mother was right.” Her father chuckled over his coffee at the kitchen table and yelled through the window to the backyard, “Leeann, you need to get in here and help your daughter get ready for her date.”

  “Come on, Pops. I’ve been dating since seventh grade. You’d think I could handle a hike and a picnic.”

  Her mother stopped in the mudroom to tug off her gardening gloves and dirty shoes. “I’ve already fixed your lunch, honey. It’s in the refrigerator. Turkey and salami, and some of that smoky cheese you like. With grapes and two kinds of crackers. All boxed up and ready to go.”

  “Jeez, this is Wright Park we’re talking about, not the hills of Italy. What’s wrong with a peanut butter sandwich?” Nonetheless, she wrapped her mom in an appreciative hug. Both of her parents were excited about her date, especially since all she’d done since coming home was mope around the house. They’d be mortified to know she was looking into a job with Cerberus. “You know this is only a hike, right? Don’t go sending out wedding invitations.”

  “I met her when she came to do the interview. You two make a fine-looking couple. Oh, and your father asked around. She’s not a serial killer or anything.”

  Zann whirled on her dad and smacked his shoulder. “I can’t believe this shit. You’re actually screening my dates.”

  He threw up his hands with exaggerated innocence. “Turns out Ham knows her boss, Clay Teele. He said she was a damn good reporter.”

  “All right then. We’ll sit down and pick out the china when I get back.” Zann was more excited than she was willing to admit. It was her first date in nearly three years, a fact she didn’t want to overthink, since it would fill her head with memories of Whitney Laird.

  * * *

  Hiking, biking, Pilates and weights. Marleigh prided herself on being fit. She didn’t need Zann’s help to cross the stream but she wasn’t about to refuse the offered hand, especially since it was the one she’d injured. It was hard to resist that kind of gallantry. For today only she’d surrender her Feminist Card.

  “I found this place the other day,” Zann said, still holding her hand as she led the way through the woods. They reached a small clearing where a sprawling maple tree shaded a well-worn picnic table overlooking a bend of Otter Creek. She dropped her pack on the table and gestured toward the bench.

  Marleigh watched with curiosity when Zann eased her left elbow onto the table as she sat. In the car, she’d steered mostly with her right hand while resting her left on the bottom of the wheel, as if to disguise its lack of utility.

  “Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Zann asked.

  “Sweet. I bet you missed this overseas.”

  “The Helmand Province had its own kind of beauty. Mountain peaks, lakes, big green valleys.” She chuckled. “Of course, a lot of those valleys were filled with opium.”

  “Some of which, believe it or not, makes it all the way here to Vermont. Apparently, while you were off fighting the War on Terror, our state became the heroin capital of the country. Along with meth, coke and prescription pills.”

  “My mom complains about that. She said the kids trade pills around like candy.” She spun on the bench and used her good arm to pull a rectangular container from her backpack, a neat lunch of meat, cheese and fruit. “She packed this for us, by the way. I would have made peanut butter.”

  “I like peanut butter as much as the next person but cheers to your mom.” Marleigh tapped her water bottle to Zann’s and helped herself to a cracker. “I did a six-part series for the paper last year on drugs in Vermont. It’s definitely an epidemic.” As they ate, she shared highlights from interviews with dealers behind bars and recovering addicts, many of whom had started with prescription pills and jumped to heroin because it was cheaper and easier to get. “The drug of choice if you have money is cocaine. You wouldn’t believe how much of it runs through here on its way to boardrooms and trendy nightclubs in Canada.”

  “I read some of your stories. Not like I’m an online stalker or anything, but I Googled you and there was loads of stuff. You write about everything.”

  “That’s how it is at a small-town paper. Hardly anything big ever happens so we have to make hay out of everyday events, play it all like it’s the Second Coming. Yesterday, I actually filed a story about this guy they caught stealing lightbulbs off people’s front porches on Porter Field Road. How’s that for exciting?”

  “Hunh, I guess that’s why it’s big news when a soldier comes home.”

  “Are you kidding, Zann? You’re not just some ordinary soldier. What you did was phenomenal, a real-life macho video game. Do you have any idea how many guys sit on their couches in their underwear fantasizing about doing what you did? And—don’t take this the wrong way but it’s true—it’s an even bigger deal because you’re a woman. That makes it a ‘man bites dog’ story.”

  A grape Zann had been rolling between her thumb and forefinger escaped her grasp and bounced away. The ordinary act turned momentous when Marleigh realized she’d been doing it with her left hand, probably an exercise recommended by her physical therapist. Going forward, it would be difficult not to notice such endeavors—even minor ones—though she doubted Zann would appreciate her calling attention to it.

  “Trust me Marleigh, most of those gamers don’t have a clue what war’s really like.” Zann’s voice took on a somber tone as she squinted and gazed off toward the creek. “It’s not a hero fantasy. For seven months straight, all you can think about is getting everyone on your team home safe.”

  Marleigh still knew nothing more about the incident for which Zann was honored than what was published in the commendation. But one thing stood out—a soldier had died. “You lost somebody in your unit. I bet that hurt a lot.”

  “It did, it really did. Whitney Laird. There’s not an hour that goes by that I don’t think about it, that I don’t wonder what would have happened if I’d gone in first. Or if I’d been two steps behind her instead of four. She was my gunny…my gunnery sergeant.” She took a long pull on her water bottle, and with a faraway look, continued, “There were eight of us in the FET that day. We split up in teams of two and went into Dahaneh, this little village not far from our base camp. It was supposed to be a routine sweep, something we did two or three days a week.”

  The reporter in Marleigh wished she were recording so she could share the story with readers, but this was private, a privileged window into what she suspected were Zann’s most protected memories.

  “One of our regulars there was a woman named Baheera. She’d give us fresh-baked noni—that’s what they call the Afghan flatbread—and we’d give her hard candy or chocolate so she could bribe her two boys to behave. Khaled and Gulwan…good kids, made me miss my nephews. They were always running in and out chasing each other.” She almost smiled as she remembered aloud. “We suspected her husband Hamza was working with the Taliban but she never outright admitted it. I knew she didn’t like whatever he did, that it scared her.”

  “Because of her kids, I bet.”

  She nodded. “So that day—you know you can’t report any of this, right? I shouldn’t even be telling you. It’s supposed to be classified.”

  “I’m not working now, Zann. I’m here as your friend.”

  “Good, thanks.” She inhaled deeply and shook her head as she blew it out. “So that day, we stopped at Baheera’s house to check in. It was a small block building with two rooms, hardly any bigger than your average garage or tool shed. Whit went in first, calling out to the boys. I walked in behind her and the first thing I noticed was Baheera acting sort of funny. She kept g
lancing over at the other room with this terrified look on her face. I yelled at Whit to hold up but it was too late. Guns started going off inside and I…”

  As she faltered, Marleigh began stroking the motionless hand that rested on the table. A part of her wanted to say it wasn’t necessary to tell her more, but she was gripped to hear it all.

  “You know what Marines are trained to do when a gun goes off? You go straight toward the shooter as hard as you can. Put your enemy on defense.”

  The commendation had spelled out her fearlessness in the face of danger. Still, Marleigh had trouble seeing how someone as calm and steady as Zann could erupt into an aggressive war machine.

  “A guy came running at me out of the other room. It was Hamza…he was wild, just spraying bullets all over the place. Even shot his own wife in the leg. I can still see his gun like it was yesterday, one of those old AK74s the Russians left behind. The wooden stock was almost rotted and the barrel was all scratched up. A miracle it still worked. He must’ve got off…I don’t know how many rounds. I remember thinking my vest plates were breaking up, that any second a bullet would get through.” She rubbed her wounded arm absently, as though unaware of the gesture. “The whole time I was firing back and he finally dropped. But somebody in the other room was still shooting. I had no idea who was in there or how many.”

  Marleigh was terrified to think where this awful story might be going. Had Zann also killed the two boys?

  “Anyway, by that time I couldn’t hold my rifle steady because of my arm, so I grabbed my sidearm. Whit was down just inside the other door, blood all over her face. I couldn’t see how bad it was but I knew she didn’t have much time. I snuck up next to the doorway and heard this clicking sound. I knew what it was—whoever was in there was changing clips. So I charged in and popped everything that moved. The whole thing—from the time we walked in the house till it was over—lasted less than thirty seconds.”

  “So…four Taliban?”

  Zann nodded. “Yeah, one of them was practically a kid, barely sixteen. Thank God Hamza’s kids weren’t in there with them.”

  Thank God indeed. “Where was the rest of your unit?”

  “They came running, but it was all over by the time they got there. And Whit…it was too late for her. She took a bullet in the neck”—she gestured with her good hand—“and bled out before we could save her. I can see it like it was yesterday. It was the saddest day of my life.”

  They sat in silence for over a minute while Marleigh continued to stroke her hand. “I can’t imagine how you deal with memories like that. Seeing somebody you know get killed right in front of you. Especially when they won’t even let you talk about it.”

  “They let you talk about it, but only to other people inside the Corps. I’ve probably told that story a hundred times, what with all the official reports we had to do. Every time, I’d find myself hoping it would be the last.”

  “I’m sorry, Zann. I didn’t mean to—”

  “No, it’s all right. For better or worse, it’s a pretty big part of who I am now. If you’re going to know me, you have to know that story too.”

  “Maybe so, but I’m not going to make you suffer through a bunch of painful memories for my sake. As far as I’m concerned, you can put all that crap in a box if you want to. Lock it up and throw away the key.”

  “That would be the logical thing to do but apparently I’m not logical.” Looking away, Zann grimaced. “Would you believe I just applied for a job with a security contractor? If I get it, odds are they’re going to send me back to a place like that.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “It’s an outfit called Cerberus. Mostly they work with construction companies that are trying to rebuild businesses and bombed-out infrastructure. They need security to go back and forth to the worksite, and then you have to make sure suicide bombers don’t get in and blow the place up. And the hotels that cater to Americans are targets too so it’s basically a twenty-four-seven job.”

  It was horrifying to think she could be sent back to such a place. And disappointing that she was considering it, since it meant she didn’t feel the same spark as Marleigh. “I don’t get it, Zann. Three tours in Afghanistan and now you want to go back? It’s one thing to do it for your country, for the good of mankind. But risking your life so a bunch of billionaires can make more money? That doesn’t strike me as who you are. You have nothing left to prove to anybody. Let someone else take those risks.”

  “Maybe it’s not me,” Zann said, tipping her head thoughtfully. “But the bottom line is I need a job and there’s not much else I know how to do.”

  “Not true. You’re obviously a natural-born leader. You can do whatever you want.”

  “Apparently not. I interviewed yesterday at the Colfax Police Department. The chief wanted to know how I was going to put somebody in handcuffs if I only had one good arm. Talk about a truth bomb.”

  “That’s absurd. Otis Maubry hasn’t seen his own feet in ten years, and he’s saying you can’t do the job because your hand’s not perfect? You’d be the most qualified person on the force.” Despite her usual enthusiasm for women in uniform, the idea of Zann joining the police force was surprisingly unsettling as well. Covering the crime beat, she’d witnessed firsthand the danger in answering domestic abuse calls, to say nothing of the violence from the growing drug trade. Last year the CPD had lost its first officer ever in the line of duty, a fifteen-year veteran shot in a raid on a meth lab. Just because Zann had proven herself in combat didn’t mean she ought to put her life on the line every day. Her hero status was already set in stone. “There’s got to be something else. You majored in…”

  “Military science. Not exactly a demanding field if you can’t serve in the armed forces. But at least it’s a bachelor’s degree, so I have a few possibilities. To this day my pop wishes he’d finished his degree. Thirty-six years with the Town of Colfax and he can’t move up because he doesn’t have that piece of paper.”

  “There you go. Go to work for the town. Friendly people, good values. If we’re going to keep it that way, we need more people with integrity like yours.”

  Zann shrugged. “I guess. Doesn’t sound very exciting.”

  “Exciting doesn’t have to mean dangerous.” She drew Zann’s limp hand into her lap and intertwined their fingers. “Besides, there are lots better ways to get your thrills.”

  The response was a knowing smile.

  Marleigh brought the hand to her cheek and stroked it softly, all the while holding Zann’s flirtatious gaze. She planted a gentle kiss in the open palm. “Can you feel this?”

  Zann answered by leaning in, her lips parted and her eyes closed.

  The kiss wasn’t aggressive, but it carried an air of command. At that moment Marleigh learned something about herself. It wasn’t the uniform that thrilled her—it was the strength and determination one needed to wear it.

  * * *

  “Thirty more seconds and we might have been arrested,” Marleigh said as they bounced over the rippled dirt road.

  Zann laughed nervously, feeling her face grow hot with embarrassment. A couple with four rambunctious children had surprised them by the creek just as Marleigh guided a hand beneath her shirt. For a second, she’d slid back into her military mindset—hide, deflect, deny. The fact that she was no longer a Marine didn’t mean she could have sex in a public park.

  Turning toward town, she muttered, “You’re the person my mother warned me about. Taking advantage of me, attacking my virtue.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, Captain. One of these days you might even believe it.”

  Amid all the doubts Zann harbored about being back in Colfax, Marleigh was a breath of fresh air. She was sweet without being slavish, with an unfettered smile and a carefree beauty. But what she found most seductive was Marleigh’s deep reverence for her military service. How could she not be drawn to someone who made her feel so worthy?

  “Speaking of you
r mother, tell her I said thanks for lunch. It’s my turn now. You’ll have to let me make you dinner.”

  There wasn’t a doubt in her mind how dinner at Marleigh’s house would end—a single kiss had already sent her passion soaring almost out of control. Behind closed doors there was nothing to hold them in check. Was it really fair to let things go that far when she wasn’t even sure she’d stay in Colfax? Marleigh didn’t seem like the kind of woman who had sex just for fun. She’d have expectations.

  “Okay, this is awkward.”

  Zann suddenly realized she hadn’t answered. “Sorry…I was thinking. I don’t think I can make it. There’s something else I have to do.”

  Marleigh’s smile faded and she looked away. “Yeah, well…I didn’t say when, now did I?”

  Just like that Zann had ruined what had been a wonderful day with a woman whose company she genuinely enjoyed. “I’m sorry. Really…I feel like everything’s up in the air right now. I don’t want to be sending the wrong messages.”

  “Give me some credit, Zann. It’s not my first rodeo. We had a good time, right?”

  She nodded.

  “So it’s fine. If you want to have dinner, give me a call. And if you don’t—c’est la vie. It was still a good day.”

  They rode in silence for the last few blocks, with Zann turning over in her head every possible reply. Overthinking had gotten her into this mess—it wasn’t going to get her out. She pulled into the gravel driveway and turned off the engine. “Obviously I’m out of practice on the dating front.”

  “It’s not that big a deal. I should have laughed it off like I do everything else.”

  “I would like very much to have dinner with you.”

  “Too bad, I’ve changed my mind.” Her exaggerated pout gave way to a grin. “Kidding. Pick a night and let me know.” Marleigh bussed her cheek so lightly it could hardly be called a kiss, then hopped out and walked away without looking back.

  Chapter Six