She loved listening to Bailey talk. He came from New York City—or Noo Yawk as he said it.
He waved his hand at his injured leg. It was swollen, livid and ugly, and there was a large raw, open section on the left side of his calf where the wound still needed to be cleaned every day. “She said she couldn’t deal with all this.”
Bailey’s corpsman did not have Kalinski’s magic beads and Bailey didn’t have access to the vacuum pump on his MEDEVAC flight into Germany.
“How old is she?”
“Eighteen.”
Could I have dealt with all this at eighteen? “Give her a little time, she might come around. It’s a lot to take in for a young girl.”
“From what she said, she ain’t gonna come around.”
Zanna patted his hand. “Your mum’s giving lots of support, though?”
“Yeah.”
“Have the pins been adjusted today?”
He wrinkled his nose. “The doc did them earlier.”
Zanna doubted Rivera would have given her an honest answer so she asked Bailey. “Would you mind telling me what it feels like?”
“Like I’ve got needles stuck in my leg. Big-ass needles . . . lots of big-ass, blunt needles. It hurts all the time, but when they do the screws, it’s like they’ve been super-heated and stuck into the nerve endings. It also feels like my lower leg is trapped in a vise and every day some bastard—sorry—comes along and tightens it another turn.” He grimaced. “We’ve worked out that I have to up the painkiller before they get done otherwise I can’t cope.”
Amanda had told Zanna how he’d screamed the first time they’d altered the traction on the pins by the merest margin. Was it like that for Rivera? Yet he never said a word! She placed her hand on Bailey’s forearm. “But, hey, you’re a United States Marine, Nate. And an infantryman. Aren’t you supposed to eat metal and spit nails . . . or something like that.”
Bailey managed a weak grin. He opened and closed his fists as he spoke. “Sure, they tell you that, but I’ve never known pain like it. I busted my arm as a kid, but it didn’t hurt like this. It’s a pain so deep, you can’t believe where it’s coming from. It pounds with your heartbeat and inside your head. It hurts so much, you can’t hear what people are saying to you; you just stare at them—and then they begin to think you’ve got a screw loose.” He attempted another smile.
It must have been like that for him too. How on earth did he get through it all without painkillers! “Well, my job as your physical therapist is to get you moving . . . and don’t think just because you’re not walking yet you get any kind of pass.”
That elicited a genuine chuckle. “Can I get a remote control fan? It’s just one minute I’m sweating like a whore in church, the next I’m freezing my nuts off and shaking like a magnitude ten earthquake.”
Zanna stifled a grin. Why couldn’t a Marine just come out and say something like it was? Their language was always so poetically descriptive and more often than not littered with expletives. But saying that, they often managed to moderate their cursing around her and Amanda.
“The fan sounds like a good idea.”
Bailey scowled and moved his hand toward his leg, but he couldn’t reach it from his semi-upright sitting position. “Can you itch it for me? When it’s not burning, it’s itching like f—crazy. It is now.”
“No, if you scratch it, you’ll make it worse, but you’ve reminded me of something.” She pulled out her phone and texted Gant. It buzzed a reply almost immediately. “Be right back,” she said to Bailey.
Outside Gant and Raul were discussing another patient. “What is it?” Gant asked.
“Bailey’s requesting a fan to alleviate the hot flashes and he’s stating his leg is extremely itchy.”
“The itching is probably related to the morphine. He couldn’t tolerate the Remifentanil.” Gant nodded at Raul, who nodded back.
“Might an ice pack help?” Zanna asked.
“It would be a recommendation, but you won’t get it close enough with the fixator and pins.”
“My brother used a hair dryer after he broke his leg playing rugby,” Zanna said. “He swore the only thing that relieved the itching inside the cast was blowing cold air down it. Do you think that might be an option here?”
“Better than him poking foreign objects at it,” Gant said, again nodding at Raul. “Make sure his leg is elevated above his heart too. Get one of the new bean bag pillows that came in this week. He may find that more comfortable for his leg.”
“Aye, sir,” Raul said.
Zanna thought of only one place she could find a hair dryer in a building filled with military haircuts; Amanda. Having promised to replace it, she rejoined Raul back in Bailey’s room.
Raul helped Bailey hold his leg up while Zanna replaced his standard pillows with the bean bag one. They waited for the leg to settle into the beads.
“How you doing, Nate?” asked Zanna.
“Man, that is so good.” The clenched teeth and screwed up eyes did not convince Zanna.
“OK, let’s try the hairdryer.”
Bailey looked at her like she’d lost the plot.
“Trust me,” she said, directing the nozzle at his leg.
“Oh, shit, that is good!” He lay back and enjoyed the sensation of the cool air playing over his leg. Fairly soon, he was breathing deeply and his eyes began moving back and forth under the lids. Raul nudged Zanna and indicated that Nate was asleep. She switched off the dryer and they left him in peace.
“Bailey did it, just now,” Zanna said, once they were outside, “and I’ve noticed a couple of other guys do it too around Amanda and me.”
“And what’s that?” asked Raul.
“They’ve modified their speech mid-sentence to not drop an f-bomb. Is it because we’re civilians, or is it because they are told not to?”
“No, it ain’t either of those.” Raul laughed. “The reason they don’t swear around you,” he said, weaving and bobbing his shoulders and adopting his exaggerated Mexican accent, “is cos dey tink you is a class act, chula.” Still laughing, he said. “You oughta hear the grunts talking among themselves. Just about every other word is the f-bomb, in all its forms. It describes every situation, action, person or object they come into contact with. It also replaces civvie space-fillers like um—or even a pause.” His face became serious. “Grunts tend not to swear in front of brass, cos most of the officers don’t use bad language—though there are exceptions. But, I think they don’t swear much in your company because they respect you for the way you treat them, and not just because you’re a woman.”
“I had no idea that was the reason,” she said quietly. She wasn’t offended by their swearing. Rivera never swore in front of her, but when he and Angel were shooting the breeze in the gym, the air sometimes turned so blue, it was practically purple.
29
Amanda and Galena engaged in what had become something of a ritual for them; afternoon coffee and chat while Angel napped. His rehab now included walking increasing distances outside. The men from his unit visited regularly. And, after assessing Tchibowsky’s handling of Angel in psych, Gant had quietly stepped in and taken over.
“Something’s been on my mind for a while,” Amanda said. “I appreciate the beautiful artwork of the sun and Aztec warrior tattoos, but what’s the symbolism of that simple little jaguar?” She held up her hands. “Or tell me to mind my own business, I hear tattoos can be personal.”
Galena rubbed her chin before answering. “It is personal. That’s Tepeyollotl; Noa Lana’s Aztec symbol. He is the Jaguar of Night, lord of the animals, darkened caves, echoes, and earthquakes. In the old days, Noa Lana would have been tattooed on her chest or wrist, but modern society tends to frown on these things. In the meantime, he wears it for her until she is old enough to make her own decision.” She pulled up the sleeve on her right arm to reveal a seven-segmented dragon-like creature that wound around her wrist, holding its tail in its mouth to complete the illusio
n of a bracelet. “This ouroboros represents Quetzalcoatl; God of the Aztec priesthood, and of learning and knowledge.”
“I must be the only person in this place without a tattoo,” Amanda said.
“They’re not for everyone,” Galena said. “Have you seen Angel’s eagle?”
He was lying partly on his right side, partly on his back. The feathered tips of an outstretched wing were visible on his exposed left shoulder.
“I have. I thought it was to do with the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor of the Marines.”
“No, it’s an Aztec eagle. Though you might call it a thunderbird.”
“What does it symbolize?”
Galena smiled. “Power, strength, and courage. It also provides aggression and competitiveness to the warrior.”
Amanda reached out to stroke the feathers. Angel lowered his left knee and lay fully on his right side.
Galena called out a sentence in a language Amanda didn’t recognize.
Angel rolled onto his stomach, giving Amanda a full view of the display across his back and shoulders. A magnificent, black, red, and—where the outline had not been filled in—flesh-colored ceremonial eagle revealed itself; its wings spread across his shoulder blades, the top of its head, looking to the west. Amanda reached out again to stroke the feathers. She caught movement in the corner of her eye. It was Galena leaving the room.
In a fluid movement, Angel turned onto his back. She slowly stroked the jaguar on his chest, then began to knead it a little more firmly. Fit, firm, and gorgeous to the touch.
Angel’s breathing thickened.
Eek, I’m arousing him.
He reached for her hand, pulled it to his mouth and kissed it. He drew her down toward him, burying his fingers in her hair. They kissed, slowly at first, then becoming more passionate. Amanda did what she had longed to do in Afghanistan; she ran her fingers through his hair, raking her short, practical, nurse’s nails into the top of his skull. He arched his back at the feel of them, and she let him pull her down onto the bed. Her hand went under the sheet to his thigh.
“Wait, Angel, wait,” she said, pushing herself off the bed.
He stared at her, rubbing one hand over his chin, still holding on to her hand with the other.
“There wasn’t right for you. Here isn’t right for me.”
“Amanda, outside now!”
Amanda wrenched her neck with the speed at which she turned toward the shout.
Zanna’s thunderous glare brooked no argument.
Amanda’s gaze shot back to Angel.
He was grinning from ear to ear. He took in every inch of her body. “I can wait,” he said. “It will be worth it.”
For you, or for me? “I have to go,” she said, moving toward the door. He didn’t let her hand go until they were at full arm stretch, and Amanda slid her palm along his hand until the fingertips were the last to break contact.
“Más tarde,” he said, by way of goodbye.
“Yes, later,” she replied.
“Yes, mucho más later,” Zanna said, ushering Amanda outside. In the corridor, Zanna addressed her in a loud whisper. “What on earth were you thinking? Have you seen the state you’re in?”
Amanda tried to protest. “I wouldn’t have gone much further.”
“There wasn’t much further to go, from what I could see!” Zanna said, now laughing. “Seriously, Amanda, if you get caught in an unauthorized lip lock, think of the consequences, not just for yourself, but for him.”
“I didn’t thi—”
“No, one tends not to think in the heat of those kinds of moments, but . . . you, Amanda? I am genuinely shocked! If Rivera had wanted me up against a wall somewhere, I’d have done it, anytime . . . but, you!”
“Zanna! Now I’m shocked.” Amanda paused, then asked, “You wouldn’t have, would you? Have you ever? What’s it like?”
Zanna hid her eyes with her hand and heaved a theatrical sigh. “Amanda, I’m sure you and Angel will find many mutually pleasing positions as your relationship develops. But, please, not here—and not now!”
“That’s what I said to him.”
“Good. Please do not let your affection for Angel interfere with your job. Do not bring your private life to work with you. What we get up to away from here, within reason”—she grinned—“is our own concern. But, when we’re here, we’re here on their terms. This isn’t City General. This is a U.S. Military installation . . . . I’m pretty sure there would be serious repercussions.”
Amanda giggled. “This is a turn up for the books, you lecturing me, on my behavior.”
Zanna chuckled too. “You haven’t seen the mess you’re in. You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backward.” Grabbing Amanda’s hand, she tugged her in the direction of the Staff Lounge. “Right, you hussy, time to get tidied up. I’ll put the kettle on.”
* * *
Amanda had never been more grateful for working in air-conditioned comfort during the unseasonably sweltering days of early September. At home, the leaves would be starting to turn; here it had hit ninety degrees plus for three days in a row. She exchanged nods with Rivera when she met him leaving the gym and he gave her the broadest smile. So different from that dour expression you wore most of the time when you were in here.
Curious as to the reason for Rivera’s happiness, Amanda entered the gym and made a beeline for Angel, who was lying on a weight bench pumping iron. “Why is Rivera looking like the cat that got the cream?”
He stopped, sat up, and wiped the sweat off his face with a towel. “He just received notification he passed the MEB. He’s been RTFD, which means the lucky cabrón now gets to go spend a week in Hawaii.”
“RTFD?”
Angel beamed. “Returned To Full Duty. He’s back with the team.”
“So, he gets to go to Hawaii as a reward?”
Angel laughed. “He might see it like that, but no, it’s a scheduled exercise we do every now and then. Long days and nights spent jumping out of aircraft. Incursions and excursions off beaches, diving, and finning.”
“More training?”
“It never ends; we can’t let the perishable skills get stale.”
“Sounds like you really hate it.”
He feigned indignation, “Hey, it’s a tough job—”
“But, someone has to do it,” Zanna said, sitting next to Angel.
“Did you hear the news, Zan? Angel says Rivera’s been RDFT.”
Angel laughed. “RTFD. He passed the MEB. He’s back. Well done.”
Zanna squeezed Angel’s hand. “Congratulate him for me, please. He so deserves to have made it.”
Amanda wagged a finger at Angel. “And now he gets to go gallivanting around Hawaii for a week.”
With a pained expression, he said, “I told you, it’s not a vacation.”
“So, you’re telling me, it’s all work, work, work. No margaritas, or whatever it is they drink out there, as you watch the sun dip over the horizon.”
“Rum punch and Mai Tais usually go down well after a hard day’s protecting the nation.” He winked.
A note of suspicion crept into Amanda’s voice. “There’s no chatting up pretty girls? No . . . whatever else it is you Marines get up to overseas?”
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