by Vicki Grant
“Not everyone in the Army shoots people.”
“Fine. That’s not the point.”
“What is the point then?”
I suddenly realize she’s going to cry, and that really freaks me out. Tara never cries. She roots around in her pocket for another piece of gum. She tries to push it through the bubble wrap but can’t and biffs the whole package on the floor.
She looks right at me. Her mouth has gone tiny, but at least she’s managing to hold back the tears.
“The point is, Paddy…” She takes a big loud breath in through her nose. “The point is, that you could have talked to me first. Look. I don’t want to marry you. A year from now I might not even want to go out with you. But I am your frigging girlfriend now. I would like to talk to you about these things, you know.
“And maybe if I’d had the chance to talk to you, we could have avoided that little scene tonight. I could have convinced you that you’re not really a soldier type of guy. Maybe—believe it or not—Anthony’s right. You really would be a whole lot happier playing your guitar at some cheesy bar, rather than out marching around somewhere in your little GI Joe costume.”
I want to defend myself. Before I can think of something to say, though, she throws her hand up in the air and is at me again.
“Or maybe I wouldn’t have been able to talk you out of it, and you know what? That would have been kind of okay, too, because at least—at least!— you would have shown that you cared a little bit about me and my opinion. Instead, you make me feel like I’m just some casual acquaintance. Some Facebook friend. Someone you just hang out with for a while and then dump when you find something better to do with your time.”
“Tara,” I say, “that’s not true. You know that. I—” But she’s got her arms out straight in front of her like I’m going to attack her or something. She’s shaking her head at me.
“Too late for that, Paddy.”
“Tara…” I lean over and put my hand on her thigh. I look her in the eyes. I smile at her.
“Trying to charm me, are you?” Her lip curls up. “It’s not working—and you know what’s even worse? You’ll like this…” She laughs. “That’s exactly what Anthony would do under the circumstances.”
I take my hand off her leg and lean back into my seat. I can feel my blood pounding. Tara’s always known how to go for the jugular.
But that’s fine. I’ve got 726 other Facebook friends. I don’t need her.
She waits for me to say something back, but I don’t.
I can’t believe I used to think she was pretty.
She slams the door and I floor it.
Chapter Five
Mom’s not the type to get mad or tell you what to do, but I can see she’s not happy about me going into the Army. I almost wish she’d just say so. In fact, I almost wish she’d start crying or screaming about it. That, at least, would give me an option. I could back down without looking like I’m giving in to Anthony—or to Tara. I’d be doing it for Mom.
But she doesn’t even mention it. She looks a bit sad, I guess, but Mom always looks a bit sad even when she’s smiling. She did ask where Tara’s been the last few days, but when I went, “Ah, we’re like, you know…,” she just kind of grimaced and said, “Oh.” She didn’t bring it up again.
The only thing Mom actually said was that she’d like me to get a complete medical before I sign up. I told her the Army would do that, but she said, “Please…,” and turned away really quickly. So I said, “Sure.”
I don’t know why it means so much to her, but I have an idea. Dr. Wallace is the guy who delivered me. I’ve been seeing him all my life. Mom must figure he could talk some sense into me. She got him to tell me about birth control and stds when I reached puberty, so it’s not as if she hasn’t tried it before.
We drive downtown together. Mom’s office is just around the corner from the doctor’s, so it’s easy for both of us. We stop at the Fair Trade Coffee Shop and she insists we each get a latte. That makes me nervous. Seven bucks is too much for her to be spending on coffee—but I go along with it anyway. It makes Mom happy, and I could use the caffeine. (I haven’t been sleeping so well since that thing with Tara.)
We’re at the counter waiting for our order. Mom is telling me—again—to ask Dr. Wallace to check out the rash on my elbow. A lady taps her on the shoulder and says, “Maura?”
It’s like someone turned on a switch. Mom’s face lights up and she suddenly looks like she did in old pictures of herself. She squeals, “Nadine!” They hug, hold each other out at arm’s length, then hug again.
Mom smiles and shakes her head and says, “You look fabulous! What are you doing back in town?”
“Business. Just a quick trip. I didn’t know you still lived here! You look fabulous too. How long has it been? I’m scared to ask.”
“Oh, gee…” Mom puts her hand on her chin. “Must be eighteen, no, more like nineteen years. It was nineteen years, because we did the play in February, right?”
She suddenly remembers me. “Oh, honey, sorry. This is my friend, Nadine Sommers. Nadine and I met when we put on Anne of Green Gables at the Orpheus. I just had a small role, but Nadine and Anthony both had lead roles.”
“Anthony? Anthony Wishart?” Nadine obviously hasn’t heard that name in a while. “Do you ever see him anymore?”
That makes me laugh.
“We’re married,” Mom says and blushes.
Now Nadine laughs too. “Oh, congratulations!” She looks at me. “This must be your son.”
“Oh, sorry, yes. Paddy.”
Nadine shakes my hand. “Wow. The resemblance is amazing. I guess you hear that all the time. So what do you do? Still in school?”
“I just graduated and now I’m…”
The barrista calls out our order and Mom swings around like it’s some big emergency. She’s holding her purse and her umbrella and trying to take the lattes too. She knocks the edge of the counter and a little coffee splashes on Nadine’s shoe.
Nadine dabs it off with a napkin. It’s nothing major, but Mom’s suddenly all flustered.
“Oh! Sorry! What’s the matter with me? I guess I’m just nervous, seeing you and everything. And I’m late too. I have to run. Any chance we could get together for a bite sometime?”
They exchange email addresses and kiss and hug. Then Mom’s pulling me out the door, and I’m halfway down the street before I can get her to stop.
“Geez, Mom, what’s with you? Slow down, would you?”
She stops, lets go of me, then takes a few deep breaths. It’s like she’s trying to pull herself together.
“Sorry,” she says. “Sorry. You know me. I hate being late. I was worried you were going to miss your doctor’s appointment and…”
I don’t believe her. She’s always late. That’s not what’s bugging her.
“Relax. It’s okay.” I smile. “Want me to drop by when I’m done? Maybe we can go out for lunch together or something.”
Whatever’s upsetting her will probably be over by then.
“Oh, honey, that sounds great—but I can’t. I’m really busy today. In fact— oh, gee, look at the time. I better go.”
She gives me a peck on the cheek and hurries off down the street.
She waves at me when she gets to the corner. I realize I haven’t moved. I’m staring at her like a little kid, scared to see his mommy leave.
I turn and start walking to the doctor’s. I laugh at myself.
What’s my problem? Why am I making such a big deal of this?
She’s just busy. There’s that big Parent-Child Conference next month. She’s probably worried about it. She’s always been a bit high-strung.
That almost makes me feel better— but something about the way she looked at me still doesn’t sit quite right.
I’m walking in Dr. Wallace’s door when I realize what it is. I see Mom’s face again and I know she’s not worried about the conference.
Mom’s embarrassed of me
.
Chapter Six
Mom hustled us out of the coffee shop before I could tell Nadine I was joining the Army. Then she didn’t want me dropping by the office.
That’s what this is about. She’s embarrassed to have a soldier for a son. She doesn’t want anyone to know.
I remember Dad saying how Mom’s hippie friends all talk about letting people be whoever they want to be—but they aren’t so good at following through on it. I understand what he meant now.
My instincts were right about another thing too.
I’m putting my shirt back on after my checkup and getting ready to go when Dr. Wallace says, “So—I understand you’re enlisting.”
Just like I thought. Mom did ask him to have a little chat with me.
I say, “Yeah, it’s a good way to get my education.” He agrees—or at least sounds like he agrees. But then he goes on and on about my musical abilities and the reality of actually going to war and the stress that would put on my family.
I nod like I’ve thought about all that. I say, “I appreciate your concern but I’ve pretty much made up my mind.”
I do up the last two buttons. He goes to say something else, but I smile in the cockiest way I can and he stops. He clicks his teeth and says, “Well, good then.”
We both know I’m old enough to make my own decisions.
He taps his pen on the desk. There’s this kind of awkward pause. I don’t want him to feel bad. I like the guy. I say, “So am I healthy? Good to go?”
He says, “Oh, yeah. You’re the picture of health.”
He looks at my chart. “Let’s see… a hundred and eighty-two pounds— good. Blood pressure—good. Heart-rate of an Olympic runner…”
He flips the page. “Haven’t done your blood work in a while, but let’s see what we had last time…Hmm.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“What?” I say.
“Nothing. I just see your blood type is B negative.”
“Is that bad?”
He waves his hand at me. “No. Not at all. It’s somewhat rare so it’s a little hard to come by if you need a transfusion— but, ah…”
His voice trails off as if he just said something wrong.
What’s with everyone? Just because I’m joining the Army doesn’t mean I’m going to get my legs blown off.
Dr. Wallace closes the file and pushes it to the side of his desk.
“Nothing to worry about,” he says, all cheery again. He stands up and shakes my hand. “Take care of yourself now, Paddy.” He sounds like he really means it.
Chapter Seven
It’s not any easier telling the guys in the band that I’m leaving either. We’ve been together since junior high. We still aren’t great musicians but we can usually get the crowd on their feet. In fact, we’re a bit of local success story. These days we never have any problem filling the legion hall, and we actually got a decent number of hits on our last YouTube video, even with the sound and lighting problems. Just the same, it’s not like any of us really thinks we’re going to make a living doing this. Most gigs bring in just enough to cover equipment rental and, let’s say, refreshments.
So I figure it’s going to be kind of sad leaving the band, but no one’s really going to care that much.
Wrong.
We’re sitting in Jasper’s basement.
It’s always been kind of a happy place for me. This is where I’ve written some of our best songs. But now everybody is either glaring at me or stretched out on one of the moldy couches, pretending I’m not here.
Riley says he’s already booked a couple of gigs for the fall. He doesn’t think there will be time to find someone to replace me.
I promise to stay as long as I can, but it pisses me off. Why does everybody act like this is about their life, not mine?
I get up to leave. A couple of the guys grunt. That’s as close as they get to saying goodbye.
I’m walking home, kicking stones out of my way and cursing to myself. I’m mad at Riley and the guys, but I’m thinking about Tara. Riley talking about “replacing” me is what did it.
Gavin McKnight has been after Tara as long as I’ve known him. I never liked the way Will Chan looked at her either.
I realize that the band might have trouble replacing me, but Tara won’t.
I suddenly want to call her. I want to talk to her. I want to make her laugh. Make her see things my way.
Then I remember what she said about Anthony—and what a jerk she can be—so I don’t.
I call someone I can count on instead.
I call Dad.
Chapter Eight
We arrange to meet the next day at his favorite restaurant. The Bluenose isn’t fancy but the food’s good, and it’s not far from Dad’s work.
He’s been out of the Navy since I was twelve, but you’d never know it to look at him. Dad still keeps his hair short and walks like he’s in a parade. He’s always telling me to stand up straight, because it makes you look taller. He might need the extra inches—he’s maybe five foot seven—but I don’t. I tower over the guy.
He shakes my hand and we take a booth in the front with a good view of the street.
“I was wondering when you were going to get around to telling me,” he says. He puts his wallet on the table beside his coffee cup. “Your mother mentioned you’ve made some plans.”
I thought he’d look happier than he does.
“Yeah,” I say.
“The Army,” he says.
“Yeah.” I laugh. I get it. “I guess you would have preferred the Navy.”
He rolls his eyes. “No kidding. A landlubber. My old shipmates are going to wonder what type of job I did raising my kid.”
Martha comes over and pours us two cups of coffee. She doesn’t even bother with a menu. “Chowder, club sandwich, two rice puddings?”
I wouldn’t mind trying something different for a change, but Dad says, “Of course.”
She puts her finger to her lips. “I’m not talking to you, Johnnie. I’m talking to the good-looking one.” She winks at me.
I say, “Of course!” as if there was never any doubt.
“Why does it sound so much better when he says it?” She kind of cradles her coffee pot in her arms and sighs. “For the life of me, I don’t know how an old bulldog like you managed to produce something as gorgeous as this…Must have skipped a generation.”
She elbows Dad, and he does that ha-ha laugh of his. Even though he’s not the kind of guy to show his emotions— let alone admit that he actually has any—I can tell he’s proud of me.
Not that I ever doubted it.
The guy is the world’s most devoted dad. (He even has the coffee cup to prove it.) He was at sea a lot when I was a kid but he made up for it when he was home. He went to all my games, all the school plays, all the concerts. Taught me to catch a ball, change a tire, build a go-cart. Had me over every weekend even if it meant he had to sleep on the couch. He never even dated after Mom and he split up. It was all about me.
Now he calls me once a week. A couple of times a month we go to the Bluenose. A couple of times a year we go fishing. When I’ve got a gig, he goes to that.
Otherwise? He works. Goes to the gym. Goes home.
That’s his life.
I’m surprised he even mentioned his old Navy buddies. He stopped drinking five years ago. I bet he hasn’t seen them since.
He takes a sip of coffee. I can see it burns his lip. It always does. I used to wonder why he didn’t just blow on it or wait until it cooled down a bit but I don’t anymore. I realize that for Dad it’s all part of manning up. You do what you have to do and keep quiet about it. Sometimes that means sacrificing your life for your kid’s. Sometimes that means choking down burning hot coffee.
He pushes his mug out of the way. “So when do you start?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t really done anything about it yet except email the recruiter and get a medical.”
“How’d you
check out?”
I shrug. “Perfect physical specimen apparently. Other than my blood, I guess.”
“Your blood?” Dad’s so tough sometimes I forget what an old lady he can be.
“It’s nothing,” I say.
Martha comes by with a basket of rolls. He smiles at her, but he’s got one hand gripping the side of the table like he’s bracing for bad news.
“What do you mean nothing?” he says as soon as she’s gone.
“Nothing to worry about. I’m B negative, that’s all.”
He settles back into his seat. “Didn’t know that.”
“Why should you?” I say. I take a sip of coffee. It’s still hot but bearable.
He looks out the window. His face isn’t giving much away, but I can tell he’s upset about something.
“What?” I say. “Don’t look so worried. There’s nothing the matter with B-negative blood.”
“No. It’s not that.” He leans back in his seat.
“What then?”
He surprises me. He actually answers.
“Just getting sentimental, I guess. Makes me realize how much of your childhood I missed, and now look at you. All grown up.”
“Dad…,” I say. “You’re a great father. You—”
“What’s up with the band these days?” he says, then takes another sip of coffee.
So much for our heart-to-heart talk. It almost makes me laugh.
I give him a cleaned-up version of my discussion with the guys. He doesn’t need the gory details. I don’t want him mad at them just because he thinks they treated me badly. He kind of lacks perspective when it comes to me.
The food arrives and Martha flirts with us until another customer waves her over. We talk about military life— the discipline, the opportunities, the travel, the pension. I’m starting to feel better about joining up. I turned eighteen in November, but this is the first time I’ve really felt like an adult. I’m making a decision. I’m being responsible. I’m acting like a man.