Page 2 of Pen Me

The bartender working with Jessica let out a scream that instantly plucked Jessica’s attention my way.

Her hand clapped over her mouth and horror registered in her eyes. I didn’t bother saying anything, I barely had time to register that the bastard sitting beside my bleeding, gasping, target was launching himself from his stool. I caught him mid leap and we both fell backwards to the floor.

We struggled and wrestled for what felt like an eternity. He rained blows on me, and I returned a few, losing my knife in the process. I could hear commotion all around us and shouts from more than one direction as he wrangled free and drilled me in the jaw. The scuffle continued as we rolled and flopped. I mounted him and scrabbled, only to be kicked in the back.

My balance lost; he easily rolled me.

“Enough!” I heard over the masses, but it continued.

I ate another punch and heard the most godawful crunch of my life. I waited for pain to set in, and it took a moment to realize my opponent was slumped on top of me.

Vince Polinski, the owner of the bar, was standing over us with his cane in hand.

“Put it down,” an authoritative tone rang out.

“Drop the cane.” another deep, bassy voice boomed.

“Fuck.” I groaned, shoving the unconscious man off me.

I knew a cop when I heard one. It was no surprise when they ripped me to my feet and hefted me over the counter to put the cuffs on.

“Oh my God.” Jessica sobbed, covering her mouth.

“It’ll be okay ma’am,” the officer assured, not even affording her a glance.

I did, though, just as she mouthed ‘Wrong guy.’

Chapter Two

Lemons, Not Grenades

Sammy

I ran my thumb over the ridge of the ancient picture frame. It had survived the nineties, all of our reassignments, and my parents’ divorce. I smiled at my own stupid sentimental ways. They’d been divorced for a few years now, so why did I lug that picture around?

In my heart, I knew why.

It was my only really vivid happy memory from childhood. I wasn’t a person riddled with trauma. It wasn’t so much that things happened to me, but rather around me. My father was in the military when I was growing up. He had been since before he and my mother married. He enlisted, married her, and rushed off to basic. In that order, and just that fast.

It was the tune of their marriage and my youth. We moved constantly. My father was often deployed, and when he was home it was only long enough for them to fight until one of them threatened to leave. They’d spend the last few days in bed together making up, and she’d have news for him a few months later.

Every. Damn. Time.

We were a family of seven once, for the love of God.

Who can afford that? I’m not talking about financially, I mean mentally, as an army wife. I realized not all army wives had the experience she did and sighed.

I set the picture down, my gaze lingering on little Ruby until my eyes misted and burned with the threat of tears. She’d touched us all with her arrival, and two years later, her loss had shattered us as a family.

Two years. That was all that we were sisters. It was crazy to even contemplate, considering how bad her drowning still hurt.

Two years and three weeks.

I shouldn’t even know the exact number of days she was given on this Earth; I was only nine at the time.

And yet, we all knew it.

Everyone.

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