Page 33 of The Time Keepers
Jack had seen her type before. The long peasant skirt, the baggy T-shirt with no bra. He didn’t hate the people in the peace movement before he left. Hell, he didn’t want to go to Vietnam in the first place. But he didn’t expect to be antagonized once he got back home either.
A freckled arm holding a tall drink extended out from her bright knit poncho. Stacks of dime-store bangles jangled on her wrist.
“I’m talking to you,” she started again. Jack turned around to her, and that’s when she pounced.
“Baby killer! Baby killer!” she shouted in his face, spit flying in the air.
He was just about to push her out of the way when she hurled her drink in his face.
Jack stood there, frozen as the girl’s ice-cold lemonade dripped down his cheeks and chest.
“What the hell?” he yelled back at her, his face pumping with blood. But she was already running down the hall, the back portion of her poncho fluttering behind her like a ridiculous cape.
Jack looked down at his soaked uniform. The sticky liquid had saturated his shirt and traveled down part of his pant leg.
Jet-lagged, exhausted, and in shock, he stood for several seconds, stunned.
“We’ll be boarding flight 509 to Pittsburgh in ten minutes,” a perfunctory voice announced over the PA system.
Had the woman really just called him a baby killer?
He had just spent five months with a radio strapped to his back, making him a bull’s-eye for the enemy to kill him. He was scared for his life every second of the day. He had not killed a single Vietcong, and the idea of killing a baby was ludicrous. Yet he had come home to the country he was supposedly fighting for only to be unfairly accused of such abominable acts.
“There’s a bathroom over there, son,” an older gentleman said as he tapped Jack on the shoulder. He pulled out some paper napkins from his pocket and offered them to Jack. “She’s just an ignorant hippie. Ignore her.”
Jack took it and began to blot his wet chest. “Not the welcome I thought I’d get when I got back home.”
“I imagine not.” The man shook his head. “Do you have some clean clothes in that duffel?”
Jack nodded.
“Go change and clean yourself up. I’ll make sure the plane doesn’t leave without you.”
Emotions swirled inside him, for the man was the only person to show him a gesture of kindness. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”
“Petty officer third class, United States Navy,” the man said as he reached to shake Jack’s still-wet hand.
CHAPTER 32Long Island, 1979
THE MORNING THATCLAYTON ANDBUDDY SET OUT TO FINDthe best place for their fort, they crossed paths with Katie Golden, who was en route and excited to be beginning her first day of work at her lifeguard job. Dressed in a terry white pullover, her red bathing suit concealed underneath, she still caught the boys’ attention as she pedaled down Main Street.
It was Clayton who shouted out first to her. “Hey, hot stuff, you’d better slow down!” A smirk spread over his face like spilled kerosene.
Katie had seen the boys out of the corner of her eye and had tried to avoid them. She had never liked Buddy, but she had known him since they were toddlers, and he was like a pesky mosquito who irritated her more than anything. But since he had started hanging out with Clayton, she sensed something more menacing growing in him. The two of them had become inseparable, and she suspected what they were up to couldn’t be anything good.
Buddy had always loved stirring the pot, but this new boy, Clayton, really had given her the willies. His pale eyes narrowed looking at her. Like he was hunting her.
They surprised her at the intersection of Main and Blythe streets. They clearly thought it would be amusing to take a shortcut and then reappear.
“Hey, Katie, what are you up to today? Hope you have something on under that cover up.” Buddy grinned. “You’re a lot prettier than that old bike of yours.”
She was repulsed. “You’re just gross. Why don’t the two of you just get lost?” She hated every ounce of them. Buddy’s wiry neck. His vampire-white skin and red hair.
“What did you say? I didn’t hear you.” Clayton mocked her. He stepped forward and put a hand in the center of her handlebars. “I like it when I get you mad. Your nose crinkles up like a little ferret.”
She told them to buzz off. “You’re both pathetic, you know that?”
Clayton came in closer, his face now only inches from hers. “I’ll tell you again. I like it when you’re mad.” He snickered.
