Page 52 of Between Here and the Horizon
Ronan’s breath came out shaky. “Six months. He said there was every chance that could be shortened if the intel turned out to be wrong, but he highly doubted that would be the case. He said he appreciated my dedication to the US Army, and that my sacrifice was for the greater good of our fine nation and the protection of her people. Blah, blah, blah. The end.”
“What did you say?”
Ronan looked at me sharply. “I said thank you very much, sir, for the opportunity. It’s an honor. What else could I say?Actually, sir, I had plans in April back in Maine, and I don’t really feel like cancelling?Or how about the plain old truth?Sir, I am done with this bullshit, and I don’t think I can take another day of it. I can’t sleep, and every second I spend out here is another second I step closer to insanity.How do you think that conversation would have gone, Sully? He would have had me court marshaled on the spot.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I do. This is Whitlock we’re talking about. Then again, if he did court marshal me, at least they’d send me back to a military prison in the States. That would be preferable over another six months in this hellhole. God. What the fuck’s happening right now, Sully? The past few years have felt like this one long, unending nightmare that just won’t seem to quit. Day after day of humping packs and shooting at civilians, suspicious of everyone and everything, the madness creeping in so gradually that no one seems to notice, until one day the guy standing next to you in line at the chow hall does something so monumentally insane that you suddenly see it, it suddenly clicks, and that’s when you realize you’re only a heartbeat away from doing the same crazy shit yourself.”
He was barely coherent, hands gripping at his khaki t-shirt, sweat beading at his temples. I’d never seen him look like this, and I’d never been so worried for him. People always talked a lot about the bond twins shared. The supernatural link between them. One of them gets hurt, the other feels the pain. One of them is unhappy, the other’s down, too. One is in danger, the other is gripped by such an overwhelming sense of foreboding that they have to call and make sure everything is all right.
Ronan and I never experienced such a thing, but I didn’t need a made-up psychic link right now to understand how he was feeling. The tension was rolling off him, thick in the air, and his eyes were wild with panic. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him, hugging him tight. “Fuck, dude. It’s gonna be okay. Six months is nothing. We can do that no problem. Just you wait and see. We’ll barely even break a sweat.” Ronan buried his face in my shoulder, breathing hard. He was on the verge of breaking down and losing it entirely. Holding onto him as tight as I could, I told him over and over again that it was going to be okay, that another six months wouldn’t break us, but this awful notion of dread was coiled in the pit of my stomach like a deadly snake, and it was threatening to strike at any moment. Ididn’tknow if he could make another six months out here. Ididn’tknow if everything was going to be okay. All I knew was that I had his back, and I was going to do everything and anything in my power to get him through it as best I could.
We stood for a long time in silence while Ronan caught his breath. We would have stood for much longer if one of Ronan’s specialists, Crowe, hadn’t burst into the tent, yelling out my name.
“Captain Fletcher? Ah, there you are. Sorry, Sully. Colonel Whitlock’s looking for you. He asked if you could please head straight to his office. He has some paperwork for you to fill out.”
So there it was. Ronan was right; they were extending everybody. Looked like I was up next. My brother stepped back, breathing in deeply, straightening his t-shirt. “Thanks, Sully. I’ll see you later, man. Let me know how it goes, huh?” He turned and walked away before I had a chance to reply to him. He obviously didn’t want his guy to see he was freaked out, and I didn’t want to put him in that position, either.
“All right, Crowe.” I turned to the specialist, slapping him on the back. “You lead the way. I’m right behind you.”
The entire walk to Whitlock’s office, the Italian’s mortars continued to rain down on the city four miles away, sending bursts of fire and death into the sky.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sunshine Scramble
“Are you ready for this? Are you sure you don’t want to wait until after Christmas like we planned?”
Connor was sliding a brand new notebook and a pack of pencils into a dark blue book bag I’d bought for him at the store. Stationary supplies on The Causeway were a little thin on the ground, so I’d had to do the best I could. As a result, Connor had everything he needed for his first day at school, but he was hardly going to be the cool kid in his year. If we were back in New York, I’d have been able to take him all over the city, buying the best shoes, the best clothes, a mountain of different paper, pens, glue sticks etc. He didn’t seem to care that he wasn’t decked out in brand names, though. He just seemed happy to be getting out of the house.
“Yes, it’s fine. I want to go. Really.”
Rose had shown up at the house after work the day before, saying wouldn’t it be a great idea if the children could make some friends before the holidays, so they’d have people to stop by and visit. She’d already spoken to the principal at the elementary school, who was fine with taking Connor as an early admission. I hadn’t had much input in the decision at all—fine with me, because Connor actually appeared to be excited for once, and that was a wonder in itself.
“Do you want me to drive you, or Rose?” I asked him.
He bit his lip and looked at the floor. A second later, with narrowed eyes, he glanced up and said, “You, please.”
So I did. When I said goodbye to him at the gate, where other children were filing boisterously into the small, boxy-looking building beyond, Connor turned and hugged me, head pressed into my stomach, arms only just about able to reach my waist, and I felt a stab of anxiety shoot through me. Was he going to be okay? What if he tripped and fell? What if he banged his head? What if some of the other kids started bullying him for no reason? There were endless things that could go wrong on the first day at a new school, and it felt wrong that I was standing around outside the school grounds, watching him run inside, bag bouncing up and down on his back, and I wasn’t going inside with him to protect him. I supposed this was how it felt for the parents who used to drop off their kids at Saint Augustus’s while I walked inside, too, ready to teach.
The suggestion Michael made at Rose’s party came to mind again. There was a position for a full-time teacher open at the school. And it was well paid, too. Once these six months with the children were up, come hell or high water I was finding another job. If I stayed here on The Causeway after the summer, would it be so bad? If the children stayed here somehow, too? I couldn’t imagine walking out on them now, or simply handing them over to Sheryl, to be dumped in some awful foster home. And that was after they’d sat for months in a group home, waiting forever to see who would agree to take them. The thought just killed me.
At home, Amie and I made sparkle starfish dinosaurs to put on the fridge, and then we sat and read a book together. Midway through, my cell phone buzzed on the arm of the sofa.
Sully: Macaroni and cheese? Steak?
He’d finished up with a winky face, which made me shake my head.
“What are you smiling at, Feelya?” Amie asked, looking up at me. Her face was so perfect. So sweet and innocent. Her hair was sticking up at the front, floating on a wave of static that prickled between us.
“Nothing at all, little monster. A friend I know just made a joke on my phone.”
“Was it a funny joke?”
“Not really. He was being cheeky.”
She leaned back, her head resting in the crook of my arm, giggling, teeth on show, and I just wanted to wrap my arms around her and squeeze her tight. She was the most adorable thing. She had the same chin, the same high forehead, and the same dimples as both her father and her uncle. The exact same hair color. The same smile, and the same mischievous glint in her eye. “What did he say?” she asked, still laughing.
