object.
Jerry did not sit down until Foster shook his head to another coffee recharge and Wayne covered his own mug. Then Jerry dragged over a chair from Wayne’s dining table. Foster looked up at the noise and frowned, but his fingers never stopped counting.
Jerry settled himself down and sipped from his cup, taking his time. Maybe giving Wayne a chance. Finally he stretched out his legs and asked his cup, “How come …”
Wayne just waited.
Jerry stared at his steaming mug for a while. “Never mind.”
Wayne studied the big man. Jerry’s refusal to cover more ground with his questions was about as big a gesture as Wayne had ever known. He wanted to thank the man, but all he could think to say was, “Ask me again and I’ll tell you.”
Jerry looked at him then. Really looked. Eyes of dark copper, steady and strong. “That works for me.”
Foster slipped a rubber band around the pile he’d been counting, fitted Wayne’s handwritten sheet on the top, and glanced over.
Jerry went on, “Some things that need telling don’t need telling now. Wouldn’t want to mess up how good we’re all feeling.”
“Speak for yourself,” Foster said. “I wouldn’t mind learning why you’ve got a pile of assassin’s gear stowed in your closet.”
“Sniper weapons,” Jerry corrected. “And the man will tell us. Just not now.”
Foster snorted. Wayne looked over. Offering him the same deal. Say it again, and Wayne would talk. But Foster dropped his focus back to the next slip of paper, shook his head once, and resumed counting.
Even so, for the first time since all the mess started, Wayne found silence was just not enough. When he was certain his voice wouldn’t sound ragged, he said, “Last night is the first time I ever shot that rifle off a range.”
Jerry said, “Let it go now.”
From his place at the table, Foster said, “Don’t see why you had to flap that big mouth of yours in the first place. Go and ruin everybody’s morning.”
Jerry turned around. “Yeah, like you weren’t dying to know.”
“Had to dump a heap of misery on my buddy.”
“So he’s your pal now. And what am I, chopped liver?”
Jerry sipped from his mug and said nothing more.
They stayed like that while the dawn took gradual hold. Wayne finished the last of the accounts and sat watching the light grow beyond his front porch. The only sounds were birdsong and the rattling air-conditioner and the flicker of Foster’s hands.
Finally Foster scraped his chair back. He rubbed the small of his back with both hands. Stretched. Asked Wayne, “You want to know how much is left over for the community?”
But the strengthening day had revealed a house almost smothered in bougainvillea. “Later. First I’ve got to see a lady about a bet.”
Victoria was there waiting for him, an elfin hue inside the screened porch, painted in shadows and sunrise. Only her eyes were clearly visible. “Are you boys all safe?”
“Yes.” He stopped on the front porch and found himself wishing he was back in uniform so he could sweep off his hat. The diminutive woman might have been dressed in a quilted housecoat, but her authority was unmistakable. “You were right. I lost and you won. I owe you.”
She inspected him a long moment, then said, “Go ask your friends if they’d like pancakes for breakfast.”
The kitchen table was just a ledge off the back wall, proper for an intimate couple. They ate in the living room off fold-up trays. Foster hovered around Victoria as long as she was on her feet, sitting only when ordered. Jerry watched the two of them with the dark concern of a man who had learned not to say what he thought.
Victoria ate rations for a tiny bird. When Foster complained, she silenced him with, “Haven’t we discussed this?”
“Well, if you won’t look after your own health, somebody else needs to step to the plate.”
“I’m healthy and I’m happy. That should be enough for anybody.”
Two walls of her
Jerry did not sit down until Foster shook his head to another coffee recharge and Wayne covered his own mug. Then Jerry dragged over a chair from Wayne’s dining table. Foster looked up at the noise and frowned, but his fingers never stopped counting.
Jerry settled himself down and sipped from his cup, taking his time. Maybe giving Wayne a chance. Finally he stretched out his legs and asked his cup, “How come …”
Wayne just waited.
Jerry stared at his steaming mug for a while. “Never mind.”
Wayne studied the big man. Jerry’s refusal to cover more ground with his questions was about as big a gesture as Wayne had ever known. He wanted to thank the man, but all he could think to say was, “Ask me again and I’ll tell you.”
Jerry looked at him then. Really looked. Eyes of dark copper, steady and strong. “That works for me.”
Foster slipped a rubber band around the pile he’d been counting, fitted Wayne’s handwritten sheet on the top, and glanced over.
Jerry went on, “Some things that need telling don’t need telling now. Wouldn’t want to mess up how good we’re all feeling.”
“Speak for yourself,” Foster said. “I wouldn’t mind learning why you’ve got a pile of assassin’s gear stowed in your closet.”
“Sniper weapons,” Jerry corrected. “And the man will tell us. Just not now.”
Foster snorted. Wayne looked over. Offering him the same deal. Say it again, and Wayne would talk. But Foster dropped his focus back to the next slip of paper, shook his head once, and resumed counting.
Even so, for the first time since all the mess started, Wayne found silence was just not enough. When he was certain his voice wouldn’t sound ragged, he said, “Last night is the first time I ever shot that rifle off a range.”
Jerry said, “Let it go now.”
From his place at the table, Foster said, “Don’t see why you had to flap that big mouth of yours in the first place. Go and ruin everybody’s morning.”
Jerry turned around. “Yeah, like you weren’t dying to know.”
“Had to dump a heap of misery on my buddy.”
“So he’s your pal now. And what am I, chopped liver?”
Jerry sipped from his mug and said nothing more.
They stayed like that while the dawn took gradual hold. Wayne finished the last of the accounts and sat watching the light grow beyond his front porch. The only sounds were birdsong and the rattling air-conditioner and the flicker of Foster’s hands.
Finally Foster scraped his chair back. He rubbed the small of his back with both hands. Stretched. Asked Wayne, “You want to know how much is left over for the community?”
But the strengthening day had revealed a house almost smothered in bougainvillea. “Later. First I’ve got to see a lady about a bet.”
Victoria was there waiting for him, an elfin hue inside the screened porch, painted in shadows and sunrise. Only her eyes were clearly visible. “Are you boys all safe?”
“Yes.” He stopped on the front porch and found himself wishing he was back in uniform so he could sweep off his hat. The diminutive woman might have been dressed in a quilted housecoat, but her authority was unmistakable. “You were right. I lost and you won. I owe you.”
She inspected him a long moment, then said, “Go ask your friends if they’d like pancakes for breakfast.”
The kitchen table was just a ledge off the back wall, proper for an intimate couple. They ate in the living room off fold-up trays. Foster hovered around Victoria as long as she was on her feet, sitting only when ordered. Jerry watched the two of them with the dark concern of a man who had learned not to say what he thought.
Victoria ate rations for a tiny bird. When Foster complained, she silenced him with, “Haven’t we discussed this?”
“Well, if you won’t look after your own health, somebody else needs to step to the plate.”
“I’m healthy and I’m happy. That should be enough for anybody.”
Two walls of her
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