noggin.”
He punctuated the end of the story with an acerbic smile.
“Nothing else?”
“I reckon there’s a lot else but to be honest with you I didn’t go ‘round keeping a diary on everything you were up to. But all the big stuff, that about covers it.”
“Uh-huh.”
Nina turned away and stared at the water.
Shepherd squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. He figured he probably could have done without the sarcasm. She was, after all, just a girl who had had something bad happen to her. He wondered how he would react if he could not remember an entire year of his life; if he had awoken from that year as she had: changed.
That was the truth of it. She had changed. Shepherd could see that as clearly as he saw her sitting next to him. She seemed to want more in her life than just the fighting, but had been unable to find exactly what that was.
To him, Nina was like the daughter— the child —he never had, and he had just been mean to her. Man, did he wish he had a beer. Usually he brought a six-pack when he fished. Usually, when the two of them went, they brought a whole cooler full. Not this time. This was a temporary respite in the midst of a critical campaign, not a vacation.
The older man rested his fishing pole on the grass and slid closer to her. He put a fatherly arm on her shoulder.
“Say, I’m sorry, Nina.”
“Yeah, me too. I need to learn to stop looking to you for answers. I have to find them somewhere else.”
He said, “I just think I’ve been over about everything I can tell you.”
She rested her head, briefly, on his shoulder like a little girl looking for comfort.
“I’m sorry to be bothering you about all this. I won’t do it again, promise.”
“I know,” he answered, but she said that each time. In six months or so, he figured she would say it again.
The sound of approaching footsteps startled the two of them from the moment.
“Sir! General, Sir!”
Bogart hurried to the grassy slope. Shep and Nina stood to meet him. He held several sheets of paper toward the General.
“Sir, you need to look at this. It’s the Hivvans, Sir.”
Shep grabbed the papers. Nina peered over his shoulder.
“I’ll be damned. Get me a secure line to the estate. I need to talk to Brewer right away.”
–
Trevor leaned against the big oak desk in the den. His son crawled around on the floor amidst drawings of battles and monsters.
“Did General Shepherd do well?” JB asked.
“Shep did a very good job. Stonewall, too.”
“Yes, I know,” Jorge replied as he paid particular attention to one drawing. “The man on the radio talked a lot about General Stonewall this morning. Said he cut the heads right off a bunch of Hivvans.”
Trevor scratched his chin and said, “I don’t want you thinking about stuff like that, JB. It’s really not very pleasant.”
“No,” Jorge said without turning from his drawing. “I guess not. Not for the Hivvan getting his head chopped off.”
Trevor shook his head. JB always had something to say and he usually said it much more eloquently than any adult Trevor knew. Except for Stonewall, of course. No one spoke more eloquently than Stonewall.
He turned away from his son, glanced out the French casement windows, and stopped dead at what he saw: a white wolf loitering beyond the iron fence on the south side of the estate.
Stone shook his
He punctuated the end of the story with an acerbic smile.
“Nothing else?”
“I reckon there’s a lot else but to be honest with you I didn’t go ‘round keeping a diary on everything you were up to. But all the big stuff, that about covers it.”
“Uh-huh.”
Nina turned away and stared at the water.
Shepherd squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. He figured he probably could have done without the sarcasm. She was, after all, just a girl who had had something bad happen to her. He wondered how he would react if he could not remember an entire year of his life; if he had awoken from that year as she had: changed.
That was the truth of it. She had changed. Shepherd could see that as clearly as he saw her sitting next to him. She seemed to want more in her life than just the fighting, but had been unable to find exactly what that was.
To him, Nina was like the daughter— the child —he never had, and he had just been mean to her. Man, did he wish he had a beer. Usually he brought a six-pack when he fished. Usually, when the two of them went, they brought a whole cooler full. Not this time. This was a temporary respite in the midst of a critical campaign, not a vacation.
The older man rested his fishing pole on the grass and slid closer to her. He put a fatherly arm on her shoulder.
“Say, I’m sorry, Nina.”
“Yeah, me too. I need to learn to stop looking to you for answers. I have to find them somewhere else.”
He said, “I just think I’ve been over about everything I can tell you.”
She rested her head, briefly, on his shoulder like a little girl looking for comfort.
“I’m sorry to be bothering you about all this. I won’t do it again, promise.”
“I know,” he answered, but she said that each time. In six months or so, he figured she would say it again.
The sound of approaching footsteps startled the two of them from the moment.
“Sir! General, Sir!”
Bogart hurried to the grassy slope. Shep and Nina stood to meet him. He held several sheets of paper toward the General.
“Sir, you need to look at this. It’s the Hivvans, Sir.”
Shep grabbed the papers. Nina peered over his shoulder.
“I’ll be damned. Get me a secure line to the estate. I need to talk to Brewer right away.”
–
Trevor leaned against the big oak desk in the den. His son crawled around on the floor amidst drawings of battles and monsters.
“Did General Shepherd do well?” JB asked.
“Shep did a very good job. Stonewall, too.”
“Yes, I know,” Jorge replied as he paid particular attention to one drawing. “The man on the radio talked a lot about General Stonewall this morning. Said he cut the heads right off a bunch of Hivvans.”
Trevor scratched his chin and said, “I don’t want you thinking about stuff like that, JB. It’s really not very pleasant.”
“No,” Jorge said without turning from his drawing. “I guess not. Not for the Hivvan getting his head chopped off.”
Trevor shook his head. JB always had something to say and he usually said it much more eloquently than any adult Trevor knew. Except for Stonewall, of course. No one spoke more eloquently than Stonewall.
He turned away from his son, glanced out the French casement windows, and stopped dead at what he saw: a white wolf loitering beyond the iron fence on the south side of the estate.
Stone shook his
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