before it is
cold.”
As
soon as etiquette allowed, Casey escaped. Trudging home up the backside of
Beacon Hill, she weighed her options. She loved Danny Fiore with a depth of
emotion that had been beyond her comprehension until he walked into her life.
A part of her was devastated by the knowledge that he’d lied to her. Another,
conflicting part of her ached for that five-year-old boy who had sat by the
window, day after day, waiting in vain for his mother to return.
She
remembered what he’d said to her shortly after they met. It’s all a front.
Inside, I’m a quivering mass of Jell-O . At the time, she’d thought he was
joking, but she realized now that he was telling the truth. He might not have
realized it at the time, but she could see it clearly. And she understood
instantly what old Mrs. Fiore had been trying to tell her. For all Danny’s
flash and bravado, beneath the facade, that vulnerable little boy still dwelt.
Of the two of them, she was the strong one.
What
was it she’d said to Rob just yesterday? That she and Danny fit because their
opposing strengths and weaknesses complemented each other. Like Adam with his
missing rib, neither of them was complete without the other. If that was
really true, then she had one very special gift she could share with Danny:
her strength. She could wrap it around him, absorb the shocks perpetrated by
the outside world, insulate that vulnerable little boy from further pain.
That
night, they made love with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes. Each
time Danny loved her, there was a sweet communion between them that exceeded
anything in her previous experience. She lost herself in him, lost track of
the boundaries between them, lost all worlds except the private one they
created together.
Afterward,
she cradled his head to her breast and closed her eyes as her fingers drew
formless patterns in the baby-fine hair at his temples.
“I’d
give it all up for you,” he said. “I’d put on a tie and sit at a desk all day
if it was what you wanted.”
Horrified,
she said, “I’d never ask you to do that. It would crush your spirit.”
“I
love you that much,” he said. “I’ll never let anything come between us.
Nothing and nobody.”
She
rocked him slowly, the way she would have rocked a newborn babe. “Of course
not,” she whispered. “We’re charmed. Nothing can ever hurt us.”
And
they fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.
***
They were camped for the night.
After three days of hacking their way through impenetrable jungle,
waiting for the VC to come out of hiding and blow their heads off, his nerves
were stretched so tight he could have sliced the thick, muddy night with them.
The stench of fear hung ripe on the air. Nights were always the worst, because
you couldn’t tell what was out there. Death could be a hundred yards away,
behind a tangled thicket, or watching from the trees. The little bastards were
like cats; they hid in the trees, watching. Waiting.
Beside him, Bailey blew on his fingers. “Man, I hate this mud. I
thought the jungle was supposed to be hot.”
“It’s the rainy season.”
“Always got all the answers, don’t you, Fiore?”
He took a quick, mocking bow and cradled his rifle closer. When
Chuck spoke behind him, he jumped. “Dan, do you believe in God?”
“Sure, kid,” he said. “He’s running around out there in the rain,
disguised as a gook.”
Bailey smothered a laugh. There was a moment of silence. Then
Chuck whispered, “They’re out there tonight. Can’t you feel it?”
Danny sucked in his breath. Chuck, the skinny Jewish kid from
Brooklyn, at nineteen, light-years younger than Danny’s cynical twenty, had put
it into words, words they had been sidestepping. Danny fondled his M-16.
Friend, mistress, protector, its existence was so much a part of him now that
his action was automatic and
cold.”
As
soon as etiquette allowed, Casey escaped. Trudging home up the backside of
Beacon Hill, she weighed her options. She loved Danny Fiore with a depth of
emotion that had been beyond her comprehension until he walked into her life.
A part of her was devastated by the knowledge that he’d lied to her. Another,
conflicting part of her ached for that five-year-old boy who had sat by the
window, day after day, waiting in vain for his mother to return.
She
remembered what he’d said to her shortly after they met. It’s all a front.
Inside, I’m a quivering mass of Jell-O . At the time, she’d thought he was
joking, but she realized now that he was telling the truth. He might not have
realized it at the time, but she could see it clearly. And she understood
instantly what old Mrs. Fiore had been trying to tell her. For all Danny’s
flash and bravado, beneath the facade, that vulnerable little boy still dwelt.
Of the two of them, she was the strong one.
What
was it she’d said to Rob just yesterday? That she and Danny fit because their
opposing strengths and weaknesses complemented each other. Like Adam with his
missing rib, neither of them was complete without the other. If that was
really true, then she had one very special gift she could share with Danny:
her strength. She could wrap it around him, absorb the shocks perpetrated by
the outside world, insulate that vulnerable little boy from further pain.
That
night, they made love with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes. Each
time Danny loved her, there was a sweet communion between them that exceeded
anything in her previous experience. She lost herself in him, lost track of
the boundaries between them, lost all worlds except the private one they
created together.
Afterward,
she cradled his head to her breast and closed her eyes as her fingers drew
formless patterns in the baby-fine hair at his temples.
“I’d
give it all up for you,” he said. “I’d put on a tie and sit at a desk all day
if it was what you wanted.”
Horrified,
she said, “I’d never ask you to do that. It would crush your spirit.”
“I
love you that much,” he said. “I’ll never let anything come between us.
Nothing and nobody.”
She
rocked him slowly, the way she would have rocked a newborn babe. “Of course
not,” she whispered. “We’re charmed. Nothing can ever hurt us.”
And
they fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.
***
They were camped for the night.
After three days of hacking their way through impenetrable jungle,
waiting for the VC to come out of hiding and blow their heads off, his nerves
were stretched so tight he could have sliced the thick, muddy night with them.
The stench of fear hung ripe on the air. Nights were always the worst, because
you couldn’t tell what was out there. Death could be a hundred yards away,
behind a tangled thicket, or watching from the trees. The little bastards were
like cats; they hid in the trees, watching. Waiting.
Beside him, Bailey blew on his fingers. “Man, I hate this mud. I
thought the jungle was supposed to be hot.”
“It’s the rainy season.”
“Always got all the answers, don’t you, Fiore?”
He took a quick, mocking bow and cradled his rifle closer. When
Chuck spoke behind him, he jumped. “Dan, do you believe in God?”
“Sure, kid,” he said. “He’s running around out there in the rain,
disguised as a gook.”
Bailey smothered a laugh. There was a moment of silence. Then
Chuck whispered, “They’re out there tonight. Can’t you feel it?”
Danny sucked in his breath. Chuck, the skinny Jewish kid from
Brooklyn, at nineteen, light-years younger than Danny’s cynical twenty, had put
it into words, words they had been sidestepping. Danny fondled his M-16.
Friend, mistress, protector, its existence was so much a part of him now that
his action was automatic and
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