took the cushions!”
“Ask your crazy ex-boyfriend,” I muttered. It was a low blow, but I was tired.
Sandra’s hands went to the hips of her high-waist skinny jeans; just another sign that designers had no conscience. “What does he have to do with this?”
“Everyone knows he’s missing a few crayons in the crayon box.”
Sandra’s bracelets crashed together when she threw her hands up. “I’m going to get those cushions myself.”
“If we knew where they were, they’d be back already.” At her belligerent look, I tried to defend myself. “Hey, you don’t see us complaining about this.”
“That’s because you don’t care!” She accentuated every syllable with an angry, crisp voice. “I’m not getting through to any of you, am I?” She sighed loudly and clicked her red nails together. “We need to call another roommate meeting.” We all froze. The dreaded roommate meeting. No matter what time of night it was, it was an excuse for Sandra to sit us down and tell us we were crazy.
Tory tapped me on the arm and bobbed her head. “Permission to take my leave, Captain.” Without waiting for my reply, she turned tail and deserted us. It was a trick I wished I could get away with.
Chapter Five
Day 104
1401 hours
“ How long would our lives consist of pretending we were normal people in a normal world? We were two great commanders. Byron was cold, hard, calculating, waiting for me to break. And I knew there was no way that was going to happen.”
—Madeleine’s War Journal Entry (Sunday, May 27th).
“Hey, look at you! You’re so big coming to nursery. Hey, no baby, don’t cry.”
I walked into the nursery room, seeing Byron awkwardly comforting the bishop’s sobbing two-year-old daughter. His dark hair was cut James Bond style—well, current James Bond style—the tousled hair that looks like the guy just crawled out of bed style. Byron had tossed the jacket to his pinstriped suit to the side, and his sleeves were rolled up. “Hey, Carrie, c’mon, you’re a big girl now. It’s not so bad!”
“Oh, smooth.” I headed for the nursery cabinet. “What is that, some sort of break-up line?”
He glanced up at me with blue eyes; they were deceptively innocent and they traveled to my mid-calf boots. I didn’t care if he had more fashion sense than me. They were perfect for chasing children. I stomped away. “How delightful. It’s my other nursery girl,” Byron said under his breath. He caught a tear from Carrie’s cheek, but they kept coming. She needed a Kleenex in a bad way. She satisfied herself with the front of Byron’s cream colored shirt.
I grimaced, not wishing that on my worst enemy, which ironically, he was. I pulled the kid’s favorite nursery doll from the toy cabinet and handed it to her while clicking on the mini CD player to the now hauntingly familiar Snowman song. Like magic, she quit sobbing. Pulling out tissues like a doctor doing surgery, I gave them to Byron. Unlike some men, he knew what to do with them. He wiped at her nose. “You’d better get yourself too,” I said. “The two of you are twins now.” He ineffectually wiped away at his shirt front.
Sundays were always interesting. We had been at this for weeks. New callings made strange bedfellows, though I swear the bishop did this to us on purpose. No, he didn’t have the kid just to spite us, but he knew about our feud. Everyone in the ward did. Either he thought this joint calling would solve the world’s ills, or this was just for his amusement. Whichever way, he won. Carrie gave me a watery smile and I changed my expression from angry to pleasant. Only in a singles’ ward would there only be one kid in nursery. It was worse than solitary confinement and it put both Byron and me out of commission, but neither of us ran away from anything. Carrie toddled over to the wall and began slamming her doll against it.
Byron gingerly deposited the soiled tissues into the
“Ask your crazy ex-boyfriend,” I muttered. It was a low blow, but I was tired.
Sandra’s hands went to the hips of her high-waist skinny jeans; just another sign that designers had no conscience. “What does he have to do with this?”
“Everyone knows he’s missing a few crayons in the crayon box.”
Sandra’s bracelets crashed together when she threw her hands up. “I’m going to get those cushions myself.”
“If we knew where they were, they’d be back already.” At her belligerent look, I tried to defend myself. “Hey, you don’t see us complaining about this.”
“That’s because you don’t care!” She accentuated every syllable with an angry, crisp voice. “I’m not getting through to any of you, am I?” She sighed loudly and clicked her red nails together. “We need to call another roommate meeting.” We all froze. The dreaded roommate meeting. No matter what time of night it was, it was an excuse for Sandra to sit us down and tell us we were crazy.
Tory tapped me on the arm and bobbed her head. “Permission to take my leave, Captain.” Without waiting for my reply, she turned tail and deserted us. It was a trick I wished I could get away with.
Chapter Five
Day 104
1401 hours
“ How long would our lives consist of pretending we were normal people in a normal world? We were two great commanders. Byron was cold, hard, calculating, waiting for me to break. And I knew there was no way that was going to happen.”
—Madeleine’s War Journal Entry (Sunday, May 27th).
“Hey, look at you! You’re so big coming to nursery. Hey, no baby, don’t cry.”
I walked into the nursery room, seeing Byron awkwardly comforting the bishop’s sobbing two-year-old daughter. His dark hair was cut James Bond style—well, current James Bond style—the tousled hair that looks like the guy just crawled out of bed style. Byron had tossed the jacket to his pinstriped suit to the side, and his sleeves were rolled up. “Hey, Carrie, c’mon, you’re a big girl now. It’s not so bad!”
“Oh, smooth.” I headed for the nursery cabinet. “What is that, some sort of break-up line?”
He glanced up at me with blue eyes; they were deceptively innocent and they traveled to my mid-calf boots. I didn’t care if he had more fashion sense than me. They were perfect for chasing children. I stomped away. “How delightful. It’s my other nursery girl,” Byron said under his breath. He caught a tear from Carrie’s cheek, but they kept coming. She needed a Kleenex in a bad way. She satisfied herself with the front of Byron’s cream colored shirt.
I grimaced, not wishing that on my worst enemy, which ironically, he was. I pulled the kid’s favorite nursery doll from the toy cabinet and handed it to her while clicking on the mini CD player to the now hauntingly familiar Snowman song. Like magic, she quit sobbing. Pulling out tissues like a doctor doing surgery, I gave them to Byron. Unlike some men, he knew what to do with them. He wiped at her nose. “You’d better get yourself too,” I said. “The two of you are twins now.” He ineffectually wiped away at his shirt front.
Sundays were always interesting. We had been at this for weeks. New callings made strange bedfellows, though I swear the bishop did this to us on purpose. No, he didn’t have the kid just to spite us, but he knew about our feud. Everyone in the ward did. Either he thought this joint calling would solve the world’s ills, or this was just for his amusement. Whichever way, he won. Carrie gave me a watery smile and I changed my expression from angry to pleasant. Only in a singles’ ward would there only be one kid in nursery. It was worse than solitary confinement and it put both Byron and me out of commission, but neither of us ran away from anything. Carrie toddled over to the wall and began slamming her doll against it.
Byron gingerly deposited the soiled tissues into the
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