Starts with a Match

Where do We Go from Here?

I woke up to a note that Toby had gone to Maisie's.

Really couldn't be too upset about it. I'm skipping past the good part, anyway.

I woke up to a kiss on my forehead, a whispered, "I'll see you in a few days, Kevin. I'll call you", and then I got up, went to the kitchen, and found the note.

Only a little longer than the one I left them, but every word felt like a blessing. I memorized it while I paced around the living room and house and visited with Dorris outside, wasting my day off.

Loved their note. Didn't put it away in my sock drawer. I went in the rental to Walmart, zoomed right past the liquor aisle, and got myself a bulletin board. A friend and family board, just like Toby's.

Went home and set it up over my dresser.

Filled it with Toby trinkets in five minutes flat.

Hiya, Koop. Can you get the laundry put up before I come home? I'm bringing table clothes from Gracie; she needs them washed before next spouse event.

Hiya, Koop, would you please get water boiling around 18:50? I'll be heading home around then, can make us dinner by the time I get in—I made dinner that night. They grinned at me the whole time the slices of garlic bread were cooking.

So many notes. So many little smiley faces, frowny faces, winking ones. Little stars. Don't know what that's about but I like that they're never drawn the same way twice.

Then the note I got on July 5th.

Hiya, Koop. Please drink water today, eat some good food. I'll be home on the ninth or so. Miss you. - Your Toby.

What a difference a missing letter and lack of comma make. My Toby. I'm not ashamed to say I held that one to my chest and pushed it around in circles against my sutures, even though it hurt. Maybe I could force the message to seep into my skin, straight through to my heart faster.

—

I've been back to post a few times since I got home from the border. Toby's talked to me on the phone. For hours. Facetime, texting, well into the night.

Don't know why they felt the need to leave if they were just going to chatter at me from a few more miles away, but I don't push it. Maybe in August, if they feel so inclined to dart off to Maisie's at the beginning of the month, I can convince them to stay.

They told me they're a little concerned; getting a hold of Kit-Kat is becoming more difficult, and the calls have gotten shorter. Toby's begged her to get out, but she's not about to leave. They're even debating closing the reservation again to keep those inside safe. I don't mean to, but I think the worst: walls won't stop a war on our own turf, with our own people. I've offered to talk to Kit-Kat for them, see if I could at least convince her to have a plan in place.

But Toby's turned me down each time, saying they don't have a lot of time per call. I get it; they'd rather talk about positive stuff in those brief minutes.

Found out today that the US might be moving into stage five soon, a level we stayed at the first whole year of the virus.

Which means more mandatory testing on post, not just when we have flu-like symptoms. Heart rate check ins once a month. More eye & hearing exams. If your fever is over ninety-eight, you're sent to the hospital.

Which is ridiculous since that's like the resting temperature of a human. But it's either that, or you're the man in an HEB in Oklahoma who went to get pecans and brownie mix, only to end up infecting over twenty people just because he had a temp of ninety-eight-three.

Or you're the unintentional carrier in Louisiana who set of a chain reaction and an entire city was quarantined.

Clearly people are scared of being at this high a level again. Bethew's talking about doing an Address to the Nation in November, letting us all know what the plan is moving forward. But that's still months from now, and before then, we're all flying by the seat of our pants. Schools might not even start up again. Who knows.

—

I'm nearly finished with my latest meeting with Don and some other soldiers he's in charge of when my phone vibrates in my pocket.

I yank it free, thinking it's Toby. My face breaks into a grin when I see Jim's name light up the screen. "Hey, Cliffer," I laugh, maybe too jolly, but holy shit—

"Koop! Hey, hey, Kev," he cackles back, just as delighted.

Don's brows go up to me and he smiles, and I nod and get out of my chair, darting for the hall and more privacy. "Fucking shit, man, good to hear your voice."

"You too, Jim, what've you—where you been, how's DC?"

"DC's been good, but I've hardly been on post at all," he snorts. There's a chuckle in the background that sounds like Beth, and I hear him snicker. No idea why they're so giggly, but my cheeks hurt from grinning. "Beth says hi and asks if the spouse group has burnt to the ground yet."

"No, not yet—Gracie picked it up," I reply. My chest swells and I stand up straighter. "Her and Toby are kind of double teaming it. They're kicking ass."

"Hear that, babe, takes two people to do what you were doing!" Jim yells. There's a pfffft in the background and I can just see Beth puffing out her cheeks and rolling her eyes. But yeah—no, DC—no, I've been back and forth to the Pentagon for days now. They're legit looking at transferring me—us, Beth and me—to be less than a block away, cause things are picking up and I'm needed there more and more."

"Needed there why?" I ask, pushing a finger into my ear as Don and his meeting adjourn and start shout-laughing into the hall.

Jim clears his throat. "Not a uh. Not a secure line, my dude. But. Yeah." My happiness at hearing my friend starts to fizzle. "You still in contact with Seya?"

"When he wants to be in contact with me, yeah."

"Stick close to him. When you can. And I'll call you again."

"When? Are you guys safe?"

"We're um. Yeah—we're...get a hold of Seya, bro. We'll talk, Koop."

"Um...okay. Have you heard from Hannah?"

"Not lately. I've tried to get through to Firebug but she's harder to talk to all the way in Rustavi."

"Are you safe, Jim?" I ask again.

"Yeah, we're good." I can picture the tightness of his face as he says that. I don't believe it. "Yeah—tell—tell me about the border, Kev, how'd that go? With Don—he called me. You guys just got back, right? Anything to report?"

Not a secure line, Jim. "Things were um...I mean it was the border. Fucking sucked."

He laughs and buys the lie. Thank God Donovan for once kept some shit to himself. I'd hate to find out he was parading around my interrogation skills.