Requiem for a Soldier (Requiem #1)

Chapter 15: Lost

I cross my arms and eye him.

"What's it to you?"

"You're not planning to go after someone with that, are you?"

"No."

"Good. That weapon is for self-defense. You should only use it if you have no other option. Taking a life, especially for the first time, isn't easy. It weighs on you."

Something tells me that he's speaking from experience. Then I think of the man in my nightmares. Killing people certainly doesn't bother him. I bet he never thinks twice about it.

"How about dinner?" Ryan asks, interrupting my dark contemplation. I stand and walk to the kitchen and pick up the dish of roasted chicken.

"Will you take that one?" I say, nodding at the mashed potatoes.

Too late I remember that perhaps asking a man with a barely functional right arm to carry a hot, heavy dish full of food might not be the wisest idea. He, however, covers his left arm with a towel and slides the dish onto it, using his stiff right hand to balance it.

As I set the chicken on the table, I wait for Ryan to notice what I've done with the place settings. I can tell the moment he realizes because he pauses for a moment and his gaze flies to me. I avoid looking at him. Since he no longer wears the mask, I put his place setting at the table instead of the couch. I sit in my usual spot. He sets the potatoes down on the table but hovers near the chair to my right where his place setting rests.

"You don't have to sit here if you don't want to," I say, feeling disappointed. I want him to stop feeling so uncomfortable around me.

"It's fine," he says and sits in the chair.

I take heart in the small victory, then begin serving.

After dinner as he helps me clear the table, he compliments me on the food.

"That was really good. Best meal I've had since ... a very long time ago."

"I doubt it was as good as the food your family's gourmet chef makes," I say teasingly. "I'm sure you had one. Your mother doesn't strike me as the cooking type."

"Gerard hated me. I'm surprised he didn't poison my food."  

"Picky eater?"

"No, I was a huge jerk as a teenager."

I turn and look at him. "Really? I wouldn't have guessed."

"Are you being sarcastic?" he asks, suspicion in his face.

"No, I'm serious. Well, I supposed if I'd never met you, I'd still think you were like the rest of your family. But now that I have, it's hard to imagine you being anything like them."

He looks away from me. "Much has changed."

I begin to fill the sink with water to wash the dishes.

"Why did you choose to enlist? Your family doesn't exactly seem pro-military."

He scoffs. "They're not. That's part of the reason why I chose to do it. I wanted to make them mad." He turns back to me. "Not a great reason to join the military, by the way. I wouldn't recommend it."

"You were so dedicated to upsetting them that you volunteered to get shot at?"

"That wasn't the whole reason. I was tired of them, yes, but I was tired of the whole lifestyle. I was bored. I didn't want the life they were planning for me."

"And because Jeremy was enlisting?"

He stops speaking for a moment at the mention of his friend.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"No, it's fine. I hadn't met Jeremy until we were assigned to the same unit. We hated each other at first."

I can't help a small laugh. "What? Really?"

"I was a snotty rich kid. He came from a very," he pauses for a moment. "Economically challenged family. He thought I was a prick. I treated him like he was beneath me."

"Sounds like the beginning of a wonderful friendship," I say.

"He was the best friend I ever had," Ryan says quietly.

Turning off the faucet and turning to him, I ask, "Do you ever take that glove off?"

Ryan looks up and me quickly and his expression goes from depressed to guarded.

"No," he says, the hand in question disappearing behind his back.

"You dry, then," I say, handing him a towel. We work in silence for a few moments. His sorrow for his fallen friend reminds me of my family. The pain of their loss is a knife stuck deep in my chest, waiting for a memory to give it an agonizing twist. I remember what my government-provided therapist taught me to do when remembering their absence.

"My family used to go on road trips and vacations, play games and watch movies, but my best memories with them are times when we were just sitting around at home, Mom and Dad telling jokes, making us laugh. Or times when my sister and I had sleepovers and stayed up so late that the slightest thing would send us into fits of giggles. Or times when my mom and I would just talk for hours. Or how my dad was always there for me. Even though I miss them, remembering what I loved about them helps me," I pause, searching for the right words as tears burn my eyes. "Keep going." I turn to look at him, realizing that he's been watching me with an unclear expression. I sniff and return my attention to the plate I'm washing. "What is your favorite memory of Jeremy?" I ask. 

Ryan is silent for a long moment. I finally peek up at him just as he begins to smile.