The smell of coffee filled the kitchen slash dining room as I stumbled down the hallway, rubbing my eyes. A quick glance at the clock, a plastic cat who's tail swept back and forth and eyes moved right and left, showed me that it was only ten in the morning.
Stillwater, you bastard, I thought, yawning and stretching. My sleep patterns were so screwed up I rarely slept longer than six hours.
Hannah was standing at the stove, dressed in a pleated powder blue skirt and a white ruffled blouse. Her hair was held back by a dark blue handkerchief, her feet were bare, and she was humming to herself as she used the spatula to flip a pancake. Country music was playing from the 50's plastic radio on the counter that I vaguely remembered as having been in the garage.
"Coffee's on the table," Hannah told me, her voice full of warmth.
It made the honey warm feeling spread in my chest again.
"I thought you could use a good start to the day, since we have plenty to do," she told me.
I sat down, picking up the coffee cup. Black and sweet, like I liked it, and strong enough that I could see a thin layer of oily colors on the top. I took a sip, watching Hannah cook. When she opened the fridge it looked more like something off a showroom floor than the mold infested wreckage it had probably been before she had started cleaning.
I could live like this. Really live, I thought to myself, watching her move. I wondered how she'd look pregnant and Hannah turned toward me and smiled. She tossed the pancakes on two plates and came over to sit by me, setting a plate in front of me.
Pancakes with strawberry preserves and whipped cream on top, a small 3-egg omelette, some bacon slices, and a slice of grapefruit.
"Thanks, Hannah," I told her, leaning to the side to rest my head against hers.
She purred with pleasure, "Of course, Paul."
We ate in silence, although I took my left hand and rested it on her leg instead of keeping it in my lap.
Keep your elbow off the table. Eat with one hand, other in your lap unless cutting. Eat slowly. Chew thoroughly. Don't slurp your coffee. I thought to myself, keeping MSG Crowe's classes front and center.
The Hot Site Crews lived under terrible conditions, and MSG Crowe had realized we were all devolving, civilization slipping away. Most of us had eaten like we were in prison by September, so she had arranged three weeks of Wednesday Training dedicated to nothing but teaching us manners that we had almost forgotten.
No field expedient explosives, no hand to hand combat, no knife fighting, no field expedient booby traps, nothing related to combat.
We had dressed up in our Class-A's the first week and relearned how to sit properly at the table and how to eat like humans.
I chuckled remembering how Stillwater and his older brother had to have their left hands tied to their chairs so they didn't pull their plate close and shield it with their arm. King had commented that it was how people ate in prison and reminded me that both of them had done stints in Maximum Security Juvenile facilities.
The second through fourth weeks MSG Crowe had us dress in civilian clothing to eat. Had us dress in our best, like we were going someplace fancy or on a date. Bomber had dressed in Texas style, but I still remembered Stillwater looking more like he was going to work at the mill, dressed in flannel and Levi. MSG Crowe had been forced to take him up to the PX in Stuttgart to buy decent clothing.
Stillwater was a guy I wanted next to me when the bullets started flying, but remembering how MSG Crowe had sent him back again and again to try to get him to dress properly outside of a flannel shirt and jeans. I chuckled again at the memory of him looking completely confused as to why a jean jacket, flannel shirt, and jeans with a bloodstain on the leg weren't acceptable to wear to a decent restaurant.
Hannah giggled next to me, and I knew that she was perfectly aware of what had amused me.
It pushed back the cold empty feeling a little further. That little giggle of hers.
When we finished eating Hannah led me over to the sink and I stood next to her, my arm around her waist, as she filled the left sink with hot soapy water and began to wash the dishes, handing them to me to wash and dry and put in the dish rack. Two dishes, two glasses that we'd had orange juice with, a frying pan, the two plates that held what she had been cooking, a mixing bowl, and the wooden spoon.
Finished, we sat back down at the table, Hannah refilling my cup of coffee how I liked the second one. White and sweet, plenty of milk or creamer, extra sugar. She sat next to me, scooting the chair on the linoleum until I could feel her warm body pressed against my side.
She waited until I finished half the cup before she spoke. "I will stand next to you as their mortal coil is lowered into the embrace of the earth," she said, her voice soft. I didn't answer and she took my left hand in her small one. "But I am worried about you. Your soul has poison festering inside. I will need to draw it out, lance those terrible injuries you have sustained, and care for you."
Fear fluttered in my stomach for a moment until she raised my hand and kissed my knuckles.
The skin over my knuckles started tingling beneath her lips.
"I'm just going to bury them and go home," I told her.
The thought of returning to Alfenwehr and Atlas made my stomach hurt. They'd had us shut down Atlas a week ago, close the bunker doors and leave just the German Army and some MP's to guard the site, and had First Squad return to the barracks. I knew that Group was going to Graf again, or maybe Wildflecken, to take part in Reconstitution or WinTex.
We'd been so long most people hadn't known who we were, we'd been reported as dead, and they'd lost Atlas. We'd been flash grenaded and held in custody until we could be identified and then had undergone security checks to validate our identities.
From what Stillwater had told me the day before he had come to my room with the news, operating under the auspices of his Red Cross Representative appointing, most of First Squad would be kept back for Rear Detachment.
I suddenly wondered how Cromwell, Groom, and the others were doing at Special Weapons training.
"She's fine. Frightened at times, but she secretly relishes the challenges," Hannah told me.
I was used to that, like she knew what I was thinking. I'd seen her, really seen her, and it didn't frighten me. It's not like I was worried about what she'd hear me think, if she did listen.
It didn't really matter what I thought, she knew how I felt.
She kissed the back of my hand again.
"I'm going to be here, with you, the entire time," Hannah told me. "When it is time to leave, I will follow my own paths back, but until then, I am with you."
"Thank you," I told her.
"Of course, Paul, I love you," She said, snuggling up again. We held that pose for a long moment until Hannah suddenly came to her feet, like a ribbon of silk being lifted off the floor, her eyes flashing. She made a hissing sound, like some kind of wild cat, and stared at the front door.
I stood up with her, pushing in the chair to clear it from my immediate area. My fingertips reached for a pistol that was no longer there, habit gained from hard lessons.
Goddamn you, Stillwater, I thought.
A key rattled in the door and the polished brass knob slowly turned.
Hannah was in an ankle length gingham dress, a red cotton sash around her waist, her hair, which had been cascading down her back in a brushed copper wave, held tight in a thick braid that came down to the middle of her back. I could see bluish sparks dancing up and down on the braid as she moved to the side, taking her out of sight of the doorway.
I stepped forward until I stood in the middle of the frontroom, angling so the coffee table wasn't between me and the front door but the smaller couch was right there for me to dive behind if things went suddenly bad. Whether or not there were small arms in the house was something I hadn't checked yet. I wasn't carrying my knife or a bayonet. I was only armed with my hands and my training.
There are no dangerous weapons, only dangerous men, Stillwater's hoarse voice snaked through my mind and I could smell a sharp astringent smell.
I felt a flush of shame as I realized that part of me was still at Atlas.
The door opened.
Gail and Dave stood in the rain on the front step, staring into the clean house, both of them obviously shocked to see me.
"Paulie!" Gail exclaimed.
why won't you just leave me alone