The next morning I felt, well, different. I slid out of bed before Aine woke up, showered real quick, then went into the kitchen to make breakfast. Ham slices, thick ones she'd personally chosen from the butcher, eggs, and I mixed the pancake batter. By the time she wandered into the kitchen/dining room, sniffing curiously, I had everything pretty much done. She sat down at the table, smiling, and I poured her a cup of tea then dished her up.
I sat down across from her, the rain making the house seem to feel more, I don't know, homey I guess. I was used to rain meaning mud and misery, but for some reason it made everything feel cozy. She reached out and took my hand, and I stared at her for a moment, smiling back. Then we tucked into the breakfast.
"I like this, my beautiful Paul," She smiled, pushing her empty plate back. She covered her mouth and burped, then giggled. She glanced up at the ceiling, as if she could see the rain. "If you go out and cut wood, I'll do the dishes, and this afternoon we can build a cozy fire, lay on the bearskin rug, and be naughty."
I blushed and she giggled again. "Take a coat, my lovely."
"That sounds nice," I told her, getting up. She stood up, took my dishes from me, and walked over to the sink.
The broom next to the fridge fell over onto the floor and she shook her head. "I'll make coffee while you chop wood, my Paul."
I smiled at her, blew her a kiss, and grabbed my coat. I pulled it on and walked into the back yard. Two days ago it was covered in high grass and weeds. Now it was immaculate. It was fall, closer to winter, but the autumn back yard looked more like it belonged in a magazine than anything else. Of course, the tree in the back yard was not one I remembered. A large oak tree that looked easily a hundred years old.
It was also ringed with red mushroom that had speckles of white on the caps.
I picked up the axe, moved over to the ring, and nodded to the tree. Sure, Matron Aine, Tauth du Aine, probably wasn't in the tree, but a little respect went a long way in my own culture, so probably she would feel it, sense it, and it certainly couldn't hurt.
The wood was good solid pine, and the stump by the woodshed was new too. I didn't remember it, but hey, who was I to ask questions. It was obvious that either the yard was a gift from Aine's mother or it was my Aine nesting up.
Yeah, it was drizzling, but I was used to a lot colder, harsher, weather and soon I had stripped off my jacket and was cutting wood. I thought I heard a car door, but ignored it. I had neighbors on the other side of the now-repaired and apparently freshly painted fence.
Sure, it would probably bother a lot of guys the changes, but I had seen my girlfriend brought back missing some of her uniform, obviously having been dismembered by an explosion, and fed her raw meat and bathed her in blood to bring her back.
This? This was nothing.
She, or her mother, was showing off. Women liked to do that at times, and any man who didn't stop to appreciate it was a fool who didn't deserve that woman in their life.
I carried a half dozen armloads of wood to the side of the sliding door, put the axe back where it belonged, and picked back up my jacket. It was soaking wet, just like my clothing, but I didn't feel cold.
...PUSH 'EM INTO THE SNOW!...
I shuddered for a second, pushing Stillwater's enraged bellow back down.
When I opened the door to the kitchen/dining room I stopped in my tracks.
A man in a county sheriff's uniform was sitting at the kitchen table, laughing, a cup of coffee and a donut in front of him, Aine sitting across from him, sipping tea. She was wearing a gingham dress with a red sash, her hair cascading down her back in a loose braid. For all the world looking like a young girl just out of Normal Rockwell painting.
"Paul, come in, warm up," Aine said, getting up. She came over and took my hand, "Sheriff John Wesley was kind enough to come by to make sure that squatters had not tried to take possession of your home before you could arrive from Europe."
The Sheriff stood up, coming around the table, and shook my free hand. "You're not at all what I expected, Mister Foster," he said. He sounded slightly relieved. I didn't take offense at all at the implication that he expected me to be more like my parents.
"I've changed a bit over the last few years," I told him as he released my hand.
Aine giggled at that, guiding me to the table to sit down. The Sheriff sat down after Aine did, picking up the coffee cup and sipping at it.
"This is good coffee, Ms. McCullen," He said, nodding.
Aine blushed, lowering her face and fluttering her eyelashes. The Sheriff shook his head in amusement and turned his attention to me.
"Your..." he let it hang for a moment, obviously referring to Aine.
"Girlfriend," I told him.
Aine reached out and took my hand, squeezing gently. She looked at me, and her heart was in her eyes. I smiled at her.
"Girlfriend told me that the two of you only arrived the day before yesterday," He said. "I assume you already know what happened to your parents?"
I nodded, "My father probably shot up some heroin, nodded off behind the wheel, slammed into the telephone pole, killing them both."
He nodded back at that. "That's what we figure."
"The Red Cross alerted me they were killed, my chain of command gave me emergency leave and allowed Aine to join me, and I went and ID'd their bodies at the morgue," I told him.
There was nothing attached to all of that. Well, a sense of relief that reminded me of the time Cromwell had relocated my shoulder after I'd dislocated it. Just... relief. Plain and simple. A sudden absence of pain.
"I'll have them cremated and take care of the rest of it," I told him.
He nodded, looking around. I knew he'd seen the inside of this house more than once. My father was usually arrested at least a couple times a year, cops were often called to the house. What he had seen over the years had been a junkie flop house, what he was seeing now was Aine making herself a nest. I knew his cop instincts would be telling him something was off, that there was no way that Aine had cleaned the place this well in only two days.
"So," he started, "Ah-nah,"
"You can use Hannah instead, Sheriff John Wesley, if that is easier," Aine smiled.
"It's a strange name," Sheriff Wesley said.
"My mother is from a rural area in Ireland, I was born in Washington state, Sheriff John Wesley," Aine smiled.
"She's old country Irish and backwoods country Washington," I shrugged.
He nodded again, and I could see the gears whirring in the back of his head. That "aw-shucks" country act might fool most people, but I'd learned to look deeper over the last few years. "Anyway," He continued, "I found out that you've been in the military since you disappeared a few years back."
I nodded, "Left on my 17th birthday for basic," I told him.
"Gail had us looking everywhere for you," He shrugged, "Sorry, we sold your car at auction a few months after you vanished."
I just shrugged, "It's all right. I didn't think I'd ever come back."
The gears in his brain clicked. Stillwater's voice in the back of my head warned me to be very careful, the bastard.
"I was in the Army, drafted back in '68," he said.
...I swear to God the reason we lost Vietnam was we sent five hundred thousand operators who all fought over the same snake to eat. One of these days someone will admit to being something other than Special Forces and I'll have a goddamn stroke...
Stillwater's voice. I pushed him away.
"Rough time," I said into the silence.
"I was just a medic, didn't see too much action, thank God," He said. He looked at his hand for a moment, then picked up the coffee cup. He sipped at it and looked at me. "Only did a little while in Vietnam, then came home and was put out."
I didn't comment. The draft grabbed them for two years.
"I was a lot luckier than most," He finished. It had the feeling of a well polished speech. More lying to himself than everyone else.
I was silent.
"I ran your name through the database, didn't get much back on you except that you're active duty Army and stationed somewhere in Europe. I thought that was a little odd," The Sheriff said, staring at me.
Part of me went perfectly still.
Aine smiled, that pixie-ish, impish smile she always had right before she took a big bite out of someone.
"Why Sheriff John Wesley, your modesty regarding your service is quite becoming," She laughed, standing up and picking up his empty coffee cup. She turned toward the coffee pot, and my mouth went dry as she dangled the lure in front of him.
"I didn't do much," The Sheriff said, trying to end that conversation. There was a tightness in his eyes. He was completely unaware that he had just taken the bait, hook, line, and sinker.
"Your actions that earned you that Silver Star and two months recuperation in Walter Reed Army Medical Center were very valorous," Aine said, pouring the coffee. The Sheriff went perfectly still, his eyes glancing around. I could sense he was looking for the exits, almost out of habit. For some reason he felt like a trapped animal confronted with a predator as Aine turned around, smiling impishly.
"Had you been a boy of my family, you would have been showered with women with deep bellies and fertile wombs for your actions," Aine set the coffee cup in front of him. He almost recoiled from her as she continued talking, moving slowly around the table, her hips swaying under that gingham dress, "You speak so modestly of your actions, Sheriff John Wesley, completely ignoring your brave actions on Hill 937 that saved over a dozen of your fellow soldiers that otherwise would have died, if not for your stalwart deeds and dedication to the skills of your MOS."
She sat down, and I noticed the Sheriff's hand shaking slightly as he picked up his coffee cup. He was staring at her now, all thoughts of me forgotten, as Aine picked up her teacup.
"Although your actions on that hillside pale next to your bravery while you were recuperating, talking to other men," She said softly. "Your empathy and willingness to listen to other men's horror kept many men from taking their own lives, and for that, my family would have showered you with the rewards the brave and compassionate are due."
The Sheriff cleared his throat. "How, how did," he started.
"Her family is a military family," I interjected, feeling a slight bit of pity for him.
Never tangle with Aine. She bites.
He sipped at his coffee, looking slightly shocked. When Aine smiled at him, he flinched slightly.
"Be nice," I said, patting Aine's hand.
She demurely tilted her face down, smiling gently, looking at me from the corner of her eyes, her long lashes shielding her eyes.
We were silent for a moment, the rain on the roof loud.
"So what brings you by, Sheriff?" I asked him. He'd already said, but his eyes were getting that shadowed look I'd seen too many times in other people's eyes.
He almost visibly shook himself. "Someone left an anonymous tip that squatters and junkies were living in your house."
I shrugged, looking around. "It's just Aine and myself, Sheriff."
He nodded, still visibly trying to gather himself after Aine's bites. I felt bad for him, I really did. Having the cover whipped off of things you had hidden even from yourself was a terrible thing to have happen.
I knew that.
"I will admit, you've done a fine job cleaning the place up," The Sheriff said, obviously trying to fill the uncomfortable silence.
Aine blushed at that. "The house remembered what it once was, my gentle hands helped bring it to the state it longed to be returned to."
He looked away from her. He'd learned his lesson regarding her.
"I was wondering what your plans were for the house," He tried.
I felt Aine's sudden tension more than saw any evidence of it.
"I'm not sure yet," I lied.
"Well, if you make up your mind and decide to sell it, I'm sure that you'll find people interested in buying it," He said.
There it was.
I opened my mouth to reply when Aine broke in.
"Is my beautiful Paul not welcome in this town any longer, Sheriff John Wesley?" She asked, her voice hard. "Does its people feel that he has no right to return to his birthplace once the military is finished with him?" Her cheekbones seemed to rise up out of the softness of her face, her eyes becoming more intense, and her voice was thickly accented with that odd combination of Irish lilt and backwoods Washington burr.
The Sheriff looked at her.
"Is this town and its people no longer welcoming back its sons and daughters when they return from serving our nation?" Aine stared at him, those green eyes boring into him, "If so, Sheriff John Wesley, inform us of this fact right now or tell Gail Keagan that her interest in this house is no longer of interest to your office."
His face went deep red at that.
"Think, Sheriff John Wesley, how you yourself would have felt if you had returned to your home to find that you were no longer welcome here after you left Walter Reed Army Medical Center," She said, "My Paul being rejected is not something we had expected, but it does not come as a surprise, if it is true that he is no longer welcome."
"It isn't that," The Sheriff began.
"But it is. Either he is welcome as you were when you returned, or Gail Keagan speaks for the entire town in stating that her possession of this house is more important that this town's honor," Aine practically spat. She held out her arm, showing the thick six inch scar on her forearm, "If this town no longer recognizes blood debts incurred in defending this nation and its people, than tell us now, Sheriff John Welsey. While I find ingratitude disgusting, I would rather know that when I bear children they, and my Paul and I, are not welcome to live our lives here when we are finished with our years of blood and honor."
He stared at the coffee cup.
"Aine, my heart, calm down," I said, taking her hand. I felt the tension leave her body even as the burning tingling spread from where her skin touched mine. "Sheriff," I said. He jerked his head up to look at me. "I get it. Gail gets what she wants, her family is rich, and for some reason she wants this house," I shrugged, "But just because she wants something doesn't mean she gets it," I held his eyes with my own, "And I will warn you, if I am pushed too far, nobody will like how far I'm willing to go to defend Aine."
"Calmly, my beautiful Paul," Aine said gently, squeezing my hand. I felt that warm feeling spread and my singing nerves relaxed, "We are not in that dark place, nor are we at that place of poison and blood. I'm sure I misunderstood Sheriff John Wesley."
The Sheriff nodded in appreciation, his eyes telling me that he was going to take Aine's offered route to save face. "Paul," he tried, then cleared his throat, "Mister Foster, I'm sorry for disturbing you this morning."
I nodded, tapping my coffee cup with my forefinger.
It felt good, like tapping my finger on the trigger of my M-16.
"You aren't disturbing us, Sheriff," I told him. I took a deep breath and let it out, "I appreciate the fact that you were making sure that junkies didn't move into my house after my parents died. I appreciate your appreciation of our hospitality."
"Please, enjoy your coffee and donut, Sheriff John Wesley," Aine said sweetly, "I apologize for losing my temper," She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "I get it from my mother. I'm sure you understand."
He nodded at that.
"Can you tell me something, Sheriff?" His attention returned to me and he nodded. "Why is Gail so interested in this house? I mean, her family is rich enough to buy anything she wants, why my house?"
He sighed, took a bite of his donut, then washed it down with a drink of his coffee. "Her family is," He admitted, "Not her."
I frowned.
"Why not?"
He ran his finger across the lip of the coffee cup. "Her mother and father took all the money and moved to California. She didn't go. She's pretty much just living off of what Dave earns at the mill," He looked up. "That might be why."
Aine offered him a pack of cigarettes and he took one, raising one eyebrow. When I lit one he lit his own. "It doesn't help that Dave's family made some bad investments and they're broke too."
That made me laugh. I shook my head. "So she's broke, he's broke, and they want this house."
He nodded. "Pretty much."
"They may not have it," Aine said. Her voice carried a note of finality to it.
The Sheriff took a drag off the cigarette and looked out the sliding glass door for a moment. "She'll try to make trouble for you, Foster," He looked back at me. "Before I say anything else, care to answer a single question?"
I shrugged, "If I can answer. Some things I can't talk about. National Security, I'm sure you understand."
He nodded, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. "I thought as much. You probably won't answer my question then."
"Like I said, if I can, I will," I promised him.
He nodded, tapping his ashes in the ashtray that Aine pushed toward him. "All right. Why, as soon as I ran a record check on your name, did I get a call from the State Department asking me what my interest in you was?"
I smiled at him. "I wouldn't know, Sheriff, I'm just a radio operator."
He looked at Aine. "And if I run your name?"
She smiled, "Aine McCullen just an ammunition specialist, Sheriff John Wesley, nothing more than a glorified stock clerk. I'm sure that nobody would care enough about me."
He nodded slowly, and I could see the gears turning in his brain again. "That's enough of an answer for me," He took another drag. "Try not to let things get too out of hand, Foster," He told me. He was silent for a moment. "Things have changed, or maybe not from your perspective, since you've been gone. I don't know how far Gail will go to get her hands on this house, just a friendly warning."
I smiled at him. I knew it was too full of teeth to be a friendly smile.
"She won't like what she finds if she pushes me too far, Sheriff," I told him.
He looked at Aine instead of me. "I think I understand that."
Aine smiled sweetly at him.
But where her skin touched mine burned and tingled.