It was dark outside and off in the distance I could hear the crackle of fireworks. Once in a while I would see one launch over the trees and explode in a shower of sparks, but those were the big mortar ones you could buy at an Indian Reservation and only came from three different points.
I found the noises didn't really bother me.
One of my Uncles, he'd had a problem with fireworks, but he'd been caught up in the Tet Offensive. The VC had used fireworks to cover their initial movements, so to my Uncle the fireworks had different memories attached than me.
I sipped the sun-tea, with plenty of sugar in it, and watched the fireworks.
The house felt good. I had to admit. Playing around on the bed like a couple of teenagers with Miss Lily-Rylee was a weird thing. Pru and I
Pru is dead
I know
had never really had the opportunity to do things like that. Once our parents found out about us we'd had to meet in secret. When we were married, we were both too 'mature' to do things like that.
Now it seemed that maturity brought about a certain freedom that I hadn't experienced much before.
Well, except when I was Bomber - 3122, and back in 2/19th, there'd been a certain freedom that was almost like this.
Except here I didn't have Henley or Tony breathing down my neck.
Henley. Now there was a stone cold son of a bitch. Died in 2001, going back into the burning hellfire of the Pentagon over and over to rescue people, mostly civilians, trapped in the rubble. He'd hung on, burned over 80% of his body, for eight days before Aine had arrived. According to Aine, her own mother had to lead Henley's soul into Tir na Nog to serve as a knight for the Winter Queen. At the funeral his own wife had cursed him for being lazy and selfish and thoughtless and leaving her all alone to finish raising their adult daughters.
She had been profane, cruel, and never used the same insult twice.
I could still remember her, tears on her face beneath her black veil, her voice thick with rage and grief, railing at him and our uncaring God, her hands clenching the podium she stood at so hard that her knuckles were white. Their daughters, slender beautiful things, had said their goodbyes with such simplicity it rent at my heart.
A man can tell he's getting older when he has to remember whether his friends from his youth are alive or dead.
I got up, going in the house, and pouring myself a glass of tea. The fireworks had died down and I figured it was close to midnight.
The house was missing one thing. I hadn't really missed it at first. I never really had a chance to watch it back at the Ranch, although I'd stood in my office and watched in horror as the towers collapsed and the Pentagon was hit.
I needed a television.
Which meant cable TV.
Hell, I didn't even know what was on TV any more. The last time I watched TV for any length of time, the Transformer cartoons were still on.
I put the sun-tea in the fridge and walked over to island table, leaning on it and looking at the phone. It was a cordless with an answering machine, but it wasn't actually hooked up to anything. I could vaguely remembering running phone and coax cable out to the road, burying it in a pipe with holes drilled in the bottom of the pipe and gravel halfway up like I was laying a nuclear proof dedicated line.
A quick check of the phone book showed me I'd have to go into Irving to get my cable and phone hooked up.
I finished the tea, set the glass in the dishwasher, and went into the bedroom. I stripped down to my boxers, laying on my stomach in the bed. After a few minutes I got up, turned off the AC, and cracked some of the windows, letting the breeze wind through the house.
I also checked the doors, locking and unlocking them three times each.
I tried to stop myself. Locking only once and walking away, but I started getting anxious and found myself rushing back to snap the lock back and forth two times and breathing a deep sigh of relief when I was done.
what is that all about?
I walked back and laid on the bed again on my stomach for a bit, then got back up, sitting on the edge of the bed. I felt anxious for some reason. I checked the windows again, the doors, snapping each lock on the windows and doors three times. I even went outside, locking and unlocking the truck doors three times.
Feeling better I went inside and laid back on the bed.
After a few more minutes I got up, feeling hot and sticky, and took a warm shower, finishing it off with cool water.
I left the master bathroom, took two steps, and jumped on the bed. I rolled onto my back, ignoring the pain on my back, and grabbed my cigarettes, lighting one and putting the ashtray on my bare belly.
The room was so weird.
Soft powder blue paint with white floor edging and white oak crown molding that I'd put in. I'd hung up a few pictures, one of what was probably supposed to be Texas scrubland with the silhouette of a cowboy in the middle.
Looked like it was taken in Arizona.
I smoked my cigarette, staring at the ceiling, thinking.
The doc said I had to be careful about being out in the heat. No energy drinks, no soda, no alcohol, no fizzy drinks. Water and juice. Stay in the shade, stay out of the heat. For a whole week.
I nodded along, thinking about it.
That didn't mean I couldn't drive into town.
I put out the cigarette and set the ashtray on the end table, closing my eyes.
Again, when I dreamed, it was just a confusing blur of colors and sound. Nothing really forming.
I woke up just before false dawn, the indigo of the sky beautiful as I sat outside on the back deck and ate bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns, drinking a tall glass of milk. I watched the eastern horizon turn a steely grey, listening the dishwasher hum along, smoking a cigarette.
My life had been, despite what people might think, largely offices, board rooms, meetings, and the like. Hell, before Pru died
you mean left
I hadn't ridden a horse in years. I hadn't milked a cow, none of the things I so daydreamed about out at Atlas or on Alfenwehr.
I'd gotten out of the military and started being a grownup. A steward of the Bomber Family Legacy, and I tried to remember the last time I'd had actual fun doing something I wanted to do.
The sun came up and the woods came alive around me. That chipmunk that had lived at the water pump jumped on the housing and chattered at me while it banged an old nut on the wood. It disintegrated in the chipmunks paws.
It cursed at me in chipmunk as I laughed at it.
I got up, going inside, and started going through my clothes. I was still pretty stiff, the burns across my back tight, but moving around helped loosen them up. My sore muscles were better, so I was definitely on the mend.
Crammed in the suitcase, kind of flattened, was my Stetson I'd worn when I'd left the ranch. It looked forlorn sitting there, and I suddenly, weirdly, felt bad for it. I'd owned it for decades, it had been a Christmas present from the Atlas crew. They'd actually sent away for it. It was almost twenty years old, sun faded, but still...
I got it wet and shaped it, setting it in the window to dry.
By the time the first load was in the drier and the last of my clothes were in the washer, I heard someone driving up the gravel. Glancing out the window I saw it was Miss Lily-Rylee. I went by the front door, locking and unlocking it three times but leaving it unlocked, then went and got the pitcher of sun-tea and two glasses.
When the doorbell rang I called out it was open and Miss Lily-Rylee came in smiling.
"How are you feeling today, Mister English?" She asked, a playful smile tickling around the corners of her mouth. She was wearing a T-shirt, a short skirt, and tennis shoes with ankle-socks. Her hair was pulled back into a pony tail.
She looked amazing.
"All right," I told her. I sighed and patted the dining room chair. "How about we have some tea, then you can put the silvadene on my back?"
She swayed over, the motion more natural, something from growing up with wide hips and a plentiful ass, than anything put on for by benefit.
It made her tits do interesting things and made it obvious there wasn't a bra under that shirt.
"Thank you," She smiled.
"I'll need you to bandage my back. I need to go to Irving," I told her.
She nodded. "Want me to go along for directions?" she asked me.
I smiled. "Sure."
She pulled out her cell phone, dialing real quick, and telling her Uncle Pete she was heading into Irving with me to keep me from getting lost. She hung the phone up on her uncle asking her if she ever planned on coming back into work or not.
When we were done with the sun tea she slathered on the silvadene cream and then tried taping gauze pads onto the worst of the wounds. Eventually she got frustrated, put gauze pads over my back, and wrapped gauze all the way around my chest, taping it off.
She saw me looking in the mirror at the fact my whole torso was wrapped in gauze and bumped me with her hip.
"Dark thoughts, Tex?" She asked me.
I nodded, staring at the mirror. I'd been wrapped up like this more than once. Stitches, staples, abrasions covering my whole torso. Eventually blood would leak through the gauze pads, staining the...
"HOLY SHIT! BOOBS!" Lily-Rylee yelled. I looked at her in the mirror she had her T-shirt pulled up. I flushed and turned away.
"There you are, Tex," she laughed. She held out my T-shirt, a light blue one with "Resident Evil" printed on it. I had no idea what the fuck it meant, but I liked the font. I pulled it on, carefully, then put on my black and dark green checkered thin flannel shirt.
"Ready?" She asked me.
I slapped my back pocket. Wallet, Check. Top pocket. Cigarettes and lighter. Check.
"Ready," I told her. She laughed and followed me as we headed out the door. I grabbed the "Desert Storm" emblazoned hat, put it on my head, and locked the door behind us.
"My car?" She asked.
Her car was a little compact and the thought of squeezing into it made my knee hurt. I shook my head. "Naw, we'll take Big Red," I told her, pointing at the red and white truck.
She climbed in, buckling up, and jumped in surprise when Johnny Cash came on the stereo loudly. I reached out and turned it down, then backed up, turned around, we we headed out.
It was weird that the gravel road just went over the drainage ditch pipe I'd had put in, and right to the highway. No fence, no gate. Just a brick-red painted mailbox with my name stenciled on it in white.
"Left," She suggested helpfully.
"Take a left turn and proceed for five miles," the GPS said.
She frowned at the GPS, sticking her lower lip out. I laughed, reached out and turned it off.
"I'll trust your directions," I smiled at her. That got a big smile back.
After checking both ways I pulled out and we headed toward Blue Creek. I rolled down the window and stuck my arm out, Miss Lily-Rylee lit us both cigarettes while we headed down the road. It was a beautiful day out, the trees whipping by covered in bright green leaves.
This was beautiful country. So different from Texas it felt like a different world.
When we got into town I pulled in at the General Store, killing the engine.
"Oh crap," Miss Lily-Rylee said. "I'm, uh, gonna stay in the truck."
I nodded, getting out. "Gonna grab some juice for us to drink."
"Apple, please," she said.
I nodded and headed inside.
Ol' Pete was sitting at the counter, smoking his pipe, talking to Bo Brubaker, who was spitting into a can. I waved at them and headed back to the fridge, grabbing two tall bottles of apple juice before heading back up the counter. When I got there the other two men looked up from their game of cribbage.
"Heading to Irving?" Ol' Pete asked me.
"Yes, sir," I said, digging out a five from my wallet.
"Rennie goin' with you?" He squinted.
I nodded. "She didn't want me getting lost. That, and she's worried about me being out in the heat after I got sick."
The squint eased up and he nodded. "Girl's got a good head on her shoulders, even if she married that dumbass," he looked at the apple juice. "Doc said not to sell you anything carbonated or alcoholic, guess it's good that you got apple juice."
I just nodded. Bo spit in the can, looking at his cards and then back at the cribbage board.
I got my change, dropping the coins into the March of Dimes can and jamming the bills into my pocket before heading out to the truck. When I got in I handed the two bottles to Miss Lily-Rylee, fired up the truck, and got back on the road.
She cracked the bottles, handing me one, which I took a drink off of and put between my legs.
"This is nice," She said softly, barely audible over the music. She was looking out the open window, her elbow out the window, staring at the trees as they went by.