Duty: A Secret Baby Romance (13 page)

“What?” I ask, and I can see Aaron's wheels turning in his head. He's got an idea. More than his body, it was that look that I came to fall for, that constant whirring in his head that said he's seeing what he wants, and he's going to get it. Knowing that I'm what he wants is such a turn on it's scary. “Come on, I know that look, spill it.”

“My battalion, it has a Big Brother and Sister program, where we so-called 'adopt' a kid on post. I haven't done it so far, the system normally tries to match within ranks, and there aren't too many junior officers with children. Especially on an infantry heavy post. What if, well, what if I were to be Lance's Big Brother? It'd give you another option for taking care of Lance when you have to work late or have weekend duty. And it'd give you a chance to have some private time too. What do you say?”

I can tell that he wants this, and I want to say yes, but I don't know. Just being here feels risky to me, and seeing him again . . . it's so dangerous. Still, I go over and take his hand again, giving him a kiss on the knuckle for some crazy reason. “I don't know, Aaron. Let me think about it?”

“Deal,” Aaron says, giving me one of his quirky, pulse racing smiles. He knows that I want to say yes, but he's giving me enough time and space to come to my own conclusions and to be comfortable with it. “I can live with that.”

Lance groans on the couch, and I look over, letting go of Aaron's hand. “That's his signal that he needs to go pee,” I tell him, getting up. “I'll take care of it.”

“And us?”

I’m careful with my words, knowing what the repercussions could be. “We have to be careful, Aaron.”

* * *

D
riving back to our quarters
, Lance is giddy in the back seat. “He let me use a knife!”

“Yes, I saw, honey,” I respond, smiling at the memory. Lance and Aaron were in total connection, cutting up the cake that Aaron surprised us with. It wasn't some butter knife either. It was a real kitchen knife, which worried me until I saw how careful Lance and Aaron were being together. Lance understood the importance of using a big boy’s knife. “You did great, too.”

With all the excitement, Lance goes down early even with the sugar from the cake running through him, and as I kiss his forehead after tucking him in, I watch him sleeping softly, reminiscing. I could tell in his answer, Aaron's been lonely. I could see it in his decorations, in the fact that he has only a basic four plate set, four knives, four spoons, things like that. They sell a set just like what he has at the PX. I was tempted to get one myself when I was moving into enlisted housing. I ended up inheriting a set from one of the other enlisted at Lewis, who gave me their old stuff as a housewarming gift. Aaron didn't get any housewarming gifts, it looks like.

I could see it in his bedroom, which I saw through the door when I took Lance to the toilet. A full-sized bed is nowhere near big enough for a man Aaron's size with any sort of active sex life. You can't even fit two people in it comfortably. The sheets looked crisp but also mostly unused, unlike the comforter Lance slept on, and the couch already looks well broken in. He probably sleeps there more than in his bed.

I've been lonely too, though. I love Lance, but the chance today to talk with Aaron, even the painful parts, I felt a part of me awaken. It was the adult, non-military side. Other than talking with Petie, nobody really ever talks with me that way. Even other soldiers, off duty, still have that Army-ness about them. The topics of conversation always drift to Army things, there's too much talk filled with foul language and Army speak. With Aaron, the only things that said Army were the diploma on his wall and the haircut.

There's a bit of regret that I didn't tell him about the nights waking up, wishing I had arms to hold onto. I didn't tell him about the afternoons where I cry in exhaustion and shame at how little time I spend with my son. I didn't tell him about the two months at Lewis, right after Lance started talking, where he called the senior daycare worker at the center Mommy instead of me, or the times he wasn't sure about hugging me because I felt like a stranger to him. Talk about making you feel like the world's shittiest mother.

And I won't let Lance be hurt again, and that includes not getting a chance to know his father, even if he doesn't know that's who Aaron is for now. I bend over and give Lance a kiss on the forehead, wishing him sweet dreams and go out to my living room, where I grab my phone and send Aaron a text.

You can be Lance's Big Brother. When can you make the arrangements?

Aaron responds within minutes.
I'll need to do it after the field exercises. But then we can do a first get-together on the weekend. Maybe next Saturday or Sunday?

I tap my lip, thinking quickly, then reply. I don't want him to feel like I'm being too eager. I want Aaron to understand that this is focused on Lance, not us.
No good. Plans. But . . . I've got weekend duty the next Saturday. Think you'd be willing to watch Lance for a long stretch then?

Totally. I'll call you when it's set up. Thank you, Lindsey.

Remember, you're his Big Brother. Let’s start there, okay?

“
H
ey
, Sergeant Pillman?”

We're covered in dust. They don't exactly clean the forests out here. After four days in the woods, all of Delta Company looks like we've been lightly floured, except for the darker lines around the collars of our tops where we scrubbed our faces quickly with some splashed water from our canteens and created major rings where the water dried.

“What's up sir?” Pillman asks, tired but happy. It's his last FTX with the platoon. He's rotating out to join another battalion soon, and come my next exercise, the Regulators are going to have a new platoon sergeant. I should have just enough time to get him broken in and the platoon adjusted to him before it's my turn to roll out. It's the way the Army works.

“You've got two kids, right?” I ask, and Pillman raises an eyebrow. We're on a little bit of a break for the moment. The platoon perimeter is set up for the night, and most of the troops are digging their positions right now. The goal of the FTX is to get everyone a little bit of throwback training, back to light infantry work instead of rolling around in vehicles. Other than the supply truck, we haven't seen a 'friendly' vehicle since jumping off our trucks and humping our gear five miles into the woods on Monday afternoon. “If you don't mind.”

“Not at all, sir,” Pillman replies, the two of us walking under the trees. We keep our eyes open, checking that each position is set up right with one person in four providing perimeter security while catching a breather. Pillman and I will be in the middle of the perimeter, and I've got the radio operator scratching out a shallow position for each of us now. I'm a Lieutenant. It's my job to be under fire, not safe in a cozy foxhole. I don't need much more than two feet deep. “What's on your mind?”

“I ran into someone that I knew back at West Point,” I tell him, leaving as many details out as I can, “and she's got a kid. Cute kid, and I told Captain Bradley during some of the slack time in the Monday schedule that I'm going to put in for the Big Brother program. Mom's happy, I think, especially since she's got Saturday duty next weekend, and I agreed to watch the boy then. He’s three, though. To be honest with you, Sergeant, I have no fucking clue what to do with a three-year-old for a full-duty shift on a Saturday. Got any advice?”

Pillman chuckles, then goes serious. “No shit, LT, for a kid at that age, you’ve gotta be on your toes. When my son was three, he had two speeds. Full-on go and dead stop. Kids around three, they're hyperactive psychopaths half the time. Are you having him come to your house or are you going to theirs?”

“Ah, I don't know. I just agreed to do it the Saturday before this,” I tell him, lifting my helmet and rubbing at my head. I hate the helmet. It's hot and it itches, and you always end up with a 'donut ring' in the top of your head afterward from the way the webbing presses against your head. Then again, I guess if it saves my brain from getting separated from my skull, I'll feel differently. “Advice is appreciated.”

“If the kid doesn't know you that well, and it's a long time like it sounds, I'd recommend doing it at his house. He'll have games and toys there, and you can still take him somewhere to play if he gets fidgety. When we get back tomorrow, remind me to give you a list of good parks in the area, places you can take him. Avoid anything like Chuck E. Cheese's, no matter how much he might beg you. The food is shit, and the ones around here are dirty as hell.”

I laugh, grateful for his advice. “Now, did Top give you any hints at the pow-wow about what might be coming down the pipe tonight?”

“Just that if you want any sleep, sir, you might want to get some before the sun goes down. Munch an MRE and grab a dirt rack, because we're in for a long night.”

Sounds like a proper Regulator end to a good exercise. “Okay then. Make sure everyone's got a full belly, full canteens, and full magazines. We'll take care of business as we can.”

“On it, sir. And sir?”

I'm walking away, getting ready to check the other side of the platoon area, and stop, turning back. “Yeah?”

Sergeant Pillman gives me a quirky grin, trying not to laugh. “Have fun next Saturday. It's going to be harder than the bad guys tonight. Just warning you.”

* * *

P
arking
my car outside of Lindsey's house, Pillman's words come back to haunt me as I stand outside her door. I realize that in the four years since Lindsey and I first met, I've never been to her living space before. We were always meeting up outside of cadet area, on bikes, or someplace else. Our “bed” was made of grass, except for New York City that created Lance.

Lance . . . my son, but not my son. I didn't tell Lindsey when they came to my house, but every time he and I were working together or playing, it felt like something missing from my life had come back, and that for a while, my life felt complete. I had my son and his beautiful mother, and I had to remind myself twice that I was just daydreaming. Yeah, I was angry about having it kept from me, but when she said I could come over today and take care of Lance, I haven’t been so happy in years. Even with Pillman's warning, I'm kind of excited. Nervous, but excited.

I knock softly on the door. It’s only six thirty, and I figure that Lance is most likely asleep. Lindsey opens the door, and I'm struck again at how beautiful she is, even when she's in her ACUs. “Aaron, you came right on time. Come in.”

I step inside, and my first impression is that her house is both new but strangely familiar to me. Part of it is that she lives in enlisted housing, and as part of my platoon leader duties, I've been to the houses of the three guys in my platoon that are married and live in base housing for E-5s and below. I know where the bathroom is, where the kitchen is, and even how to adjust the ancient fucking air conditioner if we need it. I know that the tile that makes up the floor feels cold to bare feet even in the summer, and that there's a good chance Lindsey has a rug already in her living room to take care of that chill for Lance. Still, the details are different, and I look around, taking it all in.

She's done her best, I can see. The furniture is all in decent shape, considering that a three-year-old boy lives here, and Lance himself is sleeping comfortably on the couch. “There he is. Lindsey, this is . . . it's a nice home.”

Lindsey smiles, and I think she even blushes a little. “Thanks. I'd talk more, but I have to make formation. His cereal's in the cabinet, and he'll normally wake up on his own by seven thirty. If not, it's okay. I let him sleep as long as he wants on Saturdays. Secondary car seat's in the kitchen too. If you want to take him somewhere, I'm cool with that. Also, I left you a little list of things he's okay to do and a few things not to do on the fridge. It's pretty basic. I'll have my phone. They won't mind that, but I may not reply right away unless it's an emergency, so if you have a question, send me a text message. Oh, and you've got free range on the kitchen for yourself. That's totally cool with me. Just tell me what you decide to eat.”

I nod, looking down at her. “I will. And Lindsey, I really appreciate this.”

“I appreciate it too,” Lindsey replies, reaching down to grab her patrol cap cover. She's an admin clerk in one of the MP battalions. She's not authorized to wear the maroon beret, which is a shame. She'd look good in it. “Okay, I'm off.”

Lindsey leaves, and I look around the living room carefully, curious. I feel a little bit like a spy as I walk toward the back of the house, checking out Lance's bedroom. He's got a cute little bed with Buzz Lightyear sheets, and the furniture is about what you'd expect for a three-year-old, with a plastic tub in the corner that is full of his toys. I don't know most of the characters or what that purple thing with three eyes is supposed to be, but I guess that's normal. If I get a chance, I'll let Lance tell me all about them.

Across the hallway, I see what is obviously Lindsey's bed, and what strikes me right away is that she's sleeping in a twin set bed, obviously as unlucky in the bedroom department as I am. She kind of said as much last time, and I have to really work to turn away and go back to the living room. I'm here to babysit and take care of Lance, not pull a creepy voyeur bit.

Lance wakes up just like Lindsey anticipated at a little after seven thirty while I’m sitting back and re-reading Lindsey's list of rules she left me. The only hard one, I think, is going to be keeping him away from sugar after five o'clock, but I can understand. I wouldn't want to be dealing with a kid going gaga off the walls when I get home from duty either. “Good morning, Lance. How're you doing?”

Lance yawns and shakes his head, rubbing at his hair. His hair may be the same color as his mother's, but he wakes up like me, that's for sure. It took me nearly all of plebe year to get used to waking up early, and even now, I tend to treat non-duty Sundays as a day to see if I can sleep the sun down.

He mumbles something, but I’m not sure what, then plops back down. “Okay, buddy. Mind if I turn on some TV?”

Lance waves his hand, and forty-five minutes later, he opens his eyes again. He blinks and smiles, and I have to admit my heart melts a little. “Apple Jacks?”

I laugh. I can't help it. He knows exactly what he's doing. “Sorry, little man, but I read your Mommy's rules very carefully, and rule number three was no Apple Jacks, Smacks, or Cocoa Puffs for breakfast. So, from what I saw, that leaves Cheerios or Wheaties.”

“Yuck,” Lance grumbles, and I laugh.

“If you don't want that, how about we go out then? Nothing in the rules about not having waffles. Think you'd like to be taken out to breakfast?”

“Can we?” Lance says immediately, brightening. “Where?”

“Where else but Waffle House? And if you promise to play hard afterward, I might even bend Mommy's rules a little and let you put the thick syrup on them with the butter. How's that?”

Lance helps me with instructional commentary as I struggle with his car seat until finally, I get it and him buckled in and we head out. After a good breakfast of a big waffle for him with butter and blueberry syrup and hashbrowns with eggs for me, we go to a state park near Pope Field, because apparently, my son loves to watch airplanes.

“What's that one?” Lance asks as a rumble fills the sky and I look up, smiling.

“That's a C-130, buddy. The Air Force calls them the Hercules, but we don't really worry about the names in the Army.”

“Oh. What is it doing?” Lance asks.

I shrug and give him a smile. “You never know, buddy. It could be a group getting ready to try an airborne drop. It could be some reservists getting their flight hours in.”

“Are you the boss?” Lance asks. “Mommy says officers boss people around a lot.”

“We do,” I say with a laugh. “But I hope that when I give orders, I do it for a reason.”

“Why?”

“Because my job is to do everything I can to take care of my soldiers, to keep them safe and to make sure that if we ever do have to go fight, that they have the best chance to come home safely. At the same time, I have to do the job that my bosses say, to complete the mission so that everyone in other units has the best chance to come home safely. It's . . . it's sometimes difficult to understand.”

“So are you like when Velocicycle forms up with the other Velocifighters to form Hypertron, but they still have to listen to Commander Houston?” Lance asks.

“I have no idea what you just said,” I tell him. “But it sounds right. So, what do you like to do outside, besides watching the planes?”

The rest of the morning is absolutely a blast as Lance and I play in the park. He's working on kicking, and for nearly an hour, I chase him around while he kicks his little soccer ball, scoring between the two 'goals' that we set up using some trees and some stuff from my car.

After lunch at the mall, I take Lance to a movie, some new animated film that is playing in IMAX. It's not what I normally go for. My typical chill out movie involves aliens, explosions, or even better, exploding aliens, but it's still nice. Lance is tired when we finish, and I take him home, putting him down for a nap not too much past his normal time.

I nod off as well, waking up when he wiggles over and puts his head on my thigh. He looks up at me “I’m hungry.”

“You're a growing boy. So how about . . . liver, raw onions, and lima beans?” I tease, but Lance smiles. I don’t know if he somehow knows I’m messing with him, or if it’s just the expression on my face. “Okay, but no burgers. Let's see what's in the kitchen, okay? I'm not taking you out for three meals a day. Your mommy would kill me if I did.”

Dinner ends up being spaghetti, and we watch football for an hour before he yawns and I help him get ready for bed. Tucking him in, I brush his hair out of his eyes, smiling. “Did you have a good day, little man?”

“Yeah,” Lance says, yawning. “It was fun.”

“I had fun too, buddy,” I whisper honestly. I watch him until his breathing deepens and he goes fully to sleep, smiling a little before rolling over. I'm tempted to give him a kiss on the forehead, but instead, I get up, leaving the bedroom and sitting down on the couch. I see that I've got a message on my phone, and I check it. It's Lindsey.