Mrs. Lieutenant: A Sharon Gold Novel by Phyllis Zimbler Miller Page B

position. She shuts her eyes to block out her husband's
face, cherry red from his exertions.
    Usually she likes Jim so close. She feels
protected, safe, loved. Tonight having sex just reminds her of what
Jim fears she wants from other men.
    There's a potential trap in almost every one
of Jim's questions of her. "What did you do today?" can mean "Did
you see any men today?"
    She never responds, never rises to the bait.
She knows why he is obsessed about this. He told her the night he
proposed, before he made her swear on the Bible that she would
never, never sleep with anyone else or she would rot in hell.
    Jim rolls off her. It’s over before it’s
really begun. For Jim sex is like shooting a pistol during target
practice – you get off your round as quickly as possible, then tote
up your points.
    "Was it good?" he asks.
    She smiles and snuggles closer. She doesn’t
tell him he’s missed the target again. It’s better to say nothing
since she can’t explain how to improve his performance. "So good,"
she says.
    Earlier, when Jim came home for the day, Kim
took the fatigue shirt and pants he handed her and hung them over a
chair. Later she would press the creases sharp in the pants so that
the pants could be worn one more time before being washed. She is
good at ironing – another one of her many chores at the foster
homes.
    Jim had put on a pair of dark grey slacks and
a white short-sleeved shirt to wear to the Officers Club. "What's
for dinner?" he asked.
    They sat at the small table in the nook of
the living room. Kim served the meatloaf with slices of white bread
and butter and glasses of milk.
    "How was your day? Did you and Sharon do
something together?"
    She hesitated for only a moment before
answering. "We had hamburgers at the Officers Club. It was nice
there."
    Jim looked up with his mouth full. He
swallowed. "You didn't talk to any men there, did you?"
    Kim lowered her eyes. "Of course not."
    "Did any men talk to you?" He put his fork
down.
    "Not to me."
    "Sharon?"
    "A man from her hometown recognized her and
came up to her. They were in the same dancing class in seventh
grade. He just said a few words, then left."
    "Is that all that happened?"
    "Yes."
    She clutched her hands together on her lap,
hidden by the table. Please may he stop.
    Jim persisted in his interrogation. "Was
Sharon glad to see him? Do you think it was a planned meeting?"
    At this Kim flushed. "Of course not. And she
made it very clear immediately that she’s married."
    "What difference does that make?"
    Kim said nothing, and he picked up his fork
again to finish dinner.
    Now in the dark bedroom she opens her eyes,
stares at the ceiling. She wishes they could have stayed longer.
Southern officers have a strong tradition in the army. So why does
Jim appear uncomfortable around his fellow officers?
    On the ceiling she spots a water stain with
ragged edges that suddenly turns into the acid burn in the skirt of
her old brown corduroy jumper. The Kruger boy threw the acid on her
jumper in high school chemistry lab, then laughed as the material
sizzled and burned. She didn't cry in front of him. Only later that
night she cried when her foster mother found out and whacked her
for it: "Look what you've gone and done! You only have two outfits
and now you've ruined one!"
    Kim forces her eyes away from the spot and
the memory. Jim snores once and then flops over onto his
stomach.
    At least she didn't ruin her outfit tonight
by spilling beer on it or dropping the greasy onion rings someone
ordered for all of them. Sharon and Donna's outfits weren't any
fancier than what Kim wore. Maybe Wendy's was nicer, but then her
father's a doctor. A black doctor, but a doctor all the same.
    Kim’s fingers trace circles on the sheet that
covers her and Jim. The bedroom air conditioner is actually working
tonight so she’s not too hot to sleep. Still she resists falling
asleep, instead thinking about the last few days here at Ft.
Knox.
    It’s nice having