thoughts, I make my way to the
side of her bed, lean down and place a sweet kiss on her forehead.
A small grin perks up at the corner of her mouth, along with a soft
sigh. Causing my heart to swell. I love this woman.
Turning to leave, I kiss both of my kids and
send a two fingered wave toward Stace. My other hand on knob.
“I’ll be in touch.”
Nodding, he says, “And I’ll get back to
work,” and he leans down and picks up a black laptop from the
floor, next to his chair.
That’s my cue to exit, which I do. But not
before I soak in another heart swelling glimpse of my baby,
peacefully asleep in her hospital bed, wisps of her curly red hair
trailing down her forehead. Damn, how’d I ever get so lucky to
knock up a chick that amazing?
Chapter Nine
~James~
“James?” Sergeant Gonzales calls, breaking me
from my reverie. I’ve been doing this a lot lately. Spending more
time submerged in my memories with my Mama Bear, than anything
else. It sure beats my painful reality, of her being two thousand
miles away.
“Yes…Sergeant?” I reply, blatant irritability
easily felt in my response.
“Would. You. Please. Call me Penelope.”
A demand, not a question. Still not going to
happen — or should I rephrase that ‘over my rotted corpse'?
“No,” suffices more tactfully, and my thick
arms fold over my chest, leaving me to feel completely naked
without my guns. They’re sitting on a black box they call a
nightstand in my bedroom. I’ll reiterate to emphasize it again,
‘They’re in my room.’ Not Gonzales’s.
Three days I’ve been shacked up, rather
unhappily with her in a suburban soccer moms dream of a home. White
two-story colonial, blue shutters, pristine lawn, white picket
fence. Tall hedges encase the backyard that has a hot tub and a
rather manly sized stainless state-of-the-art grill sitting on the
classic grey paver patio, along with a four person outdoor
furniture set.
All of this is sitting in a suburb right on
the outskirts of DC. Evenly spaced next to a cookie cutter house of
the same style and shape. Except it has green shutters and a rather
large Maple tree in the front yard.
Even if Mama Bear and I lived together in our
own space, it would never — I mean never— be as sterile and fake as
this place. Where the rich with no imagination come to live.
Spending months in a hospital gave me enough sterile environment
and this is a hundred times worse. All because Emily’s not here.
And I’m stuck living with Gonzales, an attractive Spanish woman
that think’s it’s acceptable to wear shorts that show the bottom
half of her butt cheeks when I’m in the house. Always fully clothed
myself; mind you.
You’d think with her apparent ‘skillset,’
she’d possess proper civilian attire to be worn in the presence of
company. Even if I’m supposed to be her for the lack of a better
term—husband. I don’t have any want nor desire to know a thing
about her.
“James?” She loudly huffs, standing in front
of me, her stringy arms frustratingly taut and flexing at her
sides. Wearing a black skintight dress and sparkly shoes only
working girls should dress up in. Soaking in the sight of her sets
my stomach off kilter and queasiness wracks my body.
“Yes? Gonzales,” I heatedly growl, swallowing
hard to make the sour stomach feeling disperse. Pursing my lips, I
glower at her.
“Are you going to go have dinner with me like
we were ordered to do? Or do you not remember our assignment?” She
stares down at me, sitting on the boring blue couch, her pretty
eyes throwing out anger in shockwaves.
Good, maybe if she doesn’t like me, she'll
learn to wear clothes meant for adult women and not prepubescent
ten year olds.
Abruptly, I stand up and she tumbles
backward. My arm instinctively shoots out and I grab her arm to
steady her from falling in those ridiculous heels.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her eyes locked on
my hand that’s still grasping her arm. So I remove
side of her bed, lean down and place a sweet kiss on her forehead.
A small grin perks up at the corner of her mouth, along with a soft
sigh. Causing my heart to swell. I love this woman.
Turning to leave, I kiss both of my kids and
send a two fingered wave toward Stace. My other hand on knob.
“I’ll be in touch.”
Nodding, he says, “And I’ll get back to
work,” and he leans down and picks up a black laptop from the
floor, next to his chair.
That’s my cue to exit, which I do. But not
before I soak in another heart swelling glimpse of my baby,
peacefully asleep in her hospital bed, wisps of her curly red hair
trailing down her forehead. Damn, how’d I ever get so lucky to
knock up a chick that amazing?
Chapter Nine
~James~
“James?” Sergeant Gonzales calls, breaking me
from my reverie. I’ve been doing this a lot lately. Spending more
time submerged in my memories with my Mama Bear, than anything
else. It sure beats my painful reality, of her being two thousand
miles away.
“Yes…Sergeant?” I reply, blatant irritability
easily felt in my response.
“Would. You. Please. Call me Penelope.”
A demand, not a question. Still not going to
happen — or should I rephrase that ‘over my rotted corpse'?
“No,” suffices more tactfully, and my thick
arms fold over my chest, leaving me to feel completely naked
without my guns. They’re sitting on a black box they call a
nightstand in my bedroom. I’ll reiterate to emphasize it again,
‘They’re in my room.’ Not Gonzales’s.
Three days I’ve been shacked up, rather
unhappily with her in a suburban soccer moms dream of a home. White
two-story colonial, blue shutters, pristine lawn, white picket
fence. Tall hedges encase the backyard that has a hot tub and a
rather manly sized stainless state-of-the-art grill sitting on the
classic grey paver patio, along with a four person outdoor
furniture set.
All of this is sitting in a suburb right on
the outskirts of DC. Evenly spaced next to a cookie cutter house of
the same style and shape. Except it has green shutters and a rather
large Maple tree in the front yard.
Even if Mama Bear and I lived together in our
own space, it would never — I mean never— be as sterile and fake as
this place. Where the rich with no imagination come to live.
Spending months in a hospital gave me enough sterile environment
and this is a hundred times worse. All because Emily’s not here.
And I’m stuck living with Gonzales, an attractive Spanish woman
that think’s it’s acceptable to wear shorts that show the bottom
half of her butt cheeks when I’m in the house. Always fully clothed
myself; mind you.
You’d think with her apparent ‘skillset,’
she’d possess proper civilian attire to be worn in the presence of
company. Even if I’m supposed to be her for the lack of a better
term—husband. I don’t have any want nor desire to know a thing
about her.
“James?” She loudly huffs, standing in front
of me, her stringy arms frustratingly taut and flexing at her
sides. Wearing a black skintight dress and sparkly shoes only
working girls should dress up in. Soaking in the sight of her sets
my stomach off kilter and queasiness wracks my body.
“Yes? Gonzales,” I heatedly growl, swallowing
hard to make the sour stomach feeling disperse. Pursing my lips, I
glower at her.
“Are you going to go have dinner with me like
we were ordered to do? Or do you not remember our assignment?” She
stares down at me, sitting on the boring blue couch, her pretty
eyes throwing out anger in shockwaves.
Good, maybe if she doesn’t like me, she'll
learn to wear clothes meant for adult women and not prepubescent
ten year olds.
Abruptly, I stand up and she tumbles
backward. My arm instinctively shoots out and I grab her arm to
steady her from falling in those ridiculous heels.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her eyes locked on
my hand that’s still grasping her arm. So I remove
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