“Shit.”
“You’ve got water in your crank case,” the
soldier who’d popped the hood said. While Andrew had been rooting
through the cab with disgust, he’d been tinkering around in the
engine compartment, tugging here and there, prodding at this and
that, pulling dipsticks out for inspection.
Only it turned out to be a she, not a he, as evidenced by her voice as she said this, and
surprised, Andrew turned around.
“Uh, hey,” he said by way of clumsy greeting.
“Santoro, right?”
The corner of her mouth hooked slightly.
“Santoro. Right.”
She looked different now in broad daylight
and when not soaking wet. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a
tight, prim bun secured at the nape of her neck. Her skin was a
light olive tone, warm and golden, her eyes dark brown and round.
He’d forgotten how short she was, how diminutive and slight.
“You know cars?” he asked.
“I’d better.” She returned her attention to
the waterlogged ruins of his Jeep. “I’m a nine-H-one. A track
vehicle repairer.” Because this was Greek to him—and apparently
obvious in his face—she added slowly, as if addressing a moron,
“I’m a mechanic.”
Other soldiers within earshot laughed at
this.
“I saw water on both your oil and
transmission fluid dipsticks.” Santoro leaned over the engine
compartment momentarily, then turned, cradling one in her hand to
show him. “We can’t even think about starting this thing until we
change out the oil and filter. And there’s no way I’ve got anything
that can fit this here at the base. Not to mention we’ll need to
get up under there, take out your oil pan and try to clear the silt
from it, too. The way your truck was laying in that ditch, you’re
probably looking at water in your gas tank, too, plus past the
seals on your crank case, CV joints and axles.”
“Is there anything you can do?” Andrew
asked.
Santoro dusted off her hands then tucked them
in her back pockets. “I can recommend a good scrap yard if you’re
ever up Long Island way.”
The other soldiers all laughed again.
“Thanks,” Andrew muttered, scowling as he
turned and stomped away. The headache the tequila had brought on
had abruptly intensified.
****
“Hey, Romeo,” he heard Suzette call as he
walked back toward the barracks. He looked up and found her
strolling along the outermost edge of the landscaped grounds, where
the lawn met the forest. Alice was with her, or more accurately, a
fair pace ahead of her, eyes pinned on the ground, seemingly
oblivious to anyone or anything around her.
Andrew mentally calculated the likelihood
that he could simply take off running, duck back into the barracks
and avoid what was sure to be a post-coital confrontation. It had
been his admittedly limited experience in life to date that
women—even when they’d been the instigators of a sexual
encounter—did not like to feel like they’d been ditched in the
aftermath. “Oh, uh, hey, Suzette,” he said, raising his hand in a
half-hearted wave as he tried not to cringe. “You’re up early.”
“Her choice, not mine,” Suzette said, nodding
to indicate Alice. “We do this every morning.”
“Hi, Alice,” Andrew said as she walked past.
Without even glancing up or grunting in reply, she continued
trudging along.
“She’s counting,” Suzette said helpfully.
“Counting what?”
“The number of steps she takes. It’s another
one of her fixations. Right now, she’s counting how many are in the
circumference of the yard. She knows exactly how many there are to
get from her room in the apartment to just about anywhere on the
compound.” She came to a stop within three feet of him. “What’s
that?”
He followed her gaze with his own. “My
wallet. What’s left of it, anyway. They pulled my truck out of the
gulley this morning.”
“That’s great.”
“It’s a mess. There’s mud everywhere. They
don’t think it will even turn over, never mind be
“You’ve got water in your crank case,” the
soldier who’d popped the hood said. While Andrew had been rooting
through the cab with disgust, he’d been tinkering around in the
engine compartment, tugging here and there, prodding at this and
that, pulling dipsticks out for inspection.
Only it turned out to be a she, not a he, as evidenced by her voice as she said this, and
surprised, Andrew turned around.
“Uh, hey,” he said by way of clumsy greeting.
“Santoro, right?”
The corner of her mouth hooked slightly.
“Santoro. Right.”
She looked different now in broad daylight
and when not soaking wet. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a
tight, prim bun secured at the nape of her neck. Her skin was a
light olive tone, warm and golden, her eyes dark brown and round.
He’d forgotten how short she was, how diminutive and slight.
“You know cars?” he asked.
“I’d better.” She returned her attention to
the waterlogged ruins of his Jeep. “I’m a nine-H-one. A track
vehicle repairer.” Because this was Greek to him—and apparently
obvious in his face—she added slowly, as if addressing a moron,
“I’m a mechanic.”
Other soldiers within earshot laughed at
this.
“I saw water on both your oil and
transmission fluid dipsticks.” Santoro leaned over the engine
compartment momentarily, then turned, cradling one in her hand to
show him. “We can’t even think about starting this thing until we
change out the oil and filter. And there’s no way I’ve got anything
that can fit this here at the base. Not to mention we’ll need to
get up under there, take out your oil pan and try to clear the silt
from it, too. The way your truck was laying in that ditch, you’re
probably looking at water in your gas tank, too, plus past the
seals on your crank case, CV joints and axles.”
“Is there anything you can do?” Andrew
asked.
Santoro dusted off her hands then tucked them
in her back pockets. “I can recommend a good scrap yard if you’re
ever up Long Island way.”
The other soldiers all laughed again.
“Thanks,” Andrew muttered, scowling as he
turned and stomped away. The headache the tequila had brought on
had abruptly intensified.
****
“Hey, Romeo,” he heard Suzette call as he
walked back toward the barracks. He looked up and found her
strolling along the outermost edge of the landscaped grounds, where
the lawn met the forest. Alice was with her, or more accurately, a
fair pace ahead of her, eyes pinned on the ground, seemingly
oblivious to anyone or anything around her.
Andrew mentally calculated the likelihood
that he could simply take off running, duck back into the barracks
and avoid what was sure to be a post-coital confrontation. It had
been his admittedly limited experience in life to date that
women—even when they’d been the instigators of a sexual
encounter—did not like to feel like they’d been ditched in the
aftermath. “Oh, uh, hey, Suzette,” he said, raising his hand in a
half-hearted wave as he tried not to cringe. “You’re up early.”
“Her choice, not mine,” Suzette said, nodding
to indicate Alice. “We do this every morning.”
“Hi, Alice,” Andrew said as she walked past.
Without even glancing up or grunting in reply, she continued
trudging along.
“She’s counting,” Suzette said helpfully.
“Counting what?”
“The number of steps she takes. It’s another
one of her fixations. Right now, she’s counting how many are in the
circumference of the yard. She knows exactly how many there are to
get from her room in the apartment to just about anywhere on the
compound.” She came to a stop within three feet of him. “What’s
that?”
He followed her gaze with his own. “My
wallet. What’s left of it, anyway. They pulled my truck out of the
gulley this morning.”
“That’s great.”
“It’s a mess. There’s mud everywhere. They
don’t think it will even turn over, never mind be
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