Read Online Going Grey by Karen Traviss - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karen Traviss
Tags: Fiction, Science-Fiction
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sound like an ungrateful bastard. I just don't want Tom to get used to you bailing him out. I'm his dad. It's my job to support him."
"I haven't got any kids of my own to spoil." Mike wished he hadn't said that. It sounded like blackmail. "Humour me, Rob."
"I'll pay you back."
"You don't owe me a damn cent. Neither does Tom. You're family."
It was hard to tell if Rob had given in. He looked embarrassed, chin lowered. "I'd still be your mate if you were living in a cardboard box. You know that."
"Yes, I do. Which is why I do it."
The issue seemed to be settled. But a couple of days later, Rob tapped on Mike's open door and simply handed him his phone again. He didn't say a word. Mike read the message.
'Hi Dad. I've written a thank-you to Mike. But I'm committed to the summer gig now. We'll get together, though. Promise. I've put the money into my house fund.'
Mike didn't know what to say. He'd never seen that look on Rob's face before. It was a mix of pain and bewilderment.
"He's grown up." Rob managed a shrug. "They say it hurts to let go. Yeah, it bloody well does."
Mike still thought of himself and Rob as young men. But it was another reminder of mortality and all the things they might never do, no matter how fit they were, and that even if middle age now started at fifty, forty was still the halfway mark of a guy's allotted span. It was numerical certainty. And it sucked.
He shook off the thought by focusing on the fact that he'd be back home in days. It would strip years off him.
When they finally shipped out, the long flight with all its stopovers eased him gradually back into a world that ran by his rules and where he had everything he wanted. But it was an illusion, and he knew it. Rob never let him forget that anyway.
"Here we go. Through the looking glass." Rob stretched out in his first class seat across the aisle from Mike, unscrewing and sniffing the freebie bottles of toiletries. "See, civvies think they're safe because they've got rules and someone to complain to. But Nazani's the real world. Like Afghan. It snuffs you out, bang, just like that. No apology, no reason, and no compensation. It doesn't give a shit who you are."
"I wish I hadn't let you read Camus."
"Yeah, it was tough for a colouring book, but I stuck with it."
They managed to laugh. They always could. The alternative was to dwell on pointlessness and absent friends. Dibeg, at least, had some point to it, and there were too many dead to think of futility without feeling blasphemous.
When they landed in Bangor and picked up the rental car, Mike fell automatically into the routine of letting Rob drive. He counted down the familiar road signs and billboards on the route home.
"I'm stopping to for a leak," Rob said. "Coffee?".
"Sure. Let's find a diner."
Diners were comforting, a rare treat. Dad had always told him that he should never be too proud to eat in one. The diner that Rob stopped at smelled and tasted of Mike's childhood, and some elements even looked the same. A couple of tables away, a little boy was playing quietly with a toy soldier in DPM and body armour, walking the figure along the edge of the table and lost in his own thoughts. It seemed such an ancient, natural instinct for boys. The child's father was absent-mindedly stroking the child's hair, gazing out of the window at the passing traffic.
Mike nudged Rob. "Did you have one like that as a kid? GI Joe?"
"Yeah." Rob glanced at the boy. "Ours was called Action Man, though. I bet there was an MoD civil servant version called Inaction Man. Real grasping hands and interchangeable shiny arses."
"Is that what made you want to be a Marine?"
"What, to grip Barbie? Pervert."
"Seriously, how do you bring up a child and let them find their own way?"
"They find it whatever you do. You can't steer a kid by deciding whether he should have Action Man or Unshaven Feminist Barbie."
"Give me the benefit of your unedited advice," Mike said. "Am I pushing Livvie on IVF?
"I haven't got any kids of my own to spoil." Mike wished he hadn't said that. It sounded like blackmail. "Humour me, Rob."
"I'll pay you back."
"You don't owe me a damn cent. Neither does Tom. You're family."
It was hard to tell if Rob had given in. He looked embarrassed, chin lowered. "I'd still be your mate if you were living in a cardboard box. You know that."
"Yes, I do. Which is why I do it."
The issue seemed to be settled. But a couple of days later, Rob tapped on Mike's open door and simply handed him his phone again. He didn't say a word. Mike read the message.
'Hi Dad. I've written a thank-you to Mike. But I'm committed to the summer gig now. We'll get together, though. Promise. I've put the money into my house fund.'
Mike didn't know what to say. He'd never seen that look on Rob's face before. It was a mix of pain and bewilderment.
"He's grown up." Rob managed a shrug. "They say it hurts to let go. Yeah, it bloody well does."
Mike still thought of himself and Rob as young men. But it was another reminder of mortality and all the things they might never do, no matter how fit they were, and that even if middle age now started at fifty, forty was still the halfway mark of a guy's allotted span. It was numerical certainty. And it sucked.
He shook off the thought by focusing on the fact that he'd be back home in days. It would strip years off him.
When they finally shipped out, the long flight with all its stopovers eased him gradually back into a world that ran by his rules and where he had everything he wanted. But it was an illusion, and he knew it. Rob never let him forget that anyway.
"Here we go. Through the looking glass." Rob stretched out in his first class seat across the aisle from Mike, unscrewing and sniffing the freebie bottles of toiletries. "See, civvies think they're safe because they've got rules and someone to complain to. But Nazani's the real world. Like Afghan. It snuffs you out, bang, just like that. No apology, no reason, and no compensation. It doesn't give a shit who you are."
"I wish I hadn't let you read Camus."
"Yeah, it was tough for a colouring book, but I stuck with it."
They managed to laugh. They always could. The alternative was to dwell on pointlessness and absent friends. Dibeg, at least, had some point to it, and there were too many dead to think of futility without feeling blasphemous.
When they landed in Bangor and picked up the rental car, Mike fell automatically into the routine of letting Rob drive. He counted down the familiar road signs and billboards on the route home.
"I'm stopping to for a leak," Rob said. "Coffee?".
"Sure. Let's find a diner."
Diners were comforting, a rare treat. Dad had always told him that he should never be too proud to eat in one. The diner that Rob stopped at smelled and tasted of Mike's childhood, and some elements even looked the same. A couple of tables away, a little boy was playing quietly with a toy soldier in DPM and body armour, walking the figure along the edge of the table and lost in his own thoughts. It seemed such an ancient, natural instinct for boys. The child's father was absent-mindedly stroking the child's hair, gazing out of the window at the passing traffic.
Mike nudged Rob. "Did you have one like that as a kid? GI Joe?"
"Yeah." Rob glanced at the boy. "Ours was called Action Man, though. I bet there was an MoD civil servant version called Inaction Man. Real grasping hands and interchangeable shiny arses."
"Is that what made you want to be a Marine?"
"What, to grip Barbie? Pervert."
"Seriously, how do you bring up a child and let them find their own way?"
"They find it whatever you do. You can't steer a kid by deciding whether he should have Action Man or Unshaven Feminist Barbie."
"Give me the benefit of your unedited advice," Mike said. "Am I pushing Livvie on IVF?
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