when I was ten. Forced Sir
to retire early. I have no aunts or uncles. Both of my parents were
only children. Both of their parents died before I was born. Called
me the miracle that linked two family-less lives. I was supposed to
be one of many.” I lie the dress down on the bed beside her. I
didn't know that fact until the doctor announced postmortem that
she was pregnant. Death won again. “I packed away what I wanted to
preserve of her memory. She wore that dress every time Sir arrived
home from being deployed and every time he got ready to leave. It
was her hello–good-bye dinner dress.”
She stares at the light, soft material, and I
find myself wrapped up in her the way she is in it. As she gently
touches it, I long to be gently touching her, holding her again,
having her fit perfectly against me. It’s like she was made for me,
the way that dress is made for her. Geez, get a grip, Clint.
“I can't wear this. I just . . . can't.”
“Really. It's all right.”
“But it was so special.”
“And so are you.” There's a flicker of
something in her eyes. Almost like she can't believe me but wants
to. Or at least I think that's what I saw. It’s too quick. In any
event, she needs something, and this is what I’ve got to offer. I
hope she takes it. “Who knows? Maybe this could become your hello
dress.”
Haven glances to the floor and says in a
whisper, “Thank you.”
“I'm gonna check to see if there's any . . .
girly product stuff here somewhere from Sir's latest girlfriend.” I
shuffle toward my bedroom door. Almost out, I turn around and
command, “Stay here.” No, she's not a solider. She's not a small
child. She's not a dog, but I can't help but reinforce certain
things as a means to protect her from herself and her past.
Down the hall, at the end, past my bathroom,
the guest bedroom, and the bathroom is the master suite, the place
where Sir occasionally sleeps. I attempt to knock at Sir's door,
but it opens first as he exits.
In surprise, he raises his eyebrows at me,
“Yes, Clint?”
“Does your girlfriend, Krista–”
“Karen.”
“Right. Does she have any female stuff here?”
The words sound foreign and reek of confusion. I don't know what
women carry from place to place. It's my understanding that it
varies. At this point, until I get her to the store to pick out her
own toiletries, anything not manly will do.
“Like feminine product–”
“Like makeup or something.”
“Oh,” Sir looks relieved, like the thought of
it being that time of the month for Haven would be just one too
many problems for him to handle. For a brief moment, he's out of
sight, while I wait in the doorframe, eyes doing my best not to
settle on anything on the inside.
He hands me a small, pink pouch of some kind.
“Just let her use whatever. We'll replace it. I'm heading over to
Mindy's now to get an immediate handle on this situation. Now are
you sure–”
“Yes, Sir,” I nip the conversation in the bud
before he can attempt to create doubt within me. No matter how much
he doesn't want this or want me to want this, it is happening.
Haven is here to stay as long as she's willing.
I wonder if he’ll ever be at ease about the
situation. Thankfully, he lets it drop for now, “All right then.
We'll see you two over there shortly.”
I nod and let him walk past me before I
relocate myself back to my bedroom, bag still in hand. “I don't
know what you can use from this, if anything. I think there's some
makeup, though I don't know how much of it you can use. Uh, maybe
some perfume? Travel deodorant?” I glance down at the bag, “It's
been eleven years since Mom died. You would think the man would've
settled down by now, remarried—hell, just keep a girlfriend longer
than six weeks at a time.” Shit. I can't believe I just said that
out loud. “I'm rambling. I don't usually ramble. In fact, I don't
usually say much at all. I'm trained not to say much at all.
There's just something . .
to retire early. I have no aunts or uncles. Both of my parents were
only children. Both of their parents died before I was born. Called
me the miracle that linked two family-less lives. I was supposed to
be one of many.” I lie the dress down on the bed beside her. I
didn't know that fact until the doctor announced postmortem that
she was pregnant. Death won again. “I packed away what I wanted to
preserve of her memory. She wore that dress every time Sir arrived
home from being deployed and every time he got ready to leave. It
was her hello–good-bye dinner dress.”
She stares at the light, soft material, and I
find myself wrapped up in her the way she is in it. As she gently
touches it, I long to be gently touching her, holding her again,
having her fit perfectly against me. It’s like she was made for me,
the way that dress is made for her. Geez, get a grip, Clint.
“I can't wear this. I just . . . can't.”
“Really. It's all right.”
“But it was so special.”
“And so are you.” There's a flicker of
something in her eyes. Almost like she can't believe me but wants
to. Or at least I think that's what I saw. It’s too quick. In any
event, she needs something, and this is what I’ve got to offer. I
hope she takes it. “Who knows? Maybe this could become your hello
dress.”
Haven glances to the floor and says in a
whisper, “Thank you.”
“I'm gonna check to see if there's any . . .
girly product stuff here somewhere from Sir's latest girlfriend.” I
shuffle toward my bedroom door. Almost out, I turn around and
command, “Stay here.” No, she's not a solider. She's not a small
child. She's not a dog, but I can't help but reinforce certain
things as a means to protect her from herself and her past.
Down the hall, at the end, past my bathroom,
the guest bedroom, and the bathroom is the master suite, the place
where Sir occasionally sleeps. I attempt to knock at Sir's door,
but it opens first as he exits.
In surprise, he raises his eyebrows at me,
“Yes, Clint?”
“Does your girlfriend, Krista–”
“Karen.”
“Right. Does she have any female stuff here?”
The words sound foreign and reek of confusion. I don't know what
women carry from place to place. It's my understanding that it
varies. At this point, until I get her to the store to pick out her
own toiletries, anything not manly will do.
“Like feminine product–”
“Like makeup or something.”
“Oh,” Sir looks relieved, like the thought of
it being that time of the month for Haven would be just one too
many problems for him to handle. For a brief moment, he's out of
sight, while I wait in the doorframe, eyes doing my best not to
settle on anything on the inside.
He hands me a small, pink pouch of some kind.
“Just let her use whatever. We'll replace it. I'm heading over to
Mindy's now to get an immediate handle on this situation. Now are
you sure–”
“Yes, Sir,” I nip the conversation in the bud
before he can attempt to create doubt within me. No matter how much
he doesn't want this or want me to want this, it is happening.
Haven is here to stay as long as she's willing.
I wonder if he’ll ever be at ease about the
situation. Thankfully, he lets it drop for now, “All right then.
We'll see you two over there shortly.”
I nod and let him walk past me before I
relocate myself back to my bedroom, bag still in hand. “I don't
know what you can use from this, if anything. I think there's some
makeup, though I don't know how much of it you can use. Uh, maybe
some perfume? Travel deodorant?” I glance down at the bag, “It's
been eleven years since Mom died. You would think the man would've
settled down by now, remarried—hell, just keep a girlfriend longer
than six weeks at a time.” Shit. I can't believe I just said that
out loud. “I'm rambling. I don't usually ramble. In fact, I don't
usually say much at all. I'm trained not to say much at all.
There's just something . .
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