The Older Woman

“Oh, I know that. I tried to mind it, believe me. It didn’t work, though. See, you’re not exactly what I would call behaving here—or does the ‘behave and don’t upset Mrs. Bee’ thing just go for me?”

“What are you talking about!”

“Mrs. Bee! She’s all worried about you sitting out here in the rain like this.”

“She doesn’t have to worry.”

“Yeah, well, maybe so. But you know how she is. And I hate to say it, but I was getting a little uneasy about you myself. This is not like you.”

“What did you and Mrs. Bee do, watch everything out the window?”

“Pretty much,” he said. Personally, he’d always found it a lot easier to just tell the truth in most situations—unless it involved some gung-ho officer. It was too much trouble keeping stories straight. He suspected that Meehan was the same way, especially when she was working. He had always believed whatever she said, anyway. The whole time he was in the hospital, whenever he needed to know what was what with the pain in his legs or the burns on his hands or why he was running yet another fever, she was the one he always wanted to ask, because he knew she’d tell him straight.

He kept looking at her. She was upset, all right, and once again he was glad she wasn’t bawling. He didn’t know what to do when women cried—strong women, that is. Women like Rita. Or Specialist 4 Santos. Santos was a damned good soldier, but she always bawled when she had to make a jump. He didn’t know why, and he wasn’t sure she did, either. She would cry like she wasn’t crying, and nobody knew what was up with that. The jumpmasters certainly weren’t crazy about it. But, she always lined up like everybody else and hopped right out the door when she was supposed to. It was just…damned unsettling.

Tears weren’t a big deal with most women. But Rita and Santos—and Meehan, if she happened to break down—were an altogether different situation.

He kept checking Meehan out, just in case. She caught him at it, and she started to say something but didn’t. She looked away, down the driveway in the direction lover boy had gone.

He waited.

And waited.

The rain beat down on the umbrella. A car went down the street, its heavy bass speakers pounding. Somebody somewhere threw something heavy into a metal trash can.

“So did you get dumped or what?” he asked finally—and that got her attention.

She stared at him a long time before she answered. “Yes,” she said finally.

“Yeah, well, it’s been that kind of a day,” he said with the assurance of a man who’d been there.

He maneuvered the cane so that he could press one hand into his thigh. Both legs were beginning to hurt like hell. He tried to shift his weight a little. It didn’t help a bit. When he looked up again, Meehan wasn’t frowning anymore. It occurred to him that she was a lot nicer looking when she didn’t frown.

“Did you go to the wedding?” she asked.

“I went,” he admitted.

“Everybody was all dressed up, I guess.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me. I looked so good it’s a wonder the ceremony even took place.”

She gave a slight smile. It faded almost immediately.

“So how was it?” she asked a little too gently for him to maintain his bravado.

“It was—” he stopped and took a breath “—it was hell. Mostly.”

“Poor old Bugs,” she said.

He grinned. “At least I ain’t sitting out in the rain over it.”

To his surprise she laughed. She had a nice laugh. Definitely she should laugh a lot more than she did.

“I allow myself to do one really stupid thing at least once a year,” she said after a moment.

“And this is it, huh?”

“This is it. I wish I could think of some really cool way to get out of it.” She was still smiling a little, and she made an attempt to stand up. He tried to move out of her way. The pain in his legs intensified, and he couldn’t keep from bending forward.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, dodging the umbrella before he clunked her in the head with it.

“Hurts,” was all he could manage.

“Well, no wonder. Coming out in the rain like this.”

“Yeah, and who’s fault…would that be? If you don’t mind me…pointing that…out.”

“Okay, okay. Do you want me to help you?” she asked, he guessed because she’d been around enough banged-up soldiers to know that assistance wasn’t always welcome.

“No.”

“How long has it been since you took something for pain?”

“About three…weeks…” he said through gritted teeth.

“You’re not taking the prescription the doctor ordered for you?”

“Can’t stay awake. You know…me. Don’t want to…miss anything.”

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

“I’m hurting…not…hungry,” he said. Which wasn’t precisely the truth. Not a lie exactly, more a matter of priorities. He’d planned on eating. He’d been about to zero in on Mrs. Bee’s cake with the pineapple-and-coconut-cream icing—but he got sucked into coming over here. And that fact just added to his current aggravation.

“You’re exhausted, is what you are. You’ve done too much today, and you’ve probably been feeling too sorry for yourself to eat—”

“I ate, I ate!”

He tried to take a step or two and was pitiful at it. “Okay,” she said. “That’s enough. You’re getting the shakes. Just stand here a second and then we’ll hobble that way.” She pointed toward her back door.

“No…thanks,” he managed to say.

“You should have taken a pain pill—especially today.”

“I don’t take them, Meehan, unless I have to. Just special occasions. When it hurts…really bad.”