LITMIR.BIZ

      “Can I bring you a cup of tea?”

      Luke nodded. “Thank you.”

      Wayne’s wife, Katie, was a pretty blonde, small, quite a bit younger than Wayne. Luke thought she was maybe twenty-four. She was pregnant with their daughter—eight months—and she was huge.

      She was living in base housing, half a mile from Luke and Becca. The house was a tiny, three-room bungalow in a neighborhood of exactly identical houses. Wayne was dead. She was there because she had nowhere else to go.

      She brought Luke his tea in a small ornate cup, the adult version of the cups little girls use when they have imaginary tea parties. She sat down across from him. The living room was spare. The couch was a futon that could fold out into a double bed for guests.

      Luke had met Katie twice before, both times for five minutes or less. He hadn’t seen her since before she was pregnant.

      “You were Wayne’s good friend,” she said.

      “Yes. I was.”

      She stared into her teacup, as if maybe Wayne was floating at the bottom.

      “And you were on the mission where he died.” It wasn’t a question.

      “Yes.”

      “Did you see it? Did you see him die?”

      Already, Luke didn’t like where these questions were headed. How to answer a question like that? Luke had missed the shots that killed Wayne, but he had seen him die, all right. He would give almost anything to unsee it.

      “Yes.”

      “How did he die?” she said.

      “He died like a man. Like a soldier.”

      She nodded, but said nothing. Maybe that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. But Luke didn’t want to go any further.

      “Was he in pain?” she said.

      Luke shook his head. “No.”

      She looked into his eyes. Her eyes were red and rimmed with tears. There was a terrible sadness there. “How can you know that?”

      “I spoke to him. He told me to tell you that he loved you.”

      It was a lie, of course. Wayne hadn’t managed to utter a complete sentence. But it was a white lie. Luke believed that Wayne would have said it, if he could have.

      “Is that why you came here, Sergeant Stone?” she said. “To tell me that?”

      Luke took a breath.

      “Before he died, Wayne asked me to be your daughter’s godfather,” Luke said. “I agreed, and I’m here to honor that commitment. Your daughter will be born soon, and I want to help you through this situation in any way I can.”

      There was a long, silent pause between them. It stretched longer and longer.

      Finally, Katie shook her head, just a tiny amount. She spoke softly.

      “I could never have a man like you be my daughter’s godfather. Wayne is dead because of men like you. My girl will never have a father because of men like you. Do you understand? I’m here because I still have the healthcare, and so my baby will be born here. But after that? I’m going to run as far away from the Army, and from people like you, as I can. Wayne was stupid to be involved in this, and I was stupid to go along with it. You don’t have to worry, Sergeant Stone. You have no responsibility to me. You’re not my baby’s godfather.”

      Luke couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He looked in his cup and saw that he had already finished his tea. He put the teacup down on the table. She picked it up and moved her bulk to the door of the tiny house. She opened the door and held it open.

      “Good day, Sergeant Stone.”

      He stared at her.

      She began to cry. Her voice was as soft as ever.

      “Please. Get out of my house. Get out of my life.”

      Dinner was dreary and sad.

      They sat across the table from each other, not speaking. She had made stuffed chicken and asparagus, and it was good. She had opened a beer for him and poured it into a glass. She had done nice things.

      They were eating quietly, almost as though things were normal.

      But he couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

      There was a black matte Glock nine-millimeter on the table near his right hand. It was loaded.

      “Luke, are you okay?”

      He nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He took a sip of his beer.

      “Why is your gun on the table?”

      Finally, he looked up at her. She was beautiful, of course, and he loved her. She was pregnant with his child, and she wore a flower-print maternity blouse. He could almost cry at her beauty, and at the power of his love for her. He felt it intensely, like a wave crashing against the rocks.

      “Uh, it’s just there in case I need it, babe.”

      “Why would you need it? We’re just eating dinner. We’re on the base. We’re safe here. No one can…”

      “Does it bother you?” he said.

      She shrugged. She slid a small forkful of chicken into her mouth. Becca was a slow and careful eater. She ate little bites, and it often took her a long time to finish her dinner. She didn’t strap the ol’ feedbag on like some people did. Luke loved that about her. It was one of their differences. He tended to inhale his food.

      He watched her chew her food in slow motion. Her teeth were large. She had bunny teeth. It was cute. It was endearing.

      “Yeah, a little,” she said. “You’ve never done that before. Are you afraid that…”

      Luke

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