10.
 “Okay,” Jack said. “No strings. You don’t have to bribe me with coupons or free coffee. If you ever have pigtails, I won’t dip them in the inkwell.”
“Promise me you won’t get goofy, Jack. Please, promise you’ll keep your eyes open for the right woman for you.”
“I’ll stay up periscope.”
She sighed. “All we’ve done was talk about me.”
“Not quite as much drama. I was a Military Intelligence warrant officer in Afghanistan. I caught a sniper round in the chest, staking out a Taliban command post. Had a deflated lung, and crawled around blowing pink bubbles, scared to death. They say I shit my pants all over the place. Scary when you’re drowning in your own blood, and can’t breathe. I decided enough was enough, and got out. You hide here with your books. I hide across the street with my cockatiel.”
“Can I meet Lucy sometime?”
“I’ll bring her over. She’s got a broken left wing too. You’ll have things to talk about. The guy who owned her before me was 100% disabled. He got her listed as a work animal. That’s why they can’t kick her out.”
She laughed. “Does she wear a tiny yellow vest?”
“Only on dress-up days. I’d take her home, but I suck at domestic stuff. She’s a good listener when she’s not having a nervous breakdown…”
Rose leaned her chin on her good hand. She listened to his stories. When the place closed, they stood outside under a neon sign. When the sign turned off, a full moon illumined the sidewalk.
Fog rolled in. Distant tanker horns boomed off Mussel Beach. Jack and Rose stood together, not holding hands, but very close. Separate taxis crawled into view. The night smelled of dew, closed flowers, damp soil, wet concrete, asphalt glistening in moonlight.
They hugged fiercely. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, gazing up with ravaged eyes. He touched her downy cheek with his fingertips—then, at long last, with his lips. Her mouth was open, hungry, and he longed to press his lips to hers. Instead, he helped her into her taxi.
He heard her cry a faint ‘Bye! from inside. She waved the whole time from the back window as the taxi’s red tail lights crawled away into the fog, and into the future.
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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