“That's not getting heads to turn,” I gripe, sighing. “Or at least not the right ones.”
Petie hums, sipping at her drink. “Hard to find single guys who want to date a soldier with a little boy.”
“I get some that are interested,” I say with a dark chuckle. “Guys who want a quick ride in the sack, but they don't want a thing to do with Lance. And never mind actually having a real date.”
“I kind of figured. I mean, the past four years you've told me about a date what, five times?” Petie asks. “Even Mother Theresa dated more than you are.”
“I won't have a man who isn't interested in being involved with Lance too,” I answer, not angry but just convinced. “I already short change him a lot in terms of my time. If I leave the Army, that's going to be why. A three-year-old shouldn't be away from his mother for twelve hours a day, Monday through Friday. If a man can't handle that part of me, then he doesn't get the rest of me.”
Petie gives me a supportive smile, nodding. “Good. Can I ask, though, is there another reason, maybe? Washington may not be New York City, but there are still a lot of guys out there. There has to have been at least one who was a good man.”
“I’m sure there’s one out there. But I didn’t meet one if so.”
“You mean one compared to him,” Petie says, not mentioning Aaron's name. I never told her, but one night of sobbing comfort on my trip from New York to Washington, I told her everything else. Petie's a smart woman, and she knows me about as well as I know myself, maybe better sometimes. “Almost four years now. He's either graduated or he's a civilian. Have you ever thought about reaching out to him?”
“If you mean is he still on my mind . . . yeah, he is. When his class graduated, the Army Times published the full list of graduates like they do every year. I'll admit I checked it out. He was an Honor Graduate,” I inform her, shrugging and taking another sip of my cooler. “He's an officer now, Petie. At the rates of promotion, he's most likely going to be promoted again pretty soon. He’s probably out there somewhere, looking like the next coming of Patton, and hasn't thought about me in years.”
“And you've never thought about telling him about Lance?” Petie asks. “No offense, but that's a little greedy to me. Does Lance even know who his father is?”
I shake my head. “Of course I’ve thought about it. And Lance is too young still. I don't need him talking to a classmate at daycare and suddenly, I've got JAG knocking on my door. But it doesn't matter, Petie. Like I said, I'm enlisted, a Non-Commissioned officer even now. He's an officer. What can I really do besides ruin the man’s career? And mine.”
“No offense, babe, but you're full of shit,” Petie says, sipping her drink. She says it in just the right way to not make me angry, a skill she's had our entire relationship. “Or maybe just the Army's full of shit. You want me to leave now?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You have never, in the eighteen years we've known each other, been afraid to voice your opinion to me. It's what I love about you, and I don't want you to ever change. Just like you know I'm not always going to follow your advice.”
Petie finishes off her wine cooler and gets up, grinning. “Top you off?”
“No thanks, sweetie,” I tell her, looking at my half bottle. “But if you want, I'll give you a ride home after this. Enjoy all you want. A walk home would be nice, if it comes to that.”
Petie heads inside to grab another wine cooler. I watch her go, shaking my head in amusement. I missed her, and she is right. I do miss Aaron, and I think about him a lot. It's impossible not to when every night I hug Lance and put him to bed, it's Aaron's eyes looking back out at me.
“You're three days early,” the company clerk notes as I sign in. “What's up?”
“My son takes up a lot of time,” I say, looking around the company offices. “I didn't want to rush, and I figured I'd like to be able to take my time getting housing squared away.”
“Smart idea,” the clerk says. “A hint, talk to Tiffany at post housing. She's the general schedule civilian who really runs the shop. She'll hook you up right.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, signing my papers. “Anything else?”
“Hold on, CO might want to talk to you. Lemme see. He might just wait until you're on duty again. You might be on post, but you're still on leave for another few days,” the clerk says. “By the way, call me Beanie. All the others around here do.”
I nod, and he turns around, knocking on the office door on the other side of the room. He goes in, coming out a few seconds later. “Sergeant Morgan?”
I go over, and the Company Commander gets up, coming around his desk to size me up. He's tall, and I immediately notice with a bit of a twinge the West Point diploma on his wall. “Sergeant Morgan? Hi, Pete Lemmon. Nice to have you on board.”