Jack looked up from the bar sink. “No shite.”
Several hours later, Kathleen’s bombshell was still sinking in. At a time when the core American family unit was shrinking, theirs was growing. Having come from small families themselves, both had wanted lots of kids, often joking of having an even half-dozen.
So far, they were well on their way. After four boys, news of Kathleen’s latest pregnancy was welcome, but neither surprising nor overwhelming. Each one had proven to be easier than the last, because they had all the essentials -—crib, swing, changing table, clothes, toys—– and knew what to expect.
But twins, that was something new.
“You’re a virile bastard, aren’t you? At least you don’t have anyone questioning your masculinity.”
Jack felt for his friend. He and his wife, Adonia, had been trying for kids but so far, hadn’t been successful. Their family doctor suggested a fertility specialist, but Brian was stalling because the tests were outrageously expensive and not typically covered by basic health insurance.
“No, but I am questioning myself and the ability to provide for my family,” Jack admitted. “Kathleen took on two new clients.”
“How is that going to work?” Brian asked, echoing his thoughts. “She’s already got her hands full.”
“Damned if I know.”
“You know, I’ve been thinking.”
Something about the tone of Brian’s voice had the hairs on the back of Jack’s neck going rigid.
“Never a good thing.”
Instead of chuckling as Jack had intended, Brian didn’t rise to the bait. “I called Sammy,” he said quietly.
Jack paused for a moment before rinsing the heavy glass mug and setting it in the drying rack. “Sammy with a yacht? That Sammy?” he asked, remembering their conversation from years earlier.
“Yeah. Look, Jack, I know you don’t approve, but Adonia really wants a baby, you know? And I like working for you, man, but tips aren’t going to cover it.”
“What about your job at the paper mill?” Jack asked. It wasn’t glamorous work, but the plant was unionized and Brian made a decent salary and had good benefits.
Brian scowled. “Word is we’re all getting pink slips instead of holiday bonus checks this year.”
“No fucking way. Did you talk to your union rep?”
“Who do you think I heard it from? The company is tired of dealing with the union’s bullshit. They are closing the plant down right after New Year’s and moving to fucking Mexico. Cheaper labor, or some shit like that.”
“There’s got to be other jobs out there.”
“Yeah? How’s Reaganomics working out for you?” Brian scoffed, referring to President Reagan’s latest economic policy. The theory was that by encouraging business growth, the profits would trickle down to those who needed it most. Unfortunately, that money wasn’t making it down far enough to benefit the citizens of Pine Ridge.
“Besides,” Brian continued, neither expecting nor receiving a reply, “there is going to be a flood of local guys looking for jobs when that happens, and I need something more than minimum wage.” Brian moved closer and leaned against the bar, dropping his voice. “I don’t want to move, you know? And what’s wrong with putting our skills to good use, huh? Damn it, Jack, the government trained us to be the best at what we do. To get the job done when no one else could. That didn’t stop just because we came home.”
Jack understood what Brian was saying, he really did. But the US wasn’t some war-torn country. Even if it was a different kind of war Brian was talking about, Jack had no desire to return to that kind of life, and said so.
“It’s not going to be like Vietnam,” Brian argued. “Sammy said we could pick and choose what we wanted, and have total control over each mission. In and out, like ghosts.”
“And then what? Come back and pretend everything is normal?”
“Yes! It’s just a job, Jack. A privately contracted, well-paying, occasional job. We do it, we get paid; we come back to our families and resume our normal, daily lives.”
Jack shook his head, unconvinced. “Haven’t you learned anything? It can’t be that easy. They just want to use you to do their dirty work.”
Brian stood taller and squared his shoulders. “Yeah, maybe. But this time, it will be on my terms, not theirs.”
Brian lifted the dustpan and emptied it into the trash, then grabbed his jacket. He reached for the door, then paused. “I’m going to do this, Jack, with or without you.”
“Without,” Jack said firmly.
“Fair enough. I won’t be in for the next few nights. Declan’s boys are willing to pick up my shifts. I’ll see you when I get back.”