she had been at sixteen—sans the suits and jewelry of course. She had grown up in a home where money had always been tight. But down deep, all sixteen-year-old girls were the same.
Where had the time gone?
At first, right after her divorce, her life had been a blur of tears. Tears of fury at her ex, tears of gratitude at her parents for their love and understanding.
And their help.
Mom had come through. Always there when Carol needed her. Saying she’d take care of Billy so Carol could go back to nursing school. Carol had insisted on doing her fair share. Hence the job … this job. And it was a doozy.
She had Olaf to thank for that.
She had met him at a bar, had laughed when he had told her his name.
OLAF!
OLAF, THE VIKING MAN!
He had blushed when she laughed. Which of course had made her feel terrible. Olaf had come to America to be a cook. When he told her he worked at Estelle’s, she had nearly fainted.
You’re not a cook, she had chided. You’re a chef!
Within a month, Olaf had convinced Estelle to give Carol a job interview. A week later, she was dressed in a tux and ready to work.
How she loved Olaf, with his half smile, his stoic manner, and his thick upper lip that was often dotted with sweat from the heat of the kitchen. She had often wondered how she could have been so upset over her failed marriage, since from it came all this good fortune.
So occupied by her fate and work, Carol failed to see the thin young man’s mouth turn into a twisted smile, his eyes as blank as snowdrifts.
Ken Wetzel didn’t think twice about him. He was too busy slurping up oysters while giving his wife the bad news. He was trying to be as gentle as possible but it wasn’t coming out right.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love Tess. He guessed he still did. She had been there for him, was still a decent wife, a good mother, and a passable lover. Unfortunately, she just didn’t fit into his world anymore.
Especially since he had been promoted to assistant vice president.
He needed a partner who was more dynamic, not some ordinary woman whose sole occupation was raising children. Granted, the kids were good kids … Tess’s doing. But that wasn’t enough anymore. A woman had to know things—how to dress, how to smile, how to make conversation about the vagaries of the market. A woman like that could help him get ahead. Trouble was, Tess was holding him back.
A great gal, but a high-school dropout. And with the last kid, she had gotten heavy. Those awful tents she wore. Why did the prints always have to be so garish? Why didn’t she realize she would have looked more sophisticated and sleek in a plain black suit?
That was Tess.
Ken sighed inwardly, wishing she’d wipe the tears off her cheeks. Because she was embarrassing him. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself a brief fantasy of Sherrie. Sherrie, with her milky eyes, her sensuous mouth, her wonderful hips, her full breasts, and her MBA from Stanford.
They had met on interoffice E-mail, she being in marketing, he being two floors up in stock research. He joked that it had been love at first byte. The affair was almost immediate, fueled by the thrill of their respective infidelities and what each one could do for the other’s career.
Yes, Ken still loved Tess on some level. And yes, Ken still cared for the kids. But life was about reaching one’s potential. The marriage just wouldn’t work any longer.
Times change, he had told her.
Life changes.
You move on.
With each pronouncement, Tess had shed a new batch of tears.
Still, the drama of the evening did little to quell his appetite. As much as he hated himself, he had to admit that telling Tess it was over was a definite high. The exhilaration of liberation.
Flying high with freedom, Ken paid no attention to the thin young man. Not even when the young man’s face fell flat, turning his physiognomy into something inanimate, his eyes as murky as pond water.
No one even noticed when he reached into the pocket of his green jacket.
Not until he pulled out a gun and the lead began to fly.
But by then, it was too late.
A microsecond flash of yesteryear as images too frighteningly clear burst from the hidden recesses of Decker’s brain. A familiar scene with familiar sounds and smells. Charlie’s discards. Twisted corpses. Moans of the wounded echoing through a gripping fog of panic. Medics worked frantically, hands and arms bathed in blood and flesh. The metallic odor of spilled blood mixed with the stink of emptied bowels. Surreal. The magnitude of death and destruction. It destroyed faith in a hand clap.
Decker swallowed, trying to lubricate a parched throat. Rationally, he knew Nam was over. So what was this? An instant replay? Except the surroundings were off. Confusion reigned. But only for a moment.
Because there was work to be done.
Instantly, he rolled up his jacket and shirt sleeves, gloved his hands. Saw a woman whose leg had been turned into Swiss cheese by dime-sized bullet holes. Lying in a pool of crimson. Her complexion pasty … clammy. Pushing aside debris with his foot, Decker made room for himself … knelt at her side.
Stop the bleeding, treat ’em for shock, get ’em to a chopper.
Scratch the chopper, make it an ambulance.
“You’re going to be all right,” Decker spoke soothingly as he worked. Perspiration had soaked through his jacket from his armpits. His crotch was as hot and humid as an Orlando summer. Sweat was dripping off his hair, off his face and brow. He turned away from his patient, shook off the water like a drooling mastiff. He said, “Just hang in there.”
Lots of bleeding, some of it arterial. Rhythmic squirts of bright red blood. Decker put pressure on the leaking area as the woman screamed, tears rolling down her cheeks.
He bit his upper lip, nibbling on his ginger mustache, trying to keep his own breathing slow and steady. He examined her torn tissue, working through bits of bone. Femoral artery appeared to be intact … the other major arteries as well. Arteriole bleeding, probably from one of their branches. She didn’t realize it, but she had been a very lucky pup. Much better than her male companion, who’d never again see the light of day.
“I need a blanket, STAT!” Decker shouted.
“We’re out!” someone shouted back.
“Then get me a tablecloth, napkins … something!” Decker screamed back. “I got shock settling in!”
“You
