Page 30 of Walking Wounded

“Well,” he said, carefully. “I’m not sure I want to fight.” Just listening to the news broadcasts on the radio sent fear crawling down his back.

“As well you shouldn’t,” Julia said as she swept into the room. She moved on silent feet, the swish of her skirt the only sound she made; she’d learned how to navigate the house silently, in deference to Elias’s foul moods. “I’m all for the war,” she said as she went to the stove to check on dinner. “But I don’t want my baby boy out there in the trenches.”

“Mom.” Finn rolled his eyes. “They don’t dig trenches anymore.”

She stirred the stew and rapped the spoon hard on the edge of the pot. “You mark my words, there’s some trenches over there somewhere! How’re you supposed to fight a war without trenches?”

“Ugh,” Finn grumbled.

“You don’t want to go to war, do you, Will?” Julia asked, casting a look over her shoulder. His own mother would have asked with a polite disinterest: just making conversation. But his own mother was gentle as thistledown, while Julia had grown sharp-edged and brittle living in the shadow of Elias’s grief. She asked like she thought Will might be stupid if he disagreed with her.

Will caught Finn’s barely-suppressed smile. He didn’t want to go to war, no, but he didn’t want to be disloyal to his best friend.

He took a deep breath. “I think it’s noble to go to war for your country.”

Finn hid a giggle in his hand, eyes dancing.

“Heaven’s sakes!” Julia said. “You men are all alike: war, and blood, and drinks. I don’t know why I bother.”

“But girls are sugar and spice, right Mom?” Finn asked.

Under the table, Will felt one of Finn’s sisters wedge a marble down into his shoe.

~*~

Present Day

“So you were best friends,” Luke says.

“Not everyone has one,” Will says.

“No, that’s true, not everyone does.”

“But I did. And you do.”

Luke frowns and switches off his audio recorder. “Your point being?”

“We have that in common. I think maybe that means something.”

Luke exhales and tries to keep it from sounding like a sigh. “Okay. So.” The clock in the corner, ticking like always, tells him it’s ten o’ clock, and no doubt the heavy bags beneath Will’s eyes signal the post-breakfast fatigue Matt talked about yesterday. “Thanks for the story. Even if it wasn’t real.”

“Oh, there’s more,” Will says. “A lot more.”

“I look forward to it.” Though he doesn’t. He’s tired, and still more upset than he’d like to admit about last night, and he would really like a smoke, another coffee, and a nap.

Scratch that – he would trade all three for a glass of cheap bourbon.

“Bye for now, Will,” he says, standing.

“Come back this afternoon, we’ll pick it up again,” the old man offers.

“Really?”

“What else have you got to do? Hal’s working ‘til late.”

He frowns. “Like my days revolve around Hal’s schedule?”

Will shrugs. “Just saying.”

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