Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 90769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
I sat down by the stove to wait. It was quiet in the cabin and from behind the sheet, I could hear the sound of shirt buttons popping through holes. Then the soft whump as it fell to the floor. Next, her t-shirt. Then the heavier sound of her jeans. Her bra, her panties, they were so light that I had to strain to hear them. One. Two.
She was naked.
The soft padding of her feet across the floorboards and then—
What I hadn’t counted on was, the lantern was behind her and my end of the cabin was dark. So as she stepped in front of the light, it threw her shadow onto the sheet. I could see every gorgeous curve of her body in silhouette: her lush hips, her rounded ass, the sway and bounce of her breasts.
“It’s too quiet,” Bethany said. “Talk about something.”
I couldn’t answer for a second. I was watching her lower herself into the tub, her back slightly arched, breasts upthrust, bracing herself for the shock of the hot water. “Ah—Ahhh,” she breathed. I felt myself redden like a damn teenager, but I couldn’t look away. “Like what?” I muttered.
“Anything,” said Bethany. I heard her scoop up water and slosh it over her upper body, and imagined her breasts, glossy and shining. “How’d you join the Marines?”
I sat bolt upright in my chair, the leg squeaking. How did she—
“I saw your tattoo,” she said softly.
I rubbed at my upper arm through my shirt. She didn’t miss a thing. “My dad was a Marine,” I said at last. “I wanted to serve, just like he had. And I was living in the city, then, and I hated it. Figured that the Marines would suit me better than sitting in some office: at least it’d be outdoors. Signed up as soon as I was old enough.”
“I’d like to hear about it,” she said tentatively. “If you want to tell me.”
I nearly said no. Better to keep everything before I came to the woods off-limits. Venturing into the past risked unleashing the memories and I wasn’t sure I could deal with them, right now, not when the countdown to her leaving was tearing away at me.
But Bethany was easy to talk to. I liked talking to her. And this might be the last chance we really had to talk.
And the Marines...that was a good time in my life. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to visit it, just this once. I could stop before everything went wrong.
I leaned forward in my chair and began to speak.
35
Bethany
“The first day of boot camp, I’m wondering if I’ve made a mistake,” said Cal. ”We’re in these big, concrete buildings, and it’s almost as bad as high school: all the other recruits are into video games and cars and I’m this big, shambling teenager from the country.”
I wrapped my arms around my knees, wishing I was wrapping them around Cal: I could imagine the big, awkward, teenage him and I just wanted to give him a hug.
Cal’s voice lightened. “But then training starts. And on day one, the drill instructor yells that we’re going to do a ten-mile hike. And I thought: this, I can do.”
I smiled, imagining Cal effortlessly pounding through the miles.
“Then they put us on the rifle range. The instructor lies me down on the ground, hands me a rifle, tells me to shoot at the target. So I line it up, squeeze off a shot. Right through the middle. The instructor says beginner’s luck and tells me to try another. So I fire again, but this time no hole appears. I shoot again. No hole. Instructor says, what the hell happened, you aren’t even hitting the target anymore? And I say, Sir! I think I am, Sir!”
“And the instructor gives me this frown...and then he takes a pair of binoculars and looks down at the end of the range and tells me to take one more shot, and I do. And he stands up...lowers the binoculars...and calls for the whole range to stop. Then he walks down to the end of the range, gets the target, and brings it back. And he pokes his pinky finger through the one hole that’s there, the one that’s gotten just a shade bigger each time I hit it, and he says where the hell did you learn to shoot like that, son? And I say Sir! Shooting dinner, sir!”
I could hear him smiling at the memory and I grinned, too.
“I finished my training. Got sent out to Iraq, Afghanistan. Seemed like I was suited to it: I could move quietly, I was a good shot.” I heard his shirt rustle as he shrugged those big shoulders. “Got promoted. They gave me some medals.”
He sounded almost embarrassed about it. I shook my head in wonder: he was so modest! I’d seen how silently he crept through the forest, how effortlessly he hunted his prey. He must have been an amazing soldier. “Did you enjoy it?”