I
sat on the stone wall on Central Park South and picked the pickles off my sandwich, eating them one by one. They got less and less shockingly sour with every bite.
The sidewalk was packed with the lunch crowd, and more than once, I had to chase someone away from the spot next to me. A jackhammer pounded the street somewhere. No matter what street I was on, there was always a jackhammer going in New York, as if the city had to remind you not to get too comfortable.
Ronin appeared with a cup of coffee, and I moved my bag so he could sit next to me.
“Afternoon, Major One More.”
“Afternoon, Lieutenant Shithead.”
“I had the feeling this was the kind of conversation I was in for.”
“What you did was fucked up.”
I watched a gaggle of tourists wrestle with a map. A businesswoman dug in her bag to pay for a knish. Two guys in suits walked as if they were racing somewhere and talking as if they were on the verge of ending poverty.
“I assume you’re talking about Caden going into the reserves,” he said.
“I can’t even look at you.”
“He’s a grown man.”
“He thinks you can keep him from getting called.”
“How do you know I can’t?”
I let out a derisive laugh. He’d always had a high opinion of his position.
“This war’s messy,” I said. “It’s never going to end. Every week, it’s clearer we’re in a quagmire. You know it because your company is invested in keeping it going. War ends, money dries up.”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“Maybe not for you. For the suits on the top floor? For the lobbyists? That’s how it works. And now my husband is on the army’s radar. If there’s pressure to send him back, you’ll buckle. Your company will buckle. And if he goes back…” I took a deep breath and finally looked at Ronin. “If he goes back and he doesn’t die, he’ll be dead anyway. In his mind, he’ll be someone else. I’m not ready to lose him. I’m not ready for my mind to die.”
“Okay, let’s do this.” He put his coffee on the seat and pivoted to face me. “I’m going to tell you things you should have seen already.”
“Don’t try to tell me how much pull you have.”
“I don’t have the pull to keep your husband safe because he wants it. I have pull because he’s valuable. He has the complete table of criteria for this treatment. He’s educated, verbal, aware. If we nail this, it’s going to treat PTSD on the field in real time.”
“So you can send them back out.”
“So we can send them back out. Imagine that though? Healthy men. Stable men. Fighting like they’re trained to do. It would crack the recruitment problem wide open.”
“How do I know he’s not going to be the first guy you cure and send out?”
“Because he’s not the only one. We have test subjects from all over who are better suited to going back to the front lines.”
I sighed and turned back to the street. A plume of smoke wafted up from Sixth Avenue. Jackhammer debris. Was it possible to enjoy living in a city when it pounded your soul into compliance?
“I don’t trust you,” I said.
“He does.”
“He barely knows you.”
“Do you know him?”
I snapped back toward him. The years had rubbed away so much of Ronin’s handsomeness, leaving behind a face that was a little more than good-looking, a little less than readable. When Caden stuffed his emotions away, he hid behind a mask of stone. Ronin’s mask was made of intensity and enthusiasm.
“Maybe not,” I said.
“You don’t have to trust me, but you should. I’ve told you more than I’m supposed to.”
“I love him, Ronin. He’s my life, and seeing him like this… it hurts me more than you can imagine. If I could put myself in his place, I would.”
“My guess is seeing you suffer would hurt him just as much.”
“I can handle it better.”
“Don’t sell him short.” He stood and leaned down to pick up his cup. “He can handle more than you think.” When he was straight again, he saluted with his cup-hand, two fingers to his forehead. “Later, Major.”
“Fuck you, Lieutenant.”