Читать книгу Damage Control - Gordon Kent, Gordon Kent - Страница 36

Two thousand miles away in Bahrain, there was no thought of guns or of death from the sky. Harry O’Neill had taken Mike Dukas off to show him his new Hummer. Harry ran a security company that had contracts all over the Middle East; an armored Humvee was just the thing for the CEO to drive. Leslie had stayed behind with Rose, ostensibly to help with dinner, really to talk. Or try to talk. Younger by fifteen years, she was shy—a once noisy, overweight, semi-literate young woman who had found her real self in the Naval Criminal Investigative Service’s bureaucracy—and in Mike Dukas.

“So what do you do with your days?” Rose asked her as they were dipping lush tomatoes into boiling water and then peeling them.

“I take classes. Distance learning, you know. Plus Arabic at U. of Bahrain. Plus I do some temping.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Michael says I’m an over-achiever.” She put a peeled tomato on the cutting board between them, and Rose cut a cross in the bottom and squeezed seeds and pulp into a blue plastic bowl. “I’m going to be an NCIS special agent, just like him.”

“What does he say to that?”

Leslie made an unhappy face. “He says things like, ‘Dream on.’”

“That’s not fair.”

“He doesn’t mean it like that. He means—it’s hard, and there aren’t that many jobs for women. And he means it’s me.” She stopped peeling, looked down at the board, knife in one hand, tomato in the other. “Leslie, the trailer-park-trash queen.”

“Honey.” Rose wiped her hands on a paper towel. “Hey. You’re smarter than he is, that’s the trouble.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Leslie, I know Mike. You’re smarter.”

“He’s in love with you.” Leslie smiled. “It’s okay. But I know he is.” The smile became shaky. “He isn’t in love with me, though.”

“Honey, you two live together!”

“Michael likes sex, right?” Leslie passed the back of the tomato-holding hand under her nose and sniffed. “I chase him across the Atlantic Ocean, I show up at his door, he hasn’t got a woman in Bahrain yet—dah-dah! How nice to see you, Leslie, why don’t you lie down and spread your legs.” Tears welled in her eyes. She sniffed again.

Rose put her arms around her. “Oh, honey, he isn’t like that. He’s, he’s—”

Leslie let her hands hang at her sides, let herself be hugged. She said, “I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, Les—!” Rose swayed back, her hands on Leslie’s upper arms. “That’s—” She studied Leslie’s face, thought better of saying it was wonderful. “Does he know?”

Leslie shook her head. “He’ll think I did it on purpose. You know, to—”

“You have to tell him!”

“I’m thinking, maybe—maybe if I, you know, didn’t have it, then he wouldn’t feel—” She shuddered. “Trapped. Whatever.”

Rose held her arms. “I’ve been praying to get pregnant again. I was going to have our last one here, shore tour, it would be easy. Then I had a miscarriage. Les, it’s hell when you want one and you can’t.”

“It’s kind of hell when you got one and you figure he doesn’t want it.” She searched Rose’s face. “I’m sorry I dumped my shit on you, and you’re—you got more reason to—”

“No, no!” Rose laughed a little shakily. “I’m pregnant, too! If I can make it to three months, maybe this time it’ll be okay! Ten more days.”

“Does Alan know?”

“He’s been away, so busy, it’s just one more—” She shrugged. “Maybe it’s unlucky to tell him until I’m sure, you know?”

The two women let their eyes meet, then put their arms around each other, laughing that partly mad laughter that is near tears.

In a pool of white sunlight, five red tomatoes gleamed beside the bright blue bowl.