New Beginnings, page 12
“Copy,” Courtney replied, watching the C12 Huron take off in the distance.
“I wonder when we’ll get assigned to garrison and get a chance to go home,” Maguire mumbled.
“Hopefully, sooner rather than later,” she said.
“Outlaw One. You are cleared to land on pad three.”
“Copy that.”
Courtney brought the helo in, landing softly in the space before shutting the engines down. They’d been in the air most of the day, first on a maintenance flight, then a recon flight after that. She unbuckled her belts and flung her door open before taking another few minutes to fill in her new flight log for the month.
“I don’t know about you, but a cold beer is calling my name,” Maguire said.
“I second that!” Howie said.
“You in?” he asked, looking at Courtney.
“Definitely.” She smiled. “I’m going to change to my PT gear. I’ll see you in about thirty.”
“Copy that.”
Courtney was the last person to leave the helo. One of the maintenance corporals came over with the tug and pulled the bird back into the hangar. She saluted and headed off towards the locker room to stow her gear. As soon as she finished, she went to her barracks room and changed into a black t-shirt and shorts with Army written on them. She thought of Tristan, wondering how the rest of her day panned out as she pulled her long, wavy hair out of the tightly twisted bun and ran a brush through it. Then, she slipped her feet into a pair of sneakers to let them breathe a little after being laced up in combat boots all day and headed out the door.
*
Howie and Maguire were already sitting at the bar, each with a longneck in his hand, when Courtney walked in.
“Gentlemen,” she smiled in their direction. “Corporal, I’ll have what they’re having.”
“Copy that, ma’am,” he replied, grabbing a light beer from the cooler, twisting the cap off before placing it in front of her.
Courtney leaned her back against the bar and took a long swallow.
“She’s not here,” Maguire whispered. “In fact, none of her team is.”
“Who are you referring to?” she questioned, as if she didn’t know.
He raised a brow.
“Hewitt, you up for a game?” Judd asked.
She laughed. “The last one didn’t hurt bad enough?”
“Anyone can beat me once. But can you do it twice?”
“I’ve seen Capt. Malloy wipe the table with you quite a few times. Besides, you know gambling is against regs.”
“There’s no money changing hands. It’s just a friendly game. Besides, Malloy and her team are stateside.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re getting commendation medals and flew home for the ceremony.”
She chugged her beer and set the bottle on the bar as a swirl of confusion, anger, and disappointment ran through her head. “I’m in. You rack ‘em,” she said, finally settling on anger.
Chapter 17
The P.O. box Tristan used for her mail was overflowing with an abundance of junk mail, all of which she tossed in the nearby trashcan as she flipped through the stack. Her gut tightened and her lungs quit inhaling when her fingers grazed the envelope from the State of North Carolina Children and Families. She wanted to know what was written on the papers inside more than anything, but the base post office wasn’t the best place to get the biggest news of your life.
“Malloy?” a male soldier said as he walked up to her.
Tristan turned around and cocked her head to the side like a confused dog as she tried to remember how she knew the man, especially since he hadn’t addressed her by her rank and he was enlisted. Beckett was stitched on his name tape, the sergeant first class rank was on the tab in the center of his chest, and a black Military Police band was around his upper arm.
“My apologies, Captain,” he said, popping to attention. “It’s been a long time. You might not remember me,” he said. “I’m Rex Beckett.”
Suddenly, her days in bootcamp came flooding back to her. “T-Rex!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a hug. “Man, it’s been years!”
“Yeah,” he laughed. “It looks like you’re doing well,” he added, noticing her special forces tab and rank.
“Not too bad. I’m a Special Operations Detachment Leader.”
“Wow. That’s great. I never pegged you for an officer back in boot.”
She chuckled and shook her head. “Yeah, me either. I was a ranger for six years and when I made platoon sergeant, I decided to go to OCS and move over to special forces. Anyway, what about you? Have you been an MP all of these years?”
“Yes and no. I was active duty for eight years as an MP, but I’ve been in the reserves for the last five. I didn’t re-sign, so I’m out in about four more months. I’m an officer for Fayetteville PD.”
“Awesome. I’m still active duty. I just landed not too long ago. I’m actually on leave from deployment.”
“Cool. Did you ever get married and have kids?”
“No. You?”
“I’ve been married for three years. My wife and I have a baby on the way. Hence my leaving the service for good. Once I’m done, we’re moving up to Michigan where her family is. I’m getting off the streets and going to work as a law enforcement academy instructor up there.”
“Awesome. I’ll probably be here until the Army kicks me out,” she laughed. “Maybe I’ll be a stuffy old general someday.”
He chuckled. “I’ll let you get going. I know you said you’re on leave.”
“Yeah. It was good seeing you though. Take care.”
“You, too.”
As she walked away, Tristan smiled at the memories of all the grueling days they spent together. A lot of sweat, blood, and tears were shed, but they made it out and went on to do bigger and better things. Her smile faded when she remembered the crucial envelope she held in her hand. She quickly folded it in half and stuffed it in her pocket before pulling her green beret onto her head as she exited the building.
The short ride to her apartment took less than five minutes. As soon as she walked in, Tristan tossed her deployment bag to the floor and pulled her jacket and beret off. She didn’t bother with the rest of her uniform as she sat down on the couch and tore the envelope open. Her eyes scanned over several words and numbers she didn’t understand until she read: Conclusive DNA Match. She dropped the papers on the coffee table and leaned back against the cushions. That was it. With a simple piece of paper and three little words, she had a dead sister and an orphaned nephew.
“Son of a bitch,” she sighed. During the entire process Tristan was never fully sure which way she’d wanted the cards to fall. She already knew her father had stepped out on her mother. He’d admitted it. And now, the question of whether he’d fathered another child was answered. She had a sister she never got to know, and subsequently, wouldn’t get to mourn…and both of her parents were to blame.
She sighed once more, then got up and walked into the kitchen and pulled open the drawer her cell phone was in. Whenever she deployed, she always left it behind. It took a second for the device to boot up, but once it did, she had twenty voicemails and three hundred emails. She couldn’t care less about the emails, which she knew were all junk. Instead, she shuffled through the voicemails. The two from her mother were from when she was home last and deployed again without saying goodbye. She quickly deleted those without listening to them. The next dozen were telemarketing calls, all of which she sent straight to the trash. The last of the remaining voicemails were from the state social worker. To save herself some time, she listened to the latest one.
“Ms. Malloy, this is Janice Brown again. I assume you have received and reviewed the DNA test results. You are a match to the child in question. I know this may not have been the results you were hoping for. However, please return my call as soon as possible. I have some paperwork I need you to sign so that the child can be put on the adoption list. You are biologically his next of kin and will need to sign over your legal guardianship rights. Again, please call me as soon as possible. Thank you.”
Tristan pressed the call button and leaned back against the counter as it rang.
“This is Janice,” a female voice answered.
“Ms. Brown, this is Tristan Malloy.”
“Oh! Ms. Malloy, I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I apologize for calling so late, and not getting back to you before now. I was deployed. I arrived home a little bit ago on a short leave.”
“I understand. I assume you’ve either heard my voicemails or received the results in the mail by now.”
“Both, actually.”
“Good. So,” she sighed, pausing.
Tristan heard the shuffling of papers and typing of keys on a computer.
“Okay, here it is,” Janice said, talking to herself. “Sorry about that, I had to locate his case file. Loki’s foster family has shown some interest in adopting him. Since you are his biological next of kin, you automatically get legal guardianship. Once you sign the papers, the court will relinquish your rights, thus allowing him to be adopted.”
“Wait…did you say his name was Loki?”
“Yes, ma’am. Loki Adams. No middle name on the birth certificate.”
Tristan chuckled. “Loki, from Marvel Universe and the comics.”
“Um…I’m not sure,” Janice replied, looking for reference in his file.
“Can I meet him?”
“Yes, of course. Are you sure you want to do that? It may confuse him as to who you are. The George’s, his foster family, have had a rough time with him and believe their church is helping to get through to him.”
“Yes. I want to meet him. Tomorrow, if possible,” Tristan said, sounding more matter-of-factly.
“Uh…I’ll have to check with the foster family. We usually like to give a few days’ notice.”
“I’m only here for a short time on leave.”
“Okay. Let me give them a call, and I will get back to you.”
“Wonderful.” Tristan ended the call and went into her room to take a quick shower and change into civilian clothes.
It was already almost nine o’clock when she got out, but she had a voicemail from Janice saying she would pick Loki up from his foster home in the morning and meet her at ten a.m. at a local park in Fayetteville, about twenty minutes from her apartment near the base. She knew she would barely sleep and decided someone else needed to be up all night, too. So, she pressed the call button for her mother’s number on her phone as she sat on the couch and put her feet up on the table.
“My father has a grandson, and I’m going to meet him in the morning,” she said as soon as her mother answered.
“What? Tristan…are you home?”
“I got home a little while ago. Did you not hear what I said?”
Her mother sighed. “Honey, I wish you would leave that mess alone.”
“I took the DNA test. She really was dad’s daughter, and now he has a grandson sitting in a foster home.”
“Just let him be, Tristan. He doesn’t know you, and your father’s dead and gone anyhow.”
Tristan shook her head. “I’m meeting him in the morning. I thought you should know. Also, I texted you the information for my team’s commendation ceremony in case you wanted to attend. Have a good night.” She ended the call and tossed her phone on the table.
*
Heavy rain pelting the windows should’ve helped Tristan sleep, but her brain simply wouldn’t shut down. Seeing Rex had brought back old memories that seemed like a lifetime ago. She was just a kid when she entered bootcamp; a star athlete in her hometown who had never had a drop of alcohol, done anything more physical than kissing, and certainly never held a gun. The Army had aged her more than she realized in the last thirteen years.
She was happy to see Rex doing well. Their bootcamp platoon had been a tightknit group of mostly males, with Tristan and three others as the only females. Rex had stood up to the few males in the group who felt like the girls didn’t belong and they became fast friends. By the end of the ten weeks, she proved she was not only as good as the boys, but better when she graduated at the top of the class.
When she finally exited memory lane, her thoughts shifted to Loki. She wondered what he looked like. Did they share a resemblance? Was he told who she was? She remembered the social worker saying he was five. She tried to remember when she was five but couldn’t recall anything. What would they talk about? Could a five-year-old hold a conversation? Obviously, his mother had been a Marvel fan if she named her son after one of the characters. She wondered if he liked Marvel Universe. She was more of a Captain America fan. Maybe they could talk about that. The empty questions kept coming as she finally drifted off to sleep.
*
“You seemed like you were on a mission last night,” Maguire said, bumping into Courtney in the hangar.
She gave him an odd look, then shrugged her shoulders. “I needed to blow off some steam. What better way than wiping the table with that asshole in front of his team?”
Maguire laughed. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
She grinned. “That’s probably a good idea.”
“Attention!” Howie exclaimed from the other side of the hangar when he saw the colonel walk in.
“At ease. I’m not here to bust any balls,” he said. “Hewitt, I was wondering if I could go up with you today.”
“Sure…uh…yes, sir,” she said clearing her throat.
“Great. Wheels up at twelve hundred.”
Everyone watched him walk out of the hangar and proceed down the flight line.
“What the hell was that about?” Maguire muttered.
“No idea,” she replied, slightly in shock. She hadn’t had a superior officer flying with her at the controls since she was in flight school. She could fly a Blackhawk with her eyes closed, so she wasn’t worried about that. She was more nervous about the conversation they would have. There’s no way he knows.
“Did you hear me?” Maguire said, smacking her with his clipboard.
“Huh? What?”
“I said, here’s your chance to show him how much of a badass you are.”
She forced a smile and checked her watch. It was only nine o’clock. These are going to be the three longest hours of my life. The first person she thought of was Tristan. Damn it.
Chapter 18
Tristan parked her Jeep in one of the multiple open spaces and took a deep breath when she climbed out. Families meandered close to the play equipment. She looked around, finally spotting the social worker on a bench nearby. A small boy was sitting beside her. She shoved her hands into the front pockets of her jeans and started walking.
“Captain Malloy, it’s nice of you to join us,” Janice said as Tristan moved closer. “Loki, this is my friend Tristan. She came here to meet you.”
The little boy turned his head, looking in Tristan’s direction. “I don’t care. I want to go play!” he yelled.
“We will in a minute, but first, we are going to be nice and say hi,” Janice replied.
“Hi,” Tristan said, taking a seat on the opposite side of him. She held her hand out. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
He simply stared at her with a scowl on his face. His mousy brown hair stuck out in all directions, obviously in need of a trim, but the first thing she truly noticed were his eyes. They were the same shamrock green that she shared with her father and his father. She choked back a sob.
“Loki, why don’t you tell her about school?” Janice encouraged.
“I hate school,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “I want to go play, damnit!”
Tristan gasped at his use of foul language.
“I’m sorry. We’re still dealing with aggression and use of bad words.”
Tristan nodded. She had never spent any time around children, but she stood up and held her hand out. “Would you like to go show me around?” she said, glancing over at the playground, then back at him.
“Fine,” he said, hopping off the bench and avoiding her hand as he walked towards the equipment.
Tristan tagged along, following his lead as they climbed through a set of twisted metal bars, then headed over to a different area.
“What’s your favorite color? Mine used to be green, but I wear it so much, I think I’m shifting towards blue,” she said.
“I don’t care.”
“Do you like baseball or football?”
“No, damnit,” he muttered, walking away to climb up a spiderweb style rope, then slide down a slide.
She waited for him to come down, then she followed him once more.
“Fuck this!” he yelled.
“Oh!” Janice exclaimed running over to him. “Loki, we do not use that word!” she stated sternly.
“I’ve been told worse,” Tristan said, walking over to her.
Janice shook her head. “He’s so out of control,” she sighed. “From what I’ve gathered, his grandmother was his caretaker. When she passed, he was pretty much on his own. His mother left him alone quite a bit.”
“How old was he when his grandmother passed?”
“Three, maybe four. I’d have to check the file.”
Tristan nodded.
“The Georges have had a terrible time getting through to him. Two of their four children were fostered and adopted, so they are familiar with the process, but he has a lot more baggage than they’ve dealt with in the past. They took him out of the public school he was in and put him in the private school run by their church to help give him some guidance.”
“And you think that’s what he needs…church?” Tristan questioned.
“He needs time, to be honest. His brain is trying to understand mourning and loss, but it’s coming out as aggression and anger. He needs to be in therapy…for several reasons. We’re working on getting him into the state program. Unfortunately, it takes months.”
