A Striking Resemblance

The two of them were such a matched pair that it was adorable.

"But enough about my stuff. What's going on with the strike and your people?"

I shrugged. Having just gone over the deal with Lyle a few minutes earlier when I spoke to Haliaka, I didn't feel like bringing it up again.

"It's okay, I guess. We've got some more people down to march with us, so that's nice."

Dad looked up at me. "Allies from other unions?"

Putting my fork down, I shook my head. "Nope. Oddly enough, it's a bunch of ex-military people. It started out on the first day. There was a guy about your age, maybe a few years younger, who came down and said he wanted to march with us. He reminds me of you, actually. He's bigger. The guy looks like he retired from the military so we could start a new career wrestling bears. Anyway, people from the VFW and the American Legion have been coming down, most of them two or three days a week. He's there every day. I'm telling you, more people certainly doesn't suck. The big guy, he has a knack for knowing where the construction crew is going to be working, so I have us set up there every morning before they arrive. About half the crew won't cross the picket line, and it's slowing everything down. Great for us, not so great for the hospital. As long as it doesn't put anyone in danger, I couldn't care less."

"That's good, I guess. This guy just appeared out of nowhere? That doesn't sound weird to you? You want me to look into them?"

What was with men around sixty? Was there a trend towards paranoia I wasn't aware of?

"No, Dad. It's fine. He's just a nice guy with too much time on his hands. Rockefeller didn't send him down to do some union busting. You may even know him. You'd think the sun rises and sets on his grandson. The guy's in the Marines, but he grew up here and he plays the trumpet. He was pretty serious too, so you may have crossed paths."

"Yeah? What's the kid's name?"

"Gus. I don't know his last name."

Dad put down his birch beer and sat back in his seat. "You've got to be shitting me." He leaned away as Haliaka gently slapped his arm for cursing. "That's the kid who made the flippy books. Remember them? He was dating Ethan's daughter. She played violin. They have a jug band."

Things clicked in my head. Maybe they should have earlier, but as a nurse you're a deep and integral part of someone's life, but usually not for a long time. I didn't remember seeing the old guy in the waiting room, but now that I realized that his grandson was likely the Marine with a little girl with the heart murmur, everything made a lot more sense. Gus's father was Steve and Steve's father was Pop. It felt weird calling anyone but my father Pop, but that's what he insisted on. No wonder the man knew where the construction crew was going to be working every morning.

And if that was the case, why would Steve keep telling him? You'd figure that the first time we were picketing near him and interrupting his workflow, information to his father would dry up.

Was Steve trying to help us?

STEVE

I sat on the edge of my bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I needed water and mouthwash in equal measure. Pop made his five alarm chili the previous night and my mouth felt like a fuzzy dumpster fire. Getting to my feet, I stretched and made an involuntary moaning sound. Getting old sucked.

By the time I got downstairs, Pop was in the kitchen folding the rest of his chili into an omelet. Chili. Mixed in with eggs. I had no idea how Kate put up with him. That was just an abomination.

I took out a twenty and left it on the table.

"Do me a favor? I can have a banana or something for breakfast. The chili hit me hard. If you're going down to the hospital today, could you pick me up a sandwich on your way? We'll be in the back southwest. We have to tear up a bunch of concrete and then dig a couple of trenches. We'll be right off Maple."

He tried to look casual as he slowly grabbed his phone and started texting. "Ah, sure. Not a problem. Turkey and Swiss?"

I smiled, knowing he was texting Shelley or one of the union people. "That would be great. And it's going to be a nice day. Get something for yourself with the change."

He looked up at me with a frown on his face and one eyebrow raised. "Why, that is so generous, son. I would've never thought of that."

I laughed. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Enough with the sarcasm. If I don't see you there, I'll catch you tomorrow. I have a date with Emily tonight."

"Good. I like her, and I know folks. She's good people. I can tell."

I stopped at the café across from the hospital and got a carton of coffee and a bunch of paper cups for the guys. Surprisingly, half of the strikers happened to be on Maple Street right near where we were going to work. One of my guys approached me.

"Look, Steve. I need you to get me on a new crew. I can't cross the picket line. My grandfather would roll over in his grave. On the other hand, I've got kids to feed, you know? You owe me, so I need you to make this happen."

I stared at him for a couple of seconds after he stopped speaking. "Larry, what the hell do I owe you for? Did you go out on a limb for me some time that I don't know about?"

He looked to my left for a second before meeting my eyes. "Okay, so you don't owe me per se, but I bust my ass for you every day, you know that. I'm reliable, I'm a hard worker and I know my stuff. That has to be worth something."

I sighed. "I'll do what I can."

Halfway through the day, Dad approached me and tossed a brown paper bag my way. I had to drop my clipboard to catch it.

"One hand, remember old man?"

"What was that? Were you saying thank you, scab?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not a scab, and you know it."

"Tell Emily I said hi."

My sandwich and my drink were in the bag, as was a roll of Tums. I sat in the shade of a tree on the back of my pickup as I listened to some music and ate my lunch. Curdling my stomach more than the memories of Pop's chili, was the site of Michael Crawford storming my way with a stick up his ass the size of a Sequoia.

"Kirschbaum." He was still twenty yards away, so I ignored him. "Kirschbaum!" I continued ignoring him.

His face was red as a tomato by the time he got to me. Putting my sandwich down, I raised a finger to my lips.

"Shhh. I'm on lunch. I'll be back on the clock in forty minutes."

He was sweating, and it looked as if there was too much pressure behind his eyeballs. They were almost bulging out and when you add in the specks of white spittle on his lips, I was seriously concerned that he was going to have a stroke.

"What the hell is going on? How many times do I need to tell you that you need to speed things up? Where are the rest of your guys?"

I shrugged. "They won't cross the picket line. You can't blame them. It's a matter of conscience."

"Does it look like I give a damn about their conscience? Your workers, their conscience and your entire company can be replaced. Hire more people if you need them, just meet the benchmarks I gave you. We need this done now!"

I took a slow swallow of my drink. "You've made it clear that you basically think I'm illiterate while you have a doctorate from some Ivy League, but correct my limited attempt at reasoning. Those benchmarks were verbal requests. You try to replace us based on a lack of adherence to something we never agreed to, and we will laugh, walk off the job and sue your ass. If you look at the benchmarks in the actual contract, we're right on time. Maybe we're not early, like you would want us to be, but we're meeting all of our legal obligations and we're doing so easily."

He sputtered, and I prepared to dodge uncontrolled spittle, but he eventually turned around and stormed off. I just shrugged and went back to my lunch. I'm a Marine. I've dealt with self-important civilians every place I'd been stationed.

When we called it quits for the day, I went home, took a quick shower, grabbed my gun bag and waited in the living room. When Emily eventually knocked on the door, I grabbed the bag and we got into her car.

She looked at what I was carrying with a quizzical smile. "Did you bring a gun? That's really cute."

"Smith & Wesson EZ. You said we were going to a range."

"Oh, we are, I just thought that you were going to watch me. Do they actually teach Marines how to shoot?"

I smiled. "Well, I'll concede that you're probably better with rifles than I am. I mean, Marines actually advance and fight while Army fires from a distance. A long way off. A long, long, long way off. I mean, there's gotta be some marksman in the Army because God knows they don't want to do any actual fighting."

I could see that she was trying not to smile. "Funny, jarhead. Very funny. Care to put some money on it?"

My agreeing to put money on the line was a tremendous mistake. Emily wasn't just better than me, she was a legit badass. At least I wasn't alone. She was also better than everyone else at the range. Even missing an arm, I was pretty good. Pretty good didn't count for shit when you were going up against someone who was world-class. We had our first serious disagreement when I realized that she was taking it easy on me.

"Don't do that." My voice was clipped and even.

"Do what?"

I'm not a child, Emily. I'm not going to fall to pieces when I realize someone is better than me. Give me the respect of not holding back on me."

She was silent for a moment. "Well, contrary to what you're saying, you actually do seem pretty pissed off.

"Not because you're winning, but because you thought you had to protect my ego. You're amazing. I'm not threatened by how good you are, I just want to enjoy watching you perform. It's sort of insulting to hold back."

She looked at me for a moment with an amused half smile before stepping close, grabbing my shirt and pulling me down for a kiss.

"I like that, Steve. I like that a lot. Okay. No more holding back."

Watching anyone perform in any endeavor at her level of expertise was a joy to behold. I muddled through and measured my success by how I had performed the last time at the range, not by how she did.

The range was out in the middle of nowhere, just off the highway and near a bunch of farms. She had packed stuff for a picnic and after walking five minutes from the range, we found a comfortable space to sit down and eat. We swapped tales about our times and service and what it was like readjusting to civilian life. She eventually stopped talking and lifted her hands in mock surrender.

"Okay, you've been gentlemanly long enough. Go ahead."

I wasn't sure what she was saying, and it certainly sounded like she might be trying to tell me to jump her bones. I wouldn't be against it, but we were out in the open within easy view of anyone driving by.

"Huh?"

Yeah, maybe I wasn't the most eloquent of guys.

"Do what you've been wanting to do all night, Steve. Whip out your phone and let me see the latest pictures of your granddaughter."

I started laughing. "Well, it just so happens that I might have two or three hundred in here."

We had a great evening and when she parked in my driveway, Emily leaned over and her lips found mine. A few minutes later, she pulled back a few inches.

"Are you going to invite me upstairs to see your etchings?"

"Etchings? Emily, I'd make the world's worst artist. It's not really my thing."

She stared at me for a second. "That's... When I said etchings, I meant --"

"Kidding! That was a joke." I gave her a quick peck. "Emily, would you be interested in coming inside to see my etchings?"

She giggled. "I thought you'd never ask."

Normally I would have gotten out of the car, walked around and opened her door. Since she was the one that drove, I wasn't sure what to do. I put the ball in her court and made sure that I walked slowly. By the time I was at the front of the car, she was out and waiting for me at the walkway to the house. I put my arm around her, pulled her close, and smiled down.

"I'm glad you're staying."

She pushed back slightly. "Not the night. I'm just here to use you for your body for a while and then I'm hitting the streets."

I laughed. "Not a problem. I can be a cheap date for the night. Just hit it and forget it.

Emily's laughter joined my own before she put a hand on either side of my head, pulled me down, and her lips met mine.

She was fun, and there was something about her that I needed in my life. She didn't seem to take things too seriously and had a sense of adventure. We were both mature enough to not be running full throttle to the bedroom. Okay, maybe instead of being mature, that was a sign of increasing age, but whatever. Everything still worked the way it should, and we would prove that to each other all night.

"For a bachelor, your place is very --"

"Neat? Orderly? Until recently, the people living here were two retired Marines and a young man who was going to become a Marine. Neat comes with the territory."

She raised an eyebrow. That future Marine, he's your son?"

"I guess I've mentioned him a time or two?"

"Actually, your father did. Pardon the language, but your dad seems to think the kid shits rainbows."

I laughed again. She wasn't like any woman I was used to.

"Yeah, I guess that's pretty accurate. If my dad has any soft spots, it's for his grandson and his great-granddaughter. Enjoying the tour so far? It gets a lot more interesting upstairs."

She slowly and dramatically batted her eyes, like she was Bugs Bunny pretending to be a southern belle. "Why, Mr. Kirschbaum, is that where the bedroom is?"

"I'll show you exactly what it is."

Stepping forward, I picked her up and put her over my shoulder, and then almost ran up the stairs. Those old knees still had some life in them. She giggled all the way there and when I dumped her on the bed, she looked back up at me with a look that mirrored my own passion.

"Sir, I believe you're conspicuously overdressed."

I didn't hesitate in rectifying that situation. Hours later, I was tired in all the best ways, sated... and alone. I listened for a second, but couldn't hear Emily in the bathroom or in the shower. It had been nice that she'd allowed me to sleep, but waking me up before she left would've been fine. I knew that there were parts of my anatomy that were more upset that she had left than others. I pulled on a pair of boxers, stripped the bed and took a shower. When I went downstairs, I heard Pop puttering around in the kitchen. I walked in to see Emily sitting at the kitchen table, a mound of scrambled eggs and something on her plate.

I looked from her to Pop and back again. "Please tell me you're not eating what he made for breakfast."

She shrugged. "What, I'm retired Army. You don't think I've had worse? Besides, it's not bad. Not normal, but not bad."

"Yeah? What's in it?"

"Eggs, onions, peppers and corned beef. Sort of like a western omelet but subbing out the ham."

I looked to Pop. "This is what you feed the guests?"

He grunted. "And only the guests. You can have oatmeal. She's got cuter legs than you. She gets the eggs."

"I can't argue with that."

Emily put down her fork. "Steve, what are the chances that you can get off Thursday and Friday? We could take a four-day weekend. I know it's a lot to ask and we don't really know each other that well, but I have two shooting competitions coming up and I thought you might want to join me. One's an invitational, but the other is an Old West recreation, and it's open to anyone. We'll have fun."

"Let me talk to my boss. If I can get the time off, I'd love to make it."

After eating, Emily headed out. I walked her to the door where she stopped, pulled me down, and kissed me.

"Call me when you figure things out."

"I will. I have the time. It's just a question of scheduling. If my boss can move some things around and my son isn't coming home this weekend, I'd love to go."

"Your son is coming home?"

"He's trying to string together four days in a row. If he can, they'll fly him in."

"They?"

"His in-laws have money. Serious money."

She took a slight step back. "Sorry, didn't mean to press. Marrying into money is nice. Good for him. And I totally understand. If he's gonna be home, you need to be here for him."

"Thanks, Emily. We'll try to make it work."

When she left, I went back upstairs. Pop called out from the kitchen.

"I like her."

I usually don't bellow across the house like he does, but I needed to get dressed quickly. If I was going to stop by the offices and start pleading to use two days of personal time with less than a week's notice, it was going to take some effort.

"Of course you do. She likes your cooking."

My voice carried downstairs and I could hear Pop laugh. I grabbed a banana as I walked out of the house. I peeled it before I pulled out of the driveway and ate as I drove. I was always amused at how it was the most inconsequential of things that I got hooked up on after losing my arm. I mean, yeah, it's part of my life now, but when it happened, I thought my life was over. Now I just grumble about how I can't have a coffee while driving and reminisce about how I used to stop at 7-11 as part of my morning routine. Whatever. I'm better off without the coffee and doughnuts stop.

For the first time in my life, I was financially comfortable. I was doing well in my career, Gus was out of college and Pop owned the house free and clear. We were doing okay.

When I was younger, that certainly wasn't the case. We lived paycheck to paycheck and I'm sure I'm romanticizing it now, but back then, it felt like an adventure. All of our vacations would be the three of us piled up in whatever car or truck I had at the time and we would just drive. I'd have my coffee, Lucinda by my side and Gus would be amusing himself in the backseat. My wife was a financial genius, always figuring out how to do more with less. We didn't have much when it came to money, but we had each other and we were happy.

I didn't know where that came from. Maybe getting laid made me nostalgic.

I went to the café across the street from the hospital to get a box of coffee for the guys. Shelley was there, doing the same for her nurses. We both placed our orders and then stepped back from the counter to give the rest of the people on line a little space.

"So, how's all the striking stuff going? Is there any way to predict how long this stuff is good to go on for? My father was in the military, I was in the military and my son is in the military. Marines aren't allowed to go on strike. I have no idea how any of this works. Ask me about baseball unions, and I could quote you every stat you would want. Ask me about a union in my own backyard and I don't have a clue. That's sort of horrible, isn't it?"

She shook her head. "No. Not all. Why would it be? It would only be horrible if you knew that really bad things were going on and you condoned it. You couldn't possibly know, and I doubt you would be okay with it if you did, so neither apply to you. It turns out that I'm not as smart as I like to think I am, Steve. I only recently put two and two together and realized that Pop is your father."

"Yup. That's him. Ask him to see some pictures of Lucinda and see what happens. You'll be inundated. It might take him five or ten minutes to figure out how to access his pictures, but when he does, you're done for."

She laughed.

The clerk called out. "Order for Shelley!"

She turned to me and quickly touched my hand. "I appreciate what you've done for us."

"You're welcome, but I didn't do anything."

Unfortunately, I was talking to her back as she slid through the crowd to get her coffee and pastries. The jig was up. She obviously figured out that I was making sure that Pop knew where we would be working on the hospital grounds each morning. Oh well. It wasn't much, but maybe it helped. Hospital management would see them having at least some success with people who wouldn't cross the picket line. Maybe there were similar stories with companies or vendors that would do the same. I'd hoped so.