Baby, Sitting

While the 4th Battalion of Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry, along with Lt.-Col. Conner Andresi were invented for the sake of this story and their participation in the Iran war is questionable, Battalions 1-3 really do exist, and fought during the war in Afghanistan. We thank them for their service, their dedication, and their sacrifice. From everyone here at The Garden--thank you.

[Conner Andresi]

Conner Andresi walked down Kawartha Lakes County Road 45, which connected downtown Kinmount to the country roads that he had grown up on. As he walked, he marveled at how little had changed. The trees were somehow both taller and smaller than he remembered them being; reaching enormous branches up toward the sky from the front yards of houses. But now they weren't the monoliths they'd been when he was ten years old and riding his three-speed down the road past them.

Tilting his head back, he breathed in the clean country air. The road in front of him was clean grey cement, stretching as far as the eye could see and branching off in either direction at seemingly random intervals to make up the side-streets of Kinmount. Each house was different. Separated by the space of yards and fences and cleanly-trimmed yards; they rose behind screened-in porches and wooden verandas, behind open gardens and smaller vegetable patches and square-fronted garages. Red brick abutted grey-painted wood, whitewashed sideboard stood beside foundations of river stone and plastic-looking yellow faux-board.

He glanced at the Community Center, as his wandering took him passed it. He had taken the bus from Toronto to Kawartha Lakes, and a smaller bus from Kawartha Township to Kinmount, Ontario. It was built of red-grey bricks, all uniform, with a sloping roof of red metal. The roof was new--obviously installed earlier that year, or the year before. The bottom two feet was made of the same cement-stationed river rock that made up many bases of the houses around it; rocks which came from Burnt River which wound through Kinmount before separating into a series of lakes as you followed Highway-121 further northward.

How many weekends had he spent in that building, as a child? More than he could count, likely. As a child, Conner had been what people in cities referred to as a "troubled youth" and what people in small-town communities like Kinmount referred to as "a curse". Pausing at the top of a small hill, Conner let his eyes run over the white-painted boards of the Community Center veranda. Yellow beams held up a whitewashed roof and fence, all supporting the same red metal roof as the main building. That, at least, had been because of him. A small case of partially-accidental arson.

In truth, he hadn't really been troubled. Not seriously. His trouble had been Kinmount. As a child, the only thing to do had been to get into trouble. To run down the roads with one neighbor or the other chasing him, spraying small stones out from the heels of his running shoes. He had dreamed, each night, of escaping the small town. It had strangled him; choked him; made him unable to breathe.

At thirteen, his parents had sent him to a military-style boarding school in Niagra called the Robert Land Academy. It was an all-boys school that sent about seventy percent of its graduating students, students like Conner Andresi, to the cadets.

He wasn't thirteen any longer. Four years at Robert Land Academy, three years with the Junior Cadets Academy, seven years with the Canadian Armed Forces first as an infanteer and then as an artillery officer, and three tours of Iraq spanning a decade--much of which he had spent training Kurdish forces in Basra and Nasiriyah. The first fourteen years had turned a long-limbed, rawboned thirteen year old into a long-limbed, rawboned twenty-seven year old. He grinned often and cockily. His confidence was matched only by the strength of his body, and the willingness to use both.

The final ten years had turned that twenty-seven year old into a completely different man. At thirty-seven; his smile appeared only rarely, and even then the once easy cockiness of it now held a slightly wry edge. His grey-brown eyes had a grimness about them, the inflexible planes of his still-rawboned face now faintly held the resemblance of a skull. Conner Andresi hadn't been the first man broken by Iraq--he was only one of many. But he was broken all the same.

A one-strapped travel bag swung against his back as he walked down the side of the road. It held the shape of a kidney bean, pulled up on either side where the straps connected to the fabric. A heavy zipper held it closed. His long legs stretched out as he walked; covered in grey dress pants and ending in well-shone black shoes. White socks peaked out from beneath them with each step. A collared black polo shirt hugged his stomach and chest, three buttons closed right up to where the length of his neck appeared, connected in a sweep to a slightly sharp chin. His eyes blinked constantly, moving from one side of the road to the other; a habit he'd picked up in Djibouti during the strait-runs for OEF. One wrong step in Djibouti-Randa or Djibouti-Dorra during those days would find your legs landing on opposite sides of a mile--as his commanding Officer had said repeatedly.

It had been twenty-four years since he had last been to Kinmount; twenty-four years since he'd last hugged his mother, or shaken his father's hand. He thought about that while he walked, following the curve of the road down toward a collection of small buildings. A laundromat and a pizza restaurant shared a red and white building, while a store marked 'SHOP 'N SAVE' stood beside them in green and grey.

As Conner made his way toward them, he stopped at the sound of barking. It seemed to be coming closer--and fast. He thought he could hear a woman's voice behind it, though that was still too far to make out. It came from a long pathway, little more than a four-foot wide dirt trail that had been spread over with gravel years ago. A couple of rectangular rocks had been piled near the entrance of the pathway, and decorated with some old metal... what looked to be cart wheels. The path curved away into the forest; oak trees towering above more spacious cedar and spruce.

Conner knelt down, letting his bag slip off his shoulder. It thumped quietly against the side of the road. He kept his eyes forward, staring down the curve of the pathway. A moment later, he was rewarded. A dog came sprinting around the nearest turn, legs stretching out and then pulling back as it streamed toward the road. It was a German Shepard; the tongue rolling as it ran, small stones flying away from its paws. Conner didn't move from the end of the pathway, only bracing one knee in the gravel and holding up a flat hand as a the dog approached.

Gravel scattered as it came to a screeching halt. It took a few steps toward him, sniffing the air and then bounding backward--obviously looking to play. A couple of vehicles passed on the road behind him, and Conner noticed the dog's head move up, scanning sideways as it followed the cars. Obviously not road trained.

"Hey, you--" he turned his hand over so that his palm faced toward the sky. He saw the dog's keen eyes turn back to him, obviously interested. Tucking his hand behind his back, he folded his fingers closed and then brought it, very slowly, back around the front of his body, "What do I have here? What's this? Is it a treat, do you think?"

The dog's ears perked up at that. He took a half-step forward, sniffing at Conner's hand. Now he was certain; he could hear a woman running down the pathway, calling out. Driver, he thought the voice was saying.

"Is that you, little guy? You want a treat, Driver?" Still with his left hand raised, he reached down and carefully unzipped his travelling bag. A small pack of dried beef jerky, the classic Jack Link's in its plastic red packaging, appeared as he grabbed it from the front of his bag. At the sound of the plastic crinkling, the dog's glance moved from his outstretched hand to the bag.

Obviously the smell was what convinced him. Stepping forward quickly, he lowered his nose and began to sniff around Conner's bag.

Without a second of hesitation, Conner reached down and took hold of the dog's collar. It was simple black, with a small metal tag that jingled as he moved. He didn't grab him forcefully, only curling his fingers between the collar and the top of the fur on the dog's neck--in case he ran. Tucking his other hand into the bag of jerky, he pulled out a piece.

"Do you know commands?" Conner kept his voice soothing, "How about--" he curled his free hand closed, folding the beef jerky into his palm, "Sit?"

The dog sat, tail wagging excitedly and disturbing a bit of dust from the gravel behind him. Conner stroked two fingers over the top of his head, and then opened his hand in front of the dog's mouth.

"Good boy. Take it."

He was forgotten as the dog took the beef jerky from his hand and proceeded to chew it. He had obviously outpaced his owner by a fair amount, because it wasn't until that moment that she came down the path, appearing from around the curve into the trees. She'd obviously been running hard. Her chest heaved as she breathed out, her forehead slightly shiny with sweat. Even as a distance, Conner could read the relief in her posture at seeing him with his hand wrapped around the dog's collar. She raised a hand, jogging forward. A black leash dangled from her hand.

The dog--Driver--had finished the jerky and was sniffing at Conner's hand as she approached.

"Thank you!" She called. The sound of her voice made Driver turn, his tail wagging as he pulled slightly against Conner's closed hand. Bending down in front of him, she clipped the end of the leash around Driver's collar and stood. It took her a moment to catch her breath, obviously winded from a hard run. As soon as she had it, she reached out her hand.

"Thank you so much... again. I went to put his leash back on about a mile ago, and he just bolted."

"No problem," Conner shook the woman's outstretched hand. Her palm was a bit damp, but her skin was soft and her grip strong as it met his, "Someone's obviously started to train him, but he's still young, right?"

"Eight months," she replied. As she spoke, Conner got the feeling that the woman was studying him--seeing him for the first time.

She was, he thought, strikingly beautiful. Part of it was the exercise; her already sun-tanned cheeks having taken on a deeper flush of pink during her run; and part of it was being outside, like how the sunlight caught the shoulder-length golden threads of her hair. It was slightly lighter toward the front than the back, and fell around her face in slight waves. A couple of stray curls, just in front of her ears, created a frame for her cheeks. The features of her face, from her eyebrows to her eyes themselves--deep blue, and narrow--to the long bridge of her nose, had a kind of sharpness to them. A sharpness made all the more striking by a round, slightly prominent chin and a proud neck.

He could see a pattern of freckles against the woman's skin. A bit strangely, none of them touched the smooth lines of her face. They stood out across her chest, and the back of her hands, and along the sides of her neck where it swept up to disappeared beneath the curls of her hair.

She adjusted herself slightly, wrapping Driver's leash in one hand and tucking them both into the pockets of her sweater. It was grey, obviously well-worn, and unzipped about half way. He tried not to focus on the fact that, where her sweater peaked open, a pair of round breasts were being pressed down by a purple sports bra.

That fact was easier to ignore than it might otherwise have been, because of the expression on her face. She had tilted her head, studying him carefully. Her eyes went to the bag on the road, and then back to his.

"I'm Bradley, by the way."

"Isn't that a boy's name?"

His words might have sounded insulting, to anybody overhearing them. Anybody who hadn't been there on the first day that Bradley Chastain had walked through the front door of his family's house--nearly thirty years earlier. He had begun to piece it together earlier, as soon as the woman appeared, but it was hearing her name that had confirmed it for him. He saw the same realization taking place on her face; the immediate shock becoming a disbelieving kind of fascination.

"Conner?"

"Hey, Lee. Long time no see."

The woman laughed, shaking her head in a way that made the blonde waves of her hair slide around the slopes of her shoulders. Below them, Driver barked once as he began to sniff around their ankles.

"It's been a couple of decades since somebody last called me that." Her blue eyes caught the light from the sun as they studied him, doing a quick up and down, "You're all... Well, you're all grown up. What are you doing back?"

"Just stopping by to visit my parents. Are you still down Hickling trail?"

"No," she shook her head, "I'm living over in Washago these days. Moved there for work about..." she tilted her head slightly as she thought about it, "twelve years ago, now? I work in publishing."

"Good for you," Conner's voice held honest admiration, "That's amazing. Anything I might have read?"

"Oh, one or two. Nothing special," but as she spoke, her already bright eyes sparkled a deep blue, and her mouth took on the shape of a smile, "I'm in town for a couple of days. Housesitting for a friend--do you remember Liv?"

"Olivia?" Conner's eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch, "Yeah, of course. You guys used to watch horror movies and talk about boys when you thought I was asleep."

Bradley laughed again, revealing the top row of her white teeth. They were nearly as bright as her eyes, "Oh, we knew you weren't asleep. But you just sat there silent as a mouse at the top of the stairs, so who were we to complain?"

"Speaking of boys," Conner nodded down to Bradley's left hand. A small ring sparkled on her fingers; a thin gold band with a miniature white-green stone set in a fragile-looking golden clasp, "Whose the lucky man?"

"What--" she glanced at her own hand, and her eyes went slightly wider. Strangely, she ducked her head even further and Conner was suddenly certain that the redness of her cheeks didn't have entirely to do with the sun, "Uh, no... that's actually--Oh, this is embarrassing. It's actually not mine. It's from Olivia's jewelery box. One of her old ones. I, uh... I was just..." she trailed off for a moment. When her eyes glanced back at Conner's, they were slightly sheepish, "Trying it on for size? Hell--no I wasn't. I was just fantasizing."

He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, if it means anything, I think it looks amazing on you."

"Oh, thank you." Her smile had a slightly off-side quality about it, "So are you back for a little while? Liv's place is over on Dickson." She pointed a finger up the road, "Second house on the left. It's just me and this naughty boy," she reached down to scratch her fingers over the top of Driver's head, getting a couple of tail wags in return.

"Still into horror movies?" Conner asked, "I can't promise I'm as quiet as a mouse any more, but you are the reason I started watching them in the first place."

"That's okay, I'm not quiet either." This time, there was definitely the darker tone of a blush creeping through the skin below her cheeks. The implication in her words was obvious--maybe a bit more obvious than how she'd thought they'd sound.

"In that case, I look forward to it." Conner smiled. For the first time in years, the movement didn't feel forced--it was the kind of smile he'd worn when he'd left Kinmount all those years ago; charming and lopsided and a little bit brazen, "How does eight-thirty sound?"

"It sounds excellent." She stood for a moment, like she was trying to decide what else to say. Then she gestured to Driver with her finger; making the light catch the small ring on the lower one, "Anyways, I should probably get this guy home and fed. I'll try not to let him run off again."

"Oh, I don't know--" Conner shrugged, "I think he's got a pretty good sense of direction."

Bradley's smile came slowly and widely. Her eyes made a final, lightning-fast up and down motion while she nodded, "You might just be right. See you at eighty-thirty?"

"See you then."

[Bradley Chastain]

As she stepped through the door of Olivia's house and let Driver off his leash, Bradley thought back to the young man on the road. It wasn't just the surprise at finding him, or the years they'd been apart, or how much he'd changed. There was something about the man she couldn't stop thinking about. Something she'd been turning over in her mind ever since he'd walked away down Kawartha Road.

It was his quietness, she thought. It wasn't the mild-mannered quietness of a man who was born with the quality. It was like the quiet of a bear-trap; a quietness that, despite having shown absolutely no sign of it during their conversation, that came with the threat of teeth behind it. The quietness of a man who was locked somewhere he did not want to be, and was contemplating how to escape it.

And he was handsome. Truly, distractingly handsome.

Maybe it should have bothered her more, with the strangeness of their history. That he was four years younger than she was. But he didn't look like that. He certainly didn't speak like that. No, the sound of his voice was undeniably masculine. So much so, in fact, that even the memory of it was enough to send a small shiver of pleasure down Bradley's back.

You need a cold shower, young lady.

Dropping the leash beside the door, she first went to the kitchen. Taking a bottle of white wine from inside the fridge, she set it on the counter. Getting two glasses from the cupboard, she set them beside the bottle. Only then did she turn and begin making her way down the small hallway that connected the kitchen to Olivia's bedroom and its connected bathroom.

As she made her way through the room, she undressed. As she did so, she couldn't help but imagine that it was Conner's hands on her body; bringing the shirt up over her head, bringing the pants down her legs. A very cold shower. But when the front of her ring finger brushed the skin over her hip, she couldn't help but glance down and see the ring on her finger. I think it looks amazing on you he had said--and had it just been her imagination, or was there a bit of meaning behind those words?

Her eyes stayed on the ring as she worked it off her finger and placed it, carefully, on the edge of the dresser. As she turned toward the bathroom, the image of Conner's face came back to her once more. The broad planes of it, pushed-back hair ruffled slightly by a gentle wind, a steady hand held between Driver's scruffy shoulders.

Maybe, she thought, her shower didn't have to be quite so short after all--or quite so cold.

[Conner Andresi]

He opened the bottle of wine with a corkscrew, setting it aside on the counter when he was done. Taking two glasses down from the open-faced cupboard, he filled each of them about half way with pinot grigio and handed one back to Bradley. They touched glasses, and the clinking sound sent a small shiver of noise through the air. As Bradley leaned back against the island, it made the round swell of her breasts press forward ever so slightly against the front of her shirt.

If it was a shirt. Conner felt pretty confident that he'd seen something similar on a mannequin outside of a particularly upscale lingerie store before. It was a bit too opaque to be called sheer, except for the edges and the straps, where leaf-patterned lace held it around her body. As she leaned back, Conner thought that her body was actually trying to draw his eyes downward--from the round point of her chin to the length of her neck, which dipped into a slightly downward-pointing hollow between the two lines of it; like an smooth-tipped arrow pointing toward the small valley where her breasts met.