Ready Ch. 08

Ruth Banning leaned back and regarded Deonne with a shrewd look before rising and pulling two frying pans out of the cupboard.

"You are good enough for him, you know?" she went on with her back to Deonne, allowing the girl to take the shock of the statement without facing her.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know." She said the words, but even she could hear the doubt, the lack of conviction. "But sometimes . . ." her voice trailed off and she looked into the middle distance.

Ruth turned to Deonne from opening the refrigerator door and looked with intent at Deonne, the ignored door shutting on it's own.

"I don't know how a girl as successful as you can be so insecure." She turned back to the fridge and retrieved bacon, sausage and eggs. "Here's the thing: you don't get to pick. Shoot! Even Kevin don't get to pick! He just loves who he loves. He just happens to love you. Now, if I had my druthers, I'd get to pick who my boys love. We momma's are like that. But he made a pretty good choice even if he didn't use my help." She looked over her shoulder and smiled before grabbing a bowl from the cabinet. "Now, if James would just wake up and see what's staring him in the face, I'd be able to get on with being a grandma before I die! Sometimes I--"

"Sometimes you what?" Kevin asked from the doorway before coming behind Deonne. He leaned down to wrap his arms around her, planting a small kiss on top of her head.

"Sometimes you have the worst timing!"

"What? You want me to leave?"

"Never!" Reaching over her head, Deonne locked her hands on his head and twisting pulled him down for a kiss.

"Mm . . . milky coffee," he murmured against her lips before standing. "Momma, you don't have to cook us breakfast before we go!"

Ruth Banning turned to her son and gave him a look that said without words she was sure he had absolutely lost his mind.

"Of course, I'm gonna cook my son breakfast before he leaves me and goes and tries to get hisself ke-eled again! What else a momma s'posed to do? This world don't give us momma's any other options once our fool son's grow up. Now! Sit yourself down there and act respectful, like your brother does!"

Kevin found his seat and his mother turned back to the stove, but she wasn't done with him yet.

"You always did your own thing, acting the fool, never listenin' to a thing I said, just a trouble-maker. If it makes me happy to cook you some food, I'm gonna cook you some food."

Kevin rolled his eyes, and Deonne grinned. Who else could dress down Captain Banning and get away with it?

"Yes, Momma."

The trip to the airport was uneventful, if somewhat depressing. Mr. and Mrs. Banning both insisted on taking them, and they were cruising along in Mr. Banning's Cadillac. Deonne always felt like she was floating in a bubble when riding in huge American luxury cars. It suited Tom Banning, though, to a 'T' and was his pride and joy, his baby. As a matter of fact, he even named it Baby. After the test spin she and Kevin had given it the other evening Deonne herself was starting to be a convert. With this bad-boy, you would never have to race home again if the jungle fever overcame you. She rubbed her hand on the soft, leather-encased cushion and smiled up at Kevin.

"Maybe you should trade in your truck for one of these."

Kevin grinned, fully understanding her meaning.

"I don't know, trucks have their advantages, too."

"Yeah? I'm afraid I'll have to be convinced."

"I'll see what I can do."

At the airport, Mrs. Banning sent her off with a kiss on the cheek, a tight squeeze and a warning. "Remember, honey, you don't get to pick."

****

Life settled into a bit of a pattern for Deonne. She'd catch a swim in the morning, then teach on the base mid-day, come home, jog, shower and hope Kevin wouldn't be busy in the evening. She was determined to enjoy this life of leisure while it lasted. The fall session started the following week and with it, her new full-time position and seven hours of graduate courses.

As she walked out of the education building, the heat blasted against her. She was busy contemplating switching her afternoon run for another swim, when she looked up to see Kevin leaning against her little Honda.

One glance at his face told her it wasn't good. Lifting up, she kissed his cheek while giving him a questioning look.

"We deploy in forty-eight hours." He let that sink in before continuing. "I didn't want to tell you on the phone."

Deonne tried and failed to look like her world was not coming to an end.

"But you just got back!"

"You know how it is, Deonne. Listen, I don't have much time, I need to go home and grab a few things and tell the landlord." He watched her devastated face. "Babe . . . we talked about this, you know how it can be."

Deonne took a deep, shaky breath. "But I don't have to like it."

Dropping her bag, she leaned against him. The side of her face felt the rough, lumpy cotton of his uniform and the solid strength of his chest. Wrapping her arms tight around him, she held on until he made her look at him.

Placing both hands on either side of her face, he brushed a lock of hair back with his thumb.

"I need ya to understand something. I don't know what's going on in that nutty head of yours, but I love you Deonne. Just you, always you. Do you understand?"

She swallowed and nodded, and a lone tear slid down her cheek.

"So very much. So, when I come back, none of this waitin' shit, right?"

Nodding her head in short shakes, she wiped her eyes. Her Naval Academy training completely failed her. Again.

She tried to smile, it was a pathetic attempt. "I love you too, by the way. Just in case you're wondering."

"Oh, I know you do, babe."

"Oh, yeah? I did say no after all." She gave him a smart-aleck look, her irrepressible spirit making a valiant, though brief, showing.

"Sweetheart, no common-sense Midwestern girl throws away her life and career to move clear across country for an occasional fuck. No matter how exceptional that dumb fuck is." His dimple creased his cheek and Deonne touched her finger to it.

Holding her close, he kissed her one final time.

"I gotta go." Pulling her off him, he turned towards his truck and strode away.

Leaning against her blistering hot car, she refused to crumple to the ground, refused to let him see her body give in to the wailing that was going on inside. Common-sense Midwestern girls didn't do that. No, they waited until black trucks turned the corner, then they got in their practical white cars and sobbed their way across town; cried their way through a bottle of chardonnay; then shrieked into their soggy pillows long into the night.

Midwestern girls were just tough like that.

****

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who was so patient, and for all the encouraging feedback. It means more than you can imagine. You know how to encourage this slow writer: vote! AS, and OR and Indiana, thanks is inadequate for the editing help and the lessons.