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Chapter Text

After the war, Carwood means to go home directly, but it doesn’t quite work out that way. He and the rest of the boys are back in England through November, and then the whole unit is officially disbanded. The boys start going home, most of them pushing to get there in time for Christmas.

“When are you leaving?” George asks him one night as they sit outside the barracks and smoke English cigarettes that taste different, but neither of them seems to be able to smoke Lucky Strikes now that they're not in the rations. It’s January, cold as all get out, and he and George are both in their blouses but no jackets. They don’t even have to be smoking outside, but once the flurries started, they’d gone out without thinking.

“Soon, I think,” Carwood answers. “Just want to make sure you all get on your way.”

“You don’t need to keep track of us anymore, Lip,” George says. “We’re nearly civilians now.”

“Well, old habits,” Carwood replies, and they finish their cigarettes and step back inside.

George is on a troop ship two weeks later, Malarkley and Babe with him. They all give Carwood torn half-pages with their address, and he promises to write. They wave goodbye from the railing, and he misses them fiercely even before they’re out of sight.

He eats at the Officer’s Club that evening and has the first beer he’s drunk in three years. He’s halfway through his meatloaf when Ron walks over, raises his eyebrows, and sits across from Carwood at his nod.

“Who went home today?” Ron asks.

“Luz, Malarkey, and Heffron,” Carwood replies. “They were my last three.”

“That explains the beer.”

Carwood smiles. “Suppose it does.”

“How much longer are you here?” Ron asks.

“Not sure. A few more weeks at least or maybe longer. Major Winters says he could use me on a project if I wanted to stay a few months.”

“Why would you stay?” Ron asks. “You’ve got a wife waiting.”

“So do you,” Carwood replies, and they watch each other for a long moment.

“Go home,” Ron says. “See your family.”

“I made a promise,” Carwood says, and he sees the way Ron’s hand tightens on his fork.

“Do you want to make good on it?” Ron asks, voice even, with just a touch of disinterest like he might not really care.

“I don’t know,” Carwood admits. “It doesn’t feel like the war’s over yet.”

“The papers are signed.”

“That only means something to the generals.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

The silence they drop into is companionable. They finish their meals, and Carwood stands first, saluting sharply. “Sir.”

“Lieutenant,” Ron replies, but he does not salute in return.

Carwood takes himself for a walk, tracking along the edge of the base as he tries to get his thoughts in order. He thinks of Huntington, but when he closes his eyes, all he sees is Europe. It’s burned or frozen or gleaming too perfectly, high in the Alps. He doesn’t want to go home if he can’t picture it. He’ll carry the war with him forever, he knows, but he doesn’t want to carry it like this.

*

The next morning, he goes to Major Winters and asks about the project. It’s organizational, just helping with all the final paperwork required to finish waging war.

“It’s dull work,” Winters tells him. “You won’t be thinking much.”

“Sounds like exactly what I need, Sir.”

Winters gives him a considering look, and Carwood waits him out. “Okay,” Winters says in the slow way he always does when he doesn’t want to pry. “I’ll let command know.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

*

He calls his mother when it's early afternoon in Huntington. "I'll be staying awhile longer, Mama," he tells her.

"If that's what you need to do," she says.

Carwood closes his eyes and feels her pride in him wash over him. She's always had it, even before he became a paratrooper. "Thank you, Mama. How are things there?"

"Oh, they're as they ever were. Jack and I have handled it all just fine."

Carwood tries to picture what Jack might look like right now, but it's been a good long while since he's seen his little brother, and all he can picture is the angular, reedy boy who hadn't hit his last growth spurt before Carwood had gone to Toccoa.

"Well, you tell him I say hello."

"I will, honey. Don't forget to write."

"I won't, Mama."

*

The work is exactly as rote as Major Winters warned, but Carwood finds it soothing in the way it turns off his thoughts and lets him concentrate on a single task at a time. The filing especially helps clear his head, focusing so much on repeating the alphabet over and over that he can't think of anything else.

He writes his mother every week, letters full of nothing of interest.

Dear Mama,

I'm doing well. It's warming up in England and getting pretty nice. I'm still doing that work for Major Winters, and it's nothing exciting, but it's necessary. Major Winters says I'm the most patient person he's ever seen take it on, and I explained that growing up making beds and sweeping floors sort of got me ready for it.

I hope you're well and healthy. Tell Jack hello for me. I promise to send word as soon as I know I'm headed home.

Your Son,
Carwood

*

In early April, Major Winters tells him the work is nearly done. "Probably be done by the beginning of May," he says. He pauses, looks down at his desk, and says, "I'm sure I could lend you out to another Major if you need to stay busy awhile."

Carwood considers the offer. Huntington is starting to push back into his memories when he closes his eyes. It's not all Europe when he tries to think of home. "Can I let you know in a week, Sir?"

"Of course, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, Sir."

*

"Well?" Ron asks that night, sitting across from Carwood in the Officer's Club without asking.

"Well?" Carwood repeats.

"There's a rumor that you may be headed stateside, soon."

"Maybe," Carwood says. "Who's gossiping?"

"I think he calls it gathering intel," Ron replies.

Nixon, Carwood thinks with a grin. A man who should have been gone long before Carwood himself, and yet, he's still here doing paperwork and staring holes in the back of Major Winters' head when he's not looking. It's a hell of a friendship they have, Carwood thinks. He wonders if he'll ever have something like that.

"Well?" Ron says again.

"I think so," Carwood tells him. "It's feeling less like the war is still on."

"And that promise?"

"Still not entirely sure about that," Carwood admits.

"All right," Ron says, and it's the last they say to each other as they eat dinner.

*

"That's it," Major Winters says at the end of April.

"Are you certain?" Carwood asks.

"I'm afraid even the Army runs out of paperwork, sometimes," Winters says. "You might consider leave, Lieutenant."

"Leave?"

"I was looking at your records just yesterday, and you haven't taken leave since Toccoa."

"The men needed me, Sir." Carwood can't read the expression on Winters' face, but he feels proud even without being sure.

"You've got weeks and weeks piled up, and I know it's funny to hear this come from me, but take some of it, Lipton. Take a breath."

Carwood can't stop the smile that slides across his face. "That is funny coming from you."

Winters grins in return and waves a hand towards the window. "Go out there. See England without bombs falling on it. Maybe go to Paris. Even I've been to Paris."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"As much as I could."

"Well, I'll think about it."

*

He goes to London, then Paris. London feels melancholy, the holes still in the streets and buildings making him feel empty in his own chest. Paris is better but only because the scars aren't quite so obvious. The cafes and the hotels are all still there, but there's a look he gets that he knows is a response to his uniform. The war is over, and the people of Paris would clearly prefer to put it behind them. Carwood can't blame them, but even after weeks on leave, he closes his eyes and thinks of Huntington, and the image of the boarding house still gets overrun with snow and ruined churches and bodies piled in train cars.

"Go home," Ron tells him when he's been back a week and in the Officer's Club for dinner again.

"I'm finishing a project for Colonel Sink," Carwood says. "Cleaning up some reports and the like."

"Carwood," Ron says, and Carwood's head snaps up from looking down as he cuts his meat because Ron has never said his name. "After that, go home. Go back to West Virginia and be Carwood Lipton again."

"Something wrong with Lieutenant Lipton?" Carwood asks.

"No," Ron says immediately. "But it's Carwood Lipton who has to make the decision on that promise."

Carwood doesn't have an answer to that. It's the first awkward silence they've shared in a very long time. He finishes his work for Captain Sink in the third week of June, and he books passage on a passenger ship three days later after his discharge papers have all been signed.

"Thank you for your service, Lieutenant," Major Winters says to him after he signs his name.

"Just Carwood now, Sir."

"Carwood, then," Major Winters replies. They shake hands, and Carwood salutes without thinking. The smile the Major gives him before returning the gesture makes Carwood feel good.

Ron comes to his quarters as he's packing the last of his things the next day. "Here," he says, and he gives Carwood a half-page of torn paper with an address in Boston.

"Boston?" Carwood asks. "I thought your wife was English."

"She is," Ron replies. "But I'll be in Boston soon."

"All right," Carwood says. Ron stares at him, but Carwood doesn't feel awkward, just stares back until Ron breathes in deep and leaves.

*

The passenger ship isn't crowded or loud enough, Carwood decides. He has a small, windowless room to himself, but it doesn't feel right to not have another man jammed in next to him. He walks the deck every day, making idle conversation with other passengers who ask if he has cigarettes or knows the time. He wishes he'd gone home earlier, if only to be crammed on a troop ship with men who would understand him and say more than comments about the weather.

He spends a lot of time in his room, exercising and reading books and trying to write letters to the boys. He never finishes the letters, but he finishes his books. He spends one full afternoon in a deck chair with the sun on his face, and if he closes his eyes, he can see the balcony of that hotel, the smile on Major Winters' face as he'd announced V-E Day. He remembers Harry trying to stay upright and failing. He remembers Ron.

It's three and a half weeks to get to New York from London. Carwood calls his mother long distance from a pay phone when he arrives. "Do you want anything from New York?" he asks her.

"Just my son if he feels the urge," she replies.

It makes Carwood smile. "I'm going to spend a couple of days in the city, then I'll get on a train. I'll send a telegram when I leave, all right?"

"All right. You be careful."

"I will, Mama. Love you."

"I love you, too."

He takes a bus to Central Park and finds a hotel with a reasonable rate as long as he doesn't want a view of the park itself. "That's fine," Carwood tells the desk clerk.

"Enjoy your stay, Sir," the clerk replies, and Carwood stands still for a moment waiting for a salute. "Sir?" The clerk asks.

"Nothing," Carwood replies. He takes the room key and goes upstairs. It's a nice, clean room, and Carwood lays on the bed and looks at the ceiling and falls asleep in his clothes. When he wakes up, it's dark, and he goes out and finds a diner.

"You're not from around here," the waitress says when she takes his order.

"No," Carwood agrees. "West Virginia."

The waitress makes a disinterested noise and walks away. Carwood looks around the diner and feels very alone in a way he's never felt in his life. He turns the feeling over and examines it, wondering what's so different about being solitary in this diner from being solitary anywhere else.

He misses his boys, he realizes. And his mother, and Jack.

He misses just being Carwood Lipton, because even though the war's over and he's a civilian again, he's still not the Carwood Lipton he was. He looks down at his wedding band and turns it around on his finger. There's a letter in the bottom of his duffel that tells him he doesn't need it anymore, and a promise from the war that he thinks could make him happy if he decides to go through with it.

He eats dinner and goes back to the hotel and sleeps badly. When he wakes up just before dawn, he smokes three cigarettes before he gets out of bed, and then he goes out and sees the Statue of Liberty. She's not as grand as he was expecting, and somehow that feels right.

He sends a telegram that night.

Coming home. Be on the afternoon train day after tomorrow.

He closes his eyes to go to sleep and sees the wrong kind of snow falling on the boarding house and figures it's as close as he's going to get right now.

*

He wears his uniform on the train, and Mama and Jack greet him at the train station. Mama sits as tall and proud in her wheelchair as she always has, and Jack hugs him tight.

“Look at you in that fancy uniform,” Jack says.

“You look very handsome,” Mama adds. “Even that scar gives you character.”

Carwood runs a thumb over his scar and smiles at them both. “You both look wonderful,” he says. “I’m glad to be home.” He means it.

They drive to the boarding house in the same beat-up car they’d driven him to the station when he’d left, and his room, when he opens the door, is almost exactly how he remembers it, save the picture of himself on the nightstand and the star in the window. “I’ll take that down tomorrow,” Carwood tells Mama.

“I’m so glad you can,” she says, and they hug again.

Carwood sleeps hard and deep, coming awake ten minutes before dawn without an alarm of any kind. He lays in bed and stares at the ceiling and thinks of his men. They were jovial and relaxed after the surrender of Japan, ready to scrub themselves up like new pennies and look like handsome men in uniforms and not plain old soldiers who'd been on the line so very long. He rolls on his side and looks at the picture of himself in his dress uniform. He feels so much older than that picture, but he knows he’s not very old at all.

The sun starts to peek up over the hills, so Carwood gets up and gets dressed. He brushes his teeth, washes his face, and combs his hair, and then he goes into the big kitchen in the boarding house proper and ties on the apron to start breakfast as he had most of his life before he’d left for the Army.

“Oh,” Jack says when he walks in a few minutes later while tying on his own apron. “Didn’t think you’d be up and around already.”

“They teach you to be,” Carwood says. “Though it’s not hard after so many years of Mother.”

They smile at each other, and Carwood steps back from icebox with a wave of his hand. “Show me your routine,” he says. “I’ll work around you.”

“All right,” Jack says, and together they make breakfast for the boarders.

It’s all new faces when Carwood brings out the plate of eggs. There’s two students from the university, a young woman here looking for work, a man passing through to visit family, and a new high school teacher who hasn’t found a place to call home just yet. They all say good morning, and none of them ask after Carwood or his return. He 's glad they don't, and when he goes back into the kitchen in the private part of the house to have his own breakfast, Mama is at the table in there, sipping her coffee and looking over the morning paper.

“I’m glad you kept the house full while I was away,” Carwood says when he sits across from her, his own coffee in one hand, an egg on toast on a plate in the other. “It’s nice to come back to.”

“We had a few bare patches here and there, but since the war ended, it’s all come back around to what it was,” she replies. She sets down the paper and reaches out for his hand. Carwood meets her halfway, and they give each other a long look. “Vanessa told me she sent you a letter while you were away,” Mama says. “But you never mentioned it to me.”

“I got it,” Carwood replies. “I didn’t want to worry you with it, and I thought she’d let you know in her own way. She’s always liked you.”

“And I’ve always liked her.”

Carwood squeezes Mama's hand and lets go. “It hurt, but the boys were going through the same sometimes, so we could lean on each other.”

Mama shakes her head. “You haven’t leaned on anyone in your whole life, Carwood. You’re the one we all lean on, and you know it.”

“I’m glad to do it,” he says. It’s true. Even with having to become the man of the house so young, he’s never felt resentful. It’s just his nature to take care, he supposes. Just what he does.

“Vanessa came by day before last and wanted me to give you her best. She said if you’d like to talk before you sign the papers, she’d be happy to come over and see you.”

“I’ll call her in a day or so,” Carwood says. “We’ll get it sorted out.”

“I’m sure you will,” Mama says, and they finish their breakfast in a comfortable quiet.

*

Late in the afternoon, having done his laundry and hung it on the line, and having served up lunch to the boarders who pay extra for it, Carwood sits on the back porch of the private part of the house and smokes a cigarette slowly. He makes a list of all the things he needs to do to get resettled into his life, a pad of paper balanced on his knee:

• Call the VA office about GI Bill benefits
• Call the college about starting again
• See Vanessa to get the papers signed
• Fix the shutter on the left front side of the house
• Get the garden dug up for winter
• See about some part-time work in town

He looks it over and considers the next few weeks. It’s late July, and classes will be starting in a few weeks. He could rush and get a schedule going, but without the surety of his benefits, he can’t be certain he can pay what he’ll need to secure everything. He’ll call the VA first tomorrow morning, then the college. He’ll take care of the shutter and garden the day after that, and meet Vanessa in the afternoon to clear the air between them, get everything finished. If he’s feeling up to it after that, he’ll stop by the hardware store. He’d seen a Help Wanted sign when they were driving past, and wants to see if it’s still there.

He flips the page to a clean sheet and starts to make a list of his boys who he wants to send letters. Let them know he’s okay and see if they’re doing well themselves. He wonders when Harry and Kitty will marry and if Mama could make them a little something as a gift. She’s always had a fine eye for lacework, and he knows she’d love to help a young couple get started right.

He finishes his cigarette and stubs it out on his chair leg, dropping the butt in the slit between the edge of the porch and the ramp he put in when he was younger so Mama could get in and out as she pleased. He goes inside and puts away his notebook and pencil and decides a nap is in order.

*

The VA office gives him all the information he’ll need to call the college, and the college promises they’ll have someone call him back to help him figure out when to start. Probably not until January, they say, and Carwood tells them that’s fine and gets off the phone.

“Well?” Mama asks when he’s off the phone.

“Probably won’t start until January,” Carwood says. “But I’ll have the rest of my back pay until then, plus whatever work I pick up.”

“We’re doing just fine here. Don't worry yourself.”

“I’ll do my best, Mama,” Carwood says, and he spends the rest of the afternoon on the porch reading a book until the sun starts to set, and then he goes for a run in the twilight. He thinks about his boys, about training, lets the war as a whole mess of moments swim through his head. He smiles remembering Buck Compton showing up for the baseball game, remembering Harry crowing with delight the night before he shipped out to go home. He thinks about Muck and Penkala, and his heart hurts in his chest, but he remembers how they smiled and laughed, and that makes it easier. He thinks about Luz, the way they bonded in their foxhole that terrible night, the way Luz was always ready to light his cigarette because he’d never planned to pick up a bad habit in the middle of war.

As he crests a hill and stops to catch his breath, Carwood looks into the valley below and thinks about Ron. It goes through him like an electric current as he remembers. The night at the covenant, the weeks on the road, that camp they found and the one next to it they liberated as well. He thinks about the lodge in Austria, going up with Winters to give Harry and Nixon and Ron the good news. He remembers Winters and Nixon walking away somewhere, and Harry stumbling towards the doors to write Kitty that letter. He remembers Ron on that lounger, drunk as three men, staring at his mouth and saying, “Well, the war’s over.”

“It surely is,” Carwood had agreed. His palms had gotten sweaty, and he’d wiped them on his trousers.

“You made me a promise, Lieutenant,” Ron had said, swaying forward just a little.

“I did,” Carwood had agreed. “But you’ll need to sober up first.”

Ron had smiled and flopped back on the lounger, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I won’t be sober again until I hit the States,” he says.

“I suppose I’ll fulfill my promise then,” Carwood had said and stood up and walked back into the lodge.

Carwood’s breathing regulates, and he turns to go back down the hill. The dusk is coming on fast, and he finds himself checking over his shoulder as he jogs back down, just in case someone’s trying to come up behind him.

*

It’s easier to repair the shutter than Carwood was expecting, and getting the garden prepped for the winter helps clear his head like it always does. He finds himself with some extra time when he’s finished and figures getting a start on the gutters is a good use of his time. He’s on the ladder, wrist deep in leaves and dirt, when he hears someone call his name from the ground.

“Carwood!” Vanessa says, giving him a little wave.

“Hi,” he says, coming down the ladder and wiping his hands on his work pants. “Is it three already?”

“Just before,” she says. “Lost track of time?”

“Afraid so. Sorry.”

“That’s all right.” She waves it away, but it looks wrong, more jerky than forgiving. Carwood realizes she’s nervous to see him, and he supposes that makes sense.

“It’s good to see you,” he says. “You doing all right?”

“Just fine,” Vanessa replies. “I’m working at the library. I like it a lot.”

“That’s good to hear.”

They fall into an awkward silence, and Carwood looks at Vanessa in her dotted dress and sensible heels and thinks to himself, I won’t be married to you anymore after this.

“Carwood?” she asks.

“I’m here,” he replies. “Just thinking.”

“I’m sorry I did it by letter,” she says. “I want you to know that.”

“There wasn’t another way, really,” he says. “I wasn’t the only fella to get one.” It comes out a little biting, and he lowers his head. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure you did,” she says, sounding hurt. “But you never like to admit you get mean sometimes.”

“Suppose I don’t.” He looks at her again, and she’s reaching for the clasp of her purse. He watches her open it and pull out some papers and a pen.

“We can just sign them, and I can go,” she says. “Get right out of your way.”

“No,” Carwood says, shaking his head. “That’s no way to do this. You weren’t a war bride, Ness. We know each other more than that. Come on into the house. I’m sure Mama’s got the kettle on.”

“I don’t want to disrupt anything,” she says.

“You’ve been letting the back door bang close since you were knee-high,” Carwood says. “Come on in. You’ll always be welcome here.”

She looks indecisive for a moment, then she looks up at the house. “All right,” she says. “If you’re sure it’s all right.”

“It is,” Carwood says, and he holds the door open for her and lets her lead the way to the kitchen.

“Vanessa,” Mama greets when she glances up from chopping vegetables. “Carwood said you’d be by today.”

“Hello, Mama,” Vanessa says, and then she looks uncomfortable again.

“If you think signing those papers makes me stop being your mother, you’ve got another thought coming, child,” Mama says.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Vanessa says with a small smile, and she sits down at the table.

“Carwood, rinse up before you sit down. I just scrubbed that table.”

“Yes, Mama,” he says and goes over to the big kitchen sink where he washes up to his elbows and splashes water on his face as well. “Gutters are about half done,” he says. “I’ll get them finished tomorrow.”

“That’ll be fine,” Mama responds. She dumps chopped carrots into a mixing bowl, puts the bowl in her lap, and wheels over to the kitchen table to set it down. “I’m going to the parlor for a bit,” she says to Vanessa. “You come find me when you’re all done in here. I’d like to catch up if you’ve got the time.”

“Of course,” Vanessa agrees.

Carwood sits at the table as Mama leaves the room. He leans back in his chair, hands on his thighs, and watches Vanessa get the papers out again. “Are they difficult?” he asks. “What do you need from me?”

“Just a couple signatures,” she says. “It just says we’re mutually agreed to end the marriage, and that all the worldly goods we came into the marriage with separately will go back to us.”

“And here I was sure you married me for the contents of my sock drawer,” Carwood says. It makes her smile, and he feels all right. He signs where she’s marked, and then he looks up. She’s watching him, her chin in one hand. “What?” he asks.

“You look so much like you but so much not,” she says. She reaches out and touches the scar on his cheek. “And that doesn’t harden you at all.”

“No, it’s the one on my leg that did that,” he says. “Nearly lost my faculties, Ness.”

“Well, I suppose that won’t be the great concern it would have been,” she says, tapping the papers in a meaningful way.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Carwood replies. “Perhaps it’ll mean a lot more. A single man back from war and all that.”

Vanessa laughs and pinches his arm lightly. “You’re still a rascal, Carwood.”

“I’m just glad I could make you laugh,” Carwood says. He folds the papers and slides them over to her. “Guess you’ll be Miss Bale again unless you’d like to keep my name. No hardship for me if you want it.”

“I think Miss Bale suits me better.” Vanessa tucks the papers and pen back into her purse and looks at Carwood again. She stands and leans over, kissing him on the cheek just to the side of his scar. “But I’m glad to still know Mr. Lipton.”

“Thank you,” he says, and he watches her walk out of the kitchen to the parlor, sagging against the table only after she’s struck up a conversation with Mama.

*

He smokes late that evening, unable to fall asleep though he’s surely tired. It’s dark around the back of the house, only shadows and the breeze. Carwood sits in just his trousers, his shirt draped over the porch railing just in case someone comes around, though it’s a slim chance.

The back door opens silently, and Jack walks out on tiptoe, his shoes in one hand. He stops cold at the sight of Carwood and looks guilty even in the mostly dark. “Um…”

“You feeling guilty because you’re about to do something wrong or feeling guilty because Mama’d whup you up one side and down the other if she caught you sneaking out?” Carwood asks.

“Mama’s never laid a hand on either of us,” Jack says. He steps away from the door, making certain it latches with barely a sound.

“You getting into trouble?” Carwood asks.

“Just going to a place I know,” Jack replies.

“The Honky Tonk just through the woods?”

Jack sticks his chin out, ready for a fight. “Might be.”

“Well, if old Ross is still behind the bar, tell him your brother said to give you a beer on him.”

Jack’s jaw drops. “You…you went out there?”

“Whole town’s been out there,” Carwood says with a smile. “Hell, Mama probably went out there when she was young.”

Jack wrinkles his nose, clearly not wanting to think about it. “I don’t go out there all the time, but—”

“There’s a girl.”

“Yeah.” Jack smiles, sweet and wide. “She’s something else, Carwood.”

“That’s the best kind of girl,” he says.

Jack watches him finish his cigarette and reach for another. “Mama can’t believe you took up smoking,” he says.

“Neither can I,” Carwood admits.

“Can I have one?” Jack rolls his eyes when Carwood gives him a look. “You think I ain’t been sneaking a few at the Honky Tonk?”

That makes Carwood chuckle, and he holds the pack out to Jack so he can take one. He flicks open his lighter, lights his, then leans over to light Jack’s as well.

“Fancy lighter,” Jack says. “You get that from the Army?”

“No,” Carwood replies, running his thumb over the engravings on the side. “Just from a fella I fought with.”

“What’s all that fancy stuff on the side?”

“Just vines and flowers and things.” Carwood hands it over so Jack can inspect it close up. “He found it somewhere in Germany. He said he thought I’d appreciate it.”

Jack hands back the lighter, and they smoke half their cigarettes in silence. “Are you glad to be back?” Jack asks.

“Yes,” Carwood replies.

“You’re not bored?”

“Not yet.”

“Did you really jump out of a plane?”

“Yup.”

“Huh.” Jack finishes his cigarette and puts it out on the underside of the railing. He bends down and wedges it between two slats of the porch until it drops underneath. When he straightens up, he starts to pull on his shoes. “I did my best while you were gone,” he says. “The shutter and the gutters and the garden were on my list.”

“I believe you. It’s no bother for me to help around here. Nothing much to do until I get a job or school starts up for me again.”

“You’re really going, huh?”

“I really am.”

“Huh,” Jack says again. He looks at Carwood with a sort of awe he hasn’t had since they were young. “I’ll be back later. I won’t miss breakfast.”

“All right.” Carwood watches him leave, walking away in the dark like he has a plan besides going to the Honky Tonk and getting that free beer and a few more. He tries to remember being like that, but even in his own Honky Tonk days, he was still planning ahead so far he doubts he looked so carefree. Jack will come home, make breakfast, and get a mid-morning nap, then wake up and decide what to do next. There’s a list of things for Carwood to take care of from the time he gets up the next morning, and so he puts out his cigarette and gets himself back to bed.

*

The college calls him the next day. The advisor he talks to explains that while he can start in January, many classes won’t be available to him because they’re two-part classes, and the required first part is being taught this fall semester.

“Is there anything in the summer?” he asks.

“Nothing you’d qualify for, I’m afraid. It looks like it’ll just be some hurry up and wait.”

“That’s fine,” Carwood says, and it really is. He spent years thinking he’d never go back, and there’s a real chance now. “Anything I can do in the meantime?”

“I’d suggest reviewing any old textbooks you might have, just remind yourself what you learned last.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you.”

He tells Mama the news as she shells peas on the front porch of the boarding house proper. “Oh, well,” she says. “Next August will be here faster than you know, and that’s just for classes starting. It’s less than a year, really, if you consider all the prep work.”

“I suppose it is,” he agrees. He watches her shell peas with the methodical grace she’s always had for it. It’s one of her favorite chores, she’s always told him. It helps her clear her mind. “I think I’ll write the boys,” he says. “Let them know I’ve made it home.”

“That sounds fine,” she says.

Carwood goes inside and gets a pen and paper. He gets into the small side pocket of his duffle where he’d put everyones' quickly scribbled addresses, and gets his address book from the bedside table. He goes back to the porch with his supplies and sits down.

“Looks like quite the stack of names,” Mama says, eying the scraps he’s sorting through.

“They were all good men,” he says. “I’m glad they want me to write them.”

“Well, of course they do,” Mama says. “You’ve always been the sweetest boy in three counties.”

Carwood shakes his head but doesn’t argue. He pulls Luz’s address from the stack and starts there.

Dear George,

I am back in Huntington and doing fine. The boarding house is about the same as I left it, though all the boarders are new to me. My mother and brother are doing fine, and the weather is warm and sunny. I hope you've settled into being home and are enjoying it, and I hope you’ve had plenty to keep you busy. Please give my best to your family.

Your Friend,
Carwood Lipton

He writes the same basic letter to most of the boys. When he gets to Buck’s, he adds a paragraph about his divorce, but he leaves it out of the others. It’s for another time, when he and the boys have exchanged a few letters and are on a more equal footing as civilians. It’ll take some time, he figures, for them to stop thinking of him as the man in charge, and he doesn’t want to overwhelm them. It’ll be talked about when it’s ready to be talked about.

Carwood puts Buck’s letter aside and turns to a fresh sheet of paper. There’s only one man left to write to, and he’s not sure how to start.

Dear Ron,

He stares at the salutation for a few minutes, the quiet sounds of Mama shucking peas soothing him as he considers what to say. He could just recreate the same paragraph he’s been starting with, but it feels wrong to do it.

I’ve arrived back in Huntington. The weather is good, and my mother and brother are doing fine. I’ve been doing some work around the house, and I spoke to the college about starting classes again. It looks like I won’t begin again until next Fall, but it seems a short wait in light of everything else.

I hope this letter finds you well. I hope your wife and son are doing fine. I hope

Carwood stares at the page for a long time and wonders what he hopes.

you’ll still want me to fulfill that promise sometime.

Yours,
Carwood Lipton

He tears the sheet from the pad and places it with the others. His heart thumps hard in his chest as he stands up and gathers the stack. “Envelopes still in the desk?” he asks Mama

“Yes, but we’re short on stamps.”

“I’ll walk up to the post office in a bit,” he offers, and she nods agreement as he walks back inside. Addressing the envelopes takes a while, and his heart doesn’t stop thumping hard the whole time. Once he’s licked the last envelope, he neatens the stack and flips through it, making sure there’s a letter for every man who wants one. He pauses when he gets to the one for Ron and stares at it before moving on to the next.

“Need anything else while I’m out?” he asks Mama as he comes back onto the porch, the letters tucked under his arm.

“No, dear. Have a nice walk.”

He buys two books of stamps at the post office, one for his own letters, the other to take home. The clerk behind the counter is Murray Nelson; he and Carwood went through school together, and they were always friends.

“You don’t look much like a soldier,” Murray teases as Carwood double checks the envelopes one last time. “Heard you fellas were supposed to be tough.”

“I’m tough where it counts,” Carwood says with a grin, and Marty laughs and claps him on the shoulder.

“Eh, you always were. Give my best to your mom.”

“I will. Same to your folks."

“Thanks, buddy. Sorry to hear about you and Vanessa.”

The hurt runs through Carwood like someone’s plucked a guitar string, but it fades quickly. “Sometimes, these things just happen,” he says. “Not an easy job, being a soldier’s wife.”

“I wouldn’t know. 4F because of that busted ear drum.”

“Aw, they just didn’t need you because you already had a good story about an injury,” Carwood says. He and Murray shake hands, and Carwood heads for home.

*

The next week is similar to the first. Carwood reads and works around the boarding house. He goes to the hardware store, but the job’s been filled even though the sign’s still in the window. He goes home and tells Mama and Jack, and they assure him they’re doing just fine, Mama making it clear that, yes, he will take payment for helping with the boarders, same as he always has. They have dinner, and afterwards, Carwood sits on the back porch and smokes his cigarette, watching the sun go down.

Jack comes out the back door and sits on the railing. He doesn’t request a cigarette, just looks across the backyard and then at Carwood. “Mama doesn’t want you to know, but we got a weird call today.”

“What kind of weird?”

“A man asking for you, but he wouldn’t leave his name or number. Mama said he sounded uncomfortable, like maybe he wasn’t used to phones.”

It’s Ron, Carwood knows. It has to be. None of his boys would ever be uncomfortable; they’d make a point to be the most charming man possible to Lieutenant Lipton’s mother and then brag to him about their skill. “Well, I’ll stay near the phone tomorrow,” Carwood says. “We’ll see who it is.”

*

Carwood stays indoors the next day. He sweeps the whole first floor and scrubs the windows. He straightens up the bookshelves and checks the wastepaper baskets, and he’s just running out of excuses to get away from the phone when it rings.

“Lipton Boarding House, this is Carwood speaking.”

“I was expecting your mother,” and the sound is fuzzy, but it’s clearly Ron.

“I could always go get her, Sir.”

“No. I was expecting her, but I wanted to speak with you.”

Carwood can’t help but smile at the way Ron sounds both authoritarian and awkward, like he doesn’t want it to sound like an order but doesn’t quite know how to speak otherwise. “Well, then here I am, Sir.”

“It’s Ron,” he says. “That’s how you addressed your letter.”

“Yes, it is. So, it reached you.”

“Yes.”

“So, you’re in Boston.”

“Yes.”

“Are you wife and son with you?”

“My wife’s husband, who was presumed dead, was not dead. They have reunited, and it was decided it was better if I was not in my son’s life.”

“Oh,” Carwood says. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She’s keeping all the silver I sent her,” Ron says. “I don’t find that entirely fair, but it will help provide for my son, I suppose.”

“I suppose so, yes,” Carwood says. “Forgive me, S-Ron, but you sound more upset about the silver than your wife and son.”

“Hrm,” Ron replies, and there’s silence on the line for a few seconds. “I don’t know that I can say that I had any real connection to them. It’s not my nature, you know.”

“You connected with the men,” Carwood replies.

“That’s not the same,” Ron says like Carwood has said something incredibly stupid. “That’s not nearly the same.”

“Okay.” There’s another silence. Carwood leans against the wall and scratches the back of his neck while he waits it out.

“Huntington is treating you well?” Ron finally asks.

“Yes. I'm helping around the boarding house same as I've always done.”

“Good. Is there a backyard at the boarding house? A private one, I mean.”

“Yes,” Carwood says, surprised by the question. “There’s a fence around the back of house where we live. Nothing out front."

“Is it fully fenced?”

“Yes.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“You seem quite concerned about the state of my yard.”

“I’d like to send you something, if I might,” Ron says. “It’s rather large, but I think you’ll have room for it.”

Carwood isn’t sure if Ron is changing the subject or continuing it. “Is it bigger than a bread box?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“I can put it in the mail tomorrow, overnight. It should reach you by the afternoon the day after. Will you be there then?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Good. It was good to talk to you.”

“You too,” Carwood says. A question to keep the conversation going is on the tip of his tongue when he realizes Ron’s hung up the phone.

He tells Mama and Jack about the call that evening, explains to them that Ron is just the way he is. “He can be very personable,” Carwood says, “but you have to sort of wait for it.”

“He has terrible telephone manners,” Mama says.

“Yes, he does,” Carwood agrees.

“What’s he sending you?” Jack asks.

“I don’t know,” Carwood says. “He says it’s bigger than a bread box.”

“Well, won’t it be fun to guess?” Mama says, and begins the game herself.

*

It’s a dog.

“It’s a dog,” Jack says when Carwood just stares dumbly into the box trying to make sense of things.

“It’s a damned dog,” Carwood says.

“It’s ugly,” Jack says.

Carwood just nods. The thing’s got three legs and is missing an eye. It’s fur—what there is of it—is a scraggly combination of grey, brown, black, and tan. It’s ribs aren’t showing, but it’s close, and it's crouched in the back of the crate it’s been shipped in, clearly terrified and ready to fight.

“Why would he send you a dog?” Jack asks.

“I have no earthly clue.” Carwood reaches into his back pocket for the letter that came with the crate. He’d stuck it there when Jack had peeked into the holes in the sides and announced whatever was in there was breathing and then went running for the crowbar. He opens the letter, not sure what to expect.

Dear Carwood,

Her name is Panzer. I found her around the back of my place in Boston. She is clearly unwell, but I do not have the capacity to care for her. As you have a fenced backyard, I thought she might be happier with you. I am uncertain if she has ever been trained. She tried to bite me twice when I rescued her. I sedated her for the journey. I hope this letter finds you well.

Ron

“Well?” Jack asks.

“I still have no earthly clue,” Carwood says. He looks from the letter to the dog to the letter again. “Panzer?” he tries. The dog’s hackles do not go down. It cowers further back into the corner of the crate.

“What do we do?” Jack asks. He leans down to get a better look at the dog, and the dog snaps at him in warning. Jack wheels back, nearly tripping over the stairs.

“Easy,” Carwood says, pulling Jack upright. The dog is standing now, growling and snarling, clearly trying to show it’s in charge. “I need you to run and send a telegram for me, Jack.”

“Sure.”

“But before you do, go warn Mama, would you?”

“All right.”

Carwood crouches next to the crate, moving slowly until his chin is even with the edge and he and the dog are something like eye-level. “Hey, little girl,” he says softly. “Did you know you were named after a tank?”

The dog continues to growl and snarl. It jumps when Jack comes out the back door and starts barking and showing its teeth when Jack comes within eye sight.

“Hey!” Jack yells.

“Don’t yell; it’ll only make her worse,” Carwood says. He crab walks back a few steps and stands up, pulling Jack back a few more steps until the dog stops barking. “Whatever she’s been through, it’s been rough. Makes sense she’s on the defensive.”

“Makes sense to put her in a sack and drop her in the creek,” Jack replies.

“No,” Carwood says. “She's probably just scared and hungry.”

“Mama’s making her some dinner right now,” Jack says. “She figures we can get her some food tomorrow if you decide she stays around.”

“Did she have an opinion?”

“She figures it’s up to you. It’s your dog.”

It’s not, though. It’s some angry stray Ron’s sent him in the overnight mail. “Get me a piece of paper and a pencil. I’ll write the telegram for you.”

“You could go,” Jack says. “I’m not going near that box again, anyway. I’m sure she’ll be here when you get back.”

“Her name's Panzer,” Carwood says, the humor of it making him smile.

“And she's a girl?”

“Tanks are ladies,” Carwood says, and Jack gives him a confused look. “Just grab that pencil and paper, will you?”

Jack does, and Carwood scrawls the message (A dog??) before sending Jack on his way. By the time that’s done the dog is back in the corner of the crate, looking exhausted but still on the alert. Carwood crouches down again and risks curling his fingers over the edge of the crate. He stays very still, waiting her out. She watches him with her one eye, suspicious and ready to fight. Carwood just stays put until he hears the door open behind him.

“Stay there, Mama,” he says softly as he stands as slowly as he can. The dog watches the whole time. “She’s nervy.”

“I would be to if I’d been shipped overnight,” Mama replies.

Carwood walks over to her and takes the plate of meat she has ready. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Any idea why that man sent you a dog?”

“Not a one. But that’s…that’s his way sometimes.”

“Does he send many dogs?”

“I hope not,” Carwood says, and that makes her smile.

He walks back over to the crate and sits next to it, balancing the plate on one hand. Panzer—and oh, but there is a letter reserved for just the naming, Carwood thinks—lifts her head and sniffs the air. “Got some dinner for you,” he says. “Maybe we can be friends, yeah?” He picks up a slice of meat and holds it out. Panzer stares at it, obviously hungry, but doesn’t move. Carwood drops it into the box and takes his hand away. Panzer goes for it then, eating it down in two bites.

“We’ll just wait a minute,” Carwood says, thinking of the prisoners in that camp. “Make sure you can handle that.” Two minutes pass and nothing happens, so Carwood drops in another strip. He checks out the crate while Panzer chews. There’s straw and an army-issue blanket. No water or food in sight, no sign of Panzer having gone to the bathroom either.

“I’ll be right back,” he says and stands up, taking the plate with him when he goes. “She’s got no water,” he says to Mama. “And it looks like she didn’t soil the crate.”

“From the way Jack described her, she’s probably about half-gone on the inside,” Mama says. “I’ll get her some water, you keep getting that food in her.”

“All right.” Carwood goes back to work, sitting next to the crate and dropping in strips of meat. He stops on the fifth strip when he realizes Panzer’s stomach is starting to look a little distended. Mama comes out to the porch with a bowl of water, and Carwood risks putting it in the crate. Panzer growls but doesn’t snap. Carwood watches her drink, then whistles softly to make her back away so he can take it back.

“She’s probably still thirsty,” Mama calls from the porch.

“It’ll make her sick,” Carwood says. “I’ll stay out here with her awhile, give her some more if her belly goes down.”

“If you think it’s best.” Mama goes back inside, and Carwood goes up to the porch to get a chair. When he comes back down, Jack is headed back down the street, a yellow telegram in one hand.

“He responded right away,” Jack says. “Kind of creepy he was just waiting at the telegram office in Boston like that.”

Sort of right on the mark for Ron, Carwood thinks, and it makes him grin a little as he reaches for the paper.

A dog. Please send reports weekly.

“I read it on the way back,” Jack confesses. “Is he serious?”

Carwood laughs under his breath. “Oh, yes,” he says. “No question.”

“You have odd friends.”

“I suppose so.”

*

Carwood ends up sleeping outside next to the crate that night. There’s no other way to be sure Panzer will be safe. She seems to have no interest in leaving the crate, and doing more than sitting next to it agitates her. Mama just gives him an amused look when he pulls his sleeping bag from the back closet.

“Sure you’ll be warm enough?” she asks. She looks like she wants to argue with Carwood’s plan to sleep outside, but she’s resigned herself to it just being his way.

“It’s August, Mama. I did this all through the winter in France.”

“Well, at least the yard is fenced off in case she does get out,” she says. “Glad the mailman didn't leave her on the front stoop. She might have scared the boarders.”

“Yes,” Carwood agrees. He kisses the top of her head and goes outside to lie down. He gets settled easily, stares up at the stars while Panzer snuffles in the crate. He looks over and sees her nose poked against one of the holes in the side, obviously sniffing at him. “Hey, there,” he says, but he makes no move to pet her. Better she get used to him on his own terms.

He falls asleep facing the crate and wakes up once, looking around to figure out what set him off. It’s a scratching sound, and he realizes it’s Panzer lifting herself over the crate edge. It takes her a couple of tries, but she makes it, and she sniffs around the backyard for a few minutes before peeing and then getting back into the crate.

“Good girl,” Carwood says. He puts the water dish in the crate, and she drinks some before going to the other side and curling up again. Carwood takes the bowl out and watches her fall asleep. “Good girl,” he says again.

*

“I thought he was lying,” Vanessa says when she walks onto the back porch the next morning. She has two cups of coffee in her hands, and the screen door bangs behind her. Panzer, sniffing the yard again, looks up and dashes behind the crate.

“Who was lying?” Carwood asks, taking the coffee she holds out to him.

“Jack, of course. I came over to get your mama’s help with some mending, and he told me this tall tale about someone shipping you a dog.”

“A fella I knew in Europe,” Carwood says. “Captain Speirs.”

Vanessa sits in the chair next to Carwood’s and watches Panzer come back from around the crate and very carefully go back to sniffing. “And she’s named after a tank?”

“Yup.”

Vanessa shakes her head and takes a drink of her coffee. “Haven’t seen you around town much,” she says. “You all right?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Just not much reason to go in right now. I'm taking a little more of the work around here to give Jack a break.”

“You should come by the library and get some books,” Vanessa says.

“I’m re-reading my old textbooks,” Carwood says. “A chapter a night from each of them. It keeps me busy.”

“As long as you’re busy.”

Carwood hums agreement and watches Panzer sniff near the garden plot. He gives a short whistle, and Panzer backs away.

“She’s just the saddest little thing,” Vanessa says. “All skin and bones like that.”

“There’s fight in her,” Carwood says.

“Are you really gonna keep her?”

Carwood shrugs. “She was a gift, I think.”

“You think?”

“It can be hard to tell with Ron.”

“Is that Captain Speirs?”

“Yes.” Carwood reaches into his pocket for his cigarettes. He pulls one from his pack and offers the pack to Vanessa. “Oh, come on,” he says when she tries to demure. “You’re the one who tried to get me on these things down at the Honky Tonk.”

“That was years ago, and I’m certain I was never there,” Vanessa says, but she takes a cigarette and lets Carwood light it for her. “That’s some lighter,” she says after she’s taken the first drag.

“Yeah,” Carwood agrees, turning it over in his hands. “It was a gift, I think. Kind of like the dog." He remembers Ron pausing in digging through a tray of silver and spotting the lighter on the desk. He’d walked over, picked it up, and pocketed it without a word. Carwood hadn’t thought anything of it until he’d gone to his room that night and found the lighter on the bedside table on top of a fresh pack of smokes. They’d never spoken about it, but Carwood had lit up plenty of cigarettes in Ron’s line of sight, so he’s certain Ron saw he’d accepted it.

“What else could it be?” Vanessa asks, pulling him from his thoughts.

“A reward, maybe,” Carwood says. “Or something else like that.” He looks into the yard. Panzer is near her crate again, curled up and watching everything go by. Carwood leans down and whistles softly to get her attention. She looks at him, and he taps on the porch with his fingertips. “C’mere, Panzer. C’mon.”

Panzer doesn’t move, but she doesn’t shy away.

“Is that progress?” Vanessa asks.

“A bit, yeah.”

“You’re a soft touch,” Vanessa says, giving him a knowing grin. “I think this Ron fella knows you’re a bit of a sucker.”

Carwood thinks about the conversation in the convent, Ron telling him that he’d been Easy’s leader all along. “Maybe,” he agrees. “Let’s see if the dog can figure it out.”

*

She does figure it out. Two days later, while Carwood sits on the back porch and reads, Panzer comes up beside him and presses her nose to his arm.

“Well, hey there,” Carwood says. He shifts his arm very slowly and drops it so his palm is out. Panzer leans in and licks his hand once, then she backs up a few steps, curls up, and goes to sleep. She stays there until Jack comes out the back door on his way to a date, and startles so hard she upends herself off the side of the porch.

“Oh!” Jack shouts, laughing but concerned. “You think she’s—”

She’s on her feet and growling before Jack can get closer than five feet. “Seems fine,” Carwood says. “Just give her a wide berth.”

Jack does so, moving quickly for the gate. Panzer only relaxes again when the latch is down and Jack’s completely out of the backyard. “You’re going to have to learn to share,” Carwood tells her. She comes back up to the porch and sits near him. Carwood doesn’t try to pet her.

*

Dear Ron,

Panzer seems to be doing well for her first week. She’s a jumpy thing prone to growling at my brother, but she’s slowly trusting the backyard is safe and is eating well. My mother’s wheelchair scares her, but she has stopped barking at it. Mother estimates she’s put on a pound or two. Mostly, she sleeps and eats. I haven’t tried to pet her yet. She seems the type to bite rather than run.

Reminds me of someone else I know.

Huntington is fine. The weather is finally starting to cool as September comes in, and the nights are getting nicer.

I hope you’re well. There’s not much more to report here. Feel free to write when you have the time.

Yours,
Carwood

*

Nine days after arriving, Panzer joins Carwood on the porch as she generally does, but this time, she tucks her head under Carwood’s hand and looks up at him. “Good girl,” he says as he scratches her behind the ears. He lightly strokes her neck and down her back, and she allows it for a couple of minutes before walking out of reach and curling up to sleep.

“I think you’re getting somewhere with her,” Mama says quietly from the closed screen door. Panzer doesn’t stir. Carwood stands and walks over to the door so he and Mama can talk.

“I think she’s a good dog underneath,” Carwood says. “Just have to be patient.”

“Maybe that’s why he sent her to you,” Mama says. “Most people would see a lost cause, but never you.”

“Oh, I’ve seen a few,” Carwood says, thinking of that camp, of the night he was shelled in Bastogne and came to the end of it with Muck and Penkala just flat gone.

“You see fewer than the rest of us,” Mama says. She gives him a fond look. “You always were my sweet boy.”

“Well, I had a sweet Mama to teach me how.”

She smiles at him then looks at Panzer again. “She’s going to start following you around soon, I think. You’ll need to get her washed up before she comes in the house.”

“You sure we want her in the house?”

“We’ll keep her to our side of things. It shouldn’t bother the boarders any, and if she shows signs of preferring the outside, we’ll make sure she has a good house.”

“Thank you, Mama.”

“You’re welcome, dear.”

*

Three nights later, Carwood hears a yell and a thump and is only halfway to the back door when he runs straight into Murray. Carwood can hear Panzer barking from the back door, obviously angry.

“Do you know you have a wild beast back there?” Murray asks.

“She’s just scared,” Carwood says. He goes to the back door and crouches down so they’re eye level. He whistles low, and Panzer stops barking and looks at him. “Good girl,” he says. He opens the door just enough to slip out and sits on the porch steps. Panzer comes over and sits next to him, and he scratches her behind the ears.

“That is the ugliest dog,” Murray says from the safety of the house.

“She can’t help the way she looks,” Carwood says. Panzer thumps her tail once before moving away and curling up next to where Carwood usually sits. “And she spooks easy. She didn’t get you, did she?”

“No, just scared me up the wall. Is it safe to come out?”

“Sure. Sorry about that. I should post a sign.”

“And put in a bell so I can just ring from the gate,” Murray says as he steps outside slowly. Panzer raises her head and looks at him, then lowers it back to her paws. “For a one-eyed mutt, she’s got a creepy stare. They're usually cute when they're missing an eye.”

“I like it,” Carwood says. He looks at Murray. “What brings you over?”

“I was gonna drag you down to the bar for a beer or two. I realized I haven’t seen you since you came by the post office, and so I figured it was time to shake you loose.”

“Which bar?”

“Lenny’s. Figured an old haunt is the best haunt.”

It’s Friday night. Lenny’s is bound to be packed. Carwood can’t decide if it sounds fun or mildly frightening. “All right,” he agrees because it doesn’t sound so frightening that he feels like coming up with an excuse. “Let me get my jacket.”

They walk to Lenny’s, and it’s just as packed as Carwood was expecting. Murray grabs him by the arm and leads him to the big back table, and it’s only as the crowd clears that Carwood realizes Murray’s pulled one over on him and invited all the guys they knew in high school and a few of the girls as well. Vanessa's there, and they smile at one another.

“All hail the conquering hero!” Murray shouts, and everyone cheers.

Carwood doesn’t know what to do except smile as people gather around to shake his hand. It reminds him of getting his First Sergeant promotion, all the boys gathered around to say nice things and buy him beers. It reminds him of his promotion to Lieutenant, the way that Nixon and Winters had shaken his hand, and then Ron had pulled him away to buy him a drink. His pneumonia had been mostly clear by then, certainly much better than the night--

Carwood comes back to himself with a hard mental jerk. No one seems to have noticed he wandered away for a moment. They sit him at the head of the table and present him with a beer. They want to hear about the war.

“And don’t leave anything out,” Murray says. “We gave you plenty of time to get settled back in before we dragged you out. You owe us the good stories from the Paratroopers. We haven't heard those from anyone else, yet.” Everyone around the table cheers in agreement, and Carwood takes a long drink of his beer.

“Well, I suppose I should start with jump school, then.”

*

He wakes up the next morning with a hangover, even though he knows he's only had three beers. The boys always assumed he didn't drink much because he was being good. Truth is, he could drink plenty and be fine before the war, but had abstained to keep a better eye on all of them. Looks like he'll have to rebuild his tolerance.

"Aspirin?" he asks when he walks into the kitchen long after breakfast should have been made.

"In the bathroom like always," Mama replies. "You're on lunch by yourself to pay back Jack for handling breakfast on his own."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Also, the dog's looking mighty worried through the door there."

Carwood looks at the screen door. Panzer is sitting right in front of it, nose practically pressed against the wire. She's looking at him like he might be hurt. It makes him smile, so he goes over and opens the door, planning to go on the porch. She scampers in instead, feet sliding on the tile, and she bumps against his leg before she lands on her butt. "Well, hey there," Carwood says, leaning down.

"She whined for you when you left last night," Mama tells him. "She sleeps under your window when you go to bed."

"Does she? I've never seen her."

"She waits until you're asleep, I think. I saw her the other night when you turned in early."

"Well, I suppose we're friends then," Carwood says. He scratches Panzer behind the ears, and Panzer's whole body wiggles. "But I've got a headache, pup, so you be good for a minute." He stands up and turns to leave, and Panzer runs right into the back of his legs.

"Think you'll have to teach her to stay," Mama says.

"I suppose so."

The whole day, Panzer follows him around. If he goes into another room, she has to go too. When he serves lunch, he leaves her in the back of the house to go work in the big kitchen. When he gets back, she laying in the corner, head on her paws, looking awfully depressed.

"She missed you," Mama says.

"I can see that." Carwood drops into a crouch and slaps his knees. Panzer comes running over and jumps onto him, trying to lick his face. "Never seen a dog turn around quite like this," he says.

"Oh, some dogs do. They get sort of attached, and then the person they're attached to does something different, and then suddenly it's like that person's the only person for them."

Carwood mulls that over as Panzer settles down and rests her head on his knee. "You think some people are like that, too?" he asks.

"Of course," Mama says. "Your grandfather had a bit of that in him. Grandma always got onto him for being distant with the neighbors, but Grandpa just couldn't be changed. He liked who he liked and dash all to anyone else."

"Dash all," Carwood mutters. He looks down at Panzer. Panzer's watching him, tail wagging slowly, ready to do whatever Carwood wants. "Let's see if you know how to fetch," he says, and Panzer follows him to the backyard.

*

Dear Ron,

Panzer continues to do fine. She's an inside dog as of yesterday. I opened the door to go out to her, but she came in the house instead. She still growled at Jack when he came home yesterday evening, but it's half-hearted, I think. Mother's chair still scares her, but I caught Mother giving her scraps under the table, so I think they'll be fine pretty soon.

She's learned to fetch, and I got her to sit once. She hasn't figured out stay at all, but it'll come with practice.

I am starting to think the dog is a metaphor.

Yours,
Carwood

*

Panzer learns stay, but she doesn't like it. If Carwood's in the house, she wants to be next to him. If he runs an errand or spends time with friends, she'll stare out the window a few minutes before curling up on her blanket. When he goes into the big kitchen, she waits in the hallway that connects the boarding house to the living space, so Carwood puts another blanket there. He gets her a baseball to play fetch, and sometimes he lets her walk to the store next to him. He goes when it's quieter, less chance of people. She's still pretty much a one-man dog.

One afternoon, while Carwood's sitting on the back porch having a cigarette, Jack comes to give him a piece of mail. Panzer looks up when Jack comes out but doesn't growl. Jack ignores her. He's given up on the dog being a friend. Carwood turns the letter over in his hands. It's from Boston, and he recognizes Ron's handwriting. Ron hasn't responded to any of his letters, even though he sends them weekly as ordered, and it has been seven weeks now since Panzer arrived. Carwood opens the letter and unfolds it. It is many pages long.

Dear Carwood,

I have received all your reports. I knew Panzer would do well with you. I hope she has been good to have around. I have always enjoyed having a dog around myself.

Carwood pauses at that to reach down and pet Panzer. He also pauses to think of Ron sharing something so clearly close to himself. It's not like him, but it makes Carwood feel good.

I am still in Boston for the time being, just another soldier waiting for another war. The weather has been fine, though the air is starting to get chilly as we move into late fall. It used to bother me some, but since Bastogne, I do not think anything but bitter cold will ever truly affect me again.

Carwood snorts at the truth of that. Mama has been giving him concerned looks when he goes out at night in just his shirtsleeves, but it simply doesn't feel that bad.

I have not replied to your letters for a variety of reasons. I hope the length of this one will allow for forgiveness of my rudeness on that matter.

Carwood smiles at that. It's endearing a man like Ron does have a sense of propriety, even if it's generally covered over by everything else that makes him who he is. He reads the letter slowly. Ron writes like he talks, so at times the stories are short and to the point and at times he gets a bit more eloquent. He has a familiar tone Carwood remembers from the nights they spent making plans for the boys, and there are even a few sly jokes scattered throughout. It feels, really, like Ron is seated across from him, leaning back and having a cigarette after they've had a long conversation about the business at hand. They didn't have them often; there just generally wasn't time, but Carwood remembers them well.

I hope your health is good. Pneumonia can strike again as the weather cools, so be aware of possible symptoms. It might be good to have a bottle of preventative schnapps in the cupboard.

That makes Carwood chuckle, but the final line before sign-off makes him pause:

The dog is a dog.

Yours,
Ron

"Hrm," Carwood says. He reaches down and scratches Panzer down her back. She flops over so he can get her belly, and he pats here there a few times. "I think he's lying," he says to Panzer. Panzer licks his hand. "But I like you no matter."

Chapter Text

Thanksgiving Day, as Carwood and Jack are clearing the dishes, Mama pulls a pad of paper and pencil from her pocket and says, "Let's make a guest list for Christmas."

"Do we need one?" Carwood asks. "Won't it just be the three of us?"

"This is our first year without rationing," Mama says, "And our first in three you've been home. I know Murray and Vanessa would be happy to come out for dinner, and I thought Jack's girl could join us if her family wouldn't mind."

"I'll ask," Jack says. "I don't know what Betsy and her family do for Christmas."

"Well, that's three. I thought I'd invite Mr. Kenny from down the way. His daughter moved away last year, so it's just him in that house."

"That sounds real nice, Mama," Carwood says as he rolls up his sleeves to start scrubbing dishes. "You got another friend, Jack? I've got two coming. It's only fair if Mama thinks they'll be enough food."

"Oh, there'll be plenty. Miss Woods has already told me she'll be staying here over the holiday, so I'll add her as well. It doesn't stand to be alone for Christmas."

"I'm sure Bobby would come over," Jack says. "He got his own place this year, and his parents moved down to Florida for his mama's health, so I bet he'd enjoy a hot meal."

"He's welcome to come over for more than Christmas if it's just hot food he needs."

"I'll tell him, Mama."

"Well, that's two for each of you, Miss Woods, and Mr. Kenny," she says. She gives the list a hard look and shakes her head. "Do we have another? They'll be an extra chair at the big table if we don't."

"We can just tuck the chair away," Carwood offers.

"It's bad luck to tuck away a chair on Christmas. My mother always said, if you've got an empty chair at Christmas, you've got an empty space in your heart the whole year. There must be someone."

Jack shrugs, as does Carwood. They're both friendly and likable, but it's a short list of who gets to come home to Mama on Christmas. She taps her pencil on the list and looks down when Panzer comes over to her looking for scraps.

"What about your friend in Boston, Carwood?" She says.

"Ron?"

"Yes. We've never had anyone over who knew you in the service, and I've seen his letters arriving more regularly than the others from your men."

"Well," Carwood tries to think of a reason why not. He and Ron are in regular contact--where most of the boys write him once or month a so, he and Ron have started to fall into a weekly back and forth--and the thought of seeing Ron again makes him feel contented. "I'll write him tonight," he says. "We'll see what he says. How many days would be good for you?"

"As many as he likes, I'd imagine. We're old hat at company in this house, and we can make up one of the rooms in the boarding house for him," Mama offers.

"No," Carwood hears himself say before he can think. "I think that'll make him awkward. He can bunk with me. We shared smaller rooms than mine over there."

"If you think he'd prefer it."

"I'll give him both options," Carwood says. "And I'll ask him how many days he'd like to stay." He drops a kiss on top of Mama's head and whistles low for Panzer. "Jack, finish the dishes, will you? I think this one and me need a run."

"Sure," Jack says. "Betsy won't be finished with her family for another hour at least."

"Thanks," Carwood calls over his shoulder as he goes into his bedroom to change. Panzer sits next to the door and wags her tail while she waits. "You as full as I am?" Carwood asks as he pulls on his sweatpants. Her tail thumps a little faster. He sits at his desk to write the letter to Ron. Panzer comes and leans against his legs as he does so.

Dear Ron,

I hope your Thanksgiving was spent with people you care about. If you were alone, I hope it was a pleasant aloneness. My mother would like to invite you for Christmas, as many days as you'd like. Christmas dinner will include ten people counting yourself, but the rest of the time, I imagine it will be quiet. We will only have one boarder staying on, and we can make up one of the other rooms for you. I told mother (who made the suggestion) that you would be fine bunking with me. We can do whichever you prefer.

Carwood reads it over, takes a deep breath, and adds one more line.

I would really like to see you and talk to you in person. I would also like you to see how well Panzer is doing.

Yours,
Carwood

Panzer keeps pace with him as he runs down the road, around the corner, and up the big hill. When Carwood stops to catch his breath, she snuffles in the leaves and pants along with him. The envelope crinkles in his waistband when he breathes in deep, and he looks down at Panzer as she unearths a pinecone. "Good girl," he says, and she looks up at him. "Come on," and they go down the hill to the post office. Carwood drops the letter in the big blue mailbox there.

*

Dear Carwood,

I am currently in possession of a dog and would like to bring her along if you think Panzer would like the company and she would not be a bother to your family. If not, I can board her for the duration of my visit. I will arrive on December 22nd on the evening train and depart on December 27th on the afternoon train. Please advise if this is overstaying my welcome.

Bunking with you would be preferable. I do not wish to be a bother.

I do not need to see Panzer to know she is thriving, but I look forward to meeting her at her best.

Yours,
Ron

*

Dear Ron,

Those dates are just fine. Mother wanted me to stress that company is never a bother, and your dog is welcome. Panzer can be wary of other dogs, but she is generally very happy now and will just follow at my heels if she gets uncomfortable.

I look forward to seeing you, and I hope your travel is uneventful.

Yours,
Carwood

*

The phone rings in the early evening on December 19, and Jack answers it. "Lipton Boarding House, this is Jack...Just a moment." He puts down the phone and gestures to Carwood. "It's that Ron fellow."

"Let's go into the living room," Mama says to Jack. "I have my suspicions what this call is about."

Carwood slants her a confused look, but she waves him off before wheeling herself into the living room, Jack at her heels. "Hello, Ron," he greets when he picks up the phone.

"Carwood. You're well?"

"Yes. And you?"

"Yes. I'm shopping tomorrow to pick up the last things for my trip, and I realized I hadn't purchased gifts for your family."

"Mama won't find that necessary. You're a guest."

"Well." There's silence on the line for a few seconds. "I would prefer to bring something, but if it would be seen as inappropriate, I don't have to."

Carwood smiles and leans against the wall. "Mama won't find it necessary, but she won't turn it down, and Jack certainly won't. And, between you and me, I'm pretty sure there's a gift or two under the tree for you no matter."

"That's very kind." There's another silence.

"Mama likes to knit and crochet," Carwood offers. "And she reads quite a bit. She likes the classics and pulps, but she won't admit to the second. I already got her a new blanket for her chair, and Jack got her a new housecoat, but she'd never say no to more of either. She likes sheet music, too. She plays the piano at night sometimes."

"Any particular type of music?"

"Anything will do. She just likes to play."

"And Jack?"

"Anything he can use to impress Betsy."

"Betsy?"

"His girl. Mama will frown on weapons, or anything overly expensive, but something that makes him look grown-up will go over fine."

"I see." There's silence for a few seconds. Carwood is fairly certain Ron is taking notes. "That should suffice, thank you."

"Not going to ask about me?" Carwood asks without thinking. He feels embarrassed about it for a second, but then Ron chuckles, and something in his chest tightens pleasantly.

"I picked yours out already," Ron replies.

"I picked yours out, too," Carwood says.

There's more silence, but Carwood doesn't speak into it. It feels the same as it did in France and Germany. Carwood never approached Ron first, given his rank, but Ron would approach Carwood, wait for his nod, and then sit next to him. They wouldn't talk, but they'd keep each other company and share their blankets. When the weather warmed up, they still kept each other company. Feeling that silence over the phone, Carwood is suddenly aware of how much he's missed it.

"I'd like to speak to you privately while I'm there," Ron says quietly.

"About what?"

"You still owe me the end of that promise."

Carwood sucks in a breath in surprise. The phone is silent in his ear, but it's different this time. Ron has hung up. "You ass," Carwood mutters and hangs up the handset. He breathes out hard and looks down at Panzer, who has been watching him the whole time. "Not you. You're a good girl."

Panzer wags her tail.

*

Three nights later, Carwood stands on the train platform with Panzer at his side. She's sniffing in a small circle around him, looking for any food scraps people might have dropped. There are a few other people scattered about, undoubtedly also waiting for family or friends to show up for the holiday. Normally, Carwood would say hello and make conversation, but tonight all he can do is stare down the track and wait to see the light from the train.

Panzer gets closer to the track, and Carwood whistles her back. He crouches down, and she comes straight to him. He takes off his gloves to check her for signs of a chill. It's colder than it's been the last few nights, and he's afraid she'll get sick. The tips of her ears are still warm, as is her tail. He checks each paw, and they're cool but not cold. She isn't shivering, so he figures it's all right.

"There it is!" Someone shouts, and Carwood turns to look. Down the track a mile or so, there's the faint light of the train, glowing slightly brighter by the second.

"Sit," Carwood says as he stands, and Panzer drops down right next to his foot, leaning on him as she always does. "Good girl."

It takes a few minutes for the train to pull up and stop. Carwood realizes, as it gives its final screech and whistle, that he's standing at ease. He shakes his head at himself and drops his hands to his sides. They feel awkward there, so he slides them into his pockets.

When the doors open, about a dozen people get off and are greeted with shouts and hugs from the other people on the platform. None of them are Ron. Carwood glances down at Panzer, who is watching the train with curiosity but no sign of fear, and when he looks up, Ron's in the doorway as broad-shouldered and straight-backed as Carwood remembers him, a suitcase in one hand. Carwood doesn't shout to him, just lifts his hands in greeting. Ron returns the wave and steps down from the car, a long-haired dog following him a step behind on a leash.

"Sit," Ron says to the dog when he's within arms' reach of Carwood. The dog does as ordered, but not without sticking its nose out to try to get a whiff of Panzer. Panzer is doing the same, hind end quivering from trying to stay put.

Carwood feels the smile break out over his face. He holds out his hand. "It's good to have you here," he says.

"It's good to be here," Ron replies, and they shake hello. Ron puts down his suitcase, leans down, and undoes the dog's leash, curling it over his hand and tucking it into his coat pocket. "I've got a box coming from the train in a moment."

"That's fine. We're not on any schedule tonight."

"Glad to hear it. I don't want to be impolite." Ron crouches down to look at Panzer. "Hello," he says, and Carwood swallows back a laugh at how serious he is.

"Let her sniff you, and she'll probably let you pet her," he says.

Ron holds out his hand, and Panzer sniffs him three times before ducking her head under his palm. "She's turned out well."

"She's a good dog," Carwood agrees. He looks at Ron's dog, still sitting but wriggling in the same manner as Panzer. "May I?"

"Of course. She'll just expect you to pet her right away."

Carwood crouches down and holds out his hand. The dog looks at Ron.

"Go," he says.

The dog bounds for Carwood, butting against his chest and sniffing him all over then turning her attentions to Panzer. Carwood gives a low whistle, and Panzer jumps up from her sit. She and the other dog sniff at each other as they slowly circle. "What's her name?" Carwood asks.

"Sherman," Ron says.

"Of course," Carwood replies. "Did you find her in the same spot behind your place as you found Panzer?"

"No, she was a few blocks over. I heard whining in the alley, and there she was."

"She's pretty."

"Thank you." Ron glances towards the train. "They're unpacking the boxes."

"I'll stay with your suitcase if you want."

"Yes, thank you." Ron walks away. Sherman glances up, tracks him for a second, but gets distracted when Panzer drops her front legs down, hind end in the air, and barks once.

They start to tussle, clearly only playing, and by the time Ron gets back, they're rolling around trying to pin one another. Carwood looks up, and Ron is smiling. "They like one another, I'd say," Carwood says.

"Yes."

"Do you want to carry the box or the suitcase?" Carwood asks.

"I'll carry the box."

Carwood picks up the suitcase and whistles. Ron says, "Here," and both dogs straighten up and come running. They walk to the car, and Carwood opens the trunk, letting Ron put the box in before he slides the suitcase in next to it. He closes the trunk and turns, intending to unlock Ron's door first, but Ron is right there, watching him, and Carwood comes up short.

"On the phone three days ago," Ron says. "I hung up before I asked you a question."

"Okay," Carwood says. "What was it?"

"Do you wish to release yourself from your promise?"

Carwood can't think for a moment. "Do you want me to?" he manages to ask.

"No."

"Neither do I."

"You're certain?"

"Yes."

Ron nods. "All right, then." He takes a half a step forward so that they're just barely touching, and then he steps back. Carwood feels like someone's stolen all his air from him. "All right," Ron repeats, and then turns to walk around the car.

"I…" Carwood shakes his head and follows, unlocking Ron's door and holding it open. He holds out his hand before Ron gets in, and Ron looks at him. "Tonight, if you like."

"Acceptable," Ron says, and Carwood is sorely tempted to smack him in the head like he occasionally did to the boys when they got obtuse. Instead, he opens the back door for the dogs to jump in and makes sure there's no paws or tails in the way when he closes it.

They drive to the house in silence. Ron looks out the window the whole time, and Carwood knows he's cataloguing the route. The dogs are determined to share the same window and keep knocking each other to the floorboards. It makes Carwood smile. He catches Ron watching him once, and that makes him smile wider.

"It looks very nice," Ron says as they pull around to the back of the house.

"We keep it in good repair," Carwood says. He parks and gets out, Ron getting out on the other side. As soon as the back door is open, the dogs jump out and start chasing each other in circles. Carwood gets Ron's suitcase from the trunk while Ron retrieves the box, and they go through the gate and into the house together, the dogs following along without instruction.

"Mama, I'm back," Carwood calls as he pauses to wipe his feet on the mat. Ron does the same behind him, though he's noticeably more fastidious about it.

"This must be Mr. Speirs," Mama says as she wheels herself into the room.

"Yes, Ma'am," Ron says. He puts down the box, takes off his gloves, and offers his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Please, call me Ron."

"Welcome to our home, Ron. Everyone just generally calls me Mama, but Mrs. Lipton is fine."

"Mrs. Lipton," he agrees.

"Can I interest you in a bit of dinner? It's still warm."

"Just something small if it won't be too much trouble."

"I'll put a plate together while you boys get settled."

"Thank you," Ron says. He picks up the box again and follows Carwood to his room. He takes in the desk, the wardrobe and the double bed, and nods once. "It's a fine room."

"Thank you." Carwood puts the suitcase next to the wardrobe and gestures lazily. "You can put that anywhere. I assume it's the gifts."

"It is."

"We always lay them out on the twenty-third, so they can just stay in here for now."

Ron puts the box in the corner, out of the way. He undoes his scarf and unbuttons his coat. He's wearing a sweater over a button-up shirt. Carwood takes his coat and scarf.

"Do you need to freshen up?"

"I think so, yes."

Carwood shows him to the bathroom. "I'll meet you back in the kitchen."

"Of course."

"Did you get him situated?" Mama asks when he steps back into the kitchen.

"So far," Carwood assures her as he hangs up the coat and scarf. He peels off his own next and hangs them up as well. "Need my help?"

"No, you can sit. Do you want more dinner?"

"I'll have a little something," Carwood says. He sits at his usual place at the table and looks across the kitchen. Sherman and Panzer are asleep on Panzer's blanket.

"Seems they hit it off," Mama says.

"I thought Panzer would be too nervous, but she liked her right away."

"Sherman has that effect on just about everyone," Ron says as he steps into the kitchen. "She was half-starved and living in a waste bin when I found her, but she came right up to me."

Carwood gives Ron a hard side-eye as Mama puts plates on the table. "But the dog is not a metaphor?" he says under his breath.

"The dog is still a dog," Ron replies as he sits next to Carwood, and he's smiling just a little.

"Was the train down pleasant?" Mama asks as she comes back to the table with the kettle.

"It was quite comfortable," Ron says.

"And--Sherman, was it?"

"Yes."

"She travels well?"

"With the proper incentives, yes."

Mama chuckles at that. "She seems like a wonderful dog."

"She is."

Carwood expects Mama to ask Ron about his background or family, but she doesn't. They lapse into silence instead, Carwood and Ron eating their dinners, and her knitting as they do so. It's a relaxed quiet, only broken when Jack comes in the back door, snow dusting his hair and boots.

"It's snowing," he announces. He looks up from stomping his boots and sees Ron. "Oh, hello."

"Hello. You must be Jack."

"That's me. And you're Mr. Speirs."

"Ron is fine."

"Ron."

Sherman and Panzer have both woken up, and Sherman walks over to investigate. She stands a few feet away, tail wagging and tongue lolling. "This must by your dog," Jack says.

"Sherman," Ron supplies.

"He's a good looking dog."

"She."

Jack looks confused as he crouches down, and Sherman comes in for a head scratch. "But you named her Sherman."

"It's after a tank."

Jack looks from Sherman, to Panzer, to Carwood, to Ron. "Because tanks are ladies?"

"Yes."

Jack shakes his head at the whole thing, finishes scratching Sherman, and stands up to finish removing his coat. "Betsy says hello, Mama."

"How nice of her. Does she know what time we can expect her on Christmas Day?"

"Her father says they'll finish up by five."

"Well, that's fine. I wasn't planning to start serving until six."

"Murray and Vanessa will be here sometime in the afternoon," Carwood tells her. "Vanessa says to call over if you need any extra dishes or anything, and she'll bring them along."

"I think we'll be just fine, but I'll have to thank her for the thought. Mr. Kenny's agreed to come, and said he'll be here a quarter 'til. Did Bobby say yes, Jack?"

"Yes, Ma'am. He's having lunch with his aunt and uncle, but he said he'll be over sometime after that."

"That accounts for everyone, then."

Carwood looks at Ron, prepared to explain who everyone is. He pauses at the way Ron is staring at him, blank but intense. "Ron?" he asks.

"I thought I might have a cigarette," Ron says.

"We'll have to go to the back porch," Carwood replies. "I'll join you."

They put their coats and scarves back on, and Carwood leads the way. The dogs follow, Sherman leaping off the porch into the dusting of snow while Panzer looks confused and refuses to step into the yard.

"It's snowed in Boston already," Ron says.

"It's our first," Carwood replies. He's reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes when Ron holds out his pack. "Thanks," Carwood says. He lights his, then turns towards Ron, the lighter out.

Ron leans over for the light, and he touches the inside of Carwood's wrist when he straightens. "You kept it," he says, his thumb tapping the lighter.

"It was a gift," Carwood says. "At least, I've always assumed that was the intention."

"It was," Ron replies. He takes a drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke into the air. "Vanessa." He doesn't say anything else.

"We're divorced," Carwood tells him. "But she'll always be around, I think."

"It doesn't make you uncomfortable?"

Carwood shrugs and watches Panzer finally step into the snow. She does not look any less confused. "It was a bit odd at first; I'll give you that. But it's different than what you had, Ron. I've known her my whole life."

"I haven't known anyone my whole life."

It makes Carwood a little sad even though Ron doesn't sound like he is. "It's a particular thing, especially when she didn't do anything I can't understand. It's hard to be a soldier's wife."

"You're not a soldier now."

Carwood blows smoke out into the air. "Well, she made up her mind before I'd stopped, and the papers are signed, so it's in the past now. Mama likes having her around, and even if it bothered me, I'd keep my mouth shut just for that."

"Hrm," is all Ron says as he finishes his cigarette. He licks his fingers and pinches the paper, putting it out. "I don't see an ashcan," he says.

"Just drop it between the porch boards," Carwood tells him. "They're all under there."

Ron kneels down to do so, but he doesn't straighten right away. He puts his arms on the railing and rests his chin on them, watching the dogs play. "I found her behind my house, and she tried to bite me twice," he says as he watches Panzer steer Sherman away from the garden plot. "But after that, she didn't try again, and I thought if anyone could make her a good dog, it'd be you."

"You could have warned me," Carwood teases. He kneels to drop his own cigarette, and assumes the same pose as Ron.

"I didn't want you to say no."

Carwood reaches into his coat for his cigarettes, shaking out one, lighting it, taking the first drag, and then passing it to Ron. Ron takes a drag and passes it back. "I'm glad you sent her," Carwood says.

"I'm glad you took her in."

They pass the cigarette back and forth until it's spent, and then they stand, call for the dogs, and go inside.

*

"Are you sure I can't make up a room?" Mama asks when Ron says he's ready to turn in.

"I prefer the close quarters," Ron replies.

"It won't be the first time we've bunked together, Mama," Carwood assures her. "We'll do just fine."

"All right," she says. "The cot's in the hall closet if you need it."

"Yes, Mama."

She wheels herself out of the room, calling goodnight over her shoulder. Jack, who's been reading by lamplight, stands, stretches, and bids them goodnight as well. Carwood walks over to the lamp and shuts it off, leaving he and Ron in darkness save the hallway light.

"I thought tomorrow I'd show you around Huntington," Carwood says without turning around. "I could show you the campus if you'd like."

"That sounds fine," Ron says, his voice closer than it should be, but Carwood expected that. "I'd like to see whatever you want to show me," Ron adds.

"There's not much at the park right now with everything dormant, but we might let the dogs go for a run. Does Sherman play fetch?"

"Yes."

"We'll see if they'll play fetch together," Carwood offers. He turns around, and Ron's a few steps behind him, hands loose at his sides, just watching Carwood.

"That sounds fine," Ron says.

Carwood leads the way down the hall. He can feel Ron's eyes on him as they go. He opens the bedroom door, lets Ron enter first, and then closes it behind him. There's not a lamp on in his room, just the moonlight coming in the window. Carwood turns away from the door and looks at Ron. Ron is standing next to the bed, eyes in shadow, but his jaw clearly defined. His hands are opening and closing, but otherwise he's still. There's a whine at the door, and Carwood huffs a laugh as he turns to let the dogs in. "Panzer usually sleeps in here with me."

"Sherman sleeps in my room as well."

Carwood walks across the room as the dogs look around, and he flips on the lamp by the bed. He can see Ron's eyes now, and he stares at them, licks his lips without thinking, and feels a shudder go through him.

"You don't have to," Ron says.

"No, I don't," Carwood agrees. He touches Ron's cheek before Ron can take it the wrong way, and then he cups the side of his face and stares as Ron takes a step forward.

"You're a man of your word."

"That's not why I'm doing this," Carwood says. He touches his other hand to Ron's sweater. It's soft, and his fingers trace the shoulder seam while he stares into Ron's eyes. "I'm doing this because I want to do this."

"I want you to do it," Ron replies.

Carwood leans in close, nose-to-nose, and tilts his head so his lips are brushing Ron's cheek. "And I did promise," he says, smiling against Ron's cheek before sliding his lips to Ron's mouth and kissing him properly.

*

It's been almost a year since he promised, sick as all get out from the pneumonia and Ron bedding down with him on the nights he shivered with fever. He'd come to in the middle of the night to Ron's lips on his temple, too far into his hairline to be trying to take his temperature.

"I'm sorry," Ron had said.

"No," Carwood had replied. "It was nice."

Ron had done it one more time and then pressed his forehead to Carwood's back. "You have a wife."

"Not really. I got the Dear John in Bastogne. Same day as Buck, actually."

"You didn't say anything."

"Nothing to say. No one's business but mine, and it won't do the boys any good to know it."

Ron's breath had been hot on his back. "Have you signed the papers?"

"No, we both need to, but I'm not going to fight her. It's just the two of us and a little apartment up the street from my mother's." Carwood feels a kiss pressed to his back, then his shoulder. "We can't do this now," he says. "Not when the war's still on. I can't put you ahead of the boys."

"You're right," Ron had said. He'd touched Carwood's hip, and Carwood had reached for his hand to pull the arm around him.

"But after," Carwood had said, feeling dangerous but certain, "after the war, I'm going to kiss you back, I promise you that."

"I'll hold you to your word," Ron had said.

"You do that." Carwood had shifted so he was a little lower in the bed than Ron, so Ron could more easily cover him. "What about your wife and son?" he'd asked.

"I don't know," Ron had answered. "We'll have to wait and see."

*

Ron takes over the kiss by degrees. Nothing forceful, just a subtle pressure on Carwood's mouth and Ron's hands at his hips pulling him closer. They kiss for minutes, and it's soft and playful and makes Carwood feel like he's got soda water in his veins. He doesn't want to pull away, and so he doesn't, and they kiss until Jack's bedroom door opens down the hall, and Ron pulls away with a jerk.

"He's not coming this way," Carwood whispers. "He's headed to the Honky Tonk to meet up with Betsy and some friends."

Ron doesn't move for a few seconds. "All right," he whispers when he seems certain they're out of danger. He steps forward, then back.

"Where are you going?" Carwood asks.

Ron shakes his head. "I…"

Carwood places his hands at Ron's waist and waits to see what he'll do. Ron watches him and says nothing. He's spooked, Carwood realizes, though he can't imagine why. Jack's gone, and the door is closed, but here Ron is, clearly unsettled. "It's okay," Carwood says.

"You look like that night in the convent in this light," Ron says. "I wanted to touch you, then."

"Yes?"

"I watched you with your men, sometimes. I heard you speak to them. I saw the regard they had for you, and I saw how you treated them. I wanted to tell you before that night how much they thought of you. I could tell you didn't know."

"Why didn't you?"

"Dike. It was his job to see those things and tell you. I didn't want to step into his territory."

Carwood smiles and tugs at Ron's sweater. He steps forward again. "That's downright decent of you."

"Thank you." Ron grips Carwood's elbow and shuffles a little closer. He lifts his other hand, and it hovers in the front of Carwood's face. "May I?"

"Of course." Carwood closes his eyes when Ron cups his cheek. He sighs when Ron traces his scar with his thumb. He smiles when Ron kisses him on the mouth, and he makes a quiet sound of pleasure in the back of his throat when Ron slips a hand under his shirt.

"Okay?" Ron asks.

"Yes," Carwood says. He slips one of his own hands under Ron's sweater and untucks his shirt until he can fit his hand underneath. They stay like that, kissing and kissing and kissing again, and it's Carwood who pulls away this time, but slowly, carefully, trailing the kisses off so Ron doesn't get spooked again.

"What?" Ron asks, trying to chase after his mouth.

"We really do need to go to sleep," Carwood says, half-apologetic. "The last of the boarders leave tomorrow after breakfast, so I've got to get up and help Jack cook."

"Can I assist?"

"We won't need it, but you're welcome to keep us company."

"I'll do that."

They step away from each other and change into their pajamas. Both of them are in flannel, but Ron's are dark blue and Carwood's are red-striped. They climb into the bed, Ron with his back to the wall, and Carwood turns off the light. He turns over and waits for his eyes to adjust, and when they do, Ron is watching him as well. They smile at each other, and Carwood closes his eyes, ready for sleep.

There's a sudden scramble on the floor, and Panzer and Sherman both land on the bed.

"It's okay," Carwood says, shifting his feet so Panzer can have her usual spot. He feels Ron bend his knees and can see the furry lump of Sherman in the darkness as she settles behind them.

"Good," Ron says, and they fall asleep, their foreheads nearly touching.

*

Carwood wakes a few hours later with his knees pressed nearly to his chest. He tries to move, but there's no give from the lump on top of the blankets. He raises himself on one arm to see what's happened. Sherman and Panzer have curled up together in Panzer's spot, taking double the space Carwood is used to.

"You're letting cold air in," Ron murmurs. He stretches out his legs and pulls Carwood back down to the mattress. Carwood fits his legs into the space Ron's made. He tucks close to Ron who is as warm as he remembers from his sick nights, and he drifts back off to sleep.

*

He wakes, as usual, ten minutes before dawn. Ron is facing away from him, his hair badly mussed on the side Carwood can see. "Awake?" Carwood whispers.

Ron rolls over. "Yes," he says. The other side of his hair is just as mussed. Carwood smoothes down the hair as they look at one another. At the bottom of the bed, Panzer gives a yawn and wakes up. Sherman opens her eyes, looks around, and goes back to sleep.

"Stay here," Carwood says. "No reason to get up with the early birds."

"I'm awake," Ron says. "Sherman is just lazy in the mornings." He sits up, and Sherman lifts her head again. "Come on," he says, and Carwood can't help but laugh at the insolent way Sherman gets off the bed.

"Should have named her Nixon," Carwood says.

"It's not a tank," Ron replies, but his smile says he got the joke.

They dress back-to-back, and Carwood gives Ron the bathroom first before using it himself and brushing his teeth. When Ron veers right towards the kitchen, Carwood says, "Not that one," and leads him to the left, through the living room and out what would be the front door on another house, but is a hallway between the small house and the boarding house. Panzer curls up on the blanket that's on the floor and puts her head on her paws. "Mama doesn't let her in the kitchen over here," Carwood explains.

"Stay," Ron says to Sherman, and Sherman drops on the blanket next to Panzer.

The door on the far side of the hallway opens up to the big kitchen, and Carwood gestures for Ron to take a seat at the table.

"Do you provide all the meals?" Ron asks as he watches Carwood tie on his apron.

"Breakfast is included as part of the boarding price, but lunch is provided if they're willing to pay extra. We leave dinner up to them, but Mama's always let them use the kitchen so they don't have to eat out every night."

"Do you get a lot of long term boarders?"

"It depends. People usually stay a month or so at minimum, and we've had people stay a couple of years before."

Ron makes a considering noise and looks over when Jack walks into the room. Carwood looks over as well and laughs.

"Quiet," Jack says, clutching at his head.

"Old Ross made his Christmas Special last night, huh?"

"I said quiet."

"He gets you new ones with it every year," Carwood says. "Got me my first Christmas. Couldn't see straight the whole day."

Jack drops into the chair across from Ron and rubs his temples. "Just give me a minute."

"You're fine," Carwood says. He eyes the coffee pot. "Just sit there and recover. Coffee will be ready in a few minutes, and I can handle breakfast for whose left."

Jack drops his head into his arms and heaves a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me; you're gonna have to tell mama what's wrong or come up with a good excuse."

"You got away with it when you went to Lenny's with Murray and them," Jack says.

"It's not that you drank; it's that she'll know you were down at the Honky Tonk."

Jack groans and presses his head against his arms.

"Aspirin?" Ron asks.

"There," Carwood says, jerking his chin towards the cupboards over the stove while he cracks eggs.

Ron retrieves the aspirin and reaches for the mortar and pestle that is on the counter near Carwood. "Do you need this?"

"No."

Ron carries it over to the table, puts four aspirin tablets in the bowl, and grinds them into a fine powder. He gets up again when he's done, pours a cup of coffee, and dumps the aspirin in, stirring with a spoon Carwood hands him as he walks over to the stove to start the bacon. He puts it in front of Jack. "Drink it quick, but don't burn yourself."

Jack takes a sip of the coffee and makes a face at the taste. "Can I have a little milk?"

"No," Ron says.

"Count yourself lucky, Jack," Carwood says from the stove, "that's the nicest I've ever seen him be to a drunk." Carwood catches the look Ron gives him as he walks back over to the coffee pot. "Pour one for me, would you?" Carwood asks.

"Still black?"

"Yes."

Ron leaves it next to the stove, not touching Carwood when he drops it off, but Carwood feels the soda water feeling go through him again. He finishes the eggs and bacon and carries it into the big dining room, laying it out on the table before turning to the sideboard and taking out plates and silverware.

"Can I help?" Ron asks from the kitchen doorway.

"There's a pitcher of milk in the fridge. If you could bring that out with the coffee."

Ron disappears, the kitchen door swinging back and forth behind him. He returns a moment later, the milk going in the center of the table, but he holds the coffee, looking around.

"Top left drawer of the sideboard," Carwood says.

Ron reaches in, pulls out a trivet, and sets it on the table. He puts the coffee pot on top of it and looks at Carwood again. "Anything else?"

"They'll serve themselves." Carwood walks back into the kitchen, Ron on his heels. "There's toast to be made, but I'm sure Jack can handle that and the clean-up by himself."

Jack is still bent over the coffee like he's hurting. "I will," he says. "Least I can do."

"Is it helping?" Ron asks, stepping over to examine Jack himself.

"I think so."

"Good." He turns and walks to the dividing door.

"Your friend is weird," Jack says in an undertone, "but he's all right."

"Thanks," Carwood says. He pats Jack on the shoulder and follows the path Ron took. Ron is in the hallway, looking at the dogs, who are curled up and sleeping again. Carwood closes the door, and Ron turns and kisses him quickly. "Ron," Carwood breathes out.

"I hope you don't mind. I know it's a bit dangerous--"

Carwood kisses him just as quickly. When he pulls away, Ron is smiling. "I don't mind," he says.

"Good."

"Get breakfast set up?" Mama asks when Ron and Carwood and the dogs step into the living room.

"Yes, Mama," Carwood says.

"I've got yours on the table when you're ready."

"Think we'll step out back first," Carwood tells her, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. "And good morning."

"Good morning." She smiles at Carwood and then looks at Ron, the same smile on her face. "Did you sleep all right, dear?"

"Yes, Mrs. Lipton, thank you."

"Did you use the cot?"

"No."

"We just split the bed," Carwood says. "After a foxhole, it's pretty okay."

"As long as you're comfortable," she says, and Ron assures her he was as he and Carwood walk to the back door.

Carwood gets his cigarettes out first. He puts two in his mouth, lights them both, then holds one out to Ron.

"I want to kiss you again," Ron says.

"I feel the same," Carwood replies. He looks from the cigarette to Ron, and Ron takes it from his hand and sticks it in the corner of his mouth.

"It's not the same."

"I know."

They smoke in silence, Carwood idly flipping his lighter over his fingers. He looks down at it and rubs his thumb over the engravings. "Why this?" he asks.

Ron takes three more drags of his cigarette before he answers. "If you left it, I could tell myself you just didn't think you were going to use it."

Carwood tucks the lighter into the pocket of his shirt. "I'd have taken it no matter."

They finish their cigarettes, go inside, and have breakfast. When they're done, Ron gathers their plates, rolls up his sleeves, and starts running water in the sink.

"That is not necessary," Mama says. "You're our guest."

"I like to be useful," Ron replies.

"That is--"

"Leave him be, Mama," Carwood says as he starts to roll up his own sleeves. "No one's ever won an argument with Captain Speirs and lived to tell about it."

"And I make it a point never to argue with a lady because I always lose."

Mama laughs and shakes her head. "Flattery won't help you, Ron."

"Just a plain fact, Mrs. Lipton."

After dishes, Carwood kisses Mama goodbye and bundles up to show Ron around town. They get into the car, the dogs in the backseat fighting over the same window again, and Carwood turns them towards campus.

"It'll all be closed up, but we can walk around," Carwood says.

"That's fine."

The dogs lead the way when they get there. Ron and Carwood amble behind them, not talking until Carwood starts pointing out buildings.

"That's the administration building," he says. "Two down from it, that's the engineering building."

"That's where you'll be in the fall," Ron says.

"Probably not until the Spring. I have some general education classes to finish."

"Have you considered other schools?"

"No. I want to help Mama at the house as long as I can."

"So, you do plan to leave at some point."

"Yes." Carwood whistles to get Panzer to come closer again. Sherman follows her without Ron calling out to her. "But Jack needs the chance to try something else. He'd just finished high school when I went into the Army, and I don't want him to think he's stuck where he is."

"But what if he chooses to stay?"

"That's just fine, but I don't want him to feel he has to."

They walk around a corner, away from the main road that leads into the campus. The back of the administration building is shaped like a square C, and there's a bench tucked into one corner, half-hidden by naked trees.

Carwood chuckles to see it. "I'm surprised they haven't cut those trees down."

"What do you mean?" Ron asks.

"It's a necking spot," Carwood explains. "The administration threatens to get rid of the trees, but they were donated like the bench, and the people who donated them don't want them ruined." Carwood watches Ron look around. "What is it?" he asks.

"There's no one here," Ron says.

"Everything's closed up, like I said." Ron looks at him, intent and clearly forming a plan. "What?"

"Did you and Vanessa kiss on that bench?"

"Yes," Carwood says, and the air rushes out of him when Ron's stare intensifies. "Ron, we--"

"There's no one here," Ron says. "And the dogs can't talk." Ron doesn't make a move to drag Carwood over, but Carwood feels like he'll do it if Ron keeps looking at him like that.

"Do you have to break the rules everywhere?"

"Yes."

Carwood can't believe he's looking around to scope the campus for himself. He can't believe he's pulling Ron to the bench by his sleeve. He can't believe he's sitting on it, all the way on the far end so there are as many tree branches as possible half-hiding them from view. He can't believe the dogs come over and sit by them like nothing is happening. And then Ron's kissing him, and Carwood can't believe that either.

"You're insane," he says when Ron pulls away sucks in a breath, and covers Carwood's cheek with his hand.

"Maybe," Ron agrees, and then they're kissing again.

It's wilder than it was with Vanessa, both the kissing itself and the thrill of doing it on the bench. Carwood strains to hear everything around them for the first sign of trouble, and he can tell, from the tight way Ron is holding his shoulders, that he's doing the same. He licks into Ron's mouth, determined to distract him, and Ron replies by biting at his bottom lip and lifting up in his seat a couple of inches so he has the advantage. Carwood can only bend back and let him have it as he twists his fingers in Ron's coat and tries to keep half his mind on his surroundings.

Ron pulls away again, panting heavily. One hand is still on Carwood's cheek, the other clamped on the back of the bench. They breathe on each other, their breath making puffs in the air.

"We don't have to do everything all at once," Carwood says.

"I want to see your other scar," Ron replies.

Carwood pushes Ron away from him, but leaves his hand fisted in Ron's coat. "You can't just say that!"

"Why not?"

Because where could we go, Carwood almost says, but he stops himself. He breathes in hard and fumbles for his cigarettes. Before he gets to them, Ron puts one between his lips and holds out his lighter, cupping the flame to keep it safe in the breeze. Carwood sucks in when the flame touches, and it's only after his second drag that he can even think to let go of Ron's coat and flop against the back of the bench.

"Are you okay?" Ron asks.

"We had a boarder once," Carwood says. "He was fifteen or so, and so was I, and he was staying in town a few weeks for some short term work. I was changing the sheets in his room one day when he came in, and we talked some, and the next day, he found me in the kitchen between chores, and we talked some more. Then, he saw me down at the Honky Tonk a few nights later, and we went out back…"

"What happens out back?" Ron asks.

"What always happens out back," Carwood replies. "Old Ross has some little cabins back there, nothing more than a cot and a lantern and a little stove for the winter. You go up by yourself to get the key, he doesn't ask who you're going back there with, and no one pays any mind to it anyway. You do it at the right time of night, no one's even sober enough to notice."

Carwood finishes his cigarette and flicks it behind the bench. Panzer goes over to sniff, but he whistles her back. Ron touches his arm, and Carwood turns to look at him.

"Is it clean?" he asks.

"You're not gonna get the clap from being out there," Carwood replies.

"That's not what I mean. Is it...I want to, Carwood, but not in any place that will make it dirty for you. I want…" Ron closes his mouth and clenches his teeth. "I want this between us to...maintain. I want to be with someone who understands me, and you're one of the few I know who does."

"Understand you?"

"I know what I'm like."

Carwood has no argument for that. "It's not dirty for me," he says. "That boy was sweet. I enjoyed it. It's a good memory, like this bench."

Ron stands and puts his hands in his pockets. "I suppose you could show me the rest of campus now."

Carwood stands as well. He listens one more time, then leans in and nuzzles Ron's cheek with his nose. "I want this too," he says into Ron's ear. "I wouldn't have kept my promise if I didn't."

"It'll be difficult," Ron says. "Not just because of me."

"You've never scared me, and I've been through a war. I'm made of sterner stuff than most."

"You are," Ron says, and the fondness in his tone makes Carwood feel warm inside.

*

Carwood shows him the rest of the campus, and then they go to Lenny's for coffee and sandwiches. The dogs are allowed to wait by the door, and Michael, the bartender, shakes his head at them. "That is an ugly as sin dog you've got, Carwood."

"Not her fault she's a metaphor," Carwood replies.

"The dog is a dog," Ron says.

Michael gives them both a look, says, "All right," and leaves them to their lunches.

*

Miss Woods is sitting in the living room when Carwood and Ron let themselves in that night. "I invited Miss Woods to join us for dinner," Mama says after they've said hello and made introductions between Miss Woods and Ron.

"I appreciate the hospitality," Miss Woods says. She glances down at the dogs and smiles. "Oh, are they friendly?"

"Sherman moreso than Panzer," Carwood says. "Panzer's the uglier one."

"Boys or girls?" Miss Woods asks.

"Girls," Carwood answers.

"They're darling." She holds out her hand, and Sherman goes right to her. Panzer looks wary but follows along.

"Why, she's never done that," Mama says. "She still doesn't always like Jack."

"Well, maybe it's because she has a friend," Miss Woods says as she scratches both dogs behind the ears.

When they sit down to dinner, Mama places Miss Woods next to Ron and Ron across from Jack. Carwood takes the foot of the table, and Mama the head.

"Do you pray, Miss Woods?" Mama asks.

"Not regularly," Miss Woods admits, looking sheepish.

"We'll skip it like we usually do then," Mama replies. "We will pray at Christmas. Will that be a bother?"

"Oh, no. I've no problem with prayer; I just don't do it often."

"Ron, I don't believe I asked you if you pray."

"I don't, Mrs. Lipton. Not unless something dire is happening."

Carwood passes the potatoes and thinks about waking from his fever during his bout of pneumonia. Ron had been sitting in the only chair in the room, keeping watch on him, but he'd been bent double, head resting on his hands. He'd said no words, but Carwood had seen his lips moving. He looks at Ron, and he sees Ron remembers it, too.

"I took the boys to church when they were younger, but it fell off during the years."

"It's okay, Mama," Carwood says with a smile. "We had a good chaplin in the Army, and I still knew my verses."

She shakes her head at him and looks at Jack, who is eating his beans very slowly. "Are you still feeling poorly, dear?"

"Just a bit. I'm sure it'll clear tomorrow."

"Must be that head cold we heard was going through town," Ron says. "Someone mentioned it when we stopped for lunch."

Carwood glances at Ron in surprise. Ron is cutting into his meat and paying him no attention. Across the table, Jack looks grateful for the help, though he's hiding it behind his water glass.

"Miss Woods," Mama says, "do you have plans for after the holiday?"

That switches the subject completely, and after dinner, Miss Woods insists on helping Jack with the dishes to thank them for the meal. Carwood and Ron step onto the back porch, both huddled into their coats. "You didn't have to help Jack," Carwood says. "He brought it down on himself."

"Your mother would bring hell to his door for that hangover if she knew where it came from," Ron replies as he sits down in one of the chairs. "And he's allowed a few mistakes."

"Because he's a civilian?"

"Yes," Ron says. He watches Carwood sit next to him. "It's different for men at war, but that doesn't mean Jack didn't give something up so we could fight. Your mother knows either way, but a soft lie on his behalf doesn't do anyone any harm."

"The boys wouldn't believe me if I told them you'd said that."

"They wouldn't believe it if they'd just heard it right now," Ron says. He lights his cigarette and holds out the lighter to Carwood. Carwood leans over, holding Ron's hand steady until his own cigarette catches.

"They respected you from the beginning," Carwood says. "Some of them weren't even scared of you by the end."

"High praise," Ron mutters as he pockets his lighter.

"They would have followed you to the bottom of the ocean if you said that was the objective," Carwood replies. "They trusted you." Ron doesn't answer, but Carwood sees the smile on the edge of his mouth. "And I'm not sure Luz ever feared you."

"I'm not sure Luz ever feared anything."

Carwood thinks about the shell that landed in their foxhole, the way Luz had been shaking when he'd handed over his cigarette. "There were a few things."

"Do you hear from him?"

"We write. He's doing well, it sounds like."

"Good."

It's dark on the back porch, darker still when Carwood stubs out his cigarette and drops it between the boards. When he straightens up, he reaches over and touches Ron's hand.

"Someone could--"

"Jack's not headed out any time soon, and Mama never comes out here when I'm smoking," Carwood says.

Ron doesn't move for a moment, and then he turns his hand over so Carwood can hold it. They sit in the silence as Ron finishes his cigarette.

"The Honky Tonk's closed until night after Christmas," Carwood says after a few minutes. "But that night after will be full enough no one will notice anything at all."

Ron strokes his thumb down the side of Carwood's hand. "The night after sounds fine."

"If we start at Lenny's with Murray and the others, we'll end up down there no matter, and no one will think twice about us both disappearing."

Ron chuckles in the dark. "That's a well thought out tactical plan."

"Well, I've had some time," Carwood says, and he smiles when Ron squeezes hard on his hand.

*

"Miss Woods will be joining us for breakfast until she leaves," Mama tells him when he and Ron come back inside. "Sleep in if you can."

"I'll try," Carwood says, "but the Army was pretty particular on when to get up."

"Well, keep quiet at least. I told her no breakfast until seven."

"Yes, Mama."

"And don't forget to put your presents under the tree."

"Yes, Mama."

Carwood pulls the presents from his wardrobe. There's two for Mama, one for Jack, one for Ron, and one for Miss Woods. Ron gives him a look for that one. "Mama always invites any stayover boarders for Christmas," he says.

"Hrm," Ron replies as he opens the box in the corner. He pulls out six boxes, piling them in his arms, and then he follows Carwood to the living room.

They arrange their presents around the bottom of the tree, and Carwood sees gifts from Miss Woods to Jack, his mother, and him. It makes him smile, and he lies down on the floor and stares up at the tree. "I used to do this when I was a kid," he says to Ron. "I always liked the way the lights looked from down here."

Ron lies beside him, not close enough to touch, but just barely. "It's nice," he says, and they stay there for awhile.

*

They kiss goodnight in bed this time. It's as slow and warm as it was the night before. Carwood wants to forget the Honky Tonk all together and just roll Ron onto his back and do it then and there, but he thinks of the thin walls in the house and the lack of lock on his door, and he stops himself, but not without squeezing Ron's arms so hard there's bruises the next morning.

He would feel bad--and he nearly does--except he realizes there's a matching set on his waist. "Well," he says.

Ron turns around from where he's dressing and follows Carwood's gaze. "Oh," he says. He steps over and presses his fingers to the marks, matching them exactly. "I didn't--"

"I like it," Carwood says, and Ron's eyes flare with interest. Carwood doesn't stop the kiss Ron gives him, or the one that follows. It's only Panzer whining softly at the door that pulls him away. "She's used to a very certain routine," he explains. "She'll get nervous if we break it."

"Okay," Ron says, and he kisses Carwood hard one more time before he steps away.

They make coffee and toast and sit outside. It's snowed quite a bit overnight, and when Panzer steps into it, she sinks up to to top of her legs. Sherman, a few steps ahead, turns to find her, and then she comes back and breaks a path so Panzer can make it through.

"They're going to be sad to be separated," Carwood says.

"You could come visit," Ron offers. "You could stay a few weeks if you'd like. I'm not doing much these days. You wouldn't be in the way."

"I'll have to plan it with Jack and Mama," Carwood says. "But I'd like that very much."

Panzer comes up on the porch, shivering from tail to ears. She walks over to Carwood, and he picks her up, unzipping his coat and tucking her inside. "Good girl," he says, and she licks his fingers. When he looks up, Ron is watching him. "What?"

"You'll take care of anyone, won't you?"

"Anyone who deserves it," Carwood says, and the way Ron smiles makes him smile, too.

*

The mail is late that day, arriving after lunch, and Mama comes back from checking it with a stack of envelopes on her lap. "They're mostly for you, dear," she says to Carwood, pulling two off the top for herself.

Carwood opens them with his mother, Jack, Miss Woods, and Ron looking on. They're cards from the boys, including a Hanukkah card from Liebgott, and a few of them include pictures. "The famous Kitty Gregson," Carwood says, handing the photo to Ron first.

"So, that's what she looks like," Ron says and passes the photo to Jack.

"Who is she?" Jack asks.

"The luckiest lady to ever have a soldier wrapped around her finger," Carwood says. He reads the note written on the inside of the card. "They're having a June wedding," he says.

"I'm surprised they waited at all," Ron replies.

"Kitty has always wanted a June wedding," Carwood recites from the note, and even Miss Woods finds the humor in that.

"It seems you were very popular," Miss Woods said when all the cards are opened.

"They're good men," Carwood says. He presses his hand to the stack of cards. "They're fine men."

*

There's snow on Christmas morning, adding to what's already on the ground. Panzer leaps into it without hesitation this time and doesn't run up to the porch when she starts to shiver. Carwood starts to whistle to bring her in, but Ron stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Look," he says, and Carwood follows his gaze to Sherman, who has circled back from exploring and is leading the way up to the porch.

When Panzer gets there, Carwood picks her up and puts her in his coat again. "I need to get her a sweater," he says to Ron.

"I'm sure your mother can make one," Ron says with a smile Carwood can't read.

At least, not until they open gifts before lunch. In Carwood's family, gifts are handed out by one person at a time, each person giving the gifts they brought to the person meant to have them. Ron offers to go first, and it turns out Ron has gifted Mama with a pair of handmade knitting needles that are wooden but smooth as glass.

"Oh," she says as she turns them over in her hands, "did you make these?"

"No," Ron says. "I have a neighbor who does. Carwood told me you enjoyed knitting, so I thought a new pair might be appropriate."

"They're lovely," she says. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Ron says. He has also gotten her a copy of The Collected Works of Emily Dickinson in a leather bound volume.

"Oh, this is too much," she says.

"I picked someone I liked myself," Ron says. "Do you enjoy her?"

"I like her very much," Mama replies, and she strokes the book cover before putting it aside.

Ron gifts Jack a handsome sweater and a shave kit. Not that Jack needs the second, Carwood thinks, with as fair and as light as their facial hair has always grown, but it makes Jack smile and look proud.

Carwood expects the next gifts to be for him, but Ron turns to Miss Woods instead and presents her with a large package that Carwood is certain was not there the day before. Miss Woods opens it and gasps, a hand to her mouth. "Oh," she says.

"I hope I chose right," Ron replies. "Mrs. Lipton mentioned you were a nursing student."

"Oh, it's beautiful," Miss Woods says, and she holds it up for the room to see. It is a copy of Gray's Anatomy, the cover in full color. "It's as pretty as the one at the campus bookstore."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Ron says.

"Please do," Miss Woods replies, already flipping through the pages.

Ron turns to Carwood then, two packages in his hands. "The smaller one first," Ron says.

Carwood does as requested and discovers a fine gold watch with his initials carved in the back. "This--"

"I meant to get you one before we left Europe," Ron interrupts. "To thank you for taking such good care of the men."

Ron means it, Carwood realizes when he looks up. He looks at his mother, who has a hand over her mouth, clearly touched by the gesture. Jack looks interested but otherwise unaffected. "Thank you," Carwood says.

"The other gift is less extravagant," Ron replies.

Carwood tears off the wrapping and finds he has been gifted a bottle of Schnapps. He laughs without meaning to and gives Ron a look. "Really?" he asks.

"To your continuing good health," Ron replies. He turns to Mama as Carwood continues to laugh and says, "Did he tell you he fell ill in Europe?"

"No," Mama replies. "Was it bad?"

"Just a chest cold," Ron says before Carwood can figure out how to tell her how bad it really was. He'd never told her a word, too concerned about worrying her. "We stayed in a house with a German couple who swore the answer as Schnapps and strudel," Ron continues, "and he woke up the next day in the best health I'd seen him in a week."

"Well, then," Mama says, "I think that requires we all have a nip after dinner if Carwood doesn't mind sharing."

"Of course not, Mama," Carwood says, "I'd be happy to."

It's Carwood's turn to hand out gifts after that. Jack gets a new belt and novel Carwood knows he's been eying. Miss Woods receives a bracelet that she clearly likes very much, and he gifts his mother with her new blanket and a small, leather bound notebook he'd found in town just that week.

"It's not a gold watch," Carwood says as he hands Ron his gift, "but I think it's all right."

Ron opens his gift, sees the label for Vat 69, and laughs even harder than Carwood had.

"I'll skip a nip of that," Mama says. "I've never been one for whiskey."

"It's a very circumstantial drink," Ron says, tucking the bottle to one side.

Jack and Miss Woods go one after the other. Miss Woods attempts to apologize to Ron for not having a gift for him, but he dismisses it. "I would have been making the same apology if Mrs. Lipton hadn't given me such a useful piece of knowledge. She couldn't have possibly done the same about me to you."

Jack's gift to Ron is a knit hat. Carwood can see instantly that it was made by Mama, but he says nothing as Ron tries it on, declares it very warm, and thanks Jack sincerely.

It is Mama's turn then, and she hands out the gifts with a smile. Miss Woods receives a small locket necklace that she immediately puts on. Jack gets two pairs of knitted socks and a book on car repair that he opens right away. Carwood is also gifted with socks, but his third gift is a sweater, unquestionably handmade, done up in dark blue, and he admires the cables out loud to see his mother smile.

Ron also receives socks, and he seems sincerely pleased to get them, but he pauses after opening his last gift and cocks his head in confusion.

"I didn't have time to finish," Mama says. "I only just had the chance to filch a sweater for measurement."

"That explains it, then," Ron says, as he holds up half a sleeve of a sweater on knitting needles.

"I might have helped her filch the sweater," Carwood admits. The look on Ron's face is a mix of pleasure and confusion. Carwood can't figure out the confusion, but then Ron's face breaks into a smile, and Carwood figures maybe he's just fully understood he'll be getting a sweater.

"I look forward to the final result," Ron says, and Mama smiles.

*

Jack is assigned to clean up of the wrapping paper while Mama and Miss Woods check on dinner preparations and Carwood and Ron put away their gifts. Carwood turns from putting away his gifts to find Ron staring at all of his things, which he's laid out on Carwood's bed.

"Ron?"

"Your mother is making me a sweater," Ron says. She's already taken it away, in fact, informing Ron she'll ship it up to Boston as soon as she's finished. And, yes, he can have his sweater back as she's already gotten the measurements from it.

"Is that so odd?" Carwood asks, sitting next to Ron on the bed.

"I assume the socks and hat were finished," Ron says.

"Most likely. She makes those pretty often."

"But she started a sweater for me."

"She was determined to do it. She told me before I Ieft for the station that it was my job to see if you had a sweater in your luggage that she could use as a template."

"Why?"

"It's just her way," Carwood says. "She likes to take care of people."

"That's where you get it," Ron replies, looking away from his gifts to look at Carwood.

"I think so," Carwood says. "Although, to hear her tell it, it's because I had to become man of the house so young."

"It could be both," Ron says. "That's not so bad."

"How did you find a copy of Gray's Anatomy around here?" Carwood asks.

"I broke into the university bookstore," Ron says like it's nothing. "I left a note and money to cover it."

Carwood stares at him. "You're kidding."

"No."

"For god's sake." Carwood rests his head on Ron's shoulder. "I wish I'd gotten you something a little better than Vat 69."

"No," Ron says. "It's very appropriate."

"You got me a gold watch."

"You earned it."

"Did you really mean to give it to me when we were still in Europe?"

"Yes."

"All right," Carwood says, "I won't feel so bad then."

"Good."

Chapter Text

*

Vanessa shows up in the mid-afternoon to help with dinner preparation. She greets Carwood with a hug and presents him with a gift. It's a new shirt in red and green plaid flannel.

"Thank you," Carwood says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. He sees the look of surprise flash across Ron's face as he does so. "I might have gotten you something, too."

Vanessa opens the box and smiles at the silver V charm on a chain. "Oh, Carwood. Thank you. It's so pretty."

"If your next fella doesn't like I gave it to you, you tell him I got it in Europe. It's too nice not to wear."

"Did you really get it in Europe?"

"Picked it up in Norway. There's a little card under the cushion that says so."

"I love it. I'm gonna have your mama put it on me right now." Vanessa kisses his cheek, and then turns and notices Ron. "Oh, hello! You must be Ron."

"I am."

"Well, I'm Vanessa. It's very nice to meet you."

Ron shakes her hand. "And you."

"Carwood says you're leaving day after tomorrow, is that right?"

"Yes."

"Well, make sure he brings you down to Lenny's tomorrow. A whole bunch of us get together there day after Christmas just to have a drink, and you're more than welcome."

"I think we'd already planned on it," Ron says, glancing at Carwood.

"Yes," Carwood says. "I was going to drag him along with or without the invitation."

"Well, good," Vanessa says with a nod that says it's all decided. "I'll leave you two to visit."

Ron turns towards Carwood when she walks into the kitchen. "You didn't tell me you'd gotten her anything."

"Did I need to?" Carwood asks. "I told you, Ron, we've known each other our whole lives. Even if I hadn't had the necklace stashed, I'd have gotten her something."

"Hrm," Ron says, and he looks uncomfortable.

Before Carwood can say anything, there's a knock on the back door, and then it opens. Jack's friend Bobby steps inside and takes off his hat. "Oh, hey, Carwood."

"Hey, Bobby. Jack's in his room, and there's coffee and cider in the kitchen. This is Ron. He's a friend of mine from the Army."

"How do you do?" Bobby asks with a bob of his head. "Think I'll go in the kitchen first. That snow's really coming down."

Carwood turns back to Ron as Bobby walks off. Ron still looks uncomfortable, but it looks less severe. "Ron?" he asks.

"I haven't written my wife in three months," Ron says. "My ex-wife," he adds in a clear afterthought. "She hasn't written me, either."

"Oh," Carwood says. "No updates on your son?"

"None." He looks towards the kitchen as laughter rings out. "I didn't think much of it. She made her preferences clear, and I will respect them, but it's very different here."

"Well," Carwood says, and the word hangs in the air for a moment as he figures out how to respond. "Perhaps it'll come back around."

"No, I don't think it will. But thank you for saying it might."

Carwood wants to reach out and pull Ron into a hug or hold his hand or something, but there are too many people in the house. He settles for smiling and saying, "By the end of your visit, you'll probably leave with a few people you'll know the rest of your life."

Ron mulls that over. "Perhaps," he says, and he sounds pleased with the idea.

*

Murray shows up a half hour later, Mr. Kenny with him. "I told Mr. Kenny you wouldn't mind if he were early," Murray says to Mama as he and Mr. Kenny get out of their coats and other gear.

"Of course not," Mama replies giving Mr. Kenny a reassuring smile. "I always set a time just in case, but the door's always open."

"Thank you for the hospitality," Mr. Kenny says. He gets his coat off, shakes Mama's hand, then turns to Carwood. "Well, you've bulked up since last I've seen you."

"You're looking well," Carwood replies. They shake hands, and Carwood makes the introductions. "Mr. Kenny, this is my friend Ron Speirs. He was one of my commanding officers during the war."

"Good to know you," Mr. Kenny says. "You've got the bearing of a man who stayed in the service."

"I have," Ron says.

"My daddy was a lifer," Mr. Kenny says. "That's how I spotted you."

Ron looks amused. "I see."

"Alright, all of you come away from the door now," Mama says. "The kitchen's plenty warm, and so's the rest of the house."

They all crowd into the kitchen, squeezing around the table with cider and coffee. Ron and Carwood end up pressed close together at the end of the table. Panzer and Sherman look up when Mr. Kenny and Murray walk in, Sherman immediately walking over to get scratched behind the ears.

"This is a fine dog," Mr. Kenny says as he sits and pats Sherman's head.

"Thank you," Ron says.

"That other one's shaping up nice, too," Mr. Kenny says to Carwood. "I see her following you around town quite a bit."

"She likes to keep me company," Carwood says.

Murray takes his turn with Sherman and gives Panzer a mock-angry look. "We gonna have a problem this time?" he asks. Panzer puts her head back on her paws and closes her eyes. "Guess not."

"Panzer nearly took a bite out of him a little bit after she arrived," Carwood explains to Ron. "I don't think I mentioned it in my letters."

"You didn't," Ron says, and he chuckles. "Can't be that hard to outrun a three-legged dog," he says to Murray.

"You'd think so," Murray agrees good-naturedly. "But she's quick."

"Where did you even find her?" Mr. Kenny asks.

"She was a gift," Carwood says. Ron's knee presses against his a little more. Carwood presses back. "And she still doesn't completely trust Jack," he adds before Mr. Kenny can ask who the gift was from.

"She's got good taste if you ask me," Vanessa says. "But don't tell Jack I said that."

"Said what?" Jack asks as he walks into the kitchen. Everyone laughs, and Jack shrugs it off. He says hello to Murray, Vanessa, Bobby, and Mr. Kenny, and helps himself to coffee.

"Jack, what are you up to back there?" Mama calls out as Jack tries to leave the kitchen again.

"Nothing, Mama. Just finishing some work before dinner."

Mama and Carwood share a suspicious look. Carwood gets up from the table, clapping Ron on the shoulder as he does so. "Be back in a minute," he says and heads towards Jack's room. On his way down the hall, he hears a knock on the kitchen door and Mama greeting someone. When he knocks on Jack's door, there's a pause before Jack says, "Come in."

Carwood does, and he leans against the door and looks at Jack, who's sitting at his desk with bits of wrapping paper strewn every which way, his hands covering something on his desk. "What are you up to?" he asks. "You wouldn't work on anything Christmas Day if it paid triple. Bobby's out there waiting to see you, and I'm pretty certain Betsy just showed up."

Jack looks mulish for a moment, then his face softens, and he sighs. "I'm trying to get Betsy's gift wrapped just right," he says.

"I don't think she'll be worried--Oh," Carwood says when Jack lifts his hands and sees the ring box.

"I'm gonna ask her to go for a drive after dinner, and I'm gonna propose," Jack says.

"You two been talking about this?"

"Yeah."

"Well," Carwood says, and he smiles as wide as he can. "Well, that's great."

"We won't get married for a couple of years yet," Jack says. "We've decided that already, but I saw the ring when I was running errands for Mama, and I knew it was the right one."

"Can I see it?" Carwood asks.

Jack opens the box and holds it out so Carwood can take it. It's a gold band with leaves etched into it. There's a small blue stone set between two of the leaves. "I think she'll like it. It's just her sort of thing, you know?"

"I think she'll appreciate what comes with it even more," Carwood says. He hands the ring back and watches Jack put the lid on the box like he might break it. "And she definitely won't care how it's wrapped."

"I know, but--I just want to make it nice as possible," Jack says.

"Well, let's get to it," Carwood says, leaning over the desk and smoothing out a new piece of wrapping paper. "I'm pretty good with sharp creases since the Army."

"I don't want you to think you have to help," Jack says. "You've got company out there."

"Ron'll be fine for a few more minutes," Carwood assures him. "He's not much of a talker, but that crowd won't notice."

Jack laughs. "Okay," he says. "Thanks."

Carwood places the box in the middle of the wrapping paper and folds the first side up, creasing it with his thumbs. "Why haven't you mentioned any of this to Mama or me? Mama wraps gifts nicer than anybody."

"I just figured..." Jack looks embarrassed, "With you and Vanessa divorcing, you wouldn't want to hear about me and Betsy planning to get married."

"I always want to hear good news, Jack. It makes my day better."

"Alright," Jack replies. He watches Carwood wrap the gift. "Your creases really are sharp."

"I folded a lot of trousers," Carwood says with great seriousness, and it makes Jack laugh. "There," Carwood says a moment later, stepping away so Jack can pick up the box and look it over. "How's that for you? We can do it again if you want."

"No," Jack says, turning the box over, staring intently at every inch. "No, this is perfect. Thanks, Carwood."

"You're welcome." Carwood leaves Jack to tie on the ribbon, planning to head back to the kitchen. He stops at the living room because Ron is on the couch alone, not doing anything but sitting there and sipping his coffee. "You okay?" Carwood asks.

"The noise was getting to me," Ron says. "It sounded...dangerous, but I knew it wasn't. I couldn't shake it, so I stepped out."

"That doesn't happen to me," Carwood says, sitting next to Ron on the couch. "But I've been getting dreams some since the weather's gotten cold."

"Bastogne?"

"Mostly. It's that shell that was a dud, over and over. Except sometimes it's not a dud."

Ron hands his coffee to Carwood, and Carwood takes a sip and passes it back. "I'd like to stay here and look at the tree," Ron says.

"Okay," Carwood agrees, and they sit in the quiet until Vanessa, Miss Woods, and Mama come out of the kitchen, each carrying a serving tray or pot and tell them to hurry up into the big dining room in the boarding house so they can all eat.

Ron stands and looks down at his coffee mug. "I could use another cup," Ron says.

"Me, too," Carwood replies. "We'll be right there, Mama."

"Bring the pot with you!" she calls over her shoulder.

"Yes, Ma'am."

They pass Mr. Kenny, who carries the bread basket, and Murray and Bobby who are each carrying a tray. Betsy and Jack bring up the rear, Besty with a pie in each hand, and Jack with the gravy boat. They barely register Carwood and Ron, wrapped up in each other in a way that makes Carwood smile. "Jack's going to propose tonight," Carwood tells Ron when they're alone in the kitchen. "Mama doesn't know yet."

"I'm sure she'll be pleased to hear Betsy's accepted."

"I'm sure," Carwood agrees. He looks around the kitchen. All the food's gone, only the coffee pot to take out. He listens for anyone coming back, but there's no sound. The dogs are asleep by the stove, food scraps still evident on the blanket. Carwood grabs the coffee pot and leads Ron to the kitchen doorway, stopping and pointing at the top of it so Ron will see the mistletoe. "Mama has us hang it every year because Daddy always did it, but she doesn't make anyone kiss under it. They're on the other side of the house, we could--"

Ron pulls him into a kiss before he can finish the sentence. Carwood laughs against his mouth and returns it. "Yes," he says when Ron pulls away and pushes open the kitchen door. "That was exactly what I was thinking."

Dinner is a loud, joyful noise, everyone talking over one another as soon as grace is said and keeping up the volume until the pie is all gone. Carwood and Ron are seated at a right angle from one another, with Carwood at the foot of the table, and Ron to his right. Vanessa is to his left, and Carwood finishes a conversation with Miss Woods, who is seated just past Vanessa, to discover Vanessa and Ron are in the midst of an intense conversation about historical fiction and what, if anything from the war, will be remembered for all time.

"The dates, certainly," Ron says, "But I can't imagine it will be more than that."

"I think it will be much more than that," Vanessa says. "People are already coming into the library wanting to hear more. There was so much that happened. There were so many new things people want to know more about after seeing the newsreels."

"Like what?" Ron asks.

"Paratroopers for one," Vanessa says. "And medics and planes, and those bombs they dropped on Japan."

"Why would anyone want to know about those things?" Ron asks. He looks to Carwood for assistance, but Carwood shrugs, having no stake in the conversation to begin with. "Those are just war things," Ron says. "We've had medics since the Civil War, and bombs for longer than that. And we had planes in the first big one."

"But not paratroopers," Vanessa replies, "and never so much of any of it."

Ron shakes his head. "It's information for soldiers, not civilians. I can't imagine why anyone who didn't need to know would care."

"You'd be surprised what people need to know," Vanessa says. "People find interest in the oddest things."

"Like what?" Murray interjects. He's seated next to Ron, so across from Vanessa. "What sort of weird things do people check out of the library?"

Carwood touches Ron's arm as Vanessa and Murray get into their conversation. "Cigarette?" he asks.

"Yes, please."

Carwood stands. "Anyone else for a cigarette?" he asks. He's greeted with a chorus of 'no' and leads the way to the back of the house. The dogs are awake and waiting in the hallway in between, and they follow Carwood and Ron out the back door and sniff around in the snow.

"She's very smart," Ron says after they've lit their cigarettes. They're shoulder-to-shoulder, both rocking on their feet to keep blood flowing from their toes like they did in the war.

"Always has been," Carwood agrees.

"You could make another go of it," Ron says. "She still cares for you, and you're not a soldier anymore."

Carwood looks at Ron. Ron is looking out in the yard. The moonlight reflecting off the snow gives his face a bluish tint. "Do you want me to do that?"

"No," Ron says.

"Then why suggest it?" Ron doesn't answer. He smokes his cigarette down and drops it between the porch boards. Carwood watches him and reaches out to touch his arm. "Ron. Why would you suggest that? I think I've made my intentions pretty damn clear on what I want."

"It's hard to be a soldier's wife," Ron says. "I don't plan to stop being a soldier."

"And I don't plan to be a wife," Carwood replies. It comes out angry. "Seemed to me yesterday the plan was to be with you."

"I'll be gone most of the time," Ron says like Carwood's said nothing. "Training or teaching or any number of things. Sooner or later, they'll be another war. You couldn't come to any events with me. It's not your nature to hide yourself away. I don't want you to have to."

"Not my nature?" Carwood says. Ron finally looks at him, and he's trying to keep his face bland, but Carwood can see the fear in his eyes. "Not my nature," he repeats. "Most of the boys still don't know I'm divorced, Ron. I only told Buck by letter when I got home. I'm sure he's told the rest by now with the cards showing up only addressed to me, but it's not because I shared with everyone. They didn't know when I got the letter from Vanessa, and they never saw what I felt for you, not once. Maybe because they didn't want to, but also because I didn't want to give myself away. It didn't hurt me to do those things. I chose to hold back what I did because I wanted to, and I hold back some things to spare my mother and Jack. And if I have to stay in with my feet up while you're in your dress uniform shaking hands, the better for me, I say. Always hated those fancy parties."

"If you're certain," Ron says after a moment. The fear is gone from his eyes, replaced with acceptance and pleasure.

"I waited a year to kiss you," Carwood says. "I think I've had plenty of time to consider my options."

"I suppose so," Ron says, and he reaches up and touches Carwood's hand on his arm. "I don't want you to have regrets," he says in an undertone.

"I got plenty already," Carwood says, "and I can handle a few more if they roll down the line, but I think it'll all work out."

Ron chuckles and drops his hand. He looks out at the dogs, who are chasing each other up and down a snowdrift. "You always sound like you believe that."

"I do, most of the time," Carwood replies. "Because it does work out most of the time."

The back door opens and Betsy and Jack step out. Betsy's still wrapping her scarf, and Jack has one hand in his pocket. Carwood can see the shape of his knuckles in the fabric and knows he's clutching at the ring. "Going out?" Carwood asks.

"Just for a drive," Betsy answers. "Jack wants to look in other people's windows at the Christmas trees."

"That sounds nice," Carwood says. "You have fun."

"Thanks, Carwood. Oh, it was nice to meet you Mr. Speirs," Betsy says, but she looks half-terrified as she says it.

"And you," Ron replies.

Jack gives Betsy a hand walking off the porch and they keep holding hands as they step across the shoveled place in the yard. Sherman comes over for scratches, but Panzer stays where she is by the drift. Once Jack and Betsy have gone, Carwood whistles for the dogs, and the four of them go inside.

"There you are," Mama says. "Thought you'd wandered off."

"Just talking, Mama," Carwood tells her. "Need any help with the cleaning up?"

"Oh, it'll keep. Come into the living room. We're going to sing some carols."

The piano is an old stand-up in the corner, and Mama plays as they all sing along. Four songs in, Jack and Betsy come back, the ring on Betsy's finger and a smile on her face like she's won everything she's ever wanted.

Carwood excuses himself after offering congratulations to open the schnapps and pour everyone a bit so they can toast the happy couple. He carries the glasses and bottle out on a tray, and everyone takes a glass. "To Jack and Betsy," Carwood says, holding his glass high. "May you have every happiness and every scrap of good fortune."

Everyone cheers, and Jack and Betsy kiss, and they all drink.

"What about a Christmas toast, Carwood?" Mama asks. "We were all so eager for dinner I completely forogt."

"I can certainly try." He thinks for a moment, then holds his glass up again. "Two Christmases ago, it was cold where I was, and we were short on just about everything, but I made it through with the help of the best men I've ever known and no small amount of dumb luck. Last Christmas, I had plenty of food and most of those same men to share it with. This Christmas, I'm home again and happy to be here for so many reasons." He smiles at everyone in the room, and it widens when Betsy and Jack kiss again, "but the greatest gift you can get, I think, is to find yourself in a situation where your Christmas always gets better. To good friends and family."

Everyone sounds it back, and they all take a sip. Mama starts playing the piano again, and they sing more songs. Carwood leans on the piano, his glass loose in his hand, and when Murray comes around to refill, he takes another measure as well.

"All we need now is strudel," he says to Ron when Ron comes over and stands next to him.

"I'm glad we don't," Ron says, and he gives Carwood that sweet, slow smile Carwood's only seen occasionally. It makes him warmer than the schnapps, and he throws an arm around Ron's shoulders to give himself an excuse to have him near. Ron responds by draping an arm around his waist, not unlike any two men who've ever had a few and been friendly, and they spend the rest of the carols standing like that, warm against each other and singing.

*

Carwood falls asleep slightly fuzzy-headed with Ron's arm slung across his waist. When he wakes at the expected ten minutes before dawn, Ron is already awake, up on one elbow, and looking at him. "Good morning," Carwood says.

"What time can we leave for the Honky Tonk?" Ron asks.

"Jesus," Carwood mutters, pressing a hand to his face. "You could have given me a lead up."

"I want to see your other scar," Ron says, and his hand presses down on Carwood's thigh over the blanket.

"Hey," Carwood says, and Ron lifts his hand, no sign of apology on his face. "Ten at the earliest. Everyone will be good and liquored up by then, so they won't even remember us showing up."

"Ten," Ron repeats. He rolls onto Carwood's chest and presses a kiss to his collarbone, and then his pectoral.

"Ron," Carwood whispers, dragging his fingers through Ron's hair.

"Shh," Ron says and kisses Carwood's shoulder.

"We've got two minutes until Panzer is going to have to go out," Carwood says. "Get up here."

Ron kisses him hard, pressing Carwood back against the pillow and digging his fingers into Carwood's sides. Carwood responds with as much fervor, getting his hands under him and surging up. Their noses bounce off each other, and they jerk apart, breathing hard.

Carwood balances on one arm and rubs the bridge of his nose. "I'm fine," he says to Ron's worried look. Panzer is scratching at the door and looking around in confusion.

"I'm sorry," Ron says, and he runs his thumb down Carwood's nose.

"I'm fine," Carwood says again and presses his hand to Ron's side. "Let's get up."

They get up and get dressed, facing each other this time. When Carwood looks at Ron to see if he's ready to open the door, Ron adjusts himself in his slacks. "That is inappropriate," Carwood says, his voice shuddery to his own ears.

"I know," Ron says, and he crowds behind Carwood and kisses the back of his neck. "I may need to stay away from you for some of the day," he murmurs. "So we don't give anything away."

"Okay," Carwood says. He wants to open the door, let Panzer and Sherman out, and then close it again. Press Ron against it to keep it closed and kiss him until neither of them are breathing right. He opens the door and follows the dogs as they scamper down the hall, Ron at his back. He feels like his skin is smoldering and that everything is showing in his face, but there's no one up to see them, and the frigid air outside helps cool him a little.

"We'll have dinner with Mama and Jack at six," Carwood says as they pass a cigarette back and forth, their fingers fumbling over each other every time. "Murray will be by around 7:30 to pick us up, then we'll be at Lenny's until ten."

"How are we getting to the Honky Tonk?" Ron asks.

"We can walk it," Carwood replies. "We can go through the woods over there," he says gesturing to the woods a half mile off from the house. "It's about a mile once you get in them."

"That's fine," Ron says. He finishes the cigarette, looks at Carwood like he's going to press him against the nearest flat surface, and lights a second cigarette.

"Pass it here," Carwood says, his mouth dry and his heart hammering.

They finish that one as well, and then they simply sit there, watching the dogs, not touching but being next to one another. Mama hollers at them to come in for breakfast, and they stand at the same time.

"Ten o'clock," Ron says like it's a sworn oath.

"Ten o'clock," Carwood repeats back at him in the same tone.

*

Carwood spends the morning helping his mother clean up the house from dinner the night before. Ron excuses himself to take the dogs for a run, although Carwood's certain there's a second reason, and the way Ron looks at him just before he leaves the house tells him he's right. Jack's excused from the effort so he can go to Betsy's and be with her while she calls her friends to give them the news of her engagement.

"Your father was as happy as that," Mama says watching Jack bound out of the house. "I was too."

"I don't doubt it," Carwood replies.

"You never were," she says quietly, looking down at the bowl she's drying. "You were pleased, and you were content, but I don't think you were happy like that."

"Are you upset I agreed to the divorce, Mama?" Carwood asks. He's been wondering ever since he signed the papers, but he's never asked until now. He doesn't want to make her uncomfortable.

She thinks about her answer, drying a few more dishes as she does so. "I'm disappointed," she says finally. "But not upset. I want you happy, and I want someone to take care of you for once in your life."

"I like taking care of people."

"I know, dear, and it's the thing that shines brightest about you, but you deserve to be taken care of as much as anyone else. I think, sometimes, that you and Vanessa could have worked it out, especially once you left the Army, but you chose not to do that, and I have to respect it."

"Does it make you angry?"

"No. I'm just an old woman who had to get by on her own a lot, and I don't want that for you."

"Mama, you know Jack and I will always be here. Vanessa and the others, too."

"I know, honey, but…" she trails off and looks up at the kitchen window. There's a translucent glass heart there. It's been there as long as Carwood can remember; it's the first gift his father ever gave his mother. "A body gets lonely for what you get from a marriage. It's a different sort of feeling than the others."

"Why didn't you ever remarry after Daddy died?"

"There wasn't any time, not with you two boys and the house to run. And even when you grew up, there was still the house, and there's such a part of me that still loves your daddy so much I don't want anything to write over that."

Carwood thinks about that as he washes the next few plates. "But you're happy, aren't you? I mean, not just pleased or content, but you're happy?"

"Oh, very," she assures him, "Just as long as you promise to look for someone to take care of you."

"I promise, Mama," he says. He considers Ron and how they've always been with one another, and he thinks he may have already kept the promise, even if the romantic side of equation is still new to them.

"Carwood, you're off in the weeds," Mama says, pulling him back from his thoughts. "You're getting soap on your shirt."

"Well, it needs a wash anyway," Carwood replies as he passes her a glass.

*

Ron comes back from his run two hours later. Both dogs immediately run for the water bowl and then collapse on the blanket by the stove. Ron barely looks winded, although his sweats are soaked through in a few places.

"My goodness," Mama says at the sight of him. "Well, into a hot shower before you get a chill," she orders.

"Yes, Ma'am," Ron says. He gives Carwood a nod as he passes, and Carwood feels like he's been touched all over his body.

"I think now I'm done around here, I'll take my turn out there," he says. "If you don't mind keeping Ron company, Mama."

"Not in the least."

Carwood goes to his room to change, and finds Ron stripped to the waist, chest damp with sweat. There are curls in the hair at the nape of his neck, and his body is flushed everywhere Carwood can see. Carwood just stares for a moment and licks his lips without thinking.

"Ten o'clock," Ron says as he walks by him to go take a shower.

"Ten o'clock," Carwood repeats, but he can barely hear himself over the blood rushing through his ears.

*

The entire run, all Carwood can think about is what they'll do tonight out back at the Honky Tonk. He remembers going out with that boy who'd boarded at the house and the way they'd kissed softly for a long time before touching one another anywhere else. Carwood is already certain it won't be that way with Ron, but he can't quite figure out how it will be. It circles through his head as he runs, and at the end, he's not sure he's less worked up, but his body is tired out enough Ron looking at him when he walks in the back door doesn't set him flushing.

*

Dinner, as Carwood has promised, is served at six. Betsy joins them again, and they have a meal of leftovers, talking quietly amongst themselves.

"And what are you up to tonight?" Mama asks as they start on dessert.

"Just going down to Lenny's for a bit," Carwood says. "After that, I'm not sure."

She looks from Carwood to Jack and shakes her head. "I suppose now that Jack is engaged, I can admit I know you boys have been going down to the Honky Tonk for years."

Carwood laughs, delighted. Jack looks horrified. "Mama!" he yelps.

"That place is older than the both of you," she says, shaking her head at Jack's shock. "Everyone's been down there once or twice."

"Even you, Mrs. Lipton?" Betsy asks. She does not appear shocked in the least, merely amused.
.
"Not so you can tell now," Mama replies. "But back before these two were born, their daddy and I visited a few times."

"Oh my goodness, Mama," Jack moans, covering his face with his hands.

"I told you," Carwood says.

"Just promise you'll be careful," she says. "It'll be extra rowdy tonight."

"Don't worry, Mama. Ron and I spent some time fighting in the Army. We'll be fine."

She shakes her head at Carwood and looks at Ron. "You feel free to leave him to his own defenses if he gets lippy at you."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Ron says. "But I appreciate the sentiment." He smiles at Mama, and she gives him a soft look Carwood can't read, but she's smiling back, so he guesses it's okay.

"Did you ever dance down there, Mrs. Lipton?" Betsy asks, breaking the moment.

"Oh, Betsy-Bee, please don't," Jack begs.

"Hush. I want to know. Did you, Mrs. Lipton?"

"Never was much of a dancer, but I tried," Mama says. "Their daddy was a little worse than me, so we did alright."

"What kind of music did they have there then?"

Carwood feels Ron's leg press against his and looks over at him. "Okay?" he mouths.

"Fine," Ron mouths back, and his leg stays against Carwood's until they finish their dessert and stand to clear the table.

*

Murray arrives promptly at seven. "You've got something on your shirt," he says to Carwood.

Carwood looks down. The soap from the dishes that morning is still streaked across his torso. "Oh, let me change."

"Sure," Murray says. "Oh, and wear that watch Ron got you. The guys will want to see it."

"I'll grab it." Carwood changes into the new shirt from Vanessa because it's still on top of his dresser, and he attempts to put the watch on, but the clasp won't fasten correctly. He goes into the kitchen and holds up his wrist. "Can't get the thing fastened."

"Here," Ron says, "it can be a little tricky." He pushes Carwood's hand out of the way so he can take the watch and fasten it properly. "You have to line up the notches," Ron explains. "It takes a little practice." There's a click, and then Ron turns Carwood's hand over in his to inspect the watch. "There you go."

"Thanks," Carwood says. He holds out his arm so Betsy and his mother can get a good look at it and feels like all his feelings are showing again from Ron holding his arm.

"Okay, let's go," Murray says. "Everyone else will beat us there if we're not quick."

They pile into Murray's car. Carwood and Ron squeezed up front with Murray so Betsy and Jack can have the backseat to themselves. Ron takes the spot by the door and shifts, crosses his arms, uncrosses his arms, and finally slings his arm along the back of the seat. "Okay?" he asks Carwood.

"Fine."

"Am I blocking your view, Murray?"

"No, you're fine," Murray says as he looks over his shoulder to back out towards the road. "Hey, no making out back there. That's a virgin back seat."

"Murray, that hasn't been a virgin back seat since you were fifteen." Carwood says as he glances in the rearview and grins at the way Betsy and Jack are looking embarrassed. "Sorry, Betsy."

"I can handle a few jokes," Betsy assures him.

Ron's arm shifts, fingers just brushing Carwood's shoulder like its an accident, but he's certain it's not. Carwood inches a little closer when Murray shifts the car and nearly elbows Carwood in the ribs. "Alright?" he asks Ron.

"Fine," Ron replies, and Carwood feels like he's getting away with everything as they drive over to Lenny's. He gets out of Murray's side of the car to give himself a few seconds to calm down, but when he looks over the car, Ron's staring at him, eyes shadowed in the dark, but Carwood can imagine the intensity of it.

The same crowd and a few more are crowded around the big back table. A few people have brought cousins or out of town friends for the gathering, and it takes some shuffling to get Carwood and Ron seated next to one another. No one comments on it; the shuffling's a common side effect of the number of people, and there's the distraction of everyone wanting to see Betsy's ring and congratulate her and Jack.

"What'll it be?" Ron asks Carwood, mouth close to Carwood's ear so he can be heard in the crowd.

"Beer's fine," Carwood says. "I can get it."

"No, I've got it," Ron says. He has to press close to Carwood to get out of his chair as everyone gets settled back in, and Carwood throws him a knowing look when he glances back.

"What's that face for?" Murray asks as he drops down on Carwood's other side.

"Old joke," Carwood says quickly. "Big crowd this year."

"Yeah," Murray says, looking around with a grin. "It's good to see everyone." He slings an arm around Carwood's shoulder and gives him a friendly shake. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to be seen," Carwood tells him, returning the shake. "How was your day?"

"Busy," Murray says, blowing out a breath. "A lot of late Christmas presents came through today. We were scrambling pretty good."

"But you survived."

"I did at that."

Ron comes back, two beers in one hand, two shots balanced in the other. Carwood is about to ask about the shots until he sees Bobby behind Ron carrying a few of his own. "I'm told it's tradition," Ron says.

"Not one I know."

"We made it up while you were gone," Murray says. "Day after Christmas comes with a whiskey for every beer now."

"Why?"

"Why not?" Bobby says.

Carwood glances at Ron. "They'd have made great soldiers, logic like that." Ron nods in agreement, and he holds up his shot glass. Carwood clinks his against it, and they down it. Carwood whooshes out air and feels like his lungs have seized up.

"Oh, and it's the worst whiskey in the bar because it's funny," Bobby adds.

"Definite soldiers," Carwood says as he tries to get his breath back. He sucks in air hard, holds it for a few seconds, and lets it out again. When he's breathing normally again, Ron holds out a cigarette. Carwood takes it and lights it, then leans over and lights Ron's. He sees Bobby watching as he closes his lighter. He looks confused. "Show of respect," Carwood says. "You always light your commanding officer's cigarette."

"Unless you're afraid of your commanding officer," Ron says, and Carwood shakes his head as he pockets his lighter. The light glints off his watch, and Bobby looks at it.

"Is that the watch?" Bobby asks. "Jack said you got a watch."

"It is," Carwood replies. He holds out his wrist so Bobby can see it.

"For his work with the men," Ron says. His arm has made it to the back of Carwood's chair, hanging mostly off like he's just stretching out some.

"Man, if that's what you get from a superior, I think I'd rather be the lower officer," Bobby says.

That makes everyone around them laugh. Carwood pulls his arm back and looks at the watch. "Oh, it's stopped," he says.

"You have to wind it," Ron says. "It's German. Here." He holds out his hand.

Carwood takes off the watch and watches Ron set it based on his own. He takes it back when Ron is done and manages to fasten it himself this time. He looks at it again. "Seven thirty-two," he says. "That what you have?"

"Yes," Ron says. He takes a drink of his beer, not looking at Carwood, but Carwood sees how hard he's gripping his bottle. Good, he thinks with a grin he hides behind his own beer. It's about time he got one back.

*

They drink and visit until quarter to ten, Carwood carefully watching his intake. He sees Ron do the same. Vanessa and a few others leave in the first wave, and then Betsy, Jack, and Bobby stand to go with some others. "You headed to the Honky Tonk?" Murray asks.

"Yeah," Carwood says. "Figure we'll give Ron the proper Huntington experience." He looks to his other side to look at Ron, but he's not there. "You see where he went?"

"There," Murray says, pointing up at the bar. Ron's talking to the bartender.

"Oh, that son of a bitch, I think he just paid my tab," Carwood says.

Murray laughs. "You sound like you just got your virginity stolen."

"He's a guest," Carwood says, "and he just managed to keep me from paying for a single drink."

"I like this guy," Murray says. "I should be friends with him."

Ron comes back over, and he looks surprised when Carwood stands up and glares at him. "What?" he asks.

"Did you just pay the damn tab?" Carwood asks.

"Yes. I figure you can get me back at the Honky Tonk."

The heat in Ron's eyes makes it hard for Carwood to answer for a second. "Suppose I can," he says. He glances at Murray to see if he's noticed Ron's expression, but Murray's paying them no mind, getting into his coat and patting himself down for his car keys.

"Five to ten," Ron says.

"Five to ten," Carwood repeats.

*

Murray drops them just past the house at Carwood's request. "I'm headed right over," he says. "You can just tag along."

"I'm taking Ron through the woods," Carwood says.

"You really are going for the full Huntington experience," Murray says. "Sure you can make it through the snow?"

"Sure," Carwood replies. "If that path hasn't been cleared by someone else by now, I'd be surprised."

"I see your point," Murray says. "Well, see you in a bit, then."

"Bye," Carwood waves as Murray pulls away. He watches Murray's taillights fade away and turns to Ron when they're fully gone. "Ready?"

"Lead the way."

The snow in front of them is unbroken with a thin, frozen top layer that crunches loudly in the silence. Carwood breaks the path, feeling Ron at his back with every step. They reach the edge of the woods, and Carwood looks around, searching for signs of a cleared path.

"There," Ron says, pointing to footprints about thirty yards down. "Does that look about right?"

"Yeah," Carwood says. "Looks pretty dead on."

They walk the path silently, keeping an eye out for long-hanging branches or anything obscuring the path. It's silent, lit by moonlight, and when Carwood looks up at the trees, his mind flashes to splinters and mortars. He stops walking and just stares, waiting for the whole picture to right itself.

"Carwood," Ron says quietly.

"The trees--"

"Close your eyes," Ron says.

"I--"

"Close your eyes," Ron says, holding his hand up to Carwood's eyes.

Carwood closes his eyes. He feels Ron's hand press between his shoulder blades. "They were splinters," he says. "The trees turned to splinters."

"I remember," Ron says, "but they're not splinters now."

Carwood opens his eyes. The trees are just trees again. There are no mortars here. There have never been mortars here. "No," he says, "they're not." Ron's hand stays on his back as they keep walking. "It doesn't happen very often," Carwood says. "But sometimes, I'm somewhere, and it becomes somewhere else."

"I know," Ron says.

"I don't know what to do about it."

"Close your eyes and remember where you are," Ron says. "That's what I do."

Carwood nods but doesn't say anything else. Ron stops moving, pulls him in, and hugs him. It's a little awkward, like Ron doesn't hug often, but Carwood sinks down into it. "Thank you," he says.

"You're welcome." In the moonlight, Carwood can read the face of his watch. "Ron?"

"Yes?"

"We're late." Carwood smiles when Ron tightens his grip and then lets him go.

"Double-time, then," Ron says, and Carwood laughs so hard at how serious he sounds he can barely keep up.

The Honky Tonk comes into view a few minutes later, light shining from the front plate glass window and framing the crowd that's inside. There's music carrying out to the night, loud and raucous with a hard drumbeat and the trill of a saxaphone. Carwood and Ron stand on the rise at the edge of the woods and catch their breath.

"What's the plan?" Ron says, eying the Honky Tonk like an enemy target.

"Go in and join Murray and anyone else who made it. Have a beer while they have three or four, maybe buy a round when we walk in to encourage them on it. Once they're lit, they'll go to the dance floor or the bathroom or off to talk to someone else, and I'll go over to Old Ross to get the key to one of the cabins out back. You can circle around and meet me there."

"Flirt with a few women," Ron says. "I'll do it, too."

Carwood doesn't want to, but he understands the necessity. "Yes," he agrees.

"How quickly can we do that all?" Ron asks.

"An hour or so, if we time it right," Carwood says. "I'll know some people in there I'll want to say hello to, so that'll help move things along."

"Okay," Ron replies. "That sounds fine."

They walk down the decline and jump the ditch to get to the parking lot, and then walk across it, Carwood taking point as he pushes open the front door and the noise that had leaked outside hits him full force.

"There you are!" Murray yells from a table in the middle of the room. He's got a girl on either arm, and he's grinning like he's won the lottery. Bobby's at the table as well, though no girls are flanking him. He seems fine with it though, tapping his fingers on the table in the beat of the music and watching the room with interest.

"How was the back way?" Murray asks as Ron sits down across from him and next to Bobby and starts to remove his scarf and coat.

"Fine," Ron says. "There was a path once we got to the edge of the woods."

"There always is," Murray says.

"What are you drinking?" Carwood asks. He presses on Ron's shoulder before he can get up. "You are not going to tell me I'm buying and then sneak around me and buy."

Ron looks like he's going to argue, then he says, "Passable whiskey, neat."

"Alright," Carwood says. "Anything for anyone else? Ron covered my check at Lenny's, so I'm flush."

"Another beer," Murray says.

"Same," Bobby responds.

The girls on either side of Murray both demur. Carwood goes up to the bar and orders a whiskey neat and beers for Bobby, Murray, and himself.

"Good to see you," Old Ross says. "Jack said you were back. Expected to see you down here before now."

"You know how it goes," Carwood replies. "Nice to see business is good for you."

"Always is," Old Ross says and hands over the drinks.

Carwood gets them back to the table and sits next to Ron, who's started a conversation with Bobby.

"History, huh?" Bobby asks. "What do you do with that?"

"Teach or write or become a soldier," Ron replies. "I recommend the first two for most people."

Carwood leaves them to it and turns to Murray. He's heavily flirting with the girl on his left. The one on his right is clearly into Carwood. "Hi," he says.

"Hello," she replies. She leans forward and gives him a once-over that makes her intention clear. "That's a nice shirt."

"Thank you."

"Your girl pick that out for you?"

"My ex, actually. It was a Christmas gift."

She leans back a little. "Well, it's nice."

"I think so. I don't think I've seen you here before, but I haven't been in in awhile."

"Oh, I come and go," she says, and she stands and walks away.

"Ouch," Bobby says. "Maybe shouldn't have told her where you got the shirt."

Carwood shrugs. "Guess I'm out of practice."

"Here," Ron says, standing up and taking his glass with him. "Let a superior officer show you how it's done."

Before Carwood can respond, Ron's cutting across the room towards a pretty blonde woman by the jukebox. He leans against the wall next to her, smiling in the way that softens his whole face, and then he leans down and whispers in her ear.

"Wow," Bobby says.

"It's a good act," Carwood agrees as his stomach tightens in jealousy. The blonde woman laughs, and Carwood looks down at his beer. He takes a long swallow as Ron leans towards her and makes himself stop staring in case anyone is looking.

"I like him," Bobby says. "He was your Captain?"

"Yeah," Carwood replies.

"What does that mean, exactly?"

Carwood ends up explaining the basic military hierarchy to Bobby as Ron chats up the woman by the jukebox. Murray wanders off with the woman he's been talking to and comes back with a different one not five minutes later.

"So, you get dismissed from the Army and then reenlisted when you become an officer?" Bobby asks.

"Yeah," Carwood says. "It's not really a dismissal. It's just for the show of it, you know?"

"Makes it feel fancier," Bobby says.

"Exactly." Carwood glances over towards the jukebox, but Ron's not there anymore. He spots him a few feet away, talking to a brunette this time. "Excuse me," he says to Bobby.

"Sure."

Carwood walks over to Ron and the brunette and leans on the wall next to her. "He bothering you?" he asks.

"Oh, no," the woman says, her eyes lighting up when she looks at Carwood. "We're just chatting."

"He and I were in the Army together," Carwood says.

"Oh?" she asks.

"He's a good officer," Carwood tells her. He glances at Ron, and Ron is watching him, clearly wondering what he's up to. "But I never met a woman who liked him the morning after."

The woman's eyes widen, and then she giggles. "Oh, I'm sure that's not true."

"It's not," Ron says. He's amused, but Carwood's pretty sure he's the only one who can tell.

"Pride's a terrible thing," Carwood stage whispers, and the woman giggles again. "I'm Carwood," he says.

"Annie."

"Buy you a drink and get you away from him, Annie?"

She turns to look at Ron, but he's already vanished. "Well, I suppose so," she says and tucks her hand into the bend of Carwood's elbow.

They sit at the bar and chat. Annie's on break from the college, just down at the Honky Tonk for some fun and a few drinks. Carwood nods often and asks questions to keep her talking as he tries not to watch the clock and tries not to find Ron in the room.

"Excuse me," Ron says twenty minutes later, approaching from behind Carwood and standing a little closer than he needs to, even in the crowd. "Just need to speak with the bartender."

"You go right ahead," Carwood says, not looking away from Annie.

Annie looks uncomfortable for a moment, but then she shakes it off and picks up her story when it's clear Ron's not there to start a fight. Carwood half-listens to her, the rest of his attention on Ron requesting a key from Old Ross.

"Just make sure you drop it back off so I can send someone to neaten the place up," Old Ross is telling Ron.

"I will," Ron says.

"Number three," Old Ross says to Ron.

"Thank you," and then Ron is gone from behind Carwood and headed towards the back door.

Smart of him to get the key like that, Carwood thinks. He'll be out of town tomorrow, and no one will think twice. Now, all Carwood needs to do is make his way out back. He wonders how to escape gracefully. He doesn't want Annie to think she sent him running.

"That's a very nice shirt," Annie says a few minutes later. "It looks soft." She reaches out to touch it, her fingers just skimming Carwood's hand as she strokes the cuff.

"It is," Carwood says, seeing his out. "From my ex-wife for Christmas."

Annie's fingers stop stroking, and then she slowly pulls her hand away, trying to make it look like a natural movement. "Well, that was nice of her," she says. She smiles, but it's not like the smiles she's been giving Carwood while they've talked. It's stiff on the edges. "Well, I'm going to go powder my nose and be right back," she says.

"Okay," Carwood agrees.

Five minutes later, she's not back, but Carwood's spotted her in the far corner trying to keep her head down. He stands and waves down Old Ross. "Just want to settle my tab," he says.

"I think your friend's still out back," Old Ross says as he takes Carwood's money.

"He knows the way to the house," Carwood says. "But if he stumbles in looking lost, just call over, will you?"

"Will do. You have a good night, son."

"You too."

Carwood leaves by the side door next to the bar. It's the least-used door, most people pouring out of the front or back depending on where they're headed, and Carwood stands in the darkness under the awning for a moment and looks at the cabins half-shrouded by the trees that scatter the lot beyond the Honky Tonk.

Number three, he thinks, and the shiver that runs through him isn't from the cold. He ducks his chin into his collar and cuts across the open space before the cabins. No one comes out the back door as he does so, and he sees that most of the cabins have the red placards on the knobs that tell people they're occupied. Whoever's out here to do what they do, they all made it before him. He checks his watch by moonlight. It's 11:15. He's late, he thinks, and it makes him smile as he turns the knob on cabin 3.

Ron is sitting on the cot, hands on his knees, back straight. He looks like a statue until he turns to look at Carwood, and Carwood reads the want in his face. "Oh," he says as he shuts the door and strips off his outerwear.

"I was worried she'd talk your ear off," Ron says as he stands and crosses the room. He pulls Carwood away from the door and right in front of the stove.

"I didn't want her to think she'd run me off," Carwood says.

Ron smiles and shakes his head. "Of course," he murmurs. He stares at Carwood, running his hands up and down Carwood's arms. "Okay?" he asks.

"Very okay," Carwood says.

They stand close for a few more minutes, Ron's hands never stopping on Carwood's arms. Carwood pulls Ron close and runs his hands up and down Ron's back. He closes his eyes to take in the feel of it all, and that's when Ron kisses him. Carwood hums into it and returns it, and they stand there kissing for a few minutes before Ron pulls away and maneuvers Carwood so he's flat on his back on the bed.

"Don't move," Ron says.

"Don't want to," Carwood replies.

Ron looks him over, running his hands from Carwood's ankles to his armpits in a firm stroke. He moves away for a moment and adds another log to the fire before coming back and placing his hands on either side of the button on Carwood's slacks. "I'm going to undress you," Ron says.

It should sound ridiculous, Carwood thinks, or unromantic, but Ron says it with heat in his voice, and Carwood can only nod. He expects Ron to rip his clothes off, but Ron removes everything one piece at a time, folding it all and setting it on the chair next to the stove. He puts Carwood's lighter and cigarettes next to the bed. When he removes the watch, he turns Carwood's wrist over and places a kiss to it that takes Carwood's breath away. He puts the watch on top of all Carwood's clothes and then undresses himself with the same attention. He lies beside Carwood and pulls him in close. Carwood slides an arm around Ron's waist and scoots even closer.

"Yes?" Ron asks.

"Yes," Carwood agrees.

They kiss again, and Carwood expects it to be intense like it was on the bench at the college, but Ron keeps it soft, one hand carefully cupping Carwood's head when Ron presses him back against the pillow and licks at his bottom lip with caution. Carwood responds in kind, lapping on Ron's soft palate as soft as he can and trailing his fingers feather light up and down Ron's back.

Ron pulls back and kisses the corner of Carwood's mouth, then his cheek, and then his neck. He sucks lightly at Carwood's collarbone and licks one of Carwood's nipples. Carwood grunts and arches his back, and Ron looks at him, his smile turning wicked, and he does it again.

"Oh!" Carwood shouts. He grits his teeth when Ron bites him so softly it barely counts. "Oh," Carwood says more quietly.

Ron licks and bites the other nipple, then moves back up to place open-mouthed kisses to Carwood's shoulders. "I'm going to look at your scar now," he says in Carwood's ear, and it makes Carwood squeeze his fingers tight around Ron's ribcage as he nods in agreement.

Ron slides down Carwood's body until he's sitting back on his heels inbetween Carwood's calves. He rubs his thumbs on Carwood's ankles, then follows the line of his muscle up his calves and over his knees before pressing to have Carwood open his legs.

"Have you done this before?" Carwood asks as Ron lowers himself to his belly and noses at the inside of Carwood's knee.

"Yes," Ron says.

"With who?"

"A boy at school," Ron says. "A man in basic. Some others." He looks at Carwood's face, his stare as intense as Carwood's ever seen it. "Why?"

"Curious," Carwood replies. He reaches out his hand and can just graze Ron's cheek with his fingertips. Ron leans into it, then away, dropping his head and mouthing at the very bottom edge of Carwood's scar. Carwood twists at the waist but tries not to move his legs. Ron's stubble scratches against his thigh, and he clenches his hands in the sheets.

"Was there anyone else besides that boy?" Ron asks, mouth just ghosting Carwood's skin.

"One when I was at college," Carwood admits, "And once or twice in Bastogne."

Ron lifts his head sharply, looking like a hawk who's spotted a mouse. "In Bastogne," he says.

"Yes."

"Who was it?" Ron's fingers tighten on Carwood's thighs when Carwood squeezes his eyes shut with something that's not quite embarrassment. "Carwood," and Ron's voice is dark and slightly dangerous, and it makes Carwood press up against the fingers that are holding him so tightly. "Tell me."

Carwood opens his eyes and sucks in a breath. "It was Luz," he says. "A few times in the foxhole."

Ron strokes his thumb up Carwood's scar as he repositions himself so he's draped over him. "Luz," he says.

"Yes."

"When?"

"I don't remember exactly except for the one after that dud shell landed on us."

"What did you do?" Ron asks.

"Nothing much. Helped each other out." Carwood gasps when Ron wraps a hand around his dick.

"Like this?" Ron asks.

"Yes," Carwood says. He grips hard at Ron's shoulder and bicep when Ron strokes him.

"Did you do it at the same time?" Ron asks.

"No," Carwood says. "He went first, and then I did him."

"Why?" Ron asks.

"Why?" Carwood repeats as he arches into Ron's hand.

"Why did you do this with him?"

"Because it helped."

Ron leans down, hand still stroking. He presses his other to Carwood's shoulder, holding him still as he kisses him hard. "I would have helped," he says against Carwood's mouth.

"It wasn't--" is as far as Carwood gets before Ron kisses him again, taking complete control of it and sliding his tongue in and out of Carwood's mouth as he continues to jerk him off.

Carwood groans into Ron's mouth and tries to sit up some, tries to get more contact, but when he lunges, Ron presses him down by the shoulder, and he drops again. Before he can try a second time, Ron ducks his head and licks his nipples again and again, and Carwood grunts and bucks and writhes, and then he comes, Ron's mouth pressed hot against his neck and Ron's hand tight around his dick.

"Shh," Ron whispers as Carwood heaves in air. He strokes Carwood's side in a soothing way and pulls his hand off Carwood's dick, wiping it on the sheets. "Shhh."

"Jesus," Carwood says. He stares at the ceiling for a few minutes, Ron laid next to him, pressed against his side and lightly rutting against his hip. "Jesus," Carwood repeats, and turns to face him, reaching for Ron's dick as he pulls at Ron's hair, trying to kiss him soft but pressing harder than he means. Ron hums approval against his mouth, works his hips back and forth so Carwood's jerking him off without even moving his hand. He tightens his grip, and Ron sighs with pleasure. He slides his knee between Ron's legs, and Ron tightens his thighs around it, using it for leverage as he keeps moving and finally comes in Carwood's hand and on his stomach. He flops onto his back and breathes in hard while Carwood cleans off his hand. Carwood lays next to him, head propped up on his clean hand, and just watches Ron.

"Cigarette," Ron says.

Carwood turns to grab the pack and lighter, handing them to Ron as he relaxes onto the bed. Ron lights two cigarettes, passes one to Carwood, and keeps hold of the lighter, turning it over in his hands. Carwood watches him examine it and waits for him to speak.

"Why Luz?" Ron asks.

"I don't know," Carwood admits. "We shared a foxhole, and he was willing, I suppose."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"As much as I could." Carwood breathes out a plume of smoke and takes the lighter from Ron's hands. "Does it bother you?"

"I'm not sure."

Carwood doesn't know how to respond to that. He finishes his cigarette, and when he turns on his side to stub it out in the ashtray beside the bed, Ron's arm comes around him, and he feels Ron kissing the top of his spine.

"Yes," Ron says. "It bothers me."

"Why?"

"Because you wouldn't even kiss me over there."

Carwood can't help the smile that goes across his face as he rolls so Ron can see it. "I didn't kiss him, either," he says. "It wasn't like that."

"Oh." Ron traces Carwood's eyebrow with his thumb. "Okay."

Carwood watches Ron watch him. "Why me?" he asks.

Ron doesn't ask for clarification. "You were never afraid of me," he says.

Carwood kisses him and tugs at Ron's leg until it's over his hip. Ron is half-hard against him, and Carwood feels himself getting there as well. "What's to be afraid of?" he says.

"I'm difficult, I know that."

"I don't find you so bad."

"I killed men."

"So did I."

"I assassinated unarmed POWs."

"I laughed when they shelled us."

"Did you?"

"Yes."

There's quiet again, the two of them rocking against each other with no real intent to start again. Carwood presses his forehead to Ron's shoulder, and Ron noses into his hair, breathing him in.

"I live alone in Boston," Ron says. "Just Sherman and me. You could come and visit, stay a few weeks if you wanted. There are two bedrooms; no one would think anything of it."

"You'll show me the city?" Carwood asks. "I've never been to Boston."

"Yes. There's a club I know of there. I want to take you."

"That sounds fine."

Ron lifts Carwood's head so they're looking at each other. His face is deeply serious. "You have to understand, I want…" His words appear to fail him, but Carwood waits him out. "I want," he says again.

"Me, too," Carwood replies.

"You're certain?"

"Yes."

"If you change your mind, tell me."

Carwood is sure he won't, but he nods anyway and says, "Okay. I promise." Ron squeezes his side, and Carwood rolls them so he's on top, moving his hips with more energy once they're settled. "I promise," Carwood says and kisses Ron as he also picks up the pace.

*

The Honky Tonk is dark when they leave the cabin, no sign of anyone still around. Carwood slides the cabin key and placard under the front door and leads the way into the woods. They walk in silence back to the house, change into their pajamas, and get into Carwood's bed without a word. They have to maneuver around the dogs, who are already settled and refuse to move. They drop off to sleep with no effort, and when Carwood wakes up just three hours later, ten minutes before dawn, Ron's already awake.

"Good morning," Carwood says.

"Good morning. Want to go for a run?"

"Yes."

They run in the same silence they'd walked in last night, the dogs keeping pace as they make a circuit Carwood thinks up as he goes. When they get back to the house, Mama and Jack are both up, and breakfast is on the table.

"Go shower in the big house," Mama tells Carwood. "Miss Woods said she'd be out until the afternoon, and that way you can get one at the same time and won't get sick."

"Yes, Mama," Carwood says, and he takes a towel and his soap to the big shared bathroom on the second floor of the boarding house to get cleaned up. When he comes back to the kitchen, Ron is showered, shaved, and sitting at the table, drinking coffee and nodding along to something Mama is saying.

"And what time does your train leave?" Mama asks.

"Three o'clock," Ron says. "I'd like to be at the station at 2:30."

"We can do that," Carwood says. "I didn't have any plans for today unless there was something you wanted to do."

"No," Ron says, "I'm just fine."

They pass the morning in the living room. Carwood reads the paper and Ron thumbs through a book. They sit on opposite ends of the couch. Carwood wants to reach out and touch Ron, but Mama's all over the house, so there's no good time to try. Every time Carwood looks up from the paper, Ron is watching him, but there's no intensity in it. He just seems to be taking Carwood in.

They have a cigarette on the back porch after lunch. "It's too cold to be in Boston right now," Ron says. "You should come in the spring."

"April?"

"April is good."

"I'll arrange it with Mama and Jack," Carwood says.

"And don't forget Panzer."

"How could I? A metaphor like that."

"The dog is just a dog," Ron says. "I'll call when I reach Boston tomorrow."

"You can just send a telegram."

"I'll want to hear your voice."

"Well, I suppose I won't put up a fight, then."

When they go back into the house, Ron packs his suitcase and sets it by the door. When it's time to leave, he shakes Jack's hand and allows Mama to pull him into a hug.

"You're always welcome," she says. "You don't even have to call."

"Thank you," Ron says.

They drive to the train station, the dogs in the backseat, and halfway there, Ron scoots over a few inches and drapes his arm across the seat so he just barely touches Carwood's neck. Carwood adjusts his shoulder so he can feel the touch more. His watch glints in the sunlight as he takes the last turn to the station.

"Have a good trip," Carwood says as they watch the train pull up. He holds out his hand to shake, and Ron takes it, and then uses his grip to pull Carwood into a hug.

"April," Ron says.

"Yes," Carwood agrees. He stays on the platform with Panzer leaning against his leg until long after the train has gone out of sight. Panzer looks up and whines after a time. "Alright," Carwood says. "Let's go."

When they get back to the house, Panzer runs to the bedroom, then the kitchen, then the living room, and then finally back to Carwood who is at the kitchen table. "I think she's wondering where her friend got off to," Mama says.

"Think you're right." Carwood leans down and hefts Panzer into his lap. "Easy there," he says. Panzer lays down in his lap and looks dejected.

Mama laughs. "Oh, the poor thing."

"Well, we might be able to cheer her up a bit," Carwood says. "Ron invited me out to Boston in the spring."

"That sounds nice," Mama says.

"I'd probably be up there a couple of weeks at least. More sights to see than down here."

"I'm sure we can manage without you while you're gone," Mama says. "We've done it before."

"Well, it's a ways off," Carwood replies. "There's time to plan."

*

Dear Ron,

You haven't arrived in Boston as I write this; it's still the evening of the 27th. Panzer has spent the afternoon and evening trying to figure out where you and Sherman have gone. I can't say I don't understand the feeling. Murray came by for a visit and wanted me to tell you he thinks you're a good man. He made me promise not to tell you that you also scared the hell out of him once or twice, so if he asks, you didn't hear it from me.

I just wanted to write to say hello, I suppose. It feels a little foolish, but it also feels important.

Yours,
Carwood

*

The phone rings in the early evening the next night, and Carwood snaps it off the receiver before it rings more than once. "Lipton Boarding House, this is Carwood."

"I've arrived in Boston," Ron replies. "I reached the train station about an hour ago, but I wanted to wait until I was home to call."

"Was it a smooth trip?"

"As smooth as can be expected."

"Glad to hear it."

"Thank you for your hospitality."

The formality of it makes Carwood smile. "You're welcome."

"I thought of you the entire trip back," Ron says.

"I wrote you a letter yesterday," Carwood replies.

"Good," Ron says, and Carwood can hear his smile over the phone. "That's very good."

*

Dear Carwood,

It is sleeting in Boston today. I woke up to the sound of it on the windows. Sherman was greatly confused at the noise, but she seems to have adjusted to it well. Your letter arrived today. I'm pleased you felt it necessary to write so soon after I left. I very much enjoyed the letter and the sentiment in it. It seemed an appropriate way to ring in the New Year, though I won't be doing that until midnight, of course.

I'm calling you tonight. You don't know that yet, but it will happen. I will call one minute before midnight according to both our watches (I hope you have remembered to wind yours) so that we can ring in the New Year together.

I am not, as you know, an overly romantic man, but I am willing to make some effort to improve.

Yours,
Ron

*

Jack, unsurprisingly, spends New Year's with Betsy and some friends. Murray and Vanessa both try to get Carwood to go out with them, but he turns them down.

"We're going to set off fireworks," Vanessa says.

"No, thanks," Carwood replies. His face must be giving away how much the idea unsettles him because Vanessa doesn't press him and smoothly changes the subject.

Carwood spends the evening with the radio on, listening to the announcer review the big stories of the year. He thinks of his boys when the announcer mentions the number of troops who made it home, and he silently wishes them a happy, healthy, and prosperous new year.

Mama turns in at nine o'clock, saying good night quietly as she goes to her room. She's never been one to stay up for the celebration, and so Carwood settles on the couch with a glass of Schnapps and Panzer at his side to wait for midnight to strike. The news announcer signs off at ten o'clock, and after a brief bit of static, music starts to play. Carwood drifts into a light doze from the quiet music and the Schnapps, and when he comes to again, it's fifteen minutes to midnight.

Carwood whistles for Panzer, and they go out on the back porch. Carwood smokes a cigarette and looks up at the sky, finding the constellations and wondering about what Ron is doing this same minute. He remembers New Year's two years ago, in that foxhole, Ron having become their commanding officer simply by being close enough to grab when Major Winters had turned around.

He walks back inside, Panzer on his heels as always, and the phone rings as he crosses the kitchen. He grabs it before it can ring a second time and says, "Hello?"

"I wanted to ring in the New Year with you," Ron says. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No," Carwood replies, and from the living room, he can hear the news announcer saying it's forty-five seconds until the New Year. "I like to stay up for it. I'm glad to hear from you."

"Hrm," Ron says, and he sounds pleased.

"Did you make a resolution?" Carwood asks.

"No," Ron replies. "You?"

"None."

The announcer says they're thirty seconds away.

"I thought about the men tonight," Ron says.

"So did I."

"I wonder what they do on New Year's when there's not a war on."

"Drink, I suppose."

"Yes, probably."

"And chase girls."

"Well, not Harry," Ron says.

Carwood chuckles. "No, not Harry. I imagine he started kissing Kitty to ring in the New Year as soon as he woke up this morning."

"It wouldn't surprise me."

The announcer says it's fifteen seconds to the New Year.

"Carwood."

"Yes?"

"Can you visit before April?"

Carwood smiles. "I thought the weather was bad for it."

"It is, but that just means we'd have to stay inside."

"Oh, I see." Carwood listens to Ron chuckle. "I wish I could," he says. "But I don't think it's possible. There's the house to run, and we always do a big scrubbing of everything in the early part of the year."

"I see. I suppose I'll make due with letters."

"So will I."

"I can call occasionally," Ron says.

"I'd like that very much."

"I like your voice."

"Thank you."

The radio begins to play Auld Lang Syne.

"Happy New Year, Ron."

"Happy New Year, Carwood."

They stay on the line until the song is over.

"Goodbye, Carwood."

"Goodbye, Ron."

Chapter Text

January passes quietly. Carwood writes Ron nearly every day, and Ron responds in
kind. Jack announces at dinner one night that he'd like to go to trade school and has, in fact, been saving his wages from the boarding house to do just that.

"I'm going to be a mechanic," he says. "I spoke to Mr. Preston down at the body shop, and he says if I can get my credits, he'll find me a place with him."

"That's great, Jack," Carwood says.

"How long will school take?" Mama asks.

"If I can go full-time, about a year," Jack says. "That gives me about another year to get set up before Betsy and I get married."

"That's good planning," Carwood says.

"But to go full-time, I'd need to stop helping around so much here," Jack adds, and he looks embarrassed as he says it.

"If you can go back to handling breakfast by yourself, I can make up the beds for you so you don't have to break up your day."

"Are you sure?" Jack asks. "What about when you go to Boston?"

"I'm sure we can find someone to help out while Carwood visits Ron," Mama interjects. "And when he goes to school in the fall. It's not like it'll be the first time we'll have to shuffle things around."

Jack looks back and forth between them before nodding. "Alright," he says. "If you're sure it's okay."

"Of course it's okay," Mama says, and that's the last they say about.

*

Dear Ron,

Jack has decided to go to trade school to become a mechanic. He's always had a great interest in cars, so I've no doubt he'll easily succeed. I've taken over his duties making the beds in the boarding house, and once again my Army training has proven very useful. Turns out I'm faster at changing sheets than Jack's ever been, and it's been his chore since we were kids. Mama thought that was very funny.

I hope this letter finds you well. I tripped going down the stairs yesterday and bruised my forehead. Murray informs me the bruise is in the shape of a hand, but it just looks like a blob to me. Panzer was very concerned when she heard the thump through the door and has been by my side more than usual.

I went down to the Honky Tonk with Murray, Vanessa, and some of the others last night. We didn't get up to any trouble, but I overheard Old Ross telling someone cabin 3 was open, and I had to make an excuse for why I blushed. I don't remember what I said, but they seemed to accept it.

Yours,
Carwood

*

Dear Carwood,

Army discipline will always be with you. It's a part of your make up now and forever. Speaking of the Army, I have been informed I will be working out of the South Boston base for the foreseeable future. Now that the war is over, the base is in less demand, but it needs to be fully organized and inventoried. I am not invested in acting as a supply officer in any long-term way, but for now I believe the work will suit me. Until another war comes along, I must do something to pass the time.

I hope your head is doing better. Please be careful on the stairs. I don't want you harmed, especially now that we're nearly a month closer to April.

My sweater arrived in the mail just yesterday. Please extend my genuine thanks to your mother. It is a very handsome article, and I promise to take good care of it . I also found the note you'd slipped into the bottom of the box. Please be aware that the feeling is mutual, though I might not voice it often. As you know, I am a man of very certain words.

Sherman took a running leap towards a squirrel yesterday and ended up soaking herself in a puddle. She is now sneezing every few minutes and looking at me as though it's my fault. I have taken several pictures of the look because it makes me laugh. I will send you one when the film is developed.

Yours,
Ron

*

The doorbell of the boarding house rings when Carwood is changing sheets one day in early February. He hears his mother wheeling herself to the front of the house and continues making up the bed in room four.

"Carwood," Mama calls up the stairs. "You've got visitors."

Carwood wonders who it could be and why they'd come to the front of the house. Everyone who knows him knows to go around back to the gate. He lays the comforter on the bed, picks up the dirty sheets, and carries them to the laundry chute. He peers down from the second floor hallway that's just the bannister on one side, and breams at the sight of George Luz and Joe Toye. "Well, I'll be," he says. He rushes for the stairs, jumping the bannister so he can skip the last three and be right in front of them.

"Always were graceful, Sir," Luz says. He holds out his hand for a shake but doesn't seem surprised when Carwood pulls him into a hug.

"I'll just take the handshake, Sir," Joe says, and Carwood obliges.

"How's the leg?" Carwood asks.

Joe taps his cane against the floor in a quick four-beat. "About as good as can be expected."

"He's not gonna admit it, but he needs to sit," George says. "Don't glare at me," he adds without even looking at Joe.

Carwood can't stop smiling. "Mama," he says, turning to her and seeing her own smile. "This is George Luz and Joe Toye. Two of the finest Sergeants I had the pleasure of being in the Army with."

"Aww, he's being modest," George says. "We were absolutely the finest, right Joe?"

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Lipton," Joe says.

"Let's get you boys a chair and something to drink," Mama says. "You can tell us what's brought you our way."

"I really don't need--"

"Well, I do," George says, pushing Joe ahead of him to follow Mama into the back part of the house. "So, don't keep me waiting."

Carwood skirts around them to be the first to the door that connects the front of the house to the back. "Sit," he says when he walks into the adjoining hallway, and Panzer does so, though she immediately growls at the sight of Luz and Toye.

"What in the--that is one ugly dog," George says.

"It's pretty bad," Joe agrees. "Does he bite?"

"She, and no. She just needs time to warm up to you."

"What's her name?" George ask as they come out into the living room and Mama turns them towards the kitchen.

"Panzer."
George gets a sharp look on his face and gives Carwood a hard side-eye. "Like the tank?"

"Yeah."
"That's funny," Joe says as he sits and immediately sticks his bad leg out. Carwood can see the outline of the prosthesis against his slacks. "Captain Speirs has one named Sherman. It's a girl, too."

"Oh, she's a sweet one," Mama says.

George switches his hard side-eye to her, not that she can see it while she's pouring coffee. "You've met her?"

"Yes, Ron spent Christmas with us."

"Did he?" George asks at the same time Joe says, "Ron?"

"He's a bit distant, but we enjoyed having him," Mama continues.

"A bit distant," George says. "Did you hear that, Joe?"

"I did."

"Alright, you two, knock it off," Carwood says as he drops into the chair at the end of the table. "Mama doesn't need to hear your tall tales."

"I assure you, my tales are as tall as Joe's fake leg," George says.

"Shut up, George," Joe says. "Thank you, Mrs. Lipton," he says very sweetly when she hands him a full cup of coffee. "You're steady as a rock in that chair."

"Years of practice," she says as she distributes the coffee around the rest of the table. "You'll find it gets easier with time."

Carwood doesn't miss the way Joe looks embarrassed and pleased at the same time. He kisses Mama on the cheek, and she winks at him as she takes her place on the other side of the table from George and Joe.

"What brings you down?" Carwood asks.

"Taking a casual tour of a few of the places the guys never stopped talking about," George says. "And we knew that had to include Huntington and this place." George turns and gives Mama an honest smile. "Which is lovely, by the way."

"Thank you."

"Did you stop in Boston?" Carwood asks."You said you met Sherman."

"Oh, yeah, we did. I had to prove to Joe that Captain Speirs wasn't a fuc--fanatical type," George says. Joe laughs into his coffee cup at George's near-miss.

"Are you staying the night or just passing through?" Mama asks.

"Thought we'd stay a bit," George tells her. "We're not really on a schedule, right, Joe?"

"I didn't even know we were doing this until George announced it two weeks ago."

"See? Free and clear."

"We'd be happy to rent you a room or two," Carwood says. "Our prices are fair, and it comes with breakfast."

"One room'll be just fine," George says.

"First floor if you have it," Joe adds.

"We do," Carwood says.

"The corner room on the far end of the house is open," Mama says. "And it's got two twins."

"Perfect. Write our name in the book, and we'll call it ours," George says.

"And you'll join us for dinner tonight?" Mama asks.

"I never turn down a pretty lady," George replies with the smile that got him out of more trouble than anything else when he was in the Army.

"He literally doesn't," Joe says before Mama can reply, "because they always turn him down first."

Mama gives them both an amused look. "Two for dinner, then," she says.

"Yes, thank you," George replies.

"I need to finish changing the sheets," Carwood says, shaking his head at their antics. "I can show you fellas where you're sleeping."
"I'll go," George says. "Joe still needs some time to rest his leg."
"I do not--"

"Which way are we going?" George says over him.

"Back the way we came," Carwood says, throwing Joe a sympathetic look as he claps George on the shoulder and pushes him in front. Carwood hears his mother ask Joe where he's from as he and George step back into the boarding house. "You okay, George?" he asks when the connecting door is closed behind them.

"Swell," George says as he pulls a face. "Joe's been hiding himself away lately, pretty much since he lost the leg, you know? And the boys were worried, so I took point and dragged his ass somewhere that isn't anywhere he knows to distract him."

"Decent of you," Carwood says.

"Eh," George replies.

"Here's where you'll be," Carwood says, opening the door to the far-end corner bedroom. "The bathroom's in the middle of the hall there. House rules require you be in full pajamas entering and exiting, not just a robe or your shorts. The big kitchen's free to use as you like, but you have to buy your own food. Mama doesn't make you get your own coffee. If you use the kitchen, you clean it up. If you need a smoke--"

"Don't I always?"

"Front porch only. Although, you'd be welcome to join me on the back any time you like. We don't usually let the boarders back there, but these are special circumstances."

"They're something," George agrees. He looks around the room and nods. "It's a clean place."

"It is."

"I'll get our bags in. We're staying the week, most likely. Joe won't admit it, but he'll need that much time to recover from the train ride."

"Is he bad off?"

"Physically, he's doing pretty good. He's about as fit as he was in the war. But in his head, I think he's still a little lost."

"What about you?" Carwood asks.

"I am a perfect male specimen," George says, patting his stomach where it's always stuck out just a little even at his fittest. "And my head's doing just fine, I think, save the occasional nightmare."

"I understand that."

George looks like he wants to ask Carwood a question, but he doesn't. "I'll get our bags in here, let you get back to work."

"Alright, and thanks for watching the language in front of Mama."

"I am a gentleman," George says with false offense. "How dare you, Sir."

Carwood laughs and heads back up the stairs. He finishes changing the rest of the sheets in less than an hour and goes down to the basement to start the first load of the dirty ones in the washer and dryer. When he comes back upstairs, Mama is feeding Joe and George lunch, and George is doing a spot-on impression of Sobel.

"Which story?" Carwood asks Joe.

"I got no idea," Joe says. "I tuned him out ten minutes ago."

"Joe, you wound me," George says in his own voice, and then he slips back into Sobel's voice to finish the story.

"Good to see you doing well," Carwood says.

"Thank you," Joe says. "Same to you. Didn't you say you got a brother? I haven't seen anyone else."
"He's at school during the day," Carwood says. "Working towards a mechanic's certificate. He got engaged at Christmas."

"Congratulations on that," Joe says.

"We're pretty pleased."

Whatever story George has been telling has Mama laughing so hard she nearly spills her coffee on herself. It makes Carwood and Joe look over, and George shrugs. "All the Sobel stories should end that well."

"We'd have been so lucky," Joe mutters.

"Come on, fellas," Carwood says as he stands up, "Let's have a smoke."

Joe sits on the porch railing, leg still stuck out in front of him. George flops down next to him, and Carwood sits in his usual chair. Panzer eyes George and Joe and scurries over to hide behind Carwood's chair. "She always so skittish?" Joe asks as he pulls his cigarettes from his pocket and shakes out three.

"No, she's a good girl. Had a hard start to things, though."

"I can see that," Joe says. "You find her in a dumpster or something?"
"She was in an alley," Carwood says.

"Don't seem like there's a lot of alleys around here," George says. He leans forward to light Carwood's cigarette for him before lighting his own.

"What am I? A statue?" Joe asks.

"You're something," George says, and feigns putting his lighter away before grinning at Joe and lighting him up as well.

"Good to see civilian life hasn't changed you, George," Carwood says.

"I'm timeless," George agrees.

Carwood glances at Joe, and Joe shrugs, taking a long drag off his cigarette. "What have you boys been doing to keep yourselves out of trouble?"

"Just keeping my hands busy," George says with a filthy grin.

"He's a handyman," Joe says, giving George an elbow to the ribs.

"It's good work," Carwood says. "What about you, Joe?"
"This and that," Joe says. He finishes his cigarette and looks for an ashtray.

"Between the porch boards," Carwood says.

Joe drops it and kicks it over to an open spot with his good leg. He stands and finds his balance on his cane. "Gonna go nap," he says.

Carwood watches him walk inside and hears him say hello to Mama. When he looks back at George, George is still watching Joe through the screen door. "Careful you don't fall off the railing," he says.

"Huh?" George asks, straightening up. "Nah, I'm fine." He looks around Carwood at Panzer and whistles quietly at her. "C'mere, girl."

She looks at Carwood in confusion, and he reaches down and scratches her behind the ears. "Good girl," he says.

"Ugly as she is, she's cute," George says. "You know, Sherman's an alley dog, too."
"You don't say," Carwood replies. George isn't even trying to hide the leading edge in his voice, but that doesn't mean Carwood's going to tell him a word without a question.

"And I couldn't help but notice the good Captain kept giving me his old war-stinkeye while we visited Boston."

"If you popped in on him without warning, I wouldn't blame him."
"I'm spontaneous, not an idiot. I called ahead on that one. I knew you'd be a soft touch, and I figured if you weren't, we'd have the need for the room as a good cover."

Carwood laughs. "You're always welcome here, George."
"Thanks." George finishes his cigarette and drops it like Joe had. "So, the elephant in the room."
"Is there one?" Carwood asks.

"You're divorced," George says. "Sorry to hear about that."

"I appreciate your concern, but it's all worked out for the best."
"Huh," George says. He glances towards the screen door. "Does it working out have anything to do with the Captain?"

"I don't get your meaning."
"That murder look he was giving me," George says in an undertone, "I've gotten it before, and it was when a guy found out I'd been with his girl before him."

"Not now, George," Carwood says softly, but he's not angry. "We'll go for a walk after dinner, see if we can convince Panzer you're trustworthy."

"Sounds good," George agrees. He stands and stretches. "Actually, Joe might be right about that nap."

"Mama serves dinner at six. Feel free to come over before then."

"Will do."

*

Carwood passes the afternoon reading and changing out the laundry as it finishes. The phone rings in the kitchen, and Carwood hears his mother answer it.

"Oh, hello, Ron! How are you?"

Carwood walks into the kitchen and leans against the wall. Mama holds her her hand to let him know she'll be a minute.

"Did you check the flue? It can close on its own, sometimes." She nods and then says, "Well, you let me know how that goes. Carwood's right here." She hands over the phone and wheels out of the room to give Carwood a bit of privacy.

"Hi," Carwood says.

"You are likely to be invaded by George Luz and Joe Toye soon," Ron says.

"They've already landed," Carwood says. "They'll be staying in the boarding house a few days."

"Godspeed," Ron mutters.

Carwood chuckles. "Oh, they're not so bad."

"I would have called sooner to warn you, but I'm having issues with my fireplace."

"You staying warm enough?"
"I'm fine. There's the radiator. The fireplace just helps in the living room."

"Never have had much luck with fireplaces, have we?" Carwood says, thinking back to the number of them that were too crumbled to function in the war.

Ron chuckles. "No, I suppose not."

"How are you otherwise?"

"Just fine. They say they'll be a break in the weather tomorrow."

"That's good." Carwood glances over his shoulder. His mother isn't in the living room. He listens for a moment and hears her down the hall in her bedroom. "Ron."

"Yes?"

"You don't have to worry about George being here. I meant what I told you at Christmas about all that."

"I know."

Carwood doesn't entirely believe him. "I just wanted to make sure to tell you again."

There's a pause. "I appreciate that," Ron says. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I've sent you a letter detailing their visit," Ron says.

"I look forward to it."

"Goodbye, Carwood."

"Goodbye, Ron."

Carwood hangs up the phone and shakes his head. Ron Speirs being the jealous type doesn't surprise him, but if that call wasn't at least a little bit about getting reassurance about George, Carwood will eat his shoes.

*

"Carwood's gonna show me the neighborhood," George says as he and Carwood stand up after dinner. "You wanna come, Joe?"

"Oh, yeah, that's a great idea. Send the guy with one leg down a dark street he doesn't know."

"It's not like you'd be going alone," George points out. Joe gives him a bland look until George laughs. "Alright, fine. I tried, right, Lip?"

"You sure did, George." Carwood gives Joe a smile. Joe returns it, though his has some exasperation on the edges.

Carwood and George step outside, Panzer trotting alongside, and they both pause to adjust their scarves and hats before they walk down the stairs. They're silent until they're two houses down, and then Carwood says, "How's Bill doing with his leg? He doesn't mention it in his letters."

"He took to it like a duck to water," George tells him. "You know Bill; if it's a challenge, he's gonna kick it right in the teeth."

"That's true," Carwood says.

"Joe's approaching it like a damn death sentence, of course," George says. "And he won't admit he's doing it, of course."

"You said you dragged him out on this adventure to try and shake him out of it. Has it worked?"

"He is nine percent less surly than he was when we started. With some extra work, I think I can get him down to a whole eighty-five percent 'not miserable.'"

"He's an exacting man, George, and a prosthesis isn't an exacting tool. It's got to be hard to adjust to that."

George bursts out laughing so hard he has to stop and bend over, hands on his knees, as he tries to catch his breath. Carwood watches, confused but smiling because it's good to hear George laugh. Panzer is completely confused and tucks herself behind Carwood for protection.

"You alight?" Carwood asks when George straightens up, and that sends George off again.

"You--" George pauses to suck in a breath, then another. "We always wondered--the platoon I mean--we wondered if you were always sincere or if you were just working hard to be as sincere as possible, and Lip, I gotta tell you, you're a damned sincere man."

"Runs in the family," Carwood says.

"I can see that from your mother." George chuckles again and pats himself down to find his cigarettes. He pulls out two, handing one to Carwood and lighting first Carwood's, then his. "I don't know how I ended up on Toye duty," he says. "I think it's because Skip's not here."

"It's because the boys trust you to help him," Carwood says. "You're probably the only one of them who'll push back in the way Joe needs."

"I guess." George shakes his head and pockets his lighter. They start walking again. George watches Panzer run ahead of them a few steps and sniff at the ground. "Seriously, Lip, how'd you get the dog?"

"Ron mailed her to me," Carwood says.

"No shit?"

"No shit. Didn't even warn me."

George snorts. "Of course not." He pauses to stub out his cigarette and then crouches down, waiting for Panzer to notice him. "C'mere, girl," he says. "I'm a nice guy."

Panzer ducks her head into her shoulders but takes a couple of steps towards George. She glances at Carwood, and Carwood stays still, letting her make up her own mind. George stays still as well, hand hanging down off his bent knee. Panzer takes another two steps and stretches her neck to sniff at George's hand. George still doesn't move. Panzer licks once at his hand and then backs away again.

"Just like the last girl I dated," George grouses as he stands up, but he's smiling.

"She'll come around," Carwood says. "Give her a day or two."

"Sounds like someone else we know," George replies.

"Subtle, George."

"Not really." He looks at Carwood as they pass under a streetlamp. "Seriously, what's going on with you and him?"

"We're trying to make a go of it," Carwood says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Huh." George shrugs when Carwood gives him a questioning look. "You were a married man when I first knew you, Lip. And what a man does in a foxhole, he does not necessarily do in civilian life."

"In more ways than one," Carwood agrees.

George hums agreement, and they walk another block. "You told him about what we did, didn't you?" George asks. It's not accusatory, just curious.

"Yes," Carwood says, and he feels himself flush at the memory of the conversation. "It wasn't a planned conversation."

"Heat of the moment, got it," George says with a filthy grin. "Well, you tell him he's got no competition from me. While I do some of the stuff a man does in a foxhole, I never planned to do it long term with you."

"That's very flattering, George, thank you."

George laughs. "Eh, you know what I mean." He claps Carwood on the shoulder. "Good luck with all that."

"Thank you."

They stop at the corner to check for traffic, and George takes a look around. "Nice little neighborhood," he says.

"It is."

"That guy's roof needs a fix."

"Which one?"
"There," George says, pointing to a house two down from the corner. "The right-hand edge is sagging. Probably got a warped board or something underneath it."

"That's the Meyer place," Carwood says. "They're elderly, don't leave the house much."

"Probably haven't noticed it, then."

"Hell, George, I walk by here regularly, and I've never noticed it."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Someone should let them know. That's one of those things that could be a problem in the spring."

"I can introduce you tomorrow, if you like."

George shrugs. "You can tell them as easily as me."

"I can tell them the roof's sagging, but I can't tell them why. I think they'd appreciate getting some details on how to fix it."

George gives Carwood a suspicious look. "You're trying to take care of me, Lip. Don't think I can't tell."

"I'm not saying you'll end up with a project, George, but I know you like having one."

"Okay," George says after a pause. "Mother hen," he mutters under his breath.

Carwood just laughs and turns them back towards the house.

*

Carwood wakes up the next morning and goes for a run, Panzer by his side. When he gets back, George and Joe are sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee and talking with his mother as Jack gathers his things to go to school.

"Thanks again," Jack says, and George and Joe wave him off as he kisses Mama goodbye and heads out the door. "Morning, Carwood."

"Morning, Jack." Carwood looks at George and Joe. "Thank you?" he asks.

"They helped Jack prep breakfast this morning," Mama says. "Saved him enough time he was actually able to sit and eat at the table rather than run right out the door to get to class."

"Eh, we were up," George says. "And it meant I got coffee into Joe sooner, so I didn't have to listen to him complain. As much."

"You're a real trooper, George," Joe says.

"I know, got the jump wings and everything."

Joe groans at the pun and shakes his head. George grins, clearly proud of himself.

"I'm gonna have a shower," Carwood says.

"You have fun!" George calls as Carwood goes down the hall.

Carwood showers, has breakfast, and then he and George go over to the Meyer house so Carwood can make introductions. The Meyers take to George immediately, appreciating his concern for their home and looking quite pleased when George offers to go into the attic and check the damage from the inside to give them a better idea of what they'll need to fix it.

"What a fine young man," Mr. Meyer says to Carwood. "You say you were in the war together?"

"Yes, sir," Carwood says. "George and I were sergeants together until I got my commission."

George comes back down from the attic, slightly dusty around the edges. "There's a little rot on a small support beam," he tells them. "And the tar paper and shingles are gonna need to be replaced."

"What does that cost?" Mrs. Meyer asks.

"Depends on who does the work. Carwood says you've got a couple of guys who do roofs in town, and I'm sure they'll quote you a fair price, but it's maybe two hours work to get it to rights. If you know someone who can do it for the cost of the materials and a hot meal, you'll get a better deal."

"I'd rather pay a man a good wage for his work," Mr. Meyer says. "It's not hard to get a hot meal nowadays."

"I won't argue with that, sir, but even if the roofers are fair, they're going to quote you for materials at a mark-up plus the labor."

"How much for you to do it?" Mr. Meyer asks. "You sound like you could."

George thinks about it for a minute. "I could do it for materials at cost plus a dollar an hour."

Mr. Meyer looks at Mrs. Meyer, and they nod at one another. "Sounds fair," Mr. Meyer says. "Can you buy what you need and bring me a receipt?"

"I can."

"We'll do it that way, then. When can you come back?"

"How's tomorrow afternoon? Say around two?"

"That'll be just fine." Mr. Meyer holds out his hand and he and George shake on it. He turns and offers his hand to Carwood as well. "Appreciate the introduction, son."

"My pleasure," Carwood says, and they see themselves out after bidding goodbye to Mrs. Meyer.

Out on the street, George nudges Carwood in the ribs. "There. I've got a project. You happy?"

"Sure," Carwood replies. "It means they'll be a couple hours tomorrow I don't have to wonder what you're up to."

George chuckles and they walk back to the house in a companionable quiet. They walk in the front door, since Carwood needs to get to work, and they both look on in surprise as Joe passes by them, a pile of sheets in one hand and his cane in the other.

"Your Mama handed me these and said to get to work," Joe says in explanation.

"I can take over," Carwood replies.

"I've already started," Joe says. "But if you wanna get the upstairs rooms, that'd let me skip the stairs."

"I can do that," Carwood agrees. He walks to the back of the house to hang up his coat. Mama's in the living room dusting. "You put him to work?" Carwood asks.

"His mind's full of everything he's not anymore," Mama says. "It's clear on his face. I can't change that, but I can at least make him walk around and see he's not as bad off as he thinks he is."

Carwood kisses her on the top of the head as he passes to go back into the boarding house. "Thanks, Mama."

"No need for that, but you're welcome."

*

Dear Carwood,

George Luz and Joe Toye have come to visit me, though I'm not sure why. When George called, I was very surprised, but he seemed very interested in seeing me, so I agreed to the visit. It is possible George has become more rambunctious since last I saw him. Joe is quieter than I remember. I think his leg hurts him. I didn't know how to talk to him about it, as that sort of reassurance has never been my strong suit. George says he and Joe are going to drop in on you. By the time you receive this letter, they'll likely be there (they are leaving Boston this afternoon on the train). I wish you good luck.

Sherman is doing well, as am I. The work on the base is not interesting, but it fills my time during the day, and that's fine. I've been spending my evenings reading or listening to the radio, and each night I mark off another day on the calendar to remind myself I am closer to April.

Stay warm. It has been chilly in my living room this week. I think there might be an issue with the fireplace.

Yours,
Ron

*

Dear Ron,

Your warning letter arrived the same day George announced he and Joe have decided to stay around for awhile, and I feel this was very appropriate timing. I'm not actually certain Joe got a say in the decision, but he didn't fight it when George gave us the news. They'll keep the room at the far end of the house on the first floor for the foreseeable future, and I can tell Mama is pleased to hear it. She's taken to them very quickly; they're at the dinner table with us every night, and they're helping with all the little things around the house that sometimes fall to wayside when it's just Mama, Jack and I. I think she's very good for Joe. If his leg hurts him, he doesn't say, but it's clear he is still not comfortable with his injury. I think seeing Mama get around so well everyday is helping him a little, and George continues to rib him and treat him like he's the same old Joe Toye.

Jack is doing well in school. Joe has been helping him in the kitchen during meals, and it has freed up his time so he doesn't have to be so strict on his scheduling (and can, of course, spend more time with Betsy). George is picking up handyman jobs one after the other. He fixed a damaged roof for some elderly neighbors two days after he and Joe arrived, and they spoke so highly of him that several of their friends have called and requested his help as well. George, being George, has taken to it with his usual energy.

I'm spending my evenings in much the same way, though I did take an evening to fill out the necessary paperwork to re-enroll in college in the fall. It's a long ways off, but when I stopped by the campus to speak with a counselor, he said it was better to get the papers in early and have it all over and done with than have to worry about the fall rush.

By the time this letter reaches you, we'll be a week closer to April. I'm marking off my calendar as well.

Yours,
Carwood

*

In early March, Carwood comes back from a day of running errands to find George pacing on the back porch, smoking a cigarette in the determined way of a man who has already had a few before it.

"What's going on?" Carwood asks.

George startles at Carwood's voice. "Oh, you're back," he says.

"You alright, George?"

George sucks another drag of his cigarette, leans over the railing so he and Carwood are nearly nose-to-nose, and whispers, "What is the easiest way to get Joe laid without making him take a girl out?"

"If you're looking to buy him a date, I can't help you," Carwood says.

"Not what I mean," George replies. "I mean, where do you go in this town to meet a girl, have a couple of drinks, and then have some company where you don't exchange cash?"

"Down at the Honky Tonk," Carwood says. "I thought you'd have been by now."

"The Honky-what?" George asks.

"The Honky Tonk. Just through the woods, there," Carwood says pointing to the treeline. "Go about a mile, and you come out the other side, and it's just down a hill. Or you can drive to it. It's an easy route."

George looks mortally offended. "You mean to tell me we've been here almost a month, and you haven't taken us down to this place?"

"I don't go all that often," Carwood says. "And Jack doesn't either since he and Betsy got engaged, but you're all over town most days, George. I'd have thought someone would have mentioned it."

"Oh, yes, it's been the talk of the senior citizens of this fine city for weeks. They adore it."

Carwood shakes his head. "Alright, no need for that. I'll call up Murray and a couple other folks, and we can go tonight, okay? We'll probably stop at Lenny's first."

"As long as the night ends with someone touching Joe in an inappropriate way, I don't care where we start," George says.

"Is he really behaving so badly?"

George sighs like the world is on his shoulders. "No," he admits. "But he's not the only problem."

"What's the other problem?" Carwood asks.

George glances at the back door again. "Let's just say there are things I'd like to do in a foxhole with Joe, but I have neither a shovel nor his interest."

"Oh."

"Yeah. So maybe half the reason we need to go meet pretty girls who will be inappropriate is because I need to let off some steam."

"I'll call Murray as soon as I'm inside," Carwood says. "We'll get you both set to rights."

Murray agrees with no hesitation and promises to gather up a few more people to go with them. "About time you took these boys around to meet people," Murray says. "They've been here long enough."

"I've invited them out for beers before, and they've turned me down," Carwood says. "Take it up with them."

"Oh, I will," Murray promises, and he laughs as he bids Carwood goodbye.

Joe is not as quick to accept the invitation as Murray. "Who says I want to go out?" he asks when George and Carwood tell him about the plans as they're sitting down to dinner. Carwood had wanted to tell him earlier in the afternoon, but George had begged him to hold off, promising that if they did it when Mama was in the room, Joe'd be less likely to push away the idea quite so hard.

"C'mon, Joe," George says. "A few beers, some music, pretty girls to be impressed by your war wound."

"Oh, sure," Joe says, thumping his knuckles against his prostheses. "Missing body parts are always a hit with the ladies."

Mama slants Joe a stern look. "I won't have talk like that at my table, and you know it."

"I'm sorry," Joe says. "But really, Mrs. Lipton, what girl is gonna want to flirt with me when she gets a look at why I've got the cane?"

"Any girl who can see you from the neck up shouldn't have a problem," Mama says, and George howls with laughter while Carwood shakes his head.

"Mama," Carwood says.

"I'm speaking the truth, and I'm doing it from experience," she says to Carwood before turning her attention back to Joe. "You've been moping around my place for a month, and I'm tired of it. I know it's tough to go into the world again when you break, but the other option is to lock yourself and wilt, and I won't have that. I've made a go of it just fine, and neither of my legs work. You've got two perfectly good ones if you'd shake the cobwebs from your head, son."

Joe looks embarrassed as he stares down at his dinner. "I have not been moping," he says.

"You have too," George interjects. "You think the boys sent me to cheer you up because you didn't need it?"

Joe's eyes flash anger. "I didn't ask to be your burden, Luz."

"You're not a burden, ya jerk; you're my friend!" George slams his hand on the table in emphasis, and it makes Panzer startle and duck under the table. "You think I'd hound a burden to road trip it with me? You think I'd still be sharing a room with you if I didn't want to put up with you because I like you?"

Joe's quiet for a long moment. When he looks up from his plate, he looks at Carwood. "I don't want anyone to make mention of it," he says. "I don't like thinking about it, and I don't like talking about."

"I'll tell Murray when he picks us up," Carwood replies. "He'll make sure the rest of them know."

"Okay. I'll go, but not because you want me to, Luz. I owe Mrs. Lipton an apology."

"I accept," she says. "And don't you have too much fun. You've still got make breakfast tomorrow."

"Yes, Ma'am," Joe replies.

They go onto the back porch for their after-supper smoke, and Joe stares out into the yard as he says, "I'm trying to get used to it. I've been trying the whole time. It's harder than you'd think. We can't all adapt like Bill."

"And we don't want you to," Carwood says.

"If half the stuff Bill says he does with his leg is true, I sure as hell don't want you to adapt like that," George adds.

Joe chuckles and shakes his head. "I feel like people stare at me, okay? I feel like they're always watching."

"It's not the leg they're looking at, buddy," George says. "You're a good looking guy in good shape. They're probably wondering which college lost a star athlete to a knee injury."

Carwood watches a moment of naked yearning slide across George's face, and he sees it disappear when Joe turns to look at them both. "George is right and wrong," he says. "There's some people who are gonna look at you funny, but that's them, alright? You took more hits than any man in the whole damn division, and you're here on my porch tonight. That speaks to your fortitude, Joe. That speaks to your character."

Joe doesn't answer right away. "George," he says finally.

"Yes, Joe."

"You weren't kidding about the Sarge still giving his pep talks."

"It's Lieutenant," Carwood corrects just to see them laugh.

*

"Tell them no questions to Joe about his leg," Carwood tells Murray as they all pile into the car. "It's not a conversation Joe wants to have."

"Hell, why would you?" Murray asks, glancing in the rearview at Joe and George. "Jesus, people actually ask?"

"Yeah."

"Assholes."

That ingratiates Murray to George and Joe immediately, and they show their affection by trying to get him drunk. Murray manages to avoid the worst of their attempts until they get to the Honky Tonk, where George and Joe start buying shots.

"Oh, god," Murray says, his head in his hands. "They're bringing them over here."

"Never make friends with a paratrooper if you don't have the liver for it," Carwood says.

"I've been friends with you my whole life."

"And the only reason I haven't done what the boys are doing is because of that," Carwood replies.

Murray stares at the shots as they're lined up in front of him. They're all clear liquor, and there are four of them. "What are they?"

"Don't know," George says. "We told the guy behind the counter we wanted four clear shots of whatever he had."

Joe sets four shots in front of Carwood. Carwood gives him the stink eye. "I don't recall requesting to be part of this game."

"You got your mama to guilt me into coming out tonight," Joe replies. "Take your medicine."

"One of them's schnapps," George says, "I can smell it, but I don't know about the others."

"This is what you did for fun in the Army?" Murray asks Carwood.

"Oh, no, the shining example of Carwood Lipton did not partake in such base games," George says. "He was too busy getting yelled at by his superior officer for not taking care of himself when he had pneumonia.'

"What?" Murray asks. Joe snickers into his hand, obviously having heard the story. Murray looks from George to Carwood. "Wait. Wasn't Ron your superior officer?"

"Would you go lay down in there?!" Luz says in a perfect Speirs voice. "There's a bed in there with clean sheets just for you!"

"He did not say it like that," Carwood argues.

"Okay, so the wording isn't exactly right, but the sentiment is," George says. "We're in this shelled to hell town, and Speirs stomped around until he found a place with a completely intact bedroom because some Second Lieutenant--"

"I was still a Sergeant then, George."

"Because someone who was basically a Second Lieutenant was taking better care of his men than of himself."

"Which he did all the time," Joe adds. "You sneeze next to Lip, and he pulls chicken soup out of the air for you."

"Oh, he's always been like that," Murray says.

"Color me surprised," Luz deadpans. He holds up the first shot. "To the Sergeant Lieutenant. Thanks for saving our butts."

Carwood wants to argue that he didn't save anyone, not really, but George and Joe are wearing matching expressions warning him from starting anything. He just holds up one of his shotglasses, clinks it against theirs and Murray's, and drinks.

"Gin!" George yells.

"Vodka," Joe says through a coughing fit.

"Gin," Carwood says.

"Oh, god," Murray says, wheezing and clearly trying to catch his breath. "I got the schnapps."

The rest of the shots get taken between stories. Luz takes a turn doing the voice of everyone in the company. Halfway through a story about Skip, he stops, shakes his head, and says, "No, that's not right. It was more in the nose."

"Nah, you got it alright," Joe says. "Skip'd love it."

"Thanks, Joe."

By the time they take their fourth shot, Murray's wandered off somewhere, and Joe's got two girls fighting for his attention. One's squeezing his bicep, the other is leaning forward and nearly hanging off his other arm.

"I am not chopped liver!" George announces. "I am, in fact, quite good looking when not sitting next to this guy!"

"Maybe you shouldn't have sat next to me, George," Joe says, and the girls giggle as George fakes a pout.

Joe ends up going out back with one of the girls. The other looks like she's considering going for George, but he's got a sour look on his face, and she shrugs and walks off. Carwood moves to Joe's vacated chair and slumps into it, the alcohol making him loose-limbed. "Thought you wanted a girl, too," Carwood says.

"Not one that sees me as second place," George replies. He sinks low into his seat, chin tucked against his chest. "I dunno. Maybe it's not worth it."

"What?"

"Pining after that jerk or going after a skirt. Maybe I should just go celibate. I'm already doing it. It's not that bad."

"You're getting maudlin," Carwood says.

George shifts and looks at Carwood. His eyes are slightly glassy, but his voice is smooth as can be when he leans over and whispers in Carwood's ear, "Or we could dig a foxhole."

Carwood shakes his head. "I don't think we'll be doing that."

"Are you sure about that?" George asks, but it's in Ron's voice, and Carwood can't help the shudder that goes through him.

"Yeah," he says after a second. "I'm sure. Not that your impression doesn't help, but it still wouldn't be right."

"Fine." George leans back and stands up, wavering slightly as he does so. "I'm gonna go find a pretty girl in a short skirt and introduce myself."

"You have fun," Carwood says. He sits on his own for awhile, tapping his foot to the music and nursing a glass of water Old Ross drops off without Carwood requesting it. Joe comes in from out back, a grin wide on his face, and he throws himself into the chair across from Carwood.

"Okay," he says in the tone of a man who knows he was wrong, "this was a good idea."

"Glad to hear it."

"But don't tell George he was right."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

*

Joe's in high spirits the next day, whistling to himself as he makes up breakfast and taking the sheets away from Carwood before he can do more than pull them from the cupboard. "I got it, Lip," he says.

"It's my job, Joe."

"Not really. You're an owner. You should be strutting around the place."

"I don't really strut. I can take care of lunch if you're determined to make the beds."

"No, I'm doing the whole thing," Joe says. "You've been letting me get by just helping a little, but I can do more."

"It's no little thing to get everyone fed."

"You know what I mean, Lip. I don't know if this good mood's gonna last, but I know I want to use it while it does."

"Alright," Carwood says, holding his hands up in surrender. "I won't argue with you."

"Thanks."

Carwood walks back to the living room and looks at his mother. "So, Joe's taking on my tasks for the day."

"It'll be good for him," she replies. "It helps a body to keep moving."

"We have any special projects we've been putting off?"

"A month ago we did, but with those boys of yours making themselves at home, it's whittled down to nearly nothing." Mama thinks for a moment. "I can't think of a single thing you need to do right this second."

"I'm a working man with no work to do," Carwood says. "That's new."

"Don't you worry; you'll still get paid," Mama says with a grin. "We'll find some way to keep you busy."

"Well, for now, I'm going to take Panzer to the park and play some fetch," Carwood says. "Relish my inactivity a little."

"Take your scarf. The wind's picking up."

"Yes, Mama."

*

Joe takes over the beds the next day and the day after that. Jack comes home for lunch on that third day and announces Mr. Preston is so impressed with his work at school so far, he's offered Jack a job cleaning up around the shop.

"And he says once I'm done with my work this semester, he'll start letting me practice on the cars some as long as someone can watch me."

"Well, that's wonderful," Mama says.

"You sure you can run this place without me?" Jack asks. "Mr. Preston says I can make my schedule around my classes, but that means I'd have to help out less here."

"I can get breakfast and lunch on my own," Joe says before Carwood or Mama can reassure Jack. "You've taught me how to do it all; I'm sure I can handle it."

"Well, if you do that, I can take over the beds again," Carwood says.

"No, I can still do the beds."

"What my boy Joe here is saying," George says, patting Joe on the back, "is that he's very employable."

"That's not--"

"Well, if you're talking over all that, you'll have to let Carwood pay you," Mama says. "If I don't need him running around the house for me all day, I'll just let him take over the books."

"But what will you do, Mama?" Carwood asks.

"Well, I suppose I'll just have to enjoy a bit of early retirement," Mama says.

"No one's earned in more than you," Carwood says.

"And Joe will happily take your money," George adds. Joe tries to grumble, and George puts a hand over his mouth. "Happily," he repeats.

*

Dear Ron,

It's been a week since Joe took over all the duties around the boarding house, and I took over the books. It's been an enjoyable change, though I hadn't expected it to all come together so easily. George has really made a name for himself as a reliable handyman in a short time and spends the days running between jobs. Jack's start at Mr. Preston's auto shop has been very good. He's just picking up and filling out service slips for now, but he says the other men in the shop have been showing him some things. Mama has decided to join a ladies gardening society now that she has more free time. I spent the morning clearing a plot for her to plant flowers.

Panzer is doing well. I've been taking her for car rides in the evenings to prepare her for the trip to Boston. It's coming up so quickly. I'll be buying my ticket next week. I'm planning to take the afternoon train so I can make certain everything is in order before I leave. I should arrive in the early evening the day after as long as the train runs on time.

Yours,
Carwood

*

Ron calls three days before Carwood plans to leave. "Do you have your ticket?" he asks when Carwood picks up the phone.

"I do," Carwood says. "I picked it up today. I'll be arriving in the early evening."

"Do you have a suit?"

"Yes."

"Make sure you bring it. There's a place I want to take you."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"I have leave for the first week you're here, but I have to return to work after that."

"I'm sure I can keep myself entertained while you're gone."

"I assume so as well. Are you feeling alright?"

"Fit as a fiddle," Carwood says. "Has my latest letter arrived?"

"The one about Joe taking over things?"

"Yes."

"It has. It's been here a few days, but I held off replying since you'll be here by the time it would arrive down there."

"That's fine."

There's a pause, comfortable even though it goes on for nearly half a minute. "I've missed you," Ron says.

"The feeling is mutual," Carwood replies.

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Good."
"Goodbye, Carwood."

"Goodbye, Ron."

*

The night before Carwood leaves, George invites him to go for a walk. They get half a block down, Panzer trotting happily between them, when George says, "I'll probably be dragging Joe down to the Honky Tonk while you're gone. You think Murray will come along?"

"Sure. He likes it down there. Joe seems like he's doing alright."

"It's not for Joe's benefit," George says.

"Ah," Carwood replies. "Still no shovel for the foxhole?"

"And still no interest I can see," George replies. He sighs hard and rubs his hands over his face. "I don't pine, Lip, but I feel like I'm getting damn close. You got any advice?"

"I'm afraid not," Carwood says.

"Of all the times," George mutters. He shakes his head and reaches for his cigarettes, pulling out one for each of them and, as always, lighting Carwood's first. "You have advice for everything in the world but this, and you're the only other guy I know who's gone through it and gotten to the other side."

"It's a very different situation," Carwood says. "I'm sorry I can't help more."

"Yeah, yeah," George grouses, but he nudges Carwood with his shoulder to show it's okay. "If you come back and I'm gone, it's because I've done something stupid, and Joe's found a shovel and buried me in the yard."

"I'll keep that in mind," Carwood says.

*

Panzer isn't sure what to do when they get on the train. She lays down when Carwood tells her to, but she keeps looking around, clearly unsettled by the noise and the commotion. When the train starts to move, she yelps once and pops up, trying to find her footing.

"Alright," Carwood says, "come here." He pats his legs, and Panzer jumps into his lap, climbing into his jacket before he can even hold it open. She curls up on his left side, her face peeking out the front, and she doesn't stop shivering until they've been on their way for nearly an hour.

She looks relieved when she and Carwood step on the train platform a few hours later so Carwood can stretch before the next leg of the trip. She sniffs around the platform, pees, and then looks utterly confused when Carwood walks back towards the train. She plants herself just before the edge of the platform. Carwood manages to stop walking just before the leash would have jerked her. He whistles low, and she follows, but her ears and head are down, and she is clearly unhappy.

Carwood just picks her up when he sits down rather than make her climb up on her own. She climbs into his jacket again, but she doesn't shiver this time. At every stop, she lowers her head and her ears when she has to climb back on the train, but she doesn't get sick or so agitated that Carwood worries. She's never been like this in the car, he thinks. But then it's usually just the two of them driving around.

"Maybe we'll travel differently next time," he tells her as he feeds her some of the meat from the sandwiches his mother packed.

Panzer licks his fingers and puts her head back down. Carwood falls asleep to her warm against his side.

*

Ron and Sherman are waiting on the train platform when they arrive. Carwood carries Panzer off the train, and as soon as he sets her down and unhooks her leash, she runs for Sherman, the two of them nearly knocking each other over in their happiness to see one another.

"How was the trip?" Ron asks, taking Carwood's suitcase from his hand.

"Just fine. My metaphor isn't a natural on trains, but she did okay."

"The dog is just a dog," Ron says, but he smiles as he turns and leads Carwood to the parking lot and a car parked in the very back.

"Is this yours?" Carwood asks as he opens the back door for the dogs to jump in.

"Yes," Ron says. "I bought it when I returned."

"It's nice."

"Thank you."

Carwood gets into the passenger seat, and Ron slips into the driver seat. He pauses, hand on the wheel, as he checks all the mirrors, and then he turns and kisses Carwood on the mouth for just a moment. "Ron," Carwood breathes out.

"No one's around us," Ron says.

Carwood leans forward and returns the kiss, making sure it's just as quick as the first one. "I'm glad to see you," he says.

"Good," Ron replies, and his hands clench and unclench on the steering wheel a few times before he starts the car and backs out of the parking space. "Everything's good at home?"

"Yes."

"Good."

They ride in silence to Ron's building. Along the way, Carwood feels the soda water feeling come up in his veins. He reaches over once and touches Ron shoulder. Ron looks away from the road for a moment to smile at him. Carwood smiles in return and takes away his hand.

Ron's building is four stories. Ron lives on the first floor in the back. "Nice defensible position," Carwood says, and Ron chuckles as he unlocks the door and gestures Carwood inside.

The living room is cozier than Carwood expected, done up with a heavy rug and very comfortable looking couch and armchair. The wireless in the corner is large, and the fireplace is understated but handsome. There are books on every surface. Carwood sees a small dining nook to one side that must lead into a kitchen, and to the left, there's a hallway.

Ron turns him around before he can take in more, cups Carwood's face in his hands, and kisses him breathless while they stand in the middle of the room. "Come to bed," Ron murmurs against Carwood's neck.

"Yes," Carwood agrees.

Ron pulls him along to the end of the hall and into a bedroom on the left. He closes the door before the dogs can get in and drops onto the bed, dragging Carwood after him by the lapels of his shirt.

They get their shirts pulled off, but they don't get their trousers fully down, Ron jerking off the both of them in his hand while Carwood braces his arms on either side of Ron's head and tries not to collapse. He bites Ron on the neck without thinking, and Ron gasps and yanks at his hair.

"Sorry," Carwood mutters.

"No," Ron replies, and he moves his hand faster and tightens his grip, and Carwood comes groaning, muffled by the pressure of Ron's mouth.

"Come on," Carwood grunts, keeping his body pressed in close as Ron lets him go but keeps pumping himself. "Come on." He sucks a kiss over the bite on Ron's neck.

Ron comes a few minutes later, Carwood muttering encouragement the whole time. Carwood collapses onto Ron's chest, gasping for air as Ron traces his fingers up and down Carwood's back.

"I'm glad you're here," Ron says.

Carwood laughs and moves to heave himself up, but Ron holds him in place with an arm tight around his waist. "Good," he says, and he yelps when Ron flips him onto his back and straddles him. "If you're expecting me to reset right away, you'll be very disappointed."

"No," Ron replies, draping himself over Carwood. "I just want you close."

"Well, that I can do."

Ron nuzzles against Carwood's shoulder and breathes deep when he presses his nose to Carwood's neck. Carwood runs his hand up Ron's spine and sighs in contentment. They stay pressed together for a few minutes until Ron pulls away, trailing a kiss along Carwood's jaw and says, "Did you bring the suit?"

"Yes."

"Good. I want to take you somewhere tonight if you're not too tired."

"I'm not." Carwood props himself up on his elbows and smiles when Ron kisses him.

Ron insists Carwood take the first shower and orders him to shave. He irons Carwood's suit, shirt, and tie while Carwood's making himself presentable. When Carwood comes out of the bathroom, towel around his hips, Ron presses close to him and makes him promise not to get dressed until Ron himself has gotten cleaned up. Carwood gives his word he'll wait.

"Where are we going?" Carwood asks as he stands in the bathroom doorway and looks at Ron's silhouette through the shower curtain.

"Just a club I know," Ron says. "You'll like it."

"I can't picture you at a dancing club."

"It's not that kind of club," Ron replies.

"Well, what kind is it, then?"
"It's a speciality club."

Carwood chuckles and turns away from the bathroom door. "Alright then," he says, "If you think so much of it, I'm sure I'll enjoy it."

Ron finishes his shower and takes care of his own shave, then he grabs Carwood by the arm and leads him into the bedroom. Carwood's suit is hanging from a hook on the wall, and his dress shoes are beneath it. "Don't do up your cuffs," Ron says as they both start to dress.

"Okay." Carwood gets into his trousers, shirt, tie, and vest, and then he turns towards Ron, holding up his hands to show his unfastened cuffs. "Alright," he says. "Why am I doing this?"

"I got you something," Ron says, and he holds out a small black box.

Carwood opens the box and sucks in a breath. "Ron--"

"They're monogrammed," Ron says.

"I can see that." Carwood lifts one out of the box. "They're gold?"

"Yes. 24 karat, same as your watch."

"Ron…this is a lot."

"No, it's not," Ron says like that settles it. He takes the box from Carwood, and then the cufflink from his hand. "Here, let me put them on for you."

"I…" Carwood can't speak as Ron fastens his cuffs. Ron puts his complete attention on the task, making certain the cuffs are perfectly aligned and polishing the cufflinks with the sleeve of his own shirt before stepping back.

"Do you like them?"

"They're beautiful," Carwood says. "But, Ron, really. They're...they're a lot."

Ron looks confused. "I thought you'd like them." He touches Carwood's wrist above his watch. "They match your watch."

"They're gold cufflinks, Ron. I know they're not cheap."

"I can afford them if that's what you're worried about, and I don't expect you to respond in kind."

Carwood shakes his head. "It's not about whether or not I can match the gift. It's--" He turns his hand so he can hold Ron's. "You don't need to take care of me like this, okay?"

"I don't understand," Ron says. "This is...I'm taking care of you."

Ron's spirited looting in Europe comes to Carwood's mind. So does the number of times Ron made certain to double and triple-check the address with the clerk before sending anything along. He looks down at the cufflinks and his watch and considers how much he could get for them if something were to go wrong.

"I can take care of myself on the money front," Carwood says slowly. "I don't need gifts that I can sell off if times get bad."

Ron looks mulish. "But--"

"Yell at me when I don't get enough sleep," Carwood cuts in. "Send me letters and call me, and hell, take me wherever you're taking me tonight. That's what I want. I don't need this sort of care, alright?"

Ron doesn't say anything for a minute. "But you'll keep them?" he asks.

Carwood can't help but smile at Ron's earnestness. "Yes," he says. "I'll keep them."

"Okay." Ron smooths his vest and then his hair, and he sighs and says, "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"Not uncomfortable," Carwood says. "You just surprised me, is all."

"You're sure?"

"Yes." Carwood touches Ron's arms and leans in to kiss him. Ron responds warmly, and they stand there for a few minutes, just kissing like earlier.

"I made a reservation," Ron says when they pull apart. "And it'll take a little time to get there with the traffic."

"Well, we should go then," Carwood says, but he's leaning in for another kiss as he says it.

Chapter Text

*

They manage to make it to the club with five minutes to spare. Carwood can't keep the grin off his face as Ron holds the door for him. "We're late," Ron mutters.

"We are not," Carwood replies. He starts when Ron places a hand on the small of his back after the door closes. "Ron?"

"It's okay," Ron says. "Like I said, it's a speciality club."

Before Carwood can ask, a man walks down the hallway. He's middle-aged, wearing a clearly expensive suit and smiles at the sight of Ron. "Mr. S.," he greets, holding his hand out for a shake. "Very good to see you again."

"Thank you, Ted."

Ted turns and looks at Carwood. "And this must be the famed Mr. L."

"It is," Ron replies, and Carwood doesn't know what to do with the way Ron's face softens and lights up as he makes introductions. "Ted, this is Mr. L. Mr. L, this is Ted. He operates this club."

"It's very nice to meet you," Carwood says. "But you can just call me--"

"Ah," Ted says, holding up a hand. "You'll be Mr. L. per club policy."

"I'm sorry, but I don't know club policy." Carwood glances at Ron. He jerks in surprise when Ron leans in and kisses him. "What--"

"It's a speciality club," Ron says again. "For men like us."

"What--oh." Carwood looks from Ron to Ted. "Oh."

"Last initials only when we're in the lobby here," Ted says as he gestures to the hallway and the room that opens up beyond it. "Once you're in the main dining room, you're welcome to refer to yourself by whatever you prefer. Only members and their guests are allowed in that area. If the red lights on the walls start to blink, we are being raided, and you'll need to look inconspicuous when the police come in. We are listed as a private gentlemen's club, and we are particular about our membership, so raids are rare. We just like to be prepared."

"I can understand that," Carwood says, the whole idea of where he is and what it means still working through his mind. "You've got a very nice place here," he says to cover as he continues to process.

Ted looks amused and gives Ron an approving nod. "He's as polite as you said."

"He is," Ron replies, and the way he smiles at Carwood tells him it's a compliment.

"I'll leave you to your evening," Ted says, shaking hands with Ron and Carwood once more before walking off.

Carwood lets Ron lead him by the hand on his back. They walk into the main dining room through a double-set of doors that are covered in black leather. The room is laid out with tables in a half-circle around a large dance floor and beyond it, a raised stage. "You told me it wasn't a dancing club," Carwood says.

Ron beams at him. "It's not," he says. "But you like it?"

There are two men by the bar. They are holding hands. One leans over and kisses the other on the cheek. There is a couple at a small table being served dinner, holding hands as their meal is delivered. There are men on the dance floor, dancing just like they were anywhere a man would go with a woman.

"We can really just be here like this?" Carwood asks. "Like who we are, I mean."

"Yes," Ron says.

"Ron…" Carwood shakes his head. "This is the best welcome you could have given me to Boston."

Ron kisses him, and Carwood feels giddy at the fact that he can. He kisses back, but he pulls away when he hears a wolf whistle and a very familiar voice calling out, "Ron, did you finally drag Mr. Wonderful into the--oh my god."

Carwood looks over Ron's shoulder and can't breathe. Captain Nixon is clearly frozen mid-stride, a drink in one hand, his mouth stuck half-open.

"It's okay," Ron says, pressing his hand firmly against Carwood's back. "It's fine." He turns towards Captain Nixon and grins. "Good to see you, Lewis."

Captain Nixon shakes his head. "Holy hell. Are you serious with this, Ron?" Captain Nixon holds up a hand before Ron can answer. "Don't answer that." He raises his eyebrows at Carwood. "Really? This guy?"

Carwood laughs without meaning to, Nixon's incredulous tone cutting the tension from him completely. "Yes," he says. "This guy."

"Well." Nixon takes a drink from his glass. "I won't even ask how. You're not the only set of opposites in the room. Let me buy you two a drink."

"Lewis and I ran into each other here a while ago," Ron explains to Carwood as they walk over to the bar. "It was before Christmas. I didn't mention you by name even after."

"I appreciate that," Carwood says.

"What'll it be?" Nixon asks as they line up at the bar.

"Whiskey's fine," Ron says.

"The same," Carwood says.

"Three more of these," Nixon says, tapping his finger against his now-empty glass, "and another of whatever non-alcoholic abomination Dick has forced you to create for him."

It takes a moment for Carwood to understand what he's heard. "Wait. Dick? As in--"

"Yes," Nixon says. "No need to rank and serial number him."

"Of course," Carwood replies on autopilot. He glances around.

"He's hiding in the back right now," Nixon says, reading the look on Carwood's face. "I spotted Ron with you--not realizing it was you, clearly--and Dick refused to take part in any," Nixon makes especially exaggerated air quotes, "'harassment' he assumed I would drop on Ron, here." Nixon makes a face when the bartender places a whiskey and something clear and fizzy with lime in front of him. "Although, given he makes me carry him club sodas and limes, you think he'd cut me a break. C'mon, we're over here."
"We don't have to sit with them," Ron says, picking up both his and Carwood's drinks.

"Yes, you do," Nixon calls over his shoulder. "I just bought you a round."

"It's fine," Carwood tells Ron, though he feels like he's falling out of a plane with no parachute. "It'll be nice to catch up."

"You are never gonna believe who Mr. Wonderful is," Nixon says as he walks up to the table and puts down the club soda and lime. Carwood catches the fact that Nixon is blocking Winters' view so that he can go for a big reveal, and it makes him shake his head.

"I continue to be unconcerned, Lew, given as it's only our business if Ron wants to--" Winters cuts off as Nixon steps to one side and reveals Carwood. "Well," he says after a moment, "It's always good to see you."

"And you," Carwood replies. Winters gestures to the two vacant chairs at the table, and Carwood and Ron sit. "How are you?" Carwood asks.

"Doing well, thank you," Winters says. "And I think we should just agree that everyone use first names. That alright with you?"

Carwood shrugs. "I'm just a civilian now. Works fine for me."

"And Ron's used to it already," Nixon adds as he drapes an arm along the back of Winters' chair. "So," he says, dragging out the 'o,' "how'd you two crazy kids end up here?"

"A promise," Carwood says. "And a metaphor."

"The dog is a dog," Ron replies.

Carwood grins as he takes a sip of his whiskey. He puts down his glass, turns it slowly in his hands, and says, "I have a few questions, if that's okay."

"After enlistment but before jump training," Nixon says. "No real hanky panky on the line unless you count hand--"

"Stop talking," Dick says, looking like he's been embarrassed enough for life. He gives Carwood a reassuring smile. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

"No, actually," Carwood replies. "I was just going to ask what you've been up to and how you found this place."

"You need permission to ask after us?" Nixon asks.

"Well, you were my commanding officers."
"He has a point, Lew."

"Eh," Nixon says, clearly disinterested.

"We're doing just fine," Winters says. "I'm working for Lew's family, and he's trying not to get into trouble."

"Sure," Nixon agrees in a tone that clearly calls Dick a liar. "We found this place because I've known about it for awhile. Ron came across it on his own as far as I know."

"You hear rumors," Ron says to Carwood.

"And how are you?" Winters asks Carwood.

Carwood can't help the glance he gives Ron. Ron is smiling at him softly, leaning towards him with a hand warm on Carwood's knee. "Doing just fine, thanks. Ron came to visit for Christmas, and we got things sorted, and here we are."

"Congratulations," Winters says, holding up his glass. "To many happy returns."

"Sap," Nixon mutters, but he clinks his glass with the rest of them.

"What about other things?" Winters asks. "Your family and the like?"

"They're fine as well, and I'm starting school again in the fall."

"Good to hear that," Winters replies. "Still engineering?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

"Okay, we're dancing," Nixon says, putting down his drink and grabbing Dick by the hand. "Good to see you, Carwood. Glad you're happy, et cetera, but if I don't pull him away, he's just going to throw polite questions as you the rest of the night."

"Lew--" is as much as Dick gets out before Nixon yanks him towards the dance floor with clear intent.

"Huh," Carwood says, watching as Nixon leads Winters in a two-step.

"I was surprised to see them here," Ron says, his mouth close to Carwood's ear. He slides an arm around Carwood's shoulders and pulls him closer. Carwood almost protests until he remembers they're in a place where this is allowed. He ends up half-leaning on Ron as they watch the dance floor.

"They're a good fit," Carwood says. "They've always had an understanding of one another."

"Yes," Ron agrees. He kisses behind Carwood's ear and smiles when Carwood turns and kisses him on the mouth. "Dinner?"

"Yes, please."
They eat dinner, and they dance a little, and when Ron gets up to get them one last round for the road, Nixon comes over, points at Carwood and says, "You're sure about him?"
Carwood smiles. "Yes."

"Because you know he's a weird one, right?"

"I'm happy," Carwood says.

Nixon waves him off. "Alright. Fine. Good luck."

"Thank you, Sir."

"And never call me that again."

Carwood laughs. "I'll do my best."

Ron comes back with the drinks, eyeing Nixon as he walks away. "Everything okay?"

"Just fine," Carwood says. "We were saying goodnight."

*

Halfway back to Ron's that night, Carwood looks over and asks, "What are we doing tomorrow?"

"I thought we'd see some of the monuments," Ron says. "Or I could show you around my neighborhood."

"We could do both," Carwood offers. "Monuments in the morning, your neighborhood in the afternoon."

"I was hoping to only have the afternoon free," Ron says, his voice promising many, many things.

"Monuments then," Carwood decides. "Your neighborhood the day after."

"Okay."

*

Carwood wakes up the next morning to Ron's mouth on his inner thigh, just below his scar. "Oh," he says.

"I woke up, and you were here," Ron says. "And I wanted to touch you."

"Alright," Carwood agrees. He gasps when Ron's lips buss over his balls. "Ron."

"Has anyone ever done this for you?" Ron asks. He slides his lips up Carwood's shaft.

"No," Carwood says. He writhes when Ron's traces the ridge at the head of his dick with his thumb. "Jesus."

"May I?" Ron asks. He kisses the tip of Carwood's dick.

"Yes. Please."

Ron kisses the tip of Carwood's dick again, then laps at the ridge around the top, and then he puts his mouth on Carwood's dick and sucks as he lowers his head.

"Shit," Carwood gasps, hands clenching in the sheets. He feels Ron prying his fingers loose so he can slide his fingers between Carwood's. "Ron. Shit."

Ron dips his head lower, then pulls up, then down again. He pulls his mouth off Carwood and bites at the point where Carwood's hip meets his leg. He sucks hard, and Carwood knows he'll have a mark by the time Ron is done.

"Jesus," Carwood breathes out when Ron lets up and licks Carwood's hipbone. "Where did you--"

Ron starts sucking Carwood's dick again, and he keeps it up until Carwood rolls his hips hard and comes. Carwood expects him to pull away, but Ron keeps sucking as Carwood goes off in his mouth. When he's finished, Ron pushes away from Carwood to spit in the wastebin before pulling Carwood close.

"Come here," Carwood mutters, taking Ron in hand. "I don't know how to do--"

"It's okay," Ron says. "Just touch me."

Carwood grips Ron's dick and jerks him off as fast and hard as he can. Ron grunts into his mouth and digs his fingers into Carwood's sides and comes on Carwood's legs and stomach.

"Where did you learn that?" Carwood asks a few minutes later. Ron's head is on his shoulder, his fingers trailing up and down Carwood's chest. Carwood is tracing the shape of Ron's shoulder blades and smiling at the disarray of Ron's hair.

"One of the men I've been with before showed me," Ron says. "I enjoyed it, and then I found out I enjoy doing it."

"I liked it."

"Good."

Carwood smiles against Ron's forehead and kisses him there. "I'm not sure I want to go to the monuments," he admits. "I feel like I could just stay here all day."

"The dogs need to go out."

Carwood hums agreement and raises his free arm above his head to stretch. "But we're okay for a few more minutes, right?"

"Yes."

They lie together in quiet, the only sounds the traffic outside and the dogs snuffling around. "I've never felt like this," Carwood says after a measure.

"Like what?" Ron asks.

"Comfortable, I suppose. With Vanessa, once it was done, I wanted to get on to the next thing as quickly as possible, but getting up in a few minutes seems like such a pain."

"What about with the other men?"

"That was different, too. It wasn't like this. There was...fear...around it. Always afraid of getting caught or someone finding out."

"Someone could still find out," Ron says. "George and Lewis and Dick already know."

"But I know they won't tell," Carwood replies. "And they're not going to walk in on the locked door out front."

"No." Ron pushes himself up and looks Carwood in the face. Carwood looks back at him, waiting him out. "I'm glad you're here," Ron says finally, but the weight of it is heavier than it should be. It makes Carwood feel important and valued, and he combs his fingers through Ron's hair and smiles.

"So am I," he says with the same weight, and Ron smiles at him.

*

They get out of bed a few minutes later, less because they want to and more because Sherman and Panzer are both whining at the front door. "Take them around the block," Ron says as they pull on their clothes, "and I'll start breakfast."

"Alright. Do I need to pick up anything while I'm out?"

"No, I'm stocked."

Carwood takes the dogs around the block as instructed. Sherman leads the way, sniffing and seeming to show Panzer around the place. Panzer is nervy, uncertain what to do with so many people and so much noise, but she stays close to Sherman and Carwood and seems to do okay.

"How was it?" Ron calls from the kitchen when Carwood lets himself in.

"Just fine. Panzer's a little overwhelmed, I think."

"It's much noisier here," Ron says. He looks up from the stove when Carwood walks into the room and leans against the wall. "You should call your mother and let her know you arrived safely," he says.

"You should have reminded me when I went out," Carwood says. "There's a payphone at the end of the block. Let me get some change, and I--"

"Just use my phone," Ron interrupts.

Carwood glances at the phone on the wall. "You're sure? It's expensive."

"It's what I use to call you," Ron says like that settles it.

Carwood considers arguing, but Ron glances up from making breakfast again, looking expectant, and Carwood reaches for the phone, dialing home and listening to it ring while Ron moves around behind him.

"Toast?" Ron asks in an undertone.

"Please," Carwood says.

"Lipton Boarding House, this is Joe speaking."

"Joe, hey, it's Carwood."

"Hey! Your mama was wondering when you'd call. Let me grab her."

"Thank you." Carwood drums his fingers on the wall next to the phone while he waits. He can hear some ambient noise on the other end of the line, Joe saying something to George, George responding, and then his mother's on the line.

"Good morning, honey," she greets him. "How's Boston?"

"Oh, just fine," Carwood says. "Got in right on time last night, and then Ron took me out to dinner at a place he knows."

"Well, that sounds nice. What are you up to today?"

"I'll be honest, Mama, I'm being a little lazy. We're just getting around to breakfast."

"Well, for shame, and on vacation," she teases. "You're going to come home with bad habits."

"I promise I'll break them as quick as I can."

"Alright, then."

"We're going to see some monuments today," Carwood tells her. "Do you want me to bring you anything?"

"Just send me a picture postcard," she says. "Whatever strikes your fancy."

"I will."

"Oh! Before I forget, you got a piece of mail yesterday. George and Joe got the same, and it's an invitation to Harry Welsh's wedding. I haven't opened yours, but I could."

"Please do. Just go on ahead and RSVP for me. I promised Harry back in Europe I wouldn't miss it."

"George and Joe said the same. I'm going to speak with Jack and Betsy this week and see if they can help out around here while you boys are gone."

"You let me know if I need to ask Murray or Vanessa to give you a hand," Carwood replies. "They'll drop everything for you."

"I think we'll get on just fine. I'm going to let you go so we don't hurt Ron's phone bill overly much. You give him my best."

"I will, Mama."

"And write us so we know what you're up to."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Goodbye, Carwood."

"Bye, Mama." Carwood hangs up the phone and turns towards Ron. "Mama sends her best."

"That's nice of her."

"I got an invite to Harry's wedding."

"Mine arrived two days ago," Ron says as he spoons eggs and bacon onto two plates. "I haven't decided if I'm attending yet."

"Why wouldn't you? You and Harry got along well enough."

"Weddings make me...uncomfortable." Ron lays the plates on the table along with forks and napkins. "Get the toast, will you?"

"Sure." Carwood grabs the plate with toast and steps out of Ron's way so he can get coffee mugs and the pot. "Why do they make you uncomfortable?"

Ron sits and puts his napkin in his lap. He pours them both coffee. "They always have. I spend the time wondering if all the pomp and circumstance are worth it."

"That's an odd thing to think at a wedding," Carwood says.

"They're impractical," Ron replies. "I'd much rather go to a Justice of the Peace myself."

"Is that what you did with your wife?"

"No, but I wanted to."

"Vanessa and I had a full wedding," Carwood says. "Not a large one, but a proper one."

"And look where that ended up."

Carwood gives Ron a hard look. "Don't be mean. You'd think you'd be pretty okay with where it ended up."

Ron's face screws up in an apologetic scowl. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant…" He takes a drink of his coffee, clearly trying to sort out his thoughts. "Even when I married my wife I knew I didn't love her like I should, and even before I married her, I knew men who felt the same, and so it's hard for me to go to a wedding and not think about it."

Carwood considers that as he butters his toast. "I can understand what you're saying, but can you think of a man more unquestionably head over heels for a woman than Harry Welsh for Kitty Gregson?"

"No, but what if she's not as head over heels for him? I've seen it before."

"You never heard her letters, I guess."

"No, I didn't."

"You wouldn't be questioning it if you heard her letters," Carwood says with a smile.

Ron eats a piece of bacon. "Letters can be over-emotional."

Carwood shakes his head. "Ron, if you don't want to go, don't go. Make up an excuse or something, but I don't want to sit here and have breakfast with you if you're going to talk like this."

Ron looks surprised. "I'm not talking about us. I'm talking about other people."

"I didn't say you were talking about us, but now I'm wondering if you're trying to."

The silence that falls isn't comfortable. It makes Carwood itch under his skin. He waits Ron out, and he's finished his breakfast save for his coffee before Ron speaks again.

"It feels too easy to have you here," Ron says. "It feels like an ambush."

"I don't understand."

"I know." Ron drains his coffee and clunks his cup back on the table. He shakes his head. "I don't know how to explain it better than that. It...it feels like a trap that you're here and that everything feels the same."

Carwood thinks about that. "I'm still not certain what you mean."

Ron sighs. "I'm not certain I do, either."

Carwood leans forward and waits for Ron to look at him. "I want to be here," he says. "I'm happy to be here. Hell, I'm excited to be here. Every time I let my thoughts wander the last couple of weeks, they've come straight to this trip, to seeing you again and talking to you in person again and…" Carwood feels the flush that creeps up his face, but he doesn't break eye contact. "And doing what we did this morning again except doing it in a place where there's not a time limit or having to be careful about how or when we leave."

"I believe you," Ron says. "And that's true for me, but it still feels uneasy."

"Why? It wasn't uneasy at Christmas, was it?"

"No."

"Then what's different?"

"It's been four months since I've seen you," Ron says. "I was expecting you to change your mind."

Carwood can't find words for a moment. Ron just looks at him blandly. "What. Ron. Why?"

"I don't know. I just expected it."

Carwood shakes his head. "No," he says. "No." He repeats with more emphasis. He wants to explain to Ron how wrong he is, how this trip, this relationship they're building up into, it feels like everything Carwood's ever needed. He's worried it'll be too many words though, and that Ron will tune him out if he tries too hard. He searches for how to say it simply, and then it comes to him. "I promised you I'd tell you if I changed my mind, right?"

"Yes."

"And you believe that promise?"

"Of course."

"Well, I haven't told you anything, so stop assuming I'm going to."

Ron thinks about that. He nods after a few seconds. "Alright."

Carwood drains his coffee and stands up. "Okay I'm going to do your dishes, and then you're going to show me some monuments." He takes his dishes to the sink and starts the water. Ron comes up behind him a moment later with his own, and he rests his head on Carwood's shoulder for a moment. He doesn't say anything, but Carwood feels the kiss against his shoulder and knows Ron has heard him loud and clear.

"You'll RSVP for the wedding?" Carwood asks. "We could split a room."

"Yes," Ron replies, and Carwood smiles as Ron steps away to get the pan.

*

Panzer gets more comfortable with the noise and the crowds as they visit the different monuments. Carwood points out it to Ron, and Ron replies that any animal can get used to most anything given enough time. They visit the USS Constitution, the Old State House, and the house that was once owned by Paul Revere. Ron drums his fingers on the roof of the car as he considers where to take Carwood after that.

"I don't want to go to Bunker Hill," he says.

"Neither do I," Carwood replies.

"Or the park. They have soldier monuments as well."

"I don't want to see any of that," Carwood says. "What about the library?"

Ron nods. "Yes. You'll like it. We'll have to drop the dogs at my apartment first."

"That's fine."

They leave the dogs and go to the library, Ron smiling widely when they walk inside and Carwood just stares at the size of the place. "If Mama saw this, her head would roll off her shoulders," he whispers to Ron.

"They've got postcards here," Ron replies.

*

Dear Mama,

This postcard is from the Boston Public Library. It's the biggest library I've ever seen. If you went in, I doubt you'd want to leave. The weather is fine. Panzer is well. Ron sends his regards. Tomorrow, he's showing me around his neighborhood. I'll send a real letter soon.

Your son,
Carwood
*

They walk side-by-side when Ron shows Carwood the neighborhood the next day. The dogs keep pace, and Carwood nods when Ron points out landmarks. There are a couple of corner stores, a full grocery, a few diners, and a movie house. They buy tickets for the matinee, and the man who tears them pointedly looks the other way when the dogs come along.

They sit in the back row, dead center, and watch the movie in silence. Halfway through, Ron reaches out and touches Carwood's hand, and Carwood spread his fingers so Ron's hand can fit on top of his. They're not touching when the lights come up, but as they walk down the aisle to the exit, Ron presses his hand to Carwood's back.

"Did you like it?"

"It was fine," Carwood says. "The sound went a little funny."

"I heard it, too."

Ron cooks for him that night, making pork chops in gravy with green beans. He sends Carwood to the corner to pick up a loaf of bread to go with it, and when Carwood comes back, the lights are down low, and there are candles on the table.

"What's this?" Carwood asks, grinning at the whole thing.

"I was going to take you to a restaurant I know," Ron says, "a fancier one, but I thought you might like this better."

"This is good," Carwood says. "This is really good."

*

The night before Ron goes back to work, he triple-checks the food, the dishes, and the household supplies. Carwood watches him go room to room and finally clears his throat quietly to get his attention. "I know where the store is if you run out of anything," he says.

"I should have taken off more time," Ron replies. "I have the leave. But I was worried they'd ask why I'd need your entire visit off when you're just a man I know from the service."

"Ron, it's fine. I've got the dogs, the radio, your books, and I know my way around the city a little. I can see to myself, and I'll tell you what I've done when you come home at night."
Ron's face softens from its concerned frown, and he walks over to Carwood, crowding him against the wall. "You'll be here when I get home," he says.

"Yes," Carwood replies. The kiss Ron gives him makes him shudder and grab at Ron's collar.

"Let's go to bed," Ron says.

Carwood can't even laugh at Ron's eagerness because Ron kisses him again as he drags him down the hall, and it's all Carwood can do to match the pressure and movement of Ron's mouth to his own and not fall on his face.

He ends up flat on his back on the bed, arms and legs splayed from Ron pushing him backwards. He tries to get up on his elbows, but Ron's on him before he can, pressing his whole body against Carwood as he kisses him again. "Stay put," Ron says when he pulls away. "Please," he adds like it's an afterthought.

Carwood considers it as Ron slides off him and starts to strip him. He reaches for the buttons of his shirt, but Ron stops him with a look. "Okay," Carwood says, his breath quickening even though he's barely moved. "I'll stay put."

"Good."

Ron gets him naked the same way he did the night out back in the Honky Tonk. He folds each piece of clothing and sets it aside on the dresser and then strips himself. Once he's naked, he kneels on the floor next to the bed and runs his hands over the tops of Carwood's feet. "I meant to do this the first night you were here," he says as he traces Carwood's instep. It makes Carwood twitch, and Ron smiles before touching each of Carwood's toes one at a time. "But then you were here, and all I wanted was to have you in bed."

"Ron," Carwood breathes out.

"And I meant to do it the other nights, but I just kept wanting you in bed," Ron says as he traces the bones of Carwood's ankles and then leans down and kisses softly just above each one. "And you're going to leave again--"

"Ron--"

"And I don't want to forget to do this," Ron continues like Carwood hasn't interrupted. "Because you'll be here when I come home tomorrow."

There's so much feeling in his voice that Carwood blinks back tears. He lifts his head to watch Ron spread his hands wide across Carwood's calves. "I will," he says. He sighs when Ron leans forward, picks up Carwood's left leg, and trails his mouth from foot to knee. He puts that leg down and repeats the trailing kiss on Carwood's right leg. He gets off his knees and climbs on the bed, pulling at Carwood's thighs to get him closer and balance Carwood's hips on his thighs.

"This alright?" Ron asks.

"Yes," Carwood says. He hisses when Ron very carefully traces his thumbs over his kneecaps. "That tickles."

Ron grins and does it again. Carwood twitches, and Ron leans down, kissing each knee cap. "Are you very ticklish?"

"Not really." Carwood laughs when Ron traces the back of his knees. "Some," he amends.

Ron looks pleased. He runs his hands up and down the outside of Carwood's thighs, then ducks his head and kisses just above Carwood's knees. "You're flushing," he says.

"Surprised I have enough blood to do that," Carwood replies. He laughs when Ron bites lightly low on his inner thigh. "How long you going to keep this up?"

"I don't know," Ron replies. He bites the other thigh, then maneuvers Carwood's legs off of him before pressing at Carwood's shoulder until he lays on his side. "Stay put."

"Alright." Carwood tucks one arm under himself and lets the other drop against the comforter. He watches through half-closed eyes as Ron mouths up his side, pausing to trace the shape of Carwood's ribcage with his hands. "You're mapping me," Carwood says.

"Yes," Ron replies. He skates his hand across Carwood's chest and traces around his nipples. Carwood groans, and Ron maneuvers to kiss him, swallowing the sound. He traces Carwood's pecs with his fingers, then down the line of his sternum before splaying the hand across Carwood's abdomen and pressing himself to his full length along Carwood's back. He wraps his arm around Carwood's head and rubs his nose to the back of Carwood's neck. "Do you remember this?"

Carwood thinks about it as Ron presses against him even more. "We slept sort of like this when I was sick."

"I waited until you fell asleep, and then I'd sleep like I am now," Ron says.

Carwood closes his eyes to concentrate on the feeling of it. Ron's legs are angled against his, their knees lining up. They're joined together from hip to shoulder. Ron's arm around his head isn't touching him, but Carwood can feel the heat from it against his neck and head. "Why?"

"I wanted to protect you."

Carwood breathes in deeply, then out again, and he smiles when Ron noses into his hair and kisses him along his hairline. "I don't think anyone would ever believe what a romantic you are."

"I don't want people to know," Ron says. "Just you."

"I won't tell anyone."

"Good." Ron presses against Carwood until Carwood turns onto his stomach. Ron pushes himself up and back until he's resting on his heels, legs on either side of Carwood's backside. "Okay?" he asks.

"Yes." Carwood sighs when Ron presses his hands firmly against his shoulders and then slides them down. "That's nice."

Ron repeats the motion a few more times, then gently tugs Carwood's left arm up and massages it from fingertip to shoulder. He repeats the massage on Carwood's right arm. After that, he backs up and cups Carwood's ass in either hand. Carwood jumps at the first contact, and Ron kisses the dimples in his lower back. "It's okay."

"I trust you," Carwood says.

Ron slides his hand lower down, trailing his thumbs back and forth at the crease where Carwood's ass meets his legs. Carwood squirms and pushes his hips towards Ron. "You like that?" Ron asks.

"Yes."

Ron repeats the gesture with a bit more force, then kisses at each crease as he trails his hands down the back of Carwood's legs.

"Jesus," Carwood breathes out. He squirms and then stops himself. "Ron. Jesus."

Ron finishes tracing Carwood's body and pulls himself back up, settling his weight so they're lined up against each other. Ron's arms are over Carwood's, and their legs are intertwined. "There are things I'm bad at saying," Ron says. "I always screw it up when I try."

"It's okay," Carwood says. "I think I've figured it out." He turns his head so Ron can see him smile. Ron smiles back at him, dipping his head so he can kiss the corner of Carwood's mouth.

"You're going to be here when I get home tomorrow," Ron murmurs against Carwood's shoulder.

"I can make dinner," Carwood offers.

"No, you're no soldier's wife. We'll do it together."

"If that's what you want."

"It is."

"Alright," Carwood says. They lie there, Ron's weight and warmth covering Carwood, and Carwood doesn't have the words for how it feels. He closes his eyes and flexes his arms and smiles when Ron reaches for his hands.

When they finally pull apart, it's only to pull down the covers and crawl into bed together, Ron curled around Carwood. Carwood pulls on Ron's arm to bring him closer, and they fall asleep on one half of the bed. The dogs have the good sense to take the other side as their own.

*

Carwood spends his days walking the dogs, reading Ron's books, listening to the radio, and writing letters to his mother, George, and Joe. He explores the city on his own some, and when Ron comes home at night, they cook dinner, and Carwood tells Ron what he's seen or done.

"You're not bored?" Ron asks. "I should have taken more leave."

"I'm not bored," Carwood assures him. "I've never had a vacation where I could come and go as I please. It's nice."

"Do you want to see a movie tonight?" Ron asks. "The theater just got in a new one."

"That sounds fine."

They go to the movie; it's crowded this time, so they don't hold hands, but Ron's leg presses against Carwood's the whole time, and it's almost as good. When they walk back to Ron's they crowd each other on the sidewalk a little, and Carwood has to keep his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out. He feels content in a way he's never felt as they step into Ron's apartment. The dogs come up to greet them, and Carwood wonders how to explain to Ron how he's feeling. He can't find the words, and so he rolls over when they go to bed and kisses Ron as softly as he can.

*

On Carwood's next-to-last night in town, Nixon and Winters show up at Ron's apartment with a deck of cards and a huge cardboard box full of booze.

"This was not my idea," Winters says when Ron opens the door.

"Of course it wasn't," Nixon replies as though he's been insulted. "He'd have brought iced tea."

"I like iced tea," Carwood says from behind Ron.

"How do you even put up with him?" Nixon asks as Ron steps aside to let he and Winters inside. "Don't answer that," Nixon says as Ron opens his mouth. "We're here for Officer's Poker and booze."

"Nice of you to bring supplies for both," Ron says in a neutral tone, but Carwood sees the smirk in his eyes.

"Are we interrupting?" Winters asks. "We can get out of your way if you'd rather have the evening to yourselves."

Ron glances at Carwood, and Carwood shrugs. They'd had nothing planned beyond dinner. "It's fine," Ron says.

"We're having pot roast and vegetables," Carwood says. "I put a little red wine in the pan for flavor, Si-Dick. Hope that's okay."

"He'll be drunk as a skunk after the first bite," Nixon replies.

"It's fine," Winters says, giving Nixon a long-suffering look. "Can I help you dish it out?"

"We'll get the table set up for the game," Nixon says. He crouches to put down the cardboard box and pauses as Sherman and Panzer poke their heads from around the edge of the couch where they'd be napping. "Hey, dogs!" Nixon says to Winters.

"Yes, I can see that."
"Hey, guys," Nixon says in a quiet, reverent tone that makes Carwood do a double-take.

"He really likes dogs," Winters explains.

"Dogs are the best," Nixon says without looking up. He crouches down further and holds out his hand. "They're not gonna chew my face off, right?"

"Sherman's friendly," Ron says, "but she's protective of Panzer. It's why she's not coming out right away."

"Sherman and Panzer," Nixon asks. "Really?"

"They must be female dogs," Winters says. "Tanks are ladies, Nix," he adds when Nixon gives him a confused look.

"They are girls," Carwood confirms. "Panzer's mine. Sherman's Ron's."

"They look like fine dogs," Winters says.

"Nice of you to say that with a straight face," Carwood replies, giving Panzer a meaningful glance.

Winters chuckles. "I mean it. They seem like they're good dogs."

"They are."

"Wait a second," Nixon says, looking up at Carwood, then over at Ron, then down at the dogs. Sherman's come over for a head scratch, and Panzer is slowly moving forward as well. "The dog is a dog," he says. "Except it's a metaphor."

"What?" Winters asks while Carwood hides his smile and Ron looks exasperated.

"The dog is a dog," Ron says.

"Uh-huh," NIxon replies, clearly not buying it. "Tell me, Lip, was your three-legged, one-eyed, clearly spooked animal here a gift of some kind?"

"Yes, she was," Carwood says, and he hears Winters swallow a chuckle next to him.

"And, when you got her, I assume she was not the fine specimen I see before me," Nixon says as Panzer finally ducks her head under his hand and lets him pet her.

"No, she was not. Kind of testy, actually. She tried to bite Ron when he first found her."
"Huh. Some fellas would say that makes a dog unlovable and unable to be rehabilitated."

"The dog is a dog," Ron says again.

Nixon smirks at him. "Sure it is." He gives Winters a meaningful look. "But remember who you're talking to."

"So, there's pot roast?" Winters asks, turning away from Nixon and focusing on Carwood.

"There is," Carwood replies, pointedly ignoring the way Winters looks a little flustered and a little pleased all at the same time.

Nixon deals the first hand as they sit down to eat. Ron passes around the liquor. There's whiskey--of course--and gin and some beer. There's a bottle of club soda buried at the bottom, and Carwood can't help his smile when Ron holds it up so Winters can see it.

"Just over ice," Winters says.

"Get that look off your face," Nixon says to Carwood.

"And you called us saps," Carwood replies.

"You are saps. And you're also about to be suckers." Nixon deals the last card as Ron sits down next to Carwood after pouring the drinks. "Ante up, boys. I'm feeling lucky."

Nixon's luck, it turns out, isn't as good as he was thinking. They're all winning about an equal amount of hands, and the only thing Nixon has going for him is the fact that the dogs have decided they love him and are showing their affection by sitting in his lap.

"What do you think?" Nixon asks, a grin on his face as he shows the dogs his cards. "You think I need a couple?" Sherman licks his chin, and he laughs. "Okay, just one then."
Carwood catches Winters watching Nixon, and he feels something tighten in his chest at the look on Winters' face, like Nixon is the most ridiculous and most wonderful thing Winters has ever seen in his life. Carwood looks at Ron, who is staring at his cards, and he wonders if he looks at Ron that way, or vice versa, or if that's something that only comes with more time.

"Well, great," Nixon says, throwing down his hand after he gets his new card. "You made me fold." Sherman licks him again, and Panzer leans against his chest. "Yeah, yeah. I won't take it personally."

"Jesus, Nix," Winters says, shaking his head and chuckling as he looks down at his own cards.

"What?" Dogs are supposed to be good at poker. I've got a picture to prove it." Nixon grins unabashedly when Winters shakes his head again. "You love me," he says.

"Undoubtedly yes, but sometimes I wonder."

"Bah," Nixon replies. He looks over when Carwood puts his own cards down. "You folding?"

"Yeah."

"Let's have a smoke, take a walk. Pretty sure one of these ladies is about to go on my leg."

"Good idea." Carwood stands up and stretches. He starts to walk around Ron, then pauses and leans over to look at his cards. "Good luck," he says and kisses Ron on the cheek.

"You can do better than that," Nixon tells him, and he tips back Winters' head and kisses him like they're in some movie.

"I'm fine if you don't," Ron says in an undertone.

Carwood smiles and kisses Ron on the cheek again. "That's fine by me."

"Moderation is for the weak of soul," Nixon says as he and Carwood walk out the door, the dogs following along. "Go all the way or not at all."

"Going all the way isn't a problem," Carwood says, and that makes Nixon laugh and thump him on the back.

"Good to hear it."

They walk outside, and Carwood turns them left at the door to go around the block. He pulls out his cigarettes and offers one to Nixon, who takes it. Carwood lights them both, and they stroll comfortably as the dogs sniff around and explore ahead of them.

"That son of a bitch really sent you a dog?" Nixon asks.

"In a crate overnight," Carwood replies.

"And the other one?"

"He didn't even mention her until I invited him for Christmas."

Nixon snorts. "Of course not." He takes a drag off his cigarette and looks up at the sky. "It's going well? Not right now, I mean. That's clearly going fine. But the rest of the time?"

"It's just fine. We write. Ron phones sometimes. I've offered to phone him, but he says he'd rather be the one to call."

"He's got more money than you. Makes sense."

"I've got enough to afford to call him."

"Not the point." Nixon stubs out his cigarette and looks at Carwood. "As a guy with more money than I know what to do with, I'm telling you to let Ron do his thing, okay? It'll make him happy."

"There's a point where it gets uncomfortable," Carwood replies, thinking of the gold cufflinks.

"Have you told him?"

"Yes."

"You're good, then." Nixon waves off the look on Carwood's face. "Look, you and Dick, you're both working class kids, and it's not that guys like Ron and I can't understand that you want to do your half, it's just that we have the money and no idea what to do with it. And guys like you and Dick, you…" Nixon breathes out hard. "For some reason, you like us regardless, okay? So, your half of things is to just like us regardless."

Carwood thinks about that as they start walking again. "Ron doesn't have as much money as you."

"No one has as much money as me," Nixon replies, and Carwood is confused by the hard, angry sound of it. "But Ron's got more money than you, and he grew up with more money than you, and I'm telling you, it doesn't cost a whole lot of dough to be a single officer in the military, and he drinks less than me, so let him be inappropriate with his funds sometimes, okay?"

"Okay," Carwood agrees because he's certain they're not actually having a discussion about him and Ron.

"And another thing," Nixon asks as they round the third corner of their trip. "Remember that some guys, we go to war and become what we have to, and it's hard to come back and be who we were."

"I know that," Carwood says. "Don't think I don't know that."

"No, I didn't mean it like that. You went to war and became what you had to, but what you had to become, and what other men had to become, it's different, okay? You went out there and made yourself an even better man than you were before. But some of us--and this includes Ron--some of us went out there and became what we had to in order to survive, and that...thing...that thing, it's hard to shake off."

"I don't think I fully understand what you mean."

Nixon laughs, and it's heavy and bitter. "No, of course you don't." He stops walking and grabs Carwood's arm. His eyes are hard and intense when he looks Carwood in the face. "Are you scared of Ron?" he asks.

"No."

"Are you sure? He killed men, you know."

"We all killed men," Carwood says.

"Not all of us," Nixon replies.

"I killed men."

"But you killed men who were shooting at you. Ron, he killed men who had been relieved of their weapons."

"I never actually heard that from anyone who was there," Carwood says.

"It happened." Nixon's grip tightens on Carwood's arm. "As your intelligence officer, I'm telling you it happened. He gave those men cigarettes, and then he shot them where they stood. They didn't even have weapons, Lip."

"I don't--"

"He shot them. Not because they were shooting first, not because he was in danger, but because we just had to clear some room and move on."

"I lost 128 boys from D-Day through Bastogne," Carwood replies. "Nothing I did could save them from the enemy mowing them the hell down, and I'll be damned if I ever shame Ron for taking out a few of the enemy in his own way. You were at Foy, Sir. You saw him react when we needed him. If I have to weigh what Ron did to those Germans against Ron saving a few of my men, my men will win every time, and I'll feel no guilt for that."

Nixon releases his arm by degrees. He nods, the intensity fading from his eyes. "I thought we talked about you not calling me 'sir,'" he says.

"Old habits," Carwood replies.

"I like him," Nixon says as they start to walk again. "Even when he was weird and scary I liked him. I just want to know someone's got his back."

"I understand that," Carwood says. "And I assure you he's in good hands."

"Good to hear."

Carwood opens the door when they reach the front of the building and lets the dogs in first. "I'm curious about something."

"What's that?"

"Is Winters giving the same talk to Ron right now?"

"Honestly, I don't know. This wasn't planned. But knowing Dick, yeah. Ron's getting an earful."

Carwood shakes his head and can't help his smile. "We'll have to compare notes after you leave."

"Like you're going to be doing any talking once we're gone," Nixon replies. "You're gone the day after tomorrow."

"We'll see," Carwood replies as he opens the door to Ron's apartment. "We'll be seeing each other again at Harry's wedding, which isn't that far off."

"We were just talking about that," Winters greets them. He and Ron are leaned back in their chairs, Ron smoking a cigarette as Winters shuffles the cards. "Ron says you're going."

"Yes," Carwood replies. "And George and Joe as well."

"Buck can't make it, but he's going to send his gift up to me," Nixon says as he retakes his seat at the table and pours himself another drink. "Suppose we'll see you boys there."

"I suppose you will," Ron says, and he touches Carwood's hand as he passes around him to retake his own seat,pulling him into a quick light kiss when Carwood gives him a questioning glance.

"Well, hello," Carwood says.

"Hello."

"Saps!" Nixon announces and steals the cards from Winters to start the next hand.

*

"I'm calling in sick," Ron says the next morning.

"You don't have to do that."

Ron rolls on his side to look at Carwood. "I want to," he says. "I've got the time saved up."

"Your superiors know I'm in town. They'll know you're faking."

"As long as they don't see me, there's plausible deniability." Ron slides his hand onto Carwood's hip, up his side, and then back down again. "I've only got a day and a half left with you."

"We'll see each other at Harry's wedding. That's only a couple months away."

"I'm calling in sick," Ron says again, and he squeezes Carwood's hip before he gets out of bed.

Ron calls in, and they eat breakfast, and then they take the dogs on a long walk around the neighborhood. It's quiet, most everyone is at work, and Carwood lets his hand brush against Ron's as they round a corner. Ron glances at him, a smile in his eyes.

"You're welcome to stay longer," Ron says.

"I know."

"There are some excellent engineering programs up here. Your credits would transfer, and the GI Bill will cover the cost wherever you go."

"I know." Carwood watches the dogs pounce on each other, then whistles to call Panzer back.

"There's plenty of work if you need to fill your time or make a little money."

They come up to a small green space growing between two apartment buildings, and Carwood leads them to a bench near the far end. They sit, and Carwood gives Ron his full attention. "I can't move up here right now."

Ron sighs. "I know. You're determined to finish school down there."

"I'm determined to make sure Mama's got someone to help her," Carwood corrects gently, "and I won't put that on Jack or George or Joe to do. I've been the man of the house since I was ten, Ron. That's not something I can just pass along. It'll take time to set things up so I know she'll be okay without me."

"She was fine while you were away."

"Yes, but she had Jack with her all the time, and now she doesn't. And George and Joe may not stay around forever, and I don't want them to think they have to."

Ron leans forward, elbows on his knees, and looks down at the ground beneath his feet. "So letters and phone calls and occasional visits until you figure it out?"

"That's what I'd need, yes."

Ron looks at him, his jaw tight. "And how long will that be?"

"It'll take three years to finish my degree," Carwood says. He wants to reach out and touch Ron's jaw when Ron tightens it further. He reaches into his pocket instead and pulls out a box. "But they say long engagements are good for a relationship."

Ron looks stunned. "Engagement?"

"I don't really know what else to call it," Carwood says, his hands suddenly shaking as he opens the box and shows Ron the watch that's inside. "I mean, I can't even get you a ring."

Ron stares at the watch, opening and closing his hands on his legs. "Carwood…" He reaches for the box, and he removes the watch, holding it in his hand like it'll break if he touches it too hard. It has a gold-edged face and a leather strap.

"You have to wind it," Carwood says. "Like mine. I considered an automatic one, but I liked the idea of both of us winding our watches at night, even if we're not doing it together."

Ron doesn't say anything. He turns the watch over and tilts it so he can see the inscription on the back. "G plus one." He looks at Carwood again. "G?"

"Graduation," Carwood explains. "The day after, even if I'm not here in person, I'll be here." He watches Ron turn the watch over in his hands again. "If you'll have me."

"Yes." Ron hands the watch back to Carwood, removes the watch he's wearing, and then takes the watch back, fastening it on his wrist. "You set the time," he says.

"I thought you'd prefer it."

"I do." Ron looks out across the little green space, then back at Carwood. "How long have you had it?" he asks.

"Bought it last week while you were working," Carwood says.

"Last week," Ron mutters. "We should get back," he says in an undertone, and there is promise in the way he looks at Carwood.

"Yes," Carwood agrees, and they call the dogs and walk back to Ron's.

*

They spend the afternoon in bed. Carwood maps out Ron's body like Ron had mapped out his two nights after he'd arrived. He learns the shape of Ron's feet, the curves of his knees, the way his hipbones jut out just a little when he's flat on his back. He discovers Ron gasps when Carwood lightly kisses the insides of his elbows, and that Ron is ticklish around his ribs. All the time they've spent in bed has been so concentrated on sex, and Carwood doesn't regret a second of it, but lying on Ron and watching the way he sighs when Carwood's weight sinks him into the mattress is something Carwood is glad he took the time to see.

They stare at each for a long time. Carwood thinks about leaving, the two days on the train, and then the weeks until they're both at Harry's wedding. He bends his head and bites Ron lightly on the shoulder, enough to leave a mark when he pulls away, but it fades out in a few seconds.

"Do it again," Ron says, and the whole tone of the moment shifts into something possessive and determined, and Carwood bites down again, and Ron drags his nails down Carwood's back. It becomes a free-for-all instantly, the two of them wrestling and grasping, biting and sucking everywhere they can reach. Carwood feels the vise grip Ron has on his thighs and responds with the same on his arm. Ron pulls his hair, and Carwood smacks him open-handed in the center of his chest before pulling at one of his nipples. Ron grunts and knocks Carwood backwards, lunging for his legs and scraping his teeth along Carwood's scar.

"Fuck," Carwood says as he sees stars, and he yanks at Ron's hair and presses his thumb hard into the inside of Ron's wrist, and Ron lets go only to turn and scrape the other thigh the same way. Carwood thumps his heels against Ron's ass in punishment and finally manages to get Ron to clamber up his body and kiss him until his chest hurts from lack of air.

Ron pulls away, grabs Carwood at the waist, and hauls him up so he's balanced on Ron's thighs, their dicks bouncing against each other and making Carwood gasp. "Come on," Ron whispers, holding Carwood in place as he ruts against him. "Come on."

Carwood pushes down with as much force as Ron's using, and their chests slap together as they try to make the other fall over the edge. Ron gets one hand on Carwood's nipples, and Carwood retaliates by biting on Ron's ear, then trailing a hard, sucking kiss down the side of his neck.

By the time they finish, they're covered in sweat, the bed wrecked, and both of them black and blue from neck to toes. There's a small trail of blood on Carwood's hip where Ron had really dug in with his fingernails, and there's a bruise forming on Ron's chest where Carwood had smacked him.

"Oh," Carwood says. "I didn't--"

"No," Ron replies. "Don't apologize."

"Okay."

They doze, and when Carwood wakes up, Ron is watching him with soft eyes. "Hi," Carwood says.

"Hi." Ron kisses him soft as he ever has. "We've still got the evening. We could go back to the club if you like. Go dancing."

"I don't want to share you tonight," Carwood replies. "Even there, I don't want to share you."

"Okay."

They get out of bed after a while, make dinner, and lay on the couch, Ron reading while Carwood watches his face and tries to memorize everything that's happened. When they take the dogs for a walk later that night, they share a cigarette between them, fingers barely touching as they pass it back and forth.

In bed, it's Carwood who presses his chest to Ron's back this time, and waking up ten minutes before dawn, Carwood stares into the dimness of the room and wonders if he can really make it eight weeks until having this again.

"You could stay," Ron murmurs without turning over.

Carwood presses a kiss to Ron's neck and then rests his forehead on the back of Ron's head. "Not yet," he says. "Not just yet."

It's too crowded at the train station to risk the kind of goodbye they'd like to share, so they shake hands instead, and then Carwood pulls Ron into a quick, one-armed hug like any number of the people around them.

"Be safe," Ron says.

"I'll call when I get in," Carwood replies, and he turns and walks to the train, forcing himself not to look back until he's boarded and found a seat that faces the platform. Panzer jumps on his lap as soon as he's seated, and she looks out the window, spots Ron and Sherman still on the platform, and whines in the back of her throat. "I know," Carwood says, patting her on the neck. "I know." He raises his hand in goodbye, and Ron does the same, then turns and walks away. Carwood watches until he can't see him anymore, and then he faces front, drops his hat over his eyes, and falls asleep until the dinner announcement.

Chapter Text

*

George meets him at the station in Huntington, standing near the back of the platform and clearly eying the crowd.

"You okay?" Carwood asks when he walks over.

"Joe's been in a mood for a week. Made me jumpy," George explains. He gives Carwood a once over and grins. "You look like a man who had a good time."
"Do I?"

"You look relaxed," George says. "Maybe a little disappointed you have to be back here."

Carwood ducks his head and can't help his smile. "Only a little," he says.

"Well, good. I'd be worried if you came back any other way." George claps Carwood on the back and leans down to scratch Panzer behind the ears. "How's Boston?"

"Seems like a nice place. I saw Winters and Nixon."

"Oh, yeah? What were they doing there?"

"Just passing through I think," Carwood says.

"You know, I always got the feeling those two guys were probably used to sharing a foxhole," George says, slanting Carwood a questioning look.

Carwood chuckles and claps George on the shoulder as they walk to the parking lot. "Let's just say you're not wrong."
"That'll make once this week, but don't tell Joe. You ask him, I can't do anything right."

"What happened?"

George throws up his hands. "No idea. Saturday we were fine, but since Sunday, he's been on my ass like wind chapping.'

"Thanks for that visual, George."

"You're welcome."

Carwood stops short when George steps up to a dark blue car he doesn't recognize. "What's this?"

"This is my car," George says, and he beams when Carwood looks confused. "Bought her last week."

Carwood walks around the car to get a look at it. It's clean and well-maintained, clearly a couple of years old based on the style, but undoubtedly a solid vehicle. "This is great, George. Congratulations."

"Thanks, Lip." George unlocks the doors and lets Panzer in the back door as Carwood walks around the back and gets in the passenger side. George slides into the driver's seat and runs his hands over the dash. "I'm pretty happy with her."

"That's the important part."

George pulls out of the parking space and points them towards home. Carwood rolls down the window and feels the wind on his face. "So, come on," George says. "Give me the details before we get there."

Carwood grins. "I'm not telling you everything," he says.

"I don't mean the really private stuff, Lip. Jesus. No. I don't need to picture Speirs getting himself going--" George shudders with great melodrama. "I mean, you know, how'd it go? The two of you spending time together again?"

"It was good," Carwood says, and he feels the smile slide across his face. "It was very good."

"Nice to hear."
"Yeah. It was...quiet. But it was a good quiet. We got along well."

"Aww, that's sweet," George says, screwing up his face and making kissing noises at Carwood until Carwood laughs. "No trouble in paradise?"

"We had to smooth out a couple of things, but nothing serious." Carwood looks at George and feels his smile widen. "I...I got him a watch."
"Oh, god, does it match yours?" George asks.

"No. It's completely different, but it suits him."

They come to a red light, and George looks at Carwood full-on. "A watch that suits him?"

"Yeah."

"Lip," George says like someone's grandma, "Did you make that scary young man a promise of some sort and use the watch as a stand-in for more appropriate jewelry?" George laughs at the stunned look on Carwood's face. "Oh, please, like you'd do anything but propose, a stand up guy like you. You put Harry to shame, I swear." The light turns green, and George rolls through it. He reaches over and shakes Carwood's shoulder as they make the turn for the boarding house. "Congratulations."

"You sound sure he said yes."

"Of course he said yes. You wouldn't have mentioned it if he'd turned you down."

"He said yes," Carwood admits.

"Damn right."

Mama and Joe are on the back porch when George pulls around the house. Mama beams when Carwood waves from the car. "There he is," she says.

"Hi, Mama," Carwood calls as he steps out of the car and opens the back door so Panzer can jump out. He walks up the steps and kisses Mama hello, then turns and shakes Joe's hand. "Place looks good."

"You were only gone three weeks," Joe replies. "We handled it okay."

"He did wonderfully," Mama says. "And I certainly have no issue keeping track of the books."
"And I," George says as he comes up the stairs with Carwood's suitcase, "stayed well out of their way."

"Only reason anything got done around here," Joe mutters.

Carwood catches George trying to hide the aggravation on his face. "Well," he says, "I'm glad to be home, even if being gone highlighted just how little I'm needed."

"Oh, none of that," Mama says, swatting at Carwood's legs. "Come inside and have dinner."

"Yes, Ma'am. I've got a few gifts for you all."

"Well, now you're definitely welcome," George says, shouldering past Joe with more force than necessary.

"Hey! I'm right here!"

"Well, you need to be about six inches over," George replies.

Joe follows George into the house, the two of them muttering darkly at each other.

"Any idea what's happened there?" Carwood asks Mama as they follow them at a safe distance.

"As much as I've guessed, it's something about a girl down at the Honky Tonk. I'm sure they'll figure it out."

"George says it's been since Sunday."

"Oh, it has, but I think part of it is they've been in each other's back pockets without you here to shake them loose. Give it another day or so, and it'll smooth out just fine."

"Not if he doesn't tell me what's got him all worked up," George says from the hallway.

"No one's talking to you, Luz!" Joe calls out in return from the kitchen.

"Alright, boys, you both calm down. I won't have fighting at my dinner table."

"Yes, Ma'am," George says.

"Yes, Mama," Joe says.

"Mama?" Carwood mouths to his mother.

"Don't tease," she says in a whisper. "I think it's sweet."

"It's just fine. I just wasn't expecting it."

"You said something about gifts, right?" George asks as he walks down the hall from dropping off Carwood's suitcase. "I didn't want to dig through your stuff, but hey, presents."

"I'll get them," Carwood says. He goes into the bedroom and opens his suitcase. There's a folded piece of paper taped on the inside of the top half, and he stares at it for a moment. He knows it wasn't there when he packed to come home.

He pulls the tape loose and opens the paper.

I thought if you'd sneak one into my sweater box, I could sneak one into your suitcase. I love you, Carwood.
"Oh," Carwood breathes. He traces Ron's signature with one finger.

"Any time, Lip!" George hollers down the hall. "Dinner's getting cold, and I'm feeling unloved!"

Carwood shakes out of his surprise, tucks the note into his shirt pocket, and reaches into the bottom of his suitcase for the gifts. When he walks back into the kitchen, his plate's already been loaded with food, and Jack is standing by the kitchen door taking off his jacket and cap.

"Sorry I wasn't here when you got home," Jack says in greeting. "Mr. Preston wanted my help with inventory."

"That's fine," Carwood says. "I'll give you your gift anyway."

Jack grins as he unwraps his gift and unfurls the felt pennant that reads BOSTON in white letters on a burgundy background. "Oh, hey, I can add it to the wall!"

"That's what I figured." Carwood turns towards his mother and hands her a gift. "You were easy to choose for," he says. "George and Joe were a little more difficult since they'd just been."

"Just wrap a carton of smokes next time," George says as he tears the wrapping off his present. "Oh, hey! This is nice!" He holds up a tie pin in the shape of the Boston library. "That'll class me right up the next time we go out."

"No, it won't," Joe mutters.

"Oh, Carwood, this is lovely," Mama says, as she holds the plate up to the light to get a better look. It's a decorative plate with a map of Boston printed in its center and the edges fluted and trimmed in silver. "I'll have to think of where to put it. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Carwood says.

Joe holds up the book he's just unwrapped. He's grinning. "A history book about famous bar fights? You think I need tips?"

"Never," Carwood says "I assumed you'd read it and explain to me where they were deficient."

Joe laughs. "That's more like it."

Carwood grins and sits in his chair, Jack sitting to his left. "It was a very good trip," Carwood says, "but it's nice to be home."

"How is Ron?" Mama asks as they start to eat.

"Just fine. He has a place in a neighborhood you'd like. There's a few little parks in it, and the whole area seems friendly."

"Well, that's lovely. Did you do anything exciting?"

Carwood thinks of the club and the watch and the bruises and marks that are still on his body. "Not really," he says, and he sees George hide a grin under the guise of wiping his mouth. "Just saw some of the city and the monuments and went to the movies a couple of times."

"Sounds boring," Jack says. "I'd have found one of those all-night clubs and taken Betsy dancing."

"I dunno," Joe says, "a movie without Luz doing his John Wayne could be pretty exciting." He sounds mellow about it, like it's only the old joke it is and not a dig at George himself.

"My John Wayne is perfect," George says.

"Your John Wayne nearly got Lip's boot up your--" Joe glances at Mama. "Never mind."

"I didn't know you could do John Wayne," Jack says.

"Oh, sure," George replies, and Joe and Carwood groan loudly as he says, "Got a penny?"

*

Carwood calls Ron after dinner. "I've made it," he says.

"Good," Ron replies. "Have you opened your suitcase?"

"I have."

"So you found it?"

"I did. I was very pleased to see it."

There's a pause. "Good," Ron finally says. "Very good."

"Don't forget to wind your watch," Carwood tells him.

There's another pause, this one different, a little expectant, Carwood thinks. "I won't," Ron says. "Goodbye, Carwood."

"Goodbye, Ron."

*

Carwood sits on the back porch as the sky goes full dark and smokes a cigarette. George comes on the back porch, dressed to kill with his hair slicked to one side and his new tie pin prominently displayed. "Headed out?"

"After this," George says, holding up a cigarette. He leans against the porch support post and lights it. "Feel like I've got ants in my pants. Just need to get out for a few hours."

"Going down to the Honky Tonk?"

"No. There's a place up near campus where there's dancing. I went once while you were gone. It was a good time."

"I know the place you mean," Carwood says. "Vanessa and I went there a few times."

"Probably be at the Honky Tonk tomorrow, but not for dancing."

Carwood looks at George's face in the glow of his cigarette. "You okay, George?"

"Good enough for now, just…" He glances over his shoulder towards the back door. "Joe's pissed," he says after he's made sure it's clear, "and I don't know why, and every time I ask, he says I know what I did, and I don't know, but he was fine Saturday evening and pissed off come Sunday, so whatever I'm supposed to have known I did, it happened while we were out, and I just don't care right now. I want to find a pretty girl and dance with her until I forget who I actually want to be dancing with."

Carwood isn't sure what to say to that. George looks defeated but he also looks determined. "Look, just don't do anything stupid, okay? Keep your head on your shoulders."

"Made it this far," George says with a grin. He leans over and shakes Carwood's shoulder. "I'm lovesick, not an idiot. I'll be alright."

"I trust you," Carwood says, and he watches George jump the porch railing and head for his car. The taillights have just disappeared around the corner when Joe comes out on the porch and looks around.

"Thought I heard George," he says.

"Just missed him. Were you supposed to go with him?"

"I don't know what he's up to," Joe says, and he sounds angry. "He never tells me anything." He throws himself in the chair next to Carwood and lights a cigarette, smoking it halfway down in a single drag.

"You okay, Joe?" Carwood asks.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," Joe says, waving him off, the anger dropping from him in an instant. "Just..I dunno. Sometimes, I get mad, and I don't know why, you know?"

"Not really."

Joe laughs. "Of course not. I'm starting to think no one in your family actually gets mad."

"When we do get mad, it's for a solid reason," Carwood explains. "We're just like that. Get it from Mama."

"Yeah." Joe takes another drag of his cigarette, but it's shorter this time. "You don't mind I call her 'mama' do you? I saw you notice, and she said it was fine--"

"If Mama's fine with it, so am I," Carwood says. "You're not the first to just adopt it, and she likes it."

"I feel bad having to put up with my mood right now. I try to shake it off, but I dunno. Something about George just has me set off right now."

"What happened?"

"He was being an idiot at the Honky Tonk, and he acts like he doesn't know it. Threw himself at the first girl that dropped in his lap, and..." Joe finishes his cigarette and runs his hands through his hair, smoothing it down against his scalp. "Forget it. It's just a pain in the ass, and you don't need this when you just got back from a trip."

"I don't mind."

"I know, but I mind." Joe leans back and drops his hands to his sides. "Did you really have fun in Boston?"

"Yeah."

"I liked it, I guess, but I gotta tell you, Lip, I don't totally get how you can be friends with a guy like Speirs."

"What's wrong with him?" Carwood asks, amused.

"Well, he's got a staring problem for one."

"I won't argue that point."

"And he's too quiet. The whole time we were there, I think George got three whole sentences out of him at once."

"I'm pretty quiet myself," Carwood points out.

"Yeah, but it's different." Joe shrugs. "Whatever. You vouch for him?"

"I do."

"He's probably not a spree killer, then. George vouched for him, but George can't be trusted to tie his own shoes sometimes."

"Good thing you agreed to travel with him," Carwood says.

Joe snorts. "Yeah, that's how it happened." He shakes his head. "It's just weird, I guess, you and George knowing this guy and trusting him, and I barely knew anything about him, but he was your commanding officer, and I was in a hospital getting my leg sawed off."

"How is your leg?" Carwood asks.

"It's fine. I'm mostly off the cane nowadays since I'm moving around so much."

"I'm glad to hear it."

They're quiet for a few minutes, just looking out across the yard. "I just wonder what I'd be doing right now if I hadn't gotten hit," Joe says quietly. "Wonder if I'd be right here trying to figure out why George Luz is such an idiot."

"I think, wherever you might have ended up, you could easily wonder if George Luz was an idiot."

Joe laughs. "Suppose so." He stands up and stretches, glancing at the rising moon. Carwood knows without asking he's checking the time. "I think I'm gonna go out," Joe says. "It's Friday night. I'm young and single. You want to come?"

"No, I think I'll just take a hot shower and turn in."

"That train ride's a monster," Joe says. "Did George say where he was headed? He looked too put together for the Honky Tonk."

"There's a dancing club near campus," Carwood says. "He said he was headed there."

"Oh, yeah, I know it."

"You want me to drop you off?"

"Nah, the walk will loosen me up. I should go change." Joe walks in the back door, and Carwood listens to the sounds of him crossing the house.

Carwood looks down at Panzer who is curled by his chair. "You think he's got a crush?" Panzer lifts her head and blinks at him. "Yeah, me too," Carwood agrees.

He stays on the back porch a while longer, just enjoying the silence after being in Boston for three weeks. When he goes into the house, he gets his robe from the bedroom and then goes into the bathroom to start the shower. He gets the water running and undresses as it warms up. He looks in the mirror and examines the marks Ron left on him. He's got bruises and scrapes, and on the ball of his shoulder, there's a deep purple hickey. Carwood tries to remember Ron even giving it to him, but all he can remember is the experience as a whole, and he jerks off under the showerhead before he cleans himself off.

In his room afterwards, skin still damp under his robe, he writes a letter.

Dear Ron:

By the time you read this, it'll be seven weeks until Harry and Kitty get married. There's a mark on my shoulder I don't remember getting. I told George about the watch. He was very pleased.

George and Joe appear to be in some sort of prolonged fight, though I don't think it's anger that's fueling it. I could be wrong and just seeing what I want to see because I'm thinking almost entirely of my time in Boston, so let's just say I won't be surprised if something happens and I won't be surprised if nothing happens. George would like something to happen, but Joe is a mystery on the subject.

Panzer did much better on the trip back, though she still does not understand why the train had to make so much noise. Mama loved the plate you helped me pick out. Joe, George, and Jack liked their gifts as well.

I feel like I'm just adding to this letter so I don't have to end it. I suppose I'll sign off now.

Yours,
Carwood

*

When the mail arrives three days later, there's a letter from Ron. Carwood pockets it as he carries the mail into the house and hands the rest to Mama to sort for the boarders. "Think I'll go look at the books," he says.

"Alright, dear."

He goes to the little office built under the stairs in the boarding house and locks the door behind him before taking the letter from his pocket and opening it slowly. It can't be a reply to the letter he sent the day before, which means Ron wrote to him before he even left Boston.

Dear Carwood,
I'm writing this letter before you've left. It's the night Nixon and Winters came over to play poker, and it is very late. You're asleep in the bedroom with half the blanket kicked off, and I spent some time looking at you while you slept. My ex-wife found this habit unsettling, but I think you'll understand it.

You're leaving day after tomorrow, and I don't know what I'm going to do until June. I know I will work and take care of Sherman and myself, of course, but it already feels like there is some intangible thing dissipating from my house because you won't be here much longer.

There will be times when I can't write you anything besides light news. Another war will happen because they will always happen, and I will go to war because that is what I do. I'll write you from war zones, but those letters--as you well know--will be read and reviewed before they go out and incoming mail will get the same treatment.

I miss you already, which is something I will not be able to say in a war zone. I'll choose something similar that means the same thing, but it won't be the same. I miss you already, and you're still in the room down the hall. Panzer is sleeping with her chin on your legs. I am not sure if you know she does that. Sherman has taken over my pillow. If turning on the light wouldn't chance waking you, I'd get a picture of it because I looked at the scene, and I saw my family.

I don't mean that I saw my parents. I mean that I looked at you and the dogs, and I saw what I wanted to have and identify as my family. You probably inferred that already, but I'm a man of action whose words only really come out easily when I'm in battle, so I have to make sure you understand.

You are my family, Carwood. Whatever the word is for two men in love, that is how I see us. If it were possible, I'd be ridiculous and ask you to marry me tomorrow. I can't do that, of course, but I want you to know that I would.

I worried for awhile that my attachment to you was just due to the war, and that my lingering feelings were an after effect like the nightmares or the slight fear I felt this winter when the first big snow hit the city. When I received your first letter, I felt like a schoolboy with a hopeless crush, and when I opened it and saw you had remembered your promise, I had a spark of hope I'd been denying myself. Perhaps, I thought, Carwood Lipton the civilian would see me as Ronald Speirs the man who is a soldier and not just the soldier who is sometimes a man.

And that this thought is so obviously true is overwhelming to me. I did not mean to embarrass you with the cufflinks, and I'm thankful your good manners meant you kept them, but I am not a man of words, as I mentioned, and I had no other way to tell you how I felt to know that not only had we started something at Christmas, but that we continued it here in my home.

You will get on the train the day after tomorrow and go away from me, and I will go home and sit with Sherman and think about you and what we might build and who we might be together in the future, but I don't know how to say that out loud, so I wrote it down so when I'm silent, you will have at least some sense of how I feel.

I love you, Carwood.

Yours always,
Ron

Carwood discovers his hands are shaking when he puts down the letter. He only realizes there are tears in his eyes when he blinks and one trails down. He reaches for the letter and folds it carefully, placing it back in the envelope and then into his trouser pocket. Ron's letters live in the same shoebox as the ones from all the other men from Easy. He'll move them tonight, Carwood decides, into the bottom drawer of the desk in his room, the one with the lock. They'll be safe there, and he'll always have them nearby.

*

Late in the evening, after everyone has gone to bed, Carwood creeps into the kitchen and calls Ron.

"Hello?" Ron answers, sounding half-awake. "Who's there?"

"I didn't mean to wake you," Carwood says in a whisper.

"Carwood. Are you hurt?"

"No, no. I'm fine. Everyone here is fine," Carwood reassures. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd be asleep yet. I wanted you to know your letter arrived."

"My letter," Ron says, and there's no question in his tone. He sounds almost timid, like he's afraid of judgement.

"The note in my suitcase meant a lot," Carwood says. "I was already planning to keep it for a very long time."

"I'm happy to hear that." Ron still sounds mildly afraid.

"The letter was...I don't have the right words for it, Ron. I'm not much for words myself, but it means everything you wanted it to mean, I think."

"It does?"

"I've read it four times. I'm going to read it again tomorrow. I'm worried already I'm going to ruin the paper." Carwood listens to the silence on the other end. He can picture Ron in the kitchen, maybe leaned against the wall with his eyes mostly closed, the phone against his ear. He hears a small click, and he smiles. "You're smoking, aren't you?"

"Yes."

Carwood chuckles. "Would you really have proposed?"

"Yes," and Ron's tone is so soft Carwood barely hears him. "I didn't know how, not to a man, but then you showed me, and I realized it was exactly how it should be done."

"I was terrified I'd run you off," Carwood admits. "I thought it'd be too much and too quickly."

"But you did it anyway."

"Yes."

"You don't know how brave you are, do you? I don't think you've ever known."

Carwood feels himself flush. "Ron--"

"You are."

Carwood breathes in deep. "Okay," he agrees. "I should let you sleep."

"Goodnight, Carwood."

"Goodnight, Ron."

*

Dear Carwood,

Your letter arrived today, and it is exactly seven weeks until the wedding. We'll see if this letter reaches you exactly at the six-week mark. I don't remember the mark on your shoulder, either. I hope it didn't hurt.

Lewis called two days ago to say hello. I told him about the watch, and he immediately handed the phone to Dick, muttering something about not having the stomach for this sort of news. Dick sends his sincere congratulations and apologized for Lewis, though I wasn't insulted. That's just the man he is.

I've taken Sherman back to that little park we sat in on your last day here. She likes it very much. There are other people who bring their dogs, and Sherman enjoys the company, I think. She was confused after you left and sniffed around the apartment as if trying to find you.

I am glad your mother liked the plate. Please send my regards to the whole house. I would offer some advice on George and Joe, but I've thought it over and discovered I have none to give. Perhaps one of them should get pneumonia and the other take care of him.

Yours always,
Ron

*

Dear Ron,

I read your letter at the table and laughed so hard about your advice regarding George and Joe, I had to explain the joke to Mother. She did not see the whole letter; I only read her the part that mattered. She is very unhappy that I never told her I’d had pneumonia while in Europe. I apologized for holding back, and she doesn’t know that it was worse than I admitted. She asked George about it at lunch, and he assured her that it really wasn’t all that terrible. George informed me after lunch that I owe him one, and so I’m getting dragged out to the Honky Tonk tonight with him and Joe and a few others as “punishment for making me lie to your mother, you idiot.” I would have gone anyway because Murray and the others had already invited me, but I didn’t tell George that.

George, Joe, and I booked our hotel rooms for the wedding. Joe couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t just split a double with he and George, but I told him you and I had already discussed splitting a room, and that pacified him. George walked out of the room halfway through the conversation. He looked pained to be part of it. I think he’s frustrated about the situation with Joe again. They’ve mostly kept the peace this week, though I expect it will flare up again once we go out.

I got a call from the college today. All my paperwork is complete, and I’ll register for fall classes in July. My advisor assures me I won’t have any trouble getting into the classes I need because they offer so many options for when to take the general education courses. I went to campus yesterday to pick up the class schedule book, and I think I can arrange my schedule so I am only in class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I figure that way, I could maybe go up to Boston for a weekend sometime. George says he’ll happily get mother around in his car if I wanted to take ours to see you. I know it’s a long drive, but if I leave early Friday morning, I can be in Boston by dinner Friday night, and I can stay until the following Monday morning.

Mama sends her regards, as does Jack. George and Joe say hello. Panzer is doing well, as am I.

I miss you.

Yours,
Carwood

*

"It's about time you came out again," Murray says when Carwood, George, and Joe sit down at his table at the Honky Tonk. "You've been back weeks!"

"I'm still coming more often than I ever used to," Carwood points out.

"Still," Murray says, and then he's looking away and smiling as Vanessa sits next to him.

"You made it!"

"I said I would," she replies. She smiles at Carwood, and he returns it. "I haven't seen you all week. Don't tell me you haven't finished all those books you checked out."

"I'm mostly done," Carwood says. "I'll probably be by tomorrow to get new ones."

"This is fascinating," George deadpans. "Library books and Lip's social life. Can you imagine anything better, Joe?"

"Yeah, a drink," Joe replies. "And you buying it."

"You gonna put out?"

"You'd be so lucky."

Carwood doesn't miss the way George grits his teeth. "I'll come up to the bar with you," Carwood says. "Murray, Vanessa, you want anything?"

"I'm fine," Murray says.

"Me, too," Vanessa adds.

"You've got to take it easy," Carwood says to George as they make their way across the room.

"You think I'm not trying?" George ruffles his hair with his hands then smoothes it back down again. "It's getting difficult is all, and the girls aren't doing much for me anymore."

"Are you having trouble?"

"What? No! Please. I mean--hold on a sec." George maneuvers between two people next to the jukebox and manages to slide ride up to the end of the bar. Carwood follows, and they place their orders with Old Ross when he comes down their way.

"The plumbing's working fine," George says to Carwood as they wait for their drinks. "It's my brain that's off. When things are happening, I can't stop thinking about the exact person I'm trying to stop thinking about."

"Are you sure...that person...isn't interested? I'd wager you might be wrong in your guess."

"Right," George says with a snort. "And I'm gonna hit a growth spurt tomorrow."

"George--" Carwood pauses as Old Ross walks over with their drinks. They take them and make their way back across the room. Carwood watches George set Joe's beer in front of him before sitting next to him again and knows it's the end of the conversation for the time being.

"I'm going to dance," Vanessa says as she stands up. "Who wants to join me?"

"I will," Murray offers. "Unless Carwood wants the first one."

"No, I'm fine."

"How you gonna meet a nice girl to take out back if you don't dance with someone, Lip?" Joe asks.

"Maybe I'm not here to meet a nice girl, Joe. Maybe I just like the company."

"Uh-huh." Joe takes a long pull of his beer and watches two women walk by, unquestionably appreciative. "Speaking of company." He gets up and heads towards them, and George moves down a chair so he's next to Carwood.

"You know the weirdest thing about all this?" George asks.

"I couldn't begin to imagine."

"Funny guy." He clinks his beer bottle against Carwood's. "The weirdest thing is that that right there," he says in a whisper near Carwood's ear as he gestures to Joe and the two women, who are both clearly charmed. "That doesn't bother me. Watching him flirt? Eh. So what. I like to flirt. It's fun. I wouldn't have a problem with him flirting when I was in the room. I'd enjoy it, actually. He's good at it, and it makes him look good."

Carwood watches the way Joe leans forward, sees the set of his shoulders and his smile and the line of his jaw. He sees what George means. Joe looks like he's having fun, his eyes bright. He looks relaxed and happy, like he wants to be right where he is. It's a good look. "So what is the problem?" Carwood asks. "Besides the fact that you think he's not interested?"

"He does calisthenics every morning. We do them together. All the stuff we did in the Army. Well, not the stuff like chin-ups or fucking Curahee, but the rest of it. Two hundred repetitions of push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks, and the whole rest of it. And he does it with his shirt off. In his underwear, and I have to look at it."

"How does he do jumping jacks with his leg?" Carwood asks.

"That is the opposite of the point."

"I know. Sorry. I just got stuck on the image."

"It's not a regular jumping jack. He moves his arms like he's doing them, and then he bends at the knees with his leg on. And that is actually worse than an actual jumping jack because that means all I can do is stare at every part of him that tenses up, and shock and awe, that's a weird thing to do to a buddy."

"Have you felt him out? Dropped a hint?"

"You think I haven't been dropping hints? Have you met me?"

Carwood chuckles. "That's a good point. And you still think he's got no interest."

"Look at them," George says, gesturing towards Joe and the women again. "And look at me. And look at who Joe's smiling at right now."

"He's flirting, that's part of flirting."

"You know what I mean." George sighs and stands up. "I'm gonna go meet a girl." He doesn't sound excited at the prospect.

Carwood watches him go, and he catches Joe watching as well. He looks away before Joe can see he's noticed. He passes the time listening to the jukebox and talking to whoever comes over. A couple of women approach him, but he manages to steer them away simply by staying quiet.

Joe drops next to him almost an hour later. He shows no signs of having gotten lucky. His tie is as straight as it was when they arrived, and his hair is perfect. "Where's George?" he asks.

"Don't know," Carwood says. "He walked away awhile ago, said something about looking for some company."

"What?" Joe looks pissed, glaring across the room at the back door that leads to the cabins. "Drags my ass out here to drink with him, and he runs off to chase skirt?"

Carwood manages to keep his face bland. "You saw those two ladies first."

"That? That's nothing. That's just flirting. That's for fun."

"I've seen you go out back," Carwood says.

"Of course I go out back. Half the point is to go out back. Just," Joe shrugs. "Right away, though? The other half of coming out is to be out with your buddies, you know?" He shoves lightly at Carwood's shoulder. "Of course you know. You never go out back."
"I am a model citizen," Carwood says.

Joe laughs. "Sure." He stands up. "Gonna get another beer. You want one?"

"Sure."

Joe is still at the bar when George comes in from the back. He's got a pretty girl on his arm, and she's laughing as she kisses him on the cheek and walks away. George waves at her and turns towards Carwood. He comes up short as he sees something in the corner, and Carwood follows his line of sight but can't see into the shadows.

"Huh," George says as he sits in the chair Joe had just occupied. "Did you know Murray and Vanessa are a thing?"

"Huh?" Carwood asks. He glances towards the corner again, but he can't see anything still. "Really?"

"Well, they're necking over there, so they're something." George cocks his head at Carwood. "You okay with that?"

Carwood considers it for a moment. He feels slightly perplexed, but not hurt or embarrassed. "I'm fine," he says. "Suppose they don't want me to know until they think it'll be okay."

"You should tell them about Ron and put them at ease," George says with a shit-eating grin.

"I think I'll just be okay with it without sharing that," Carwood replies.

George laughs. It's cut short when Joe thumps two beers on the table. "Oh, hey!" George says, reaching for one. "Thanks for--"

"You look like a tramp," Joe says. His eyes are on George's open collar and his loose tie. They travel up to George's clearly mussed hair and then to George's mouth. There's lipstick at the edge of it.

"I'm having fun," George says. "This is what fun looks like."

"It's what cheap looks like," Joe replies. "Didn't anyone ever teach you any decency, Luz?"

"Yeah," George says, getting up from his chair and leaning in towards Joe, hands already curled into fists, "your mother."

"How dare--"
"Stop," Carwood says, his command voice coming out without him looking for it. George and Joe freeze in place, not looking away from each other but not advancing. "You two want to have this out, you go outside. I won't have Old Ross mopping up blood when he closes."

"Yes, Sir," George says, turning to walk towards the front door.

"And don't you two punch any place my mother can see proof. She doesn't need that."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Joe says, and his smile is all teeth.

Carwood watches them go and wonders if he should follow after. George isn't likely to talk to Joe honestly, not now that his blood's up, and they certainly won't talk at all if Carwood is refereeing. He doesn't want them to fight, but he doesn't know how to stop it, so he sits back down and pulls one of the beers towards him.

A guy walks up, someone Carwood knows only through someone else. He eyes the beer, and Carwood pushes it towards him. "Help yourself," he says.

"Thanks," the guy replies, and he sits across from Carwood and asks how he is.

They chat for awhile, and then a woman comes and leads the man away. Carwood stands up when he goes, walks up to the bar, settles his tab, and leaves out the side door. It's a cool night and very clear. He looks up at the sky and finds all the constellations. He walks around to the front of the Honky Tonk and looks for Joe and George. There are two shapes slumped against a tree, shoulder-to-shoulder and clearly winded. Carwood goes over and gives them both a quick check. No blood on their faces that he can see, and it looks like their hands are in good shape.

"You finished?" he asks.

"Sure," George says. "Why not?" He pushes off the tree and tucks an arm around his ribs. "I'm tenderized anyway."

Carwood gives Joe a hard look. "And you?" he asks.

"I'm fine," Joe says. When he stands straight, he rolls his shoulder and winces. "Just great."

They all get into George's car, Joe taking the backseat, and they drive back to the house.

"There's epsom salts in the bathroom," Joe says quietly as they pull around to the back of the house. "They're under the sink for when my leg hurts. Help the bruises on your ribs."

"Thanks, Joe," George replies. "Lemme know if you need some help with that shoulder."

"Yeah," Joe says and gets out of the car.

George turns off the car and sits in silence as Joe gets out and walks to the back door.

"You okay?" Carwood asks.

"Peachy fucking keen," George says, and he drops his head to the steering wheel. "Just peachy fucking keen."

Carwood waits for him to say something else. George gets out of the car in silence and goes into the house. "Well, alright, then," Carwood mutters as he gets out the other side.

*
Dear Carwood,

I'm glad to hear you're getting everything settled to finish your degree. You are, of course, welcome to visit at any time. I am writing this while at the base because I want to get it in the mail before the end of the week, and my schedule has been very full these last few days. I was invited out to dinner and similar activities by a fellow Captain and a Lieutenant, and I have been trying to be more social because I realized I was spending a great deal of time alone. Sherman is a good companion, but she's bad at conversation.

It is just short of a month until Harry's wedding, and I am looking forward to it. I've heard from a few of the men outside of you, George, and Joe who will be attending, and it will be good to see them again. I am very interested to finally meet the legendary Kitty, as I am sure most of us are.

I hope you are well. Please give my regards to your mother, George, and Joe. I hope Panzer is well.

Your friend,
Ron

*

"You okay?" George asks Carwood when they're in his car to run some errands. "Saw a letter from Ron on the stack today. That usually puts you in a good mood."

"I'm fine," Carwood says. "It wasn't a usual letter. He wrote it while he was working, so it was sort of distant." He looks out the window at the trees going by. "Just got me thinking is all."

"About what? You think he's having second thoughts?"

"No," Carwood answers immediately. "Just been in sort of a bubble on the whole thing and been able to say a lot of things to each other for awhile, and now I'm sort of seeing what it's really gonna be like, you know?"

"The bloom is off the rose," George says.

"Suppose so."

George huffs a breath and taps his fingers on the steering wheel. "You want my advice?"

"Can I stop you?" Carwood asks with a grin.

"Hell, no. Here's my advice: Don't think about the way the letter sounds and don't think about all the work you're gonna have to do. Think about the fact that you're gonna see him in three weeks for a whole weekend."

"Ignore reality, huh?"

"Nah. Just...let it be what it is. Sometimes, the letters are gonna be censored, and you guys are gonna have to come up with tactics to cover your asses so you don't get in the shit. Those are just the facts, Lip. But worrying on them isn't gonna get you anywhere."

"That's downright insightful, George."

George laughs. It's got a bitter edge. "Well, I got some experience in facing reality."

"Everything alright?"

"It's something," George mutters.

"You and Joe haven't punched each other again. That's progress, right?" Carwood expects George to laugh, but George just looks pensive.

"We're fine," George says after a moment. "But it's...I was hitting my limit three weeks ago, and I'm still coming up on it, you know? And he's no closer to having any interest. I think...I've been thinking about moving on."

"From Joe or from here?" Carwood asks.

"Both. No offense. I like the town and the work is good, but Joe really seems like he'll be here for the long-haul, and I need some space to get my head on right and be able to just be good old George Luz around him."

"When were you thinking of leaving?"

"Before the end of summer," George says. "Just have to decide where to go."

"You gonna tell Joe?"

"Not for awhile. I think he'll be mad about it."

Carwood considers what to say, if he should push about why George thinks Joe would be mad, but George has clearly made up his mind, and Carwood can see it's costing him but not as much as it would cost him to stay. "Well, when you decide, let me know so we can keep in touch."

"Thanks, Lip."

*

Dear Ron,

I hope you can read and reply to this letter at home. I'm glad you're meeting people and getting out some. I hope you've been out with them again and enjoyed yourself.

George has decided he's going to leave town at the end of the summer. Joe and Mother don't know yet, and I'm not sure who will be more heartbroken. Mother will take it gracefully, I know, but I worry about how Joe will respond and if he will be in any way consolable. Not just because of how I think he feels for George but also because they are truly good friends. I just have to wait and see.

In happier news, Jack is doing very well at the auto shop. Mr. Preston has been so impressed with his work ethic and willingness to listen and learn that he's already been given a small raise. He told us over dinner he'll be putting away the extra money so he and Betsy will be better set up once they're married. I was struck by what a responsible idea it was. Jack has never been what I'd call irresponsible, but there's a new maturity to him that has come to the forefront in the last few months. I'm very proud of him and told him so.

Panzer and I were out for a walk yesterday, and she managed to trip off a curb and scrape her paw on the pavement. She's limping slightly but is otherwise fine. Mama dressed the wound to prevent infection, and Panzer hardly seems to notice it's there. It's quite a sight to see her limp when she already has her peculiar gait from being three-legged.

I'm doing fine. The boarding house is as busy as ever. I spend my mornings reviewing the ledger and my afternoons reading and exercising. George and Joe have kept up their calisthenics, and I'm trying to match them. Can't be a bad example for the boys, you know.

I'm very much looking forward to seeing you at Harry's wedding for many reasons.

Yours,
Carwood

*

Ron calls a week before the wedding to confirm plans. Carwood leans against the wall in the kitchen, and closes his eyes to concentrate on Ron's voice.

"Still getting in the day before?" Ron asks.

"Yes. We're going to leave here after breakfast and probably get in around five or six."

"I've planned the same. We can all get dinner together if you want. I haven't seen any mention of a bachelor party."

"That sounds fine. I haven't heard anything about a party, either. I'll let George and Joe know. Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll decide to go out on their own."

Ron chuckles. "Maybe. Are they fighting this week?"

"Not quite, but it's close. Mama knocks them down if they get into it in front of her, so I think they're saving it for when they're out of the house."

"How is your mother?"

"Just fine. She's playing bridge tonight."

"And Jack?"

"Out with Betsy."

"And George and Joe?"

"Down at the Honky Tonk about to get in a fistfight, most likely."

"So, you're there alone?"

"Just me and Panzer," Carwood says. Panzer looks up from her spot by the stove and lowers her head again after a moment.

"You're staying in tonight?"

"Well, I was hoping a handsome man would call." Carwood feels a little silly saying it, but the way Ron hums happily makes it worth it. "Are you doing anything this weekend?"

"No, just taking care of some errands."

There's a comfortable silence, and Carwood closes his eyes again, picturing Ron in Boston, leaning against his own kitchen wall, maybe in his uniform, maybe in civilian clothes. "I miss you," Carwood says after a measure.

"I'm glad to hear it. I miss you as well."

"Good."

There's another silence. "Carwood?"

"Yes?"

"Will you wear your cufflinks at the wedding?"

Carwood smiles, charmed by the fact it's a question. "I was already planning to," he says.

"Good."

"Are you remembering to wind your watch?"

"Every night."

"Good." Carwood feels like he could slide through the phone and be in Boston if he tried hard enough. "I suppose I'll see you next week, then."

"Yes, you will," and Ron's tone makes it a warm promise.

"Goodnight, Ron."

"Goodnight, Carwood."

*

Mama sends them off to the wedding with a basket full of food and hugs for each of them. Joe takes the backseat so he can stretch out, and they're on the road only half an hour before Joe and George start bickering about directions.

"I can read a goddamn map," George says, giving Joe the stink eye in the rearview mirror.

"I'm saying there's a second route," Joe replies, the map spread out across his lap. "And it's shorter."

"By ten miles," George says. "I am not going down every back road in nowhere West Virginia to save ten miles. We'll probably hit a cow crossing and add an hour to the trip."

"I measured. It's twenty miles."

"Like hell it's twenty miles. I measured it last night with a ruler, and it's ten."

"If you two keep this up once we hit Philly, I'm locking you in your motel room so you don't start arguing in the middle of the ceremony," Carwood says.

Joe snorts a laugh. "You're gonna have to leave yours first."

"What?" Carwood asks. His question sounds innocent, but his heart starts hammering in his chest.

"You know what I mean," Joe says, looking up from the map to give Carwood a hard look. "There's exactly one reason to room with that weirdo Speirs."

"Yeah, and it's getting to not listen to you bitch," George cuts in. "Hell, Lip, if you don't mind that I steal covers, I'll bunk with you two."

"Like he'd let you," Joe replies. "He's not gonna let you interrupt whatever it is they do."

Carwood slides a glance at George, unsure of what to do. George is rolling his eyes at Joe in the rearview, but his hands are white-knuckled on the wheel. "Joe," Carwood says, "exactly what do you think is going on?"

"You're fucking," Joe says flatly.

"What?" George barks. He laughs, a little loose around the edges like he'd rather be yelling. "C'mon, Joe, you can't say that to a guy!"

"Why not?" Joe asks. He tosses the map aside and drapes his arms over the front seat,. He looks at Carwood from a distance of less than a foot, challenge written all over his face. "Seems like if it ain't true, Lip can just deny it."

"I--" Carwood starts.

"And yet he hasn't," Joe says, turning his head so he can see George's profile. "And you're grabbing that steering wheel like it's gonna jump off unless you keep it where it is. And that tells me you know something, Luz." Joe pauses for a beat, then turns to look at Carwood again. "But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I haven't been seeing the way Lip's face lights up when he gets a letter and noticing it looks a lot like Harry when Kitty wrote him during the war. Maybe I read the situation wrong when Lip gets all twitchy when Speirs calls to say hi. Maybe I don't know. Maybe my own bias is making me see things that ain't there. And maybe I should give Lip a second to get a word in edgewise."

"Bias?" George says.

"Joe," Carwood says at the same time. He clears his throat and wonders what to say. "I think--"

"I got an aunt who's funny," Joe says. "Queer, I mean. She lives with a housemate in New York City. She signs both their names to letters like my mom does for her and my dad."

Carwood licks his lips and feels his heart start to slow down. "Oh," he says. "I didn't know that."

"Well, it ain't something you advertise," Joe says.

"That the bias you were talking about?" George asks, glancing at Joe.

"Part of it," Joe says. "So?" he asks Carwood before George can push on that answer. "You gonna deny it?"

"No," Carwood says.

"Good." Joe leans back and puts his hands behind his head. "Now, tell me why it is you've trusted George with this but not me. I gotta tell you, that's insulting."

"Hey!" George says. "What's it to you?"

"What's it to me? We're Toccoa men," Joe says, "I should have known. Especially if you're being trusted."
"How'd you know that George knew anything?" Carwood asks.

"He ain't subtle," Joe replies. "Everytime Speirs calls, he's suddenly got a story to tell."

"I always have a story to tell," George argues. "I'm the life of the party."

"You're something," Joe says.

"And I am too, subtle," George mutters but Joe doesn't hear him.

Carwood considers what to tell Joe about why George knows and he doesn't. He glances at George for help, but George is staring straight ahead looking like he'll swerve off the road out of spite if anyone breathes funny. "George figured it out," he says. "And he asked me like you did, and that's why he knows."

"Huh," Joe says, giving a considering look to the back of George's head. "I wouldn't have figured you'd be okay with that sort of thing."

"What's that supposed to mean?" George asks.

"Exactly what it sounds like," Joe says. "Just don't seem to be a thing you'd be comfortable with."

"I'm comfortable with plenty of things you don't know about, Toye."

"Yeah, like what?"

"Like having a di--"

"George," Carwood interrupts, terrified of what George might say next. Not because he thinks Joe will suddenly change his mind about being okay with Carwood and Ron but because of what George might give away that he doesn't really mean to involving himself and Carwood.

"The man asked a question, Lip," George says, looking away from the road to give him a hard look. "Seems like he'd want an answer."

"Sure would," Joe says.

"It can wait," Carwood says quietly. "Let's all cool down first."

George looks like he wants to argue, but he clenches his jaw and stays quiet. Joe stretches out in the backseat, slinging an arm across his eyes. "Sure," Joe says. "Let's do that."

Carwood breathes out a silent sigh as a heavy quiet takes over the car. He stares out the window and watches the scenery go by while the dash clock clicks away ten minutes. From the back seat, there's a quiet snore, then another. Carwood turns and gives Joe a once-over. He still has an arm over his eyes, the other is half-hanging off the edge of the seat. His mouth is open and slack.

"Bastard could always fall asleep anywhere," George says in an undertone as he glances in the rearview. "Used to prop himself up between me and Bill on the trucks and pass out."

"I remember," Carwood says, turning to face George. "You better?"

"Yeah. He just knows how to dig in hard." George shakes his head and flexes his hands around the steering wheel. "Thanks for stopping me before I said too much."

"You're welcome."

They're quiet for a couple of minutes. George glances in the rearview again and asks, "What do you think he meant by his aunt being part of the reason?"

Carwood has a pretty good idea it means Joe's maybe a little bent himself. "I don't know," he tells George. "I suppose you'll have to ask him."

"We'll see," George replies. "Guess we'll have the whole weekend in the room, and I won't have to cover for you."

"That's true," Carwood agrees. Something in his chest releases that he didn't even know was clenched. Joe knowing gives everything with Ron a new sort of weight, but it's a lightness at the same time. Someone else to confide in, Carwood thinks, is maybe exactly what he needs.

Chapter Text

*

Bill's waiting in the lobby when they walk into the hotel. He's got a newspaper in his hands, though he's not reading it, and he gives a cheer when he sees them. "I heard you was getting in today," he says as he pulls them separately into hugs, saving Joe for last. "And look at you, walking around like you're not a gimp like me."

"No one's a gimp like you," Joe replies, and he and Bill tussle for a moment and grin at each other like idiots.

"Awww, they found each other again," George says to Carwood with exaggerated excitement.

"It's good to see you up and around, Bill," Carwood says, and Bill laughs.

"Same old Lip," he replies. "You boys get checked in, and I'll wait here, then we can grab a beer. Harry says he's not having a bachelor party, but I figured we could still go out in his honor."

"No bachelor party?" George asks. "Hell, he's not married yet."

"He says it'd be disrespectful to Kitty," Bill says with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "I didn't ask him to go on. So, you in?"

"I'm in," Joe says.

"Me, too," George replies. "But Lip's sharing a room with Speirs, so we should probably bring him along, too."

"Speirs?" Bill asks. "Really?"

"Yup," George says.

"I've met him," Joe tells Bill. "He's okay. Weird, but okay."

"Yeah, Babe says the same," Bill replies. "He's gonna meet us here in a few; he's just getting off work now."

"You guys hang out a lot?" Joe asks, and Carwood steps away to check into the hotel while Joe and Bill and George continue to catch up.

"Carwood Lipton," he tells the man behind the desk. "Should be a double."

The man flips through the ledger in front of him for a moment. "Part of the Welsh-Gregson wedding?"

"I'm a guest, yes."

"Welcome," the man says as he trails a finger down the column of the ledger. "Here you are. Room 713." He turns and retrieves the correct key from the wall of them behind him. "Mr. Speirs has already checked in," he says as he holds the key out to Carwood. "He arrived about an hour ago."

"Thank you," Carwood says. He pockets the key and turns back to check on Bill and the others. Babe has joined them, and Carwood walks over to say hello.

"Hey, Lip!" Babe greets, grinning fit to burst. "It's good to see you. What room are you in?"

"You, too," Carwood replies. "And 713. Who else has arrived? Do you know?"

"Malark's here, but most of them are getting in later in the evening," Babe says.

"I'm gonna go check into the room," George says, and Joe follows him over to the desk to do it as well.

"I'm going to go drop my bag and see if Ron wants to join us for that beer if that's alright, Bill."

"Oh, he made it?" Babe asks. "That's good. I was wondering."

"You were wondering?" Bill asks.

"Yeah, I was wondering," Babe repeats. "We write sometimes."

Bill shakes his head. "Only you would make friends with that guy, Babe."

"He's a good guy," Babe says. "And Lip made friends with him, too."

"Yeah, but it's Lip," Bill says, giving Lip a look. "No offense, but you get it."

"Sure," Carwood agrees, amused. "Do you mind if he joins us?"

Bill waves a hand. "Yeah, why not. Drag him along. Maybe we can get him to make someone piss themselves by daring them to ask for a cigarette."

"I'll see what he says," Carwood says, and he turns towards the elevator. He's the only one on it on the way up to the seventh floor, but when he steps out, he runs into Malark, who greets him with a whoop and a hug.

"You're coming for beers, right?" Malarkey asks.

"Just as soon as I put down my bag," Carwood promises.

"Great. See you down there." He gets on the elevator and waves as the doors close.

Carwood shakes his head at the response and walks down the hall to 713. He opens the door and steps in. There's a narrow little hallway, bathroom to the right, closet to the left, and the rest of the room beyond. Ron is stretched out on one of the beds, shoes off and an ashtray balanced on his chest. The top two buttons of his shirt and open, and his hair is slightly mussed, like maybe he's run his fingers through it or it got caught in a breeze. His bicep stands out as he taps ash into the ashtray, and the light coming from the window puts his profile in sharp relief. He looks like a movie star, Carwood thinks. But when Carwood puts his suitcase on the luggage rack and Ron looks at him, Carwood thinks maybe he's the one who looks like he should be on a marquee.

"There you are," Ron says, and there's a rough edge on his voice.

"Here I am," Carwood replies. He wants to kick off his shoes and crawl onto the bed next to Ron and kiss him until they can't breathe. He sits on the edge of the bed instead, slides his hand across Ron's stomach, and gives him a light kiss before pulling away and stealing his cigarette. "The boys want to go for a beer. You're invited."

"Who'll be there?"

"Bill, Babe, Joe, George, and Malarkey so far."

Ron slides his hand over Carwood's knee, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the curve of it. "And likely a few more will wander in."

"Very likely."

"Half of them are still scared of me."

"It'll give us an excuse to leave early."

Ron takes the cigarette back, finishes the last drag, and stubs it out in the ashtray. "Okay." He moves the ashtray to the nightstand and levers himself up, grabbing Carwood by the back of the neck to hold him in place as he kisses him with a carefully sweeping tongue and very light pressure.

When the kiss is over, Carwood holds onto Ron's wrist and says, "And Joe figured us out, by the way."

Ron's hand tightens just slightly on the back of Carwood's neck. "Did he?"

"Seems like he's known for awhile. I think he was more upset I didn't trust him than anything else."

"And him and George?"

"Still skirting around each other."

"Do you think Joe being okay with us will help the situation?"

"I think George nearly ruined it all together when he almost said too much about the both of us in a foxhole." Carwood kisses the inside of Ron's wrist when Ron's hand tightens again. "Easy."

"He got to touch you like that before I did. I don't think it's fair."

"Well, that's life," Carwood replies, and he's not ready for Ron tackling him to the bed and tickling his ribs. "Ah! Oh, god! Ah! Stop! Mercy!"

Ron stops, leaning over Carwood and looking rakish with his hair dropped over his forehead. "I've missed you," he says.

"I've missed you, too," Carwood replies.

There's a knock on the door, and it makes Ron turn his head like some bird of prey zeroing in on a mouse. Carwood enjoys the view and pats Ron's hip. "I'll get it," Ron says, and he stands up and walks to the door, smoothing his hair back as he does so. Carwood sits up and straightens his shirt, then the comforter.

"It's George," Ron calls over his shoulder, and he steps to the side to let George in the room.

"Hey, we going?" George asks. "Joe's changing shirts, but he says he'll meet us downstairs."

"We're going," Carwood confirms. "Anyone else joining us besides who was downstairs?"

"Nope, just the crowd you already saw." He grins and looks over as Ron puts on his shoes. "Don't worry. I'm sure I can get Bill and Joe riled up enough to give you to an excuse to escape early."

"Appreciate it," Carwood says, and he catches the heated, promising look Ron gives him as they walk out of the room.

Joe's already downstairs when they get there and immediately starts giving George hell for taking so long. "Jesus, you go to Timbuktu to find them?"

"Nah, fell down a rabbit hole," George replies. "Met some crazy cat that wanted to stay forever and be prince of the realm."

"You're mixing your fairy tales there, Luz," Bill says. "And if anyone's gonna be prince of the realm, it's gonna be me."

"Nah," George says. "It'll be Babe. He's better looking than all of us put together."

"Hey, what am I, chopped liver?" Malarkley asks, and the boys are quick to assure him his absolutely is.

"What do you think, Lip?" Babe asks, turning to walk backwards as they make their way to a bar Bill swears is good enough for Toccoa men. "You think I'm pretty enough to be prince charming?"

"Of course you are, Babe," Carwood replies with the thickest sincerity he can find. "Can't think of a better candidate than you."

"I dunno," Malarkey says, "Captain Speirs, you'd probably be passable."

"Not with the look I get in my eyes, sometimes," Ron replies, and there's a brief pause before Bill and George burst out laughing.

"Okay, yeah," Bill says, turning and pointing at Ron. "You're alright."

"I told you," George says. "And Babe and Malarkey told you."

"Eh, your word's as good as your Marlene Dietrich," Joe says, and that leads into George singing in Marlene's voice but very, very off-key.

They arrive at the bar with great fanfare, though Carwood and Ron aren't contributing to it. Bill claims a large, round table in the back of the room next to the dart boards and insists the other guys have to fetch his and Joe's drinks what with their horrible leg hardships and everything.

"You just walked here," Malarkey points out, and he laughs and ducks as Bill cuffs him on the back of the head.

Carwood and Ron sit next to each other, their backs to the wall. Before Carwood can ask Ron if he wants anything, George is back with two whiskeys and a grin on his face. "From--and I quote--that asshole in the dark corner at the bar."

Carwood and Ron both look over. Nixon raises his glass in their direction. Malarkey and Babe, both at the bar, are loading up with enough whiskeys for the whole table. "Well, that's nice of him," Carwood says.

"That's one word for it," Ron murmurs so only Carwood can hear. Before Carwood can ask what he means, the other boys are back, and there's cigarettes and change being thrown on the table to bet at darts.

"Dibs on Lipton!" Joe yells.

"I'm on your team," Bill says.

"You're with us, Sir," George says to Ron, and Malarkey nods along.

"And Babe'll rotate in every other turn," Joe says.

"No need for that," Nixon says as he walks over, Winters trailing behind and looking perplexed about how this is suddenly his night. "Two more perfectly fine players right here."

"You're terrible at darts," Winters says.

"When I'm sober."

"You're never sober."

The boys laugh, and Babe shakes hands with Winters and Nixon. "Thank you, Sirs."

"None of that," Nixon says, and he points a finger at Ron, who is inspecting his darts like he's about to go on patrol. "And that includes you, Ron."

"What?" Ron asks, looking up. Carwood takes a sip of his drink to hide his smile at the slightly confused look on Ron's face. "Oh, hi, Lewis. Dick."

Nixon gives Winters a look, and Winters shrugs. "Hi," Nixon replies.

"So, what's the bet?" Ron asks, turning towards the dart board and looking down for the line he needs to be behind.

"He okay?" Winters whispers to Carwood as the rest of the men turn to watch and holler.

"Far as I know," Carwood says, but he sees what Winters means. Ron seems a bit out of sorts, suddenly, like he's not used to being around so many people. "Oh," Carwood says. "I, um, don't think he's really used to getting invited along like this."

Ron hits just outside the bullseye on his first shot, and George and Malarkey cheer, George patting him on the shoulder. Ron smiles and ducks his head and re-sets his feet. Carwood watches him unabashedly as he throws the next dart, looks at the smooth line of him and the way he keeps trying to swallow back his smile but it keeps creeping back up.

"You're disgusting," Nixon says as he walks over and thumps down his empty drink. He picks up one of the glasses the boys haven't touched yet and gets to work on it. "It's all over your face how crazy you are for him."

"You're one to talk," Winters says before Carwood can reply. He reaches over and takes the drink from Nixon. Nixon picks up another without pause.

"Did you really think that would stop him?" Carwood asks Winters.

"Of course not," Winters replies and takes a sip of the whiskey. He grimaces just a little, but he's clearly no novice.

"Thought you didn't drink, Sir."
"Still not much," Winters says. "But I had to come home with some sort of bad habit."

Nixon huffs a laugh as he lights a cigarette. "That makes one."

"Lip!" Joe shouts. "You're up!"

"Excuse me," Carwood says as he maneuvers around the table and walks up to the line. Joe hands him his darts, and Bill pats him on the back. The others are gathered around in a semi-circle, and Carwood glances at them all with a smile before throwing his first dart.

It misses the mark spectacularly. Joe and Bill groan, and the other boys hoot. Ron just smiles and takes a step back towards the table, one hand already out for his drink.

The next dart lands just inside the first ring of 11, and Bill and Joe applaud while the other boys start trash talking.

"C'mon, Lip," Bill says. "Speirs only got thirteen. You can top that."

Carwood glances over his shoulder at Ron, who is saying something to Winters. Nixon waggles his eyebrows, and Carwood laughs. "We'll see," he says.

"Hey, Speirs," Bill calls over his shoulder. "A buck fifty says Lip can outscore you on this round."

"He's welcome to try," Ron says, and it makes everyone laugh.

It lands on four. Bill and Joe cheer, the other boys grumbling good-naturedly. Carwood watches Ron pull out his wallet, pull out two dollar bills, and lay them on the table. Bill digs into his pockets, finds a couple of quarters, and smacks them down next to it.

"Double or nothing?" Bill offers.

"No," Ron says. "I know when I'm beat."

"Eh, you'll earn it back," George assures him as he comes over to get his drink. "It's just two points."

"He may earn it back next turn," Carwood says, "but that doesn't mean you'll win."

"Brave words," George says. "Brave, stupid words. You wanna put a little money on that?"

"No, I do not," Carwood replies. "You're gonna cheat bad enough as it is."

That gets a laugh from everyone including Winters. Babe gets up to throw, and Carwood isn't surprised that Winters steps next to him to provide support. He is surprised to see Nixon peel himself off his chair and do the same.

"It's a distraction," Ron says close to his ear as they stand behind the table.

"What is?" Carwood asks.

"Their coming over here. Nixon sending the whiskey. It's drawing attention away from you and me."

Carwood realizes not a single man in their party--not even George or Joe--is paying them any attention. He leans against the table and then a little to his left so that his shoulder is touching Ron's. "I think you're right."

"It's Nixon's way," Ron replies, pressing his shoulder into Carwood's. "Subterfuge covered in a layer of alcohol and sarcasm."

"We'll have to thank him," Carwood says. "Though I don't think we can sneak out just yet."

"No, we can't. But I'm enjoying myself." And Ron gets a soft smile on his face that makes Carwood want to kiss him for how sweet it is. "I never have spent time like this with men under my command. Compton was very good at it, but I never understood how to toe that line."

"Me neither," Carwood says. "It's a rare gift, I think."

"Yes, I think you might be right."

Nixon whoops and slaps Babe on the back as he lands three quick, near-bullseyes in a row. Winters looks pleased, giving Babe a nod of approval.

"Okay, Bill," Carwood calls from his place behind the table. "Don't make us look bad."

"You seen me?" Bill asks, giving himself an exaggerated once over. "No one looks as good as me."

"Your mother looks pretty good," Malarkey says, and he ducks away before Bill can get him in a headlock.

The game carries on like that, everyone taking turns, making side bets, and trash talking each other. Carwood gets a few minutes with Bill and Babe and Malarkey each, asks after them and their families and assures them he's doing just fine as well.

"Sorry to hear about your divorce," Bill says in an undertone as they watch George make the absolute worst throw of the night. "Buck sent word around so none of us would make asses of ourselves."

"I thought he might," Carwood tells him. "I'm doing fine, Bill. But thanks for your concern."

"Yeah," Bill agrees and nudges Carwood's shoulder before he walks away.

Nixon buys another round of whiskeys and a third after that. He also orders up a stack of hamburgers and more french fries than Carwood's ever seen in his life.

"You keep this up, they'll think you're this generous all the time," Winters tells him.

"I'm just trying to distract them enough for certain parties to make a getaway," Nixon replies. He gives Ron and Carwood a pointed look. "Why are you still here?"

"There's whiskey," Ron replies, and Carwood grins at the humor in his eyes.

"Oh, for--Dick, where are your keys?"

"Why?"

"If it's whiskey they want--"

"I don't think it actually is."

"I won't turn it down," Ron says.

"He won't turn it down," Nixon says to Winters.

Winters shakes his head and pulls his car keys from his pocket, tossing them to Nixon. "You're impossible."

"Come on," Nixon says, gesturing to Ron. "Carwood's gonna want to give everyone a goodbye hug."

Carwood and Winters share a long-suffering look as Nixon and Ron walk out of the bar. The boys are practically falling over each other as they continue to play darts and drink and eat. Carwood watches as George slings an arm around Joe's shoulder and drags him in close, and he sees the way Joe grabs the back of George's shirt to keep himself upright. "Keep an eye on those two," he say, pointing them out to Winters. "They could go from friendly to fighting any time now."

Winters chuckles as he looks at them. "Pretty sure Nix knows a dirty joke that starts out about six men in a company."

"I'm sure he does," Carwood agrees. They shake hands, and Carwood exits the bar, only glancing over his shoulder once to capture the image of his boys so clearly having a good time. He walks out into the parking lot feeling warm from seeing his boys happy as much as the whiskey and food he's had. Nixon and Ron are leaning against a dark grey sedan in the back corner of the lot. Carwood walks over, and their murmured conversation comes to an end as he gets into earshot. "Should I be worried?" he asks.

"Nope," NIxon says. He holds out a bottle of Vat 69. "Just offering a few tips."

"Come on," Ron says before Carwood can ask. "Let's get back to the hotel before anyone in there notices you're gone."

"Okay," Carwood agrees, letting Ron pull him along as he raises a hand in goodbye to Nixon. Nixon returns it, clearly amused.

When they get to the sidewalk, Ron lets go of his arm, but he stays close. The foot traffic is picking up as people start to really come out for the evening, and it means they have to stay tight against each other if they want to stay side-by-side and get down the block. Ron thrusts the bottle of whiskey at Carwood, and Carwood takes it. Ron pats himself down for his cigarettes and pulls out two, lighting them both and handing one to Carwood.

Ron stops them a few feet from the door of the hotel, the crowd much thinner now, and they smoke their cigarettes with their backs against the warm brick wall behind them. The sun is just starting to set, and Carwood glances at Ron to see what he looks like as the light hits him.

"What?" Ron asks. His cigarette is dangling from one side of his mouth, hands in his pockets as he tips back his head.

"Nothing," Carwood replies. He doesn't ask why they didn't just go straight inside. He knows it's because sometimes it's hard to do so, when you don't know what's coming on the other side of the door. He braces his shoulders against the wall and tilts his head like Ron. "Did you kennel Sherman?"

"No. One of the other captains I have dinner with occasionally is keeping an eye on her. He and his wife have a daughter who wants a dog, so they're doing a test run while I'm gone."

"I'm sure Sherman will charm them."

"Yes, I think so. What about Panzer?"

"Home with Mama and Jack. She whined a little when I left with George and Joe, but she was back over next to Mama before I even got all the way to the car. I think she knows Mama will spoil her."

"How are Jack and Betsy?"

"Very happy. They're going to set a wedding date soon."

"That's good."

"Yes."

They finish their cigarettes, and then Ron takes the whiskey from Carwood, and they go inside, into the elevator, and up to the seventh floor. Carwood is the one who unlocks the door to the room, and as Ron secures it behind them, he crosses to the window and opens the curtains. It's an unremarkable view, just the street below and the buildings on it. They're taller than the building across the way, and it's an office space that's clearly emptied out for the weekend. The people down below don't look up as they pass.

Ron comes up behind Carwood and presses against his back. He kisses Carwood's shoulder through his shirt and curls his hands at Carwood's waist. "I've missed you," he murmurs.

"I've missed you," Carwood replies. He tries to turn and kiss Ron, but Ron presses against his hips.

"Stay there for just a minute," he says.

Carwood looks out on the street and watches as the lamps start to wink on. "Alright," he agrees.

"You glow in this light," Ron says, his mouth grazing Carwood's ear. "Did you know that?"

"Can't say as I've noticed."

"Of course you haven't."

Carwood chuckles, and it fades out in a stutter when Ron sucks lightly on the back of his neck and slides his arm around Carwood's waist, pulling Carwood even closer to him. "Ron," he breathes out.

"I've missed you," Ron says again, and he works two fingers between the buttons of Carwood's shirt, stroking back and forth over Carwood's undershirt. His other hand slides from Carwood's waist down to his thigh and back. Ron moves his mouth from the back of Carwood's neck to his nape, and then noses into his hair. "I've missed you."

Carwood can't find the breath to respond. He presses his hands against the window and rests his forehead on the glass. No one's looking up, and he knows the streetlamps are throwing shadows that will keep them from any real sight, but it feels dangerous and illicit and makes his heart pound in a way that makes him shiver.

"Carwood," Ron whispers, the hand on his waist coming up his arm and into his hair and turning his head so Ron can kiss him, sloppy and off-center and perfect.

"Ron," Carwood says into his mouth, and he turns quickly, pushing at Ron with his whole body until they fall on the bed and bounce. It makes Carwood laugh, the way they both jerk, and he manages to straddle Ron's thighs before Ron can get his balance back.

"Oh, no," Ron says, his smile pure mischief. "You've got me."

"Oh, no," Carwood echoes, and he bends down with his elbows on either side of Ron's head and licks into his mouth.

Ron responds by tipping his head back so Carwood can deepen the kiss and yanking Carwood's shirt from his trousers. He gets his hands under Carwood's undershirt and spans his fingers as wide as they'll go. Carwood gets a hand in Ron's hair and presses his fingertips into Ron's scalp, smiling at the way it makes Ron groan. He pulls lightly at Ron's hair, and Ron tips his head further back, breaking the kiss but exposing his throat exactly like Carwood hoped he would. He kisses just under Ron's jaw, and then over his pulse point,.

Ron gasps, and Carwood smiles against his skin before sucking lightly on the same spot and then scraping his teeth against it. Ron brings up his leg and tries to push Carwood over onto his back and take control. Carwood presses down with his hips, tightening his thighs at Ron's waist and trails his lips from Ron's neck to his ear.

"No," Carwood tells him. "It's your turn to stay put."

Ron lunges up, nearly hitting Carwood in the nose with his head. He gets them both upright, chest-to-chest, and grabs Carwood by the thighs before Carwood can topple backwards. Once he's certain Carwood is safe in his lap, he scrabbles for Carwood's shirt buttons and pulls both shirt and undershirt over Carwood's head. "Which shoulder?" he says.

"What?" Carwood asks, still dizzy from the sudden motion. He grips Ron's collar when Ron rolls his hips upward and nearly sends him falling backwards.

"Which shoulder did I mark?" Ron asks.

"Left," Carwood says, and he drops his head to Ron's shoulder when Ron bites him hard enough to spark his interest but not so hard it actually hurts. "Jesus," Carwood mutters as Ron does it again, then again. He slides his hand down Ron's front and presses his palm against the heat of Ron's groin. Ron moans and bites down harder for just an instant.

"I--"

There's a loud knock on the door in the quick-patter of someone purposefully trying to be annoying. Carwood and Ron freeze, Carwood's hand still pressed against Ron's groin. "Shh," Carwood says in Ron's ear. "Maybe they'll go away."

"Carwood! Ron!" It is unmistakably Harry, and the knock-patter gets more insistent. "Don't tell me you jerks passed out from a few glasses of whiskey."

"Officers," adds Bill through the door, "Can't ever trust them to hold their booze."

"Hey!" Comes from Harry and Nix at the same time, and Carwood hears a few sniggers in response.

"Shit," Ron says, his hands opening and closing over Carwood's waist.

"Yeah," Carwood agrees. He takes his hand away from Ron's groin and watches him bite his lip.

"C'mon, you lightweights!" Harry calls. "I've got a bachelor party to get started."

"Maybe they're asleep," says George, and Carwood appreciates that he's trying to help, but he is certain no sleep or refusal to answer the door is going to keep Harry from dragging them along.

Carwood stands and smooths his hair, grabbing his shirts from the floor and slipping them back on as he crosses the room. He hears the bed move as Ron neatens up behind him, and by the time he opens the door, he figures he looks semi-presentable. "Hello, Harry," he says, grinning and meaning it because Harry looks like the happiest man alive. "I thought you weren't having a bachelor party."

"Lip!" Harry greets and yanks him into a hug. "I thought it'd be an insult to Kitty, but it turns out she considered it an insult that I would think it was an insult, so I went down to the bar to catch up with you fellas, and they didn't know where you and Speirs had gone, so we figured you'd come back here."

"You figured right," Carwood says. He feels Ron walk up behind him and doesn't turn around.

"Harry," Ron says. "Congratulations."

"Thanks!" Harry beams like everything is right in the world. He shoulders past Carwood to pull Ron into his own hug, and Carwood hears a couple of snickers from the assembled boys at the look of surprise on Ron's face.

"We're dragging you out with us," Nixon says from the back of the group. "Harry says we all go, so we all go. A man this happy to be getting hitched gets listened to."

"Every man should be this happy to get hitched," Winters says.

"Impossible," Harry declares as he lets go of Ron and turns to face the boys again. "No one is happier than me." He turns back to Carwood and Ron making a 'hurry up' motion with his hands. "Well, come on, guys. It's my last night of imperfection before everything is right in the world."

"Oh, my god, I am going to sock you in the mouth," Bill declares.

"Me first!" George adds.

They move down the hall in a crowd, Ron and Carwood bringing up the rear until Nixon drops back to join them. "Sorry to interrupt the reunion," he says in a whisper. "But Harry was not to be swayed."

"We weren't--"

"You missed a button on your shirt."

Carwood glances down as Nixon steps back into the middle of the crowd. The fourth button down is out of its buttonhole, and he feels himself flush.

"No one noticed," Ron says, sidling closer to him as they round the corner to the elevator.

"I'm not embarrassed I missed," Carwood replies, "I'm trying to stay calm while I think about how it happened." Ron gives him a dark, possessive look, and Carwood can't breathe for a second.

They pile onto the elevator, Harry getting manhandled to the front of the crowd as the man of the hour, and just as the doors open for the lobby, George bursts into the opening lines of the Airbone Infantry battle hymn. The boys join in instantly, and after a quick look between the five of them, Lip, Ron, Winters, Nixon, and Harry join along. They get a wide berth through the lobby, and then they're out on the street, the song done and the boys howling with laughter.

"Your face is absurd," Nixon says to Carwood as he and Winters fall into step on either side of he and Ron. "It's like you've never seen your baby birds fly."

"I've seen them fly plenty," Carwood replies. "Just never seen them this happy."

Winters pats him on the back while Nixon rolls his eyes and turns to Ron for support. "Oh, come on," he says when he see the way Ron's watching the men move down the street. "Not you, too."

"They're my men," Ron replies. "It's nice to see them like this."

"I'm not even looking at you," Nixon says as he points at Winters and cuts through the boys to get shoulder-to-shoulder with Harry.

Winters chuckles and shakes his head as he watches Nixon offer Harry a hit from his flask. "We're going to have pour Harry down the aisle if he's not careful."

"I think as long as he can say I do, Kitty'll let it slide," Carwood says.

"I think you might be right," Winters replies as they duck into a bar the rest of the boys have already stepped into.

They have two drinks and a snack there, then Harry leads the way to another bar, and after that, Bill leads the way to the third. Carwood tries to moderate his drinking, but between Nixon buying a round at every single place they go and Harry making toast after toast to all of Kitty's finer attributes, he finds himself unquestionably drunk and a little stumbly as they make it into bar number four.

"Easy," Ron says, and his hand comes up to curl at Carwood's elbow.

Carwood slumps against him and smiles. He thinks about saying something filthy and suggestive, and then giggles so hard at the idea he nearly topples over. Ron gets him propped up into a chair and keeps a hand on the back of his neck to steady him. Carwood closes his eyes and hums in happiness at the contact and then drops his forehead onto Ron's shoulder.

"Awww, Lip's a lightweight!" Babe says, and all the boys look over and laugh.

"Some of us couldn't drink our way across Europe," George says too loudly. "And that is hilarious for the rest of us."

"Luz, get me a beer," Joe orders him.

Carwood opens his eyes and watches George give Joe a completely off-the-mark salute before weaving his way to the bar. He realizes his head is still on Ron's shoulder, and he lifts it. "I should get a beer," he says.

"No, you should not," Ron replies. "You need coffee."

"I'm fine," Carwood says. He tries to stand, but Ron squeezes on the back of his neck, and it distracts Carwood. He looks at Ron, then around the table, and he feels the grin go across his face. "We're all here," he says. "Well, except Buck and Roe and Perconte and--"

"Everyone who's not here," Bill cuts in.

"Right," Carwood agrees.

Bill laughs. "Jesus," he says to Babe, "even off his ass he's still counting heads."

"That's why we love you, Lip," Babe tells him, and the other boys nod in very serious agreement.

"What'd I miss?" George asks as he comes back with four beers balanced between his fingers. Nixon is behind him with more, and Winters is coming up the rear with two cups of coffee, one of which he places in front of Carwood.

"How did you know?" Carwood asks, staring at the coffee.

"Lucky guess," Winters tells him and pats him on the back. It feels nice, but not as nice as Ron's hand, still on his neck.

Carwood looks at Ron and smiles. "I like you."

"Good," Ron says. He holds up Carwood's coffee cup. "Drink this slowly. It's hot."

"Okay."

"It's nice to see the softer side of you, Ron," Harry says as he leans hard against the table and nearly sends two beers toppling. Nixon makes a quick grab and manages to save them both. "Always knew you were a teddy bear underneath the uniform."

"He's a dog person," Carwood says as he cradles his coffee. Some part of his mind is telling him to shush, but it's being drowned out by the way everyone is looking at him like he's got a great story to tell. "Her name is Sherman. After the tank. And my dog is a metaphor named Panzer."

"I have no idea what that means," Harry says, and he beams. "But I do know there's a jukebox in the corner, and the rest of you aren't getting married tomorrow, so let's go meet some pretty girls for you all."

"I think we'll take our leave," Winters says to Ron as they watch Harry lead away Babe and Bill. George is intent on his beer, and Joe is leaning against him, clearly content where he is.

"See you all at the big day," Nixon says and claps a hand on Winters' shoulder as they walk away.

"Oh," Carwood says, looking down at his hands, "I have coffee."

"You've had it for five minutes, Lip," George says. He looks up from his beer and looks surprised that their table is mostly empty. "Where's Harry and them?"

"By the jukebox trying to meet girls," Ron says. He watches Carwood take a long drink of the coffee and nods in approval.

"I like girls," George says after a pause. He turns to walk away from the table, but Joe catches him by the collar and pulls him backwards. "Hey! What gives!"

"Where you going?" Joe asks, draping his arm around George's neck and manhandling him until George is tucked tight against his side.

"Girls," George says, looking up at Joe with overwide eyes. "There are girls, Joe."

"Nuh-uh. You're not getting with a girl tonight."

"Why not?"

"Because I said so."

"Oh. Okay." George leans further into Joe, and Joe shifts to handle his weight.

"I like this coffee," Carwood says to Ron. He blinks a few times when Ron looks at him, and he suddenly feels different, like his head is clearing of fog.

"Are you back?" Ron asks.

Carwood takes another drink of coffee. He's still drunk, he's certain, but he feels like he's back in control of his facilities. "Yes," he says. "Mostly."

"Good." Ron takes the empty coffee cup from his hand and slides him the half-full one Winters left behind. "Because you just told the whole table the dog is a metaphor."

"What? I didn't."

"You did, Lip," Joe tells him. George is leaning even harder against him, arm around Joe's waist and face pressed into his shoulder. "Hey, watch it, Luz," Joe says, shoving at him with his hip.

"Nope," Luz replies. "I like it here."

"I think we'll go," Ron says. He stands and takes the cup from Carwood's hands, setting it on the table. "Can you walk?"

"Yes," Carwood says. He stands as well, nods to Joe, who is busy complaining to Luz about his grip, and then they walk outside.

It's cooled off considerably since they left the hotel for the party, and the shiver that runs through Carwood clears his head a little bit more. "Oh, god, I actually did say Panzer was a metaphor."

"The dog is just a dog," Ron says and smiles at him as he pulls out his cigarettes. "Bill was the only one who heard you, and I doubt he'll remember it come tomorrow."

"Here's hoping," Carwood says. He takes a drag of his cigarette and blows it out again.

"Feeling better?" Ron asks a block later.

"Yes," Carwood replies. "I think I should eat something."

Ron points up to the end of the block. There's an all-night diner, brightly lit with only a few patrons. "There?"

"That'll do."

They order sandwiches and more coffee, sitting on opposite sides of the booth with their knees touching underneath. They see the boys stumble by almost half an hour later, clearly out of their heads and having the time of their lives.

"What time is the wedding tomorrow?" Ron asks.

"Three."

He checks his watch, and Carwood looks at how it sits on his wrist. "It's only 11:30. They'll be okay."
"If they go to bed any time soon."

They smile at each other, finish their sandwiches and coffee, and then make the walk back to the hotel. Carwood yawns hugely as they step onto the elevator, and Ron touches him on the back. "You okay?" Ron asks.

"Just fine," Carwood replies.

Ron unlocks the room door and lets Carwood go in first. Carwood sits on the bed nearest the door and takes off his shoes while Ron ducks into the bathroom. Carwood looks over when he hears the tub start running. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"Just getting ready," Ron says.

"For what?"

Ron walks out of the bathroom, shirt and undershirt in one hand. His trousers are unbuttoned but still at his waist. He hangs up his shirt and undershirt and starts when Carwood comes up behind him and reaches for his zipper. "I thought we could take a bath together," Ron says. He rocks his hips forward when Carwood touches him through his slacks. "It's a big tub."

"You think it'll take some time to fill?" Carwood asks. He mouths at Ron's shoulder, their intentions from earlier in the evening coming to the forefront.

"Ten minutes, probably."

Carwood unzips Ron's trousers and reaches into them with one hand. The other hand, he wraps around Ron's chest. "Okay." He jerks Ron off from behind, fascinated at the way his hand moves over Ron's dick. Ron rocks into his hand and reaches back to grip at Carwood's hip. They move together in silence, Carwood placing open-mouthed kisses on Ron's shoulders and neck as Ron keeps rolling into his grip.

Ron comes quietly, sagging back against Carwod with a sigh and smiling when Carwood kisses his cheek as he pulls his hand away.

"On your feet?" Carwood asks.

"Yes," Ron says, and he stands up straight as Carwood steps back to find something to wipe his hand clean. Ron turns when Carwood comes up behind him again. "Come here," he says, and he pulls Carwood into the steaming bathroom, has him sit on the edge of the claw foot tub, and blows him with just his fly open and the rest of his clothes still on.

"Oh," Carwood grunts when he comes, and he only stays upright on the edge of the tub because of the hold Ron has on his shirt.

"Steady," Ron says, as he leans around Carwood to check the bath's temperature. He adjusts the hot water and pulls Carwood to his feet. "Can you get undressed?"

"Yes," Carwood says, and he shucks off his clothes quickly before removing his watch and placing it by the sink.

Ron removes his own watch and puts it next to Carwood's. He takes off his trousers and underwear and then leans over the tub again. He turns off the water and looks over his shoulder at Carwood. "Do you want the front or back?"

"Back," Carwood says.

"Of course," Ron murmurs, and he looks deeply fond and charmed when Carwood gets into the tub, settles himself, and then helps Ron to lie back against his chest and between his legs. "Even if I hadn't asked, you'd have taken that spot, wouldn't you?"
"You're not the only one who likes taking care of people," Carwood says. He presses his face into Ron's hair, then cups water in his hands and pours it over Ron's shoulders and chest.

"I only like taking care of you," Ron replies.

"I don't think that's true, or you wouldn't have gone out with the boys tonight."

"Mmm," Ron says, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He shifts so his arms are draped on the edges of the tub and smiles when Carwood lays his over them.

Carwood watches him relax in the water and thinks about all the things he's been wanting to say to him. "I'm glad we're here right now," he starts, and then it all just falls out in one go. "I'm glad we can finally see Kitty and Harry get married, and I'm glad it gives me a reason to be with you like this." He kisses the side of Ron's head. "I hated the war," he continues. "Still do. All those people hurt and dying, and those camps, the damned cold in Bastogne, and my boys getting hurt and dying or breaking on the inside. And then I get mad at myself for being a little grateful for it because I found you."

"Carwood," Ron says. There's a stunted, heavy silence. "I--"

"You don't have to try to put together your thoughts," Carwood says as he drops one arm to drape over Ron's chest and hold his shoulder. "I don't want you to ever think you need to meet me halfway when I get flowery."

"I want to," Ron says.

"I'm glad to hear it, but you sent me that letter, and I swear to you, I'll take everything you said in it to heart until you tell me not to."
Ron grips Carwood's wrist and presses back against him. "Move to Boston," he says. "Come up for school and live with me, and don't make me wait three years to have you near me all the time. Be selfish for once in your whole life and come to Boston."

Carwood doesn't say anything for a long time. The offer is so tempting it makes him feel like he's being squeezed around the chest. He noses into Ron's hair and watches the steam rise from the bath. "I can't," he says finally, and he's relieved when Ron doesn't try to pull away. "I've got responsibilities."

"I know," Ron replies.

They go quiet again, letting the water cool around them as they hold onto each other. When it gets lukewarm, Carwood nudges at Ron's shoulder and then follows him out of the tub. They towel off and crawl into bed, and Carwood smiles when Ron wraps around him and kisses lightly at the mark he made earlier.

"Good night, Carwood."

"Good night, Ron."

*

Carwood wakes up ten minutes before dawn as always. Ron has shifted in the night, flopping out nearly spread-eagle on the bed, though one hand is still pressed against Carwood's side. Carwood turns over, Ron's hand sliding onto the sheet, and watches Ron wake up, his eyes closed, then fluttering, then wide open and looking at the ceiling.

"Good morning," Carwood says.

"Good morning," Ron replies. He turns his head and smiles at Carwood, soft and still a little sleepy.

Carwood leans over and kisses him. He lets Ron pull at his arms until Carwood's half-draped across his chest, his forehead against Ron's far shoulder. "Wedding's at three," he says. "We could go sight-seeing."

"No," Ron replies. He strokes Carwood's hair and kisses his temple. "I'd rather be here for awhile."

"Alright."

They lay together as the sun comes up and brightens the room. Carwood dozes in and out until Ron shifts and reaches for his cigarettes. Carwood props himself up on one elbow and watches Ron as he lights up, takes a drag, and then passes the cigarette to Carwood. He looks like a sculpture, Carwood thinks. Something Ron himself would have packed away in a box and sent back to his wife and son. He takes the cigarette when Ron holds it out and takes his own drag before passing it back.

"We could order room service," Ron offers.

"That sounds fine," Carwood agrees. He twists to reach the menu that's on the table between the two beds and pauses when he notices the second bed has been thoroughly rumpled like it's actually been slept in. "I don't recall using the other bed," he says.

"Woke up in the middle of the night," Ron replies. "I took care of it."

"Oh." Carwood turns back towards Ron, the menu in one hand. "Did you sleep well?"

Ron smiles at him reassuringly, passes the cigarette back, and takes the menu in its place. "Just had to let go of all those drinks," he says.

"Good," Carwood says. He finishes the cigarette and stubs it out in the ashtray. He sits up and stretches hard, then drops to the floor and starts to do push-ups.

"Eggs?" Ron calls over Carwood's soft counting.

"Yes, please. And toast."

"And coffee," Ron adds.

"Does it come with bacon?"

"Yes."

"Can we get extra?"

"Yes," Ron says, sounding amused.

Carwood finishes fifty push-ups, and stands, stretching again. "That sounds good."

Ron puts the menu down and reaches for Carwood, pulling him in by the hip and kissing him just below his navel. "Do you mind if we order after?"

Carwood runs his fingers through Ron's hair and shivers when Ron kisses his belly again. "No," he says. "Not at all."

Ron pulls him back to the bed and lowers him down in a controlled fall. "Good," he says, and he trails his fingers over the mark on Carwood's shoulder as he kisses him hard and deep.

*

Breakfast is very good, Carwood thinks, though it's likely improved by the fact he gets to watch Ron do calisthenics in his underwear. He'd finished his own sets just before the food arrived, Ron watching from where he was flopped out on the bed, looking quietly content with the world and Carwood in particular.

Ron finishes his last sit-up, stands, and then leans over the table surveying his half of the food before he sits down. "Good?" he asks.

"Yes," Carwood replies. He takes a sip of coffee and watches Ron cut his eggs like there's an instruction manual. It makes him smile, and when he looks at Ron's face, Ron's smiling back at him.

"We have time to sight-see if you want," Ron says. "It's only eight."

"I was thinking we--" Carwood cuts off at a knock on the door. "Here's hoping that's not Harry with cold feet," he says as he stands to answer it. Ron chuckles behind him.

It's not Harry, it's George, and he looks wild in the eyes when Carwood opens the door. "Morning," George says. "I need to talk to you." He shoulders his way in before Carwood can invite him and flops down on the bed nearest the door. "Hi, Ron," he adds.

"Good morning," Ron replies. He sips his coffee. "Are you okay, George?"

"I'm great," George says. "Just woke up this morning with my dream guy draped all over me and both of us messed up in that post-sex way, and then he wakes up, looks confused, and decides he must have just passed out on me and the goo gluing us together was a spilled drink or something."

"And what actually happened?" Ron asks.

"I don't know. I don't even remember getting back to the room, but my dick was sore when I woke up, and I've got fucking teeth marks on my thighs, so I feel like sex theory is valid."

"Most likely," Ron says.

George raises his head and looks at Ron, then Carwood. "You gonna chime in, Lip? I wasn't really expecting Ron to be the guy giving advice here."

"I don't have any advice to give," Carwood admits, "except that you should go back and push him about it."

"Before Harry's wedding and show up with a shiner?"

"He won't punch you," Carwood says. George gives him a look. Carwood refuses to justify himself and turns to Ron for help.

"Wait until after the reception," Ron says. "Let him stew on it."

"He's not gonna stew on it; he's gonna pretend it didn't happen."

"When you pretend it didn't happen, you stew on it," Ron says. "Trust me." Carwood raises his eyebrows at Ron's tone, but Ron isn't looking at him. "Talk to him afterwards when all the events are done. If he punches you then, at least you haven't ruined Harry's wedding."

George sighs hugely and heaves himself off the bed. "I have to go get coffee," he says. "That's where I told Joe I was going."

"It'll be okay, George," Carwood says.

"Uh-huh," George replies as he walks out of the room, his shoulders rolled up near his ears.

Carwood looks at Ron, who is pouring himself another cup of coffee. "You stew on it?" he asks.

"Yes," Ron replies. He holds up the coffee pot and pours Carwood a second cup after he nods. "I've had a few moments in my life that trying to deny something to myself just meant I thought about it that much more often." His eyes go blank for a moment, but then he looks at Carwood, and they show some emotion again. "It has occasionally worked to my advantage."

Carwood leans over to take his coffee cup and presses a kiss to Ron's cheek. "I don't think I stew, but I do think about you all the time."

"You're not trying to deny me," Ron says. "That's the difference."

"Have you tried to deny me?" Carwood asks.

"Not because I want to," Ron says. "It's just my nature to assume I won't get what I want. I usually find myself denied."

"George assumes he'll get everything he goes for," Carwood says. "It's interesting you think he stews."

"Every good sergeant does," Ron replies.

"I was a sergeant, remember?"

"No, you were a lieutenant with stripes on your sleeve. Probably from the very beginning."

Carwood ducks his head at the compliment and looks into his coffee. "You say things like that, it makes me want to take you back to bed."

"A good lieutenant also shows initiative," Ron says, and he laughs when Carwood puts down his coffee cup and straddles his lap.

They don't make it out to go sight-seeing. They barely make it down to the lobby in time to walk to the church with the other boys, in fact, because Ron insisting on helping Carwood with his cufflinks leads to kissing, which leads to Carwood mussing Ron's hair, which leads to Ron smoothing his hair, which somehow gets them back to kissing, and it's only the phone ringing that breaks them apart.

"Quit being anti-social and get down here," George says when Carwood picks up. "You're officers, for Christ's sake."

"Be down in a minute, George," Carwood promises, and they make it downstairs with no further delays.

They're met in the lobby by the boys from last night plus Frank Perconte. He shakes hands with Ron then pulls Carwood into a hug before Carwood can say anything. "Good to see you in civvies, Lip,"

"You too, Frank. You just get in?"

"Couple of hours ago. The train had a major delay, cows on the tracks or something. Had to sleep in my seat rather than a bed, but hell, it's not Bastogne, so it's okay."

"It is at that," Carwood agrees. "Good of you to make it."

"Hey, I'm not missing a chance to meet the famed Kitty Gregson," Frank says as they all walk out of the lobby and into the street. "Pretty sure I'm gonna be disappointed if she doesn't glow like an angel, though."

"I'm sure if you ask Harry, she does," Carwood says. "And that's the important part."

"Yeah," Frank agrees, and Carwood remembers, as he looks at the way he smiles, that Frank has a wife and child at home.

"Your wife didn't come with?" he asks.

"Wasn't up for it," Frank says with a wide grin. "We've got another one on the way in about two months."

"Congratulations," Carwood says, patting him on the back. "That's great news."

"Yeah," Frank says, and he smiles like everything is perfect in the world, "Yeah, it is."

"We're gonna have to take you out tonight, Perconte," Bill says from the front of the group. "Make sure we have a proper celebration for that bundle of joy."

Babe groans. "Aww, come on, Bill. I'm not recovered from last night."

"Same," Malarkey says.

"You boys are a deep disappointment," George says in his best Sobel voice. "I wouldn't take you to war if you were the last men on Earth."

"Not enough swearing, George," Frank replies.

Carwood looks at Joe, expecting him to join in the fun, but Joe's walking a little to one side, head down, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks pensive and far away, though he's keeping up just fine. Carwood touches Ron's elbow and glances at Joe again when Ron looks at him.

"I saw," Ron says in an undertone that the boys don't hear because they're getting George to do other voices. "Squad leaders stew, too."

Carwood huffs a laugh at that, and he and Ron walk in silence surrounded by the sounds of the boys the rest of the way to the church.

*

Chapter Text

*

Harry's sober and grinning like the world is perfect when he walks up the aisle to stand next to the preacher and his best man. All the men of Easy have been seated a few rows back on Harry's side. Winters, Nixon, Carwood, and Ron take up half a pew while the rest of the boys take up the whole one behind them. Only Winters and Ron are in their dress uniforms--the rest of them look like regular old civilians--but they're all grinning the same when the big doors at the end of the church open to give them their first glimpse of the fabled bride.

"Holy christ, she really did make it out of his reserve chute," Nixon mutters when Kitty starts to walk down the aisle, beaming just as hard as Harry. No one else can tell, probably, but every airborne man in the world knows the seams on his parachute, even when a pretty bride has designed her dress so it flatters her like hell.

"Good," Ron says, and Carwood understands exactly what he means. They never doubted Harry's devotion to Kitty, but they'd also never met Kitty, and seeing her there, wearing her dress with clear pride tells them everything Harry's ever said about her is true.

"That's great," Carwood says.

"It's very sweet," Winters says.

"Oh, don't side with the romantics," Nixon replies.

"We're at a wedding, Nix," Winters points out as they sit and turn their attention the minister.

Everyone in the room is quiet and contained through the ceremony. At least until the minister gives Harry permission to kiss the bride, and then the Easy boys behind Carwood cheer with abandon as Harry does just that, Kitty laughing with obvious happiness as she returns it.

They keep the cheer up as Harry and Kitty walk back down the aisle and through the doors of the church, and Carwood overhears a few people wondering who these rowdy men are on Harry's side of the aisle. They're my men, Carwood thinks with a smile. Even in their civilian clothes, disguised as no one special, they are his men.

"Gentlemen," Winters says, and the boys hush immediately. Carwood wonders if it's the tone or the dress uniform and figures it's a bit of both. "A small amount of decorum as we exit, okay?"

"Yes, Sir," they all say, just out of unison, and they file out quietly, grinning at each other as they hurry to watch the bride and groom drive away towards the reception.

"Hey," Nixon says, sidling up to Carwood as he, Winters, Carwood, and Ron make their way to the front of the church. "If we skip out the back, you won't have to carpool with those animals."

"We walked, actually," Carwood says.

"Which means going back to the hotel and then carpooling. You will end up shoved in a car with all of them at once."

Carwood glances at Ron. "Well?"

"We'll follow you," Ron says and turns on a dime.

Carwood chuckles as he follows. "I'm sure the boys would love if you joined them."

"I did enough of that last night," Ron replies, but he's smiling.

"I have to concur," Winters says as he falls into step on the other side of Nix. "They're good men, but I don't think I was ever that young."

"You weren't," Nix says, and he grins when Winters gives him a look.

"I wasn't either," Ron says. "It was fun but strange to experience it."

"What about you?" Nix asks Carwood.

"My mother says I'm an old soul."

Nix gets a pained look on his face. "So, I'm the only one who's a cynic from actual life experience?"

"You're also the only cynic, I think," Carwood says.

Nix looks at Ron. Ron shakes his head. "Realist," he says. "Not a cynic."

"Well, shit," Nix says. The others chuckle as they all step out the back of the church. There's a dark blue Studebaker near the door, the top down, and Nix gestures to it lazily. "In we go, boys."

Ron literally hops into the back seat without opening the door. Carwood shakes his head as he goes around to the other side and opens the door to get in. He's surprised when Nixon gets in on his side, and Winters gets behind the wheel.

"Is this your car?" Carwood asks Winters.

"No," Winters says as he turns the key in the ignition. Nixon slouches down and props his foot on the dash, "But if Nix actually had to drive, he'd never get anywhere."

"I hate driving," Nixon says as they pull from the parking lot and head towards the reception. "What's the point?"

"It gets you places," Carwood says.

"So does being a passenger," Nixon replies. He pulls his flask from his pocket and takes a sip, passing it back to Carwood and Ron. Carwood holds up a hand in refusal, but Ron takes a drink and then hands it back.

"Don't even try it," Winters says when Nixon holds out the flask near his face. He laughs when Nixon shakes it at him. "No, Nix."

"Just promise me you'll drink the champagne for the toast."

"Maybe," Winters says, and Carwood catches the way his eyes practically twinkle when Nixon huffs an over-dramatic breath and calls Winters a boring old codger.

Carwood looks at Ron. He has one arm on the edge of the door, his hair going flyaway in the wind. His cap is tucked into his belt, and his other hand is on the seat, just a few inches from Carwood's. Carwood reaches out his hand and touches Ron's. Ron looks at him, and he smiles, squinting against the sunlight as they turn down another road.

"Yes?" Ron asks. His voice is quiet, just barely discernible over the wind.

Carwood looks at the front seat. Winters is concentrating on his driving. Nixon is staring out the windshield, his left arm draped across the back of the seat, just brushing Winters' arm. Carwood moves a little closer to Ron and leans in so he can speak directly in Ron's ear. "You think that'll be us in a few years?" he asks, tilting his head towards Winters and Nixon.

"Maybe," Ron replies. "I hope so."

"Me, too."

"Hey, no necking back there!" Nixon hollers over the wind. "No one gets lucky in this car except me."
"He's never gotten lucky in this car," Winters says with a glance over his shoulder.

"Well, maybe after the reception," Carwood says, and Winters shakes his head as Nixon throws back his head and laughs.

The bride and groom haven't arrived when they pull up to the reception hall. Ron exits through the door rather than jump it again, and as they cross the parking lot, the boys pull up, all piled into a single car.

"Told you," Nixon says.

"You did," Carwood agrees.

They walk to the front of the reception hall, joining the rest of the guests who are milling around and chatting as they wait for the doors to open. Nixon pulls out his cigarettes and offers them to Ron and Carwood. They each take one, and Ron lights Carwood's before lighting his own.

"Bad form," Carwood says. "A senior officer should never light a junior officer's cigarette."

"And a junior officer should never sleep on the bed," Ron replies.

"How are your lungs these days?" Winters asks, and Carwood isn't surprised he knows the context of that conversation.

"Just fine," Carwood says. "Made it through the winter without a hitch."

"Good to hear."
"How are the dogs?" Nixon asks. "Did you bring them?"

"No, Sherman is staying with an acquaintance of mine, and Panzer is with Mrs. Lipton," Ron answers. "Sherman is well."

"Panzer, too," Carwood says. "Although no better at cards than before."

"You have to start them young," Nixon replies.

"Aww, look at the officer's reunion we got going on!" Bill crows as he leads the boys over. "You mind if a few enlisted men get in on this party?"
"Of course not," Winters says, taking a step back so the boys can fit in their circle. "You boys recovered from last night?"

"Well enough to repeat the performance," Malarkey says.

"Man, get on one late train, and you miss all the fun," Perconte says. He points at Ron. "Did you actually play darts with these jerks?"
"I did," Ron says.

"Well, I'll be," Frank says. "I owe you a buck, Luz."

"Damn right you do," George says. "Joe, too." He turns, looking for Joe. "Wherever he went," he adds, his face darkening.

Carwood looks around and spots Joe hunkered behind the car they came in. The doors to the reception hall open, and there's a cheer from the crowd as Harry and Kitty step into the doorway and wave hello. "Go ahead," he tells Ron. "I'll catch up."

He crosses the parking lot and leans against the bumper next to Joe. "You're pretty down for a man at his friend's wedding," he says.

"Now's not a good time, Lip," Joe says. He's smoking down a cigarette hard, and there's another already crushed on the ground next to his foot. "Just needed a little space."

"Any particular reason?"

"I said it's not a good time."

"When has that ever stopped me?"

Joe slants him a look, drops his butt, and stomps on it hard with his heel. "Never, apparently."

Carwood glances over his shoulder at the reception hall. The Easy boys are in the back of the line, joking and waiting their turn as the receiving line inches forward. "Come on, Joe," he says. "You don't want to go in there in a bad mood. It's bad luck."

"That's bullshit," Joe says. He slides his palms over his hair, smoothing it down even further than it already is. He glances around, clearly checking to see if they'll be overheard. Carwood waits him out, having pushed as much as he figures he can get away with.

"I told you my aunt was funny," he says after a pause.

"You did," Carwood agrees.

"Well, she ain't the only one in the family if you get my drift."

"I think I do," Carwood says, giving Joe an open look. "We're talking about you, I take it?"

"Yeah, yeah. We're talking about me." Joe huffs out a breath and pushes off the bumper, turning to face towards the reception hall. Turning, Carwood thinks, to watch the enemy. "I'm not as funny as her, or maybe I'm more. I don't know. I mean, l like girls. I really like 'em. They're pretty and they're soft and they smell good, and they laugh at my jokes and they're smart, but I…" He rubs a hand over his jaw and looks down at his shoes. "I like men sometimes, too. Not a lot of the time, but when I do, I really do."

"Okay," Carwood says. "You know I'm not shocked to know sometimes guys like guys."

Joe laughs. It's tight and a little hard. "Yeah," he says. "I guess." He pulls his cigarettes from his pocket and lights up another. "You want?"

"I'm fine," Carwood says. He waits Joe out again as Joe lights up and takes a drag.

"I like smart, and I like funny. That's sort of what everyone's all had in common. Everyone I've taken to bed, I mean."

"I get you."

"And for awhile, I've sort of had this feeling like maybe I'm liking a guy again, you know? Like I've liked them before. A smart, funny guy." Joe flicks ash off his cigarette and looks at the line still slowly making its way into the hall. "And I didn't really want to because I thought...I don't know. I sort of thought that with my leg, it's not worth really going for. I mean, who wants to be with a guy with a bum leg?"
"You haven't had any trouble at the Honky Tonk," Carwood points out.

"That's sex," Joe says. "And it's fun, but when you're just having sex, it's easy to roll with whoever wants to get in bed with you. You're not gonna get up the next day, make that person breakfast, and kiss 'em on the cheek before they brush their teeth." He drags on his cigarette again and holds the smoke in his lungs for a long time. "But it won't be sex. It'll be a thing. Like, a real thing. Like what you and Ron have going on, I think. I think it's that much of a thing that could happen."

"It's a big thing," Carwood agrees with complete sincerity. He can see Joe starting to shy away from the rest of the conversation by the way his eyes shift from Carwood, to the front of the hall, and then down to the ground. "Joe," he says quietly, and Joe looks up. He's not begging silently for help, but there's something like a wild hope in his eyes that Carwood can fix this. "It's George, isn't it?"

Joe deflates and presses his hand to his forehead. "Shit," he says. "Fucking shit. Am I that fucking obvious? Shit."

"Joe," Carwood says. He steps forward and gets in Joe's line of vision, waits for Joe to stop quietly cursing at himself and look him in the eyes. "It's okay," he says. "It's okay."

"Yeah, because George Luz is totally gonna roll in bed with me without being drunk as a damn skunk."

"Is that what happened last night?" Carwood asks.

"Yeah. I think so, I mean. I don't remem--" Joe cuts off, eyes sharpening as Carwood takes a step back. "What do you know?" he asks.

Carwood considers playing dumb, or at least claim it was a wild guess, but it's not his nature, so he says, as soft and careful as he can, "I know that George won't turn you down," he says. "I know that George will probably kiss you on the cheek tomorrow morning. I know that you need to make sure you're both at least mostly sober when you talk about it after the party in there, so watch how much you have, alright?"

Joe blinks a few times. His cigarette drops from his hand, and he nods, then he smiles, and then he laughs. "Okay," he says. "You got my word, Lip."

"And I trust it," Carwood replies. He walks over and steps on the cigarette to put it out. "Come on," he says, gesturing towards the reception hall, "let's go congratulate the happy couple."

They walk over and get in line, Joe shouldering past Perconte and Malarkey to get next to George and throw an arm around his shoulder.

"You trying to choke me to death?" George complains, though Carwood can see how bright and happy his eyes are.

"I dunno. Maybe tonight," Joe replies, and he pulls George in closer.

"Finally," Ron mutters as he circles to the back of the line to get behind Carwood. "At least, I assume that's what that means."

"I think it is," Carwood tells him. "But we'll have to see how it plays out after they actually talk through it."

"I suppose," Ron agrees. The line moves forward again, and it's just Easy men now, with Winters leading the way and Nixon at his elbow. It goes from a line to a crowd around Harry and Kitty, the boys on their very best behavior for all of thirty seconds before George does his impression of Harry talking about Kitty during the war, and she laughs and applauds and demands to hear it again.

"Congratulations, Harry," Carwood says, as Harry looks on in dismay.

"They're gonna tell her everything," he says.

"You haven't already?"

"Oh, I have, but they're gonna tell her again. And they're gonna make me look bad." He turns to Carwood and Ron and beams. "Oh, well. She already married me. She's not getting rid of me now."

"That's the spirit," Carwood says, and Harry and he shake again before Harry turns and accepts Ron's congratulations as well.

"You must be Carwood Lipton," Kitty says when Carwood manages to elbow his way through the boys to say best wishes. "Harry told me about the scar of your face, and I know it's rude, but I've been checking all of you boys for it to figure out which one you are."

"Well, you found me," Carwood says. "Best wishes to you and him. I hope you'll keep him in line."

"Oh, there's no fun in that," she replies, and she's so radiant, Carwood thinks she might actually have a glow about her like the boys had joked. "But maybe we'll try once in awhile."

"But only once in awhile," Carwood says, and he steps aside as Ron comes up and offers his hand.

"I have never met a man so devoted to one person in my entire life," Ron says, and Kitty looks equally shocked and flustered at his serious tone. "And I can tell you are as devoted to him, and you'll have a long, happy life together."

Kitty flushes prettily and has tears in her eyes. She places her hand on Ron's shoulder and beams at him. "That is the kindest thing that I've heard today, and I've heard many kind things. Thank you, but I don't know your name."

"This is, uh, Captain Speirs," Harry says, his face screwing up in a grimace.

"Oh, go on," Kitty says, then her eyes widen, and she places a hand over her mouth when Ron nods to agree. "Oh! I am so sorry, but Harry's only told me war stories about you, and he makes you out to be…" She pauses, clearly searching for the proper word.

"He's a complete son of a bitch!" Nixon calls from the back of the crowd. "But he'll surprise you!"

"Lew," Winters groans, but Kitty's laughing, as are the boys, and the mood shifts from slightly uncomfortable to pure happiness again.

"Well, you have, and I'm grateful for it," Kitty says. "Now, let's get inside and let other people toast us and maybe I'll have the taste of my own foot out of my mouth before they're done."

Harry cuts around the boys and offers Kitty his arm, letting the men precede them into the hall itself before making the proper grand entrance.

"That was a lovely thing you said," Carwood says.

"It's true," Ron replies. He plucks two glasses of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter and hands one to Carwood. "It's all over her face and his. They'll be married the rest of their lives."

"I hope so," Carwood says. "I don't think anyone's ever worked harder to do so."

There's a quiet, repeated clinking that gets picked up around the room until everyone near a piece of cutlery is tapping their champagne glasses. Harry's best man--undoubtedly Harry's brother by being his near-double--stands in the center of the room and says, "To the happy couple!"

"To the happy couple!" everyone repeats and drinks.

The best man gives a proper toast after that, then the maid of honor steps up as well. Next is the father of the bride, then the father of the groom, and just as Carwood starts to think he's going to float away from all the champagne bubbles in his body, a waiter announces dinner will be served in five minutes, and Ron and Carwood find themselves at separate tables, but next to one another, back-to-back and surrounded by people they don't know.

"How do you do?" A white-haired woman with a stoop says to Carwood as she holds out her hand. "I'm Kitty's Aunt Trudy."

"Carwood Lipton," he replies. "I served with Harry in Europe. We were in the 101st together."

"Oh, you're one of those paratroopers," she says. "How nice."

Aunt Trudy knows everyone else at the table and makes introductions while the soup course is being set down. There are four other people at the table, alternating men and women, and also alternating ages. It doesn't escape Carwood's notice that he's been seated next to a second cousin of Harry's who seems very sweet but is clearly shy.

Her name is Elizabeth, and she talks more to her soup than to Carwood when she says, "It's nice to meet you. Harry's always spoken highly of you."

"That's good to hear," Carwood says. "Did you enjoy the ceremony?"

"Yes," she says, and she glances at him before looking away again. "I thought Kitty's dress was really beautiful."

"It was," Carwood agrees, and he sees her cheeks pink up. "Did you help with it?"

"I did the beading on the sleeves and neckline," she says.

"By hand?"

"Yes."

"That's very impressive."

She pinks up further. "Thank you."

The soup course is cleared and the salads are brought out. Carwood makes it through the whole course without further conversation. Aunt Trudy, it appears, is the type to take control at a table and ask questions of the people she knows while paying no mind to those she doesn't. It suits Carwood fine, especially as she doesn't appear to be exclusionary on purpose.

"Do you…" Elizabeth says, then pauses and takes a drink of her water. "Do you like being a paratrooper?" she gets out.

"I liked it very much," Carwood says. "But I'm not one anymore."

"Oh. What...what do you do now?"

"My mother has a boarding house, and I keep the books. I'm going to start school again in the fall and get a degree in engineering."

"That's nice." She looks away from him, as though searching for some sign that she's been talkative enough for the occasion.

Carwood wants to assure her she doesn't need to talk if she doesn't want to, but he's pretty sure that would make her shyness worse. "Do you decorate dresses often?" he asks, hoping to encourage her without putting her on the spot.

"No, but I'd like to. I like that sort of work. It's quiet, and you can do it alone." She looks embarrassed. "Not that I don't like being around people," she adds.

"I like quiet, too," Carwood tells her, and she looks pleased at that, though she's blushing again.

The salad course is taken away and the entrees get carried out. Elizabeth puts her focus on cutting her chicken, and Carwood leaves her to it. Behind him, he can hear Ron having a conversation but can't pick out the individual words. There's a laugh, soft and feminine, and then Carwood hears Ron chuckle, and he wishes there were a way to turn around and see who he's talking to. He looks out around the room instead, spotting the other Easy boys scattered at different tables but all of them back-to-back. It makes Carwood smile, and he makes a mental note to compliment Kitty's seating assignments. Once everyone turns towards the front of the room for the cake cutting, they'll be shoulder-to-shoulder with someone they know.

After the entree comes a small fruit plate, and as that gets finished, the cake is wheeled out to light applause. The waiters make the rounds, refilling the champagne glasses as everyone shifts to get a good view as Harry and Kitty prepare to make the first cut.

"Can you see?" Carwood asks Elizabeth.

"Take my chair," Ron says before Elizabeth can answer. "It's a better view, and I can actually see around Carwood's head."

"Oh, I'm fine," Elizabeth says.

"I insist," Ron replies. "You'll have a much better view."

"If you're sure it's no trouble."

"Not at all." Ron stands and steps to the side so Elizabeth can take his chair, and then he slides into hers, scooting it a little closer to Carwood and then leaning forward, his elbow on Carwood's shoulder. Carwood is certain it looks perfectly casual to anyone looking on. A few other men in the room are seated the same way, using the one in front of them as a prop to get a better view of the cake, but Carwood feels like something illicit is happening. Ron's face is so close Carwood can feel his breath on his cheek, and there are people all around, and they don't know what they're seeing. They have no idea.

The cake is cut, and Kitty and Harry feed it to each other as everyone applauds and whistles and cheers. Ron leans back once it's finished and doesn't offer Elizabeth her seat back. Whoever the woman was who Ron was talking to earlier is someone Elizabeth knows, and she's in happy conversation, clearly much more comfortable where she is.

"Did you like the ceremony?" Ron asks Aunt Trudy as the waiters start to bring over cake.

"Oh, it was lovely," Aunt Trudy says. "I prefer more traditional ceremonies, myself, but you younger ones like to keep it simpler."

"I think they just wanted to be married as quickly as possible," Carwood says.

Aunt Trudy smiles, deeply indulgent, as she glances over at Kitty and Harry. "They've waited so long," she says. "Kitty stayed with me awhile during the war, and it was a never-ending effort to keep her occupied so she wouldn't worry herself to death."

"Harry talked about her constantly," Carwood tells her. "In the end, I think we all wanted to marry her a little."

"I'm pretty sure we lost our chance now," Ron says, and that makes Aunt Trudy smile.

The dancing starts, first with Kitty and her father, then Kitty and Harry, and then the wedding party with them, and then everyone. Carwood stands against the wall and watches. Babe, Malarkey, and Bill have all found partners and are dancing. Perconte is in conversation with a man near the edge of the floor and looking quite happy to be there. Winters and Nixon are nowhere to be found, and George and Joe are leaning against the opposite wall, not talking but shoulder-to-shoulder and looking comfortable.

"You don't have to keep tabs on them," Ron says as he walks over with two drinks. He gives one to Carwood and stands against the wall next to him. "They can take care of themselves."

"I can't shake it," Carwood says. "Put me in a room with them, and I have to be certain they're fine."

"What trouble could they get up to here?" Ron holds up a hand. "I retract the question."

Carwood chuckles. They sip their drinks and watch the room together. "Was your wedding like this?" Carwood asks.

"No. It was very small. Just her and me and a few of her friends."

"No one for you?"

"I've never had many friends," Ron says.

"And your parents?"

"Couldn't make the trip. The Blitz was on. I didn't want them to risk it."

"Ah," Carwood says. "Are you close to your parents?"

"Not like you are with your mother, but we understand one another."

"Will I ever meet them?"

"I don't know," Ron says. He looks down into his drink, and then at Carwood. "I wouldn't know how to introduce you. I'm not sure how they would handle the truth, and I don't know that I could lie to them outright."

"Mother thinks you're my closest friend," Carwood says. "And she's not wrong, but she's not quite right, either."

"And you're comfortable with that?"

"I wouldn't have been before the war," Carwood says, and he looks around the room for the boys again. Winters and Nixon have reappeared, Nixon dancing with Kitty while Winters and Harry look on with amusement. "But now, it's all shades of gray in a lot of ways. I can't think of a single benefit of her knowing that I don't already get with her not knowing. She loves me. She cares for you. She wants us both to be happy. She told me to find someone who would take care of me, and I have. I might tell her one day, but I don't think about it often."

Ron doesn't reply to that, but Carwood feels acceptance in his silence, and that's enough.

*

Carwood expects their last night in the hotel to be hard and possessive like their last night in Boston, but they're both languid from all the champagne, and they make love lazily, pressing against each other as they kiss like they've got more than the night ahead of them.

"Ron," Carwood breathes into Ron's mouth. "Ron, I want to put my mouth on you."

"Fuck," Ron hisses, dropping his head to Carwood's shoulder. "Fuck, Carwood."

"Is that a no?" Carwood asks, and he laughs when Ron pokes hard at his ribs.

"Are you certain?" Ron asks. "It's not for everyone."

"I've been thinking about it," Carwood admits, and he feels himself flush. "Since you did it to me, I've been thinking of doing it to you, and I want to."

Ron squeezes him tight, kissing the side of his neck. "Okay," he says. "But stop if you don't like it."

"I will," Carwood promises. He watches Ron turn onto his back, hands behind his head, and he stops just to look at him. "I love you," Carwood murmurs as he presses open Ron's thighs and settles on his belly between them.

"Carwood," Ron murmurs.

"You don't have to say it," Carwood says. He kisses the inside of Ron's left thigh, then his right. Ron's toes flex, and Carwood smiles. "Yes?" he asks.

"Yes," Ron breathes out.

Carwood looks at Ron's dick, hard and just starting to leak. He traces the vein with a finger, and then he licks the same trail. Ron gasps, and Carwood smiles as he laps at the head. The thin stuff at the tip tastes like nothing much, but Ron's dick is hot and pleasant when Carwood wraps his lips around the first few inches of it and sucks a little bit.

"Yes," Ron hisses. "Fucking hell."

Carwood hums around Ron's dick, slides his mouth a little lower, then pulls back when it feels like too much. He runs his hands up and down the inside of Ron's thighs, and he pulls off when Ron bucks and nearly shoves his dick down his throat. "Easy," he says with a smile.

"Sorry," Ron gasps. "It's just…"

"Easy," Carwood repeats. He jacks Ron dick a few times, knowing what he likes and enjoying the way Ron writhes and clenches his hands. He kisses the side of Ron's dick, then sucks on the head again without taking the whole thing in his mouth.

"Fuck," Ron whispers again.

Carwood pulls off the head and slides up Ron's body, pressing his stomach against Ron's dick as the goes. Ron wraps his leg around Carwood's waist, and his arms around Carwood's neck, and he pulls Carwood in tight, biting on his already-marked shoulder as he ruts against Carwood's stomach until he comes. Carwood tries to say something in the aftermath, but Ron flips him onto his back, takes him in hand, and jerks him off quickly but with tenderness.

"Oh," Carwood breathes out, and he pulls Ron down to press against him before Ron can pull away to find something to clean them with. "Stay here a minute," he says.

"Okay," Ron agrees. He kisses Carwood's neck and ear and chuckles when Carwood tightens his hold. "I'm not going anywhere, you know."

"I know," Carwood says. "But we have to go different places tomorrow." He expects Ron to argue that Carwood could just come to Boston, but Ron only presses his forehead against Carwood's shoulder.

They doze off together, the light sleep of two people who know they are nearly out of time. And then they get up and shower, Ron pressing Carwood against the wall and kissing him softly on the mouth and his collarbones and on the inside of his wrists.

"I'm going to miss you," Ron says against Carwood's neck.

"I appreciate that you understand why I can't go with you," Carwood replies.

Ron pulls away from him, cups his face in his hands, and kisses him as the water runs down them both.

They have breakfast in the room the next morning, and Ron presses against Carwood from shoulder to thigh as they kiss goodbye in the entryway before Carwood leaves.

"Come down for Labor Day," Carwood says. "It's not much--"

"Yes," Ron agrees.

"I'd invite you for Fourth of July, but we'd barely have a day."

"I understand," Ron replies.

They kiss one last time, and then Carwood leaves, closing the door behind him as softly as he can, as though he won't end the weekend if he does it carefully enough.

Joe and George are in the lobby, Joe's arm slung around George's neck in the way of an old friend. "Ready?" Joe asks.

"Yes," Carwood says. They walk to the car, and Carwood gets in the back without asking. "So, you've talked it out," he says when Joe and George are both inside and they've started down the street back towards home.

"Yeah," George says, and he glances in the rearview to look at Carwood. "Thanks for the help."

"What he said," Joe says.

"I'm glad you worked it out," Carwood replies. He leans back against the seat and looks out the window, taking in all the buildings in Philadelphia no one ever comes to see. "All I ask is that you keep yourselves in line in front of Mama."

"Already had that conversation," Joe says, turning so Carwood can see his face. "What's between me and George, that's not anything she needs to know about. We decided that easily."

"She's a class act," George chimes in. "No need to make her worried you hang out with degenerates."

"And no need for her to think she has one as a son," Joe adds.

That makes Carwood laugh, the combination of Joe's concerned tone and the way the comment is phrased. He feels the absence of Ron like a hole in his chest, but there's comfort in the fact George and Joe understand. He watches them as they leave the city proper. Joe's leaning against the passenger door with his head against the back of the seat. His eyes are half-closed, and he's watching George drive with a small, warm smile on his face. George is paying attention to the road, but Carwood sees him drop one hand off the steering wheel as they reach the highway, and then Joe uncrosses his arms, and Carwood is certain they're holding hands.

Good for them, he thinks. Good for them.

*

Panzer comes barrelling out of the back door as soon as they get out of the car in the early evening. She's wagging her tail so hard she's having trouble staying upright, and Carwood scoops her up before she falls over and laughs as she licks at his chin.

"Well, hi there," he says.

"Oh, she's missed you," Mama says from the porch. "Spent half the time just looking sad on your bed."

Carwood scratches Panzer behind the ears and shifts her in his arms so he can get his bag from the trunk. George and Joe get theirs as well, and they walk into the house single file, Mama in the lead. Jack is setting the table for dinner, and he says hello as they come in the door.

"How was it?" Mama asks.

Carwood puts his bag down and sits in his usual chair. Panzer curls up onto his lap and puts a paw over his hand when he places it on his leg. "Very nice," Carwood says. "She was a beautiful bride."

"How many of you boys made it all together?"

"Half a dozen, not counting Winters and Nixon," George answers. "It was good to see them again."

"Bill's doing pretty good," Joe adds. "He tried to convince me to move back to Philly."

"You didn't mention that," George says, and Carwood sees a moment's panic in his eyes.

"I'm not moving back to Philly," Joe replies. "I'm just fine here for the time being."

"Well, we're glad to have you," Mama says as they sit down to eat. "And you, too, George," she adds.

George grins, the panic gone. "Awww, be honest, Mrs. Lipton. I'm your favorite."

She chuckles at him and shakes her head. "A mother has no favorites."

"Uh-huh," Carwood and Jack say in unison, an old, old joke that makes Mama laugh more.

"You boys mind your manners; it's dinner time."

Carwood leans down to place Panzer on the floor. She looks disgruntled to have been moved and sits right next to his chair as he begins to eat. "How'd everything go here?" he asks.

"Fine," Jack answers. "Betsy and I went to the movies and out for a walk, and I studied some. Nothing exciting."

"Same," Mama says. "Just a nice, quiet weekend. I can't believe you boys did so much driving in so few days."

"It's Harry," George says, "after all the talk, we had to make sure he'd go through with it."

"We had to make sure we saw him go through with it," Carwood corrects. "I don't think any of us ever questioned it would."

"What he said," George agrees.

"Well, tell me everything," Mama says. "I love a good wedding."

They describe the ceremony and reception in detail as they eat and do the dishes. Afterwards, Carwood, George, and Joe step out for their usual cigarette, Panzer hard on Carwood's heels like she hasn't been since he first got her.

"She really did miss me," he says, glancing down as Panzer sits again, this time with one paw on his foot.

"Huh," Joe says as he lights two cigarettes and passes one to George. "The dog really is a metaphor."

George laughs so hard he nearly falls off the railing. Joe grabs him by his shirtfront to keep him upright. "You are so red, Lip," George says, still laughing.

"Nothing to be embarrassed about," Joe says. "You've said it before."

"Not without meaning to," Carwood says. "I don't even remember saying it."

"Hell, it could have been worse," George tells him. "You should have heard the stuff Joe was whispering in my ear."

"I didn't whisper anything in your ear," Joe replies, but he looks down at his shoes as he says it, clearly embarrassed.

"I didn't say I didn't want to hear it," George says in an undertone, taking care to not be heard past the three of them.

"Luz, I'm gonna pop you one if you don't shut up."

George grins at Carwood, and Carwood shakes his head in amusement. "Same old Joe Toye," he says, and there's deep fondness in his tone. "No matter what."

"No matter what," Carwood agrees.

*

Carwood unfolds a map of the Eastern United States over his desk that night. It's the map they used to get up to Philadelphia, and he traces the route from Huntington to Boston with his finger. It's twelve hours, at least, he figures, if traffic is good. And for that long day in the car, he and Ron will get Friday evening and all of Saturday and Sunday. The time feels entirely too short, and Labor Day feels very far away. Carwood leans his head onto his hands with his elbows on his desk and stares at the dot that says Boston for a very long time.

*

Dear Carwood,

Sherman greeted me as though I'd been gone months rather than just a few days. The Captain she stayed with informed me she was a model guest, and I've offered their daughter the option to walk her on the weekends to help her practice for her own dog. She was very excited at the offer, and I think it will do both her and Sherman some good.

The drive back to Boston was fine. Traffic was minimal, and I had the radio to keep me company. I thought about you constantly. I understand you have your reasons to stay in Huntington, but I am a selfish man who wants you to myself. I will not badger you into changing your mind, just know that if you ever do, my answer will be a very enthusiastic yes.

The new Mrs. Welsh may be too good for her husband. I've only been back in Boston one full day, and there is already a thank you card in my pile of mail. She must have sent it the night of the wedding. I'll have to send a letter to Dick and ask if he received a similar quick response. Perhaps she pre-addressed them for easier mailing, but there is a personal thank you in the card that recalls our talking outside of the reception hall, so she certainly spent a little time on at least some of the notes. I think I am thinking about it so much so I don't think of you.

I miss you. I will see you at Labor Day.

Yours always,
Ron

*

Dear Ron,

Kitty's notes for George, Joe, and me arrived two days after we returned. We also had personal notes from Kitty in ours, so how she got them out so quickly remains a mystery. Mother says that some brides are just that quick, and I'll take her word for it.

The drive back to Huntington was uneventful. Joe and George have finally settled their issues and the anger they've been using to cover it has completely disappeared. It's funny to watch them now, knowing the truth of what they are to each other. They have the same conversations and the same jokes, and they're as physical as they ever were. I never realized just how common it's always been for Joe to lead George around by his tie or the scruff of his neck. I wonder exactly how long a time Joe was denying himself what he has now. I wonder if he even knew he wanted it back in the Toccoa days.

I'm glad you'll be coming for Labor Day. Mama and Jack were pleased to hear as well. I wish the distance between Boston and Huntington wasn't quite so large. I feel like it's an inconvenience to have you drive all the way here for just two full days, but I am selfish the same as you, and I want however much time we can find.

Jack came home last night and announced that he'll be finishing his schooling by the end of the year. Thanks to the mechanics at the body shop, Jack is ahead of his classmates, and he was able to negotiate for an early graduation by proving his skills. He didn't say it, but Mama and I are convinced one of the reasons he's worked so hard is so he and Betsy can be married that much faster. They haven't set a date, but I've heard them talking about it a few times. Next summer seems agreeable to the both of them, though the conversation never seems to be over.

Panzer has been following me around like a shadow since I got home. She has finally lessened her attention this morning, but I'm glad I won't be traveling anywhere soon where she can't go. I'm sure she'll be fine when I start school in the fall; she's always done just fine when I go out for an evening or run errands without her. I know she'll be happy to see Sherman again when you come to visit.

I miss you as well, and I love you.

Yours,
Carwood
*

June fades into July, and George, Joe, and Carwood agree to go with Murray, Vanessa, Jack, Betsy, Bobby, and a few others to see the fireworks in the city park. Ten minutes in, Joe gets up and walks off, shoulders stiff and hands clenched. George follows him immediately, and Carwood waits ten more minutes before getting up himself.

"Everything alright?" Bobby asks.

"I'll find out," Carwood replies as he grabs the blanket they'd been sharing. He glances down the row they'd made and sees Murray and Vanessa discreetly holding hands as they watch the fireworks explode. They still haven't talked to him about their relationship, but he smiles anyway. They'll come to him in their own time.

George and Joe are across the park huddled together on the floor of a gazebo. Joe is staring at nothing, eyes vacant in a way that terrifies Carwood. George is grasping hard at Joe's hand, murmuring something to him as Carwood approaches.

Carwood doesn't speak. He steps into the gazebo and sits on the other side of Joe. He shakes out the blanket over the three of them, and they sit there as the sky keeps lighting up in the distance.

"Looks like the tracers," Joe says. He looks up at the sky as another firework goes off, then squeezes his eyes shut. "And it sounds like the trees are gonna go."

"There's not enough trees around to hurt us," George says. His voice is even and quiet, his hand squeezing Joe's hand in rhythm now.

"It was never the trees that hurt us," Joe mutters. He ducks his head against his chest and covers his head with one arm. George uses his free arm and pulls him in close.

Carwood places his hand on Joe's back, rubbing up and down between his shoulder blades as more fireworks went up over their heads. "You're out of there, Joe," he says. "You made it through." Joe doesn't respond, just grabs at his own hair and tugs.

"Easy," George says, pulling Joe's hand away and threading his own fingers into Joe's hair gently. "That's my job."
Joe shakes his head and makes a choked sound that's almost a laugh. "Goddamnit, George."
George grins at Carwood. It's laced with worry, but Carwood smiles back to show he thinks they'll be okay.

"Why aren't you guys freaking out?" Joe asks. "Why is it me?"

Carwood looks up and watches the fireworks slide down the sky. "I always made my own when I was a kid," he says. "So, I know how harmless they are, I guess."

"Huh," Joe says. He pulls the blanket up tighter and looks at George. "What about you?

George shrugs, pulls Joe in so Joe is basically crosswise against his chest. "I saw you with your leg blown off," he says. "Nothing scared me more than that in the whole fucking war, Joe. Fucking nothing. This?" he gestures loosely up at the sky, "This shit's just noise."

"We almost died," Carwood says without thinking. "Me and George. In the shelling where you were hit, we were in the same foxhole, and a shell landed, but it was a dud."

"What?" Joe asks. He looks up at George. "Really?"

"Shit," George mutters. "I wasn't gonna tell you."

"You almost fucking died?" Joe asks, and his voice is low, but it's dangerous. "You never told me you almost fucking died, George."

"We all almost fucking died," George replies. "Me. You. Lip. All of us. Except for the ones who actually did fucking die, Joe. I didn't see the point in telling you, but yeah, maybe the reason I'm not so scared right now is because I nearly shit my pants when a fucking shell landed a foot from me and didn't go off. Maybe I'm okay with the noise and the lights because getting blown to hell and back didn't happen when it should have."

They're all quiet for a moment. Carwood opens his mouth to apologize, but George laughs before he can say anything. "What?" Carwood asks instead.

"Remember going back in to our foxholes after First had been there?" George asks. "Remember that, Joe?"

"I remember those assholes shit in my foxhole," Joe says, and then he's laughing too, shaky but genuine.

"You remember, Lip?" George asks.

"Yeah," Carwood agrees, chuckling along. "I remember at you yelling at them from the truck, too."

"You yelled at them?" Joe asks.

George is laughing harder. "I'd forgotten," he says. "But, yeah, I did. We were in the trucks going to Haguenau after being in Rechamps, and they were walking down the road, and I yelled at them. What'd I say? I don't remember--"

"Thanks for crapping in our foxholes, you shitheads," Carwood interrupts.

Joe laughs again, and it's not as shaky. "Really?" he asks.

"Really," George says. He hugs Joe and presses his forehead against the top of Joe's head. "I had to defend the honor of your boots," George says.

Joe smiles and sits up, one arm going around George and bringing him in close. "You're an idiot," he mumbles.

Carwood watches them lean on each other and the way Joe doesn't look up as the fireworks hit their big finale. "Want to go?" he asks. "We can clear out before everyone else leaves."

"Let's get over to Lenny's," George says. "Get a beer or two."

"Yeah," Joe says after a second. "That sounds okay."

Carwood stands first, offers a hand up to George, and then lets George offer a hand up to Joe while he folds the blanket. "Sorry I told him about the shell," he says to George in an undertone as Joe lights a cigarette and paces the perimeter of the gazebo.

"Eh," George says. "It helped." He pats Carwood on the shoulder. "We'll be okay."

"Good," Carwood replies. "Let's go then."

*

Murray, Vanessa, and the rest find them at the bar by chance. "What happened to you three?" Murray says. "You look like hell."

Joe's face gets hard, and he opens his mouth, clearly ready to say something deeply cutting. "We got enough explosions overseas," George says before Joe can speak. "Doesn't hold our attention like it used to."

"Yeah," Joe says, his tone dangerous. He gives George a hard side eye.

"You remember that Fourth we snuck those poppers into Compton's cigarettes?" George asks Joe like he's not getting death-glared.

"No," Joe says.

George looks thoughtful for a moment. "Oh, wait, that was me and Bill and Muck."

"Poppers?" Bobby asks, and George immediately launches into the story of blowing up Buck's cigarettes.

Carwood grins at the diversion and sees that Joe gets what it is, too. They share a knowing look and let George run the table. When George does his Skip voice, there's a moment of tightness in Carwood's chest.

"That sound good to you?" George asks Joe, interrupting himself. "My Skip still good?"

"Yeah," Joe says. "Sounds about right."

*

Dear Ron,

I hope your Independence Day went well. Joe had a bad reaction to the fireworks, but George and I managed to help him through it. George more than me, really, but I figure, with what they have, that's sort of the point, right? Joe was quiet for a couple of days after, but he kept his head about him and was fine after that. George confided in me that Joe has moments like this sometimes, where he just gets lost in his own head. I told him I understood and told him about the night you and I walked to the Honky Tonk and the trees looked like they were going to explode. I told Joe as well, and I think it helped. It's funny to think how often we talked about near-misses when we were dug in but don't really speak of them now.

Mother sends her best and wants to know if you need mittens or a scarf or hat before the weather gets cold. She is well aware it's still only July, but she likes to get an early start. Now that she's mostly retired, she's got more time on her hands and is making even more things for people than she ever did. I think she may be actually trying to get me to give her an idea for a Christmas gift for you, though she won't admit it.

Jack and Betsy have set a date. They'll be married next July 19. Jack says there was no real reason behind the date except it was a Saturday at a point in the summer when no one they know has any plans most of the time. Betsy said she'd rather get married sooner, but her mother is insisting on a proper wedding. George wondered what actually defines a "proper" wedding, and that made Betsy smile some. Mama told him not to ask that question in front of Betsy's mother, and he's promised not to.
Panzer is fine. I've been taking her swimming down at the pond outside of town, and she enjoys it very much. There was a man there the other day who commented on her having only three legs, and I thought Joe (who'd come with me to stretch his legs) was going to punch him. I'm not sure I would have stopped him, as the man's voice was pretty dismissive.

I miss you and love you.

Yours,
Carwood

*

Dear Carwood,

I'm sorry to hear Joe had a bad reaction to the fireworks. I find that I can mostly ignore them because of my experiences in the war, but clearly that is not true for all men. Never having really known him outside of reputation, I am impressed that you and George were able to calm him without him getting angry. I always heard he was a very good soldier but somewhat hot-headed when it came to people offering to help him or trying to get him to go to an aid station.

I will be happy with any gifts your mother chooses to make me, but to help her, please let her know I am forever in need of hats and scarves and mittens in general. I have a tendency to lose them even though I live a fairly habitual life. Any color is fine, though I prefer darker tones if possible. Please let me know if she needs further information.

We have had a streak of very hot weather in Boston. Sherman dislikes it very much. I have taken to giving her cool baths in the evenings. Last night, she actually jumped into the tub when I was running it for myself. It made me laugh.

I miss you very much.

Yours always,
Ron

*

The stickiness of July turns into the further stickiness of August. Carwood takes to sleeping in only his shorts, and Panzer even climbs off the bed one night to flop out on the floor while she pants. "I know," Carwood tells her, and he points the fan so it hits her as much as him for the rest of the evening.

A week before school starts, Carwood goes to campus to buy his books. Joe comes with him, poking around the business section as Carwood goes through his list. "Thinking of going to school?" Carwood asks him when he comes around the corner, his books piled in his arms.

"I dunno," Joe says. "Maybe." He shrugs and takes a couple of the books from Carwods. "I was just thinking, if you're gonna be working on school stuff, you might need more help around the place, and being able to make sense of the bills could help."

"I can show you," Carwood offers. "It's pretty cut and dry."

Joe shrugs again. "I don't want to bother you or take your work from you," he says.

"I'll probably need the help," Carwood tells him, hefting his books with a grin. "I've got to read all these before December."

Joe chuckles. "And write essays."

"I have to admit, I haven't missed those," Carwood says. "Always feel like I've forgotten something."

"I was always good at essays in high school. I could look at yours if you wanted."

"I'd like that, Joe. Thank you."

"Sure."

*

Ron calls the Saturday before Carwood starts classes. "I just wanted to tell you I'm sure you'll do well."

"Thank you," Carwood says. Everyone's in the kitchen, though no one is paying him much attention. George has a very amused look on his face when Carwood glances at him, and Carwood grins when George starts an argument with Joe about the best John Wayne movie. Jack joins the discussion, and Mama even has an opinion to throw into the ring. "How are you?" Carwood asks quietly.

"Just fine," Ron replies. "The heat wave broke, so it's only moderately awful."

Carwood laughs at that. "That's about how it is here."

"I wanted to let you know I'll still be down for Labor Day if the invite stands."

"Of course it does."

"And we'll share your room again?"

"Yes," Carwood replies, and he feels a pleasant prickle work its way up his spine and down his legs. "At least, I'd assumed."

"Good," Ron says. "Very good."

Carwood glances over as Joe slams his hand on the table and declares George a damned fool--and then immediately apologizes to Mama, who looks highly amused by the whole conversation. "The boys will be glad to see you," he says. "And Mother."

"And you?" Ron asks, though there's no uncertainty in it.

"Of course," Carwood says, pushing as much feeling into the answer as he can. "Absolutely."

"Excellent. I need to go. Goodbye, Carwood."

"Goodbye, Ron."

*

When Carwood walks into his lit class on the first day of the fall semester, he sees a couple of people giving him expectant looks. They turn to looks of surprise when Carwood takes a seat in the back corner of the room, and Carwood realizes with a shock that they thought he was the professor.

Does he look that old? He wonders. He knows the scar is a bit off-putting, but he'd looked in the mirror this morning as he'd straightened his collar and decided he looked okay.

"You walk like you want to start a fight," George tells him after dinner when they're out back having a cigarette. Joe nods in agreement at George's statement. "You walk like Joe, actually," George says.

"Do I?" Carwood asks.

"You do," Joe agrees, and Carwood smiles at the fact that Joe doesn't disagree that he walks like he wants to start a fight. "We all do. Paratroopers, at least."

"You walk with authority," George clarifies. "I don't think any of us did that at eighteen." Joe clears his throat loudly. "Except Joe, of course," George says with exaggerated care.

"Damn right," Joe agrees.

Carwood shakes his head. "I've never noticed I walk like that."

"You never notice you do anything," George replies. "You're just a giant pile of fluff, Lip."

"But you walk like you're about to mess up some shit," Joe says.

Carwood looks between them and finishes his cigarette. "Well, if you say so."

*
He goes to class, does his homework, answers questions, and still spends time reviewing the books for the boarding house. The second Friday of the term, George slings an arm around his shoulders at dinner and announces they're taking him out to celebrate his continued education.

"I don't need--"

"You're getting a wrinkle," George says, poking Carwood between the eyebrows. "Right there."

"Come on," Joe adds. "Have some fun."

"Alright," Carwood agrees without a fight. He grins when George shakes him and lets him go. "If you think I can be trusted to finish my homework later, Mama."

Mama laughs. "Oh, I suppose," she says. "You've become such a responsible young man."

They cut through the woods to the Honky Tonk, and they drink and they talk, and Carwood watches as George and Joe flirt with girls while still eying each other from across the room. He thinks of Ron, of his latest letter detailing what he's been doing in Boston, and he feels a hard pang of want to at least have Ron in the same room as him. It's only another week until Ron's in town for Labor Day, but the week yawns ahead as though there is no end.

"You look bummed," Murray says as he sits next to Carwood, a beer in his hand. "Classes hitting you that hard?"

"No," Carwood says. "Just thinking."

"I don't know how you do that here," Murray says with a grin. He takes a long drink of his beer and then thumps the bottle onto the table harder than necessary. "I wanted to talk to you about something," he says.

Carwood leans back in his chair. "What's that?" he asks, though he has a pretty good idea where the conversation is going, especially when Murray glances towards the jukebox, where Vanessa is talking to someone and laughing.

"I was just wondering if you'd be okay if…" Murray rubs a hand over his mouth and laughs shakily. "Um, that is--"

"I think you and Vanessa are a fine couple," Carwood says because he doesn't like that Murray looks so worried. "I'm happy you found each other."
Murray stares at him for a second. "Carwood," he says. "We didn't--I swear we didn't--"

"I know," Carwood says. He looks at Vanessa, who is still talking to her friend, completely unaware of the conversation across the room. "I know you didn't do anything while I was gone, and I know she didn't either. She and I didn't divorce because of anything like that, Murray. It was just...not meant to be."

Murray shakes his head. "You might be more decent than any one man should be, Carwood."

Carwood laughs. "I've heard that before," he says. "But really, Murray. I want you and her happy, and if you're happy together, more the better. It'll be easier to find the both of you if I want to talk."

"Jesus," Murray says and laughs again, louder and with more cheer than before. He lifts his beer bottle. "To your decency," he says. "I appreciate it a lot."

"To your future," Carwood replies. "I'm sure it'll be swell."

*

Ron calls on Thursday evening. "I'll be leaving tomorrow between six and seven. If traffic is good, I expect to be arriving by seven."

"Well, supper will be waiting when you get here."

"Don't wait on my account."

"It's no bother," Carwood says. "Joe's put together a big grill-out for the boarders tomorrow night, and we're not going to light the grill until six-thirty."

"Okay," Ron says.

"We'll be grilling the whole weekend, I think," Carwood adds. "George and Jack have been planning all week."

"That sounds fine."

"They've got hot dogs and hamburgers and steaks, so we've got options."

"I'll stop along the way and pick up something."

"You don't have to."

"I want to," Ron says, and Carwood bites back an automatic second refusal at the softness of his tone.

"I'm sure anything you grab will be fine," he says.

"Thank you. I need to go. I'm going to take Sherman for a run to see if I can tire her out some for the trip."

"Have fun. We'll see you tomorrow evening."

"Yes. Goodbye, Carwood."

"Goodbye, Ron."

Chapter Text

*

The next day is a slow agony of waiting and trying not to appear too excited for Ron's arrival. Carwood goes for a long run first thing in the morning, Panzer keeping pace the whole way, and when he gets home, he doesn't feel clear-headed or even that tired. There's an itch under his skin he can't reach, and jerking off in the shower doesn't relieve it.

"I don't get it," he says to Joe as they make the beds. Carwood hasn't done it in months, but he feels like if he doesn't keep his hands busy, he'll start vibrating with anticipation. "I just saw him in June."

"I don't know," Joe says, snapping the top sheet so it floats down evenly over the bed. "Something different now?"

"I don't think so."

"Ask George," Joe says. "He'll have a theory. He always does."

"It's because the long wait's started," George says when Carwood asks. They're making a run to the store for a few last-minute supplies Joe needs for the grill-out. "You're in school again and that means you can't just go visit whenever you want, and and letters and phone calls aren't the same as lying in bed together."

"No, they're not," Carwood agrees.

"And you knew that in June, but now you know how busy you're actually gonna be with school, so it's real now. Didn't you have this happen with Vanessa when you shipped out?"

Carwood thinks about that. "No," he says. "Not that I remember."

"That probably should have been an early warning," George says, half-joking.

Carwood smiles wryly. "I suppose." He pauses before getting out of the car when they reach the grocery. George waits him out. "You think we can really make it, George?" he asks. "Three years is a long time."

"Kitty waited that long for Harry. Hell, I think it was longer."

"Yeah, but they didn't have to keep it under wraps."

"No, but so what? Me and Joe are doing it, and you and Ron are way more subtle than we are."

"Yeah, but you and Joe can go to bed together at night," Carwood points out.

George thinks about that. "You're gonna make it, Lip," he says finally. "Because you want to make it. Because you're tough enough to make it."

"We only get two days," Carwood says. "Well, two days and tonight, really."

"Then make it count. That's what you'd tell me, right? If that's the time you've got, make it work for you."

Carwood smiles. "I suppose it is. Thanks, George."

"You're welcome."

*

Ron arrives just before seven, waving to the crowd in front of the boarding house as he pulls the car around back. "I'll get him settled," Carwood says to Mama. "You stay here and enjoy the company."

"Thank you, honey," she says.

Carwood walks through the house and opens the backdoor as Ron and Sherman step out of the car. Sherman barks once and barrels towards Carwood, pausing for a scratch behind the ears before she side-steps to greet Panzer. Carwood smiles as they immediately start playing, and when he looks up, Ron's on the bottom step, small suitcase in one hand and a box of unshucked corn under his arm. He has a soft, warm smile on his face.

"You look well," he says.

"Thank you," Carwood replies as he takes the box of corn. "How was the trip?"

"Just fine."

Carwood breathes deep and gets a hint of Ron's cologne. All her earlier nerves are just...gone. He takes the corn to the front porch and leaves it next to Mama. When he walks back through the house, he finds Ron in the bedroom with the dogs.

Ron gives the cot in the middle of the room a meaningful look. "Really?" he asks.

"Mama insisted," Carwood replies. "I don't expect you to use it."

"Well, that's fine then." Ron puts down his suitcase and removes his hat. He smooths his hair and looks at Carwood with an open expression of want on his face. "Hello," he says.

"Hi," Carwood replies, and he steps forward, and they kiss, careful and easy, Ron's hands running up and down Carwood's back like he's remembering the feel of him. Carwood presses his hands against Ron's stomach and spreads his fingers as wide as they'll go.

"How long do I get to settle in?" Ron asks as he pulls away and cups the side of Carwood's face.

"A few minutes more," Carwood says. "But five would probably be pushing it."

Ron leans against the wall and pulls Carwood to him. They kiss again, just as easy, pressed up warm against each other. Ron pulls away with a rueful laugh and checks his watch. "That'll have to do for now."

"Damn," Carwood mutters, and he smiles when Ron laughs again. "Come on," he says. "I'm sure Mama's making Joe hold the grill until you've joined us."

Ron smoothes his hair and shirt and follows Carwood out of the bedroom, the dogs trailing behind. They step onto the wide front porch, and George is on the top step, leaning against the railing.

"The man of the hour!" he greets, and he claps Ron on the back and moves him away from Carwood before Carwood can even draw a breath. "So, tell me who you know already, and I'll make the other introductions," George says.

"Well, Mrs. Lipton, of course," Ron answers. "Good to see you again. Thank you for having me."

"You're always welcome, dear," Mama says, giving him a warm smile. "And thank you for the corn. It looks wonderful."

"You're welcome," Ron replies. "I know Jack," Ron tells George, "but I don't see him."

"He's at the lake with the soon to be Mrs. Lipton the younger," George tells him. "A family trip with her folks."

"Well, that leaves Miss Woods, you, and Joe, then," Ron says.

"It's nice to see you again," Miss Woods says to Ron with a little wave.

"How's school?"

"I'll be finished in June."

"That's nice."

"Okay," George says. "So that leaves the rest of these fine people. Just follow along with me, Ron."

Ron shoots Carwood a small, amused smile. "I'll do my best to keep up."

Carwood shakes his head and walks over to Joe, who's finished letting the coals settle in the grill and is starting to lay out hamburgers and hot dogs. "Any reason George popped up to play tour guide?" he asks quietly.

Joe grins. "Let's just say you're not the only one who's easily excitable today."

"What?" Carwood asks.

Joe's grin gets wider, and Carwood can read the gleeful lust in it. "C'mon, Lip. Don't make me spell it out for you."

"Oh." Carwood glances over where George is introducing Ron around. Now that he's looking for it, George looks a bit more flushed than usual, and the back of his hair is sticking up like it's been grabbed at. "Next time, have him comb his hair," Carwood says.

Joe looks over, sees what Carwood means, and bursts out in a laugh that draws George's eyes immediately.

"Something funny over there, Toye?"

"Something's always funny over here," Joe replies. "I'm a funny guy."

"You're something," George replies and then goes back to his previous conversation.

George releases Ron from pleasant conversation with the boarders when Joe announces the food is ready. There's hamburgers and hot dogs with all the fixings, and there's potato salad, a big garden salad, and other sides lined up on a table next to the porch. Everyone takes up residence on the front porch, either in the glider or in one of the chairs, or just on the railing. Carwood sits sideways on the steps, Panzer at his side, and Ron steps around him to sit one step up, with Sherman at his feet.

"Okay?" Ron asks.

"Just fine," Carwood says. Ron's arm presses against him as they eat, and when Carwood starts to get up to get a beer, George waves him off and retrieves two, one for him and one for Ron. "Thanks," Carwood says.

"You're welcome," George replies. He walks back over to the railing where he's been sitting next to Joe and makes a big show of shoving Joe a few inches down so he'll have more space. They nudge each other back and forth for a minute, and it makes Carwood smile.

"They're doing well," Ron says.

"Yes. I'm glad."

"So am I."

They drink their beers as it gets dark and the lightning bugs come out. The chatter and noise around them is pleasant, and Carwood is surprised when Ron shifts to his feet. "What is it?" he asks.

"I nearly forgot I stopped for something besides the corn," Ron says.

"Do you need help?" Carwood asks.

"No, stay put."

Ron's gone for only a minute or two, and when he comes back, he has a fistful of sparklers in one hand and the rest of the box in the other. "I know it's Labor Day," he says as he puts the box down on an empty section of railing. "But I thought we'd still enjoy them."

There's a murmur of approval, and Ron starts to pass the sparklers around as he lights them. He circles around so he ends at Carwood, handing him one as he lights his own. Carwood looks around at everyone, laughing and smiling as they wave the sparklers in the air. Joe is giving his sparkler a suspicious look, but George makes loop-de-loops with his, and that makes Joe grin and give his own a little spin. Mama's got a sparkler in each hand and is making hearts and stars and squiggles as quick as each disappears in the deepening twilight. The boarders are having as much fun, and Carwood looks at Ron and smiles as he shapes a heart in the air.

"The same," Ron replies.

They sit out on the porch until the dark truly settles in and the sparklers are depleted. George uses his last one to light a cigarette and yelps when a spark gets him on the eyebrow.

"This is why we have lighters, George," Joe says to the laughter of the people around them. He taps George's chin with some force to make him look up, then scrubs his thumb over George's eyebrow. "There. You're not on fire."

"Thanks, Joe. You're a pal."

"I wish I could touch you like that in front of people," Ron says in a whisper so soft Carwood barely hears him. "I wish I could give you that."

Carwood presses his shoulder against Ron's and watches Joe sling an arm around George's neck as George tells some story to a couple of the boarders. "You're here," he says. "That's what you give me."

Ron looks at him, and Carwood can't quite see his eyes in the dark, but he feels Ron's hand linger against his when he takes the dead sparkler from his fingers, and he reads the touch easily. "Cigarette?" Ron asks as he adds the sparklers to the used pile he's gathered on the step.

"Sure," Carwood replies.

Ron only lights one, and they pass it between them in silence. No one's paying them any mind, not with George and Joe telling stories, and even if anyone notices, it's not like it's anything rare or obvious to be splitting a smoke.

Carwood gets the last drag, blowing it straight upward, and he catches Ron looking at the line of his throat. "We'll go to bed soon," he says quietly.

"Good," Ron replies. He licks his thumb and forefinger and puts out the butt by pressing it between them. "I'm going to clear the rest of the sparklers."

Carwood watches him walk away and smiles as he recognizes the fighting walk Joe says they all have. Ron does look like he's ready to start a fight, but Carwood wonders if maybe that came first and the walk of a paratrooper second. He closes his eyes and tips back his head and feels a breeze on the side of his face.

"You look downright content," Mama says, and Carwood opens his eyes and looks up so she can see his face from where she's positioned at the top of the steps.

"It's good to have Ron in town," Carwood says.

"It is," Mama agrees. "He always perks you up even if you're already in a good mood."

Carwood turns that over in his mind, not doubting she's right. "I suppose we just understand each other," he says.

"It's good to have friends like that," Mama says as she rolls her chair back a foot or so. "Get the dishes off the table, would you? I want to leave them to soak overnight."

"Yes, Mama."

"Thank you, honey."

He's got the dishes half-gathered when George jumps the porch railing and helps him get the rest. Joe takes care of the smouldering coals, and the boarders say goodnight as they all go to their separate rooms. Ron is in the back of the house, running the dish water for Mama while talking to her quietly.

"--excellent commentary on the social structure of the time," he's saying.

"Oh, I always thought so," she agrees.

"Which book?" Carwood asks as he walks up.

"Emma by Jane Austen," Mama says. "I don't think you ever made it through that one."

"No, I didn't," Carwood replies as he steps around Ron to put dishes in the sink.

"Never heard of it," George adds as he dumps his own dishes. "But I read Pride and Prejudice once. I liked it."

"Did you?" Mama asks.

"Sure. It was fun to watch Darcy get all flabbergasted about someone standing up to him. Reminded me of a teacher I had when I was a kid who was all puffed up like that."

"Well, it's about more than that," Ron says.

"Sure," George replies. "Class issues and social expectations and all that. But when you're fourteen, it's about feeling like someone wrote a book to make you feel good about back-talking your teacher."

"When weren't you back-talking teachers?" Joe asks as he comes into the kitchen. He has his hands out in front of him, charcoal dust spattering his hands and wrists. He nods his thanks when Ron moves so he can wash up.

"Well, never," George admits. He watches Joe wash his hands and says, "You ever read it, Joe?"

"Read what?"

"Pride and Prejudice."

"Nope."

"You'd like it," George says. "It's a bunch of people arguing with each other."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, what do you think it means?"

Mama shares a look with Carwood and they both step away from the sink, leaving Joe and George to bicker comfortably. Ron follows Carwood without a word, pausing in the doorway of the living room to yawn and stretch.

"Excuse me," he says.

"Oh, you must be exhausted after your drive," Mama replies. "Don't feel you need to keep us company."

Ron looks at Carwood. "Would you mind if I turned in?" he asks.

"Of course not," Carwood replies. He glances at the clock. It's nearly ten. He'd only be up another half hour himself. "I'm just going to set the house to rights, and I'll be right behind you, I'm sure."

"Okay. Good night, then," Ron says to Mama.

"Good night," Mama says.

Carwood just nods and looks at Mama as Ron leaves the room. "I'm going to double-check we didn't leave anything outside then call it a night."

"Alright." She glances over her shoulder as Joe and George's bicker picks up volume. "I think I'll read in my room," she says with a smile.

"I'll boot them across the hall when I get back in," Carwood promises.

He finds two stray glasses on the porch railing, but the rest of the dishes seem to have made it inside just fine. When he walks back in the house, he can't hear Joe and George, and when he steps into the kitchen, he finds them doing dishes side-by-side in silence but leaning on each other.

"Mama meant for those to soak," he says as he puts the glasses on the counter next to Joe.

"We'll be done in five minutes," Joe tells him. "Might as well use those KP skills, right?"

"Sure," Carwood agrees. He pats them both on the shoulder, gives them a quiet goodnight, and walks to his bedroom.

Panzer and Sherman are curled up on the bed. Ron is on his back on the cot, one arm falling off the edge, already fast asleep, though Carwood knows it's not been more than five minutes since he came in to get settled. Carwood makes certain the door is latched behind him and then crouches by the cot, stroking his fingers down Ron's arm until Ron wakes up and squints at him.

"Come on," Carwood says as he pushes back the blanket. "You could have just gotten into my bed, you know."

"Just in case your mother poked her head in," Ron mumbles, head drooping as he sits up. He lets Carwood manhandle him into the bed, automatically shifting his legs so the dogs can keep their spot.

"Well, it looks sleeped in," Carwood tells him as he strips down to his shorts and then lays next to Ron.

"Mmm," Ron replies, and he mouths softly at Carwood's bicep before dropping off to sleep again.

Carwood looks at him in the faint light coming in the window and feels his heart clench in his chest. Only two days of this, he thinks. He closes his eyes, intending to imprint this moment on his memory, but he falls asleep instead.

*

He wakes up in the dead of night, Ron is spooning him, arm tight around Carwood's ribs. They're both sweating and sticky from the lack of air circulation, but Carwood doesn't pull away. He lays his arm over Ron's and measure the length of his fingers by laying them over Ron's.

"Are you awake?" Ron whispers against his shoulder blades.

"Yes," Carwood replies. He smiles when Ron shifts and kisses the ball of his shoulder. "You should be sleeping."

"Mmm," Ron hums. His arm tightens further on Carwood's ribs, and he shifts so his dick is pressed against Carwood's backside. It's hard and damp on the end. He rocks his hips slowly a few times so it slides against Carwood's backside and lower back. He kisses Carwood behind the ear. "Okay?" he asks.

"Yes," Carwood says. It feels odd, but not unpleasant, and when Ron breathes out against his neck and swallows back a moan, it makes Carwood suck in a breath and reach for his own dick. He jerks himself off in the same rhythm Ron is rubbing against him, biting his lip to keep from making too much noise.

Ron presses his mouth against the column of Carwood's neck, but it's not exactly a kiss. He slides his hand from Carwood's chest to his hip to hold him in place as he thrusts harder. Carwood reaches back with his free hand and grabs the top of Ron's thigh, holding him against him as he continues to jerk off.

The bed squeaks loudly. They both freeze, panting in the dark and listening for the chance they've been overheard.

"It's okay," Carwood whispers after a few seconds. "It's okay." He bites hard on his lip when Ron nips his ear and ruts against him for a handful of seconds before coming on his back.

"Here," Ron says, moving his hand from Carwood's hip to cover Carwood's on his dick. "Come on," he whispers, and their fingers tangle together as Carwood finishes himself off, Ron murmuring encouragement and sliding a kiss up Carwood's neck when Carwood finally comes.

Carwood's mind goes hazy with post-coital relaxation and the urge to go back to sleep. He is semi-aware of Ron getting off the bed and even less aware of Ron wiping him down before crawling back in.

"Goodnight, Carwood," Ron murmurs in his ear.

"Goodnight, Ron."

*

After breakfast the next morning, Mama asks Carwood to get the picnic basket down from the hall closet. "Going on a trip?" Carwood asks as he stands from the table to do as he's asked.

"Not me," she says. "You four."

"Us four?" George says.

"I've got baking to do, and you'll all be underfoot. So you four and the pups are off on an adventure today."

"Where to?" George asks.

"I haven't the foggiest," Mama says. "But I'm sure you can think of something between you all. Just be home in time for the grill out tonight."

"Yes, ma'am," Ron says before the rest of them can reply. "I suppose you have an idea of what we'll take for food."

She smiles at Ron. "I just might."

They pack up the picnic hamper with leftovers and two thermoses full of tea. Joe reaches to heft it off the table when they're ready to go, but George intercepts him and lifts it himself. "I can get it," Joe says.

"Yeah, you can," George agrees. "But then you'll overbalance and fall over and complain all day about your leg hurting."

"None of that in my house," Mama says. "You don't bake in an angry kitchen."

"Let's get on out of here before she chases us out," Carwood says. He whistles for Panzer, and Sherman follows along immediately.

They all pile into George's car, Ron and Carwood taking the backseat along with the dogs. George puts the basket up front between he and Joe and says, "Okay, so where the hell are we going?"

Carwood looks up at the sky. It's a clear day with the temperature already rising, not as hot as it was last week, but still more than warm enough for a swim. "We'll go to the pond," he says.

"Where you took Panzer all summer?" George asks.

"Yes."

"Sounds good to me. You've mentioned you hardly ever saw people there."

Carwood nods. "That was my thought, too."

"Oh my god, are we double dating?" Joe asks, and George bursts out laughing at his scandalized look.

"Of course not," Ron says as he picks up Panzer and moves her to his far side so he can sit closer to Carwood. "That would be illegal."

Joe snorts in amusement and George pulls around the house and starts down the street. "My Grandma always said I'd end up a delinquent."

"Nah, you ended up a paratrooper," George says. "It's like a delinquent with honors."

Everyone chuckles, and then there's a comfortable silence as George drives them to the edge of town and turns left. They pass an old, boarded-up gas station, and Carwood turns to tell Ron about it, but when he turns, Ron is staring at him, hand already reaching up to slide up his shoulder and cup around his neck.

"George," Ron says without looking away from Carwood, "is anyone around?"

"Nope," George says.

And Ron's kissing him in the car as they ride down the road, sunlight streaming in the windows and other people there to see it.

"Oh, come on!" George yelps. "I kiss Joe back there!"

"You have never kissed me back there," Joe replies.

"Well, now I'm gonna have to."

That makes Carwood chuckle, and Ron pulls away just a touch so he can laugh along. "You didn't have to do that," Carwood says quietly so it's just between them.

"I know," Ron says, and he kisses Carwood again.

"Car," Joe calls out, and they pull away from each other as a car comes from the other direction and drives past them.

Ron relaxes against the seat and reaches for Carwood's hand. Carwood spreads his fingers so Ron can lace his inbetween, and they ride the rest of the way to the pond like that.

"Hey, Joe," George says as he takes the turn onto a single lane dirt road.

"Yeah, George?"

"If we ever get that mushy, promise you'll knock some sense into me."

"Do what I can."

"Appreciate it."

Carwood shakes his head at the both of them and then laughs when Panzer suddenly perks up on her and Sherman's side of the seat and stares out the window, tail wagging hard. "I was wondering how long it'd take her to realize where we're going."

"Sherman's a good distraction," Ron replies.

By the time George stops the car at the end of the road, Panzer's wagging her tail so hard her whole body is shaking. Sherman's wagging with her, but she's clearly not as worked up. Ron reaches across the back seat and opens the door, and Panzer leaps free, yipping once and taking off at a dead run, Sherman on her heels.

They all hear the splash of Panzer hitting the water as they get out of the car. Joe's hauling the picnic basket with George giving him an annoyed look. "Oh, put that look back where you found it," Joe says.

"With you in my life, Toye, I think it's gonna stick."

"Play nice, fellas," Carwood says. "We're out here until dinner time."

"Hey, that reminds me, what did Mama mean about the angry kitchen?" Joe asks. He sets down the basket and opens it up, pulling out the large blanket set on top and shaking it out.

"She says it makes the cakes lopsided," Carwood explains. He glances out across the water. Panzer and Sherman are paddling around in the shallows, and the sun shining off the pond makes it shimmer. "Who's up for a swim?" he asks.

"Me," Joe says, and he immediately strips off his shirt.

"You're sure no one will come down the road?" Ron asks, though he's already kneeling down to untie his shoes.

"You can hear anyone coming from half a mile away it's so quiet out here," Carwood tells him. "And it's known as the skinny dipping spot, so even if they sneak up, it's not gonna be a huge surprise."

"Depends what you're doing in the water," Joe says. He sits down, rolls up his pant leg, and unstraps his prosthetic. He lays it down on the blanket and looks up at Carwood and Ron. "The dogs aren't gonna mistake it for a stick, right?"

"No, they know better," Carwood assures him. He drops his shirt next to Joe's leg and pulls his undershirt over his head. "And they'll probably come out of the water and go straight to sleep, anyway."

"Okay." Joe glances at George, who's stripping off his boxers and dropping them on his pile of clothes. "Help me up," he says.

"What, your leg broken?"

"No, but your face is about to be."

George grins as he holds out his hand and levers Joe to standing. "Hold still," he says, and he undoes Joe's belt and pants and slips them off Joe himself.

"Hey," Joe says. "We ain't the only ones here."

"I left your shorts on," George replies.

"Think we'll get in the water," Carwood says with a grin at Ron.

"And don't look behind you!" George calls over his shoulder.

"I feel like I'm back in high school," Carwood murmurs to Ron as they wade into the pond. Panzer and Sherman have stopped paddling around and are now both simply standing in the water, nipping at low-flying bugs and looking around.

"Did you come here often in high school?" Ron asks. His hand is warm on Carwood's lower back as they wade in up to their hips.

"Some. Murray, Vanessa, and whoever Murray was dating at the time would come. We didn't skinny dip, though. The girls didn't want to."

"How are Murray and Vanessa?"

"Just fine. They're seeing one another, actually."

“Are they?” Ron asks.

“Yes. For awhile now, but Murray was only comfortable finally telling me a few days ago.”

“And you don’t mind?”

“I think it’s great,” Carwood says. He touches Ron’s waist, a thrill going through him at doing it out in the open like they are. “I want them to be happy, and I have who I want.”

Ron smiles, that sweet, open smile that first made Carwood catch his breath in Rechamps. Carwood kisses that smile and trips Ron and sends them both splashing into the water, coming up choking and laughing.

Before Carwood can catch his breath, Ron dunks him, and when he comes back up, Ron is cutting across the pond in an efficient crawl stroke. Carwood gives chase and manages to grab his ankle and pull him backwards so he can grab Ron around the middle and sink them both by jumping up, holding his breath, and dropping back into the water.

Ron presses their mouths together while they’re underwater, and Carwood opens his so they share his breath. When they resurface, the dogs are barking frantically from the shallows, and George and Joe look frustrated.

“Some of us are trying to be romantic up here!” George calls from the bank where he and Joe are lying side-by-side on the picnic blanket, naked and clearly in the middle of something.

“Easy,” Carwood calls to Panzer, and she stops barking.

“Calm,” Ron says, and Sherman goes quiet as well.

“I suppose we’ll have—“ is as far as Carwood gets before Ron trips him and dunks him, and he goes down sputtering.

“Sorry,” Ron says when Carwood comes up spitting water. “You were saying?”

Carwood is tempted to keep the game going, but he pulls Ron to him for a kiss instead.

George and Joe join them awhile later when Carwood and Ron are finally done wrestling and are simply floating on the water looking up between the trees. Joe splashes them both as he floats by, but George leaves them be, doing a slow breaststroke back and forth across the water, stopping every now and then to pester Joe or kiss him.

“Funny,” Joe says, as he kicks sideways so he’s spinning slowly. “Never would have thought this is where I’d be after the war.”

“Where did you think you’d be?” Carwood asks.

“Philly, I guess. Back on the shop floor. There’s sit down work I could do.”

“You could go back,” Carwood says.

Joe doesn’t reply right away. He keeps spinning in a slow circle. When George swims by, he reaches out and runs his fingers down his back. George pauses, smiles, flicks water on Joe’s face, and starts swimming again. “I could,” he agrees. “But it’s good here.”

“Glad to hear it,” Carwood says.

“You’re turning pink,” Ron says a few minutes later. He drops his legs so he’s standing and reaches for Carwood’s arm. “You’re going to burn.”

“I usually do,” Carwood says. “Then it all just goes to freckles.”

“Come on,” Ron says. “Let’s get in the shade.”

“Alright,” Carwood agrees, and he follows Ron to the bank. They move the blanket over so it’s under the trees, and they sit down.

Ron rummages in the picnic basket and comes up with a bottle of lotion. “I wondered why she put this in here.”

“I don’t look so bad,” Carwood says, inspecting his arms and chest. He’s only lightly pink in some areas and not showing any sign of burn in others. “It’ll probably right itself by the evening.”

“That’s good,” Ron replies. He pours lotion into his hand and hands the bottle to Carwood before starting to rub it in on Carwood’s back. “But better safe than sorry.”

Carwood pours some of the lotion on his left arm and puts the bottle down on the blanket as he starts to rub it in. “Suppose you’re right.” He smiles when Ron leans forward and kisses the back of his neck.

Carwood starts rubbing lotion on his other arm as Ron comes around and starts on his legs. “Behave yourself,” Carwood says when Ron’s hands start to drift past his knees.

Ron cuts him a rakish grin, pinches his inner thigh, and then slides his hands back down. “Tonight,” he says, and there’s promise in it.

“Yes,” Carwood agrees, and he tugs on Ron’s hand until Ron leans forward and meets him in a kiss.

“Disgusting,” George says as he and Joe make their way to the bank.

“Degenerates,” Joe agrees. He lets George sling an arm around his waist and use him as a crutch as he hops from the water onto the grass. “You’re ruining society,” he tells Carwood and Ron.

“You two had sex in the open,” Carwood points out.

“Yeah, but we’re better looking,” George replies.

Joe lowers himself to the ground with one hand grasping George’s wrist. Once he’s settled, he reaches for the picnic basket and starts unpacking food. “When Mama packed this up, I thought it was too much, but now I think I could eat the damn thing myself.”

“Swimming will do that,” Carwood says. He takes the sandwiches Joe hands him and gives one to Ron. Panzer and Sherman come over and stare at them, wriggling in impatience for their share of lunch.

“Yeah, yeah, hold on,” Joe tells the dogs. He hands George a sandwich and one of the thermoses, pulls out the leftover potato salad and other sides, and then pulls out the covered bowl holding the hamburgers and hot dogs from last night.

“Here,” Ron says, holding out a hand, and Joe passes it across. “Is there an extra plate?” Joe hands one over as well. Ron separates the meat into two equal portions and then places them in front of the dogs.

George pours everyone tea and passes it around, and they eat the first few bites of lunch in hungry silence.

“Who's coming for the grill out tonight?” Ron asks.

“Murray, Vanessa, Bobby, and Mr. Kenny,” Joe answers. “Most everyone else is out of town or booked.”

“Plus the boarders,” George adds. “But I think that’s it.”

“Remind me to get the record player from the front room,” Joe tells George. “I want it on the porch tonight.”

“I’ll drag it out when we get home,” George says.

“I can—“

“You have to set up the grill,” George interrupts. “And you’ll just redo anything I do on the grill if you move the record player instead.”

“He’s right,” Carwood says.

“Fine, move the damn record player.” Joe twitches from his shoulder to the end of his amputated leg and pulls a face.

“You alright?” Carwood asks.

“Yeah, it’s nothing.” Joe twitches again and swears under his breath.

“Does it hurt?” George asks, and his tone is even and unconcerned, but he’s watching Joe carefully.

“Nah, it’s just that phantom thing again.”

“Phantom thing?” Carwood asks.

“Yeah, like it feels like my whole leg is there even though it’s not. It happens sometimes.”

“Probably from swimming,” Ron says. “I’ve heard it can be set off if you do something like that.”

“Yeah.”

“You haven’t mentioned it before,” Carwood says.

“It usually happens at night after he takes off his leg,” George explains. “So when it happens, we’re already in the bedroom.”

“Oh.”

Joe reaches down and thumps the side of his fist against his stump. “Come on.”

“Easy,” George says. “You know that doesn’t help. Here.” He turns and grabs Joe’s prosthetic, strapping it on with practiced ease. “There. Let it sit there for a few minutes and see if it stops since you do have a leg attached now.”

Joe is quiet, brows drawn. He eats the rest of his sandwich without another word. George talks to Ron and Carwood like it’s nothing out of the ordinary, and Ron and Carwood do their best to treat it that way.

“Stop looking at it,” Joe says to Carwood.

“Sorry,” Carwood replies. He really hadn’t been meaning to sneak glances. He’s just worried, and Joe is one of his boys. Carwood needs to make sure he’s really okay.

“The war gave all of us habits,” Ron says quietly, and that pulls Joe’s attention away from Carwood. “Whether because it took a part of us or because it trained a part of us.”

"I wouldn't call this a habit," Joe says, lifting his leg a few inches.

"Responses, then," Ron replies. "Or new ways of living we didn't ask for."

"This is cheerful," George mutters.

"Shaddup," Joe says. He sighs and looks at Carwood. "I didn't mean to snap."

"I didn't mean to be looking," Carwood replies. "I know you're taking care of everything just fine."

"Thanks." Joe flops back so he's prone and puts his hands behind his head. "Maybe that's why I'm not back in Philly. There was so much noise."

"You're not in Philly because I dragged your ass away from it when you became a hermit," George says, but there's no anger in his tone.

Joe rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You lose a leg and see how you handle it."

"No, thanks." George lays on his side next to Joe, his head propped up in his hand. "What about you?" George asks Ron. "What changed about you?"

"Sometimes, it feels like everything," Ron says. "And other days, I think the war just showed me who I really am."

"I feel like I haven't changed at all," George says. "I was a smartass before, and I'm a smartass now. I'm just a better shot, and I can jump out of a plane."

No one replies to that. Ron pulls out his cigarettes and passes them around. They all smoke in silence and afterwards, George and Joe get back in the water.

"How did you change?" Ron asks.

"I became the best," Carwood replies. "And I found out who I really wanted to be."

"Who was that?"

"Someone who could come out the other side and know he tried his best, I suppose. Someone who'd find happiness so he could sleep better at night." He leans into Ron when Ron slides his arm around his waist. "Someone who could be right here."

Ron ducks his head so his forehead is resting on Carwood's temple. "You have no idea how happy I am to hear that."

"I've got some idea," Carwood responds, and he lets Ron pull him down prone on the blanket and kiss him in the sunlight.

*

Murray and Vanessa show up at the grill out with enough beer for twice as many people as are there. “We promise to behave,” Murray tells Mama.

“Oh, I don’t believe that for a second,” she says, but she’s smiling. “You just promise I won’t have to bail anyone out of jail.”

“I promise,” Murray says. “That’s what we’ve got Carwood for.”

Mama shakes her head. “Y’all act like I’ve never touched liquor.”

“Would you like a beer, Mama?” Vanessa asks.

“Yes, please.”

Bobby shows up with even more to drink, and Carwood gives Murray the side-eye. “Did you plan this?” he asks.

“Well, we were gonna bring wine, but we don’t know anything about it,” Murray replies, and Carwood shakes his head when Murray laughs.

George and Joe both immediately crack beers, as do most of the boarders. Carwood considers it, but then Ron’s at his elbow with a small glass half-filled with whiskey.

“Where’s this from?” Carwood asks.

“That Vat 69 Nixon gave me at Harry’s wedding,” Ron replies. “We never opened it. I was going to open it tonight anyway.”

“Oh,” Carwood replies, and he remembers how Nixon had teased Ron about giving tips on how to use the whiskey. He takes a sip to cover the flush he knows is crawling up his face. Ron smiles at him, touches his elbow, and walks over to talk to Miss Woods.

“You too good for beer now?” Vanessa asks as she walks over. She’s smiling, and she drops down on the step gracefully, patting the spot next to her to invite Carwood to join her.

“Nah,” Carwood says. “Just feel like something different tonight.” He sits next to her, dangling his glass between his knees. He watches her drink from her beer bottle and smiles when he realizes she’s wearing the necklace he gave her for Christmas. “So, Murray’s okay with you wearing that?”

“I wouldn’t trust a man who wasn’t,” she replies. She runs the V back and forth on its chain and looks over at the grill where Murray and Joe are talking as the fire builds up. “It was a gift from a very good friend, you know.”

Carwood smiles and bumps her shoulder. “Glad to hear it.”

Vanessa bumps back. “I appreciate you being so happy for me and Murray. It’s not something a lot of men would do.”

“Well, I see no reason not to be fine with it,” Carwood says. “I like Murray. I like you. And you and me, we were over long before we signed the papers.”

“We were,” Vanessa agrees. “But it still means a lot.”

“Alright.” Carwood takes another sip of his whiskey and looks over when the record player blares to life. “Well, now it’s a party,” he says.

“Come on,” Vanessa says, standing up and holding out her hand. “Murray can’t Charleston worth a darn, and he knows it.”

“Neither can I,” Carwood says with a laugh.

“Yeah, but you don’t know it.”

Carwood takes her hand and pushes himself to his feet. He puts his glass on the porch railing and follows Vanessa to the side yard. As they start dancing, he remembers the club in Boston, and he looks up for Ron without thinking.

Ron is leaning against a tree, in conversation with Miss Woods, but he looks up like he knows Carwood is looking at him, and he stares for a moment before turning and offering his hand to Miss Woods. She looks surprised but pleased to be asked to dance, and Ron leads her over, nodding at Carwood and Vanessa as they join them.

At the end of the song, Vanessa looks at Ron and says, “You’re actually good at that.”

“I’ve had some practice,” he says.

“Well, do you mind going around with me once?”

“Of course not.”

Carwood offers his hand to Miss Woods. “He’s a tough act to follow, but I’ll try.”

“Well, I appreciate it,” Miss Woods says, and they start dancing.

A few of the other boarders join in, then George starts cutting in to everyone’s dance, taking each girl for a few seconds and then delivering her to another partner. He cuts in with Carwood and Miss Woods and takes Carwood instead of her. It makes the whole group laugh, even more so when George hands Carwood off to Ron.

“Perfect!” George announces, offering his left elbow to Miss Woods and his right to Vanessa. “It worked! Let’s go, ladies!”

“Now, hold on just a minute,” Murray says in mock anger, and that makes everyone laugh harder. “You’ll kindly let Vanessa decide if she wants to dance with you.”

George waggles his eyebrows, and Vanessa barely keeps a straight face as she pretends to consider it. “Well, I did come with Murray,” she says with so much false reluctance even George laughs.

“Oh, fine,” George says, turning all his attention to Miss Woods. “Guess it’ll be just the two of us.’

“And what about Ron and Carwood?” Miss Woods asks.

“You’re much prettier than both of them,” George replies, and that sends the whole group into applause and whistles.

“I think we’ll just step out,” Carwood says, and he walks away from the group, Ron at his side. He looks back once, and George is leading Miss Woods in a foxtrot that’s more enthusiasm than skill. He glances over at Joe, who’s still at the grill surrounded by the others who didn’t join in on the dancing. Joe is shaking his head and smiling as he watches George move.

“He’s got the grace of a two-legged cow,” Joe says when Carwood and Ron walk up.
“Miss Woods isn’t gonna be able to feel her feet when he’s done tenderizing them.”

“If she’s hobbling tomorrow, I’ll give her a break on next week’s rent,” Mama says. “You can’t expect that poor girl to pay in full if she’s injured.”

“You’re too kind, Mama,” Joe says, and he and Mama clink their beer bottles together.

Joe calls everyone over for dinner half an hour later. Ron and Carwood are first in line, having stayed near the grill and visited while Joe cooked. They fill their plates, and then Carwood follows Ron up to the porch where they both sit on the glider. Everyone else settles around just like the night before, and Carwood watches the dogs make the rounds and figure out who’s most likely to feed them.

“Should we call them back?” Carwood asks.

“No,” Ron replies. “Let them have their fun.”

*

They fall asleep that night without more than a goodnight kiss. The day’s swimming, then the party wearing them both out. Carwood sleeps hard and deep and wakes up just before dawn feeling content. He rolls over and kisses Ron awake, and they make love in silence, slow and sleepy and warm. The day passes quietly, Ron never more than a few feet from Carwood at any one time. They run a few errands for Mama in the afternoon and enjoy the final grill out that evening, sitting side-by-side on the stairs and sitting in silence as everyone talks around them. It feels like the day could stretch forever, Carwood thinks. He presses his shoulder into Ron's because he knows it won't. Ron presses back like knows what Carwood is thinking.

*

When Carwood wakes up on Monday morning, the contentment of the day before is gone. He turns his head to look at Ron, and there’s an ache in his chest as he remembers they’ve only got the early part of the morning together.

No, he amends to himself. They only have the early part of the morning for right now.

But there will be other days. Thanksgiving is only a couple of months away, and if Ron comes down on Wednesday, he can stay through Sunday. That’s three full days together. Carwood will have two weeks off in December, and he could go back to Boston with Ron for the second half of it. They could ring in New Year’s at that club in Boston, kiss at midnight in a big room full of people who won’t look at them twice. It’ll be awhile after that until Easter break, but they’ll have letters and phone calls to keep them going. Then, it’ll be summer, and Carwood can take a few weeks and go to Boston for a whole month, maybe.

“You look upset,” Ron says. He’s woken up as Carwood’s been lost in thought, and he reaches up and rubs his thumb between Carwood’s eyebrows, smoothing away the furrow there.

“I should have kissed you in Europe,” Carwood says. “If I’d kissed you in Europe, we’d have had time then.”

“If you had kissed me in Europe, we wouldn’t be here,” Ron replies. “We’d have decided it was a side effect of the war and gone our separate ways.”

“I don’t believe that,” Carwood says.

“Then I would have decided it was a side effect of the war,” Ron amends. “And I’d have stayed away.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He strokes Carwood’s face and traces his fingers over Carwood’s stubble. “Nothing was real over there,” he says. “Except everything that was, and without the wait, I would have questioned if this was one of the unreal things.”

“We could have had time in England before I left,” Carwood says. “If I’d just said yes in the Officer’s Club.”

“Stop thinking like this,” Ron says. “It’s not important.”

“But it is.”

“No, it’s not. We were dead men then, Carwood. Just husks hoping not to get punched full of holes. But here and now, we’re men in charge of our own lives, and it’s not tainted by what we might have dragged behind us when we were fighting. What’s here is who we are now, and that’s what I need.”

Carwood curls his hand around Ron’s wrist, just below the tan line from his watch. “What you need?” he asks.

“What I need,” Ron says. “More than anything else, I need you as you are now.”

“Ron.”

“I love you.” It’s more a breath of air than words, like Ron let it slip out unintentionally.

“I love you, too,” Carwood replies.

“Now, stop worrying,” Ron says.

“I’ll try.”

Ron smiles in amusement. “That’s the best you can do, I know. I appreciate it.”

“I wish things were different,” Carwood says.

“They’re not,” Ron replies, and it’s a comfort in an odd way that Carwood can’t quite name. “Come on,” Ron says, rising up on one elbow and looking at the end of the bed where the dogs are still sleeping. “Let’s not waste time on this. Let’s have the day.”

“Okay,” Carwood agrees, and he climbs out from under the covers and stands up and stretches.

He and Ron dress and walk to the back porch. They sit and have a cigarette as the dogs run around the yard, and then they go back into the house and Carwood puts the coffee on and pulls the leftover pound cake from the ice box. He cuts them both a generous slice, and they sit and eat the cake and drink their coffee.

Mama comes out of her bedroom when they're halfway done, swallowing back a yawn as she wheels up to the table. "Oh, you should have woken me," she says.

"It's fine, Mama," Carwood says. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Yes, please." She hides a yawn behind her hand. "Pardon me," she says. "I'm not used to so much excitement around here."

"It's been very nice," Ron says. "I'm glad I had the chance to come down."

"You're always welcome," Mama replies. "Thank you," she says when Carwood sets down her coffee.

"Cake?" Carwood asks.

"Yes, thank you, about the size of what's left on your plate," she says. "Can we expect you down for Thanksgiving?" Mama asks Ron.

"Yes," Ron replies.

"And what about Christmas? I don't want to presume you don't want to see your family."

"I would enjoy having Christmas here again, if that's agreeable," Ron says.

"Well, that's just fine," Mama replies. She reaches out and touches Ron's arm. "You're sure, though? I don't want to worry I'm taking you away from your people."

Ron places his hand lightly over hers and squeezes it gently. "Well, Mrs. Lipton, if I'm honest with you, I've started to consider you and Carwood and Jack and the rest of you here my people."

Carwood fights the urge to turn around and smile at Ron, concentrating on plating the cake. If he looks over now, he knows his face will show everything he feels for Ron, and he doesn't want to risk Mama seeing it.

"Well, that's just fine," Mama says. "Thank you, honey," she says to Carwood as he puts the cake down in front of her. "It's good to have you in the family," she tells Ron. "Especially with the way you and Carwood get on so well."

"Yes, we do," Ron says, and he gives Carwood a smile. Carwood returns it.

Mama pats Ron's arm once more and pulls away to cut into her cake. "Then we'll definitely see you for Christmas." It's more an order than a statement.

"Yes, ma'am," Ron replies.

George and Joe walk into the kitchen, George clearly supporting at least some of Joe's weight. "He's fine," George says as Mama, Ron, and Carwood look on with concern. "Just overdid it yesterday."

"It's not that bad," Joe says.

"I could let go of you if you want," George offers. Joe glares at him, and George huffs out a breath. "Fine, come on." He maneuvers Joe over to a chair and waits for him to lower himself down before he fetches them both coffee.

"You should have hollered," Mama says. "One of us could have helped with breakfast."

"George took it over," Joe replies. "Which is kind of funny because I remember his cooking being terrible in the Army."

"The food was terrible in the Army," George says. "My cooking was fine." He gets back up and cuts two pieces of cake, carrying them over on the same plate with two forks in his hand. "And I didn't make this, so no complaining."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Joe says. "I ate two slices last night."

"What time are you leaving?" Mama asks Ron. "I can pack you a lunch."

"That won't be necessary," Ron says. "But thank you. I thought I'd head out in about an hour, get myself on the road before the traffic backs up."

"Alright," Mama replies. "That's still an awful long trip."

"It's a pretty drive," Ron says. "It gives me time to think."

Mama looks from Ron to Carwood, and Carwood can't quite read the expression on her face. "Well, that's good to know," she says.

*

Carwood strips the cot while Ron packs his suitcase. He sits on the cot once he's done and watches Ron fold his shirts. "You'll call when you get there?" he says.

"Yes," Ron replies. He places his last shirt in the suitcase and closes it, then he leans over and kisses Carwood. "I don't think we'll be alone enough to say goodbye properly in a few minutes."

"No, we won't," Carwood agrees. He pulls Ron in again and kisses him with a bit more force. Not enough to leave a mark, but enough he feels it when they step away from each other. "I'll miss you," Carwood says.

"I'll miss you," Ron replies. He straightens up and smoothes his shirt. Carwood stands and hefts the suitcase, and then leads the way down the hall.

"You be careful," Mama tells him as he leans down to peck her on the cheek. "Pull over and nap if you get tired."

"Yes, Ma'am," Ron replies. He shakes hands with George and Joe and crouches down to give Panzer a pat goodbye. Sherman gets her ears ruffled by everyone and noses at Panzer, who noses her right back.

"I'll walk you out to your car," Carwood says. They step onto the back porch together, the dogs darting ahead in a short chase. "We're not the only ones who are going to miss each other," Carwood says under his breath.

"No, we're not." Ron opens the trunk of his car and moves so Carwood can put the suitcase in. "Thank you for having me," Ron says. He holds out his hand, and Carwood shakes it, and then they pull each other into a quick, hard hug. "Thanksgiving isn't that far," Ron whispers against his cheek.

"I know," Carwood replies. He pulls away, and they shake one more time, and then Ron opens the door so Sherman can jump in the car and slides in himself. "Drive safe," Carwood says.

"I will."

Carwood raises a hand in goodbye and keeps it up until Ron turns away from the house and heads down the road. He puts his hands in his pockets and looks down at Panzer. "Well, that's it," he says. She leans on him, and he crouches down to scratch her behind the ears. When he straightens and turns towards the house, he realizes Mama's on the back porch. "Everything okay?" he asks.

She looks very thoughtful for a moment. "Just fine," she says.

Carwood doesn't believe her, but he isn't sure how to press her for a better answer. It's just a feeling he's got, that something's a little off, though she seems fine in all the ways Carwood can put to words. "I'll bring the sheets into the laundry room," he says.

"I already got them," Mama replies. "Thank you for stripping the cot."

"You're welcome. I'll get it put away directly."

"Alright."

Carwood goes inside, folds up the cot, and places it back in the hall closet. When he comes into the living room, Mama looks up from her knitting, and she looks off again. "You sure you're okay, Mama?" Carwood asks.

"Just a trailing thought, honey," she says. "Never you mind."

*

Mama's odd mood carries throughout the day. Carwood catches her stealing glances when she thinks he's not looking, but he doesn't say anything. When the phone rings just past seven that evening, she doesn't reach for it. "I'm sure it's for you," she says.

She's right. "I've arrived home," Ron greets Carwood.

"You were speeding," Carwood accuses.

"Only when the road was empty," Ron replies.

Carwood doesn't believe him, and it makes him smile. "Well, glad you made it safe."

"I did. Thank your mother again for her hospitality."

"I'll do that. You sleep well."

"Thank you. You, too. Goodbye, Carwood."

"Goodbye, Ron."

Carwood hangs up the phone and turns to tell his mother that Ron's made it back, but she's watching him with that same look from that morning on the back porch, and he swallows back his words and waits for her to speak.

"I've run this boarding house for over twenty-five years, son. Your father I bought it just after you were born."

"I know, Mama."

"You run a boarding house that long, you learn a few things you never thought you'd know."

"Like what?" Carwood asks, and his heart trip-hammers in his chest at the way her gaze shifts into something unreadable.

"Oh, this and that," she says. She's quiet for a long moment. She smoothes her blanket over her knees. "Sit down with me, sweetheart," she says, tapping the table in front of the chair next to her.

Carwood sits, his legs feeling shaky. He swallows hard. "What is it, Mama?"

"Vanessa and Murray are seeing one another."

"I know that," Carwood says. "Is that what this is about?"

"Not directly. You've taken to the news very well."

Carwood shrugs, relaxing by inches. She's just worried about his feelings is all. "Well, it's not like there's anything scandalous about it. She and I were all but divorced long before we signed the papers."

"Oh, I know. It's just, most men, even when that's true, they still can't help but be a little angry."

"You raised me better than that," Carwood replies.

Mama chuckles under her breath. "I'd like to think so, yes, but--"

The back door opens, and Jack walks in, his suitcase in one hand. He's bright pink with sunburn and grinning. "I'm back!" he announces. "Had a great time. Betsy sends her best. She would have come in to say hello, but we're all beat from the fun we had."

"Well, that's lovely," Mama says. She pats Jack's shoulder when he leans down to kiss her hello. "You need to get some lotion on that burn before it starts to hurt."

"Yes, Ma'am. Probably go straight to bed after that. Hi, Carwood."

"Hi, Jack," Carwood says.

"Leave your suitcase by the washer; I'll get it sorted out for you," Mama says.

"Thank you, Mama," Jack says, and he turns and goes down the hall to his room.

Mama doesn't say anything to Carwood as Jack goes into his room, comes out, goes into the bathroom, showers, and then comes out once more to go back to his room. He calls goodnight down the hallway, and Carwood and Mama return it.

"George and Joe never bring girls around," Mama says once it's clear Jack's tucked himself in for the night. "I've noticed that."

"I don't know what to tell you, Mama. Seems like a question you should be asking them."

"No," Mama says. "I don't think I need to." She takes a deep breath like she's fortifying herself. "There's marks in the carpet in their room. Like the beds get pushed together, sometimes."

Carwood can't breathe. He holds himself very, very still. "Oh?" he gets out.

"Takes all sorts to stay at a boarding house," Mama says. "Most people who come and stay, they don't have family to speak of or that family's too far away to do any good. Or, sometimes, it's the family they're getting away from because they've done something the family isn't happy with."

"I don't follow, Mama."

"Those boys have made a home here, and I'm happy to have them stay on, and what they do in that room, as long as they don't ruin the furniture or have the law drag them out of here in handcuffs, it's not my business. That's always been my policy."

"I know."

"And if they're pushing the beds together, that's not my business, either, just something I noticed."

"Okay."

"I love those boys like they're my own, Carwood. Just as much of my heart feels for them as it feels for you and Jack."

"They know that, Mama."

"And really, that's the part that makes this sort of difficult." She reaches out and touches Carwood's hand. He turns it over so he can clasp hers. Her fingers are trembling just a little. "You see, there's only so many reasons you push beds together."

"Mama--"

"And that sort of behavior, it's not right. It's against the law," she continues like Carwood hasn't tried to interrupt. "But some people, well, they've got a different nature. Murder's against the law, and that doesn't stop a lot of folks. So's robbery and bootlegging. People will do what they do and the law be damned. Murderers and bootleggers, they do it for the thrill, I guess. Robbers, I don't really know. But those two boys in that room up front, I think they're doing what they're doing for the right reasons."

Carwood breathes in deep and lets it out slow. "Do you?" he asks. "Really?"

"They take care of each other," she says. "They help each other. They're a little rough and tumble about it, but that's just how some people show affection. And it's not like they can court one another like other people."

"No, they can't," Carwood agrees.

Mama looks down at their joined hands. She squeezes, and Carwood squeezes back. "You tell them for me that I know, will you? You offer them a single room so they don't scuff up the carpet."

"You sure, Mama? What if someone asks why they're sharing one bed?"

"I'm sure George can spin them a story that's plausible enough," she says.

That makes Carwood smile. "You're right."

Mama looks him in the face, seeming to take him in just a little at a time. "Carwood."

"Yes, Mama?"

"You don't bring home girls, either."

Now it's Carwood's hand that's trembling. "No, Mama," he agrees.

She keeps watching him. "Did you love Vanessa when you married her?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't lie to her?"

"No, ma'am."

She squeezes his hand again and heaves a sigh that seems to relax her whole body. "I didn't think you did, but I couldn't have abided that."

"You taught me better," Carwood says.

"He looks at you like you hung the moon," Mama replies. "Do you know that?"
"What?" Carwood asks.

"And you look at him the same, though you hide it better."

"Mama--"
"I think he thinks he's better at covering his emotions than he is."

Carwood lets out a shaky breath. Mama squeezes his hand again. "He was better at it," he says. "During the war. The men could barely read him."

"But you could."

"I could. Not right away, but pretty soon after he took over Easy."

Mama reaches out with her other hand and cradles Carwood's hand in both of hers. "I wasn't going to have this conversation," she says. "I was gonna let it be and just let you take care of it, but he said he thinks of us as his family, so I don't want there to be secrets, you understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"So, you tell me the truth, Carwood. Do you love him?"

"I do, Mama."

"And does he love you?"

"He does, Mama."

"Well," she says, and she presses his hand between her two. "I suppose I'll get used to that."

"Are you sure?"

"He looks at you like you hung the moon," she says. "You don't take that away from someone. Your daddy used to look at me like that."

Carwood feels tears in his eyes and blinks them away. "It's not so easy as all that. What about Jack and the boarders? If the boarders find out about George and Joe or me and Ron, that could end this place."

"I said it takes all kinds," Mama says. "It's not the first time I saw those marks on the carpet."

It takes a moment for what she's saying to sink in. When it does, Carwood laughs without meaning to. "Mama!"

"You boys always think I don't know anything at all," she says, and she's smiling. "You've got to stop doing that."

"Yes, ma'am, we do," Carwood agrees. He sobers at a thought. "But Jack?"

"He doesn't see anything past Betsy. Hasn't since he met her. Between her and his schooling and his working, I don't think he'll ever notice. If he does, you be honest with him. Until then, it's up to you."

Carwood rests his head on their joined hands. "Thank you, Mama."

"You tell Ron I know, will you? Tell him it's all fine."

"I will, Mama."

*

Carwood calls Ron back after Mama goes to bed.

"Hello?" Ron answers, sounding half-asleep, and Carwood pictures him in his pajamas, leaning against the kitchen wall.

"It's me," Carwood says. "Sorry to wake you."

"Are you okay?"

"Just fine." Carwood takes a deep breath and wonders how Ron will react to the news. "I wanted to let you know that Mama sat down and had a talk with me, and she wants you to know that she knows about us, and she wants us to be happy."

There's a long pause. For the first time in a very long time, it feels awkward. "Does anyone else know?" Ron asks.

"No," Carwood replies.

"You're certain?"

"Ron, it's okay," Carwood says. "It's just Mama. She figured out George and Joe, too. She's okay with it all. She wants us to be happy."

"And you're certain no one else knows."

"Yes."

There's another long pause, but it feels lighter. Ron sighs, and Carwood wishes he could be next to him to reassure him in person. "She wants us to be happy," Ron mutters.

"Yes."

"Really?"

Carwood chuckles. "Yes. She specifically requested I tell you that part."

"Well." Ron sounds awed. "Well," he says again. "Your mother is remarkable."

"She is," Carwood agrees. "You should go back to sleep."

"I suppose so. Goodnight, Carwood."

"Goodnight, Ron." Carwood hangs up the phone and stares at it. Ron is still very far away, but he feels closer somehow. It makes Carwood smile as he goes to bed himself.

*

Carwood tells George and Joe when they're smoking after breakfast the next morning. George actually falls off the banister and into the yard he jerks back so hard in surprise.

"I'm not helping you up," Joe says.

"No, no, I understand," George replies. He laughs when Panzer comes down the stairs and licks at his face. "I'm fine," he tells her, petting her absently as he gets himself to a sitting position. "Just very surprised."
"We don't need a single room," Joe says. "If she don't mind the beds being pushed together, we'll just leave them that way. It's only she and I who ever check the rooms, anyway."

"Well, you can figure that out between yourselves," Carwood replies. He grins when George steps back up on the porch and makes a show of brushing himself off.

"I lost my cigarette," George grumbles.

"Here," Joe says, holding his out.

George takes it and sits back down on the bannister. "She's really okay with it?" he asks.

"I'm taking her at her word," Carwood replies. "Jack still doesn't know, so just keep that in mind."

"We will," George says, looking to Joe for confirmation. Joe nods. "Why aren't you surprised?" George asks.

"My aunt's funny, remember?" Joe asks. He takes the cigarette from George and breathes in the last drag. "I'm gonna go write her and tell her," Joe says. "She's been asking lately."

"Tell her I say hi," George says.

"Sure," Joe replies.

George watches him walk into the house, and then turns to Carwood. "You tell Ron already?"

"Called him last night."

"He take it okay?"

Carwood considers that. "I think he took it as well as he could."

"That's about all you can ask for," George replies.

Carwood finishes his cigarette and watches the way George keeps glancing towards the house. "What is it?" he asks.

"You think I can kiss him goodbye in front of your mother? It's only ever a peck on the cheek."

Carwood smiles and feels even lighter than he did the night before. "Well, you ask her and see what she says."

"I'm going to do that right now," George says. "And I'm not gonna tell Joe if she says it's okay."

"He decks you, I'm not getting you ice."

"Yeah, yeah," George grouses and goes inside.

*

Ron calls again that night, and it's Carwood who answers the phone.

"I wanted to speak with your mother for a moment," Ron says. "If Jack's not around."

"He's out with Betsy and some friends, so it's fine," Carwood replies. He hands the phone to Mama and tries not to eavesdrop, but George and Joe have gone silent and are clearly as interested in the conversation as Carwood. Mama keeps her voice very low, though, so all they hear is her reassuring tone and occasional words.

"Carwood," she says after a few minutes, "he'd like to speak to you."

Carwood takes the phone back and looks at Mama. She's smiling softly and looks very peaceful. "Hello," he says to Ron.

"Hello. I just need to thank her and tell her how much I appreciate her support, but I didn't want to hang up without saying goodbye."

"I'm glad you didn't," Carwood says. "You feel okay about everything now?"

"Yes. I've never had family who've known about me like this. It feels…"

"Light?" Carwood suggests.

"Yes," Ron agrees. "For lack of a better word, it feels like that."

"It's nice."

"It is. I need to go."

"Okay. Goodbye, Ron."

"Goodbye, Carwood."

Carwood hangs up the phone and looks at Mama and George and Joe. Mama still looks pleased as can be, and George and Joe are leaning towards her, talking softly, pressed together from shoulder to waist, George's arm around Joe's shoulders. It looks like plenty of other nights they've had, but the expression on his mother's face changes the whole scene into something beautiful.

"I think he thinks you hung the moon, too, Mama," Carwood says as he sits back at his place.

"Well, you had to learn it from somewhere, I suppose," she replies.

Chapter Text

"Hey!" Joe yells when George swoops down on him the next morning and pecks him on the cheek. "There are people here!"

"Mama said it was okay," George replies. "And Jack's already left. So shut up and enjoy some affection."

"Your affection gives me a rash," Joe replies, but he's grinning when George kisses him again and heads off to work.

"I want to scrub room seven this week," Mama says to Joe like nothing unusual has happened. "Mr. Tanner's going to be gone on that trip until Saturday, so it's a good time to get the dust off the baseboards."

"I can start it this afternoon," Joe says. "Figured I'd pull down the drapes when I stripped the beds and get them in the wash, too."

"That sounds good. You grab Carwood if you need help moving the furniture when you vacuum."

"I will, Mama," Joe says.

"I'm gonna do some homework," Carwood says as he stands from the table. "You just holler if you need me, Joe."

"Will do."

*

Dear Ron,

It's been almost a week since Mama sat me down and talked to me, and it's interesting how it's changed things around the house. I never felt like I was really holding a secret back from her, but now that she knows, it's all very different. George and Joe report the same sort of feeling. Even when Jack's around, it feels different. He still hasn't asked, and none of us have told. He's so focused on school and work and getting married, I don't think he's got time for any other concerns. He and Betsy are happy as ever, though we see them less and less. Mama says that's just how it is when there's a wedding to plan, and it seems like it's still far away, but I wasn't much involved in planning my own, so I won't pretend to know what it takes.

School's going fine. My history professor found out I'd been a paratrooper and asked if I would speak to the class about it. I turned him down, and George and Joe agreed it was the right decision. He wants the students who weren't in the war to try and understand the experience, but I don't see how telling them what we went through will do anything to teach them what it was like. One of the other students ended up talking about his experience, but I didn't really listen. I didn't want to be disrespectful, but I've got enough of the war under my skin as it is.

Mama sends her best. Panzer is doing fine as always. She's taken to walking to campus with me and then walking herself home. I don't know how she figured out she could do that, but Mama reports she makes it back just fine every time.

I miss you.

Yours,
Carwood

*

Dear Carwood,

I think it was smart to not speak to that class about what we went through in the war. Your professor has good intentions, I'm sure, but to think there's anything a civilian can learn after the fact seems foolish. They went through their own experiences with rationing and waiting for their brothers and fathers and cousins and uncles and nephews to come home, and I doubt the professor has asked for any stories like that.

I feel different since speaking to your mother about everything. I don't have adequate words to describe it except to say her acceptance has made me feel calm. I am looking forward to Thanksgiving for more than just to see you again. I know we are still far ahead of the holiday, but I think about it almost daily and relish the idea that we won't have to cover our tracks quite so well.

Work continues as it always does. I've made a weekly habit of having dinner with that Captain and his family. It's as good for my career as it is for my social skills, and they allow Sherman into their house happily, so it suits me fine.

Nixon called last week to inform me he and Winters would be in Boston at the end of October. We've made plans to have dinner together. I'll send them your regards.
As always, I miss you.

Yours always,
Ron

*

September slides into October without Carwood really noticing. He goes to school, reviews the books for the house, does his homework, and spends some time with whoever's handy for a quick drink at Lenny's or a night at the Honky Tonk. He goes for a run every other morning, Panzer keeping pace, and he looks forward to the end of the semester when he can read for enjoyment again.

Midterms are a blur of studying, writing papers, and trying not to feel overwhelmed. Joe stays up half the night with him one Wednesday to help him finalize his midterm History paper, and Carwood comes home after turning it in and takes a three hour nap.

"I don't remember it being this difficult last time I was in school," he tells Mama as he stifles a yawn the next morning and pours himself a third cup of coffee. "I feel like I've been put through the wringer."

"You're still a young man, but you're not as young as you were," Mama replies.

"You're not as young as me," Jack adds with a grin. "I'm doing just fine."

"You also get to work with your hands," Carwood says, mussing Jack's hair as he sits down. "That's different than having to make sure you didn't drop a comma in a paper."

"You're jealous," Jack says.

Carwood shrugs. "A little, maybe. Mostly because you'll be done in December."

"Yeah," Jack agrees, his chest puffed out. "I will."

"Good for you, Jack," Carwood says. "You've worked real hard."

"Thanks," Jack replies, and he thumps Carwood on the back as he gets up to leave for the day.

*

Carwood lets George and Joe drag him down to the Honky Tonk the last Saturday in October. "You look like someone kicked the dog," George tells him Saturday morning as they smoke their cigarettes. "What is wrong with you?"

"It's not Thanksgiving," Carwood replies.

"Nope," Joe announces. "We're not gonna watch you be lovesick."

And so they have dinner with Mama and Jack and then cut through the woods to the Honky Tonk. It's lit up as always and full to bursting, A few people are wearing masks since it's just short a week to Halloween, and Carwood laughs when Vanessa dances over and hands him a paper mask that looks like a rabbit.

"Haven't seen you in an age," she says as she pulls him over to the table she's sharing with Murray and some others. "All that schooling is making you anti-social. I've seen Jack here more often than you."

"Funny, Jack's supposed to be off with Betsy when he leaves after dinner."

"Oh, she's here too," Vanessa says with a knowing smile. "Those cabins in the back get lonely if it's just you, don't you know?"

Carwood returns her knowing grin. "So I hear."

They catch up over a couple of drinks, and then Murray pulls Vanessa away to dance again. Carwood moves down two chairs and sits quietly with his beer while he watches the room. Joe and George are on either side of a pretty girl, clearly trying to outdo each other with the flirting. She looks flustered but pleased, and Carwood shakes his head when he realizes they're positioned themselves so they're both propped against the wall and their hands are nearly touching. He spots Bobby in the crowd and waves hello.

"Hey!" Bobby says as he comes over and sits next to Carwood. "Vanessa was just saying she hasn't seen you in forever."

"Oh, I heard that speech already," Carwood tells him. "How're you?"

"Just fine. I thought Jack was going to be out tonight."

Carwood shrugs. "He didn't mention to me if he would be."

"Well, maybe later. Or he decided he and Betsy will just go parking instead."

"They do that often?" Carwood asks, more amused than scandalized.

"Oh, often enough. You know how it is. They're practically married."

"Less than a year to go," Carwood agrees. "What about you? You seeing anyone?"

"Nah, I'm not ready to settle down," Bobby says, and he gives an appreciative glance around the room. "In fact, I'm gonna go make sure I don't tonight. I'll see you later, Carwood."

"Have fun, Bobby."

In the middle of his third beer, a woman he doesn't know comes over and asks him to dance. Carwood accepts, and they do a passable jitterbug. She gives him a flirty smile, clearly ready to pull him into another dance, but Murray finds him, slings an arm over his shoulder, and announces drunkenly, "I'm gonna marry that girl."

"Oh, I hope you're talking about Vanessa," Carwood says.

"Of course I am," Murray replies. He tilts hard against Carwood's side and manages to right himself. "Sorry. Bobby just bought me a drink."

"Must have been a doozy. Come on." Carwood leads Murray to the table and sits him down, making a point to move his beer out of grasping reach. "So, did you ask her or are you just making plans?"

"Just making plans. I got awhile still until I can do it properly, and I want to do it properly." Murray looks at Carwood with drunken delight, and then his face turns very serious. "I'm so sorry it didn't work out for you," he says with the hard sincerity of the truly blotto. "I'm so, so sorry, but I'm really happy for it too, you know? Because she and I found each other because it didn't work out for you, so thanks for that. Thanks for divorcing her."

Carwood can't help his laugh. He claps Murray on the shoulder and gives him a small shake. "Glad I could do my part," Carwood says. "You two are good together."

"Oh, she's the best," Murray says, and the way he tilts back his head and damn near melts into his chair reminds Carwood of Harry when he talked about Kitty, and that makes him laugh again.

"Good to hear it," Carwood replies.

Murray slumps forward on the table, head pillowed on his arms, and he's asleep not five minutes later. Carwood keeps a hand on his back and shrugs when a few people slant him a questioning look, clearly wondering if Carwood needs help. Old Ross comes over, takes in the scene, and shakes his head.

"Just tell me you can get him home," Old Ross says. "No one sleeps it off here."

"I've got him," Carwood promises. "I think he'll move along just fine when the time comes."

"Alright. Another beer?"

"Please."

Old Ross brings it by and drops off a cup of coffee as well. "Pour that down Sleeping Beauty when he wakes up, and it'll help," he says.

"Thanks," Carwood replies. Murray snuffles, and his shoulder jerks, and then he turns his head, and he's still again.

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Vanessa says when she comes upon them a few minutes later. "I told him not to drink whatever it was Bobby handed him."

"Some men just don't learn," Carwood replies.

She sits across from Carwood and steals the coffee. "He'll wake up in twenty minutes and be ready to go, coffee or no coffee," she says. "Happens every time he drinks whatever Bobby buys."

"It's not Old Ross' moonshine, is it?"

"Oh, lord no. He did that exactly once and just flat passed out ten minutes later. He won't go near the stuff." Vanessa glances over her shoulder as a commotion breaks out. "Oh, is that George and Joe?"

Carwood looks in the same direction, and it is. George is pushed against the wall, Joe between him and a good-sized fellow who'd obviously started something. "Hell," he says. "I'll be back."

He gets up and pushes his way through the room. By the time he gets across, the good-sized fellow and Joe are in a straight up brawl, trying to beat the other one down to the ground. George is looking on, clearly seeking a place to jump in and help.

"Knock it off!" Carwood yells, and George freezes at his command voice.

"He started it!" Joe says, not so easily swayed. He lands a solid punch to the other man's ribs, and the man doubles over.

"Toye, stand down!" Carwood barks. He grabs the unknown man by the collar and yanks him upright. "What the hell is the meaning of this?"

The unknown man breathes heavily. "They were bothering my girl."

"I am not your girl!"

Carwood turns and realizes the girl both George and Joe were talking to is curled up next to the jukebox to get out of the way of the fight. The unknown man struggles, and Carwood tightens his grip. "She says she's not your girl," he says.

"She's lying! She is too my girl!"

"I was his girl six months ago! I'm not his girl now!"

"And we were just talking," George adds. "Who the hell throws a punch for just talking?"

"She's my girl!" The unknown man yells. He thrusts an elbow hard into Carwood's solar plexus, and Carwood jerks back with a wheeze. Before he can make a lunge for the unknown man, Joe and George have him tackled, Joe sitting on the man's back while George sits on his legs.

"I am not your girl!" The girl screams at the man.

"Alright, alright. Let's take it easy," Carwood says as his breath comes back to him. "You get on out of here, and we'll keep him pinned for you, okay?"

She looks at him, grateful and angry in the same moment. "Fine," she says, and she turns on her heel and walks out of the bar, the path cleared from the spectacle.

The unknown man is still thrashing on the ground, and it looks like Joe might get bucked. Carwood takes it in, considers his options, and motions for Joe to move up.

"Take his shoulders," he says.

Joe scoots, and Carwood drops onto the middle of the man's back. "We're not getting up until you stop fighting us," he says.

"Goddamnit, this isn't your business!"

"You punch my friends, it's my business," Carwood says. He glances at George, who's feeling along the left side of his jaw. "You okay?"

"Eh, I got worse from a Fräulein in Germany," he says. "His haymaker's all noise, no show."

The unknown man starts thrashing harder, and Carwood, George, and Joe all press their weight down. "Who the hell do you think you are?" the man yells.

"We're the goddamn airborne infantry!" George says in Winters' running shout, and then they're singing out the whole chant, Carwood keeping time on his knee as they sing it over and over, louder and louder until the whole bar has picked up the words and the man below them has finally stopped struggling.

"Zip Zam Goddamn, we're Airborne infantry!"

Carwood laughs when they finish, leaning hard on George so he doesn't fall over. "Four years in the Army, and I get into a bar fight now," he says.

"Should have spent more time with Joe," George replies, and Joe rolls his eyes but doesn't disagree.

*

Dear Ron,

There's a dirty rumor I was in a bar fight last night, but this is mostly incorrect. George and Joe were in a bar fight, and I merely assisted. George took one punch to the jaw, Joe landed several punches to the man's torso, and I ended up elbowed in the chest. None of us are bruised, thank goodness. I think Mama would skin us alive if we came home with proof of fighting like that.

I still can't quite believe it happened. I've never been a brawler, but I'm been sort of melancholy the last few days, and maybe that's what caused me to react like that. George and Joe, of course, thought it was great fun, and we were never in any real danger, but I certainly got a talking to from Vanessa about rushing into the fight when I saw they were in the midst of it. George and Joe tried to explain to her that it's just how it works, and I think she understood, but she still had enough good sense to point out we all acted foolishly.

I'm still grinning about it this morning, though, so maybe her lecture didn't quite sink in.
Your last letter mentioned that your Captain friend was finally picking up a dog for his little girl. I'm glad to hear it. I know she's been waiting a long time, and I'm sure she and that dog will be long-time companions. I hope Sherman approves of the new addition so she can still join you for dinners.

I don't know if Winters and Nixon will still be there when this letter arrives, but send them my best. I do write them occasionally, but it's sporadic. Winters always replies, of course. Nixon does not, but Winters signs both their names, so I assume he gets the information in the letters even if he's not writing back.

I have to go and finish up some homework now. The longer the semester goes on, the heavier the workload. I'm handling it fine, and Joe has been a big help when writing my papers, but really, I'm just counting days until Thanksgiving.

I miss you.

Yours,
Carwood
*
Dear Carwood,

I cannot imagine you in a bar fight, so I will wait for George and Joe to describe it to me before I try to really understand what it looked like. I have no doubt you can fight, but a bar fight seems beneath your notice. Of course, with the boys involved, I understand why you jumped in. I'm certain Vanessa's lecture was stirring and on point, but the way the blood pumps when you're in a scuffle is a feeling like no other, and it's hard to regret it when you come out of it unscathed.

I am also counting the days until Thanksgiving. Nixon accused me of being lovelorn when he and Winters joined me for dinner, but I corrected him. Lovelorn is for people who don't have what they want. Homesick is what I am, I think. I miss not only you but also everything in Huntington. I miss my family as a whole, really, with you as the great cornerstone. Thanksgiving cannot come quickly enough, and if I could speed time forward, I would do it happily.

Sherman has met the new dog, who has been named Bubbles. I think this is a silly name for a dog, but I am not a six-year-old girl, so my opinion was not valid in the decision. Sherman, as with all things, has taken to Bubbles with great delight. Bubbles is very energetic and a bit rowdy, but that is the way of puppies. I imagine Panzer would be displeased with her (and the dog is still just a dog and not a metaphor).

Keep your nose to the grindstone on your schoolwork. I remember my own college days with the same sort of ever-growing homework load, and I know you can see it through. You are a brilliant man with a great deal of patience. You will easily succeed.

I miss you, and I will see you in a few weeks.

Yours always,
Ron

*
“Have I got a surprise for you,” Joe says when Carwood walks in the door after his classes on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving.

“Well, you certainly look like you do.” Carwood glances at Mama, who’s sitting at the kitchen table and smiling fit to burst. “And it looks like Mama’s in on it.”

“Oh, no, it’s Joe’s news to tell,” she says. “He’s the one who took the call.”

“Ron called right after you left for class,” Joe says. “He got today off, so he’s on the road already. He figures he’ll be in by eight at the latest.”

“What?” Carwood asks, and Mama laughs at the look on his face.

“He said he figured he’d might as well go for broke since Mama figured you two out,” Joe adds, and he’s grinning as he leans over the table and shakes Carwood’s shoulder. “You look like you might fall over.”

“I just might,” he says. He laughs, delighted, and then he ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck. “Well,” he says. He glances at Mama, and her smile hasn’t wavered. In the last couple of months, George and Joe have gotten downright comfortable being affectionate in front of her, but Carwood’s still kept most of Ron and his feelings close to his heart. “What do you think?” he asks her.

“I think if he hadn’t won me over already, this would certainly do it,” she says. “I think it’s very sweet.”

“What do we tell Jack?” Carwood asks.

“I don’t think Jack will think twice on it,” Mama replies. “Don’t you worry on it.”

“Do my best,” Carwood promises. He stands from the table and gathers his books. “I’ve got some reading to do,” he says. “Suppose I’ll take care of it now.” He leans down and kisses Mama on the top of the head, and she reaches up and pats his shoulder. He grins at Joe, and Joe grins in return, and then Carwood goes into his bedroom and sits down at his desk.

Twenty minutes later, he’s read exactly one paragraph, too excited that Ron is on his way to remember a damn thing. He looks down at Panzer, who is curled at his feet. “How about a run?” Panzer pops to her feet, tail wagging.

When he walks into the kitchen in his running gear, Mama gives him a knowing look but says nothing beyond a soft goodbye. Carwood sets an easy pace, looking more to settle his mind than work himself into a stupor. He lopes down the block, then around the corner, counting his breath in and out in a four-count. He thinks of Ron, already on his way, and it makes him want to sprint just to get the energy out. He keeps his pace, though, and when he makes it home again an hour later, he feels like he could actually get some work done.

“Did you see Jack?” Mama asks when Carwood comes in the backdoor. “Mr. Preston called and said he didn’t show up for work this morning.”

“I didn’t see him,” Carwood says, and any thought of homework slides out of his mind. “But I didn’t know to look.”

Mama clenches her hands in the blanket on her lap. “Joe’s headed out in the car in a minute to have a look around. I called the police, but they said they haven’t heard anything.”

“You called Betsy’s house?” Carwood asks.

“I was just about to.”

“Let me get changed, and I’ll go find George. He said he was working up by the high school today, and I’m sure he’ll let us use the car.”

“Okay.”

Carwood goes into the bedroom and changes, worry licking through him as he comes back down the hall. Mama’s on the phone, and she looks even more perplexed than when Carwood walked in the door. Carwood gets a glass of water and waits for the call to be over.

“Well,” Mama says when she’s put the phone back on the cradle. “It seems Betsy’s been out all day as well.”

“Was she supposed to be?” Carwood asks.

“Her mother says it was planned. She was on the hunt for fabric for the wedding, she says.”

“So, she and Jack are both gone.”

“Yes.”

Carwood thinks about that. “Mr. Preston sure waited awhile to call, didn’t he?”

Mama gives him a sharp look. “He says he was away from the shop all morning, and he assumed Jack had gone to lunch by the time he’d come in, and it was only when he realized he hadn’t seen him come back that he asked the other man working.”

“He mentioned Mr. Preston would be out,” Carwood says. “He said so over dinner the other night.”

“What are you thinking?” Mama asks.

“I’m thinking you might call the county clerk and see if there’s a marriage license on file,” Carwood says, feeling himself grin.

“What? Oh, no. Betsy and her mother have been planning for a July wedding.”

“Well, like you said, they don’t see far past each other. Maybe they got impatient.”

Mama shakes her head but picks up the phone, dialing the operator to get the county clerk. Carwood looks out the window and sees Joe pull up in the car. He goes out the back door to greet him.

“Nothing,” Joe says at the questioning look Carwood gives him.

“I think it might be okay,” Carwood says. “Betsy’s gone, too. Mama’s calling the county clerk now.”

“The county—you think they eloped?”

“Might have.”

Joe glances towards the kitchen window, then says in a low voice, “You think we might get a surprise in seven months?”

Carwood considers that. Vanessa had said Jack and Betsy were down at the Honky Tonk pretty regularly. “I don’t know,” he says. “Really, it could go either way, I think.”

“They’re pretty nuts on each other,” Joe agrees.

They walk into the house as Mama hangs up the phone. She smiles in greeting at Joe, but then the smile slides off her face. “There’s nothing on the register,” she says.

“Is Bobby around?” Carwood asks. “Maybe he knows something.”

Mama waves a hand at the phone. “Could you call over? I think I need a cup of tea.”

“I’ll get it,” Joe offers and moves towards the stove.

Carwood calls Bobby’s house, but no one picks up. “He could be with them,” he tells Mama. “They could still have run off.”

“Maybe,” Mama says. She glances out the window as a car pulls up. “It’s George,” she says. “Joe, go see if he knows anything, will you?”

“Sure, Mama.”

Carwood sits next to Mama and watches her curl her hands around her teacup. “You remember that time Jack tried to run away from home?” he asks. “You were scared to death he’d gotten himself hurt, and he’d just climbed up a tree and couldn’t get down.”

Mama, smiles, though it’s shaky. “I doubt he’s up a tree this time.”

“Probably not,” Carwood agrees, “but that’s what I’m gonna assume until we hear otherwise.”

Mama gives him a grateful look but says nothing else. George and Joe walk into the kitchen, and George immediately walks over and crouches down next to Mama, putting one hand on her arm.

“They’ve eloped,” he says. “I’m sure of it.”

“They told you?” Mama asks.

“No, but I’ve got more cousins and siblings and just family in general than half this town, and I’m telling you, they eloped.”

“There’s no record of a marriage certificate.”

“What’s the waiting time for a marriage certificate?” George asks.

“It was three days for Vanessa and me,” Carwood says.

“Then they went to another county to try their luck, or they hopped the state line,” George says. He squeezes Mama’s arm softly, his face a mix of sympathy and serious. “Bobby’s gone too, right?”

“Yes.”

“I bet if you called around to Betsy’s friends, you’d find one of them gone, too. Most places require two witnesses.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Mama says. “They were already planning the wedding.”

“I’ve had a sister and three cousins just give it up and run for the nearest church,” George says. “Some people have a limit on these things.” He glances at the clock and stands up. “I’m going to call the other county offices,” he says. “We’ll see what they say.”

“I’ll go down to the telegraph office,” Carwood offers. “Maybe they’ve sent word.”

Joe sits next to Mama and puts an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll just stay right here if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s fine,” Mama says. “That’s just fine.”

There’s no word at the telegraph office, and Carwood detours to the post office before he goes home. Murray is at the front counter, and his cheerful hello fades off when he sees Carwood’s face. “You alright?”

“Jack didn’t go to work today, and Betsy’s been gone all day, and no one’s answering at Bobby’s house,” Carwood says. “Mama’s worried sick, but George thinks they might have gone off to elope. You haven’t heard anything have you?”

“No,” Murray says. He thinks for a moment. “I’ll call Vanessa. Maybe she’s heard something. She and Betsy have gotten close.”

“Thank you,” Carwood says. He steps away from the counter as Murray goes to the back to make the call. He comes back out a few minutes later and shakes his head.

“Vanessa hasn’t heard anything, but she says to call her if your mother needs extra support.”

“I’ll do that, thanks,” Carwood says. He leaves and drives home. There are no extra cars in the drive when he pulls up, and when he walks in the kitchen, George is on the phone, the edge of exasperation in his voice telling Carwood he’s called more than a few offices in the last half-hour.

“Nothing,” Joe says at Carwood’s look.

“Well, nothing can be okay,” Carwood says as he gets the kettle from the stove and makes himself a cup of tea. “You need another, Mama?”

“Yes, please.”

“You want something extra in it?” Joe offers.

“No, my nerves are unsteady enough,” she says, though she smiles at him.

“No news is good news,” Carwood says. “That’s what you always told me when I worried.”

“Oh, that’s just a line we mothers feed our boys to calm them down,” she replies, and her smile gets a little deeper.

The three of them sit in silence as George works his way through a county roster with the help of an operator. He gets off the phone nearly an hour later with a shake of his head. “Not a one,” he says. “But that doesn’t rule out the state line or the ones I couldn’t reach because they closed already.”

“Did you get ahold of any of Betsy’s friends?” Carwood asks.

“I called Betsy’s mother back, and she says she already made the calls, but half of them are out of town for the holiday already, so she isn’t sure if anyone’s with them.”
Mama shakes her head and pushes her tea away from her. “I don’t understand how you all are so calm right now.”

“Oh, we’re terrified,” George says. “But we got used to it during the war.” He sits on Mama’s other side and pushes her tea back towards her. “And I can tell you, not taking care of yourself only makes it worse, so drink up.”

“Don’t sass me,” Mama says, but she takes a small sip of her tea.

Carwood stands from the table. “I’m just going to step outside,” he says. “See if the cold air shakes loose any other ideas.”

“I’ll come with,” Joe replies, and he gives Mama’s shoulders one more squeeze before he gets up.

They step onto the back porch, and Carwood breathes in hard and deep before lighting a cigarette. “I’m gonna wring his neck,” he says.

“Get in line,” Joe replies.

“Nothing from the hospital or the police department?”

“Nope.”

Carwood shakes his head and rubs a hand over his temple. “You think George is actually as sure as he sounds?”

Joe snorts as he lights his own cigarette. “I still can’t tell half the time when he’s just lying through his teeth for the fun of it, but if it calms her down, I say let him keep it up.”

“I agree.”

Joe looks out over the backyard. “Real pain in the ass to do this today,” he says. “Sort of takes all the fun out of the phone call from Ron, huh?”

“Some,” Carwood admits. “But he’ll still be here an extra day, and that’s worth plenty.”

“Suppose so.” Joe flicks ash from his cigarette. “Still can’t figure out why you won’t just move up to Boston.”

Carwood slides him a glance. “Sounds like there’s been some talking when my back is turned.”

“Me and George were talking about it the other night,” Joe says. “George says it’s because you feel responsible for things around here.”

“I do,” Carwood replies. “There’s the books to keep and my education and being here for Mama.”

“You know George and I aren’t going anywhere, right? We’ve talked about it. We like it here. We like the work we’re doing. The people are nice. The weather isn’t total crap, and Mama’s okay with what we do with the lights off. You can’t ask for more than that.”

“What about Philly?” Carwood asks.

“Philly’s not going anywhere, either” Joe says. “But it’s not where I want to be.”

“You think your parents would be less accepting than Mama with your aunt being how she is?”

“I think my aunt stretches them thin as it is, and there’s an expectation about the next generation of Toyes. I can lie in letters about meeting this girl or that, but not in person, and I know me and George aren’t all that subtle.”

“So, George is it for you, huh?” Carwood asks.

Joe shrugs. “Sure. Why not.” He smiles at Carwood, and it’s sweet in a way Carwood rarely sees from him. “Maybe George has been it for me for awhile, but don’t tell him that, okay? His head’s big enough.”

“Never heard a word,” Carwood replies.

The phone rings, and Joe and Carwood both turn towards the noise. They can see George through the window as he answers it, and they watch his shoulders drop slightly after he gives his salutation. Carwood stubs out his cigarette and steps inside, Joe on his heels.

“Murray,” George says as he hangs up the phone. “He remembered that Betsy got a box from Sears and Roebuck a couple of days ago. He described it to Vanessa, and she said it sounded like the right size box for a dress.”

“It’s all just guessing,” Mama says quietly. “Just guessing.”

“Well, it keeps our minds busy, Mama,” George replies as he sits next to her again. “I think we can all use that right now.”

“And food,” Joe says, glancing at the clock. “It’s nearly dinner time.”

“I’ll start—“

“Nope,” George says, stopping Mama before she can wheel away from the table. “You’re too distracted. Let me and Joe run up the street and get something, okay?”

“I can make a few sandwiches,” Mama says, but the fight’s clearly gone out of her.

“We’ll get burgers,” George replies. “And fries and ketchup and a pint of ice cream. How’s that sound?”

“Comforting,” Carwood says. “Thank you.”

“We’ll be back as quick as we can,” George says.

“Stop by the telegraph office again, will you?” Carwood asks.

“Sure,” Joe agrees, and he and George leave in silence. Carwood can’t remember the last time he saw them so somber.

“Still think he’s up a tree?” Mama asks a few minutes later. She keeps glancing at the phone, then down at her tea cup.

“If he’s not now, I’ll run him up one with a switch for this,” Carwood replies. She gives him a stern look, and Carwood shrugs. “They could have called when they got to the next county, or they could have sent a telegram. If they wanted to run off and get married like this, that’s fine, but they should have sent word.”

“It reminds me a little of when you were gone,” Mama says. She rolls away from the table, waving at Carwood to sit back down as she moves across the room. “It’s not the same sort of worry, and it probably really will be just fine, but it’s the same feeling in my guts that something could be happening, and I can’t help in any way.” She pours herself more hot water from the kettle and rolls back over to the table. “And it’s knowing I can’t do anything that bothers me the most.”

“I know, Mama,” Carwood says. He gets up and pours more hot water from himself. They sit quietly while their tea steeps and the evening light fades out completely. “There were times when I was in Europe,” Carwood says after a measure, “and all I could see was what I couldn’t fix and what I couldn’t help. I always found some small way to do something, but there were times when I just had to sit and wait for that small way to show itself.”

“You don’t say much, but I can see how hard the war treated you,” Mama replies. “I wish you hadn’t gone, though I knew there was no stopping you.”

“I wanted to be the best,” Carwood says.

“You always were.”

Carwood reaches out and takes her hand. “It’ll be just fine, Mama. Jack’s out there with Betsy doing something foolish, and they’ll be along soon.”

“You sound so certain,” Mama says.
“Because I am,” Carwood replies, and it’s a lie, but it doesn’t hurt to tell it.

Headlights flash on the wall, and Carwood stands up to look out the window. It’s Joe and George, back with food, but as they get out of the car another one comes up behind them. It’s Ron. Carwood can’t help the smile that takes over his face. “The boys are back with food,” he says, “And Ron’s here.”

“Well, you go say hello,” Mama says.

Joe and George don’t even try to come up the ramp when Carwood and Panzer come out the back door. “He spotted us on the way to get dinner,” George says. “I caught him up while we waited for our food.”

“How’s your mother?” Ron asks as soon as Carwood is close enough to talk to.

“Worried,” Carwood replies. “Tired, probably going to smack Jack as soon as she sees him.”

“Well, he’ll have earned it,” Ron replies. He reaches out and pulls Carwood into a hug without the usual handshake to cover it. “Glad I could make it down early.”

“Me, too,” Carwood says into his shoulder, and they stand there for an extra few moments, just holding onto each other. Out back of the house like this, with Jack gone, there’s no one to see who’ll be scandalized. “Come on,” Carwood says after a minute. “It’ll do Mama good to see you.”

“I hope so,” Ron says and follows him into the house. Much like George had done earlier, Ron goes immediately to her side and crouches down. “He’s fine,” Ron says. “I’m sure of it.”

“That’s a very popular promise around here,” Mama replies. “Why do you think so?”

“I have been in charge of many men who have been very smart. They can make an excellent decision, and then use their next breath to make a thoughtless decision,” Ron says. “Jack’s smart, and he’s hard-working, but if anything will lead him to a bad decision, it’s Betsy wanting to elope. He wants to be married to her like the moon wants to rise, and I’ve no doubt he ran off with her at her request.”

Mama smiles and pats Ron on the cheek. “Well, you’ve got the best pitch so far.”

“Good,” Ron says. He pecks her on the cheek and stands. “Do you need anything?”

“Dinner, I think. And some sort of distraction, but I think that’s more George’s territory.”

“Well, Ron wanted to hear about the bar fight,” George says. “How’s that work for you, Mama?”

“What bar fight?” she asks.

“George,” Carwood groans.

“No, it’s fine. We barely even got hit. Carwood did sit on a man.”

“Carwood!”

“George and Joe did, too!” Carwood protests.

“Hold on,” George says as Joe starts unpacking the food. “Let’s start at the beginning or it’s no fun. It all began because of a girl.”

“Doesn’t it always?” Mama replies, wry, but George has her laughing a minute later as he imitates Joe trying to flirt.

“No calls from the hospitals or police?” Ron asks Carwood in an undertone as George goes on.

“No,” Carwood says.

“How long to the state line?”

“About four and a half hours to Tennessee.”

“If they left first thing and found a Justice of the Peace right away, they’ll be home before ten,” Ron says.

“And if they didn’t find a Justice right away?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“And if they’re not home then?”

“I don’t know,” Ron admits. “But I do know we’ve done what we can.”

Carwood swallows back a sigh and leans on Ron. He starts when Ron lifts his arm and drapes it across his shoulders, almost pulling away until he remembers it’s okay. Mama barely spares them a glance, so caught up in George’s story, but she does give Carwood a small, reassuring smile.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Carwood says. “For more than just the extra support in all this.”

“So am I,” Ron replies, and his arm tightens around Carwood’s shoulders.

George keeps them entertained with stories for a few hours, but once the clock strikes ten, even he starts to run out of steam.

“I think I’ll turn in,” Mama says quietly. “There’s nothing more I can do tonight.”

“I’ll stay up awhile,” Carwood offers. “They may still make it back tonight.”

“Thank you, honey. Goodnight, boys.”

They say goodnight in a soft chorus, and watch her make her way down the hall. When her bedroom door closes, George gets up and walks to the telephone. “I’m calling the hospital again,” he says. “And the ones nearby.”

“I’ll try the police stations from the phone in the office,” Joe says.

“If they’d sent a telegram, it’s locked in the office until morning,” Carwood says. He feels equally tired and nervy and rubs his hands over his face. “I don’t think I’m sleeping tonight,” he admits to Ron.

“I’ll start coffee,” Ron says as he stands. “Do you want to play cards?”

“I won’t be any good,” Carwood replies, but he gets up and gets the cards from the drawer anyway. When he sits back down, Panzer comes over and gives him a head-tilted look. “Come here,” Carwood says, patting his lap, and Panzer jumps up and licks him on the neck. He scratches her behind the ears and starts to shuffle the cards when she curls up in his lap.

“How about Rummy?” Ron asks as he sits again. “We can switch to poker when George and Joe are finished.”

“Alright.” Carwood finishes shuffling and slides the cards to Ron. As Ron deals, Sherman comes over and climbs into Ron’s lap without waiting for an invitation. “I think they’re onto us,” Carwood says.

“It’s why we have them,” Ron replies.

They start the first hand, but Carwood keeps getting distracted by George hanging up the phone and then asking the operator to connect him to a different hospital. He puts his cards down after a few minutes and sighs. “Like I said, I won’t be any good.”

Ron gathers the cards and shuffles them again, then stands up and pours them both coffee. “You don’t have to hold yourself so tight, Carwood. Mama’s asleep. You don’t have to be strong right now.”

Carwood smiles without meaning to, and it feels good. “I think that’s the first time you’ve called her Mama.”

“I may have practiced some,” Ron admits. He pulls his chair over so he and Carwood are pressed together. Sherman jumps back on his lap and curls up with her head on Panzer’s back. “Do you think she’ll mind?”

“She’ll be thrilled,” Carwood assures him. He looks over as George hangs up the phone and glares at it. “Nothing?” he asks.

“Not a word,” George replies. “I’m gonna see what Joe’s got.”

“Thank you,” Carwood says. He tips his head back and stares at the ceiling. “It’ll be alright, won’t it?”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Ron replies. He presses a kiss to the side of Carwood’s neck. “They’re just being young and foolish and inconsiderate.”

“I hope so.”

George and Joe walk back in. “Nothing,” Joe says. “But that’s probably a good sign.”

“I still think it’s easy money for elopement,” George adds. He sounds slightly less sure than earlier. “But we’ll call back at first light if they’re not back yet.”

“Coffee?” Joe asks George.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to stay up,” Carwood says.

George gives him a hard look. “Are you kidding? Joe, did you hear this idiot?”

“Yeah, I heard him,” Joe replies. “Can’t believe it, but I heard him.”

“Alright,” Carwood says. “It was a stupid offer.”

“No kidding,” George mutters as he takes his coffee from Joe and they both sit. He glances at the cards, then at Carwood. “So, Ron, how’s things?” he asks.

“Things are fine,” Ron replies.

“Good. That’s good. Let’s expand on that. What is ‘fine’ about things?”

Ron gives Carwood an amused glance and goes into detail. Carwood only half-listens, having heard so much of it all in Ron’s letters and from his phone calls, but Ron’s voice lulls him into a sense of calm he hasn’t had all night.

“Well, that is definitely the definition of ‘fine,’” George says when Ron’s finished.

“I never promised to be interesting,” Ron says.

George chuckles. “That’s true.” He looks at Carwood. “How you doing?”

“I’m still worried,” Carwood admits.

“Of course you are. Your kid brother is doing a dumbass thing right now.”

“You’d know, George,” Joe says.

“Of course I’d know. I’ve got four of the jerks.”

“Aren’t there ten of you?” Ron asks.

“Yeah. Mom and Dad managed to end up with an even number of boys and girls somehow. Mom says it means we’re lucky.”

“I think it means your parents couldn’t figure out how to turn off the faucet,” Joe says. He laughs when George punches his arm and slings an arm around George’s neck. “There’s gonna be enough Luz babies in the next generation to take over the whole of Rhode Island State.”

“I’m already Uncle Georgie to four rugrats,” Georges says, “and my youngest sister is only thirteen, so there’s definitely more to come.”

“What about you, Joe?” Carwood asks. “I don’t think I know if you have any siblings.”

“Two sisters,” Joe says. “Both older than me.”

“They taught him how to fight,” George adds.

“They did, actually. No one throws a right hook like the Toye girls.” Joe looks at Ron.
“What about you?”

“Only child,” Ron answers. “I went to military school as a teenager, and then I joined the Army.”

“If I hadn’t seen you fight, that’d be boring,” George says. “Really? Military school?”

“Yes.”

“Because you wanted to or because you got in trouble?”

“Six of one, half a dozen of the other, I suppose,” Ron says.

George scoffs. “Of course.”

They lapse into a silence that grows heavy. Carwood finishes his coffee and nudges Panzer off his lap so he can stand and stretch. “I’m going to have a cigarette,” he says.

“I’ll come with,” Ron replies, and he follows Carwood to the back porch.

It’s cold out, the shock of it making Carwood flinch.

“Do you need a coat?” Ron asks.

“No,” Carwood says. “Just took me by surprise.”

They stand on the porch, and Ron lights both their cigarettes. Carwood glances in the window and sees George and Joe leaning against each other, whispering about something. “I told Joe I’d wring Jack's neck when he pulls up to the house, but maybe I’ll hug him first.”

“He’s fine,” Ron says, and he places his hand on Carwood’s back. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

Carwood chuckles. “Is that what I sound like when I’m reassuring everyone?”

“I think so,” Ron says. “It’s the tone I’m going for.”

“I doubt Mama’s sleeping.”

“Let her have her space,” Ron says. “Sometimes that space is as important as the rest itself.”

Carwood doesn’t answer. He turns towards Ron and lets Ron pull him in close. They finish their cigarettes and go back inside. George is pouring everyone fresh coffee, and Joe’s shuffling the cards. There’s four piles of toothpicks on the table.

“We’re playing poker,” Joe announces. “Toothpick for ante, five-card stud. And I don’t want to hear about how no one’s in the mood.”

“That’s more what you sound like,” Ron says, and that makes Carwood laugh.

They play in near-silence, just anteing and making bets. The quiet is no lighter than it was before, but Carwood finds he can concentrate well enough to win a few hands. It’s just after one in the morning when they all step out to have a smoke and see headlights coming down the street.

“Could that be—“ is as far as George gets before the car turns down the drive and stops behind Ron’s vehicle.

“Don’t wake Mama yet,” Carwood orders as he leaps over the porch railing and jogs out to the car.

Jack gets out when Carwood’s a few feet away, grinning ear-to-ear. “You’ll never guess—“

“Where the hell have you been, boy?” Carwood hisses. “You had us worried sick!”

Jack takes a step back as Carwood advances. “Me and Betsy, we went over to Tennessee and got married.”

“And you couldn’t leave a damn note?! Mr. Preston called Mama when he realized you hadn’t been in, and we’ve been calling hospitals and the police ever since!”

“We didn’t—we thought we’d be back earlier,” Jack says, holding his hands up in front of him in an apologetic gesture. “Really, Carwood. We thought it wouldn’t take that—“

Carwood yanks him into a hug and holds tight. “Jesus Christ goddamn, Jack, we thought you were dead on the side of the road.”

“I didn’t—I’m sorry. We just—I’m sorry.”

“It's okay,” Carwood says, pulling away but not letting go. “Come on. Let’s let Mama know you’re not hurt or anything.”

“We didn’t mean to take so long,” Jack says as they step on the porch. “We thought we could do it in town right quick, but—“

“Hold onto it,” Carwood says. “You’ll have to explain to Mama anyway.”

They come up the steps, and George is grinning fit to burst. “Well,” he says. “Was I right?”

“You were right,” Carwood says.

“Congratulations, kid. Many happy returns and so on. Where’s the new Mrs. Lipton?”

“I dropped her down the block from her house. She figures her mother’s gonna tan her hide for not going through with the big wedding.”

“Ought to beat some sense into you,” Joe says. He cuffs Jack on the back of the head and turns towards the door. “I’ll get Mama.”

“Glad you’re safe,” Ron says, and Jack starts at the sound of his voice.

“Oh, hi,” he says. “I didn’t see you. I didn’t think you were getting in until tomorrow.”

“Unlike some people, he called and told us about his changed plans,” George says.
Jack gives Carwood a pleading look. “I really didn’t mean to scare everybody. We just wanted to be married.”

Carwood gives him a one-sided hug and musses his hair. “It’s fine. We’re not mad; just scared. No one’s gonna complain you made good on your plans.”

“But tell us,” George says as he opens the back door. “Is there are bouncing baby reason for the sudden change of plans?”

Jack looks aghast. “What? No! Of course not! We wouldn’t—I mean, I’d marry her if it’d happened, but she’s not—“ He presses his mouth shut when he realizes Mama is in the kitchen.

“Well, I can’t say I wasn’t wondering,” she says. She opens her arms, and Jack ducks down for the hug. “Scared me half to death, honey. Why didn’t you leave a note?”

“I’m sorry, Mama. I really am. We thought we could get a marriage license here, but you have to wait three days, and so we figured we’d just hop the county line, but it was the same there, and it wasn’t until we were a few counties down that someone mentioned Tennessee does them same day, so it was already pretty late by the time we headed out, and Bobby said the line was closer than we thought, but he was wrong, and then we had to find a Justice of the Peace, and—“

“Easy, easy,” Mama says. She takes Jack’s face between her hands and looks him in the eyes. “You’re okay? No injuries or anything?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Alright. Good. Where’s Betsy?”

“At her house. She wanted to deal with her mama by herself.”

“Well, her mother knows she was missing, so she’s gonna hear about it.”

“That wasn’t what she was worried about.”

“Here, sit down,” George says, reaching for Jack and leading him to a chair. “Tell us all about it.” Carwood slides him a look, and George shrugs. “I told you, it happens a lot in my family.”

Jack takes a deep breath and watches everyone sit down. “So, everyone gets to hear it, huh?”

“You’re a married man now, Jack,” Carwood tells him. “You have to take the responsibility.”

Jack looks terrified until Ron chuckles. “He’s teasing,” Ron says. “But only a little.”

“Okay.” Jack clenches his hands together then lets them go. He’s wearing a gold band on his left ring finger, and he twists it around with a smile. “Um. So. Betsy’s mama’s kind of gone a little weird about the wedding. She wants it real big and showy, and that’s not what Betsy and I wanted at all. But her mama kept saying that since they were paying for it, she got to have a say, so Betsy and I made this plan to just run off and elope and take care of the whole thing.”

“Why didn’t you say anything about her mama?” Carwood asks. “We could have talked some sense into her.”

“There is no talking sense into that woman when a social function is involved,” Mama says. “She'll barrel over you with a wave and a smile and do it exactly like she's planned whether you like it or not.”

“And that’s what she tried to do with the wedding,” Jack says. “I’ve been gone so much in the evenings because she’s been driving Betsy up a wall, and she needed to talk about it.”

“So, you eloped,” George says. “With no warning and no note.”

Jack flushes with embarrassment and turns his wedding band on his finger again. “We really thought we’d be home by dinner time. We were actually aiming to be done by noon so I could get back to work, but it just didn’t work out.”

“And Bobby was with you?” Mama asks.

“Yeah, Bobby and Lindy. They were gonna be in our wedding party anyway, so we figured they could witness.” Jack looks at Carwood. “You were gonna be my best man, and I wanted to ask you to come, but I knew you had school, and I didn’t want you to skip out on account of this. Me and Betsy talked about that a lot, and well, we just wanted to be married and not make a big to do.”

“It’s okay, Jack,” Carwood says. “I understand.”

Jack ducks his head. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I really am. I feel like a heel.”

“Good,” Ron says, surprising everyone else at the table. “You scared everyone badly.”

“Oh, be kind,” Mama says, tapping Ron’s hand in reproach. “Love makes you foolish, sometimes.”

“We got pictures,” Jack says, looking up. “Lindy took them with that camera she got for her birthday. She thinks they’ll be real nice.”

“Are you glad to be married?” Mama asks.

“Yes,” Jack answers, and the truth of it shines across his face.

“Then that’s it, then,” Mama replies. “The rest of it we can handle as it comes. Just tell me something, where are you two gonna live now that you’re man and wife?”

“There’s a little house near the library I already paid a month’s rent on,” Jack says. “They say if we like it, they’ll sell it to us.”

“The little yellow house with the white gutters?” George asks.

“That’s the one,” Jack replies.

“You’ve got some loose boards on the east side of it, and there’s some broken bricks on the chimney.”

“The floor’s a little iffy in a corner of the kitchen, and there’s ivy growing up the back of it in the summer,” Jack says. “It’ll take some work, but Betsy likes it, and I’m not picky.”

“You got the keys for it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you and the new bride meet me there on your lunch break tomorrow, and we’ll walk it together. Consider the repairs a wedding gift.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I already offered. It’s on the table. No take backs.”

“Well, okay, I guess. I mean, thank you. Really. Thank you.”

“I think it’s time we all turn in,” Mama says. “Jack, you tell Betsy that if her mother gives her trouble, she’s to come over here. We’ll keep her busy and run interference if she needs it.”

“I’ll call her in the morning,” Jack replies. “I’m sorry, again, Mama. Really.”

“I promise I’ll be gleeful after I sleep well,” she says, and she hugs him once more before going to her room.

George and Joe say their goodnights as well, and then Carwood and Ron stand up to go, but Jack looks at Carwood and says, “Can I speak to you for a minute privately?”

“Of course,” Carwood says.

“I’ll go ahead and turn in,” Ron says. “Good night, Jack.”

“Good night.” He watches Ron walk down the hall, and then turns to Carwood with a searching look Carwood hasn’t seen on his face since he was a boy. “Mama’s not mad, is she? That I didn’t have a big wedding?”

“She’s not,” Carwood assures him. “She was scared, and that’s all.”

“Betsy felt bad about wanting to elope, because she thought Mama would enjoy it, but I told her Mama would rather us be happy than see a big fuss we didn’t want.”

“I think you’re right about that,” Carwood says. “But I’m sure she and Betsy will figure it out themselves.” He watches Jack worry with his ring again. “What is it?” he asks.

“I feel funny, I guess,” Jack says. “I mean, we ran off and got married, but I don’t feel different for it, you know? I just feel like I did this morning.”

“I think that’s how it’s supposed to be,” Carwood says. “If it’s the right person, it doesn’t feel any different.”

“Yeah?”

Carwood thinks about the easy way he and Ron established their own relationship. “Yeah,” he says. “I think when it’s right, it’s just gonna feel good when you take a step together.”

Jack breathes out hard. “Oh, good,” he says with a giddy little laugh. “I kept telling myself that, but I didn’t want to ask Betsy, you know? She’d get me good if she thought I was changing my mind, and I don’t ever want her to think that.”

“She won’t,” Carwood says. “You’re gonna have a long, happy life together.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. “Yeah, we are.”

“Get to bed,” Carwood says as he stands. “You’re gonna need your energy to put up with whatever happens tomorrow. And don’t forget to apologize to Mr. Preston.”

“I won’t,” Jack says. “Thanks, Carwood.”

“You’re welcome. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Chapter Text

*
When Carwood wakes up ten minutes before dawn, Ron is curled against his side still fast asleep. Panzer and Sherman jump off the bed and stand by the bedroom door. Carwood runs his fingers through Ron’s hair, kisses his temple, and pulls himself out of bed.

“Come back,” Ron mutters, hand grasping loosely on Carwood’s wrist. “You’ve barely slept.”

“Just gonna let the dogs out,” Carwood whispers. Ron mumbles something unintelligible, lets him go, and then slides into the warmth where Carwood had been.

Carwood puts on his slippers and walks to the kitchen, the dogs leading the way. He lets them out and then back in, and then he goes back to the bedroom and maneuvers over Ron to take the spot by the wall.

“You’re cold,” Ron mutters, but he fumbles at Carwood until Carwood puts an arm around his middle and pulls him close.

“Go back to sleep,” Carwood murmurs, and he waits for Ron’s breathing to even out before he follows his own advice.

When he wakes up again, the sun’s up but not too high. It’s just after eight according to the clock, and Carwood noses into Ron’s hair and curls more tightly against him.

“Good morning,” Ron says, voice low.

“Good morning,” Carwood replies. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“You said that last night.”

“I’m still glad you’re here.”

Ron chuckles and turns over. He slides a leg between Carwood’s and uses it to pull Carwood closer. “Don’t get up just yet,” Ron says.

“Alright,” Carwood agrees. They hold onto each other, the quiet peaceful as the rest of the house wakes up. Carwood hears his mother leave her room, then Jack. A few minutes later, he hears George and Joe as they walk into the kitchen. “They’ll be expecting us for breakfast,” he says.

“Just a few minutes more,” Ron says. He ducks his head and kisses Carwood’s neck, then moves and presses a kiss to the scar on his cheek. “We’ll have a proper, lazy morning the next time you’re in Boston,” Ron murmurs as he smoothes Carwood’s hair. “Sleep in, get up late, laze around, and then maybe get up and moving in time for lunch.”

Carwood smiles at the idea. “I’d like that very much,” he says.

Ron kisses him by the ear and pulls away slowly. “Next time, then.”

They get out of bed and get dressed. When they walk into the kitchen, George and Jack are in a lively discussion about the house, and Joe is talking to Mama about a radiator leak he noticed the day before.

“Well, find us a good handyman to give it a look,” Mama says with a fond look at George.

“I might know a guy I can trust,” Joe says.

“Good morning, boys,” Mama says to Carwood and Ron. “Bacon’ll be done in just a minute.”

“It smells great, Mama,” Carwood says. He pours coffee for Ron and himself and sits next to Ron at the table. “Everyone sleep okay?” he asks.

“Just fine,” Mama says, and the boys all nod in agreement.

They’re halfway through breakfast when there’s a knock on the door. Carwood’s the one to answer it, and he takes in Betsy, her tear-streaked face, and her suitcase in one hand, and says, “You’re a Lipton now; no need to knock.”

It makes her smile, though it’s shaky. “Thank you,” she says, and her voice cracks. She steps in the house and seems surprised by the full table. “Oh. I—“

“Well, there’s the daughter I’ve been waiting for,” Mama says, rolling over and taking Betsy’s free hand to squeeze it. “Come on, honey, sit on down next to your husband, and let’s toast your happiness. I don’t have any champagne, so coffee will have to do.”

“I…” Betsy looks flabbergasted. Even moreso when Jack stands up, kisses her cheek, and then immediately helps her out of her coat and hat.

“You need to talk alone?” Jack asks as he puts his arm around her and pulls her close.

Betsy shakes her head. “No. I just need you.” She sits when Jack pulls out her chair, and she smiles when Mama hands her a warm washcloth. “Thank you,” she says and wipes it over her face. “I suppose I don’t look like a very happy bride.”

“Well, there’s no doubt you are one,” Mama assures her. “Congratulations.”

“I really didn’t mean to exclude anyone,” Betsy tells her. “We were going to invite all of you. Even you,” she says to Ron, and Carwood hides a grin at the mild shock that slides across Ron’s face. “But my mama’s been running away with my wedding since the day we got engaged, and I just couldn’t face it, and she wouldn’t listen.”

“Stubbornness is a useful trait when used right,” Mama says.

“I appreciate the tact, Mrs. Lipton, but it’s unnecessary.”

“So’s the ‘Mrs. Lipton.’ You’re Mrs. Lipton now. I’m just Mama.”

That makes Betsy smile for real. “Thank you,” she says.

“You’re welcome. Have you had breakfast?”

“No.”

“Well, let’s get you a plate and you can tell us what’s happened, okay?”

“Okay.” Betsy doesn’t say anything else until Mama’s brought her a plate and Jack’s poured her a cup of coffee. She eats a few bites and takes a deep breath. “Mama—my mama—said as long as I was a married woman, she saw no need for me to be in her house, so I packed my suitcase and came here.”

“Oh, honey,” Mama says softly.

“Class act, your mom,” Joe says.

“Jesus, Joe,” George mutters.

“What? It’s a mean thing to do.”

“Boys,” Carwood says, and they both go quiet. “You think she’ll cool off?” he asks Betsy.

“Oh, probably, but I don’t know that I want to give her the satisfaction of going back. I really am a married woman, after all.” She beams at Jack, and Jack kisses her on the cheek.

“Well, you’ve got a place already,” George says. “Jack and I were just talking about it. I was gonna go over and see what I could fix up for you two.”

“Do you have furniture?” Mama asks. “I won’t have you moving in there and sleeping on the floor.”

“We’ve got a few things,” Jack says. “A bed and a table and some chairs.”

“How long have you been planning this?” Ron asks.

“Awhile,” Betsy admits, embarrassed. “I knew just getting married wasn’t going to be enough to settle things, so Jack and I have been taking care of a few plans in advance.”

“Where have you been hiding everything?” Ron asks.

“Bobby’s,” Jack says. “He’s got a whole garage he doesn’t use, so we’ve been putting things there.”

“Well, a bed and a table and chairs is a good start, but it’s not nearly enough,” Mama says. “Carwood, you go to the bank today and take out some money and go over to the furniture store and get them a couch at least.”

“Oh, you can’t—“

“I can and will,” Mama says. “Now, what else do you all need? Make me a list and let me take care of a few things.”

Betsy looks at Jack, clearly ready to argue. Jack shakes his head. “I don’t argue with Mama when she’s got that tone,” he says. “It’s never worked.”

“We’ve got sheets and blankets and towels and the like,” Betsy says. “And a few pots and pans.”

“Did you pick out your china pattern?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Do you have it with you?”

“You will not buy my wedding china,” Betsy says.

“I never said I would,” Mama replies. “But I do need to know what pattern it is.”

Betsy glances at Jack again, and Jack shrugs. “I don’t know what she’s up to,” he says. “And I doubt she’ll tell.”

“I won’t,” Mama agrees. “You,” she points to Jack, “need to get to work, and you,” she points to Betsy, "will stay here today while we work this out.”

“Okay,” Betsy says. She smiles when Jack kisses her goodbye. “You tell Mr. Preston to be nice to my husband,” she says.

“I’ll pass it along,” Jack promises, and he kisses her one more time before he leaves.

“I’ll go ahead to the bank right now,” Carwood says. “Ron, you want to come along?”

“Sure,” Ron agrees. “Do you need anything else while we’re out?” he asks Mama.

“I need a few more things for Thanksgiving dinner, but I was going to send Joe out after he’d finished with the beds.”

“We’ll take my car,” Ron offers.

“That’s fine,” Carwood says.

“Betsy, what’s the address of the house?” Mama asks. “Carwood can set up delivery for Monday morning if you can be there.”

“I can,” Betsy says. She writes the address on a piece of paper. “We don’t need anything fancy,” she says.

“Well, it’s a gift, so we’ll see,” Carwood replies. He sees his mother smile in approval from behind Betsy. “Any particular color?”

“Blue.”

“Alright.” Carwood whistles for the dogs, and he and Ron step outside, George following behind them to get to work himself.

“Be honest,” George says as he leans against his car. “How much of this stuff is your mama gonna buy herself?”

“I don’t know,” Carwood replies. “But I figure she’ll get the phone tree going and everyone who was already planning to buy a gift will chip in.”

“They’re gonna drown in other people’s kindness,” George says with a grin.

“Let’s hope so,” Carwood replies.

He and Ron and the dogs get into Ron’s car, and Ron starts to back his way around the house. “Where’s the bank?” he asks.

“On the far side of the university, but I’d rather go to the store first and make sure I know how much we’ll need.”

“How do I get there?”

Carwood gives directions as Ron drives. When they pull into the lot at the store, Ron turns off the car and looks at Carwood. “I don’t know anything about furniture,” he says.

“I don’t know much, either,” Carwood tells him. “But I can tell what’s sturdy, and that’s probably what they need most.”

“Yes,” Ron agrees, and they get out of the car and go inside, leaving the windows cracked for the dogs.

The salesman who greets them takes one look at Carwood and says, “You’re Mrs. Lipton’s son, aren’t you? The paratrooper?”

“Yes, sir,” Carwood says. “I don’t believe we know one another.”

“Your mother just called over to explain why you were coming, and I remembered I’d heard one of her boys had been in the war.”

“Well, that’d be me.”

“And you’re here to buy some furniture for your brother and his new wife.”

“That’s right.”

“My congratulations,” the man says and shakes Carwood’s hand. He looks at Ron. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

“Ronald Speirs,” Ron says, shaking the man’s hand as well. “Just a family friend in town for the holiday.”

“Well, good to meet you. Please, let me show you a few pieces.”

The salesman starts with individual couches and moves on to full furniture sets after a few minutes. "Now, I was planning to have a sale week after next," he says to Carwood as Carwood looks over an armchair and couch. "Everything in the store is going to be 15% off. I do good business during the last-minute buying season that way, but I'd like you to have that option as well."

"Thank you," Carwood says, "that's kind of you."

"It's good business," the man says with a smile. He watches Carwood crouch down to inspect the legs on a couch. "Now, those are oak. You could have a whole pack of kids jump up and down on this couch and they'd never break. You'd have to reset the springs, of course, but that's just how it is."

Carwood smiles. "It is," he agrees. He runs his hand over the arm of the couch and leans down to look at the seams. "It's well-stitched."

"Some of the best stitching I've seen, and I've been doing this fifteen years," the man says. "That fabric's got a long life as well, and it's a popular set, so I think it'll be easy to repair if needed."

Carwood looks at Ron. "What do you think?"

"I think it's blue," Ron says.

Carwood chuckles. "It is." He moves to inspect the armchair that matches it. "It's a nice set," Carwood says. "But I don't know if it'll all fit. I haven't seen their house, you see."

"Where are they living?"

"It's a little bungalow by the library."

"The yellow house?"

"Yes," Carwood says.

The salesman beams. "I know the owners. I helped them decorate the whole place ten years ago. You wait here. Let me look at my records."

Carwood watches the salesman walk towards a room marked 'OFFICE' and then looks at Ron. Ron looks amused. "What?" Carwood asks.

"Huntington isn't small," Ron says, "but when it's small, it's small."

Carwood chuckles. "That's very true." He looks around the store. They've been the only customers since they walked in. He reaches out and brushes Ron's hand. "I'm sorry your visit's been turned into a circus," he says. "I was looking forward to some quiet time together."

"We'll get it," Ron says. He gives Carwood a reassuring smile. "I'm just here to spend time with you, and if it's finding blue furniture, that's what we'll do."

"We'll go somewhere Saturday," Carwood offers. "I don't know where, just someplace."

"That sounds nice," Ron replies.

The salesman comes out of the office with a sheet of paper in hand. He's smiling widely as he walks back over to them, not noticing the way they subtly move apart. "I like to keep any notes I get from customers," he says. "You'd be amazed how many people come in wanting to buy furniture and haven't measured anything." He holds out the paper so Carwood and Ron can see it. "The owners of that house actually did measure, and they brought this with them when they came in."

It's a rough sketch of the floorplan. Carwood and Ron look at the dimensions, and Carwood looks at the furniture set they've been considering. "I think this set is too large," he says.

"I agree," says the salesman, "but I have another one in blue that should fit perfectly. It's a different manufacturer, but I think you'll be pleased with it."

They follow him across the room to another blue set that includes a couch and two armchairs. It's set up around a small, sturdy coffee table that Carwood immediately kneels to inspect.

"How much with the coffee table?" he asks. "I know they don't have one of those, either."

"Consider it a gift for the happy couple," the salesman says. "I insist," he adds when Carwood looks up to argue.

"But--"

"Thank you," Ron interrupts. He glances at Carwood. "No," he says when Carwood opens his mouth to argue again.

"You're already giving us a discount," Carwood says to the salesman.

"And we appreciate the extra generosity," Ron adds.

The salesman grins. "It really is my pleasure. Is the set to your liking?"
Carwood gets up, throwing Ron a frustrated look that Ron meets with a shrug. He looks over the couch and armchairs and nods. "Yes," he says. "It'll do just fine. What's the cost?"

"Let's go into the office so I can put it on the calculator," the salesman says. "It'll let you see the savings."

"Alright."

They go into the office and run the numbers, then Carwood and Ron leave to go pull the money from the bank. "You shouldn't have let him give up that coffee table," Carwood says. "It's bespoke."

"That means it'll last a very long time," Ron says. "It's a very appropriate gift, if you think about it."

"Turn left at this corner," Carwood says, and Ron does so. "I felt like I was taking advantage."

"Of course you did," Ron replies, "but he was the one who offered first. He wanted to do something nice for the happy couple."

"Or the veteran," Carwood says, and he shakes his head when Ron glances at him again. "It was weird to hear him call me a paratrooper. The war's been done two years."

"That doesn't make you less of a paratrooper. Your wings are forever."

"I guess. It's up on the right here."

"I see it," Ron says, and he pulls into the lot. He touches Carwood's arm before Carwood gets out of the car. "You don't think you're a hero, and that's fine, but that man wants to think of you like that. Is that so bad?"

"It's strange," Carwood says. "Not bad. It just feels like, what I did over there, it shouldn't weigh anything over here."

Ron chuckles. "Last Christmas, at dinner with your family, Vanessa told me that she thinks what we did is something people will want more information on."

"I remember. You told her you didn't think so."

"I still don't, really," Ron says. "But when Huntington is small, it's small, and when the locals want to show their appreciation for a man who went to war, you should let them."

"I'm not the only man who went to war."

"And I'm sure you're not the only one to get that discount."

Carwood thinks about that. "Maybe," he agrees. "There's no way to ask."

"He seems like an honest man. Judge him by that."

"Then, yes, he probably has done that for people before." Carwood smiles and reaches for the door handle. "Thank you," he says.

"You're welcome," Ron replies, and he gets out of the car as well.

They get the money, go back to the furniture store, and then return home to report to Mama. "Well?" she asks when they step inside.

"Got a couch, two armchairs, and a coffee table," Carwood says. "I've got the receipt in my pocket."

"I'll take it after Betsy turns in tonight," Mama says.

Betsy huffs a breath. "I do actually know what these things cost," Betsy says. "I went looking to plan the registry."

"Well, good," Mama says, "when it's delivered on Monday, you'll be able to guess."

"Take fifteen percent off the top," Ron says. "And don't count the coffee table. The man at the store threw that in as a gift."

"Well, isn't that nice of him?" Mama says. She leans over and pats Betsy's hand. "See, I told you people would be excited about the news and want to get you a little something."

"It feels strange," Betsy says, "to sit here while you've been making phone calls to people and just listing off what would have been on the registry."

"Is it any stranger than a registry in the first place?" Ron asks. He pours coffee for himself, then a cup for Carwood when Carwood nods. "I always found a registry odd, personally."

"And I'm just doing what your mother would have done come the spring," Mama points out. "It'd have been her job as mother of the bride to distribute the list if you'd waited."

"You find registries weird?" Carwood asks Ron.

"I am not a man with opinions on china, curtains, furniture, or silverware," Ron says. "Having to choose this particular fork or that particular fabric doesn't make sense to me."

"This is why men have wives," Mama says with a wry smile.

"And why the Army likes me so much," Ron adds. "I don't put up much fuss."

That makes Betsy laugh. "I appreciate all the help, and everyone's being so kind," she says. "I think it's hearing the phone calls that was odd. I knew it'd be done that way, but I didn't expect to be in the room for them."

"I wouldn't have minded you getting some fresh air," Mama says.

Betsy looks abashed. "I felt it was my mess, and I should help fix it," she says.

"There's no mess here," Carwood says. "Just a new marriage we're all excited about."

"Exactly," Mama says.

Betsy looks disappointed. "I wish my mother would be excited," she says. She yawns hugely and covers it with her hand. "Oh, excuse me."

"Your mama will come around when she comes around," Mama tells her. "And you should take a nap. You were up awful late last night, and we're done with what we need to do."

"George said we're looking at the house this afternoon." Betsy glances at the clock. "Suppose I could get a couple hours' sleep."

"You go lie down in Jack's room, and I'll wake you in a bit," Mama says.

"Yes, Ma'am," Betsy says and gets up from the table.

Mama waits until they hear the bedroom door close before she says, "Next time I see that woman, I can't promise I won't run over her foot."

"You'd have to get it out of her mouth first," Ron replies.

Mama laughs. "I suppose that's true."

"So, she hasn't called?" Carwood asks.

"Oh, she's called. She just didn't have a nice word to say."

"I understand she's upset she didn't get to see the whole thing, but you think she'd focus on just being glad they're married like they want to be," Carwood says.

"Well, honey, some mothers have very particular ideas of how to marry off their daughters."

"It's unkindly," Carwood says. "I don't care for it."

"Good," Mama says. "Then I raised you properly."

That makes Carwood smile. "No one's questioning that."

"I never have," Ron says.

Mama looks at Ron for a long moment. "Hung the moon," she mutters with a shake of her head.

"Well," Ron replies and trails off. He ducks his head, and Carwood is surprised to see him blush just a little.

"Think I'll go into the living room and mind my own business," Mama says as she rolls back from the table. "You two haven't had any real chance to talk since Ron arrived, and the crisis is quiet enough now we can all take a breath."

"Think I'll have a smoke," Ron says and stands up.

"I'll come along," Carwood replies.

They sit on the back porch and smoke in silence. Carwood reaches over and takes Ron's hand, and Ron lets him. Carwood traces Ron's knuckles with his thumb and looks at his profile. It's coming up on eleven, the sun high in the sky, and it puts Ron's features in bright relief, the exact shape of his nose and jaw like a line someone's drawn against the sky.

"I don't know who to say nice things to about the way you were raised," Carwood says. "Your parents sound like they're cold, and I'm not sure the headmaster at the military school wants to find out why I'm so interested in you, but I like the way you were raised, too."

Ron doesn't look at him. "Really?"

"It made you the man you are, and I like him alright." That gets him a smile, and a side eye, and Carwood grins. "Maybe a little more than alright."

"Good to hear," Ron replies.

They sit in the cold winter sun for awhile longer, silent and comfortable and looking out at the woods. The dogs curl up next to the chairs and nap, and Carwood feels a bone-deep contentment for this moment.

It's quietly broken by Joe pulling up to the house and getting out of the car. "Mama's got some funny ideas about what 'a few things from the store' means," he greets them. "Get down here. Damn near overbalanced getting everything in the car."

Carwood and Ron come down from the porch and load up on bags. They nearly fill the trunk, and Carwood eyes the one full of canned goods and what his mother has always called 'pantry necessities.' "We have all this," he says. "Or, if we don't, I know we're not missing it all."

"She didn't say anything," Joe replies, "but I get the feeling most of this stuff is going to end up at your brother's place."

"You're probably right," Carwood agrees.

Mama's at the back door when they get on the porch, and she pushes open the door for them. "Just put everything on the table. I'll sort it out."

"You let me know if you need me to buy the other half of the store," Joe says. "I'll go hide in my room, and you can send these two."

"We'll see," Mama replies. "I'll need to think awhile."

Carwood and Joe exchange an amused look. Ron is too busy lining up bags to notice. "We can always make a run if you need it," Carwood says. "You just let us know."

"I'm sure it's fine," Mama says. "Joe can read a list."

"I can tie my own shoes, too," Joe adds.

"And you can cut the sass."

Joe grins at Mama. "That, too."

She shakes her head at him. "You three just mind your own business and relax. You've done more than enough to help out."

"Think I'll get a quick nap," Joe says. "If I'm not up in half an hour, someone kick on the door."

"Will do," Carwood agrees.

"I thought we might go for a walk," Ron tells Carwood. "Take the dogs to go sniff around in the woods and stretch our legs. It was a long drive yesterday."

"That sounds nice," Carwood replies.

"I'll put some coffee in a thermos for you," Mama offers. "So you don't get too chilly."

"Thank you," Ron says to Mama.

They get on their coats and hats and gloves, take the thermos, and point the dogs towards the treeline. "Guess we won't need to find someplace to hide on Saturday," Carwood says.

"I wouldn't mind doing it even with this lull."

"Good. I was hoping you'd say that."
They smile at one another as they reach the trees. The dogs are a few feet ahead already. Sherman's sniffing at a leaf pile, and Panzer is trying to pick up a stick that's four times the size of her.

"This way," Carwood says, pointing left. "I want to show you something."

"Okay."

They walk through the fallen leaves and underbrush, careful of their footing as they go deeper into the woods. "We're perpendicular to the trail that goes to the Honky Tonk, right?" Ron asks after a few minutes.

"Yes," Carwood replies.

"Is there another illicit bar tucked somewhere this way?"

Carwood chuckles. "No," he says. "But it's not a bad guess. We might find a moonshiner's cabin."

"And me without my camera." Ron reaches out and takes Carwood's hand. Carwood steps towards him so they're shoulder-to-shoulder as they keep walking.

"Here," Carwood says after another few minutes. He gestures upward, and Ron follows his gaze and sees a platform built onto the branches of a tree. "Jack and I put this up when we were kids. We stole the lumber from...I don't remember, actually. Some construction project."

"Is it safe?" Ron asks.

"I think so," Carwood replies. "We put three coats of varnish on it."

"Of course you did." Ron eyes the tree. "Do you actually want to climb up?"

"I thought we might," Carwood says. "The dogs will have plenty to figure out down here."

Ron tucks the thermos into the inside of his jacket and gestures for Carwood to go first. "I'll follow your footing."

"It's pretty easy," Carwood says. "It's why we picked it. We could climb it real easy when we were kids." He places his foot on a low branch not two feet off the ground, glances down, and chuckles. "I remember when the first step was difficult."

"Were you here a lot?" Ron asks.

Carwood places his other foot on a branch another foot up, then shimmies his way up from one branch to another until he's on the platform. He slides to one side and watches Ron follow his steps exactly before swinging up beside him. "I think Jack was here more, but I found time enough. I used to stick a paperback in the back of my jeans and climb up."

Ron pulls the coffee from his jacket and sets it between them. "What did you read?"

"Anything, really. Mama was never fond of pulp novels, but she never banned them, so I had a few of those. Sometimes, it was a classic she'd put on my desk, and sometimes it was something else." Carwood looks at Ron and watches him inspect the platform. "Does it pass inspection?"

"it's very well made," Ron replies. "There's a few worn spots. You might tell George; I'm sure he'd fix it up just to sneak Joe out here."

Carwood smiles. "Probably, yes." He pulls his knees up so he can rest his arms across them, and Ron does the same. They listen to the dogs explore down at the base of the tree, and Carwood feels contentment wash over him. "I always liked it out here," he says.

"It seems like it would have been relaxing," Ron replies.

"It was. It was a good place to get away when I just needed some space to think." Carwood turns and opens the thermos. He drinks straight from it and passes it to Ron, who does the same. "Did you have a place like this?"

"No. There wasn't anything like it at the school, and at home, I just had my room. My parents didn't check on me much, so it was really my own space." Ron takes another drink and passes the thermos back to Carwood. "We grew up very differently," he says.

"Yes," Carwood agrees.

"I can't imagine my family doing what you all are doing for Betsy and Jack. They wouldn't have condemned them for eloping like Betsy's mother, but I don't think it would have occurred to them to give them so much support."

"It's just the way we are," Carwood says.

"I know," Ron replies. He touches Carwood's face, and when Carwood turns his head, he kisses him and presses at him until Carwood is flat on his back and Ron is hovering over him, one arm curled around the shape of Carwood's head, the other at Carwood's waist.

"Ron," Carwood whispers.

"Hmmm," Ron replies, pressing his hand more firmly against Carwood's side and kissing Carwood again.

"Ron," Carwood says again, and he curls his fingers in Ron's hair and presses up when they kiss again.

They lose track of time, kissing up in the tree, and it's only Panzer letting out a yip that finally pulls them apart. They sit up, Ron smoothing his hair, and look around. There's no one coming, and they watch as Panzer tries to follow a squirrel around another tree.

"Should we go?" Ron asks. "I'm sure there's plenty to do."

"Let's finish the coffee first," Carwood replies. He opens the thermos again while Ron lights cigarettes for the both of them.

"When you move to Boston," Ron says after a measure, "we'll still be here to visit as much as we can."

"I'm glad you want to."

"I like it here," Ron says. "It's relaxing."

"It's a long drive back and forth," Carwood says. "We'll have to plan for trips."

"It won't be so bad with company in the car," Ron replies. He smiles at Carwood and reaches for his hand. "Especially when that company can drive half the time."

"Sherman's got no talent for it, I suppose."

"Too short to reach the pedals," Ron says, and that makes Carwood laugh.

*

They make it back to the house just after one. Betsy is rolling out pie crusts while Mama stirs something in a bowl. Joe is sitting at the table with newspaper spread in front of him, peeling potatoes with single-minded determination.

"Did we miss the dinner bell?" Carwood asks as he places the thermos in the sink.

"Oh, no, just getting a start on dinner tomorrow," Mama says. "There's green beans in the ice box, honey. You and Ron start snapping those, and get working on the peas afterwards."

"Yes, Ma'am," Carwood says.

"This looks like quite the operation," Ron says.

"It takes awhile, but it's good family time," Mama replies. "I've always liked the preparation."

Ron takes the sack of green beans Carwood hands to him. "What do I do with these?"

"Here," Carwood says, laying a sheet of newspaper on the table and then setting a large bowl next to it. "You ever snapped green beans?"

"No."

"It's easy." Carwood pinches off each end of a bean and then snaps it in half, dropping the stems onto the paper and the bean into the bowl. "Easy as that. Just do it a thousand more times. I'll go ahead and start the peas."

"Okay," Ron says, and he snaps a few beans while Carwood grabs a bowl and another sheet of newspaper and then sits next to him. "It looks like you're about to feed a whole platoon, Mama."

Carwood catches the way his mother grins at Ron calling her 'mama.' It makes him warm up from his toes. "How many men in a platoon?" Mama asks.

"Twelve, not counting a headquarter element."

"Well, we're close then. It's you and me, Carwood, Joe, George, Betsy, Jack, Miss Woods, Mr. Kenny, Murray, and Vanessa. That's what....eleven?"

"It is," Ron agrees.

"So, I suppose we're down a man."

"He's probably going AWOL from the aid station right now," Joe says, and Carwood and Ron laugh in agreement.

"Did men really do that?" Betsy asks as she shapes pie crusts into pans.

"Joe did it, what, twice?" Carwood asks.

"Just the once," Joe says.

"I remember you having trench foot."

"Yeah, but I never went off the line for it, and after that," Joe knocks on his prosthetic and pulls a face. "They don't let you AWOL for that."

"Carwood did," Ron says, and Carwood slants him a dirty look. "Although, he was mostly healed, so it was probably not so bad."

"I don't believe it," Mama replies, and Betsy giggles at her tone. "And what about you, Ron?"

"Never took a hit," Ron says. "I was lucky."

"You and George both," Carwood agrees as the back door opens and George walks in.

"Who and me both?" George asks. He takes in the room. "Geez, I'm gone half a day and you're feeding the town."

"Not nearly," Mama says. "And we were talking about how you and Ron were never injured in the war, so you didn't run away from the hospital."

"Aid station," George and Joe say in unison. "The trick was to never get to the hospital as I understood it," George adds. He steps closer to the table and surveys the damage. "Where do you need me?"

"Here," Joe says, passing him a full bowl of peeled potatoes. "Rinse those and start cutting 'em up."

"What size?" George asks. He curls a hand over Joe's shoulder as he takes the bowl.

"Eighths should do it," Mama says.

The back door opens again, and Jack walks in. "Mr. Preston let me off early," he announces. "Says he was gonna do it anyway, on account of the holiday, and then he gave me off Monday as a wedding present."

"Well, isn't that nice?" Mama says.

Jack maneuvers around the table to kiss Betsy hello. "There's my wife," he says.

"There's my husband," she responds.

"Why do I feel like I'm looking at exactly how Harry greets Kitty every night?" George asks.

"Because you're probably right," Carwood says.

"What were we talking about?" Jack asks. He sits next to Mama and takes over stirring whatever is in the bowl when she hands it over.

"Dumb stuff soldiers do," George says. "At least when I walked in."

"We were talking about going AWOL from the Aid Station," Joe says. "Which isn't dumb. You want to get back to your unit. Make sure all the guys are okay."

"That's true," Carwood agrees.

George laughs loud and long, doubling over and nearly dumping the potatoes on the ground. "Do you--" He laughs again, then breathes deep and gets ahold of himself. "How many of the guys took one in the backside?" he asks Joe.

"What?" Jack asks.

"I remember Popeye and Compton," Joe says.

"And Perconte," Carwood adds.

"What? Perconte?" Joe asks. "When?"

"Taking Foy," Carwood says. "Bull had to carry him to the Aid Station."

"Carry him?"

"Like a sack of Christmas presents," George says. "Or a kid getting a piggy back ride."
Joe laughs. "You're kidding!"
"Nope."

"I don't even know who you're talking about anymore," Mama says.

"Perconte is Frank, Mama. We saw him at the wedding," Carwood explains. "And Bull was our biggest guy, and Frank was one of the smaller ones, so Bull just carried Frank piggyback to go get help."

"Well, that was nice of him."

"Hell, Bull probably didn't even know he was there," Joe says. "He's a tree with legs."

"He is," Ron agrees. "Hell of a soldier."

"Yeah," Joe, George, and Carwood all agree quietly. There's a measure of silence broken by George running the water to rinse the potatoes and Betsy making a pie pan clatter quietly.

"So," Jack says after a few minutes, clearly a little ill at ease with how quiet it's gotten. "We were gonna look at the house this afternoon?"

"Yup," George answers. "Let me just finish up these potatoes, and we can head out."

"I may need a few extra minutes to finish the pie crusts," Betsy says, "but it won't be long."

"I like hearing the stories that make you boys laugh," Mama says to Joe. "I'm glad there's something to hold onto from everything you went through."

Carwood sees Joe glance at George, and he feels Ron press his leg against his own. He presses back and smiles when George looks up from his chopping just as Joe looks away from him.

"You can always trust the guy at your back," Joe says. "Long as he's a paratrooper."

"Zip zam goddamn," Ron sings under his breath, just loud enough for Carwood to hear.

"We're airborne infantry," Carwood replies.

*

George, Jack, and Betsy leave a few minutes later to go inspect the house. As soon as the door closes behind them, Mama wipes her hands on a towel, picks up the phone, and makes a call. "Start bringing it over," she says. "You pass it along, will you?"

"Mama?" Carwood asks when she hangs up.

"She's been playing sneak since I got home," Joe says.

"I want Betsy to be surprised," Mama says. "Poor thing's still waiting for her mother to pull her head from her hind end."

"Mama!" Carwood says, surprised to hear her talk that way.

"You're the one started the discussion about hind ends, Carwood. No looking shocked."

"That was George, actually, but I get your meaning," he replies with a smile. "But what are you up to?"

"Oh, nothing, really, Just that there's plenty of things you need to set up a house that you can get right in town for a perfectly reasonable price. When Betsy was up, I made the calls with the full list, but when she went and took her nap, I called back Mrs. Slater and asked if she could possibly pick up her gift today and see who else would. She said she'd be fine with that, so she and a few other ladies will be over shortly with what they've gathered. I figure they'll have linens and curtains for when the couch and chairs gets to the house on Monday, and they move what they've got from Bobby's into the house as well."

"What about pots and pans and dishes?" Ron asks.

"A few of the ladies are chipping in to get them an everyday set," Mama says. "There's one you can get in town that Betsy liked a lot. I don't think her wedding china will get to her for awhile, though. It's got to be ordered, and you have to keep track of who orders what."

"Can I see the pattern?" Ron asks.

Carwood glances at Ron. "You are not buying an entire china set," he says.

"Why not?"

"For the same reason you're not getting me any more cufflinks."

Ron looks embarrassed. "I want to help," he says. "I'm not trying to show off."

"I know," Carwood replies, "but you don't need to help quite so much."

"Well, and half the set's claimed already," Mama cuts in. "Or near enough."

"I guess I wouldn't be buying the whole set then," Ron says. "Just what's left."

"Ron--"

"If you're certain, I know it'd be very appreciated," Mama says over Carwood.

"Mama, he--" Carwood tries again.
"Is a grown man who can show his affection how he likes," she tells Carwood. "And it's a very sweet thing to do."

"My mother was always very fond of her wedding china," Ron says. "I never understood why, but I remember her loving it. I want to give that to Betsy if I can." He says the last part to Carwood.

"Alright," Carwood says. "I'm sorry. You're right. It's not up to me to tell you how to show your affection to other people."

"Thank you," Ron replies.

"Well, now that that's settled, let me get the list of what's needed, and we can place the order right now," Mama says as she rolls towards the living room.

"That was very sweet, "Joe deadpans. "Good to see you two won't go to bed angry."

"I know how to kill a man with a potato peeler, Joe," Ron says.

"So do I," Joe replies, and he's wearing a full-on, shit-eating grin as Mama comes back to the table.

"Here," she says, handing the list to Ron. "If it's got a check mark next to it, someone's already offered to buy it."

"It does look like it's about half," Ron says. "What about silverware?"

"The ladies have already gotten an everyday set, and I thought I'd gift them our holiday silver at Christmas this year," Mama replies. She looks at Carwood. "If you think that's alright, of course."

"I think it's a fine idea," Carwood says. "I know it'd mean the world to Betsy."

"I think so, too," Mama agrees and looks pleased.

They go back to prepping for the next day's dinner, but they're interrupted not ten minutes later by the arrival of Mrs. Slater and half a dozen other older ladies who have come to leave gifts and hear the whole story behind the sudden wedding.

"Is she in the family way?" Mrs. Slater whispers to Mama, though it's loud enough everyone hears it.

"No," Mama says. "But even if she were, it wouldn't change how happy I am for them."

"Oh, of course not!" Mrs. Slater says, and the other ladies hurry to agree.

Carwood glances at Ron, and Ron looks overwhelmed at the bustle and activity that has descended upon them. "Come on," he says quietly, and he leads Ron to the back porch, Joe following behind, and the dogs taking up the rear.

"Yeesh," Joe says as he sits on the railing. "I forgot what it's like when the busybodies start getting real busy."

"They conquer a big task," Carwood replies. "It's impressive."

"You won't be saying that in five minutes when one of them wanders out here to ask us when we're gonna get hitched or why you let Vanessa get away," Joe says.

Carwood chuckles. "That's true."

"We could go back to the woods," Ron says. "I doubt any of them could make it up that tree."

"Don't be so sure," Carwood replies.

"Tree?" Joe asks.

"There's an old treehouse back in the woods about a mile," Carwood explains. "We went there this morning."

"Oh," Joe grins. "Have fun?"

"Yes," Carwood replies. "But not like you're thinking."

"Uh-huh."

Carwood shakes his head at Joe's tone. He glances at Ron to tell him to tell Joe they really didn't get up to much, but Ron doesn't seem to be listening. He's half-turned towards the back door, the sounds of the ladies carrying out to the porch. "What is it?" he asks.

"I was just wondering why your mother wanted to make sure you were okay with the silverware going to Betsy and Jack," Ron says. "It seemed important."

"The family tradition's always been to present it to the first-married in the family on the second Christmas after the wedding," Carwood says. "And then whoever that is hosts Christmas dinner after that. Technically, it should have gone to me after I married Vanessa, but I was in Toccoa for our second Christmas, and Mama decided to postpone the tradition until I was home again."

"She would have given it to you last Christmas," Ron says.

"Yes, but Vanessa and I were through long before that, so she held onto it."

"Kind of lucky, isn't it?" Joe asks Carwood, reading the discomfort on Ron's face the same as Carwood has. "If Sobel hadn't been such a son of a bitch, you'd have gotten leave to come home, and then you'd have had to figure out how to pass it along without everyone trying not to talk about the divorce."

"It is lucky," Carwood agrees. "Everything's really worked out for the best."

Ron slides Carwood a knowing smile. "Well, I can't disagree with that."

"No, you can't."

The back door opens, and an elderly lady of indeterminate age comes outside. She takes in Joe, Ron, and Carwood, and she holds up a hand when Ron starts to stand, obviously prepared to offer his chair. "Don't make a fuss," she says. "The doctor says I should stand when I can. It's good for my legs."

"How are you, Mrs. Farmington?" Carwood asks.

"Oh, just fine, dear."

"Your arthritis doing okay?"

"As best it can with the weather changing." She sidles up to Joe and holds out a hand. "I know you've got another cigarette."

"Yes, Ma'am," Joe says and hands her one. He lights it when she holds it up to her mouth. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure," he adds. "Joe Toye."

"Mrs. Ellen Farmington," she replies.

"Mrs. Farmington is Mrs. Slater's mother," Carwood tells Joe and Ron. "Mrs. Farmington, this is my friend Ronald Speirs."

"How do you do?" she says with a nod.

"Just fine, thank you," Ron replies with a nod of his own.

Mrs. Farmington takes a drag off her cigarette. "If Missy asks, I didn't have one," she says to Carwood.

"Of course not," Carwood replies. "Missy is Mrs. Slater," he explains.

"Ah," Ron says. "She seems very nice."

"Definitely organized," Joe adds.

"Oh, she's a good girl," Mrs. Farmington says. "She takes good care of people." She takes another drag of her cigarette and looks from Joe, to Ron, to Carwood. "Three single men on a back porch smoking is always a sign of trouble," she says. "You boys should be out meeting nice ladies to bring home to your mothers."

"Carwood tried," Joe replies. "It didn't stick."

"Joe," Carwood admonishes.

"I heard about that," Mrs. Farmington says. "A shame, really. You were a handsome couple."

"Thank you," Carwood replies. "We've stayed friends."

"I've heard. Good for you. Seeing anyone now?"

"No, Ma'am, just concentrating on my schoolwork."

She gives him a shrewd look, then glances at Joe and Ron. "I won't ask about you two," she says. "It'd be impolite."

"We appreciate that," Joe says with a straight face. "Good manners are important."

"They are," Mrs. Farmington agrees. She finishes her cigarette and hands it to Joe. "Figure out what to do with that, will you?" she asks.

"Yes, Ma'am."

She walks back into the house, and Joe and Ron both turn and look at Carwood. "To hear Mrs. Slater tell it," Carwood says, "her mother's always been that way."

"I like her," Joe says. "But what did I tell you about one of those busybodies coming hunting for a single man?"

"Good thing George isn't here," Ron says. "He'd have played along for the laugh."

Joe groans. "Oh, please let them be gone by the time George gets back. I'll never hear the end of it."

*

The ladies decide to stay until Jack and Betsy get back so they can greet the happy couple properly. Mama is clearly pleased with the plan, and Carwood, Ron, and Joe find themselves out of a job in the kitchen when the ladies take over the dinner prep.

"We're happy to--" is as far as Carwood gets before a chorus of polite dissent sends him, Ron, and Joe into the relative safety of the living room.

Joe clicks the radio on when they walk in, and they're halfway through a brief news report when the back door opens, and the ladies greet Jack and Betsy with a cheer.

"Now, now, ladies, there's plenty of my charm to share," George says from behind them.

"You can share it in the living room," Mrs. Farmington says.

"Mrs. Farmington, you're breaking my heart." George leans over and pecks her on the cheek. "How're the gutters? You need me to clear them before the weather really gets bad?"

"No, sir. Since you fixed them last year, my grandson's been keeping them clean."

"Glad to hear it." George steps away from the table so Jack and Betsy can be engulfed in affection. He blows out a breath as he drops on the arm of the chair next to Joe. "Glad I was with them. Last time they were all in the same room as me, I had to turn down four different dates."

"When were you last in the same room as all of them?" Joe asks. He shoves lightly to try and unseat George from the arm of the chair and does not seem disappointed that George responds by just leaning in closer.

"I was at Mrs. Leaves' last week to re-caulk her tub, and they were all there doing something charitable. I don't remember. But I got an earful on being so a nice young man and single during the holidays."

"We thought you'd have fun playing along with the idea," Ron says.

George pulls a face. "It's okay one-on-one, but you get a team of them on you, and it just feels weird."

Carwood doesn't miss how pleased Joe looks, though it only passes over his face for a moment. "Well, glad they're distracted then," he says. "How's the house look?"

"Not bad. The worst of it is going to be repainting the outside, but that'll hold until spring. The rest is pretty easy. I figure I can get it all done between Christmas and New Year's. I don't do much business then, anyway."

"I'm off from the twenty-third to the first of the year," Carwood says, "so if you need another set of hands, let me know."

"I'll be down for Christmas," Ron adds. "I can help, too."

"Nope," George declares, slinging an arm around Joe. "Joe's already signed up as my one and only assistant."

"Boys," Mama calls from the kitchen before Carwood can ask why, "come on in here and see what Betsy and Jack have gotten."

"Yes, ma'am," Carwood calls in return, and they walk into the room to watch Jack and Betsy unwrap bedsheets and towels and new curtains.

"Oh, my!" Betsy exclaims when she reveals a down comforter. "Oh, this is too much."

"No such thing for newlyweds," Mrs. Slater tells her, and the other women murmur agreement.

"Well, thank you," Betsy replies. "It's lovely, and I'm sure it'll be just perfect for this winter."

Jack opens the last box to reveal two pans with lids, two plates, two bowls, and a full set of everyday silverware. "Well, hey," he says, "we won't have to eat out of the pans."

"The rest will be delivered to your house on Tuesday," Mrs. Slater says. "They had to restock at the store."

"And your wedding china's coming too," Mrs. Leaves adds. "It might be a bit piecemeal, though."

"Actually," Mama says, glancing at Ron, "It should all arrive in one go."

"What?" Mrs. Slater asks. "I thought we'd only gotten it half-ordered."

"We've had an anonymous benefactor," Mama says, and Carwood could hug her for not making Ron take the spotlight. Just mentioning the china has him looking a little ill at ease. "So, it'll all arrive at one time."

"Well, isn't that lovely?" Mrs. Farmington says, though Carwood doesn't miss the look she gives Ron. "What a nice thing to do."

"You could tell them," Carwood says in an undertone.

"No," Ron replies. "I don't want to make them uncomfortable."

"I know I was at the idea, but I don't think--"

"And I didn't do it for them, anyway," Ron adds. He takes a step back as Betsy makes the rounds to hug all the women at the table. Carwood steps back with him. "I mean, I did, but it was also for you and your mother."

"What?" Carwood asks. He turns and takes the hug Betsy offers and then holds back a grin when she holds out her hand for Ron to shake.

"I know you're not one for hugging," she says.

"I appreciate that," Ron replies, and he shakes her hand with good humor.

She moves on to George and Joe and they both hug her as enthusiastically as she hugs them. When she turns to face the room again, she's pink-cheeked and grinning from ear-to-ear. "I know it's not polite to be thankful for material things during the holidays," she says, "so thank you all for your kindness and your generosity. We're going to have a very happy, well-appointed home."

"I'll thank you for the gifts," Jack says, and that makes everyone laugh.

"Well, we'll leave you to it," Mrs. Slater says as she and the other ladies stand. "Please let us know when you plan to have a reception. We'd like to toast you properly."

"I will," Betsy promises. "I thought we'd do it just after the New Year."

"Wonderful."

The ladies say their goodbyes and leave. No one speaks for a few moments after they're gone. George throws himself into a chair with great drama and announces, "Oh, thank goodness."

"Really," Mama scolds as she starts to gather the wrapping paper. "There's no need for that."

"I love those women," George says. "They pay well and on time, but all of them in one room is asking for trouble."

"The same could be said for you all," Mama replies.

"Sure, but we don't pay on time."

Mama shakes her head then turns to Betsy, who is making a careful stack of all her new linens. "You and Jack, are you staying the night here?"

"No, Ma'am," Betsy says. "Bobby surprised us by moving what furniture we had over, so we can stay there tonight."

"That'll be nice," Mama says.

Betsy smiles, and it wavers, and then she's crying, tears sliding down her cheeks as she drops into a chair. Jack nearly trips over a chair as he maneuvers to be by her side, and Betsy waves him off as he puts an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she says. "I just wish my mama would come around, is all."

"Easy, easy," Jack murmurs as he kisses her on the head. "You know what she's like. Just let her cool off, and she'll come around, I'm sure."

"I know." Betsy sniffles and leans in when Jack hugs her properly. "I'm sorry," she says. "It's been a really nice day and all, but it hurts."

"Don't apologize because it hurts," Mama says. "We all know it hurts."

"Yes, Mama," Betsy says, and she breathes deep, then straightens her shoulders. "Okay," she says. "I'm starving. We should get dinner going."

"I can handle it," Mama says. "You go sit in the living room and relax."

"No, I need to do something with my hands," Betsy says. "It'll do me good."

"Well, alright. If you want to take care of dinner, I can finish the prep for tomorrow, and that'll clear the men out of the kitchen."

"I can help with dinner," Jack says. "I want to."

"That'll clear most of the men out of the kitchen," Mama amends.

"I could use a shower," George says.

"I need to do some homework," Carwood adds.

"I can just get out of your way," Joe says. "No excuses from me."

"I'll keep you company while you work if you don't mind," Ron says to Carwood.

"Not at all," Carwood replies. He leads the way to the bedroom, and when he closes the door behind them and the dogs, he's not surprised when Ron pulls him close. "I really do have to take care of some homework," he says.

"I know," Ron replies. "In a minute."

They don't kiss. Ron just holds onto him, head on his shoulder, and Carwood holds him in return. "You okay?" Carwood asks. "There's been a lot of activity today."

"Fine," Ron says. He noses against Carwood's neck, and Carwood feels the light kiss he drops there. "I want to find Betsy's mother and shake her until her teeth fall out."

Carwood runs his hands up and down Ron's back. "I know," he says. "But you can't."

Ron makes a displeased noise and pulls Carwood in closer for a moment before letting go. "You should do your work," he says. "Don't let me distract you."

Carwood smiles and pecks him on the mouth. "I suppose."

Carwood sits at his desk and grabs his history book. Ron settles on the bed, the dogs bracketing him on either side, and opens the book that's on the nightstand while Carwood reviews his notes and starts redrafting his final paper for his history class. He pauses after a couple of pages to rest his hand and turns to look at Ron, planning to ask him a question about generals in the American Revolution. His question catches in his throat as he takes in Ron, stretched out on the bed in his stocking feet, petting Sherman absently with one hand while Panzer rests her head on his stomach.

"Carwood?" Ron asks, looking up from the book.

Carwood caps his pen and lays it on his notebook. He stands up and walks to the bed, picking up Panzer and placing her on the far side of Ron next to Sherman. He lies down and presses against Ron's side, sliding an arm around Ron's waist.

"Carwood?" Ron asks again, setting the book on his chest and holding his place with his thumb.

"I don't know," Carwood says. "I just looked over, and you looked so…" he shakes his head, not able to find the right words. "Betsy and Jack ran off to get married because they'd rather be happily married than unhappily waiting for it to happen, and George and Joe can live in each other's back pockets as much as they want, and Winters and Nixon are up in Jersey together, and Harry's got Kitty, and I feel like I'm asking too much of you to keep coming back and forth like this."

"I want to do it," Ron says.

"I know." Carwood slides his hand up and down Ron's ribcage, just feeling the shape of him. "But I turned to ask you a question, and all I could see was everything I want and everything I'm missing because I've got responsibilities here."

Ron doesn't answer right away. He puts the book aside and slides his hand over Carwood's cheek. Carwood turns into the touch and smiles. "I understand responsibility," Ron says. "I understand why you need to be here. Don't think I resent your choices."

"I don't." Carwood shakes his head again. "Maybe I do. I don't know."

"Wherever we are," Ron says, "we'll never be exactly what we want. Not with the way people would respond."

"But you'd come home to me at night," Carwood says. "And I'd come home to you."

"Not if I get deployed again."

"You know what I mean," Carwood says.

"I do, but don't forget what I do for a living, Carwood. They could send me overseas again, and you'd be alone with the dogs."

"But you'd still come home to me."

"I've come home to you already," Ron says. "Why do you think I'm here?"

Carwood presses their foreheads together and breathes out hard. "Two and a half years is a very long time sometimes."

"I know," Ron says.

Carwood kisses him, meaning for it to be light and reassuring. Ron deepens it immediately, and Carwood leans into it. He pulls at Ron’s shirt to untuck it from his trousers, and he’s just slid his hands up Ron’s bare back when Betsy calls from down the hall that dinner is on the table.

“Shit,” Carwood says, and Ron chuckles.

They pull away from each other, Ron tucking in his shirt and Carwood checking his hair in the mirror. Ron catches his eye in the reflection, and Carwood shakes his head. “Don’t look at me like that,” he says. “We have to go sit down at the table.”

“Sorry,” Ron replies, but he doesn’t sound like he actually is.

Carwood clenches his hands, then loosens them, taking a deep breath as he does so.

“Okay?” Ron asks.

“Yes,” Carwood says, though the amount he wants to pull Ron back to the bed and continue what they were doing is still high. “You?”

“Just fine,” Ron says, but the way he strokes Carwood’s arm before Carwood opens the bedroom door says differently.

Dinner Is high-spirited. Betsy’s clearly attempting to stay cheerful and happy, and it eggs on George, who pokes at Joe, who turns to Mama for help, who simply laughs and passes the food around. Carwood and Ron join in when invited but otherwise, they sit quietly next to one another, Ron’s leg pressed hard against Carwood’s, Carwood leaning more than necessary when reaching across Ron for the salt and pepper.
“Pardon my reach,” he says when he pulls back.

“Not at all,” Ron replies.

When dinner finishes, Mama claps once to get everyone’s attention and says, “I need to start the pies baking. Who wants to help?”

“Let me get a cigarette, and I’ll be happy to,” George says.

“Same,” Joe replies.

“I need to finish my paper,” Carwood says.

“George and Joe will be enough,” Mama replies. She looks at Jack and Betsy. “And you two should get home and start organizing that house of yours.”

“I would like to get the curtains hung tonight,” Betsy says to Jack.

“We’ll head out, then,” Jack replies. He stands and pulls out Betsy’s chair. “You need us to bring anything tomorrow, Mama?”

“Just yourselves,” she says.

Jack and Betsy say their goodbyes and leave hand-in-hand. Carwood and the rest of the men watch them drive away as they settle on the back porch with their cigarettes. They smoke in comfortable silence, then come back inside, Joe and George going back to the table to take instructions from Mama, and Carwood and Ron going back to Carwood’s room.

“I really do need to finish this paper,” Carwood says.

“I know,” Ron replies. He steps forward and keeps advancing until Carwood is backed against the wall. “Ten minutes,” Ron says.

“Ten minutes?”

“That’s all I need.”

Carwood rocks towards Ron without meaning to move. “Alright,” he says, and Ron presses against him full-body when he kisses him.

Ron's hand is down Carwood's trousers before Carwood even realizes they're unbuttoned. When Carwood scrabbles to reach Ron's buttons, Ron pushes his hand away and presses Carwood's arm against the wall for a moment before letting him go.

"Okay," Carwood says, chuckling into the next kiss. "I'll stay put."

Ron undoes his own trousers and pulls out his dick, lining it up with Carwood's, and taking them both in one hand. With his other hand, he presses on Carwood's rib cage, making sure he stays in place as he jerks them off quickly, hissing air between his teeth when Carwood dips his head and bites lightly at his neck.

"Carwood," Ron murmurs, and Carwood kisses him on the mouth, tangling both hands in Ron's hair as Ron hurries his pace and starts to thrust erratically. Carwood tries to help him find a rhythm, but Ron's hand is warm and heavy on his ribs and keeping him from doing anything more than getting ridden and kissing Ron until he's whining in the back of his throat.

"God," Carwood pants out as Ron presses even closer. "Jesus, Ron," he says, and he can feel Ron's smile against his mouth when they kiss again.

Ron comes first, mouth pressed against Carwood's shoulder to muffle his grunt, but Carwood's not far behind. He keeps the noise down by pressing his lips together and breathing hard through his nose, though he nearly loses the battle when Ron kisses the side of his neck and sucks lightly.

“Remember this,” Ron says in Carwood’s ear as they both fight to regulate their breathing. “When I’m not here, remember this. Remember how much I want you.”

“Yes,” Carwood promises. He tips his head back and breathes in deep. Ron kisses his Adam’s apple very softly, and it makes aftershocks shudder through Carwood’s body. “Yes,” he says again.

“That’s how we’ll make it,” Ron says. “That’s how we’ll make it until you graduate.”

Carwood nods in agreement, still struggling to breathe properly. Ron steps away slowly and looks around. “Grab something from the laundry basket,” Carwood says.

“Okay.” Ron wipes off his hand with one of Carwood’s shirts and shoves it at the bottom of the basket. He tucks himself back into his slacks and then walks back over and sets Carwood to rights as well. He buttons Carwood’s slacks and stands there for a moment, his thumb stroking the button. “Do you want an anniversary gift?” He asks.

“What?” Carwood replies. He reaches out and hooks two fingers through one of Ron’s belt loops, not pulling him closer, just keeping him where he is.

“At Christmas, it’ll be our anniversary,” Ron says. “Do you want a gift?”

“I can’t imagine what you could find me that wouldn’t be topped by you just being here.” Carwood says, and Ron smiles that sweet, shy smile he has, and Carwood leans in and kisses it. “But I get the feeling you’ll find something anyway,” he says.

“I might,” Ron agrees, and his smile is less shy and more prideful now. Carwood kisses that one, too. “Your paper,” Ron says when Carwood pulls away. “You need to finish it.”

“Yes,” Carwood agrees. They spend another minute just looking at each other, then Ron pulls away. “Would you mind looking at the first couple of pages?” Carwood asks. “It’s just History 110, so it’s nothing in-depth, but I could use some feedback.”

“Of course,” Ron says. “Do you have an extra pad of paper? I can make any notes on it rather than mark up on the pages you’ve already finished.”

Carwood pulls a pad of paper and pen from the middle drawer of his desk. He hands Ron the two pages he’s finished and sits down to pick up where he left off on the third. They work in silence. When Ron finishes the first two pages, he walks over to the desk and taps the new page that’s sitting off to the side. Carwood nods, and Ron takes it to review. He finishes the third page before Carwood completes the fourth, and so he reads a chapter in the book to give Carwood time to catch up.

“There,” Carwood says, setting down the fifth page with a flourish. “That should do it for the draft.”

“How long does it have to be?”

“Seven pages,” Carwood replies. “But that’s typed, and usually when I write five, I have seven when I go to type it.”

“I haven’t seen a typewriter in your house.”

“We don’t have one,” Carwood says. “I use the ones at the campus library. They keep them in good condition.”

“Better than my campus library did,” Ron says. “I used to keep spare ribbon in my bag just in case. They were always running short.”

Carwood chuckles. “Well, post-War affluence has its rewards, I guess.”

Ron grins. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Carwood stands and brings the fifth sheet to Ron. He sits on the edge of the bed, petting Panzer and Sherman while Ron reviews it and makes notes.

“Okay,” Ron says a few minutes later. He gathers up all the pages and swings his legs off the bed so he’s sitting next to Carwood. “Your facts are good,” he says, “and your thesis statement is strong. I think you just need to adjust your tone.”

“Alright,” Carwood replies.

“You’re writing like a soldier. You need to write like a student.” Ron points to the second paragraph. “Your description of the battlefield makes sense to me, but unless your professor’s been in the military, it’s probably going to be gibberish to him. You did it in a couple of other places, too.” He flips to page three, and then page four. “And you also snuck a few opinions in here as well.”

“I didn’t even notice,” Carwood says.

“Well, the last time you wrote reports was for the Army, so I think you just fell into that habit.”

“I suppose.”

“Your conclusion is good,” Ron says. “I always had problems with those, but you brought it all back together nicely.”

“Good to hear.”

“That’s really it,” Ron tells him. “It’s very good, just needs a little clean-up.”

“I appreciate the help,” Carwood says. “I look at them too long, and then I just want to rewrite everything.”

“I understand,” Ron replies. “Did that myself a few times.”

Carwood shuffles the paper back into order and looks over to find Ron watching him. “Yes?” he asks.

“I think I’m going to remember this,” Ron says.

“The paper? It’s not that good.”

“No, just…this. Sitting here with you and getting to help you. Getting to see exactly how smart you are.”

“Ron--”

“You are,” Ron says. “I’ve always known it, but to see you work on this, to see you put it together so quickly, it’s something worth remembering.”

Carwood can feel himself flush. “Well,” he says, “I won’t argue with you.”

“Good,” Ron replies. “You shouldn’t.”

Carwood laughs and sets the papers aside and pulls Ron in for a kiss.

*

Chapter Text

*

When Carwood wakes up at ten minutes to dawn, he can hear Mama moving around in the kitchen. He stretches as best he can with Ron's arm wrapped around his middle, and when he tries to move Ron's hand so he can get out of bed, Ron tightens his grip and says, "Just a minute."

"There's a lot to do today," Carwood replies.

"Just a minute," Ron says again, and Carwood laces their fingers together and smiles when Ron mouths at the line of his shoulders.

The dogs whine at the door a few minutes later, and Carwood chuckles when Ron groans against his neck. "You're the one who thought we needed metaphors," Carwood says.

"The dog is still just a dog," Ron replies.

"Really?" Carwood asks. "You could have sent me Sherman, but you sent me the difficult dog that lashed out at people."

"I found her first," Ron says.

"I don't believe you," Carwood replies, and he full-out laughs when Ron heaves a sigh in defeat. "I knew it."

"I found them at the same time," Ron admits. "And, yes, I sent you Panzer because she was the more difficult one, but look how it turned out," Ron says, hooking his chin on Carwood's shoulder so he can see Sherman and Panzer, who have stopped whining but are sitting by the door and staring hard at them. "They're a good match."

"Yes," Carwood agrees and decides not to tease him further. He squeezes Ron's hand instead and sits up. Ron follows suit, and they get dressed and leave the bedroom, the dogs leading the way until Carwood opens the back door and they can run for the yard.

"Good morning," Mama says. She's basting the turkey, and George is pouring coffee. "Sounds like you two woke up all right."

"We did," Carwood says. He takes the coffee George hands him and passes it to Ron before accepting the second cup. "Where can we help?" he asks Mama.

"Nowhere, I don't think," she replies. "All that's left is the turkey and vegetables, but George already volunteered on those, and they really just need to be seasoned and tossed in the oven."

"What about the potatoes?" Carwood asks. "They'll need to be mashed."

"Joe's taking care of that in the big kitchen," Mama says. "And he's got the extra pies in there, too, so I think we're all set."

"Have a cigarette," George tells him. "Enjoy Ron's company. Relax for once in your life, Lip. We've got this covered."

"I--"

"Go take it easy," Mama interrupts before Carwood can start arguing. "Between your schoolwork and keeping the books, you deserve a little rest. Besides, you've got a guest."

"I'm happy to help," Ron says.

"Out!" George declares before Mama can do more than give Ron an exasperated look. "There's enough cooks in this kitchen; quit cluttering up the place."

"All right," Carwood says, sharing an amused look with Ron as they step onto the back porch. "I can occasionally tell when I'm not needed," he says as they both sit down.

"No, you can't," Ron says.

"Maybe I could if you didn't sound so pleased about the fact," Carwood replies. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cigarettes and lighter, lighting two and passing one to Ron. He puts the lighter on the table between them and looks down at it.

"What is it?" Ron asks, following his gaze.

Carwood traces the design on the lighter and shakes his head. "Just thinking," he says. "You said last night it'll be a year at Christmas, and I just realized it's really been longer than that in a lot of ways." He picks up the lighter and turns it over in his hand. "You made your intentions clear a long time ago."

"So did you," Ron says.

Carwood thinks about the promise he made between Foy and Hagenau. "I suppose so." He puts the lighter back down and smiles when Ron reaches out and holds his hand. "I feel like I'm at sixes and sevens with nothing to do right now," he says. "But I think I like it, too."

"Good," Ron replies. "You've earned it."

*

An hour before dinner, Jack and Betsy show up, Betsy hauling a dish of cranberry sauce she'd made just that morning. She's beaming from ear to ear as she sets it on the counter and leans down to hug Mama hello.

"Did your mother call?" Mama asks.

"No," Betsy says, "but I won't be sad about it. I got to wake up with my husband and come over to the family house for Thanksgiving."

"That's the spirit," Mama says.

Murray and Vanessa show up a few minutes later. They've brought pie and wine, and then Bobby comes in with beer and a bowl of brussel sprouts.

"I don't know how to make much else," he tells Mama.

"Well, I'm glad you don't. It's the one thing we don't have," she says.

George fetches Mr. Kenny fifteen minutes before dinner is served, and Miss Woods comes down from her room just as Ron is carrying out the turkey to place it in the middle of the table.

"Well, isn't that just beautiful?" she says. She holds up a bottle of wine so Mama can see it. "I thought I'd contribute a little something."

"Oh, wonderful," Mama says. "Carwood, put this with the others, would you?"

"Yes, Mama," Carwood says and takes the bottle to place on the sideboard with the others. "Would you like some, Miss Woods?" he asks. "We're opening everything at once."

"Yes, please," she says.

"I'll take a glass of that," Vanessa says as she sidles up to Carwood and starts pulling the wine glasses from the hutch. "Murray's going to have beer and so's Bobby, I'm sure."

"Beer for me, too," Jack adds as he passes behind them with the potatoes."Betsy will take wine."

"Show of hands," George says from the other side of the room. "Who's having beer?" He counts under his breath. "Lip, you're gonna need six glasses of wine. I'll get the beers."

"Thank you, George," Carwood calls as he starts to pour. Vanessa takes the first two glasses and hands one to Miss Woods. Betsy comes up and gets one for herself and for Mama. Carwood pours the last two glasses, and isn't surprised when Ron comes up to collect his. "Happy Thanksgiving," Carwood says as he picks up his own wine glass.

Ron taps the glasses together so they hardly make a sound. "Happy Thanksgiving."

They sit at the table. Carwood is at the head, Mama at the foot, and Ron is seated to Carwood's right with Miss Woods on his far side, and then Vanessa and Murray and Bobby. On Carwood's left are Betsy and Jack, and then George and Joe and Mr. Kenny. Carwood looks up from taking it in and catches Mama's eye at the end of the table.

"We usually skip grace," Mama says, the table going silent when she speaks, "but this year there's so much to be thankful for, I thought we might say a quick prayer if someone would like to offer."

"I'll do it," Betsy says.

"That would be lovely."

They all bow their heads, and Betsy says, "Thank you, Lord, for this food and this fellowship and the happiness and success you've given us this year. And thank you, Lord, for the hardship, so that we might better see and appreciate our blessings when they clear. Amen."

Everyone choruses "amen," and Carwood smiles when Jack pecks Betsy on the cheek and murmurs something in her ear he's sure is a compliment.

"That was very nice," Mama says. "Let's cut the turkey and start passing the food around. Carwood can give the toast after we're all settled."

"Give him a few minutes to come up with something good," George says, and that gets a laugh even from Carwood.

"For certain measures of good," Carwood agrees, and that gets a matching laugh. He passes his plate down to get his share of turkey and looks around the table. He thinks of Thanksgiving the year before, just Jack and Mama and him. He thinks of the one before that in the mess hall at the base in England. The one before that, he'd eaten MREs with the other men as they huddled in the forest outside Bastogne. He looks at Ron, who is spooning out potatoes for Betsy, and the light gleams off the watch Carwood bought him. He looks down at his own watch. They'd wound them together last night and the night before, lying side-by-side in Carwood's bed and making sure the times were synced.

"Carwood," Mama says when everyone's got a full plate. "Whenever you're ready."

Carwood stands and clears his throat and looks around the table again. "Last year, we kept Thanksgiving to a very select three," he starts. He smiles at Mama and Jack, and they smile in return. "But this year, we had no way to do that. There's just too much happiness in this house to keep it between three people, and there's too much we want to share with everyone here to keep Thanksgiving small. I guess we knew that last Christmas, when we had Mr. Kenny and Miss Woods and Vanessa and Murray and Bobby and Betsy and Ron join us, but we've grown even richer since then, getting to include George and Joe in the festivities. I hope next year, we'll have to knock elbows to fit in a few more people, but even if that doesn't happen, I'm sure we'll all be happy to be in this room again eating all this good food and getting to enjoy being with one another. So, I want to say thank you from the Liptons--including our newest recruit--" Carwood smiles when Betsy grins and sits up a little straighter, "And to let you know that if you are here at this table now, you are welcome at our table any day of the year."

Carwood raises his glass an extra few inches to show he's finished. Everyone raises theirs as well before lowering to clink them together. Carwood clinks Ron's first, then turns to clink against Betsy and Jack. It doesn't escape his notice that George and Joe clink theirs together first as well. He glances at Mama, and she's looking around the table, looking like the proudest mother in the world as her gaze travels from George and Joe to Jack and Betsy, and finally to Carwood and Ron. Carwood feels, as she gives him a small nod of approval, that whatever reservations she'd held about he and Ron have lifted some. When he sits down, he presses his knee against Ron's under the table, and Ron presses back, giving him a small smile before starting to eat.

It's quiet for a few minutes as everyone digs in, but then Mama asks Mr. Kenny how he's finding the turkey, and conversation opens up around the table. Jack and Betsy only have eyes for each other, and George and Joe are talking to one another as Mama continues to engage Mr. Kenny. Murray and Bobby are still tucked into their food as Vanessa talks to Miss Woods, and Carwood feels like he's getting away with something when he turns to Ron and asks, "And how's your dinner?"

"Excellent," Ron replies. "That was a very nice toast."

"Thank you. It's been a very good year."

"It has," Ron agrees. "I've been very lucky."

"Funny," Carwood replies. "Me, too."

*

After dessert, Miss Woods excuses herself to call her family. Mr. Kenny and Mama stay at the table to chat while everyone else clears, and as soon as the dishes are in the sink, Joe looks at Betsy and Jack, snorts, and says, "Oh, get out of here."

"We--"

"Need to set up house," Vanessa interrupts before Jack can finish his sentence. "It's completely understandable. You've got furniture getting delivered on Monday. You don't want them stepping over boxes."

"Yes," Betsy agrees. "That's exactly it."

They step back into the dining room to say goodbye to Mama and Mr. Kenny, come back into the kitchen to say a quick goodbye to everyone else, and then leave. It's only after they hear the car pull away that George and Joe crack up laughing, the rest of them not far behind.

"I shouldn't laugh," Vanessa says. "It's sweet, really."

"Just darling," George agrees with a straight face. He grins as soon as Vanessa gives him a dirty look. "Really, the innocence--"

"All right," Joe says, grabbing George by the back of the neck and pushing him towards the back door, "enough of you."

"I am hilarious," George announces.

"No, you're not," Joe replies.

Murray shakes his head as he watches them go. "Sometimes, I wonder how they're friends as much as they peck at each other."

"They've always been like that," Carwood says. He turns on the water in the sink and puts the stopper in to fill the basin. "From day one at boot camp."

"Maybe that's what it is," Vanessa says as she steps up next to Carwood, clearly ready to wash dishes.

"Let me," Ron says, sidling up to Carwood's other side. "I'm sure Mrs. Lipton would like to catch up with you."

"Oh, we see each other plenty," Vanessa says. "It's probably you she'd like to talk to more."

"I'm not much for conversation," Ron says.

"Must be why you and Carwood get along so well," Murray interjects. He reaches out and pulls Vanessa away from the sink with an arm around her waist. "Come on," he says. "There's still pie."

"How can you still have room for more?" Vanessa asks, laughing as Murray leads her back to the big dining room.

"Funny," Carwood says as Ron starts scrubbing dishes. "It's like you wanted to be alone."

Ron chuckles, looks around, then leans in and pecks Carwood on the cheek. "I did," he says. "I'm glad Murray distracted her. I was considering dropping something on her foot."

"That's terrible," Carwood says, but he can't help his smile.

They wash the dishes, standing hip-to-hip. Ron hums tunelessly under his breath, and Carwood leans against him as he hands over a plate. "Murray will probably invite us out tomorrow night," Carwood says. "Do you want to go?"

"I suppose we should," Ron replies. "For appearance if nothing else."

"We could beg off," Carwood says. "It's been a pretty hectic few days."

"I'd prefer to stay in if you think we can get away with it," Ron says. "I'm not in the mood to sneak around if we don't have to."

"Me, either," Carwood replies.

George and Joe walk in from the back porch, and Joe gives Carwood an exasperated look. "Would you go outside and have a damn cigarette?" he asks. "George and I can handle the dishes."

"Yeah," George says. "Spend some time with Ron, would you?"

"Pretty sure I am," Carwood says, giving Ron an amused look. "Or is this not him?"

"You've got minimal time, and you're doing dishes," George says with a scoff. He bumps Carwood's shoulder with his own and takes his spot at the sink.

Ron relinquishes his own spot when Joe raises his eyebrows. "Okay," he says. "I suppose we'll go outside."

"I was having a perfectly fine time," Carwood says as he and Ron stand by the railing and light their cigarettes.

"Me, too," Ron says. He blows out a plume of smoke and steps a little closer to Carwood. "I still don't feel the cold the same," he says.

"Me neither," Carwood replies. He watches his breath mist in front of him. "How long can you stay for Christmas?" he asks.

"Most of a week," Ron replies. "I thought I'd drive down on the twenty-third and stay through to Sunday."

"That's a Tuesday, isn't it? The twenty-third?"

"Yes."

"So, four days," Carwood says.

"Yes, but we could adjust that. I've considered requesting the end of the year off completely. I've got enough leave saved up to do it and then some."

"I thought I might come to Boston for New Year's," Carwood tells him. "Or we could do it here with the family."

"Why Boston?" Ron asks.

"That club you go to, we could ring in New Year's there. Have dinner and dance and kiss each other at midnight."

Ron thinks for a moment. "I don't think I can do that until you're up there with me," he says with a thread of longing that makes Carwood ache. "It's already difficult to go there without you and see other couples."

"Ron," Carwood breathes out. He touches Ron's arm and wants to pull him closer, but the back door bangs open, and Murray and Vanessa come out.

"We're headed home," Murray says, reaching out to shake hands. "Thought we might all drag down to the Honky Tonk tomorrow night. You in?"

"I'll have to let you know," Carwood says. "It's been a busy few days."

"Call tomorrow and let me know," Vanessa says. "We're probably go to Lenny's first, and I'll need a headcount to make sure I get a big enough table."

"Will do," Carwood says, and he accepts the hug she offers.

George comes out the back door just as Murray and Vanessa pull away from the house. He's escorting Mr. Kenny, who is smiling and telling George what sounds like a fairly long-winded story. George is nodding along but looks relieved when Mr. Kenny turns to say goodbye to Carwood and Ron.

"Mama says she's going to lie down for a bit," George says. "Says the turkey did her in. Joe's already sacked out in our room, and Miss Woods hasn't reappeared since she got up from the table, but I think she's still on the phone."

"We'll keep it down," Carwood replies, and George chuckles then shoots them a pained look as Mr. Kenny picks up his story again.

"Do you want to take a nap?" Ron asks.

"No," Carwood says. "But I wouldn't mind lying down to read a book."

Ron smiles. "Neither would I," Ron says.

He falls asleep against Carwood's shoulder, book slipping from his hand, not ten minutes later. Carwood puts the book aside, then kisses the top of Ron's head, closing his eyes for a moment to settle the feeling of Ron into his memory for later. He spends the rest of the weekend hoarding little moments like that. When he wakes up on Friday, he traces the shape of Ron's body under the sheet, just wanting to remember the way he feels, sleep warm and just barely coming to in the dimness just before dawn. During breakfast, he watches the way Ron drinks his coffee, and afterwards, he can't stop looking at the angle of his cigarette as it dangles from his mouth. He catches the way Ron smiles at Mama and wishes he had a camera to take a picture: Ron laughing at George's jokes; Ron replying with bland sarcasm to one of Joe's pointed remarks. Ron bending down to pet the dogs. Ron shrugging into his coat to help run errands. Ron smoothing his hair with one hand when he takes off his hat. Ron barely scraping his lower lip with his teeth as he judges carrots at the market. Ron smiling at him, that sweet, warm smile that makes him look almost ethereal.

"You've been staring," Ron says after dinner on Saturday. "The last two days, every time I look up, you're just looking at me."

"I guess I'm memorizing you," Carwood says.

"I'll be back in less than a month," Ron replies, and his smile is teasing, but he's obviously pleased.

"I know," Carwood says. "But it feels like a long time."

"I know," Ron replies, and he leans in and kisses Carwood, quick and soft as they stand on the back porch.

*

They make love almost silently that night. Carwood presses Ron down into the mattress and curls his arms under Ron's shoulders as they rock against each other. Ron wraps his legs around Carwood's waist and grips the back of his neck, keeping him close enough their breath mingles when they pull apart after long, slow, careful kisses. Carwood tries to press his face against Ron's shoulder when his orgasm builds, but Ron brings up his other hand and holds Carwood in place, stares into his eyes as Carwood gasps and digs his fingers into Ron's shoulders, and comes.

"Come on," Carwood murmurs, not stopping his rocking and pressing even harder against Ron. "Come on."

Ron tightens his legs around Carwood's waist and lets got of Carwood's head to grab his shoulders. He arches his back, and Carwood leans down and kisses the side of his neck as slowly and carefully as they'd been kissing a few minutes before.

"Come on," Carwood whispers again.

Ron buries his face into Carwood's neck, shudders and sighs and comes. Carwood cups the back of his head and keeps him close as they carefully collapse on the bed.

"I love you," Carwood murmurs in Ron's ear.

Ron smoothes Carwood's hair off his forehead and touches the scar on his cheek. "You're the most remarkable man I know," he says. "I wish--"

"No," Carwood says, shifting closer and kissing Ron before he can finish. "No apologies," he says when he pulls away.

"You deserve to hear it. Especially with me leaving tomorrow."

"I've got the letter you gave me, remember? You said to keep it so I'd know how you felt if you weren't able to say the words. I've got it, Ron. I'll always have it. I'll always know."

Ron breathes out hard and slides his hand from Carwood's face, to his neck, and then down his chest. "I'm going to miss you," he says.

"It's less than a month."

"I know," Ron replies. "But you're right; it feels like a very long time."

They fall asleep face-to-face, Carwood's head tucked under Ron's chin. When Carwood wakes in the morning, Ron's already awake, sitting at Carwood's desk and writing something. "Ron?" he mutters as he props himself on his elbows. "How long have you been up?"

"Just a few minutes," Ron says. He finishes writing and sets down the pen. "I'll take the dogs out," he says. "You can meet me on the back porch after you read this."

"Okay," Carwood agrees. He gets up and puts on his clothes, then walks to the desk to see what Ron had been writing.

I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you

All the way down the page, three columns wide, in the slightly blocky print Carwood saw so much of during the war. At the bottom, in the same careful script from his letters, is Ron's signature and the day's date. Carwood shakes his head at the page, trails his fingers down one column, and then goes to the back porch, wraps an arm around Ron's waist from behind, and presses a kiss to his shoulder.

"Thank you," he says.

"You're welcome," Ron replies. He holds up his half-smoked cigarette, and Carwood takes it, letting it dangle from his mouth so he can wrap his other arm around Ron as well.

The back door opens, and Carwood turns, expecting George and Joe. Instead, it's Mama. Carwood freezes, arms tightening around Ron's waist. This is a more intimate embrace than he'd ever planned to show his mother, wanting to guarantee her some level of comfort with his being with Ron if he could. "Thought I'd let you know I'd get breakfast on," she says to Ron.

"Thank you," Ron replies.

She looks at Carwood and gives him a knowing smile. "Ain't nobody here but us chickens, honey. You stay put if you want to."

"You're sure?" Carwood asks. "I don't--"

"You stay put," she says again. She gives him a considering look, and Carwood can't read her expression. She turns and goes back inside without saying anything else.

"What do you think that look was for?" Carwood asks.

"No clue," Ron replies. "I like her, but I won't pretend I can read her." He clasps one hand over Carwood's at his waist and leans back a little. "Are you okay? I felt you tense."

"Fine," Carwood says. He rests his cheek on Ron's shoulder. "She's given her blessing as much as she can, and I know she'll stand by it, but I'm not used to...to just being able to be back here with you, I guess."

"I'm glad you can be," Ron says.

"Me, too," Carwood agrees.

They stand outside a few minutes more, not speaking just leaning against each other. When they whistle for the dogs and go back inside, Joe and George are at the table talking with Mama, and they both pull away sharply when they hear the door open.

"What's this?" Carwood asks, giving the three of them a questioning look.

"Nothing to worry about," Mama says. "Just some plans."

"Secret plans," George adds. "And since you weren't in the room, you're not in on the secret."

Carwood looks at Joe, expecting him to break the silence, but Joe shakes his head. "Nope," he says. "You're not getting anything from me."

"Suppose we'll just have breakfast then," Carwood says, and he and Ron sit as Mama wheels over with the bacon and eggs.

"Do you think traffic will be heavy?" Mama asks Ron once they're all served and have eaten a few bites.

"I'm hoping to be well on my way before it gets too bad," Ron replies. "It'll slow down around Boston, I'm sure."

"Take your time and keep a cool head," she tells him. "We don't want you hurt."

"I'll be careful," Ron promises.

They finish breakfast, and Ron gathers his bag and calls for Sherman. George, Joe, and Mama all follow Carwood and Ron to the back yard to see Ron off.

"Mama's right," Carwood says as Ron puts his bag in the car and steps aside for Sherman to jump into the back seat. "Be careful."

"I will," Ron assures him, and they look at each other for a moment before Ron pulls him into a brief, hard hug that Carwood wants to cling to.

"Let's all go inside," Mama says to George and Joe, just loudly enough to carry over to them.

Carwood turns and watches as George and Joe follow Mama inside, and he chuckles when George turns and makes a kissy face over his shoulder as they all step over the threshold. He turns to comment on it to Ron, but Ron pulls him in close before he can say anything and kisses him with the same soft, warm intensity of the night before.

"Oh," Carwood breathes out when Ron pulls away.

"I'll call when I get back," Ron says, running a thumb over Carwood's lips.

"Yes," Carwood agrees."I'll see you at Christmas."

"Yes," Ron says, and he kisses Carwood once more before getting into the car and driving away.

Panzer whines as the car turns around the corner, and Carwood glances at her, then crouches down to pet her. "I know," he says, and Panzer licks his hand like she understands.

He goes back inside and finds Mama alone at the table. "He'll call when he gets to Boston," he says.

"Good." Mama looks at him with the same unreadable expression Carwood saw on the back porch earlier. "Come here," she says and opens her arms.

Carwood accepts the hug and sighs into her shoulder. "Do I look that bad?" he asks.

"You look a little forlorn is all," Mama replies. She pats Carwood's shoulder when he backs away. "Sit down with me for a minute," she says.

Carwood does so. Mama reaches for his hand, and he takes it. "What is it?" he asks. "Are you all right?"

"Just fine," she assures him. "I just need to say something to you."

"Okay."

Mama squeezes his hand and takes a deep breath. "I saw the way you got nervous when I came out on the porch this morning, and I didn't like it."

"Mama--"

"Hush." She pauses until Carwood nods to show he'll stay quiet. "I want you to be happy, and I don't want you to have to be afraid of showing it. I know you can't walk around and show it the same way as Jack and Betsy, and that hurts me, honey. So, I won't have that behavior in my house if I can help it. If you want to show Ron how you feel about him, you do it."

Carwood has to swallow a few times before he can find his voice. "What about Jack and Betsy?" he asks.

"Well, they don't live here anymore, so I don't think it'll be much of a factor in the day-to-day." Mama shakes her head. "After everything Betsy's gone through the last few days with her mother, I just want to make sure that doesn't happen here."

"Mama," Carwood says, and he scoots his chair closer to hers. "It's never been like that here. You've never done anything but love us, and we know it."

"Thank you," she says, "but when you see a mother acting badly, it makes you look at yourself and make certain you're not doing the same even on a smaller scale."

"You're not. You never have." Carwood stands and kisses her on top of the head.

"All I want is for you boys to be happy. All of you."

"Well, I know I am, and I know Jack is. And I'm certain George and Joe will tell you the same."

Mama squeezes his hand one more time and lets go. "Good," she says. "Then I've done like a mother should."

Carwood doesn't reassure her again. He just hugs her and steps away so she can roll into the living room and pick up her knitting. "I'm going to work on my paper," he tells her. "Holler if you need me."

"I will," she says.

He walks into his room and stops short when he sees Ron's note is still on the desk. It makes him smile, and he moves it carefully to one side before sitting down with a fresh sheet of paper.

Dear Ron,

I love you, too. I know I said it earlier, but I'm not sure I've ever written it down like you did this morning. So, I wanted to write it down here so you have it like I have your letter and now your page of declarations.

I love you, too.

Carwood stares at the letter and wonders what else he can say. He can't think of anything else that'll mean as much as what Ron's already given him. He signs off and places the letter out of the way so the ink will dry. He wonders if he'll be able to concentrate on his paper, but he sees Ron's notes in the margins, and it makes him want to work. It's one step closer to being near Ron again, Carwood thinks, and so he starts recopying the pages and incorporating Ron's suggestions.

When he comes out of his room for lunch, Joe looks at him and says, "You gonna mope until he gets back?"

"I was working on my paper," Carwood replies.

"Moping and working on your paper," Joe mutters.

Carwood shakes his head and looks to George for help. George just laughs.

"You two be nice," Mama says. "It's not easy to be separated from someone you care about."

George stops laughing and glances at Joe. Joe doesn't see it, but Carwood recognizes the look on his face; it's similar to the way George looked when he came across Joe in the snow in Bastogne after he'd lost his leg.

"What?" Joe asks, looking around the table. He narrows his eyes at George. "Don't look at me like that. It's creepy."

George leans over and pecks Joe on the nose. It makes Joe wrinkle his whole face up. "Shaddup," George says, and he presses his hand to the top of Joe's knee, just above the prosthesis.

"Jack called while you were working," Mama tells Carwood. "He and Betsy are coming over for dinner tonight."

"That's nice," Carwood says. "Any word on Betsy's mother?"

"She still hasn't called," Mama says, and the set of her mouth speaks volumes. "But maybe after the weekend."

"Well, I hope so," Carwood says.

"I'm starting to think Betsy's better off," George says.

"Don't start," Mama tells him.

"Yes, Ma'am," George replies, but he shares a knowing look with Carwood and Joe.

They eat lunch and then George, Joe, and Carwood step out back to have a cigarette. Carwood can't help but glance at the chair next to him, especially when George doesn't sit in it.

"You're lovesick," George says.

"I'm not," Carwood replies.

"Bullshit," George says. "Tell him, Joe."

"You're lovesick," Joe agrees.

Carwood gives them both a look. "It's not even been half a day."

"You look sadder than your dog right now," Joe says, and Carwood glances down at Panzer. She's sitting next to his chair and looking around, her ears drooping when she doesn't see what she's looking for.

"I'll be fine tomorrow," Carwood says, and even the indirect admission makes Joe and George grin.

"Come on, Lip, the next few weeks are gonna fly by, and then he's back, right?"

"Yes," and Carwood can't help but smile at that.

"How long?" Joe asks.

"At least five days. Maybe through the New Year."

"Well, that's pretty good," George says. He finishes his cigarette, stands, and thumps Carwood on the shoulder as he passes. "You'll make it." He walks back into the house.

Carwood glances at Joe, who's watching him with a sharp look on his face. "What?"

"Nothing," Joe says.

"It's something."

"It's nothing," he replies. He finishes his own cigarette and stands and stretches. "Just, maybe think about why you're still here," he says.

"I've got school," Carwood says. "And the house to keep up."

"Uh-huh," Joe replies, and he doesn't say anything else before he walks back into the house.

Carwood tips his head back so he's staring up at the porch roof. He wonders what Joe meant by that, but his thoughts aren't lining up. He just keeps thinking about Ron. "Okay," he says to Panzer when she jumps into his lap, "maybe I'm a little lovesick."

*

Dinner that night makes Carwood hurt. Jack and Betsy are so in love they're glowing, and they can't stop talking over one another and laughing as they talk about the house and getting it set up and how excited they are for the furniture the next day.

"I'll come over in the afternoon," George says. "I can help you move some things around if you want."

"Me, too," Joe offers.

"I've got to type up my paper tomorrow and start studying for my math final," Carwood says, "but if I get some time, I'll come over."

"Well, any help's appreciated," Betsy says. "Don't put yourself out on our account."

"Mama'd have our hides if we didn't give you time to do your work," Jack adds, and Mama only shakes her head in response.

After dinner, Carwood goes back to his room and looks at the letter for Ron.

P.S. George and Joe have informed me I'm lovesick. I don't think they're wrong. I hope you don't mind.

*

"I'm home," Ron says when he calls that night. "Or, in Boston at least."

"Glad to hear it," Carwood replies. "The drive was good?"

"As good as could be expected. Sherman laid in the back window for the first thirty miles and let her displeasure be known."

"Panzer's been moping all day," Carwood says.

Ron chuckles. "In this particular case, I think we can agree the dogs are a bit of a metaphor."

Carwood chuckles with him. "I suppose so. You should sleep."

"Yes."

They stay on the line a minute longer, listening to each other breathe. "Good night, Carwood," Ron finally says.

"Good night, Ron."

*

Dear Carwood,

Your letter arrived this evening. I'm headed to dinner with that Captain I've mentioned before and wanted to make sure to give you a timely reply.

Thank you for writing it down. You don't need to, of course, as you can so easily share your feelings, but having it on paper like that gives me something to hold when I miss you, and that--like all your letters--is a gift.

Funny to hear George and Joe diagnose someone else as lovesick given the beatings they gave themselves and each other before they figured themselves out. I'm certain they'll deny any sort of connection between the situations, but I think you'll agree on the humor.

Sherman continues to be a bit mopey. I can't help but think my own attitude is making her feel that way. I've been back in Boston five full days, and it still feels like I've only just left Huntington. I reached for you last night when I was half-asleep, and it woke me up fully to realize you weren't there. Feel free to let George and Joe know we're a bit of a matching pair on the lovesickness. I'm sure they'll find a way to make you laugh about it.

Yours always,
Ron

*

December becomes something of a blur for Carwood. As the semester comes to a close, he keeps discovering small assignments he's nearly forgotten or that he's skipped some bit of information on a review sheet. He spends most of his time in his room, poring over his textbooks and writing papers. On the second Friday of December, with finals due to start that coming Monday, another letter from Ron arrives.

Dear Carwood,

You haven't responded to my last letter. I assume the final weeks of your semester have overtaken your life as they always did for me. You're a brilliant, capable man, and I am certain you'll finish the term at the top of your class.

Don't forget to rest.

Yours always,
Ron

Carwood feels like a heel when he finishes reading the letter. He knows that wasn't Ron's intention, but he still closes his books and walks down to the telegraph office immediately to send a reply.

Ron

Your guess in the letter was correct. Finals start Monday. I look forward to the vacation and your visit.

Yours
CL

When he gets home from the telegraph office, Mama, George, and Joe are all bundling up. George has an axe over his shoulder, and the picnic basket is in Mama's lap.

"We're off to pick out a tree," Mama tells him. "George wanted to get one from behind the house."

"Why not go to the tree lot up the street?" Carwood asks. It's what they've always done, Mama and Jack and Carwood.

"New tradition," George says. "Or maybe a one-off attempt at one. We don't know yet."

"We figured, with Jack married off, we could tweak a few things," Joe adds.

"I think it'll be fun," Mama says, and that seals it for Carwood. "Do you have time to come along?"

Carwood considers his workload. There's one last paper to finalize, and he would like to review again for his Science test, but even as he thinks about it, he feels exhausted at the idea. "Let me get my heavier scarf," he says.

"And put on some wool socks!" Mama calls after him as he walks down the hall.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replies. He puts on the socks and grabs his other scarf, and after a moment's thought, he grabs his heavier hat as well. When he comes back into the kitchen, Mama, George, and Joe are whispering amongst themselves and pull away when they see him.

"Nothing to see here," George says with exaggerated innocence.

"Uh-huh," Carwood replies, giving him a look.

"Mama had an idea for a last-minute gift for you," Joe admits. "We were figuring out which one of us could go grab it."

"I'm sure I've got plenty of gifts," Carwood says.

"One more won't hurt," Mama replies. "Especially with how hard you're pushing yourself."

"I'm fine, Mama," Carwood assures her. "I just want to do well."

"You had perfect grades at mid-terms," Joe says. "How much better can you do?"

"I don't want them to drop," Carwood replies.

"He's ridiculous," Joe says to Mama as the step onto the back porch.

"Oh, I know," she says. She wheels herself down the ramp and looks over her shoulder as Carwood steps behind her and grabs the handles of her chair. "Thank you, dear."

"You're welcome," he says.

They all walk towards the woods, Panzer leading the way with her nose to the ground as she scents on something. Mama can mostly wheel herself, the ground having hardened over the weeks as winter's set in, but Carwood keeps his hands on her chair, just in case she gets stuck along the way.

"See what's around the edge, George," Mama tells him. "If you have to go in further to find a good one, that's fine, but I'd rather get to watch you chop it down."

"Yes, Ma'am," George says, and he and Joe start walking along the treeline together, stopping at every good-sized evergreen they find and debating if it's the one they want.

"You can go with," Mama tells Carwood. "I'm just fine here."

The debate between Joe and George turns into yelling for a moment before they both look over their shoulders at Mama and lower their voices again. "I think I'll stay right here," Carwood says with a smile. He steps to the side of the chair so Mama can see him and smiles when she pulls a blanket from the basket. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He spreads out the blanket and folds it over double to keep some of the chill away. When he sits down, Mama hands him a thermos and a mug. Carwood opens the thermos and gives her a look when the smell of hot chocolate wafts out. "Your hot chocolate takes an hour to make," he says. "I wasn't gone that long."

"I made it this morning while you were studying," she says. "I'm surprised you didn't smell it."

"Guess I'm just that distracted."

"You'll do just fine," Mama assures him, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. "You've always been a good student. I don't ever remembering you studying like this, though."

Carwood shrugs. "I just want to do as well as I can, and I was out of school for so long, I was worried I forgot how to do it. Suppose I'm nervous. Just because you've got good grades at mid-term doesn't mean you can pass everything without some effort."

"You've always pushed yourself so hard," Mama says. She takes the mug of hot chocolate Carwood holds up to her and passes him another empty one with her free hand. There's another brief burst of shouting from the treeline. "Those two," Mama says with a shake of her head.

"They're something else," Carwood agrees.

"They're a gift," Mama says. "Surprising and not what I would have thought we needed, but here they are."

Carwood watches Panzer nose some leaves. "I know what you mean."

They sit in silence and watch George and Joe continue their hunt. This tree, it appears, is a very serious topic. "Oh," Mama says after a few minutes, and she presses a hand against her mouth to hide her laugh. "It's their first Christmas."

"What?"

"I didn't even--" She chuckles and presses her hand to her mouth again.

"Oh," Carwood says, getting her meaning. Their first Christmas. "Do you think that's why they're making a production out of it?"

"Absolutely. Your daddy did the same thing. I said I wanted red and gold ornaments our first Christmas, and he spent three days trying to find exactly the right ones."

"The ones we still have on the tree?" Carwood asks.

"Yes, well, minus the ones that have broken over the years."

"I didn't know Daddy got those for you your first Christmas."

"No?" She thinks about that. "I suppose it's just that we lost him so early, and I didn't even think about it. You and Jack loved them so much, that's what I remember most about them."

"We used to fight over who got to hang which ones," Carwood says.

"Oh, I remember."

They smile at each other, and then both turn and look as a loud thwack breaks through the the quiet. George and Joe have agreed on a tree, and George is going after it in earnest while Joe stands off to one side and supervises.

"You think they're going to remember we were supposed to have a say?" Carwood asks.

"Not until it's felled," Mama replies. "We'll tell them we like it fine."

"I'm sure we will." Carwood looks up to say something else but stays silent at the look she's giving him. It's the same considering look he saw the day Ron left. "Mama?"

"I'm glad you're here," she says.

"I was here last year."

"Not in the same way. You're more peaceful now."

"Oh." Carwood mulls that over. "I think I've got more to keep me busy."

"I think you're happier."

"Maybe," he says, though he knows it's unquestionably true.

"It's okay to be happier," Mama says. "Happier is good."

"I know."

There's a splintering crack, and they both look over to watch as the tree falls down. Joe and George cheer, and then Joe takes the axe and starts hacking at the shredded edge of the trunk while George balances himself further up the trunk to keep things steady.

"You can be even happier than this," Mama tells him.

Carwood looks at her, and she looks like she might cry. "Mama?"

"Don't let your sense of responsibility keep you from going after what you need to be happy."

He can't parse what she means, exactly, but whatever it is, she clearly thinks it's important. "Of course not," he replies. "You taught me better than that."

George and Joe come towards them, the tree slung on their shoulders. "We meant to get your opinion," George says, "but Mr. Christmas Tree 1947 was distracting."

"You have terrible taste in trees," Joe replies.

"It looks lovely," Mama says. "Now put it down and have some hot chocolate."

They do, and they talk and pass around the thermos, and George and Joe tell stories about their Christmases growing up, and Carwood realizes that they really are his family as much as Mama and Jack and Ron. George and Joe, they're the brothers he might have had if Daddy hadn't died so young or if Mama had remarried. It makes him feel good, warmer on the inside than the hot chocolate, and he knows he owes a part of it, at least, to the war, and that feels okay, too.

*

Ron calls that night as they finish dinner. "I got your telegram," he tells Carwood.

"Good," Carwood says. "I'm sorry I've been so distracted."

"Don't apologize," Ron replies. "You're working hard. That's important."

Carwood bites back the urge to apologize again. "Well, it'll be over in a few days."

"You'll do great," Ron says. "I've no doubt."

"Thank you."

"I called for more than that," Ron says. He sounds pleased.

"Oh?" Carwood asks, expectation making him stand up straighter. "Do you have news?"

"I have leave approved from the twenty-second to January third and a stern warning from my superior officer that I am not to set foot on base until I've completed the whole thing."

"Guess I'm not the only one who's overworked himself."

"No, I suppose not."

"That's ten days, isn't it?"

"It is."

"Ten days," Carwood says, and he feels himself smiling.

"Yes," Ron replies.

"Well." Carwood wants to say more, but George and Joe and Mama are still in the room, and everything he's thinking is at least mildly suggestive. "I know I won't be the only one happy to hear that."

Ron chuckles like he knows what Carwood actually wants to say. "I'm glad for it. Give them my best."

"I will."

"I'll let you get back to work. Goodbye, Carwood."

"Goodbye, Ron."

Carwood hangs up the phone and turns towards the kitchen table. George, Joe, and Mama all look at him expectantly. "He'll be here ten days," he says, "and he sends his best."

"Well, that's wonderful," Mama replies. "He's had so many short visits, it's about time."

"Yes," Carwood agrees. He watches George and Joe exchange a look he can't read. "What?" he asks them.

"What?" George replies.

"Yeah, what?" Joe adds.

Carwood looks at Mama, and she seems not to have noticed the exchange. "Never mind," he says. "I'll be in my room if anyone needs me."

"Try not to go blind re-reading your textbooks," George calls over his shoulder.

*

Carwood comes home after his last final exam, goes into his bedroom, and takes a two hour nap. When he wakes up, he still feels exhausted, and he walks into the kitchen trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

"Oh, honey," Mama says and pours him a cup of coffee. "I think you pushed yourself too far."

"I'm sure it'll even out in a day or so," Carwood replies. He sits at the table and yawns hugely. "Excuse me," he says.

"You just sit there and relax," Mama tells him. "You need something to eat?"

"No, I'm fine," Carwood says. He yawns again, and a shiver goes through him and makes him twitch. He takes a drink of his coffee, and it warms him up. "Think it all just hit me at once," he says.

"It usually does," Mama replies.

He drinks his coffee down, and then goes into the living room. He clicks on the radio and lays on the couch, Panzer jumping up and settling by his feet as he stretches out. He falls asleep without realizing it. When he wakes up, it's full dark out, and there's a blanket over him. His throat is scratchy, and Panzer isn't on the couch anymore.

"Joe took her out," George says from the armchair by the fireplace. There's a fire going good and strong, and the radio is playing softly in the background. "You didn't even wake up for dinner."

"Oh," Carwood says. He wants to say more, but he finds he can't quite pull his thoughts together.

George shakes his head. "You idiot. You're running a fever. Don't get up." He stands and walks out of the room.

Carwood stares up at the ceiling and listens to the sounds of George moving around in the kitchen.. George walks back into a room, a mug in his hands. He sets it on the coffee table, then leans over and heaves Carwood into a sitting position.

"Ah!" Carwood yelps when pain skates through his whole body. He feels like he's been knocked down a hill full of rocks, like every inch of him is bruised to the bone.

"Easy," George murmurs as he puts two pillows behind Carwood's back to keep him upright. "Mama thinks it's just the flu or some other bug." He places the back of his hand against Carwood's forehead and pulls a face. "You're not coughing, at least."

"Well, that's something," Carwood says.

"Here," George says, holding out the mug and then sitting on the coffee table. "Mama made you some broth."

Carwood takes the mug in both hands, and when the warmth of it hits him, he starts to shake.

"We'll take it slow," George says, and he wraps his own hand over Carwood's to help him steady the cup as he drinks.

Joe comes in the back door, a wave of cold air following him in, and it makes Carwood shake so hard he almost spills the broth, even with George still helping him. "Grab another blanket from the closet," George calls over his shoulder to Joe.

"He's awake, huh?"

"He is," George replies.

Panzer hops back onto the couch and curls up next to Carwood's knees. She watches him, her head tilted, before laying her chin on his legs. "Good girl," Carwood tells her.

"Come on," George says, nudging the mug. "Finish it up."

Joe walks into the room, blanket tucked under one arm. He stands back until Carwood's finished the broth, and then he lays the new blanket on the one Carwood's already under. "Mama went to bed already," he says. "We're all the company you're gonna get for now."

"That's fine," Carwood replies. He leans back against the pillows and closes his eyes, just meaning to rest for a moment. When he wakes up, it's just after dawn, and Mama's building up the fire. "Oh," Carwood says, and he winces at the way his throat hurts.

"You're still feverish, but you feel cooler than last night," Mama tells him. "You've been coughing some." She rolls over and picks up the teapot from the coffee table. She pours him a cup of tea and holds it out. "Think you can manage?"

"Do my best," he says. The warmth of the cup doesn't give him the shakes this time, and he sips the tea slowly.

"You finish that, and we'll get some more broth in you," Mama says.

Carwood nods slowly, feeling like he might tip over from just the effort. Panzer is still laying against his legs, and he reaches out and scratches her once behind the ears. "She been here the whole time?"

"She's gone out to do her business, and she's eaten, but that's it. George tried to take her with him today, but she wouldn't budge. She didn't even try to follow Joe into the boarding house."

“I’m okay,” Carwood says, but Panzer still doesn’t budge. Carwood finishes the tea and hands the cup to Mama. “Think I can handle some broth,” he says.

“I'll go get it, then..” She rolls into the kitchen, and Carwood carefully maneuvers himself into a half-reclined position. Panzer whines softly until he’s done moving and then realigns with his knees.

Mama comes back with the broth and Carwood drinks it down. He doesn’t feel stronger after he’s finished, but he feels a little less shaky, so he takes the chance and shuffles to the bathroom to relieve himself. He glances in the mirror as he washes his hands, and he’s not surprised that he’s sweaty and pale and looking like he might fall over any second. When he opens the bathroom door, Joe’s leaning against the wall waiting for him.

“I’m steady,” Carwood says.

“Just a precaution,” Joe replies. “I know a little something about being unsteady on your feet.” He doesn’t offer Carwood his arm, but he stays close, one hand ghosting against Carwood’s back as they make their way back to the living room.

“I’d like to be in my own bed,” Carwood says.

“Soon as your fever breaks,” Mama promises. “Until then, it’s warmer out here with the big hearth.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Carwood gets back under the blankets and smiles when his toes touch the hot water bottle. “Thank you, Mama.”

“You rest,” she says.

“You need a book or something?” Joe asks. “Something light,” he assures Mama.

“Please,” Carwood says. He yawns and smiles when Mama pulls the blankets further up his chest. “Thank you.”

“Hush,” Mama replies. She smoothes back his hair and checks his temperature with the back of her hand. “Close your eyes for a few minutes. If you don’t fall asleep, that’s fine, but I want you to try. The fever will break quicker that way.”

Carwood does as he’s told. He hears Joe come back into the room and talk to Mama softly. He feels Panzer shift against him and breathe out against his knees. He actually feels himself going to sleep this time, and he lets himself go.

The next time he wakes, he’s gasping for air and coughing so hard he nearly tumbles off the couch. Someone catches him, though Carwood doesn’t know who because he can’t open his eyes. He clutches at the arm around his chest and rocks back and forth as the coughing intensifies again. Just as he thinks he’s about to pass out, it stops.

“Oh, thank god,” George says as he pushes Carwood back against the pillows. “Thought you were gonna go deadweight on me and send us both to the floor.”

Carwood wheezes as he breathes in, and then he’s coughing again, trying to stifle it against his arm.

“Hey, no need for that,” George says, pulling his arm away. “It doesn’t matter who hears you here.”

“I think—“ Carwood coughs more, chest heaving. He grips hard on the back of the couch to keep himself upright. “I—“

“Mama’s already called the doctor,” George tells him. “Stop trying to talk, you idiot.”

“What’d he do now?” Joe asks as he walks into the room, a cup of something steaming in his hand.

“Tried to talk through all this,” George replies. He stands, and Joe takes his seat.

“You are an idiot,” Joe tells Carwood. He waits for Carwood to finish wheezing, and holds up the cup. “Down the hatch.”

“What is it?” Carwood manages to whisper.

“Mama Toye’s secret recipe for what ails you,” Joe says.

“It’s hot buttered rum,” George explains as Carwood takes the first sip.

“Like I said, Mama Toye’s secret recipe,” Joe replies.

“What’s—“ Carwood manages to stop the cough before it starts again, but it causes pain to radiate through his chest. “What’s so secret about it?”

“Papa Toye wasn’t supposed to know,” Joe says.

Carwood takes another sip, and he sighs in relief when it seems to unknot his chest. “Well, I won’t tell,” he says.

“Drink it slow,” Joe says. “We don’t need you drunk and coughing.”

“Don’t think I could drink it any other way,” Carwood says. There’s a knock at the door, and then Mama comes into the room leading the doctor.

“How many days of fever?” The doctor asks Mama as Joe and George step aside to give him room.

“Three,” Mama says. “The cough started yesterday, but it wasn’t this bad.”

“Hello, Carwood,” the doctor says.

“Doctor Thompson,” Carwood replies. He hands his glass off to Joe and leans back against the pillows so Dr. Thompson can give him a proper looking over.

“I don’t recall you ever having a problem with a cough before,” Doctor Thompson says.

“He got pneumonia in the war,” George says. “Pretty bad.”

“Have you been under stress?” Doctor Thompson asks as he feels Carwood’s glands.

“I just finished my finals,” Carwood replies. “It’s my first semester back.”

“I see,” Doctor Thompson replies. He puts a thermometer in Carwood’s mouth and picks up his wrist to check his pulse. “I do quite a few house calls right after finals,” he tells Mama once he’s counted off the seconds for the pulse check. “A person’s body will hold up under stressful situations, and once that stress is relieved, the body lets loose whatever it’s been holding back.”

“Does anyone else have it this bad?” Mama asks.

“Three days of fever is pretty common, actually. The cough, that may be specialized to Carwood because of his previous history.” Doctor Thompson takes the thermometer from Carwood’s mouth. “One-oh-one,” he says. “Is that lower or higher than it has been?”

“Lower,” Mama says. “It was one-oh-three on the first day.”

“Well, that’s good news,” Doctor Thompson assures her. He puts his stethoscope in his ears and presses the disk to Carwood’s chest. “Breathe as deep as you can,” he says, “but try not to make yourself cough.”

Carwood breathes in slow and careful. He coughs a few times when he breathes out, but it’s not nearly as bad as before.

“Again,” Doctor Thompson says, moving the stethoscope. Carwood repeats. “If you could sit up, please,” Doctor Thompson says, and Carwood sits up so Doctor Thompson can listen to his chest from behind. “Good,” Doctor Thompson tells Carwood when he finishes. He pats Carwood’s arm in sympathy when Carwood wheezes. “Easy,” he says. “Let it come if it wants, but try to breathe through it.”

Carwood coughs long and hard, ending on another wheeze that he feels in his toes. He slumps back against the pillows as Doctor Thompson talks to Mama, George, and Joe, too tired to even pay attention to what’s being said.

“Hey,” Joe says, tapping Carwood’s arm as he sits on the edge of the couch. “Wake up. You need to take this.”

“What is it?” Carwood asks, feeling bleary and leaden.

“Cough syrup. It’ll help you sleep without coughing. Come on.” Joe tilts Carwood’s head back and feeds him a spoonful.

“It’s terrible,” Carwood mutters.

“That’s how you know it’s medicine.”

Carwood twitches and rubs at his eyes, trying to wake up a little. “What’d he say? Is it pneumonia again?”

“No, not quite,” Joe replies. “He says you’ve got a little fluid in your lungs but not enough that it’s dangerous. So as long as you take it easy and get some rest, he thinks you’ll see improvement in a few days.”

“Ron,” Carwood mutters. “Can you—I don’t want to risk him getting sick.”

“I’ll have George send a telegram, okay?”

“Okay.” Carwood closes his eyes and feels Joe leave. He’s not surprised that he falls asleep again.

The rest of the day passes in a long blur of sleep, coughing fits, medicine, and Mama, Joe, and George taking turns feeding him a thin soup to try and keep his strength up. Day turns into night, and then night into very late at night, and Carwood wakes up to find George propped up in the armchair, half-dozing with a book slipping between his fingers. Carwood has a sudden, sharp memory of being sick during the war. George had always been there then, too, even when he was supposed to be somewhere else. There was always a hot cup of coffee out of thin air, or an "extra" scarf George found lying around, or just George telling Carwood stories that would make him smile but not laugh.

“Have to use the restroom,” Carwood says quietly.

George doesn’t jerk awake, just straightens up and yawns hugely. “Okay,” he says. “Come on.”

Carwood leans heavily on him as they walk to the bathroom, but he insists George wait outside while he takes care of his needs.

“If you fall and hit your head, Mama’s gonna hurt you,” George replies, but he stays on the other side of the door until Carwood opens it again.

They get back to the living room, and George maneuvers Carwood to the arm chair. “Let me change out the blankets and pillowcases,” he says. “You’ve been sweating a lot.”

“Okay,” Carwood agrees. He smiles when Panzer jumps into his lap and curls up. He pets her absently as he watches George work. “Is it so bad I need a guard?” he asks.

“Doctor Thompson wanted us to keep an eye on you for the first night, make sure you didn’t get worse,” George explains as he strips the pillows and bundles the blankets into a ball. “Mama and Joe already took their shifts. They didn’t seem worried.”

“And you?” Carwood asks. “You’re the only one here who knows what it sounds like when it gets worse.”

George plumps the pillows and puts them on the couch and shakes out the new blankets before he answers. “You sound like hell, Lip,” he says. “Not as much like hell as last time, but you sound pretty rough.”

“I feel pretty rough.” Carwood lets George help him out of the arm chair and back over to the couch. "But you got me through this once before, so I'm sure it'll be fine."

"You got yourself through it once before," George replies.

"That's not how I remember it," Carwood says, and he smiles when George squeezes his shoulder to show he understands.

“You want the hot water bottle?” George asks. “We’re keeping a pot of water warm just in case.”

“No, I’m warm enough,” Carwood replies. He closes his eyes and sighs in relief at the coolness of the pillow. He doesn't fall asleep right away and discovers he's not actually very tired. He opens his eyes, and George is watching him.

"Not sleepy?" George asks.

"I am," Carwood replies, "but not enough."

"You up for playing checkers or something?"

"I don't think so."

"I can read you some of my book."

"No, thank you."

George gets up from the armchair and sits on the edge of the coffee table. "Well, you need another dose of medicine, so let's deal with that."

Carwood takes the new dose of cough syrup and gives George a grateful look when George hands him a glass of water to rinse the taste out of his mouth. "Thank you," he says. He turns over the memories of George taking care of him last time, and he grins as a new piece of the memory hits him. "I have to say, George, this is a much better couch and blanket situation than last time."

George chuckles. "Yeah, it is." He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and gives Carwood a considering look. "And we're definitely better fed."

"We are."

"I've been thinking about what the doctor said," George says. "About how a body can hold out under stress."

"Yes?" Carwood asks, and then he yawns into his fist, a short series of coughs coming up as he does so. "Sorry."

"No apologizing; you're sick," George says, squeezing his shoulder. "A bunch of us got sick in those woods. I know Babe nearly got taken off the line for that cough of his, and Joe nearly got trench foot, and damn near everyone got at least a bad case of the sniffles. But you," he squeezes Carwood's shoulder again. "You held out beyond the rest of us until Dike was relieved."

"I don't think that's right," Carwood replies.

"No, it's right. I talked to Joe about it earlier, and he doesn't remember you being under the weather before he got pulled off the line, and I don't remember you getting sick until after we took Foy."

"Just good luck, I guess," Carwood says.

"No," George says. "I think you're the stubbornest mother hen in the whole US Army, and you weren't gonna go down until you were sure we were safe. I think you pushed everything back except making sure we were taken care of. And hell, Lip, I don't think I can ever thank you for that."

"I don't need to be thanked--"

"Yeah, I know. You think you were just doing your job, but Lip, seriously, I don't know how to thank you."

Carwood can't come up with a response to the pure honesty and admiration on George's face. He takes one hand out from under the covers, clasps the hand George has on his shoulder, and they look at each other for a long, quiet minute. "All right," Carwood says as he lets go of George's hand. "Let's agree we both did our best to take care of each other."

"Agreed," George says.

"Good. Let me get some sleep here."

"Sure, Lip." George stands and goes back to the armchair, picking up his book. Carwood closes his eyes, and this time he drifts off easily.

He wakes up mid-morning to the sound of a high-pitched yip that isn't Panzer, but he knows it. He sits halfway up on the couch, and a coughing fit knocks him flat on his back. He hacks and hacks, feeling woozy and nauseated, and then someone's lifting him to a sitting position and pulling him in close.

"Try to breathe," Ron says in his ear, and Carwood's so surprised, he gasps and starts coughing all over again. "Sorry," Ron murmurs, and Carwood leans hard against Ron both for the support while he coughs and also so he'll know it's okay.

The cough finally subsides, and Ron rubs Carwood's back in slow strokes up and down. "How…" Carwood asks, too exhausted to say more.

"George sent a telegram. I called my commanding officer and told him I had a family emergency, and then Sherman and I drove down here."

"You didn't have--"

"Yes, I did," Ron says, and Carwood stops trying to talk. "Lie back," Ron says, and he helps Carwood rest against the pillows again. He crouches next to the couch and holds Carwood's head in his hands. "You don't look nearly as bad as last time."

"Good," Carwood manages.

"Ron," Mama says as she rolls into the living room, "Are you going to rest after driving all night?"

“I’ll rest later,” Ron says.

“I thought as much,” she says and places a cup of coffee on the coffee table. “I’ll get you some eggs going.”

“Thank you,” Ron replies. He hasn’t looked away from Carwood, hasn’t stopped cupping his head. When Mama rolls out of the room, he leans in and kisses Carwood on the forehead. “You’re feverish,” he says.

“Have been for a few days,” Carwood says. “Mama says it’s gone down.”

“She mentioned.” Ron smoothes Carwood’s hair back and reaches backwards for his coffee. “Can you sleep?” he asks.

“I don’t want to,” Carwood says, reaching up to curl his fingers over Ron’s where Ron is still cupping his face.

Ron smiles and settles himself on the floor, his back to the couch and still holding Carwood’s hand. “Well, try. It’s the best thing for you.”

Carwood coughs again, just a few times, and he nods off in a few minutes while Ron sits quietly and strokes his thumb over Carwood’s knuckles. When he wakes up again, it looks like only a few hours have passed. He can hear Ron and Mama speaking quietly in the kitchen, and Panzer and Sherman are both curled up on his legs. He tries to sit up, needing to use the restroom, and Sherman lifts her head and barks.

Ron comes into the room. “You need to get up?”

“Yes,” Carwood replies. Ron shoos the dogs off the couch and helps Carwood to his feet. “Let me check my balance,” Carwood says, and Ron takes half a step back so he can. Carwood takes two careful steps forward and then holds out his arm so Ron can help him along. “I want a shower,” Carwood says. He looks at Ron, ready to argue if Ron pushes back, and he notices Ron’s hair is flattened on one side like he had a nap. “Looks like you need one, too.”

“Yes,” Ron replies. “I’ll help you if you’re determined.”

“I am.”

They walk into the kitchen, and Mama looks up from her knitting. “Well?” she asks Ron.

“He wants a shower.”

“Well, if you’re up for a shower, I’ll make you some heavier food,” Mama says to Carwood.

“Please,” Carwood says. “Where are George and Joe?”

“Errands,” Mama says, “and Betsy and Jack called to check on you.”

“That was nice of them.”

“I’ll let them know you’re moving a little.”

“Thank you.”

“Come on,” Ron says and turns Carwood towards the bathroom. He gets Carwood inside and leaves him to relieve himself while he gets fresh clothes for the both of them. “Can you undress yourself?” he asks when he comes back and starts the water running.

Carwood reaches for the buttons on his pajama top, and manages the first two buttons before dropping his hands. “I guess not.”

“Here,” Ron says, stepping over and quickly stripping Carwood of his pajamas. He runs his thumb along Carwood’s ribs and shakes his head. “You’ve lost a few pounds.”

“All I’ve done is sleep and eat broth and soup,” Carwood replies. He watches as Ron takes off his own clothes and leans hard on Ron when Ron reaches for him again.

“Okay?” Ron asks.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Carwood says.

“Of course I’m here,” Ron says, and he helps Carwood into the shower. Ron moves him where he wants him, hands careful at Carwood’s waist and shoulders as he soaps him up. His fingers in Carwood’s hair make Carwood sigh in relief, and it leads to a coughing fit that Ron holds him through, encouraging him to breathe and running his hand up and down Carwood’s spine.

“Okay,” Carwood says after he’s recovered. “I’m okay.”

“Let’s get out,” Ron says. He stops Carwood before Carwood can turn off the water. “Leave it running a few minutes. The steam will be good for you.”

Carwood just nods, exhaustion running over him in a wave. “I don’t remember it being this exhausting last time,” he says as Ron helps him over the edge of the tub.

“You had a few other things to focus on back then,” Ron replies as he gets Carwood to sit on the toilet lid and starts to dry him off. “This time, you only have to focus on getting better.”

Getting into the fresh pajamas makes Carwood perk up a little. He coughs a few times, not nearly as badly as before, and shakes his head when Ron raises an eyebrow in question. “It’s okay,” he says.

Ron doesn’t reply, but gives Carwood a knowing look that tells him Ron’s not buying it. Ron dresses himself, turns off the water, and keeps a hand on Carwood’s back as they return to the kitchen. Mama’s got a chair pulled out and a plate of toast and eggs on the table. It takes some effort, but Carwood eats it all. When he’s finished, he takes his next dose of medicine and sits quietly for a few minutes. Ron sits across from him, not asking any questions, but definitely keeping an eye on him.

“Honey?” Mama asks.

“I’m afraid if I move, I’ll start to cough,” Carwood says. “And I’m not all that tired.”

“There’s a checkerboard in the hall closet,” Mam tells Ron. “You two can play a few games while I get things sorted in the living room,” she says to Carwood. “I think you can move back to your bedroom now that Ron’s here,” Mama says. “I’m sure he’ll keep a close watch on you.”

“He’s done it before,” Carwood says, and Ron smiles and ducks his head as he lays out the board.

They play four games, and Carwood's cough only comes out in short bursts. After the fourth game, Carwood yawns hugely and shakes his head. "I think that's it," he says.

"Stay there," Ron tells him. He puts away the board and the pieces and then comes back, ready to help Carwood up.

"Stay here just a minute," Mama says, as she fills the hot water bottle from a pan on the stove. "Let me get this under the covers to warm it up."

"Yes, Mama," Ron says. He sits back at the table and rubs at the back of Carwood's neck until she comes back down the hall. "Steady," Ron says as he stands and helps Carwood up.

"I'm trying," Carwood replies, leaning heavily as Ron leads him down the hall to his room. Ron sits him in the desk chair so he can check the temperature under the covers and plump the pillows, and then he leads Carwood into the bed itself, tucking him in with a gentle determination that makes Carwood reach for his hands even as his eyes slip shut. "I'm glad you're here," he says.

"Me, too," Ron replies, and he presses a kiss to Carwood's knuckles as Carwood drifts off to sleep.

*

The next few days drift by in the same manner: Carwood sleeps, and he coughs, and he has an hour or two in the day where he's not quite tired enough to sleep. When those hours happen, George and Joe and Mama and Ron all take turns keeping him occupied. His fever drops off completely, but the cough doesn't let go, and Carwood goes to sleep at night with Ron rubbing vaporub onto his chest and then rubbing his his back and pressing in close, sharing his warmth like he did the last time Carwood was sick.

Four days after Ron arrives, Carwood wakes up ten minutes before dawn and feels unquestionably better. He takes a deep breath to test his lungs, and the cough sounds less dry and hacking than it has before. Ron wakes up and kisses his shoulder.

"I think you've turned the corner," he says.

"Yes," Carwood replies. "I think you're right."

They lie quietly for a few minutes until the dogs whine at the bedroom door, and the fact that he's even awake to hear it makes Carwood grin. "I suppose we should take them out," he says.

"I'll take them out," Ron replies. "You'll sit in the kitchen."

Carwood is tempted to argue until he feels the gust of cold air that trails into the house when Ron opens the door. "I'll start coffee," he says.

He gets the percolator going and pulls down two mugs, then a third when he hears Mama rolling down the hall. "Good morning," he says to her.

"Well, good morning," she replies. "Feeling better?"

"Yes."

"I'll call the doctor after breakfast to have him come over and give you a check-up."

"Okay."

Carwood pours the coffee and puts a cup in front of Mama. He sets a cup at his usual spot, and then places Ron's next to him. He sits in his seat and sips his coffee and looks up to find Mama smiling at him. "Yes?"

"I can see you're doing well, even from yesterday," she says. "Your color's up."

"That's good to hear."

Ron comes back inside, the dogs trailing behind. He hangs up his coat and hat and sits next to Carwood without hesitation. "It's clear today," he says, "but it smells like snow."

"We're due for it," Mama replies.

Ron sips his coffee then gives Carwood a considering look. He reaches up and brushes Carwood's hair out of his face. "You look much better," he says.

"Mama was just saying so."

"Well, she's right."

George walks into the living room through the door that connects to the boarding house, and he grins at the sight of Carwood at the table. "Well, look who finally decided to stop lazing around."

"Good morning, George."

"Morning, Lip. Ron. Mama." George ducks and kisses Mama on the head as he crosses over to the coffee pot. He pours two mugs and sets one down at his usual spot while setting the other at Joe's. "You look like you might be able to walk under your own power," he says.

"Maybe," Carwood agrees. "Although I know better than to try just yet," he says when he sees the warning look Mama gives him.

"You don't need a relapse," Mama says. "Especially not so close to Christmas."

"I'll be careful," Carwood promises.

"We'll tie him to a chair if we need to," Ron adds.

Mama shakes her head at them as she rolls over to the stove to start breakfast. Joe comes in a few minutes later, grins at the sight of Carwood at the table, and drops in the chair next to George. "Well, it's about time," he says.

They have breakfast, and George heads off to work, pecking Joe on the cheek as he does every morning. Carwood stands, planning to take his dishes to the sink, but Ron intercepts him and piles them on top of his own.

"You should go sit by the fire," Ron says. "At least until the doctor gets here."

Carwood considers arguing, but he can tell from the set of Joe's jaw and the look in Mama's eyes, it's a losing fight even if Ron comes around. He walks over and sits in the armchair and turns on the radio. He chuckles when Panzer and Sherman both jump into his lap, and he coughs from it, but the fit is over quickly, and he barely feels like he's lost his breath.

"Here," Ron says, handing him a glass of water.

"Thank you," Carwood replies. Ron sits on the floor next to the chair, and Sherman jumps down to curl into his lap. "You don't need to keep an eye on me," Carwood says.

"I do," Ron replies, and Carwood reaches out without thinking and takes his hand.

Mama rolls into the room, and Ron tries to take his hand away, but Carwood clenches hard to keep him from escaping. "Doctor Thompson said he'll be here in a couple of hours," Mama says as she rolls close to them and reaches down for her yarn basket. She pulls out a hank of dark blue yarn and unwinds it so it's laid over both of her hands, the ends dangling. "Ron, could you hold this while I wind it?"

"Certainly," Ron replies, and he lets go of Carwood's hand so Mama can place the yarn over his fingers, tucking it in close to the space between his thumb and first finger.

"Carwood, honey, turn up the radio, would you? I want to hear the weather."

"Yes, Mama," Carwood replies as he does so.

They pass the next couple of hours quietly, the radio making most of the noise. When Doctor Thompson shows up, it's Ron who answers the door, and Carwood listens to them greet each other and make introductions.

Doctor Thompson smiles when he walks into the living room. "Well, you already look better on the outside," he says as he gives Carwood a quick once-over, then turns to greet Mama.

"I feel better," Carwood replies. "Not fully better, but improved."

"Let's see what my exam says," Doctor Thompson says. He checks Carwood's pulse and temperature, feels his throat glands, and then makes him breathe as he listens with the stethoscope. The breathing makes Carwood cough again, but Doctor Thompson pats his arm and says, "That's not unusual even during recovery. You probably coughed for awhile after the last time you were ill."

"I don't really remember," Carwood says.

"You did," Ron interjects. "For a couple of weeks after."

"Your lungs sound much better," Doctor Thompson says. "Keep taking the cough medicine as needed. Don't push yourself to get back on your feet right away. Recovery takes time."

"Yes, sir," Carwood replies.

"We'll keep him in line," Ron says. "We've got some practice."

Doctor Thompson huffs a laugh and lets Mama show him to the door. Carwood shakes his head at Ron. Ron walks over as they hear the door close and touches Carwood's cheek.

"Almost a clean bill of health," Carwood says.

"Yes," Ron replies.

"You heard the doctor," Mama says as she comes back into the room. "Don't push yourself."

"I won't," Carwood promises. "I would like to get into some actual clothes, though."

"I'll help you," Ron says, and he holds out his hand to help Carwood up from his chair.

When they're in Carwood's room, Ron presses him against the wall and places soft kisses on his neck. They're not titillating; they're warm and comforting. Carwood tilts his head to give Ron better access, and Ron chuckles against his throat and kisses Carwood behind the ear. "I'm glad you're feeling better," Ron says.

"Me, too," Carwood agrees, and he wraps his arms around Ron simply because he can. Because he was sick and now he's getting better, and Ron is here to hold onto because Ron came to take care of him. Carwood presses his head to Ron's shoulder and sighs in contentment when Ron rubs his hands softly up and down his back. "I've missed you. I'm sorry you had to come in to take care of me, but I don't regret the extra time."

"Don't apologize for letting me take care of you," Ron says, and this time he kisses Carwood on the mouth.

The rest of the day passes quietly. George and Joe are both congratulatory when Mama gives them the good news over lunch. She calls Betsy and Jack and Murray and Vanessa to let them know Carwood's mostly back on his feet, and it's no surprise when the house is full at lunchtime the next day with everyone coming by to see Carwood for themselves.

"It was awful nice of Ron to come down early and help out," Vanessa says to Carwood as they talk on the couch. Ron is having a conversation with Betsy and Jack, both of them looking very serious and involved. Murray and George and Joe are playing a light game of fetch with the dogs in the kitchen, Mama supervising to make sure they don't break anything.

"It was," Carwood agrees.

"He's a good friend to you," Vanessa says. "I'm glad of that."

"Me, too," Carwood says. He glances at Ron, who looks over like he knows Carwood's looking his way. He gives a short nod, then turns his attention back to Betsy and Jack.

Everyone's gone by dinner time, and Carwood finds he's exhausted as they sit down to eat. He manages a few bites before putting down his fork and knife and simply staring at his plate.

"You okay?" Joe asks, looking up from cutting his meat.

"Apparently, I could have used a few less visitors," Carwood says. He yawns hugely, and it takes him a moment to open his eyes again.

"Don't bother with the meat," Ron says. "Just eat your vegetables and potato. You need something in your system."

"I've still got some soup in the icebox," Mama offers. "I can heat it up."

"I don't want to be a bother," Carwood says, stifling another yawn. He picks up his fork and rolls some peas onto it. He manages to eat them all and all of his potatoes and two more bites of his meat just to be a little stubborn. When he goes to bed, Ron tucks him in but goes back to the living room, and Carwood listens to the sounds of Ron talking with Mama, George, and Joe as he drifts off to sleep.

*

The next few days pass the same way. Carwood spends more time napping than he would necessarily like, but he knows it's required to get healthy again. Wherever he falls asleep, he wakes up to a blanket draped over him and Ron nearby. Ron reads or listens to the radio or talks with Mama, George, and Joe. Once, when Carwood wakes up after drifting off on the couch, he finds Ron knitting right along with Mama.

"Where'd you learn that?" he asks.

"A few of my men who were sent to field hospitals learned," Ron replies. "I learned a little to try and build some camaraderie with them, but I haven't done it much since I got back."

"It's come back to you just fine," Mama tells him. "I taught Carwood years ago, but I doubt he remembers."

"I don't," Carwood agrees.

"Crochet, too," Mama adds. "You made a few little hats when you were young."

"Did I?"

"Yes, but you couldn't have been more than four."

"Maybe I should take it up again," Carwood says. "It'd keep me still until I was healthy again."

"That's why I taught him in the first place," Mama tells Ron. "It was easier to keep an eye on him if he were in one place."

Carwood smiles as they chuckle and sits up, letting the blanket slide into his lap. He's smoothing down his hair when Joe comes in with the mail. He hands Carwood a small, yellow envelope. "Think it's your grades," he says as he passes a few envelopes to Mama and keeps three for himself.

The University seal is on the front of the envelope, and Carwood opens it with careful fingers, feeling nervous and queasy like he did when he first learned he'd be training to be a paratrooper. He pulls out the slip of mimeo paper with his grades stamped in purple ink, and he grins. "Straight A's," he says. Joe whoops, and Mama congratulates him softly. Carwood looks up, from Joe to Mama to Ron, and he reads the pride on Ron's face as clearly as the longing. "Well, that's one semester down," he says to Ron.

"Yes," Ron replies. "Congratulations."

Mama goes into the kitchen to call around with the good news. Joe sits on the far end of the couch and opens his own mail. Ron gets up from the armchair and crouches next to Carwood, reaching out to touch the report card himself.

"I knew you'd do it," Ron says. "I was certain."

"Thank you," Carwood replies. "I think next semester I'll go a little easier on myself, though."

"If you wouldn't mind," Ron says. He busses Carwood's cheek and stands and walks into the kitchen.

"Good job," Joe says.

"Thank you," Carwood replies. Joe's only opened one of his pieces of mail. From the angle he's holding it, Carwood can see it's a letter. "Your parents?" he guesses.

"Yeah. Just sending peace and goodwill and all that." Joe flaps the letter between his thumb and forefinger. "They want me to visit for New Year's."

"That could be nice."

Joe shrugs. "Maybe. I dunno. I'd want to take George, but they wouldn't go for it, and I don't want to spend New Year's without him."

"I understand," Carwood says. Joe looks uncomfortable, so Carwood gestures to the two large envelopes in Joe's lap. "What about those? You've gotten a few of those this week."

"These are for George. He wants to branch out into building things, so he ordered some plans from a catalog."

"He hasn't mentioned it."

Joe shrugs. "I think he wants to wait until he's actually ready to build something."

"Oh," Carwood replies. "Well, I won't say anything."

"Thanks, Lip."

"Sure, Joe." Carwood yawns and slides back down into a prone position on the couch. He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them, Joe's grinning at him.

"I'll let you get some rest," Joe says as he stands, taking his mail with him.

Carwood doesn't even try to argue that he's fine, he just closes his eyes again and lets himself fall asleep.

Chapter Text

*

December 23rd creeps up on Carwood. He blames it on being ill and sleeping so much. Betsy calls mid-morning, so agitated Carwood can barely understand her. He hands the phone to Mama after half a minute with an apologetic look, but Mama isn't fazed.

"Betsy, honey, you sound like you've got bees in your mouth. Take a deep breath." Ron and Carwood share a smile when Mama gives them a fondly exasperated look. "Okay, honey, take another deep breath and try to slow down a little."

When she gets off the phone ten minutes later, she blows out a breath and shakes her head. "The good news," she says as she rolls back over to the table, "is that Betsy's mother has finally decided to be decent and talk to her again. The bad news is, she's demanding Betsy and Jack be at her house for all of Christmas Day, so we'll have to move our own celebration to tomorrow."

"That shouldn't be too difficult," Carwood says. "I'm sure Vanessa and Murray can make it work, and Bobby's visiting his parents, so we don't have to worry about him."

"Mr. Kenny's visiting a cousin this year, which makes things easier as well," Mama says.

"What do we need to do to prepare?" Ron asks.

"Wrap anything you haven't gotten to yet and get it under the tree," Mama says. "I'll figure out the rest."

Carwood loses the whole morning wrapping gifts in his bedroom so they can go under the tree that night. "I meant to do this last week," he says to Ron, who's sitting on the bed and watching him with a smile on his face.

"No one's going to care if the corners are crooked, Carwood."

"I'll care," Carwood replies. "I don't want them to think I forgot."

"They all know you were sick and working hard before that," Ron says. "I'm sure you won't be the only one scrambling a little with the date changing." He stands and comes behind Carwood, resting his hands on Carwood's shoulders. "What is it?" he asks.

Carwood sighs and shrugs. "I don't know. I just feel...off."

"Is it the date change?"

"I don't know," Carwood says. "Maybe it's because I'm still recovering."

"Could be. Is it the number of people? There's more this year than last Christmas."

"Only George and Joe. Miss Woods won't be here this year," Carwood replies, feeling himself smile. "Which is for the best, really, because I think you only get one chance to commit a felony for Christmas gifts."

"I left money on the counter." Ron replies with a chuckle. He presses a kiss to the top of Carwood's head. "Where is she this year?"

"Home for Christmas. Her mother insisted, and she couldn't come up with a good reason to stay here."

"It's a shame she and Betsy couldn't have discussed tactics," Ron says.

Carwood chuckles in agreement, but it cuts off abruptly. "I suppose it's that Jack and Betsy and Murray and Vanessa will be here at all," he admits as he turns so he can look at Ron. "We've had the run of the house since you got here, and we'll have to watch ourselves while they're over. I suppose I want the presents to be wrapped just so to distract them."

"They were over a few days ago, and it didn't bother you then."

"They were only over for a bit, though. Murray and Vanessa will be here by early afternoon tomorrow and stay the whole day until bedtime. and I'm certain Betsy will show up earlier than that to help. It's…" Carwood shakes his head, not sure what words he's looking for.

"They'd keep the same schedule on Christmas Day, wouldn't they?" Ron asks.

"Yes, but it's...it's different for some reason, even though it's not. I don't know." Carwood leans back against Ron's hands feeling frustrated.

"I'm going to sneak you away to the kitchen and kiss you under that mistletoe," Ron says, and his tone makes it a promise. "House full of people or not."

Carwood smiles, and continues. "I feel a little resentful, I guess. That they'll no doubt be affectionate towards one another, and you and me, George and Joe can't do that as easily. I don't want to feel resentful, especially not towards people I care about as much as I do about all of them." Carwood looks back at the half-wrapped gift on his desk and sighs. "It feels petty, especially this time of year."

Ron doesn't say anything. He massages lightly at Carwood's shoulders and presses another kiss to the top of his head. He's got nothing to add to the conversation, Carwood figures, and that's fine. His resentment isn't something he really wants to talk about anyway, not with how bad it makes him feel. He picks up the scissors and cuts another sheet of wrapping paper. He finishes wrapping the gift and sets it aside. He's reaching for the next one when Ron finally speaks.

"Murray and Vanessa will invite us to the Honky Tonk for the day after Christmas, right?"

"I expect so."

"We should go," Ron says. "They're your friends, and they'll want to spend time with you. And I think it would cheer you up."

"Am I that maudlin?"

"No. I just think it would be good for the both of us." Ron rubs at Carwood's shoulders again. "I feel like we would get into more trouble trying to take every second that I'm here to ourselves."

Carwood considers that as he cuts the paper around the gift. "I think that's a good idea," he says. He tries not to think about how little time they have, but he can't help glancing at the calendar. Nine days should feel like forever after so many short visits, but it doesn't.

*

Carwood wakes up on Christmas Eve to Ron sliding a hand between his legs and tracing his thumb over Carwood's scar. "Let me see it," Ron says, and Carwood opens his legs and turns on the bedside lamp.

Ron's hair is messy, flattened on one side and sticking out on the other. His hands are warm as they trail up Carwood's legs. In the light of the lamp, he's half in shadows, and Carwood can't look away from him. When Ron ducks his head and presses his mouth to Carwood's scar, it makes Carwood arch his back and swallow down a moan.

"Shhh," Ron says against Carwood's inner thigh as he moves his mouth higher. He licks the next part of the scar, and he reaches up one hand so Carwood can grab it and hold tight. "Easy," he whispers and slides his mouth down again to catch the trailing edge that flows up to just below Carwood's groin.

Carwood arches again when Ron places a soft kiss on his balls and then trails his mouth up over his shaft. A cough catches in the back of his throat, and Carwood tries to hold it back, but it escapes. Ron levers himself up so he's balanced above Carwood and cups Carwood's head with his free hand.

"Breathe in," he says, and Carwood manages, though it burns. "Good," Ron says, and he doesn't move until Carwood's silent again. "I was afraid that would happen."

"You don't sound remorseful at all," Carwood replies. He tugs at their joined hands until Ron shifts and presses against him.

"You don't sound like I should be," Ron says with a smile. He presses his thumb to the scar on Carwood's cheek. "It's been a year," he says.

"It has," Carwood replies. He reaches up with his free hand and smoothes back Ron's hair.

They don't say anything else. Ron presses his head to Carwood's shoulder, and they simply lay together until the dogs whine loudly enough they can't ignore them anymore.

"I'm coming out with you," Carwood says as he and Ron walk down the hall to let the dogs out.

"Bundle up," Ron replies. He stands by the backdoor and watches Carwood put on his coat and hat and gloves and scarf. He steps forward and tightens Carwood's scarf before nodding. "Okay."

"You're not even wearing a coat," Carwood says.

Ron pauses, one foot out the door, then turns and grabs his coat. He slips it on and buttons it up as they step onto the back porch. "Here," he says, holding his cigarettes out to Carwood.

Carwood considers not taking it. He's been abstaining since the cough came on, but it gives me an extra excuse to be close to Ron, so takes one and leans in so Ron can light it. He smiles when Ron presses a kiss against the side of his head. "I'm okay," he says.

"I know," Ron replies. "I just want to touch you while I can."

They hold hands while they have their cigarettes, Carwood letting his dangle from the corner of his mouth and not really breathing it in while he chafes Ron's hand between his gloved ones. Ron smiles at him and doesn't protest. When they go inside, Joe's making coffee and getting breakfast started. George is sitting at the kitchen table, simply watching him work.

"First time in a long time we haven't had at least one boarder stay over," Carwood says.

"Yeah, Mama said the same thing yesterday," Joe replies. "But lucky you, that means you get the Toye special."

"That means he spits in it," George says.

"Only yours," Joe replies.

George stands up and crowds Joe against the stove, dropping a smacking kiss on the back of his neck. "That's how I know you love me," he says.

"Get it out of your system," Joe says with false malice. "You don't get to manhandle me when people are over."

"That's never stopped them," Ron mutters to Carwood, and Carwood laughs so hard at his tone it makes him cough again.

"Hey, don't break the merchandise," George says as he walks back over to the table with coffee for the three of them. "We just got it glued back together."

"I'm fine," Carwood replies.

"You do sound better," Mama says as she rolls into the kitchen. "I don't think you coughed much at all last night."

"You didn't," Ron confirms. He stands and walks to the icebox, taking down the cough medicine and nodding in thanks when Joe hands him a spoon. "But you're coughing now, so you should take a dose."

Carwood lets Ron feed him the spoonful of medicine and gladly washes the taste away with a drink of coffee. "I'll be careful today," he says in answer to the concerned look Mama gives him. "I won't lift a finger unless you ask."

"Well, you're try at least," Mama replies, and even Carwood has to chuckle at the truth in that statement.

*

Betsy and Jack--just as Carwood predicted--arrive first, just after lunch.. Vanessa and Murray are only an hour behind. Vanessa and Betsy take over the kitchen with Mama while Murray and Jack join the other men in the living room.

"Let's give Carwood the armchair," Ron says as they're deciding seats. "He needs to stay warm." Ron presses his hand to the center of Carwood's back to move him towards the chair, and that makes Carwood take it as much as understanding Ron is trying to put some distance between them so they don't reach for each other.

"It was real nice of you to come down and help take care of Carwood," Jack says to Ron.

"Well, I've been through it before," Ron replies.

"Yeah, George mentioned," Murray says. "Must be a hell of thing, having pneumonia in the middle of a war zone."

"It was okay," Carwood replies. He watches Ron sit on the far end of the couch, on the other side of George and Joe. "Nothing to do but let it take its course."

"Sure," Murray says, though he doesn't sound like he believes it. He turns to Jack, who's sitting on the hearth. "How's married life, kid?"

Jack beams. "It's great," he says. "We got our own tree, and we went and picked out ornaments together."

"The house holding up?" George asks.

"Oh, yeah. We got it all set up. It's real nice."

Carwood stands up from his chair. "Think I'll have a cigarette," he says.

"I'll join you," Joe says.

Carwood pauses in the doorway to the kitchen. Joe catches up to him, and Ron stays seated. Carwood leads the way to the back porch and is halfway through his cigarette before either of them speak.

"You all right?" Joe asks.

"Fine," Carwood replies.

"Sure," Joe says. "Me, too." He grins at Carwood, but it's hard on the edges. "Sitting next to him doesn't make it easier," he says.

"I'd imagine not." Carwood watches the cigarette burn down in his hand and leans down to drop it between the porch boards when it's dead. "I feel like a heel being annoyed about it. It's Christmas."

Joe snorts. "Jesus, you are too much sometimes, Lip."

The back door opens before Carwood can answer. The rest of the men and the dogs are piling out of the back door, George leading the way. "We got lonely," George says.

"Also, a smoke sounds good," Murray adds.

Carwood stands and moves over to sit on the porch railing. George drops into his vacated chair, and Ron sits next to Carwood, scooting in close to make room for Jack and Murray to crowd in on the railing. George gives Carwood a grin that tells him George knew exactly what he was doing, and Carwood feels a little lighter and looser.

"Here," Ron says, holding out Carwood's scarf. "You forgot this."

"Thanks," Carwood replies. Their fingers touch as he takes it from Ron. He wraps it around his neck, then reaches into his pocket for his lighter. Ron leans over to get the light for his cigarette, and he cups his hand over Carwood's on the pretense of keeping the flame going.

"Thanks," he murmurs to Carwood.

"You're welcome," Carwood replies. He runs his thumb over the designs on the lighter before he pockets it again.

"Oh, hey, Carwood," Murray says, breaking off a conversation with Joe, "How'd you do in your classes?"

"Just fine," Carwood says.

"Aced them," George tells Murray. "Made himself sick as a damn dog and aced them."

"I don't know," Murray says, glancing into the yard where the dogs are playing. "The dogs look pretty okay."

"You still look like you've been sick," Jack says to Carwood.

Carwood shakes his head. "Thanks," he says. "That's nice to know."

Everyone chuckles, and they stay outside a while, talking and smoking a few more cigarettes, though Carwood passes on having any more. It doesn't stop him from breaking into a coughing fit as the cold really gets settled in his lungs, and Ron immediately grabs his arm and gets him on his feet. "Inside," he says.

"That's an order, Lieutenant," George says in Ron's voice. Joe bursts out laughing, and Ron sighs audibly as he gets Carwood inside.

"Oh, you should have come in sooner," Mama says as she pours a cup of coffee, pauses, and then adds a shot of whiskey.

"You sound just awful," Vanessa adds. "This is an improvement?"

"A noticeable one," Ron tells her as he unwinds Carwood's scarf and helps him out of his coat. "Sit," he says.

Carwood sits and takes the coffee Mama hands him. He breathes in slowly as the cough subsides. "It's okay," he says when he looks up and sees Vanessa and Betsy looking at him with concern. "It really is."

"It sounds like it hurts," Betsy says.

"No, not so much."

"Liar," Vanessa says. That makes Betsy laugh.

"It's okay," Carwood repeats.

Vanessa shakes her head. "You could lose your head and claim it wasn't a bother, I swear."

Ron sits next to Carwood and claps him on the shoulder. "Shouldn't have let you stay out there so long," he says.

"It's fine," Carwood replies. "I was enjoying the company." He bumps his knee against Ron's as the women turn back to their work.

*

Dinner goes on just after six. Carwood sits at the head of the table with Ron to his right followed by George and Joe and smiles when Mama asks Jack to cut the roast.

"But Carwood--"

"Doesn't need to exert himself," Mama says. "And besides, you're a married man now. You'll need the practice for your own holidays."

That makes Betsy beam and the rest of the table smile in agreement. When everyone's served, Mama waves off any prayer, and they dig in. Vanessa and Murray are to Carwood's left, Jack and Betsy on the far end of the table next to Mama. Murray and Jack are discussing the finer points of rebuilding engines. George and Joe are already half-sunk into their own little world, and Betsy's talking with Mama about something Carwood can't hear from his seat.

Vanessa smiles at Ron and says, "I think we were in these same places last year."

"I think you're right," Ron replies. "Except that was Christmas Day."

"Yes." Vanessa squeezes Carwood's arm. "Thank you for having us for Christmas Eve."

"You're welcome," Carwood says. "We're glad you could make it. I'm surprised Murray's family didn't demand you go to them."

"We flipped for it," Vanessa says. "And they have Christmas Day dinner in the evening, so there's no conflict there."

"You'll be busy," Ron says.

"Yes, but it's a good busy." She accepts the gravy when Murray passes it down and pours some on her potatoes. "How long are you here, Ron?"

"Through the New Year. I'll probably drive back to Boston on the first."

"You can't tell me there's something more exciting in Huntington than in Boston on New Year's."

"The company's better," Ron says, and he nudges Carwood's knee under the table.

"You must have someone you could ring in the New Year with," Vanessa says. Her eyes widen, and she holds out a hand in apology. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound like I'm digging for information. I was just talking to Murray about how you're here on all the holidays but you never bring anyone with you."

"Well, I bring Sherman," Ron says, and Vanessa chuckles.

"And she's a lovely lady, but that's not quite what I'm thinking."

"I have someone," Ron says, and Carwood nearly chokes on the carrot he's just put in his mouth. "But it's a bit complicated, and it's easier for me to travel on the holidays."

"Well, then I'll just stop asking questions," Vanessa says.

Carwood tries to catch Ron's eye, but Ron concentrates on his food long enough that Carwood is certain he'll start to raise suspicions. "How'd the reading challenge go at the library?" he asks Vanessa.

"Oh, wonderful!" she says and launches into a detailed explanation of the whole thing.

When dinner is over, the men go out to smoke before they open presents, and everyone flat refuses to give Carwood a cigarette.. "I think I'll stretch my legs, then," Carwood says, equally annoyed and amused by their care. "I've been sitting or lying down mostly the last couple of weeks."

"I'll come with," Ron replies. "Just around the block?"

"Yes," Carwood says. "George, tell Mama we won't dwaddle."

"You better not," George replies. "It's Christmas!" he says in a childish soprano. Joe cuffs him on the back of the head while Murray and Jack break into huge Santa laughs.

The dogs follow when Carwood opens the gate and leads the way out. He and Ron walk in silence until they get to the corner and turn. Ron lights two cigarettes and hands one over.

"Oh, now I can have one?" Carwood asks.

"I was not going to have your mother and Vanessa yelling at me if it set you off," Ron replies.

"I can't believe you almost told Vanessa," Carwood says. He places the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and lets it mostly burn on its own like he'd done that morning.

"I had to say something," Ron replies. "And there are ways to tell the truth without lying."

"But what if she'd pressed you?"

"There was no real chance. She'll only pry so far. She's curious, not rude."

Carwood shakes his head, and he can't help his smile. "You're right, but I still can't believe you said anything."

"I don't want to deny you," Ron says. "I won't lie about you if I don't have to."

"But if she'd pushed," Carwood says. "What then?"

Ron thinks as they round the second corner. He whistles for Sherman when she gets a little too far ahead. "I'd say I was with someone named Carrie."

Carwood barks a laugh, and he sees the surprise on Ron's face. "One of my teachers in elementary school didn't like my name," he says. "She tried to call me Carrie, but Mama put her foot down. Vanessa was in that class with me."

Ron chuckles. "Well, it's good she didn't ask then," he replies. "That could have gotten uncomfortable."

They turn the last corner, coming up on the side of the house, and Carwood pauses in the shadows at the far end of the street and reaches for Ron's hand. "Stand here with me for a second," Carwood says as he stubs out his cigarette and nudges it into the street.

"You're going to start coughing again from the cold," Ron replies.

"Just for a second," Carwood says. "I just want to touch you before we go inside."

"Okay," Ron says and squeezes his hand.

They stand for nearly a minute, shoulder-to-shoulder and holding hands the whole time. When Carwood begins to pull away, Ron turns and lands a kiss up high on his cheek just by his ear. "Thank you," Carwood says.

"You're welcome," Ron replies.

They walk up to the house with their hands in their pockets. George and Joe are still on the back porch, standing close together and talking about something. When Carwood opens the gate, they glance over and wave and then go back to their conversation.

"Everything okay?" Carwood asks as he and Ron and the dogs walk up the ramp.

"Just needed a minute," George says.

Joe reaches out and hooks his arm around George's neck. "Just a few more hours," he mutters, and George nods and sighs and pulls a face.

"I know," he says. He gives Carwood an apologetic look. "Not that I don't love all the company--"

"You don't have to explain to me, George," Carwood interrupts. "Take another minute if you need it. Ron and I can distract everyone that long."

"Thanks, Lip."

"You're welcome."

He and Ron walk inside. The dogs make a beeline for the living room and flop in front of the fire. Carwood and Ron unbundle themselves and follow. Ron pushes Carwood towards the arm chair like he did earlier, and then he sinks down next to it.

"We can grab you a chair," Jack offers.

"No, thank you," Ron says. "It's warm right here, and a chair won't fit."

"Where are George and Joe?" Mama asks.

"Right here!" George calls out as he opens the back door. "Just had to prove Joe wrong."

"He didn't," Joe adds.

In another minute, George and Joe are settled in the living room as well, and Vanessa offers to hand out her gifts first.

Carwood's gift from Vanessa is an anthology that looks suspiciously like the book he knows he needs for his Lit survey course next semester.

"It is," Vanessa says before Carwood can even ask. "The Lit professors always call over and let us know which books they'll be teaching so we can get a copy on the reserved list. I thought I'd save you the hassle and get you a better quality one than what they have in the bookstore. I think you'll keep it. It has a lot of good stories."

"Thank you," Carwood says. "That's very thoughtful." He places the book next to the chair behind Ron. "Don't lean back too far," he says.

"I won't," Ron says as he finishes unwrapping his own gift. It's a hardback copy of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, and Ron stares at it like he's seen a ghost.

"Do you have it already?" Vanessa asks.

"I did once," Ron replies. He opens the cover and turns the first few pages. "It was just a paperback. I bought it in England. It...got lost." He looks at Vanessa as he closes the book like he's afraid it'll break. "Thank you," he says. "It's one of my favorites."

"Oh, mine, too!" Vanessa says. "It's why I picked it, actually. I figured, if nothing else, a librarian's recommendation might be listened to."

"Absolutely," Ron says.

Carwood looks across the room at George, and the look George gives him tells him he's just realized the same thing as Carwood: The well-used, dog-eared copy of the book that got passed around Easy in the latter part of the war must have been Ron's. There was only the one copy, and no one ever knew where it came from.

Murray passes out his gifts next, and Carwood unwraps a hand held radio. "Well," Carwood says, turning it over in his hands. "This is great."

"I figure you spend so much time in your room with your books, it might be nice to have something to listen to," Murray says. "There's a cord in the back compartment above where the batteries go, so you can plug it in or take it with you, too."

"This is really swell," Carwood tells him. He sets the radio on top of the book.

Mama has George pass around her gifts. Carwood receives a new scarf and hat, and under them both, a box of fine stationery with matching envelopes. The stationery has Carwood's initials stamped in a watermark in the center of the page, and the envelopes have a handsome blue stripe down one side.

"This is very nice, Mama," Carwood says, and when he looks up to smile at her, he's surprised to see she's teary-eyed. "Mama?"

She shakes her head. "Never you mind," she says. "I'm just enjoying my Christmas."

"Yes, ma'am." Carwood puts the stationary and hat and scarf on top of the radio. He's not sure what he'll do with the stationary; it's the sort of thing you save for important letters, and he doesn't write those at all, but he's sure he'll find a use for it.

Jack and Betsy gift Carwood a tin of homemade cookies, and Carwood immediately eats one because he can see Betsy is practically vibrating with nerves. "These are delicious," he says. "Ron, have one."

"Thank you," Ron says. "They're very good."

"They're all my mama's recipes," Betsy says. "She always makes a tin for me and my cousins, and I wanted to keep up the tradition."

"Any tradition with food is a tradition worth keeping," Murray says. "And they look great."

"Help yourself," Carwood says, placing the tin on the coffee table. "If Betsy doesn't mind me sharing."

"Not at all," she replies and grabs two for herself.

George goes next. "These are actually from me and Joe together," he tells Carwood and Ron as he hands them their presents. They're the same size.

"Okay," Carwood says. He opens the box to find a beautiful leather overnight bag with his initials stamped on the side. He knows without asking he's meant to use it to go visit Ron. "Thank you," he says, managing to swallow back the emotion he feels. "I've been needing a new one." He's not surprised to see a matching bag in Ron's hands.

Ron rubs his thumb over the stamped letters of his initials. "This is very fine," he says.

"Can't have the officers traveling shabby," Joe says with a grin, and Carwood and Ron both chuckle at that.

Joe goes next, passing out his gifts to everyone else, and then Carwood offers to go, handing Ron his gift first before passing out the rest. He wants to lean over Ron's shoulder and watch him open his present, but it's not possible in mixed company. Jack gets his gift open first and cocks his head at the well-kept but clearly used toolbox he's unwrapped.

"It was Daddy's," Carwood says. "I thought you could use it, being a married man and all."

"Oh," Jack says. He opens the toolbox with great reverence and looks deeply touched. "Thanks, Carwood."

"You're welcome."

"Oh, that reminds me," Mama says with a small, wicked grin. "Not to cut in on your turn, Ron, but there is one more gift for Betsy I meant to give her."

"Please, go ahead," Ron replies.

"Carwood, honey, if you could grab it?"

"Of course, Mama," Carwood replies. He gets up and walks into the kitchen, pulling down the Christmas silver they didn't use this year because Mama had just finished polishing it up the night before. He takes it to Mama, who beckons Betsy over.

"Yes, Ma'am?" Betsy asks.

Mama holds out the box. "Tradition in the family has always dictated this be gifted to the married couple on their second anniversary, but if you and Jack have taught us anything this year, it's that happiness should override tradition. It makes me very happy now to give you the family silver because you're a Lipton now, young lady, and we don't ever want you to think you weren't welcome here."

Betsy tears up and flings her arms around Mama, hugging her tight. "Oh my goodness," she says. "Oh my goodness."

Jack cuts Carwood a suspicious look, but he's smiling. "Funny," he says. "You giving me Daddy's toolbox and Mama just remembering that last gift at the same time."

"Oh, hush," Mama says as Betsy takes the box of silver from her and walks back over to Jack. "I was never any good at subterfuge, but I also wanted it to be a real surprise."

"It was," Betsy says. "It really was."

Jack looks from the silver to the toolbox to Carwood. "You sure?" he asks. "Feels like one of these oughta go to you."

"Like Mama said, happiness over tradition. I'd rather you two have them both," Carwood replies.

Jack looks at Betsy. Betsy nods with such vigor, everyone laughs. "Okay," Jack says. "Thank you."

"Thank you," Betsy parrots.

"You're welcome," Carwood and Mama say at the same time.

"Sorry to make you follow that," Carwood murmurs to Ron.

"I'm happy to," Ron replies. He stands and makes his way to the tree, handing out gifts to everyone, ending with Carwood. Carwood's gift has a small note attached.

There's a second gift once it's private again.

Carwood slants Ron a look, but Ron doesn't see it, busy getting thanked from everyone in the room. Carwood opens the gift and laughs when he sees it's a bottle of schnapps. "Did you get this before or after you heard I was ill?" Carwood asks, turning the bottle so George can see it and laugh with him.

"Before, actually," Ron says. "It went over so well last year, I thought I'd repeat it."

"We'll have to have some tonight while everyone is here," Carwood replies. "I can open it right now if everyone wants."

"Oh, do," Mama says. "It'll be a nice, warm way to finish the night."

"I'll help you get glasses," Ron says, and he follows Carwood into the kitchen. He pauses just under the mistletoe, cups Carwood's cheek, and kisses him.

Carwood leans into it and smiles. "Sneak," he says.

"Yes," Ron agrees.

"There's a second gift?" Carwood asks as they pull apart.

"Yes, but it's a bit more expensive than everyone else's, and I didn't want to call attention to it."

Carwood bites back his automatic response of Ron not needing to spend money. "I look forward to seeing it," he says, and Ron's soft smile makes Carwood warm all over. "Did you like your gift?"

"I was thinking about driving gloves all the way down here," Ron says. "They're exactly what I would have bought myself."

"They're lined with rabbit fur," Carwood says. "I thought it'd help keep you warmer in Boston."

"It will," Ron agrees. "I'm glad to have them."

Carwood glances over his shoulder and listens for footsteps. Everyone is still in the living room from the sound of things, so he leans over and presses a kiss to Ron's cheek. "I'm glad to have you," he says.

Ron gives him that soft smile again. "Likewise."

They carry the glasses out and pour everyone a measure of schnapps. Mama holds up her glass and everyone follows suit. "I didn't have Carwood give the toast at dinner because I didn't want him to interrupt himself coughing," she says. "So, if I may, I would just like to say that I wish you all happiness and kindness, and I look around the room and see a wonderful, loving family I am happy to have in my home."

"Here, here," Murray says, and they all echo it and drink.

The evening winds down quickly after that. Betsy is clearly nervy about seeing her mother the next day, so she and Jack leave almost as soon as they finish their drinks. Murray and Vanessa stay only a few minutes longer. Carwood steps onto the back porch with Ron, George, and Joe to see them off while Mama clears the wrapping paper from the living room.

"Lenny's the day after Christmas?" Murray asks. "And the Honky Tonk after?"

"Sure," Carwood replies.

"I'm looking forward to going back," Ron says.

"We're always in," George says, jerking a thumb in Joe's direction.

"We'll see you then," Vanessa says. "Six o'clock at Lenny's."

"Are Jack and Betsy going?" Carwood asks.

"They were, but now maybe not," Vanessa says. "With her mother finally defrosting, she wants to keep her schedule open the next few days."

"Hope it's worth it," Joe mutters and he refuses to look cowed when George gives him a dirty look.

"I'm with Joe," Murray says. He shrugs when Vanessa sighs. "I know you think it's mean, honey, but I am."

"I don't think it's mean," Vanessa says. "I hate that I have to think about it."

"Well, maybe we won't have to much longer," Carwood says.

"Forever the optimist," George says in a stage whisper, and that makes everyone laugh.

"Good night," Vanessa says, hugging Carwood. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Carwood says as he returns the hug. He steps over to Murray to shake his hand, and then steps back so George, Joe, and Ron can all say their goodbyes. They stay on the porch until Murray's pulled into the street.

When they walk back inside, the living room is clean, and there are two packages on the coffee table. Carwood's surprised to find his name on both. "I thought I only had the one," he says to Ron.

"That's not from me," Ron says, pointing to the smaller of the packages.

"That's from us," Mama says. "George and Joe and myself."

Carwood looks at them in confusion. "But--"

"Open Ron's first," Joe says. "We don't know what it is."

Carwood sits on the couch, and Ron sits next to him. Carwood lifts the package from Ron. It's heavier than Carwood expected, and he sets it back down on the coffee table rather than moving it to his lap. He undoes the end flaps, and then pushes the present out of one side. It's a portable typewriter in a carrying case. The case is dark blue, and Carwood's name is inscribed over the latch.

Carwood pops the latch and lifts the cover. The typewriter itself is black, gleaming dully in the overhead lights. Carwood knows without having to ask that it is the very best one Ron could find. He looks up at Mama and George and Joe as he turns it so they can see it. George and Joe look impressed but also like they're holding back laughter. Mama just stares, Carwood unable to read her expression. "Mama?" he asks.

"It's lovely," she says. She looks at Ron and seems to see right through him. "What a thoughtful gift."

"I thought it'd be easier on him if he didn't have to go to campus just to write a paper," Ron replies. "I know it saved me quite a bit of time having my own typewriter when I was in college."

"A very thoughtful gift," Mama repeats, and she smiles at Carwood like she's accomplished something difficult. "Open the other one," she says.

Carwood closes the typewriter first, and then reaches for the other package. He opens the wrapping paper and then opens the manila envelope inside. "Applications?" he asks when he pulls a stack of papers from the envelopes.

"For colleges in Boston," George says. "There were a bunch of them, but we only chose ones with engineering programs."

Carwood ruffles the stack of papers and shakes his head. "I don't--I'm already registered here for next semester."

"It's for fall," George says. "Or summer, maybe. They all said they could get you in in the summer."

Carwood looks from George to Joe to Mama. They're all smiling, clearly pleased with themselves. "I'm sorry," he says, "but I don't understand."

"You're moving to Boston, Lip," Joe says. "We had a meeting, took a vote, and we decided you're moving to Boston."

Carwood hears Ron swear under his breath, and he turns towards him. "Did you--"

"I didn't know about this," Ron says. He takes the papers from Carwood and looks through them himself. "I had no idea."

"You weren't supposed to," Mama says. "That's why it's a gift."

Carwood looks at Ron, who meets his eyes but doesn't say anything. "I can't go to Boston right now," Carwood says, looking away from Ron and back at Mama. "I'm needed here."

"Boys, Ron, if Carwood and I could have a moment," Mama says.

"Of course," Ron says. He touches Carwood's shoulder as he gets up.

"Ron, I don't want you to think--"

"I don't," Ron says. He smiles at Carwood. "I understand."

George, Joe, and Ron walk into the kitchen, and Mama rolls over to be next to Carwood. She touches the typewriter case and runs his thumb over Carwood's name. "It's a beautiful gift," she says. "It speaks to how much he cares about you."

Carwood nods. Mama straightens up and reaches for him. Carwood takes her hand. "Do you want me leave, Mama?"

"No," she says. "Not ever if I could help it, but I've already learned I don't get to decide that."

"You need me around here," Carwood says.

"I need you to be happy," she replies.

"I am happy."

Mama squeezes his hand. "You could be happier," she says. "And I know you would be in Boston."

"Someone has to take care of this place," Carwood says.

"What do you think Joe and George have been doing for most of this year?" Mama replies.

Carwood thinks about that. It dawns on him that he hasn't done anything around the boardinghouse in the last few months unless Joe has asked for his help or George has needed him to hold a board or run out for nails. "But…" he finds he can't finish the sentence.

"You've been the man of this house for a long time, Carwood, but you don't need to be anymore."

Carwood blinks back tears. He rubs Mama's hand between his own and swallows hard. "Boston's pretty far away, Mama."

"Not so far away," Mama says. "And I think it'll feel closer once you're there."

Carwood looks at her. Her face is open and kind, just as it's been his whole life. There's a part of him that wants to promise never to leave and to take care of things like he's done since he was a boy. But a larger part of him knows that's foolish. Joe and George love Mama like she's their own. Jack and Betsy are just down the road, same with Murray and Vanessa. They're a family, like Mama said in her toast, and they'll all be here to help even if Carwood is away in Boston.

"Okay," Carwood says after a long moment.

"Good," Mama replies. There are tears in her eyes, but she's smiling. "Let's go see what they've gotten up to in the kitchen."

"Yes, ma'am," Carwood says and lets her hand go with one more squeeze.

George, Joe, and Ron are around the kitchen table, talking quietly while they sip coffee. Ron looks at Carwood, the question clear on his face. Carwood sits next to him. "I'll be moving to Boston," he says.

Ron's whole face lights up. "Good," he says.

George snorts. "Good," he mutters. "That's the best you can come up with?" he asks.

"Don't tease," Mama tells him.

"Good," George says to Joe.

"Good," Joe replies. They pull a face at each other and start laughing.

"I think we'll talk about this in the other room," Carwood says as Joe and George keep snickering.

"You do that," Mama says, holding back her smile as George turns to try and get her into the joke.

Ron and Carwood go to the bedroom. Carwood closes the door behind them and turns around. Ron is in the center of the room. Carwood walks over to him and puts a hand on his waist. "You're sure?" Ron asks him.

"Yes," Carwood says. "But I'll have to get into a school up there first."

"You're brilliant," Ron says. "They'll all want you."

Carwood ducks his head. "I hope so."

"Summer or fall semester?" Ron asks.

"I think fall would be better," Carwood says. "I could move up after spring semester and get used to the city."

"Yes," Ron says. "I'd like that very much."

Carwood curls his hand around Ron's wrist and taps a finger against Ron's watch. "We'll have to change your inscription," he says with a grin.

Ron wraps his own hand around Carwood's watch. "No," he says. "I want it exactly like it is."

Carwood pulls Ron closer and kisses him. It reminds him of the first night they kissed, standing in the middle of his room, just kissing and kissing and kissing. It makes him grip Ron's wrist a little tighter, and Ron responds by pulling him towards the bed and sitting down and pulling Carwood straight into his lap.

"I'll help you with your applications tomorrow," Ron says against Carwood's neck as he gets both hands under Carwood's shirt..

"Okay," Carwood agrees. He runs his fingers through Ron's hair and chuckles when Ron presses at his shoulders until he holds his arms out. "Better?" he asks as Ron unbuttons his shirt.

"Yes," Ron says. He pauses with Carwood's shirt halfway down his arms. "Do your lungs feel up to this?"

"It'll be fine," Carwood says. He kisses Ron again, and Ron carefully rolls them so Carwood is on his back on the bed.

They strip down in pieces. Carwood's shirt and undershirt go first, then Ron's shirt and belt. Carwood's belt is next, and they spend some time on their sides, their trousers still on, pressed from shoulder to knee as they kiss and touch one another.

"You feel okay?" Ron asks as he reaches for the button on his trousers.

"I'm fine," Carwood says, and they both get out of their trousers and underwear and socks, and when they meet in the middle of the bed again, Carwood pushes Ron until he's on his back and presses kisses on his sternum and stomach and hips while he takes Ron in hand.

Ron lets out a hard, shaky breath, and he curls his hand over Carwood's on his dick. He doesn't change Carwood's rhythm or grip, just keeps his hand there like he has to be part of it. Carwood keeps a steady rhythm and slides up Ron's body, sliding his dick against Ron's stomach in an uneven tempo that makes him bite back a groan and swear softly.

"You're so beautiful," Ron says. "Goddamn, you're beautiful."

"I love you," Carwood says, carding his fingers through Ron's hair and holding him in place so he can look at him. "I love you, Ron."

"Beautiful," Ron murmurs. "Carwood. I..Jesus." Ron squeezes his eyes shuts and bucks up hard. He comes in Carwood's hand and presses his other hand to Carwood's back to hold him in place as he rocks up and down for a few seconds.

It feels amazing against Carwood's dick, and he presses down hard, takes his hand off Ron's dick so he can plant it against the mattress and rut against Ron until he comes.

Two minutes after they finish, Carwood has a coughing fit. Ron looks guilty, and Carwood shakes his head. "No," he gets out as he gets it under control. "It's fine."

Ron rubs his hand up and down Carwood's chest even after Carwood stops coughing. "June doesn't feel very far away," he says.

"It doesn't," Carwood agrees.

Ron gets out of bed and grabs his undershirt to wipe himself off. He turns on the bedside lamp, turns off the overhead light, and crawls under the covers when Carwood holds them open. They're settled in, warm and content, when there's a scratch at the door. "Oh, damn it all," Ron mutters.

Carwood chuckles. "I'll--"

"No, you stay put," Ron says. He throws off the covers and walks to the door, opening it just far enough for the dogs to come in. He glances down the hall. "Looks like all's quiet."

"Good," Carwood says. "Then I won't feel bad about wanting to go to sleep right this minute."

Ron crawls back into bed and reaches over to turn out the lamp. "Neither will I."

*

The next morning, Ron and Carwood find their gifts stacked neatly on the kitchen table. Joe is already awake and making breakfast. He hands them both coffee before they go out the back door and grins at them. "Got it all figured out?" he asks.

"We did," Carwood says.

"Good," Joe says, and his smile is huge.

They walk onto the back porch and sit to drink their coffee and have their cigarettes. Carwood chuckles, and Ron looks at him with curiosity. "I suppose I really have been lovesick," Carwood says.

Ron chuckles as well. "I'm sure I'll hear the same from Dick and Lewis when I see them again."

"How are they?"

"Same as ever. In Boston even more than usual. I think Lewis is trying to convince Dick to move."

"Aren't they in New Jersey because Lewis offered him a job?"

"That's my understanding, but they really could be anywhere."

"It'd be nice to have them close," Carwood says, and the idea of it makes him smile.

"What is it?" Ron asks.

"I can say that and it means something," Carwood says. "They could be close to us. Because I'll be with you."

Ron takes Carwood's hand and smiles at him, soft and sweet. "Yes," he says. "You will."

When they go inside for breakfast, George is also in the kitchen. He's leafing through A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and holds it up when Ron and Carwood sit down. "What happened to your copy?" He asks. "The one we all passed around was yours, right?"

"It was," Ron says. "Grant was reading it when he was shot."

"Oh," George says and puts down the book like it might bite him.

"I gifted it to him when he woke up," Ron tells him. Carwood chuckles at the wave of relief that goes across George's face.

"Thank goodness," George says. "I thought you were gonna tell me you couldn't read it because it was covered in blood or something."

"What was covered in blood?" Mama asks as she wheels into the room.

"Nothing," George says. "We are not having an inappropriate breakfast conversation."

"Good," Mama says. "Merry Christmas, everyone."

"Merry Christmas," they chorus back to her.

"I know we're all a bit upended for this year's Christmas Day," Mama says, "but I was hoping we could sing some Christmas carols after breakfast."

"Of course we can," Carwood says, and the others nod. "There's plenty of traditions to get through today."

"I'll start a pot of cider once Joe's finished," Mama says. "And we'll just have leftovers for lunch."

"We'll work on your applications this afternoon," Ron says to Carwood. "Unless you want to wait until tomorrow."

"Do them today," Mama says before Carwood can answer. "We can all help you."

"Not very Christmasy," Carwood says.

"Sure it is," George says. "Family helping one another. Goodwill towards man and so on."

"And so on," Joe mutters as he brings breakfast to the table. "Don't think that's the right quote, George."

"You know what I mean."

"I do," Carwood says before they can start to bicker. "And if everyone wants to help, I won't say no."

They have breakfast, and Mama starts the cider simmering, and they make it through a half-dozen carols before she stops to check on it. Ron is leaning against Carwood, an arm around his waist, and Carwood turns towards him as Mama leaves the room and pecks him on the mouth.

"Merry Christmas," he says.

"Merry Christmas," Ron replies, and his arm tightens around Carwood's waist.

They sing more and drink cider and have lunch. Once the table's clear, Mama wipes it down with a dry rag and reaches for the packet of applications. "How many did we end up getting?" she asks George.

"Seven," George replies.

"Well, we'll each write out the first page on one, and then, Carwood, you can fill out the questions and such over the next week."

"That sounds fine, Mama," Carwood says. He watches her pass around the applications. "How long were you planning this?" he asks as Joe passes him the last three applications. He passes one to Ron, and then Ron reaches out and takes another.

"Awhile," Joe says. "That's all you need to know."

Carwood looks at George. George meets the look with a grin. "Uh-uh," he says. "You're not getting anything from me."

"Well, okay, then," Carwood says, though he gives George and Joe one more long look before picking up his pen. "I think we can all handle writing my name without me spelling it out," he says.

They do, and Carwood has to tell George his birthday, but other than that, the student information and background sections of the applications are filled out in short order. Carwood collects the stack and rifles through it. "I'm still not sure about MIT," he says. "That seems a particular longshot."

"Your grades are excellent, and you've got a background they'll respect," Ron says.

"The worst they can do is tell you no," Mama adds.

"Suppose that's true," Carwood says. He taps all the applications into a neat pile and sets them to one side. "Do you mind helping me with the application questions?" he asks Ron. "I know it's not an exciting way to spend the next few days, but I'd appreciate it."

"Of course I'll help," Ron replies.

"Thank you," Carwood looks at the applications again and puts his hand down on it. "I think until I send them out, I'd like to keep it between us all that I'm applying to places in Boston."

"If you'd prefer," Mama says. "I do suppose people would wonder why we gave you applications for Christmas."

"Yes," Carwood agrees. "I don't want to lie to anyone--"

"Eh," George interrupts. "You don't need to finish that sentence. I think we all know how it goes."

Carwood chuckles. "I suppose so." He stands and gathers the applications. "I'll go put these in my room for now," he says.

He places them on the desk, to the left of his stack of gifts. When he comes back down the hallway, Jack and Betsy are standing by the door peeling off their coats as the dogs sniff around them in greeting.

"Merry Christmas!" Betsy says to him with a wide smile Carwood is certain he hasn't seen on her face in weeks.. "Mother sent us over to borrow eggs, and she told us to stay a few minutes since it is Christmas after all."

"It's good to see you," Carwood says. He accepts her hug, and then he turns and shakes Jack's hand. "So, all's well?"

"Seems to be," Jack says as Betsy accepts a cup of coffee from Mama. "You wouldn't know she's barely said a word to us since Thanksgiving."

"Well, that's for the best," Mama says as she pours another cup of coffee and hands it to Jack. "She's probably embarrassed."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Betsy says, "She's not the type, but I'm happy to let it be if she is."

Joe says something dark under his breath that makes George elbow him hard in the ribs. Betsy and Jack don't notice, too busy giving Mama a review of their day so far. Carwood sits down at the table again, and Ron walks over with two cups of coffee.

"Thank you," Carwood says.

"You're welcome," Ron replies. "Looks like everyone gets a nice Christmas."

"Yes," Carwood agrees, and he feels content in a way he hasn't felt in a very long time. He looks around the table and presses his leg against Ron's. Ron presses back, the small smile he slides Carwood telling him he feels it too.

This is his family, Carwood thinks, and he feels warm all over.

Jack and Betsy leave after half an hour. The rest of them settle into a quiet afternoon, Ron and Carwood reading on the couch while George and Joe play checkers and Mama plays winner.

"You're a hustler," Joe says when Mama beats him three games in a row.

"Told you," George says. He's stretched out on the floor, hands behind his head. Panzer and Sherman are curled up on either side of him. "Good thing we didn't put money on the game."

"I only put money on poker and cribbage," Mama says.

"Buck and I used to play cribbage," George tells Joe. "I haven't played cribbage in forever."

"We can play it next," Mama says. "Joe can play winner."

"You two can have that one," Joe says. "I'm not much for cribbage."

George gets up and fetches the board and a deck of cards. Joe gets handed his hat for the fourth game in a row and calls it quits. "I'm getting more cider," he says. "Anyone else want some?"

"I'll take some," Carwood says. It's been good for his throat; he's been coughing a lot less.

"It's five o'clock," Mama says. "Feel free to Irish it up."

"You wild thing," George teases as he sets up the cribbage board. Mama smiles at him as he shuffles the cards.

"Should I tell him she counts cards?" Carwood murmurs to Ron.

Ron turns a page in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. "No," he says. "He has to learn sometime."

It's one of the best Christmas days Carwood can remember.

*

"Okay, what's happened to you?" Vanessa asks Carwood the next night at the Honky Tonk. It's as full as last year, and they've been there a couple of hours. Murray is camped out next to the jukebox with Ron, having a discussion with a great deal of gesturing. Joe and George, in usual fashion, are competing for the attention of the same woman. Jack and Betsy are surrounded by well wishers across the room. They've been so busy since the wedding that they haven't been by, and Old Ross is determined to make sure they know how happy everyone is at their nuptials.

Carwood and Vanessa are at a corner table; Carwood on his second beer, Vanessa on a second whiskey and soda. "Happened?" Carwood asks.

"You're different," she says.

"Different how?"

"If I could put words to it, Carwood, I would," she replies, giving him an arch look. It makes Carwood chuckle.

"I'm just me," he says. "Same as always."

"Hmm," Vanessa says and takes a sip of her drink. "Ron's in until the New Year?" she asks.

"Yes."

"You coming out here for it?"

"We're going to stay at the house," Carwood says. "You and Murray are more than welcome, of course."

"No, he says he has something planned," Vanessa says. She glances towards Murray and Ron and beams when Murray waves at her. Ron just gives her a nod and meets Carwood's eyes for a moment.

"You don't know what it is?" Carwood asks.

"Nope, but he says I'll like it," Vanessa replies.

"You'll have a good time, I'm sure," Carwood says.

Vanessa shrugs and smiles and finishes her drink. "I'm getting another. You want one?"

"No thank you, I'm only halfway down," Carwood replies. Vanessa walks towards the bar and Murray and Ron make their way over to Carwood. Murray drops into Vanessa's vacated seat and gives Carwood a huge grin.

"You've having fun," Carwood says.

"Of course," Murray says with the over-annunciation of the slightly drunk. His grin and the way he tilts forward just a little reminds Carwood of Harry.

"He's proposing to Vanessa at New Year's," Ron says as he sits next to Carwood. He's roughly as sober as Carwood, so there's no over-annunciation on his part.

"That's fantastic," Carwood says to Murray, and he feels his grin get huge. "That's really great."

"Yeah?" Murray asks, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Vanessa is still out of earshot.

"You two are great together," Carwood says. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled."

"Thanks," Murray says. He glances over his shoulder again and then stands up with the determined stagger of a man who's had one too many. "I'm going up to the bar," he announces.

"Think he'll make it?" Carwood asks Ron as Murray weaves away.

"He'll be fine," Ron says. He scoots closer to Carwood as a group of people squeezes past them to the dance floor. "You're really happy for them?" he asks.

"Of course," Carwood says. He shakes his head when he sees Ron's shoulders relax. "Really?" he asks. "I think my intentions for you are pretty clear."

"They are absolutely clear," Ron replies. "But it's one thing to have clear intentions and another to hear your ex-wife is about to get engaged to someone else."

"It's never been like that with Vanessa," Carwood says. "You know that."

"I suppose so."

Carwood watches him for a moment, then turns to survey the room. Vanessa and Murray have joined the merrymakers around Jack and Betsy. Joe and George have disappeared completely. "Let's go back to the house," Carwood says.

"You're certain?"

"I'm ready for bed," Carwood replies, and he chances giving Ron a heated look as he stands up.

Ron chuckles under his breath and follows Carwood out the door. The cold air makes them both shiver, and they huddle close to each other as they hike it for the treeline. "We didn't have to leave," Ron says as they step into the woods.

Carwood stops, presses Ron to the nearest tree, and kisses him. "I wanted to leave," he says. "I had a nice time, but you're here, and I want to spend time with you."

Ron tips his head back against the tree and breathes out hard. "I don't understand how you and Vanessa are such good friends," he says.

"I don't want to think about Vanessa right now," Carwood tells him, kissing him again. "She and Murray are going to have a long, happy life, and so am I."

It's Ron who kisses him this time, and when he pulls away, he fists a hand in Carwood's coat and doesn't let go until they come out of the other side of the woods. Carwood laughs as they stumble into the open space between the woods and the house, catching himself against Ron's side when he nearly falls over.

"Easy," Ron says, stopping so they can both get their feet under them. He looks up at the sky and beams. "Look at that," he says, pointing. "The Big Dipper."

Carwood looks up as well. "I see it."

"It was the first constellation I learned," Ron says.

"Me, too," Carwood replies. "Mama told us we should wish on it because it was big enough to hold all our hopes."

"What did you wish for?" Ron asks.

"All kinds of things. Books and Christmas presents, mostly." Carwood chuckles at the memory and turns to look at Ron. "After Daddy died, I remember wishing Mama would be happy again."

"What about you?"

Carwood looks at the Big Dipper again. "I just figured I'd be all right. I was the man of the house; I assumed feeling better would come along with it, and it did."

Ron steps close and presses his mouth to Carwood's neck. "I love you," he murmurs almost too quiet to hear.

"I love you, too," Carwood says, and they stand under the Big Dipper for a few more minutes before going inside.

*

The next few days are quiet. Carwood works on his applications with Ron helping him figure out how to make himself sound interesting. They listen to the radio and spend time with Mama and George and Joe. They run in the mornings, though Carwood can't go quite as far as usual with his lungs still healing. They take the dogs to campus in the afternoons and let them run on the quad.

Carwood puts all of his applications in the mail on the twenty-ninth. On the thirtieth, he and Ron take the dogs to campus again. They have a thermos of coffee that Mama insisted they take because it's the coldest day they've had in awhile. Their breath steams up as they watch the dogs run.

"Did you like my bed?" Ron asks as he unscrews the thermos.

"Yes," Carwood replies. "Why?"

"I want you to be comfortable when you come," Ron says. "I can buy a new mattress if you'd prefer something firmer or softer."

"You don't need to do that. I was very comfortable."

"Okay." Ron pours coffee into the lid of the thermos and hands it to Carwood. Carwood takes a sip, and Ron drinks straight from the thermos. "What about the curtains?" Ron asks. "I've always thought they were a little dark."

"I don't really remember the curtains," Carwood says. He watches the dogs wrestle each other for a stick, and he feels himself smile. "Your arm chair has a loose spring. You should get that fixed."

"I will," Ron replies. "I'll get it reupholstered, too. Do you prefer blue or yellow or something else?"

"Blue," Carwood says. "Bright blue."

"It'll look good in the living room in bright blue."

Carwood takes another drink of his coffee. "You really don't have to go through the trouble."

"My wife just set up the house without any real input from me," Ron says. "I felt like a stranger there. I don't want you to feel like a stranger."

"I couldn't possibly," Carwood says. "But if you want my input, I prefer blue to yellow and gray to black."

"I'll remember that," Ron replies. "Think about what you'll need that you won't be bringing with you, and let me know."

"I will."

They finish the coffee and whistle for the dogs, walking home slow and steady, they run into George as he's leaving someone's house, his toolbox in one hand. "Look what the dogs dragged in!" George greets them. "You two want a lift?"

"We'll walk," Carwood says. "But thanks."

"Sure. See you at the house," George waves goodbye as he walks to his car. He taps the horn twice as he drives by. Sherman and Panzer both bark at him.

"Easy," Carwood says to Panzer, and she looks up at him, shivering all over but looking very pleased with herself. Carwood leans down and scoops her up, tucking her into his coat. "It's colder than I realized. I keep meaning to get her a sweater, but I never think about it until she's this cold."

"It doesn't seem to bother her," Ron says.

"No, but it can't be comfortable, and after what we went through, I don't want anyone or anything to feel cold at all if I can help it."

Ron gives Carwood a considering look, then bends down and scoops up Sherman, tucking her away as well. Carwood ducks his chin to hide his smile for the rest of the walk to the house.

*

They sing along to Auld Lang Syne when it plays on the radio at midnight the next night. George dips Joe like they're in a movie and kisses him on the mouth. Carwood, tipsy on champagne but not without his wits, gives Ron a peck on the cheek, which Ron returns.

They all make sure to kiss Mama on her cheek as well. She beams at all of them and says, "May this year be even better than the last."

Betsy and Jack come for breakfast on New Year's Day, bleary-eyed and clearly not completely recovered from their own festivities with Bobby and a few of their friends at their house. Mama doesn't scold them, but she does give Ron a pointed look when he stands up and fetches the whiskey to add to their coffees.

"You're teaching them bad habits," she says.

"If that were true," Ron replies, "they'd be worse off than they are now."

Carwood laughs without meaning to, suddenly remembering Ron on V-E day, so drunk he was listing even sitting still, and then he remembers Harry and laughs harder.

"What?" George asks.

"V-E Day," Carwood says, and George laughs too.

"You remember Nixon coming up the drive with that Jeep stuffed full?" George asks, and they're laughing even harder. Ron manages to keep a straight face and tells the story. Joe shakes his head at the whole thing, having heard it more than once from George and still thinking it's ridiculous.

"You know what I did on V-E Day?" Joe asks George.

George looks confused. "No, actually," he says. "You were still in the hospital, right?"

"Yeah, me and Bill. Bill conned a nurse into sneaking us a bottle of champagne. We'd been sober so long, we got completely drunk halfway through, and we started singing Blood on the Risers."

George barks a laugh. "Oh, I bet that made the nurses real happy."

"It was okay until every other paratrooper on the wing joined in."

That finally breaks Ron, who has to put down his coffee cup before he drops it because he's laughing so hard.

"How does the song go?" Betsy asks.

Carwood ends up throwing himself against George and Joe as they start the first verse and knocking them out of their chairs. "No," he says.

"Awww, come on! It's a great song!" George protests.

"Absolutely not," Carwood says.

"Yeah, it wouldn't be right," Joe interjects, looking completely unapologetic. "It's for paratroopers."

George sticks out his tongue. "Fine."

"Well," Mama says with a swallowed laugh as they right themselves and their chairs. "Perhaps a change of topic."

"We're having our honeymoon soon," Betsy says. "We decided we're going to Washington DC and seeing the museums."

"Now that's something I'd like to hear much more about," Mama says, and the conversation shifts immediately.

"Sorry," George says later when Jack and Betsy have left and George, Joe, Ron, and Carwood are on the porch to smoke. "I didn't mean to cause trouble."

"I wasn't worried it'd be trouble," Carwood replies. "I was worried Betsy would go screaming from the house when we got the chorus."

"And Mama would knock us backwards for it," George says.

They all chuckle in agreement. Joe shifts on the porch railing and adjusts the angle of his leg. "George and I have been talking, Lip," he says.

"About what?"

"You leaving." Joe glances at George, and George gives him a nod. "I figure you know we're planning to stay put for awhile, but we wanted you to know it's an indefinite amount of time. We like it here, and Mama's okay with us, and we'll be here to help out."

"I didn't doubt you would be," Carwood says. "But I appreciate that you talked it through and made sure."

"We're gonna go visit our families in the spring," George says. "We owe them a visit, but neither of us really wants to be back where we were, so you're looking at permanent residents of the Lipton Boardinghouse, I guess."

"Have you told Mama?" Carwood asks.

"Yeah," George says. "It was sort of a part of the discussions about getting you those applications."

"She told us we didn't need to stay," Joe adds. "And we told her it wasn't an obligation to you or to her or to anyone. We just like it here."

"I'm glad," Carwood says.

"She offered us your room," Joe tells him. "After you leave, of course. She said if we were going to be the men of the house, that's the room you stay in."

"Well, I certainly won't have need of it come June. I'd be happy to let you have it."

"Thanks, Lip," George says. "That means a lot."

"So do you," Carwood replies. "To me and to Mama and to Ron, I presume."

"Of course," Ron says. "You're my men."

George and Joe both sit a little straighter at that. It makes Carwood smile. "I couldn't think of two finer fellows to take over running this place," he says. "I'm glad you two swung by that day."

"Us, too," Joe says. He gives George a fond look when George reaches out and squeezes his hand. "Thanks for taking us in."

"You're welcome wherever I go," Carwood says, and Ron gives a quiet murmur of assent to seal the promise.

*
Ron leaves just after breakfast on the second, giving Carwood a long, slow goodbye kiss in his bedroom before he picks up his suitcase and goes.

"Call when you get there," Carwood says.

"I will," Ron promises. He shakes hands with George and Joe, and he kisses Mama on the cheek before walking out the door to the car. Carwood walks with him, and they stand and consider each other after Ron tucks his suitcase and gifts into the trunk.

"Just a few months, now," Carwood says.

"Yes," Ron agrees as he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his new driving gloves. He slips them on and flexes his hands, then looks at Carwood with a small smile.

Carwood steps forward and gives Ron one last, short kiss goodbye. "Drive carefully."

"I will."

Carwood stands in the backyard until Ron's turned the corner. He looks at the back porch, where Panzer is sitting on the steps looking forlorn. "None of that," he says. "We'll see them again soon."

*

Dear Ron,

I am halfway through my first week of classes, and I think I will very much enjoy this semester. George, Joe, and Mama, in an attempt to make certain I don't wear myself out like last time, have taken to checking on me hourly when I study and make certain I take breaks. I tried to be aggravated with them, but then George and Joe insisted they'd learned it from me, and I found it was hard to argue.

I hope you're settling back into your duties in Boston. I never took much of a break from my own duties when I was in the Army, so I don't know if it takes time to readjust after you've taken a large amount of leave. I'm sure you'll do just fine.

Betsy and Jack have decided they'll have their honeymoon in Mid-March. They keep adding places to their itinerary, and none of us have the heart to try and make them think about how much time they've already filled for themselves. I'm sure they'll have a wonderful time, and DC is close enough they can plan another visit.

Vanessa came on Monday to show us her engagement ring. I don't think Mama could be more thrilled if Vanessa were her own daughter. It's a very tasteful ring, and Vanessa is clearly glowing with happiness. I stopped by the post office at lunch yesterday to congratulate Murray, and he's glowing as well. I gave them both your regards and congratulations, and they asked me to thank you for the thought.

Panzer, as always, is well. She moped about the same amount as usual, but as she can't understand me when I tell her we'll be seeing you permanently fairly soon, I suppose I'll let her do it.

No word from any of the schools yet. Mama announces it just that way when I come home from class. I've told her it will take some time, but I think she realizes it's helpful in its way that I know if there's news without having to ask.

Stay warm. Write soon.

Yours,
Carwood

*

Dear Carwood,

I have settled back into my routine easily, but I have always taken to routine, so that is not a surprise. Sherman moped as well, and my own reassurances were of no use.

I am sure Betsy and Jack will have a fine time on their honeymoon. I never took one, so I can't speak to how much time any given activity takes, but they're young, in love, and interested to learn things, so I imagine every moment they spend in Washington DC will be a great pleasure for them.

I am glad George and Joe and your mother are keeping an eye on your study habits. You take on every challenge with every ounce of yourself, and it is one of your greatest qualities but also your greatness weakness. I am not surprised they used your own habits against you as reason for their behavior. I'm certain you won't be surprised to hear I agree with both their assessment and their handling of the situation.

I sent the chair out to be repaired just yesterday. The furniture repairman called and told me the spring would be no problem and also suggested an upholstery service he has had very good dealings with. You said bright blue, and I will do my best to pick a shade you'll find pleasing.

I miss you, as I always do. I look forward to hearing what news you get from the colleges.

Yours always,
Ron

P.S. Thank you for giving my regards to Murray and Vanessa. I am very pleased for them.

*

Three weeks into term, Carwood walks home from his Wednesday classes and finds Mama waiting on the back porch. "Everything okay?" he asks as he walks up the ramp.

Mama reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out an envelope."We heard back today," she says.

Carwood takes the envelope from her hand. In the upper left on the back it says BOSTON UNIVERSITY. He stares at it for a moment before flipping the envelope over and tearing off the flap. He hands the envelope to Mama as he unfolds the sheet of paper inside.

"Well?" Mama says after a few seconds.

Carwood reads the letter a second time. "Dear Mr. Lipton," he reads aloud. "We are pleased to accept you for the fall term at Boston University."

"Oh, honey, that's wonderful!" Mama says. She opens her arms, and Carwood bends down for the tight hug. "Just wonderful."

"Thought I'd be waiting longer to find out," Carwood says.

"I'm glad you don't have to. It's nerve-wracking." Mama lets him go, patting his cheek as he pulls away. "And think, that's only the first one. I'm sure you'll have your pick in the next few weeks."

"Well, we'll see," Carwood says.

"You go inside and call Ron," Mama says.

"He won't be home yet," Carwood replies. "But I'll tell Joe."

Joe's folding sheets in the linen closet when Carwood finds him. He whoops so loud one of the new boarders stops short in the hallway and stares.

"Sorry," Joe says to her. "Good news."

"Well, as long as it's for good news," she says and goes back to her business.

Joe pulls Carwood into a hug so fierce they nearly lose their footing. "That's great!" he says. "George owes me two dollars!"

"What was the bet?" Carwood asks as he returns the hug.

"If the first one would be an acceptance. I got you getting acceptances across the board, but George figures you'll get turned down by at least one. And he figured it'd come in first."

"Well, I can't fault his realistic view on the process," Carwood replies.

When George hears the news after he gets home that evening, he whoops even louder than Joe and pulls Carwood into a hug that lifts him off the ground.

"I have never been happier to lose two dollars!" he says, and Carwood can only laugh in response.

*

He calls Ron after dinner, when Mama, Joe, and George have settled in the living room to listen to the radio.

"Hello?" Ron says when he picks up the phone.

"Hello," Carwood replies. "I have good news."

"Carwood," Ron says like Carwood's name is sacred. "What is it?"

"Boston University is pleased to accept me for the fall term."

"Of course they are," Ron replies. "I'm very happy to hear it."

"Me, too."

"It's a very good school, I hear," Ron says. "You'll do well there."

"I think so," Carwood agrees. "It doesn't quite feel real, yet."

Ron makes a soft, considering sound. "Sleep on it. It'll feel more real in the morning."

"We'll see, I suppose. I just wanted to call to tell you."

"I'm glad you did."

"Goodbye, Ron."

"Goodbye, Carwood."

*

Dear Ron,

Please excuse the notebook paper. I am writing this between classes because I went home at lunch, and there was another acceptance letter waiting. I just wanted to tell you as quickly as possible, and the woman I sit next to in my Literature class always has envelopes and stamps, so I can put this note in the mail as soon as I leave this afternoon.

Yours,
Carwood

*

Dear Carwood,

I was very happy to hear about the second acceptance. By the time this letter reaches you, I imagine you'll have heard from at least one other school. I will take your letters in any form they arrive. Knowing you were so eager to share the news that you used what was nearest to you made me feel very good.

The chair is back from the upholstery business. They inform me the exact blue they used is "royal blue." It brightens up the living room considerably, and Sherman has already decided it must be slept on at least once a day.

Lewis and Dick send their congratulations on your acceptance letters. As I guessed at Christmas, they are getting a place in Boston. Lewis had a few other things to say on the subject of you moving to the city, but I won't reprint them here. Dick, being who he is, simply said congratulations and asked me to pass along that he will be happy to see you again.

Yours always,
Ron

*

February comes in with bluster, and Carwood spends a few days with his cough trying to come back. Mama brings him tea one night as he types a paper in his room and says, "That typewriter is probably what's keeping you from getting worse. You don't have to be in that cold air nearly as much."

Carwood strokes his thumb over the edge of the typewriter case and smiles. "That's true," he says.

Three days before Valentine's Day, a small package arrives from Ron. Carwood opens it and finds a set of boxes, all roughly the same size. They're wrapped in plain red paper and have nametags attached. Carwood takes out the one with his name, hands one each to George and Joe, and then hands one to Mama. Carwood's box fits in the palm of his hand, and he spends a moment considering the weight of it as everyone else opens their gifts.

"Oh!" Mama says, her eyes wide with surprise. She holds the box so the boys can see its contents. It's a silver ball on a dainty chain.

"That's lovely, Mama," Carwood says, and Joe and George agree.

"Oh, it's a locket!" she says as she presses a small button with her thumb and the ball springs open. "With room for six pictures!" She looks up and gives the boys a serious look. "You'll have to sit for portraits," she says. "I want your best side."

"All my sides are the best," George replies.

"And Jack and Betsy, too," Mama adds. "If they do a couples' photo, they'll be space left for Ron and the first grandbaby."

"And if Betsy and Jack give you more than one, you can always tuck us away somewhere else," Carwood says.

"Well, let's not jump too far ahead," Mama replies.

Carwood nods in agreement and looks at George and Joe. "What'd you get?"

Joe holds up a handsome silver keychain. LIPTON BOARDINGHOUSE is stamped on one side, and there's a small etching of the house itself underneath it. "Matching ones," he says, and George holds his up to show it's true. "What about you?"

Carwood realizes he hasn't unwrapped his own gift, so he does so. In the box, there is a single key on a keychain that bears his name and Ron's address in Boston. "I think it's a key to Ron's front door," he says, a wave of warmth slamming through him.

"Well, practical and very sweet," Mama says.

Carwood turns the key over in his hand. The keychain turns over as well, and there is a small inscription on the back:

YOU CAN ALWAYS COME HOME.

Carwood pockets the key rather than share the inscription.

*

Ron calls on Valentine's Day. George and Joe have taken Mama to a movie so Carwood can focus on a paper. Carwood leans against the kitchen wall and pulls the key out of his pocket, turning it over in his hands until the metal is warm.

"We all liked your gifts," Carwood says.

"Good," Ron replies. "I wanted them to mean something."

"They do. Mine especially. Did my gift arrive?"

"It did," Ron says. "They're handsome cufflinks."

"I thought we should have a matched pair."

"I like them very much."

"Good." Carwood runs his thumb over Ron's address on his keychain. "I got another acceptance yesterday."

"That's wonderful. You'll have plenty of options."

"I think I'm leaning towards Boston University. They have as good a program as the others, and they're close to your place."

"If MIT wants you, you may reconsider."

Carwood feels himself flush. "I don't need MIT," he says. "That's for people who want to make a name for themselves."

"It's for people who want the best they can have," Ron replies. "And you should."

"Well, let's wait to see if they want me in the first place. They may turn me down."

"They'd be fools to do it."

"You feel free to let them know that," Carwood says, and Ron chuckles.

"I just might," he replies, and it's Carwood's turn to chuckle. "Will you be able to visit at spring break?" Ron asks.

"I think so. It doesn't look like I'll have too much work over the break, and George has already insisted three times that I'm taking his car when I go."

"Good," Ron says, and Carwood can hear his smile. "You can see the chair. Tell me if you like it."

"I'm sure I will. I might bring a few things with me, just some of my heavier winter clothes and a few books."

"I'd like that," Ron says. "I'm looking forward to you being here."

"So am I."

"Happy Valentine's," Ron says.

"Happy Valentine's," Carwood replies.

*

The responses from the other colleges trickle in over the next few weeks. MIT offers Carwood a spot in the fall term. George and Joe both tell him to go for it.

"It's MIT," George says. "You could do anything you want if you graduate from there."

"You could get a job just by looking at someone," Joe adds. "You should go there."

"I'll think about it," Carwood says. When George and Joe go to bed that night, Carwood turns to Mama. "What do you think?"

"I think it's wonderful they want you," she says. "But you can do anything no matter what your diploma says. Going to MIT is prestigious, but it's who you are that make people want to work with you, not where you go."

Carwood leans over and kisses her on the cheek. "So, you won't mind having a son graduating from Boston University?"

"Absolutely not, as long as he does it with honors," Mama replies, and that makes Carwood chuckle.

He sends acknowledgement of his acceptance to Boston University the next day, and he sends a telegram to Ron telling him his decision. Ron sends a telegram back:

Boston as a city will be lucky to have you. Wherever you hang your mortarboard will only be improved by your presence.

*

Midterms come around, and spring break sneaks up on Carwood. He stays up late the night before he leaves, packing a few boxes to take along. When he and Panzer arrive in Boston, his eyes are gritty from lack of sleep, and he yawns hugely when he walks in Ron's front door.

"Straight to bed," Ron says, not even getting up from the couch.

"I'm--" is as far as Carwood gets before Ron is at his elbow and leading him down the hallway. "There are boxes--"

"They'll be fine until tomorrow," Ron says. He takes Carwood's overnight bag and sets it in the corner, then he strips Carwood down to his shorts and tucks him into bed. "I'm going to take the dogs out, and then I'll join you," he says.

"I'm fine," Carwood tells him, and he yawns hugely again.

"I'll call Mama and let her know you made it."

"Ron--" Carwood is cut off by another yawn.

"Go to sleep," Ron murmurs as he presses a kiss to Carwood's temple. "We've got plenty of time."

Carwood drops off in just a few minutes, coming back to a half-awake state when Ron slides into bed next to him. "Ron," he mumbles, pulling Ron close.

"I'm here," Ron says, running his hands up and down Carwood's back. "Let's sleep."

Carwood drops off again. When he wakes, it's morning and Ron isn't in bed. Carwood can hear him moving around in the living room, and he gets up and walks towards the sound. Ron's on his knees, wearing slacks and an undershirt as he rearranges the books on his bookshelf. "Good morning," Carwood says.

"Good morning," Ron replies. He stands up, dusting his hands off on his trousers before pulling Carwood into a quick, soft kiss. "I got your boxes from the car. I was just making space for your books."

"Thank you," Carwood says. He looks around the living room, blinking the rest of the sleep out of his eyes. He smiles at the arm chair. "That's a very good shade of blue," he says.

"I'm glad to hear it. There's coffee on."

Carwood goes into the kitchen and pours himself a cup. There's a small plate of doughnuts on the counter, and he grabs two, holding one out to Ron when he walks back into the living room.

"Thanks," Ron says. He bites the doughnut between his teeth as he opens Carwood's boxes.

"You don't have to do that right this second," Carwood says as he sits on the couch.

Ron glances over his shoulder, pauses for a moment like he's drinking in the sight of Carwood, and then he stands and walks to the couch, sitting next to Carwood and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "You're right," he says.

Carwood leans against him and passes over his coffee so Ron can have a drink. "I should have stopped for a nap yesterday," Carwood says. "We lost the whole evening."

"You made it here. It wasn't a lost evening," Ron replies. He hands the coffee back to Carwood and reaches into his shirt pocket for his cigarettes. "I thought we might go to the University today, have a look at the campus. You could probably drop into the academic advising center and meet your counselor."

"That sounds good," Carwood says. He takes the lit cigarette Ron offers. "We could get lunch around there, probably."

"I thought we'd go to the club for dinner tonight."

"You mentioned in your last letter. I packed my good suit."

"Good." Ron blows a plume of smoke towards the ceiling then leans over and kisses Carwood on the mouth. "A whole week of you here," he says. "We might shop for curtains."

"I like your curtains fine," Carwood says. "But we can certainly look."

They finish their cigarettes and their donuts and the coffee. Ron walks into the kitchen to refill the mug as Carwood goes into the bathroom and starts the shower. When he steps out after he's done, there's a towel on the edge of the sink and the coffee cup on the counter. Carwood takes a long drink as he dries himself with his other hand. Ron is in the bedroom changing into clothes more appropriate for running around, and Carwood leans against the bedroom doorframe and watches him as he picks out a shirt.

"What?" Ron asks

"Just watching," Carwood says. He smiles when Ron looks at him with confusion. "This will be my life soon," he says. "I'm enjoying the preview."

Ron chuckles as he pulls his undershirt over his head. "I'm glad to hear it. I took the liberty of hanging your things in the closet."

"Thank you," Carwood says. He gets dressed and finishes his coffee. He pauses as they're pulling on their coats and looks at the living room curtains. "Maybe something tan," he says. "To match the couch."

"We'll see what's available," Ron says. He whistles for the dogs and they head out.

*

The Boston University campus is full of people. Ron and Carwood overhear two women discussing what they'll do during spring break the following week and share a smile. They wander the campus for an hour, the dogs happily sniffing around and taking chin scratches when strangers approach them. They reach a lull in activity caused, they figure, by everyone being in class, and come to stop in front of the administration building.

"It's nice," Carwood says.

"Yes," Ron replies.

Carwood feels himself smiling, and he shakes his head. "It doesn't feel real to be standing here."

"Why not?"

"I…" Carwood shakes his head again. "Mama never made me stay put," he says. "When I told her I was joining the Army, she wasn't worried about my leaving them behind or having no one to care for the house. She was only worried I'd be hurt or killed. But at the same time, she told me she'd rather me be out in the world working towards something I believed in rather than at home trying to make her happy."

"Your mother is a wonderful person," Ron says.

"Yes," Carwood replies. "I thought it was a fluke, maybe, her letting me go to war. I mean, what kind of a mother refuses to let her son serve his country in its time of need? But....she and George and Joe have never confirmed whose idea those applications were, but I get the sense she started it."

"You think so?"

"She wants me happy," Carwood says. "My whole life, no matter what, she's wanted me happy. I became the man of the house because I wanted to as much as she needed me to, and I stayed there because it makes me happy to be needed and to care for people."

"It's one of your greatest strengths," Ron says. "I saw it save some of the men in the war."

"Did it save you?" Carowod asks, turning to face Ron.

"No. I wasn't alive enough to think about being saved." Ron reaches out and touches Carwood's sleeve, and then his hand drops away. "And afterwards, I didn't need to be saved. I just wanted you near me."

Carwood smiles. "Mama wants me to be happy," he says. "And you make me happy."

"You make me happy, too," Ron replies. "I'll never be able to tell you how much."

"Well, we've got a good long while to keep trying," Carwood says, and they stand and smile at each other for another moment before walking into the administration building side-by-side.

*
They go to dinner at the club and run into Lewis and Dick.

"Congratulations," Dick says. "On everything."

"Thank you," Carwood replies.

"That was lovely," Lewis says. "Now let's get drunk."

Carwood and Dick share an amused look as Lewis yanks Ron towards the bar. "It'll be nice to have you nearby," Carwood says.

"Same," Dick agrees.

*

They choose dark green curtains in the end because nothing in the tan range looks quite right. They hang them the night before Carwood leaves, laughing when both dogs jump at the sound of the curtain rings sliding on the rod.

"Of all the things to be scared of," Ron murmurs.

"They'll be okay," Carwood replies.

When Ron kisses him goodbye the next morning, light coming in around the new curtains, Carwood hardly feels like he's leaving.

"I feel like I'm going for a visit," he says. "Not like I'm leaving you behind."

Ron kisses him again until he's breathless. "Drive carefully," he says.

"I will," Carwood promises, and he locks the door behind him when he goes.

*

Dear Mama:

I've been in Boston a week, and it's got nothing on Huntington in June. The humidity is about as bad, but it cools down all right in the evenings, so we can open the windows and cool down the whole place overnight.

Panzer's taken to the city just fine. I think she likes all the new smells. I caught her last night sitting on the windowsill with her nose pressed hard against the screen. I swear her tail hasn't stopped wagging since we got here. Sherman's in about the same state.They're clearly pleased they get all this time together.

I've started to settle in properly. I'm learning the bus lines, and I've found a part-time job just down the street at a glass manufacturer. They just need someone to sweep up and sometimes talk to customers, and it suits me fine. They're very interested in my schooling, and they've already said they'll work with my class schedule. I'll try to keep it simple for them, but it's nice to know they care so much.

I know the boarding house is doing fine without asking. George and Joe will make certain of that, and you'll double-check just to be extra sure. Tell them hello from us, and please send pictures when they get the room redone. I'm curious to see how it looks.

Please let Jack know I got him those tourism pamphlets he was asking after. Once he and Betsy decide when they want to visit, please let us know, and I'm sure Ron and I can show them around or at least meet them for dinner. We have decided, for the time being, that to Jack and Betsy we are simply good friends. I know you'll understand this decision, but I want to make sure you know what it is. When we're down to visit we will, of course, just be ourselves with you.

Enclosed, please find some portraits of Ron and myself that we just had done. They should fit in your locket. We'll send enlargements when we have them.

Ron sends his love to the whole house, as do I. I promise to write more soon. I love you very much, and I'm happy.

Your Son,
Carwood

Chapter Text

October 1950

"How you doing, Sport?" George asks after Mama's gone to bed on the first night of Carwood's visit.

Carwood sighs and shakes his head. "Do I really look that bad?"

"You look pretty damn sad," Joe says as he sits down. He pats Carwood roughly on the back.

"I'm okay, boys," Carwood says, giving them both a rueful look. "I was just hoping one more letter from Ron would make it before I got on the train."

"Hey, I bet there's one when you get home," George says. "It'll be nice to have."

Carwood smiles. "You're right. Thanks."

George grins and stands. "I'm always right. Get some sleep, Lip."

Carwood shakes his head and chuckles as George and Joe walk to their bedroom. He spends a few minutes simply sitting at the table, letting himself miss Ron.

With a sigh, Carwood stands and whistles lowly for the dogs. Sherman and Panzer come right away, go out to do their business, and then trot back inside. They follow Carwood to Jack's old bedroom, and they hop on the bed as Carwood undresses and gets into his pajamas. He leaves the room to brush his teeth, and when he walks back in, there's an envelope propped up on his pillow.

"Some guard dogs you two are," he murmurs to the dogs, who are curled up next to each other. Carwood smiles at them and plucks up the envelope. He nearly drops it when he recognizes Ron's handwriting.

Dear CC:

I went to Korea because it's my job. I know that you know that, but I want to have it in writing. Were it my decision, I wouldn't be in Korea. I'd be in Huntington with you for our long-planned visit. I've thought about it every day. I picture the back porch and the kitchen table and the quilt your mother always puts on the bed in the fall.

I've thought about the train ride down. How much I was looking forward to having so much uninterrupted time to be with you. How comfortable it always is to just sit by you, the dogs going back and forth on our laps as the train takes us to our family.

I will be home as swiftly as I can. I expect combat will be as thrilling as ever, but war is always war, and I am very glad to have a reason to think of home.
I love you.

Yours,
Ron

Carwood sits on the bed and blinks back happy tears. There's a quiet knock on the door, and he looks up to see George poke his head in.

"You found it, right?"

Carwood holds up the letter. "I did. He sent it here?"

"Yup. Got here three days ago. Joe practically had to tie me down to keep me from opening it."

Carwood chuckles. "Here," he says. "You can read it."

"Yeah?" George asks, taking the paper when Carwood nods. He reads the letter, and Carwood watches the way his eyes mist over. "Wow," George says when he's done, handing the letter back to Carwood. "That's some good words."

"Yes, they are," Carwood agrees. He folds the letter and puts it back in its envelope, then looks up to find George looking confused. "What is it?"

"Why does he call you CC?"

"It's cover," Carwood says, "So he can write me whatever he wants. He's told people that he's got a sweetheart in Boston."

George's eyes go wide, and then he chuckles. "I just pictured you in an evening dress."

Carwood grins. "How'd I look?"

"Not bad, Lip. Not bad." George beams. "I wouldn't recommend anything above a kitten heel, though. Don't want Ron feeling short."

Carwood picks up his pillow and throws it at George. George catches it and throws it back. "Go to sleep, George."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on my way. Sleep well, Lip."

Carwood touches the envelope, tracing the shape of Ron's name. "I will, George. I will."

March 1951

Dear CC:

Only a short note this time, my darling. We jumped three days ago. Thrilling as ever. Combat has been fierce. Resistance is stronger than expected. I miss you. Please send any news you have.

All my love,
Ron

Carwood touches the empty part of the page Ron didn't use. His heart aches at everything it implies. Ron only doesn't fill the page when he's exhausted. It's been two weeks since the letter's date. Operation Tomahawk has been in the papers, and Carwood knows too intimately exactly how to read between the lines when it comes to reports on military action.

He gets up from the kitchen table and walks over to the desk in the corner of the living room, the one faced towards the couch so he and Ron can see each other and talk when one of them is using it. He takes out his stationary and his favorite pen. It's rosewood with gold accents. Ron had made it in the shop Carwood had built him in the backyard shortly after they'd bought the house, having to fight the urge to grin knowingly at each other when the realtor had said they weren't the first confirmed bachelors he'd sold a house to.

My Dearest Ron,

To say I miss you, too, doesn't do it justice. If I could stop every person on the street when I walk to work, I would tell them how much and how often. The dogs have heard me extoll your virtues so often I am surprised they don't sit up and repeat it back when I tell them to speak.

Boston is still keeping its cold nights and early mornings, but the afternoons are starting to warm. The Sun Goddesses are delighted that the window seat is warm enough to enjoy again. Currently, Panzer has her nose pressed to the glass to watch the squirrels, and Sherman is flopped on her side and snoring. I'll be taking them for their evening walk shortly. They are still checking that bush in the park that I told you about. The one with the stray cat in it.

I spoke with Maureen at the movie house. She says they'll be getting Singin' in the Rain in a few days. She's seen it already and is–in her own words "Desperately in love with everyone in it. Even the villain." Evelyn laughed at her description and gave me a bit more detail on the plot. She also promised I'd be welcome on opening night with or without the dogs. Maureen made sure to invite me to dinner before I'd left. She informed me it's always easy to tell when I haven't had a letter from you in awhile, and I'd be insulted if Evelyn hadn't given me a sympathetic look and said she and Maureen got different assignments in the Red Cross.

Work is steady. We got an update on the merger with the glassmaker in Germany I told you about before. It looks like it's almost ready to go through. I'm curious if anyone from our office will decide to go. Given our experiences, I'm not sure I'd want to be in Germany. But I think, also, with you away, I'm thinking very much of when we met. I suppose I'll find out when you're home if I still feel the same.

Well, about Germany. I've no question how I feel about you.

Be as safe as you can, my love. Remember you are missed by more than just me. Evelyn and Maureen and Lewis and Dick and George and Joe and Mama all send their love. I'm sure the list would be longer if I hadn't had a head cold last week and stayed in more than usual. Yes, I had the doctor come. No, it was no more than a head cold. I never caught a fever or even had a cough. It was just sniffles and some headaches.

Try to sleep. Stay warm. Keep your helmet on. Don't run into any open fields.

I love you.

All my love,
CC

Carwood recaps his pen and runs his thumb over the wood grain as he re-reads what he's written. He wants to give Ron all the quiet, regular news he can. Give him a sense of home that he can hold close.

He can't think of anything to add. He folds the letter over, taking an extra moment to press the creases like he can send extra care by doing so. After he addresses the envelope, he gives in to a silly impulse and presses a kiss to the letter before he tucks it inside.

The dogs pop up the moment he whistles, and they snuffle and bump each other all the way to the mailbox at the corner and back.

November 1952, two days before Thanksgiving

"Fucking hell, the army's on time as ever," Joe mutters as he stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Carwood at the train station in Huntington. They're ten feet from the back of the crowd. The train is forty minutes late, and he and Carwood are both shivering in the cold.

"You can wait in the car with the dogs," Carwood offers and laughs when Joe elbows him hard enough he feels it through his coat and sweater.

"Warmer than fucking Bastonge," Joe mutters.

Carwood huffs in agreement and stamps his feet. Joe holds out a cigarette, and Carwood accepts. Joe lights Carwood's first and then his own, and they stand in silence and smoke for half a cigarette.

"Lemme ask you something," Joe says.

"Sure," Carwood replies, not surprised Joe needs to talk. He'd figured as much when Joe had offered to come to the train station with him. Carwood knows the cold can make Joe's stump hurt something fierce.

"You think–" Joe takes a long, slow drag of his cigarette and blows it out just as slowly. "I was thinking–" He shakes his head and tucks his hands under his arms. Carwood puts a hand on his back, silent support that he knows Joe will accept. Joe cuts him a quick, amused glance and shakes his head. "Weird to say it out loud," he says, meeting Carwood's eyes, then looking away to see if the train is coming.

"Take your time, Joe," Carwood says.

Joe finishes his cigarette and flicks it away. "I wanna get George a ring."

Carwood just manages not to cough around the final puff of his own cigarette. He crushes the butt under his heel as he blows out the smoke. He knows better than to ask if George wants a ring. Joe Toye does exactly what Joe Toye wants. And it's one of the things George loves about Joe most. He feels himself smile and chuckles at it. "If you show up with a ring, George will wear it," he says. Joe cuts him a skeptical side glance. Carwood elbows him as hard as he was elbowed a few minutes ago. Joe, unsurprisingly, doesn't budge. "He'll love it." He thumps Joe on the back. Hard. "Let him buy you one, too."

Joe lets out a strangled squawk, and Carwood wants to laugh about it, but there's a sudden, sharp brightness down the tracks, and his entire focus lands on it. "It's here," he says.

"About fucking time," Joe says like he wasn't just surprised at the idea of getting a ring.

Carwood can only track the train as it approaches. First, it's just a light. Then, the vague outline of the engine around it, and then–as it finally reaches the lights at the edge of the station–an entire, real structure. A train. And onboard it is Ron. Home from a war that Carwood wasn't in.

"You okay?" Joe asks as a few tears drip down Carwood's face.

Carwood rubs his arm across his eyes as the train lets loose a final, sharp whistle and comes to a stop. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

Joe grabs Carwood in a one-armed hug. He keeps his arm around Carwood's shoulders as people start to disembark. The crowd moves in a wave as people step forward to meet passengers, and there's only a few people left on the platform when Ron steps off. He's in full uniform, limp around the edges to show how long he's been on the train.

"Ron," Carwood calls, raising his hand. Ron meets his eyes, and Carwood's breath catches. He hadn't forgotten the weight of Ron's unfiltered attention, but–oh–he has missed it.

"I'll get his bag," Joe says and walks towards the station as Ron cuts through the last bits of crowd to Carwood.

Ron stops short two steps before simply running into Carwood. "Carwood," he says.

Carwood's breath shakes as he breathes in. He feels raw and new, like he did the first time he and Ron were reunited after they were both back in the states after the War. "Ron," he replies in a whisper.

Ron's hand clutches tight at his arm, just below the elbow. "You look well," he says.

Carwood gives a bark of a laugh at the inanity of the statement. He glances around. They're the only two on the platform now. "I've missed you," he says. "Oh, god, I've missed you."

Ron blinks and shivers and glances around. His shoulders relax when he also realizes they're alone. "Love," he murmurs, dragging his hand down Carwood's arm so he can hold Carwood's wrist in a loose grip. "You called me love in your letters."

Carwood smiles and turns his arm so Ron's thumb can rest in the meat of his palm. "You called me darling."

Ron meets his eyes, and that deep, unwavering stare makes Carwood feels like he's woken up from a deep sleep. "Darling," Ron says.

"Love," Carwood replies.

Ron shivers, and Carwood wants to pull him in and kiss him, but they are still in public, and Carwood can hear the distinct sound of his footsteps on the platform. Not that Joe would mind.

"Don't mind me," Joe says like he can read Carwood's mind. "Just playing porter."

"Thank you, Joe," Ron replies, looking away from Carwood to give Joe a warm smile. "Nice of you to keep Carwood company."

Joe shrugs. "House is loud," he says. "Between George, his brother, my aunt, and Jack and Besty and the kids, it's the worst singing you've ever heard."

"And Mama?" Ron asks, right on cue.

Joe laughs. "Voice of an angel," he replies, and he and Ron laugh together as Carwood leads them to the car.
Sherman and Panzer take a moment to recognize Ron, but the second they smell him, they both yip and climb his chest to lick his face.

"Easy, easy," Ron says. "Down," he says in a stricter voice. One that usually works. It doesn't this time, and Carwood laughs openly at Ron's own laugh of surprise.

"I wasn't the only one who missed you," Carwood says as he starts the car.

Ron just laughs more as Panzer's wiggles shove Sherman off his lap. He stretches his left arm against the seat and strokes Carwood's shoulder with his thumb. The stroking stills when Carwood rounds the corner to the boardinghouse. Even with the middle part of the bench seat between them, Carwood can feel the way Ron breathes in deeply and relaxes.

"Home," Ron murmurs.

Carwood parks and slides across the street, tilting Ron's chin so they meet in a comfortable, perfect kiss. "Home," he says as he pulls away. He's not surprised to glance in the backseat and see that Joe has left them alone.

"One more," Ron says.

Carwood can't do anything but oblige.

*

Mama is the first to pull Ron into a hug when they walk inside. "Oh, honey, how we've missed you," she says as Ron hugs her back just as tightly. When he pulls away, she holds onto his hands. "Now, you get out of that uniform and take a shower and put on something a little fresher, won't you?"

Carwood feels his heart thump harder at the bright amusement in Ron's eyes. "Do I smell like the train, Mama?" he asks.

Mama laughs. "You said it. I didn't. You know where everything is."

Ron kisses her forehead and straightens up. He takes a moment to say hello to everyone else and then walks down the hall with his duffle over his shoulder.

"I do not understand how he isn't married," Betsy says under her breath, but the room is very quiet, so everyone hears. Betsy shrugs when she realizes everyone's heard her. "He's very handsome in that uniform."

"I'm standing right beside you," Jack says with a chuckle as he shifts the baby to his other shoulder.

"It's a comment on–" Betsy looks up at the ceiling then over to Joe's aunt. "Auntie Bat. What's that word you used today when you were explaining about modern art?"

Auntie Bat grins and cuts Carwood a quick look. "Aesthetic. You're saying you enjoy the view but aren't looking to touch."

"That's it," Betsy says and turns to Jack with a wide smile. "I like the aesthetic. But it's not the same as being married to you."

Jack chuckles and kisses Betsy. "That's all I need to hear," he says.

"He's not married because no lady dares divorce him from the Army," George says. "If there's a lady more attractive than marching thirteen miles in leaky boots, Ron hasn't met her," he says.

"Really, Carwood," George's brother Mark says with a straight face, "I think the problem lands with his best friend being terrible at introducing him to women."

Carwood laughs, a bit sharper than he means to, but only because Mark is always a bit more adventurous in his jokes than Carwood expects. Carwood thinks it's the age difference. Mark is seven years younger than George, three siblings between them, and Carwood is certain that accounts for how Mark views the world. "All I can do is make introductions," he says. "Everything else is up to Ron."

There's a general ripple of laughter–most importantly from Jack and Betsy. And then Carwood's two elder nieces are running into the kitchen from the living room and loudly asking where Uncle Ron is.

"You said you were bringing him back!"

"You promised!"

Carwood laughs and drops to one knee. "He's here," he says, and both the girls press their hands to their mouths in glee. "He just needs to freshen up first. Just like when you get here."

"She pushed me in the mud!"

"You started it!"

"Girls," Betsy says with the sharpness only a mother has.

The girls look at each other, then their mother, and then they run back into the living room. The adults share an affectionate laugh.

"It's nice to have Ron back," Jack says.

"It hasn't been the same without him," Betsy agrees as she sits at the kitchen table. She holds out her arms to take the baby and closes her eyes when Jack kisses the top of her head.

Something warm and lovely uncurls in Carwood's chest as he sits across from her and hears the shower turn on in the bathroom down the hall. "I'm sure he's glad to be here."

"But no one ask him," George says as he sits next to Carwood and slides him a hot cup of coffee that smells strongly of whiskey. "He doesn't like to answer personal questions. Like his shoe size."

"George," Carwood says, rolling his eyes. Everyone else laughs, and Carwood knows that's exactly what George was going for. "Ass," he whispers as Auntie Bat asks Mama what she's changed in the turkey spices for this year.

"You love me," George whispers back and grins.

Two minutes later–just as the shower turns off–Geroge asks Mark if he remembers the Thanksgiving Beatriz took her diaper off at the table. Which leads Auntie Bat to shrieking with laughter while Joe looks warmly amused and gives Carwood the chance to escape to the guest bedroom.

He's sitting on the bed when Ron walks in wrapped in the robe Carwood packed for him before he left Boston. Ron smiles at him, soft and easy, scrubbing the extra water from his hair as he walks over. He leans down and pecks Carwood on the cheek. "I assume George worked his usual magic as distraction?"

"With the other queers in the room providing support," Carwood replies, nuzzling behind Ron's ear. "Betsy thinks you're very handsome in your uniform."

Ron straddles Carwood's lap and tosses his towel to one side. "I don't care," he says, and for several glorious seconds, they simply hold and kiss each other.

*

Jack and Betsy and the little ones leave at eight. The moment the sound of the car fades away, George stretches his arms and announces, "Let the gay begin!"

"George," Mama says before Carwood can. "Really."

"George," Auntie Bat says. "Really." With very different intonation.

Mama laughs and shakes her head. "All of you found exactly who can put up with you, even if they can't be here." She reaches over Joe's arms to pat Auntie Bat on the arm and reaches across the table to pat Mark as well.

"We're glad for you, Mama," Mark says, taking her hand in one of his. "If I ever step over the line, you smack me back."

"Not me," Auntie Bat says. She grins when Joe groans. "We Toye's aren't so easy to quiet."

"Even if you go too far, I'm happy my family's here for Thanksgiving," Mama says, giving Mark and Auntie Bat both a warm look before turning her gaze to Ron. "Especially you, son."

Ron meets Mama's gaze and tangles his fingers with Carwood's on top of the table. "I'm glad to be home, Mama," he says. "And I know how thankful I am that I can be myself with you."

"Show off," Mark mutters in the same half-joking tone that always lets George's jokes land. He beams when everyone chuckles.

"I'm happy we can all be here," Auntie Bat says. "Even being here without Gert, it gives one the kind of hope you want with the holiday."

Carwood watches Joe lean against George. George nuzzles Joe's cheek and pulls him close with an arm around his shoulders.

"Gert's welcome here the moment it's easier for her," Mama says. "There won't be any judgment at this table that she went to her folks before it felt right."

Auntie Bat smiles, and in that smile is Joe Toye to the bone. "I'll remind her again," she says. "We'll see how next year goes."

*

The next day, Carwood wakes up ten minutes before dawn and curls into Ron before Ron can do more than snuffle and shift. "Stay put," he says.

"The dogs–" Ron chuckles when Carwood gives a small snort. The dogs haven't been up with the sun for years. "I'm outvoted," Ron says and relaxes back against Carwood. "I'm not doing it again," he says after a few moments.

"Hmm?" Carwood hums, pressing kisses to Ron's neck and shoulders.

"Going to war. I won't–it isn't–" He turns so he and Carwood are face-to-face. He rubs his thumb across the scar on Carwood's cheek. "They were good men, and I thought it'd be easier to lose them this time because I'd been through it before. But…it hurt worse somehow."

Carwood's heart aches. He hitches Ron's leg over his hip so they're even closer together. "I'm sorry," he says. "I wish–well, I don't wish I could have been with you, but…" He trails off, uncertain, but there's understanding in Ron's eyes, bright and kind.

"I'm not leaving the Army," Ron says. "But I'm done with war. It was awful, being away from you like that. Being away from everyone. From home."

Carwood tucks Ron's head against his neck and kisses his hair. "Thank you for coming home again," he says.

Ron kisses his neck and his shoulder, and they simply hold each other as the sun rises.

1955

Ron cocks his head when Carwood tells him the news. "Germany?" he says. "Really?"

Carwood chuckles. "I know, right?" He finishes hanging up his jacket and sits next to Ron on the couch, humming happily when Ron kisses him hello. "They don't expect me to pack up and go right away, obviously. They want me to take a language course first so I can be more useful when I get there. It'd be a yearly contract. Which really isn't asking much."

"You want to do it," Ron says.

Carwood nods. "I thought about it all day, and…we never really saw Germany, did we? Or Austria? Or even England or France? We saw…we saw the war. I want to see it, Ron. What it's really like." He takes Ron's hand and kisses his knuckles. "I want to see it with you if you can make it work."

"I don't know that I can just outright ask to be sent to West Germany," Ron replies, giving Carwood's hand a squeeze. "But I'll see what I can do."

Carwood smiles. "Thank you," he says. "I don't think I'd jump at this, but with everything that's changed in the last year–"

"I know," Ron replies. It's been nearly a year since they lost Mama, almost four months since the dogs passed. The idea of doing something new and different makes Ron feel lighter in his grief, and he can tell Carwood feels the same. "I'll see what I can do," he says. "There's a possible place for me in Germany, actually," he admits.

"Oh?" Carwood asks, the question sounding only curious but there's the sharp look in his eyes that says he can tell Ron's been holding something in.

"I've been mulling it over for a week or so,' Ron says and smiles at the way Carwood chuckles quietly. "Maybe closer to two weeks."

"Tell me," Carwood says, settling more deeply into the couch.

Ron licks his lips, still uncertain despite all his thinking of how Carwood will take this information. "There's a need for a new American warden at Spandau."

Carwood blinks. "Oh."

"I don't know that I want to be a warden, but it also includes an intensive language course. Russian and German."

"Russian and German?"

"Yes." Ron watches Carwood think and sees the exact moment Carwood puts it together.

"Do they want you to be a spy?" he asks.

"No," Ron says. "We need more people who can understand information that's coming from behind the Iron Curtain. Working at Spandau, I'd have access to the Russian warden, so they want me to be able to speak to him. Afterwards, if my skills are good enough, I could be useful for translation."

"I have no doubt your skills will be good enough," Carwood says. "But do you really want to do it, Ron? Work in that place?"

Ron shrugs. "That's what I've been trying to decide. I really don't know. But now that you've got the chance to go to Germany–"

"I don't have to."

"Carwood," Ron says with a shake of his head. "You came home looking like you'd floated here. You want this chance. You want the promotion and to see Europe. I have a way to join you and still do some good for the Army."

"But is it what you want?"

Ron sighs. "I want to be with you, the same as I always have," he says. "And I want to get a dog or two again. We can do that as easily in Germany as here, I imagine. If you want to go to Germany, I'll go to Germany. If you want to stay in Boston, I'll stay in Boston. You came to Boston for me. You waited for me while I was in Korea. Let me follow you for once."

Carwood leans in and kisses Ron soft and sweet and wonderful as ever. "Tell them you'll go to Spandau," he says. "Let's see Europe."