The Grunt

Jacksonville, NC

The sun had already begun to set by the time Staff Sergeant Brett Black left the field. Throwing his gear in the back of his black Ford F-150, he pulled off his uniform cover and wiped his sweaty brow as he looked over the waterfront across from the company office.

Beautiful hues of gold splashed against the blue waters, and a tranquil breeze swept off the shore creating a picture-perfect evening. The view was something that should have calmed him, especially after a hectic day. Still, he had a bad feeling in his gut, like something eerie was on the horizon. And after three tours to Iraq and two tours to Afghanistan, he had learned that his gut was hardly ever wrong.

Running his large hand over his symmetrical, dirty-blonde, high and tight haircut, he slipped on his Oakley shades and jumped in his truck. The smell of clean, hot leather greeted him, even burned him to the touch from being in the sun for over twelve hours.

Scanning the truck to make sure it was clean,
a dirty little habit he had picked up in the Marine Corps
, he closed the door and slipped in his favorite Kong-Foo Fighters CD. It would be a long drive from the back of the base to the highway - plenty of time to clear his head before he got home. The music would help relax him, put him into a state of mind that would make him more pliable for home life,
if you could call it that
.

With the air blasting and the radio down, he headed out of Camp Lejeune, exhausted and starving, ready to get a shower and good night’s sleep after seven long days of sleeping in tents and training on the rough terrain near highways and out in the bush. It would also be good to see his kid, and it might even be nice to see Amy,
if she was in a good mood
.

They had been on the outs since before Easter, and with Mother’s Day approaching he wanted to get on his wife’s good side for the holiday. She had been complaining more and more lately about him being away from home. In fact, it had been
the
conversation of their household for the last few months.

Brett rolled his eyes at the thought.
Like he could help what the Marine Corps decided to do with him.
It was almost laughable. If they said jump, the only reasonable question he could ask was how high. Still, Amy ragged him every chance she got about his absence in her life.

Their marriage was going south and his retirement with it, if he wasn’t careful. They had been to two family counselors in the last year. Both were his idea, and neither had worked. Their last session had been cut short by Amy after she got extremely agitated. That day, she had taken the keys and left him in Jacksonville at the therapist’s office, forcing him to call a ride to take him twenty-miles home to Swansboro.

Joe, his best friend and a fellow Marine, had picked him up that day and lectured him all the way home about getting his wife’s growing antics under control. But such a thing was easier said than done.

Of course Amy had blamed it all on him, saying that he never seemed to realize how much damage him being gone all the time had done to their marriage.

Maybe she was right.

Still, he had to try.

Cameron was getting older, about to celebrate his fourth birthday in a few months, and he deserved to be raised in a two-parent household. The love for his son and the love he had for his wife had been the only two reasons that kept him from asking for a divorce himself. He still remembered the good times that they had back before she turned on him.

In fact, she had been the one who had suggested the Marine Corps when he was eighteen. It had been the only thing that he could recall that she had ever been so adamant about. Only after he was sworn in, everything went downhill. Amy was expecting some fairytale life but what she got was the reality of a military family – long days away, training, waiting and little pay.

Looking at his watch, he decided to pull into the grocery store and grab a little gift. Hopefully, roses could warm a spot in Amy’s heart tonight and prevent another fight.

Pulling into a parking spot on the end of the first aisle, he jumped out and then looked down at his clothes. Shit. He couldn’t go into a public establishment in his uniform. It was against the Uniform Code of Military Justice, and with his promotion pending, he was not going to get in trouble over something so trivial.

Jumping back inside his truck, he pulled up to the front of the grocery store and flagged down a teenage boy going inside.

“Hey, kid,” Brett said, waving a twenty dollar bill.

Pulling at his saggy jeans, the teenager eyed the money and walked over to him. “You’re in luck, dude. I only got one twenty-piece left,” the boy said, digging in his front pocket.

Brett frowned.
A twenty-piece?
“No, I don’t want any drugs,” he said, flabbergasted. The boy couldn’t have been a day over sixteen.
And in the parking lot of the freaking grocery store? What was the world coming to? What the hell was he fighting for?

“Well then what’cha want?” the boy asked in his toughest voice.

“
What do I want
?” Leaning out of the truck, Brett flipped the boy’s hat off his head, sending it to the ground, and growled. “I
want
you to take your little ass in there and get me a red bouquet of roses,” he ordered. “You can keep the change. Consider it the only honest money that you’ve ever made in your little shitty life.”

The teenager looked at the money for a minute then bent down and picked up his hat. “Get it yourself,” he said, wiggling his freckled nose at Brett before he meandered off quickly with a bit of a dip in his step.

“Little prick!” Brett yelled. “If I didn’t have to get home, I’d kick your little, drug-slinging
ass!
”

The boy looked back, evidently believing him, and quickly disappeared into the doors of the grocery store.

“Probably never worked an honest day in his little pathetic life,” Brett said aloud as he put his truck in reverse. He’d have to forgo the roses tonight and hope that just his presence would be enough to make Amy happy, though he doubted it would be.

***

By the time that Brett got home, the sun had finally set. Pulling up to his lakeside cottage, he stopped to check the mail. The box was jam-packed as usual. It seemed that Amy hated checking the mail or doing any kind of chores. What seemed to confuse him more was why it was such a chore to check the mail, when she didn’t have to pay one bill.

Flipping through the envelopes, he made his way up the drive to the porch and sat down on one of the white rocking chairs sitting in front of the bay windows.

Running his key under the flap of his cell phone bill, he pulled out the thick paper and turned to the last page. $400!

Gritting his teeth, he flipped through the pages to the itemized calls and saw that someone,
not him
, had been calling to Japan.

As the crickets chirped and the lightning bugs flew past him, he closed his eyes and tried to center himself. Taking a deep breath, he remembered that eerie feeling in his gut from earlier.
It was right every single time.

Slapping a mosquito on his arm, he opened his eyes and looked at the bill again. Maybe there was a reasonable explanation, but he doubted it.

The only thing in Japan was other Marines and Sailors. And as far as he knew, none of his friends or their wives had been stationed there. So why was she calling to another country?

The creak of the front door made him move his gaze from the paper. Locking eyes on Amy as she leaned against the entryway, he tried to smile.

“Hey,” he said in a deep baritone. He looked her up and down and watched her body language.

Relaxed, she gave a crooked smile. “Hey,” she said in a deep southern drawl. “I didn’t expect you home till tomorrow.”

“I told you that I’d be home on Friday. It’s Friday,” he said, raising the cell phone bill in his hand. “Can we talk about this?” His brow rose.

Her gaze went from him to the paper then back to him. Frowning, she stood up straighter. “What about it?” Her voice was not as soft now.

“There are like three hundred dollars’ worth of phone calls on your line to Japan,” he said, standing up. He towered over her little body but his size didn’t seem to bother her.

Smacking her lips, Amy turned and looked back in the house as Cameron started to cry. “Momma’s coming,” she said to her son, closing the door without answering Brett.

Cursing under his breath, Brett caught the door before it could slam and followed after her. “Amy, who have you been calling?” he yelled out. He heard her feet as they stomped up the stairs. There was no way in hell he was going to let this go.

Sighing, he went back outside and grabbed his gear from the cab of the truck and threw his arms over the side. He didn’t really have to ask. He knew who she’d been calling. A man. It didn’t matter who, the point was that it was a man.

Looking back at the bricked house, illuminated by the open windows, he started to just get back in his truck and tear out of his cove, but he knew that he had to get an answer.

When he came back inside the house, Amy was in the kitchen throwing around plates. He could tell by the clink of the porcelain hitting the steel sink that she was on the war path.

After he dropped his sea bags in the laundry room, he quietly made his way into the kitchen and sat at the table. From behind, he could see her pouting. Slumped over under the fluorescent lights, she pursed her lips together and heaved out a frustrated breath from her nose.

Amy threw the plate down and turned around. “I don’t know.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. Her pebbled nipples showed through her thin, V-neck t-shirt. “About a year ago, when you were in Iraq. What’s the big deal? He’s
just a friend
that I talk to from time to time. He was transferred to Japan, and he doesn’t have many friends over there. So, we talk.”

Brett knew that she was lying. “Why would he make friends with a married woman? Why would you spend my money talking to him on the cell phone I bought you? What do you all have to talk about for hours?” He could feel the heat fuming under his collar. Seeing red, he looked down and realized that he was gripping the side of the table. Relaxing, he let go and waited for an answer to even one of his questions.

Amy watched him, unaffected by his mood. “What does it matter to you, Brett? You’re never here.”

“Here we go with this shit again! Dammit, Amy, don’t I provide a decent life for you here? It’s not like you have to work or do anything but take care of Cameron.”

“Oh, like that’s an easy job!” she snapped back.

“Are you seeing him?” he asked, breathing hard. “Are you seeing him?!!”

“He’s in Japan. How in the hell could I be seeing him, Brett?” she asked, throwing down her washcloth. “You’re never here. I
never
see you, and when you’re here, you don’t pay attention to me.”

“That’s not true,” he said, lowering his voice. He shook his head. “What’s his name?”

“So you can try to get him in trouble?” Amy snapped, rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t born yesterday. You’ll just look him up and call his command. Uh uh, that ain’t happening.”

Brett could feel himself losing control. Standing up from the table, he pushed the chair back and knocked it over. “Fine. I’ll find out my damn self,” he said, pulling the bill from the side pocket of his uniform pants.

“What are you doing?” she asked, walking up to him. She tried to snatch the bill from his hand, but he turned his back to block her.

The phone rang several times before it went to voicemail. “Hi, you’ve reached Jermaine. Leave a message, and I’ll hit you back as soon as I can. Peace.”

Brett’s face went blank. As soon as the phone beeped, he looked at Amy. “
Jermaine
, this is Brett Black, Amy Black’s husband. When you get this message, give me a call back at 910-555-9313. I want to find out why the fuck you and my wife are having three-hour conversations.” Hanging up the phone, he shook his head. “A black man?” He turned to her and gave an incredulous scowl.

“What are you, the grand dragon?” she asked him as she snatched the paper out of his hand and shoved it into her pocket.

Offended, Brett countered. “Hey, I’m not a racist. You know that. I just don’t understand, considering that your redneck, Bible-thumping daddy may not be the
grand dragon
but he’s definitely the second-in-charge. And you could easily be the fucking runner-up. I mean, with all the shit you gave me about being friends with Joe?”

She interrupted, putting her shaking finger up. “Jermaine is a friend. That’s it. And I don’t owe you no explanation.” Pushing past him, she stomped out of the room and left him alone in the kitchen.

Brett was speechless. He stood by the table in a daze and listened to her stalk up the stairs and violently slam their bedroom door behind her.

“Son of bitch,” he said aloud. He knew without a doubt that Jermaine was no friend, and he was no idiot. Still, to run upstairs and stir up more trouble would only make him look like a fool, and he felt foolish enough for the minute.