Michael McGarrity - Nothing But Trouble

In late August the mayor publicly announced that he would not stand for reelection in March. As the candidates lined up to announce their intention to run for the office, a stream of concerned, curious, and ambitious senior commanders sought Kerney out to question him about his plans. He made it clear to all that he would step down and retire, although he didn’t say when. He needed to discuss it with Sara first, and not by telephone.

On a Friday morning Kerney took an early flight from Albuquerque to Washington, D.C., where Sara was to meet him at the airport. After he arrived, he spotted her outside the passenger screening area with Patrick at her side. His son, now three, had grown again and looked more and more like his mother each time Kerney saw him. The same strawberry-blond hair, eyes more green than blue, the same line of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and a smile that melted Kerney’s heart.

Patrick broke away from his mother and ran to Kerney, who picked him up and gave him a bear hug.

“Can I have a pony?” Patrick asked, after Kerney smooched him.

“What does your mother say?” Kerney asked as Sara stepped up, gave him a kiss, stroked his cheek, and smiled her wonderful smile. She was wearing her Class A army uniform, which surprised Kerney. On the phone last night she’d said she was taking the day off.

Patrick raised four fingers. “I have to be this old.”

“How old are you now?”

Patrick glumly held up three fingers.

“You’ll be four soon enough,” Kerney said.

Patrick shook his head, as though such a day was an eternity away.

“Don’t pout,” Kerney said. “Soon you’ll be back in New Mexico and you can ride with me every day.”

Patrick’s eyes lit up. “Every day, forever?”

Kerney laughed. “How long is that?”

Patrick pondered the question seriously and spread his arms wide. “This much is forever.”

“Forever it is,” Kerney agreed with a laugh. “Are you working?” he asked Sara.

Sara nodded. “I’ll tell you about it on the ride home.”

In her SUV, Sara explained that she’d been called a few hours ago and told to report to her Pentagon boss at sixteen hundred hours.

“I don’t know why,” she added. “But my orders for embassy duty have been rescinded. I’m to remain at the Pentagon until further notice.”

“In the same job?” Kerney asked.

“God, I hope not,” Sara said. For three years she’d worked for a one-star general, a petty tyrant who’d given her nothing but grief. It was a distinct possibility that her orders had been canceled as a payback for standing up to him time and time again.

“So we’re in limbo,” Kerney said.

“For now. Have you officially resigned?”

“Not yet,” Kerney replied. “The mayor asked me to stay on until the end of his term. I wanted to talk to you about it before I gave him my answer.”

Sara sighed.

“What?” Kerney asked.

“It seems like reality is again interfering in our lives.”

“I will retire, Sara. In fact, I’ve already announced it.”

“Well, that’s one piece of the puzzle.”

“What are the other pieces?”

They’d reached Arlington, Virginia, where Sara and Patrick lived in the house Kerney had bought as an investment when Sara had started her tour of duty at the Pentagon. She turned onto the street that led to the Cape Cod-style cottage and pulled into the driveway.

“Will we ever get to the point where we can live together as a family?” Sara asked as she killed the engine.

Kerney avoided Sara’s questioning look, removed Patrick from his child’s seat, hoisted him into the front of the SUV, and put him on his lap. The last thing he wanted was to start the weekend with an argument.

Sara put the SUV into reverse and smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m not picking a fight. Patrick has a brand-new book he’s been saving for you to read to him, and guess what? It’s about a horse.”

Patrick grinned and tugged Kerney’s hand. “It’s about a pony,” he said emphatically, “not a horse. I’ll show it to you.”

Kerney opened the door. “Let’s go, champ. I’ve got to see this book.”

As Sara drove away, Patrick scooted toward the cottage, urging Kerney to hurry. He followed Patrick up the path, delighted by his smart, self-confident son and disconcerted about Sara’s situation. Would new orders place her in harm’s way, separated from Kerney and Patrick for the duration?

Except for Kerney’s pending retirement all plans were now on hold. There was some solace knowing that at least he’d be free to be a full-time parent if circumstances required it. But the thought of not seeing Sara for an indefinite period of time was gut wrenching.

“Come on, Daddy,” Patrick said.

Kerney smiled and hurried to his son.

Brigadier General Stuart Thatcher delighted in keeping subordinates off guard and anxious. He routinely called his staff in for impromptu meetings or one-on-one confabs without specifying an agenda, and took great pleasure in making them wait interminably outside his office.

To deal with the man, Sara tried hard to control her feisty nature but at times found it impossible to do so. With appropriate deference to his rank she would occasionally point out to Thatcher that she would be better prepared to meet with him if she knew in advance what he needed to talk to her about. The suggestion always brought color to Thatcher’s cheeks.

Additionally, Sara had taken to asking Thatcher’s secretary to buzz her when the general was ready to meet, so she could work at her desk rather than waste time cooling her heals outside his office. Although it raised Thatcher’s ire, he couldn’t fault her working instead of waiting.

How Thatcher had earned his one-star rank had always confounded Sara, until she’d learned he was a third-generation West Pointer with a senior U.S. senator in his extended family.

Sara shared an office with three other officers. She sat at her cubicle desk and listened as her colleagues got ready to leave for the day. Twelve-to sixteen-hour workdays were not uncommon at the Pentagon. But when Friday came, everybody who wasn’t scheduled for weekend duty bailed out as soon as possible.

On her desk stood a photograph of Kerney and Patrick astride a horse at the Santa Fe ranch. From the grins on their faces both of them looked like they were in heaven. Sara marveled at how much Patrick and Kerney were alike in personality, temperament, and looks. They had the same square shoulders, gentle strong hands, and narrow waists. They shared a dogged determination to do things well and a capacity to be bullheaded.

Two sides of the same coin, she thought with a smile.

She said good-night as her office mates filtered out, wondering how long Thatcher would keep her waiting. An hour later, after she had cleared out some routine paperwork, Sara’s phone rang and she was summoned to Thatcher’s office, where she found him sitting ramrod straight in his chair, hands clasped on the obsessively tidy desk.

Sara snapped to and said, “Sir.”

Thatcher raised his egg-shaped head that was punctuated by a pointy nose, thin lips, and a seriously receding hairline. “You are to be held over at the Pentagon pending reassignment.”

“Sir, I am aware of that,” Sara said, wondering if Thatcher had called her in to repeat old news simply as a way to jack her around.

Thatcher forced a smile and waved her into a chair. “Of course you are. But I’ve been asked to determine if you’ll accept a TDY assignment in the training branch.”

Sara sat. TDY meant temporary duty. “What would the job entail, General?”

“You’d serve as a member of a special project team tasked with preparing an advanced military-police-officer curriculum for reserve and National Guard units. It must be accomplished in six months.”