Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Your uncle?” she asked. “I see. Good. Let’s get started, then. Can I offer you some refreshments?”

“Juice, or even water, would be fine for me, ma’am,” said Phoenix.

“I’ll have the same, Madam President,” said Sergeant Reed.

“Captain?” beckoned the colonel. “Please see to our guest’s request.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Gentlemen,” she continued, indicating chairs for the guests. “Please have a seat and fill me in on all your impressive accomplishments over the past five years.”

“You awake, T?”

“Sure. How could I not be?”

“Yeah. Guess that was a silly question.”

“And you’re done savoring the moment, I see.”

In the darkness, Andy removed his clothes. He chose to ignore her last comment. Naked, he sniffed his shirt, smelling the full fragrance of smoke.

“I smell like smoke and fire.”

“So do I.”

“It’s kind of a good smell,” suggested Andy.

“We’ll see.” Terry shifted beneath the queen-sized bed covers, flipping a portion down for Andy’s entrance. In the moonlight streaming in from the master bedroom windows, the shiny fabric of her beige nightgown shimmered.

“I’m a bit nervous, T, if you must know.”

“So am I, Andy. C’mon in and just hold me for awhile, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, sure. That sounds nice.”

Andy slipped beneath the covers, snuggling close. Terry had her back to him and Andy tentatively wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Unmoving, they stayed that way for a long time, comforted by the closeness and warmth. Gradually, the warmth increased and each made soft, quiet sounds and gentle, exploratory movements. Andy slid his hand softly across the silky curve of her hip and thigh. Terry turned to face him.

“I’m glad you’re here, Andy.”

“Me too.”

“Now, can you do me a small favor?” asked Terry.

“Sure. Name it.”

“How about you just lay back and relax while I show you what you got yourself into.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus.”

“Honey, you don’t know the half of it.”

“John, this is Amanda. Amanda, I’d like you to meet John McLeod.”

McLeod extended his hand in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you, Amanda.”

“Same to you, John,” she answered, matching his grip. She glanced to her left where Marty and another man were deep into a loud and energetic conversation, complete with excited gesticulations. The two stopped abruptly when they sensed Amanda’s gaze. Marty’s new friend was tall and very fit, wearing a duster and well-worn combat boots.

“Snuff,” said Connor behind her, “John’s heading up this bunch. McLeod, how about introducing your men?”

“Sure thing, Connor Mac. Amanda, this is my son, Jason.”

“Hi, Amanda.”

“Hi, Jason,” she said, shaking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Possibly unnerved by the touch of a beautiful woman, Jason remained silent.

“This is Jackson,” continued McLeod, “and this one’s Jude.”

Amanda waved at them from across the table. Each attempted to capture her interest with eye contact and engaging smiles. However, she was more interested in the resurgent conversation of Marty and BB.

“BB,” said McLeod, grabbing his attention. “This is Amanda. Amanda, I’d like you to meet BB.”

BB came over and shook her hand with a self-assured grin, perfect white teeth in a smile both inviting and attractive. His movements had a confident catlike quality and Amanda glanced guiltily at Connor, in non-verbal acknowledgement of her unbidden attraction to the newcomer. Connor’s amused grin conveyed recognition of her unwitting display.

“Oh,” she said softly, embarrassed by her unintended attraction.

Instinctively, BB stole a glance at Connor. He had learned long ago to be sensitive to his initial impact on women. He knew that his crystal blues eyes, up close, had that effect and he smiled at Amanda in a courteous and innocuous greeting. “Hello, Amanda. I’m Bobby Butkowski. My friends call me BB.”

She cleared her throat. “Hi… ahh… BB. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She shook his hand, perhaps maintaining contact a moment too long. Her hands slipped to her sides and she blushed lightly. She nodded at BB, not trusting her voice any further, and walked to Connor’s side, avoiding eye contact with her man. BB returned to speak with Marty.

The McIntyre family reemerged from the house and joined the festive atmosphere, quickly engaging the newcomers in conversation. Roger was surprised at the bizarre coincidence that had led BB and Marty to this farmhouse on this day by different routes. Jason entertained young Cody with slight-of-hand tricks using an old coin. He performed his tricks with the slim hope of impressing Amanda who looked on while Connor made general conversation with the elder McLeod. Rhonda sat next to Roger, listening to the men’s conversation and smiling politely at the appropriate moments. She excused herself after about ten minutes and entered the house. She returned quickly with her backpack and stood at the head of the table until noticed.

The conversation abated slowly, John McLeod the first to notice her sense of impending announcement. Rhonda’s hands rested lightly on the backpack, as if protecting what was inside, and she waited patiently for everyone’s attention.

Connor and Amanda turned to face Rhonda and the abrupt ending of their conversation caught the attention of Jason and Cody. They turned to face Rhonda, glancing toward the loud and excited conversation of BB and Marty. BB was arguing with Marty about the name of a British sergeant in the Iraq War and Marty, aware of the growing quiet, jerked his head toward Rhonda, managing to divert BB’s attention in her direction. Roger followed her actions since she stepped from the front door.

“What’s up, Rhonda?” asked Connor.

The entire group sensed some high drama, but Rhonda was unhurried, letting the suspense build. She slowly removed a wooden box from her backpack and set it gently on the table, moving the backpack to the porch floor. Roger grinned, already understanding the implications of his wife’s actions. Rhonda surveyed the faces, each returning her gaze silently. She was convinced she had everyone’s attention.

“Gentlemen,” she said, “and lovely Amanda. A couple months ago, I found this box in a sealed plastic wrapper at a car dealership we searched. This box, and quite a few others were stashed in the back of a room—what did you call it Roger?”

“A humidor.”

“Yes, the boxes were in the back of a humidor. Now, me… I have no use for ’em, but seeing you men together had me thinking that this’d be a good way to remove a big space hog in my pack. Roger told me that I should wait for a special occasion and when I asked him ‘like what?’, he said that I would know. I think this is it. It’s my way of saying ‘welcome to our house.’” She peeled the wrapper and opened the box and pulled out an A. Fuentes Spanish Longesdales 858 from the top row. Each cigar was individually wrapped and Rhonda let her long index finger slide across the top row, gently bumping each cigar. Connor and McLeod exchanged an appreciative glance, each wondering whether Rhonda realized that her actions were establishing future dynamics for this group and the position of any potential leader. The two men knew that the first cigar should go to the alpha male or, in more civilized times, the guest of honor. The second cigar would go to the true leader of the group.

“Whatta ya got there, Rhonda?” asked Marty.