Jenna Mindel - A Soldier's Prayer

“You know what, how about we turn off the TV for now? I imagine you didn’t come here with your uncle Cash to watch TV.” Monica looked down at the boy. Why were they here? She’d never known Cash to hang around little kids before.

“The burgers are done and not too burned.” Cash entered with the plate.

“The TV’s out, so we might as well eat at the table,” Monica said. “Owen, would you like to help me?”

The boy nodded.

“He sure likes you.” Cash leaned close and whispered teasingly, “He probably thinks you really are a princess. Storks can look regal, you know.”

Monica laughed when she considered her just-over-six-foot frame. “There’s more giant than princess about me.”

“A more beautiful giant there never was, right, Owen?” Cash grinned when his nephew agreed with wide eyes.

Monica soaked in the compliment, but shook her head at Cash’s nonsense. He’d have the poor boy wondering if she really were a giant. If she remembered correctly, giants were to be feared in storybooks. In a few months, she’d look pretty scary from chemo.

With a sigh, she handed Owen a glass of milk, with directions to place it on the table. She did the same with Ethan, who complied, but that’s as far as his help went. He slid into a chair at the table as if he expected to be waited on.

Monica ignored that idea and helped Owen fix his plate as Cash pulled the cookie sheet of french fries from the oven. They were burned a little on the ends, but to her they looked perfect.

Cash started to make a plate for Ethan, but Monica stalled him. “Ethan, if you’d like dinner you’re going to have to come get it.”

Cash stared at her as if she’d called the kid a bad name.

“Really, there’s no need to wait on them. We fixed the food. They can come get it.” Monica was the sixth of ten kids. Growing up with three younger brothers and one younger sister, she’d learned early on to follow her mother’s example. Helen Zelinsky did not believe in babying anyone.

Ethan looked at Cash for support.

Thankfully, he backed her up. “You heard her.”

Ethan glared at Monica, but stayed put, arms folded.

“Now you’ve done it,” Cash muttered under his breath.

So much for Cash’s alliance, but Monica wasn’t about to give in. “Does their mom wait on them?”

Cash nodded. “Hand and foot.”

“No wonder she needed a break,” Monica muttered as she dished salad onto her plate, then offered a spoonful to Owen.

Once both their plates were filled, she handed Owen his and followed his slow steps to the table. The tyke didn’t drop a single fry, so praise was definitely in order. “Good job.”

He beamed at her.

Monica waited for Cash to sit down. Ethan’s scowl deepened. “Can we say grace ?”

Cash bowed his head. “You do it.”

Owen folded his hands.

Ethan looked at the ceiling.

Monica bowed her head and recited the dinnertime prayer she’d known her whole life. “Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen.” Cash made a show of digging into his food noisily. “This is really good, Ethan. You better get yours.”

“I’m not hungry.” He slumped a little lower.

“That’s a shame.” Monica bit into her hamburger.

After a few minutes, Ethan sighed and finally dragged himself to the island, where his plate holding a hamburger waited to be filled with fries and salad. He grabbed a handful of salad and plopped it on his plate, then squirted ranch dressing all over it before grabbing a handful of fries.

When he slipped back into his chair, Monica gave him a beaming smile. “Thank you.”

Ethan didn’t say anything, but she thought a whisper of a smile tugged at his mouth.

She caught Cash’s gaze from across the table and he tipped his head to her. Another round won.

This certainly wasn’t the weekend she’d envisioned, but a cold motel room didn’t sound any better and she really didn’t want to head back home. Not yet, anyway.

After dinner, they all pitched in to clear the table. Even Ethan helped put stuff away without complaint, while she filled the sink with hot soapy water and Cash banged on the TV until it finally turned on again.

The boys rushed to throw themselves on the couch, pushing each other, giggling.

Cash brought her an empty glass left on one of the end tables. “You’re really good with the boys. You’ll make a good mom one day.”

“Thanks.” Monica’s voice nearly betrayed her, so she focused on her newly manicured nails, painted deep orange, while she got control of her emotions.

She might not ever have kids of her own, if the chemo fried her insides. Then again, she might never marry if she went under the knife to be butchered. What man would find her body acceptable after that?

“I’m glad you’re here.” Cash patted her back. It was a friendly sort of gesture, but awkward.

Monica wanted to know if he meant it. “Are you really?”

His gaze narrowed. “You showing up like you did was an answer to a prayer.”

“Yeah?” She wanted to tell him to keep praying, because she needed it, but the words stuck in her throat.

“Yeah.” Cash nodded.

She didn’t want him to know what she faced, because if she started to unload, she might cry. Monica never cried if she could help it, and Cash would definitely freak out if she did. She smiled at the thought of knocking Cash’s tough-guy exterior askew. It might be worth it just to see what happened, but she didn’t want his worry or his pity.

Monica had to accept that this cancer was her burden to bear. Alone.

* * *

Cash stared at the stack of dishes next to the sink and then glanced at the boys on the couch. “Ethan, Owen, we’re not done yet.”

“Do we have to?” Ethan dropped his head back and groaned.

Owen skipped forward, eager to help.

The little guy rarely disobeyed, and Cash wondered if that was why he seemed to have lost his ability to speak. Was silence his way of showing defiance, or an attempt to regain some kind of control over his young life?

“If you want to roast marshmallows, we have to clean up our lunch and dinner dishes.” He glanced at Monica and smiled.

She smiled back as she stepped toward the sink. “If we all pitch in, it will go faster.”

“Exactly.” Cash took one look at her perfectly painted fingernails and nudged her out of the way. “I’ll wash. You three can dry and put away.”

Monica saluted him. “Aye, aye, sir.”

“That’s ‘First Sergeant, sir.’” He squirted more soap into the already hot and soapy dishpan and swished his hand to make more bubbles.

“Wow, you’re marching right up the ranks, huh?”

Cash shrugged. He’d been at this rank for a while now, leading his team.

“When do you go back?” Monica handed out clean dish towels to the boys for drying.

“I’ve got another full week of leave. I have to report on Labor Day.”

Her eyes clouded over. “Not long then.”

“I took a month, considering the circumstances.” Cash dumped the silverware into the tub with a clatter.

“How many years has it been for you?”

“Since I enlisted?” He grabbed the cups next, scrubbing each one and placing it in the second sink.

Monica nodded.

“Fifteen years.” He had five more to go before he could even think about retiring, not that he would.

He didn’t know what he’d do if he ever retired. He was a soldier, a Raider of the Marine Corps Forces Special Ops. A lifer . It’s who he was. He rinsed the dishes in the full sink, handing over the cups to each boy and Monica for drying.