CARTER'S ARMY: WILLIAM CARTER
1
Chapter 24 - By Christopher Patrick Lydon
December 25th
Will was thirsty, it was sometime ridiculously early in the
morning, and he needed a drink. It was that kind of bone-dry that left the
mouth feeling like it was gummy and slimy. He hated that feeling, and he decided
to venture out of the den to go get a drink of water.
He first had to extricate himself from the cocooning embrace
Andrew had wrapped him up in. It was the third night they had ever spent together,
and so it was the third night in his life that he had felt so completely safe.
The way Andrew just shielded him made him feel stronger, and he knew he would
be a stronger person for it.
He slipped out of Andrew's arms, watching as the young Canadian
rolled over muttering to himself, pulling the blanket they had both shared
on the floor of the den closer about him. It was a cold morning, so he reluctantly
pulled his trousers on and grabbed Andrew's cotton shirt, his own being some
where out of reach.
It was a size too big for him and so it hung loosely on him
and was noticeably not his own, but he was only running to get a glass of
water from the kitchen. It was too early for anyone to catch him, he'd be
fine.
He nosed out of the den, taking a moment to look at Andrew's
mother's door, closed thankfully. And he padded down the hall in bare feet
trying to pull on the sleeves to Andrew's shirt to keep his hands free.
The kitchen was dark, daylight only beginning to poke itself
over the field that backed onto Andrew's house. The sun was beginning to turn
the pitch-blackness outside into a lighter shade of blue and grey, and the
house was deathly silent. He fumbled around for a light switch so that he
could see where he was going. It felt awkward to be wandering around a strange
house in the dark.
His fingers found the switch and as the light clicked on he
jumped, realizing he wasn't alone.
The pinch-nosed woman sitting wrapped up in a pink flannel robe,
her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee and her eyes locked on the
sunrise, scared the living hell out of him. He had met Andrew's mother briefly
the morning after the car crash in the police station, but they had exchanged
no more than passing familiarities. To suddenly come face to face with her...
She turned her head towards him, a piercing gaze that swept
from the top of his head to his bare toes and back up again. He felt like
he was under a microscope, being examined for some kind of bizarre experiment.
The awkward silence passing between them was thick, and Will realized it was
settling into a ball at the pit of his stomach.
He had expected the first words out of her mouth to be, "Hello,
how are you?" or "I'm Andrew's mother, nice to meet you..."
even a "Good morning," would have been nice.
No, Micheline wasn't that kind of woman.
"So you're the one that's been sleeping with my son..."
The observation hung like an icicle in the dim Canadian morning. Ready to
fall at a moment's notice. The ball of tension settling inside Will became
a cold, hard knot of panic.
He glanced behind him up the hall, as if he could summon Andrew
to rescue him. The urge to just bolt was strong. Too many years of his father's
abuse, too many strong memories of the fights, the constant futility of trying
to exist in the face of people who felt he didn't have a right to be there.
He swallowed, looking nervous. He must have been white as a
sheet.
She opened her mouth to speak again, and Will was certain of
his own impending doom; he expected a "Get out of my house," or
"My son is not gay..." even a "Sit down and have a cup of coffee..."
Micheline wasn't that kind of woman.
"So was he good?" she asked, stirring sugar into her
coffee cup, dropping that bombshell as if she were discussing the weather
outside. Completely un-fazed by the implications of what she asked.
Will's mouth moved, trying to form words... he wanted to die
right there, shrivel up and just vanish. Be anywhere else, do anything else.
Instead he just stood there in dumbstruck shock.
"Oh, do stop standing there like a wet fish," Micheline
muttered, lifting her cup to her lips and tasting the rich liquid. "I
wasn't born yesterday. I know my son, I know that he has been running around
here the last few weeks with a love-struck look on his face. You stay the
night, his room is empty when I get up and you come padding down the hall
in a shirt I bought him for his last birthday..." she arched a perfectly
sculpted eyebrow expressively, "I reached a conclusion, and by the floundering
expression on your face, I take it I made the correct one."
Will tried to recover his composure, thinking of about a half-dozen
lies he could fire off, but they all sounded so weak in his mind. Andrew's
mother would see right through them. There was no other choice but to just
accept the fact that he was, to use a colourful metaphor, up shit creek and
forgotten to bring a paddle.
"Good morning," he managed, falling back on his British
composure to save him. There were rules of conduct for every situation, and
when everything else failed hiding behind a mask of formality often gave him
refuge. Most Canadians didn't know how to handle British rigid formality.
Did I forget to mention Micheline wasn't that kind of woman?
"Sit down," she intoned, like a queen bidding a subject
to sit. Matching his formality with a commanding presence, she knew all too
well how to deal with false British bravado. "Would you like a cup of
coffee?"
Will nodded as he sat down, "Thank you..."
Micheline looked over at a cupboard in the kitchen, "The
cups are up there."
Will, who had just sat down, found himself back on his feet
and he had the sinking suspicion Micheline loved every moment of his discomfort.
He selected a heavy-looking mug, something decidedly masculine, and he sat
back down at the table, reaching across to pick up the carafe.
"You look like your father," Micheline observed, changing
tacks on him, and Will felt for sure he saw the boom swinging about to knock
him overboard.
"I'm not my father," Will replied, knowing all to
well the implications of her observation.
"Andrew," her eyes softened, "is very much like
his father; I've had eighteen years to know my son, and before that I was
married for five to his father. They share the same facial expressions, the
same look in their eyes." She looked across the table at Will, "How
long?"
Will took a heavy breath, "How long for what?" he
asked, preferring to play dumb, it seemed safer.
Micheline's eyes hardened again, she knew full well he was playing
stupid, and he got the impression it wouldn't work with her. She could see
the intelligence in his eyes, and she knew when a man was trying to be something
he was not.
That look convinced Will to abandon his ploy, and be honest,
"Since the car, if you mean feelings. If you mean a relationship, that
took a little longer."
Her eyes relaxed, "It has to be hard," she stated,
her voice losing some of its edge. "When I met Andrew's father, we were
going to school in a small town in New Brunswick; I went to the French high
school and he went to the English one." She seemed to become distant,
remembering, "I can remember when I told my father that I was dating
an English boy..." she shook her head, "He was angry, swore that
he would take that boy out to the woods and beat him till he forgot all about
me... Andrew's father wouldn't put up with that... Highmore men can be remarkably
stubborn, especially when they are in love..."
Will rubbed his chin as he picked up his coffee mug, "I've
noticed that, what happened?"
Micheline gave him an amused smile, "We used to have secret
rendezvous and I must have told a hundred lies to my parents as to where I
was going... just so I could meet him." She focused back on Will, "I
felt that we would get away with it, and it wasn't until my mother stopped
me one day and told me she knew what was going on that I realized she had
known all along."
Will was getting the dual meaning, "And so did she put
a stop to it?"
Micheline chewed her lip thoughtfully studying the young British
man seated across from her, "She told me to stop going down the drain
pipe and just use the back door instead."
Will couldn't help but chuckle over the image of that imperious
woman seated in her pink flannel robe, shimmying down a drainpipe in the middle
of the night. "Well I haven't had to do that."
"No," Micheline said quietly, "But I know the
Major didn't react well when he found out."
Will looked down at the table and nodded, "He went ballistic."
There was a look in Micheline's eye, something that said she
was delighted by that news. Will looked up and caught a glimpse of it, but
it was gone too fast for him to be sure, "I think he was just looking
for an excuse..."
As they sat together, the sun finally raised itself from its
long slumber and cast golden light across the snow-covered field, banishing
the last remnants of night. It was Christmas morning at last.
"Well, my son is in love," she said at last as if
reaching a decision, "and I know nothing I could possibly say will shift
a bull-headed Highmore once they have set their mind on something." Micheline
gave him a very predatory smile, making her look almost hawkish, "Besides,
if it gives the Major a stroke, so much the better."
* * *
Andrew awoke feeling the slight chill of Christmas morning and
he turned over to look for Will, surprised and momentarily disorientated when
he didn't find him. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to find that happy
balance between awake and asleep that would let him function until he could
take a shower.
Will was nowhere to be seen, and Andrew realized that he would
have to find him. Given half a chance, Will was probably running as fast as
he could for Brody's place before he met...
There was the sound of talking coming from the kitchen, and
Andrew rolled his eyes, only Will would manage to wake up first, and would
end up falling into his mother's clutches. As nice as Will was, he just wasn't
a match for Micheline Highmore. She was probably getting ready to serve him
up for breakfast by now. Or at the very least lightly toasting him for lunch.
He got up and began to pull on his clothes, discovering to his
frustration that he couldn't find his shirt. He had found Will's behind the
couch where it had been thrown at some point during the...
Andrew smiled as he wandered out of the den and ducked into
his room, grabbing a shirt from his wardrobe and slipping it on. He took a
moment to comb his hair down and fix his collar; he didn't want to make his
mother suspicious. He didn't want to think about what her reaction would be.
He stuck his hands into his pockets and walked back into the
hall, the voices in the kitchen were talking in a low conspiratory fashion,
and when he sauntered out of the hall they stopped entirely.
He was surprised to see Will sitting at the table drinking coffee
with his mother and the two looking completely relaxed from their conversation.
It was such a stark contrast to the normal morning ritual in which his mother
would be staring out to watch the dawn. In fact his mother seemed not to notice
the morning through the patio doors beside her. In fact she looked more like
her normal self.
He glanced at Will who looked pleased to see him, wrapped up
in the missing shirt that made him look so small. Will just seemed destined
to wear Andrew's clothes. "Morning, Carter..." he started.
His mother gave him a look over the rim of her coffee mug, and
he stopped short of finishing the sentence. She was smiling!
"I was just discussing china patterns with young William
here," she said lightly, "I was thinking something modern but he
wants a more traditional Wedgwood pattern."
"China patterns?" Andrew asked, his shoulders slumping
as a confused look entered his eyes and he looked to Will for some kind of
explanation.
"Well," Will said simply, "apparently if you
make an honest boy out of me, your mother offered to help pick out the china."
It was the first time Will had ever seen Andrew's calm demeanour
crack. The look of shock, surprise and confusion on his face was hilarious.
And his mother smiled at her son.
"Well, I'd rather know you were both safe and comfortable
and doing things under this roof; the back seat of that mustang can be uncomfortable...."
"MOM!!!" Andrew's face screwed up in a scandalized
look, as if he had a mental picture implanted in his head. It would take him
weeks of scrubbing the back seat until he felt comfortable again in the car.
She gave him a surprised look, "What? You didn't think
I'd let your father restore that gas-guzzling pollution maker without getting
something in return..."
Andrew reached up to cover his ears, "Oh god... I'm...
I don't need to know!"
She looked down the table at Will, "The boy brings someone
home, and he thinks I won't notice. Then when I so much as mention sex he
covers his ears and wants to hide." She shook her head as she stood up,
"Well since I know have two teenage boys in my house this morning, I
had better start putting together something for breakfast, no doubt you're
hungry."
She walked into the main kitchen and began to rattle pots and
pans preparing to cook something warm and hearty for both of them. Andrew
stared after her in amazement wondering at the fact that no matter how long
he knew her, she still surprised him. It was strange; he could see how his
father had fallen in love with her.
He glanced at Will as he sat down, the two boys sharing the-morning-after-the
night-before look. If he was glowing half as much as Will was, there was no
possible way they could have kept it a secret from his mother.
As if reading his thoughts, Will leaned in and whispered, "She
knew before I got up," as if wanting to reassure him that he hadn't given
it away.
Andrew shrugged, "Mom's quick, she knows things."
He looked over at Will, "Can I be daring?"
"Huh?" Will inquired, but before he could ask Andrew
what he meant, he had been kissed.
Micheline shook her head watching them; it was going to be an
adjustment but then what wasn't? At least Andrew had the common sense not
to bring home a cheerleader. She gave them both a disparaging look and tsked,
"Am I going to have to get the hose?" she asked, breaking eggs into
the pan.
Andrew drew back, "Maybe," he said cheerfully over
his shoulder.
Will wondered if he had just fallen into an alternate dimension
where this was a perfectly normal morning breakfast conversation. He shook
his head and crossed his arms, wondering when or if he was going to wake up.
He finally decided that if he was dreaming, he loved every second of it.
