CARTER'S SHADOW
Chapter 41 - By Christopher Patrick Lydon
Will walked out of his office, slipping a pair of sunglasses
on, and loosening the tie he had bargained to wear. The weather of that mid-June
day was below seasonal, and in a country that really had only two seasons
there was little separating oppressive heat from frigid cold. So he savoured
those few scant weeks where it felt like spring.
He crossed to his Jeep, opening the door and stepping up and
in, pausing a moment to look across at his office building; the night shift
were going on duty, and by rights he should still be in there. But he was
finding it harder and harder to find the motivation to stay in that office.
If they weren't going to pay him for all the extra hours he put in, then he
didn't feel obligated to work them. He filled his agreed-upon hours and got
the hell out of there as soon as he could...
His phone rang.
"What is it Scott?" Will asked, not even bothering
to check who was calling.
"Are you leaving?" Will's boss asked anxiously. "We
have the Board of Directors inspecting the call centre next week and we need
to fill seats..."
"I know," Will replied. "I'm going to take a
swing past the universities and check our recruiting posters are still up,
and collect those applications."
"Oh..." Scott sounded almost apologetic that he had
doubted Will.
"Not a problem," Will said, sounding almost apologetic
about lying through his teeth to his boss. "I'll be in first thing tomorrow."
And he clicked the phone off, tossing it into the passenger seat and starting
the Jeep, listening to the engine splutter through its ignition. He would
have to take it in soon and get it looked at; over all the years he'd had
the Jeep it'd never let him down because he took the time to take care of
it.
He checked around him as he turned the Jeep out into traffic
and started to work his way towards the Queensway heading for home. His mind
worked through the various things he needed to get done that evening, and
he realized with a slight smile that his evening was relatively clear.
He relaxed; after the stress of the day he had, catching up
for all the work he'd been missing lately, it would be good to stretch out
on the couch and watch something mindless. True, he would have to kick Sprog
off of the television, but there were some sacrifices he was prepared to make
for the good of being a couch potato for the first time in what felt like
a year.
Andrew was sitting on the bench outside the university Student
Union; done his evening classes, he always sat, waiting for Will to give him
a lift back home. And as Will swung around to pull up he stopped to look at
him.
Andrew sat, his hair falling about his eyes as he read a textbook
intently. He was oblivious to everything around him, his glasses sliding a
little down his nose, book bag at his feet. Such a stark contrast to Andrew-the-hockey-coach,
or Andrew-everyone's-best-friend. It was a moment Will knew only he got to
see-Andrew-the-academic.
Will sat a long moment resting on the steering wheel of the
Jeep, waiting for his turn to pull up to the curb, watching Andrew. Andrew,
who poured through endless textbooks, learning as much as he could to fulfil
a dream of his, and Will couldn't help but smile tiredly. That was the reason
he worked as hard as he did.
When he pulled up to the curb, Andrew stood, picking up his
book bag, and, not looking up from his book got into the Jeep, leaning over
to kiss Will's cheek while still reading.
"Hi," he said distractedly.
Will smiled and glanced down at the book. "American Military
law?" he asked, a little surprised. "Considering a career in uniform?"
Andrew looked up and grinned a moment with Will, the pair of
them contemplating that thought...
"No," Andrew said, shaking the image free of his head
as he tapped the book, "I'm just trying to figure out if I can help someone."
"Free legal advice barrister?" Will asked, feigning
an upper-class English accent. "How improper."
Andrew shook his head and smiled as he pushed his hair back
from his eyes, "I'm just trying to work out the legal ramifications for
not hiring someone based on their sexuality."
"Ah," Will said nodding, "Constructive Dismissal."
"What?" Andrew glanced at Will.
"It's not legal, but we do it all the time at my company,"
Will said, as they rejoined the highway heading for home. "It's where
we have an 'undesirable' worker and we then have to construct reasons to fire
them that would be legal." Will shrugged, "It's illegal to fire
someone because they are too old; however, if their performance dips below
a certain level, a level say that was set higher for them than for everyone
else..."
"That's..." Andrew shook his head, "that's wrong..."
"I know," Will agreed, "but sometimes I'm not
given much of a choice. Ok, I have a set of 'official' rules about who I can
and can't hire, then I have the unofficial ones. Like I'm not allowed to hire
anyone under eighteen..."
"That's age discrimination," Andrew fired back.
"No," Will countered, "they don't have a high
school diploma which is required for the job..."
"That's..." Andrew began.
"That's the job of Human Resources; sixtty percent of my
job is finding reasons not to hire people, and the other forty is finding
reasons for the people we do hire to stay with the company." Will shrugged
again and sighed, "I don't agree with it, the whole practice is illegal,
but no one can prove it. That's the problem. Like in my company, there has
never been a female manager, mostly because the female candidates are encouraged
not to apply, and are often overscrutinized to find reasons for them not to
be promoted."
"Well, what can we do about it?" Andrew asked in concern.
"There has to be something. They can't break the law like that..."
"Well, short of getting me fired for going along with it,
and despite the fact that if I don't I'd be fired if I didn't follow their
rules... not a whole heck of a lot," Will replied with a shrug. "The
problem is you can't prove anything because recruitment and hiring someone
is based off of the intuition of the recruiter, and you can't prove a recruiter
is biased because there is no hard evidence."
Will turned in his seat, "Why, who's this about?"
"West Harding," Andrew said with a nod. "He got
rejected from the Marines because he's gay."
Will sat quietly a moment, pulling around a station wagon, staring
thoughtfully at the road ahead of him, "I thought the Canadian army allowed..."
"American," Andrew corrected. "He wanted to join
the US Marines."
"Ah," Will said, understanding; his father had been
a British liaison officer to the Canadian forces for nearly ten years, and
Will had grown up hearing about the failings of the Canadian government to
support its troops. And in a way he sympathized with West wanting to join
a military that was appreciated for what it did, instead of dismissed as ineffective.
"He applied to the Canadian Army," Andrew continued,
"but it's going to take him a year to get accepted, and then..."
He shrugged, "As for don't ask, don't tell," Andrew shrugged, "it's
like they just can pretend to be accepting while in reality they're still
just as prejudiced, bigoted and hate-filled as they always were."
"You're not going to beat them with a law book," Will
remarked.
Andrew snapped the book shut, "Why not? Someone has to
do something... This is a kid's future we're talking about... one of my kids...
How would you feel if it was Peter they were discriminating against?"
"Don't get mad at me," Will said testily. "It's
not my fault the system's bigoted, there's nothing we can do about it, except
just deal with it and move on..."
"Like you do at your job?" Andrew bit back. "Lie
and cover up for other people to break the law?"
Will stared in shock at Andrew glaring at him furiously; he
swallowed down his own anger as his hands gripped around the steering wheel,
"That job pays our bills."
"So you trade your soul for a paycheque?" Andrew demanded.
"What happens next, you help them embezzle money? You can't pick and
choose what laws you follow and don't follow."
"Everything I do is completely legal," Will snapped.
"I do my job."
"Yeah, you do your job. While some poor kid struggling
to put themselves through high school is standing in front of your desk begging
for work, while you search over their resume to find some excuse to tell them
to fuck off."
"I don't have a choice," Will retorted, shaking his
head as he glared at the road ahead of them. "What do you want me to
do? Get fired for some kid I don't know?"
"Yeah, if it means you're doing the right thing,"
Andrew insisted.
"And what then?" Will said turning. "If I give
up my job for your principles... what happens when the bills arrive at the
end of the month..."
"We'll get by," Andrew said firmly.
"How?" Will asked. "Your student loan won't pay
the rent, electric... food."
"Get another job," Andrew set his jaw.
"Don't be so naïve," Will rolled his eyes. "Do
you know how lucky I was to get this one? I'd take a pay cut trying to find
a job somewhere else. I'd be starting over..."
"But at least you'd be the man I fell in love with,"
Andrew said quietly.
* * *
Will stood in his empty home. Andrew had chosen to stay at his
mother's that night. His anger and frustration on the behalf of one of his
boys had him lashing out and Will knew they were both exhausted, and needed
a night apart.
It didn't stop Will from standing there in the doorway to the
quiet living room, hands in the pockets of his khaki slacks, staring vacantly
out of the patio doors over the garden.
Why had he gotten so mad at Andrew? So defensive about his job?
Was it that he was feeling guilty for the things he had to do for a paycheque?
Was it because Andrew was right about him sacrificing his soul just to make
ends meet?
He sighed a long breath, thinking about those luminous blue
eyes of Andrew's staring at him in anger for the first time. They'd fought
before; like any long-term couple, they'd had arguments. But this was the
first time that Will had seen true anger in those eyes, and it compounded
his guilt.
"What would the man you fell in love with do?" Will
asked, glancing to a picture of Andrew sitting on top of the entertainment
centre.
"The right thing..." Will could almost hear Andrew's
voice replying. That insistent tone, the hope there. The belief in him that
no one else had ever had.
Will swallowed and closed his eyes, letting his shoulder's sag.
"I can't quit..." he murmured, "we need this..."
He looked up at Andrew's picture again, "But you're not
angry at me, you're angry at the system..."
He looked back at the garden again, the carefully cultivated
lawn that Peter worked on each and every weekend. The neat rows of flowers
that were coming in nicely, bringing the garden to life with his loving fingers.
Peter had a real future in landscaping; he had a truly artistic talent for
it.
What would Will do if it was Peter?
The difference was that if Peter was rejected from one landscaping
firm, he could always go to another one. There was only one Marine Corps...
Will looked up suddenly, frowning at his reflection in the patio
doors, before he turned and made for the door, grabbing his leather coat on
the way past and jumping into the Jeep.
* * *
He hadn't been there in years. It was an unspoken agreement
that he wasn't welcome there that he had respected. But he couldn't think
of anything else he could do as he got down from the Jeep and took that first
hesitant step up the driveway.
The house hadn't changed in the better part of seven years;
it still sat like some brooding creature in its little clearing off of the
road. Dark and forbidding colonial shingles, and heavy curtains that kept
the world from seeing what went on inside those walls.
His shoes crunched on the gravel as he stepped up to the front
porch, taking a deep steadying breath, reminding himself that he wasn't a
kid any more. But knowing that in that place, he would always remember his
childhood. Every word, every blow...
His Jeep was behind him, the road just beyond that, but he wasn't
about to run away from the ghosts of the past. He wasn't a scared, wide-eyed
boy any longer, and some monsters grew less powerful with age.
The door opened on the old man; the pressed uniform looked rumpled
as it did after a day of wear, but always meticulous; polished boots, crisp
stripe up the trouser leg, and that raised eyebrow under steel-grey hair.
Hard eyes meeting his own.
Will squared his shoulders and looked up at Major David Carter.
"Hello, Dad," he said, finding his voice.
"What do you want?" the Major asked, his tone still
commanding. Tense; it always was between the two men, who hadn't spoken in
years.
"To talk," Will responded, matching his father's gaze,
straightening up.
"You'd best come in then." The major stepped aside
and motioned for Will to enter the house. And enter a life he had left so
long ago.
The first thing Will noticed, coming through the doors into
that stuffy old house were the shipping crates. He recognized them immediately
for what they were--standard issue, already labelled and half packed. Will
had grown up with them; every few years they would be brought out, and their
lives would have been packed up into them to be shipped off to another base,
to another place. Always moving to wherever the Major's duty took him.
The Major caught the look and nodded. "I'm being reassigned
to command a line unit," he said calmly. And Will again stared. His father
had complained bitterly about being transferred to a desk job in Ottawa, but
had done his duty, leaving the front line fighting to the young. That he had
managed, after so long to regain a field command...
Will shook his head. "Congratulations," he said quietly,
as he followed his father through into the kitchen. "Lucy?"
"Your stepmother took her out for the evening," the
Major answered simply, crossing to the coffee pot and deftly starting making
the coffee. And Will blinked as he realized exactly how like his father he
was in the simplest of mannerisms. That still scared him.
"Well, you're here, so talk." The Major turned.
Will swallowed, realizing so much of his thoughts had been consumed
by the past in coming there that he hadn't given any thought to what he would
say. He folded his arms and took a hesitant step forward, a thoughtful look
on his face as he searched for the right words.
"I need your help," he began.
His father rolled his eyes, and opened his mouth to refuse,
on principle.
Will cut him off holding up a finger, "It's not for me.
There's a... young man..."
His father's eyes hardened and his jaw set angrily. And Will
knew this wasn't going to go well if he didn't start explaining and quickly.
"He wanted to join the US Marine Corps..." Will explained,
"but they refused to let him join, they found out he was... well... that
he was..."
"A fairy," the Major said simply.
"Good to know some things never change," Will bit
off, and shook his head forcing himself to calm down. "I'm sorry..."
holding up his hands, "I'm sorry; look, all this kid's wanted to do his
entire life is be a soldier... you of all people should understand what that's
like... and they said no because of..."
"His...choices," the Major said, choosing his own
words with care, rolling them around distastefully. "And what do you
want me to do about it? I have no control over the hiring practices of the
United States Marine Corps."
"No, but his only other choice is the Canadian military..."
Will said, sounding hopeful. "If he applies they're going to make him
wait a year, perhaps more; you have contacts that might be able to cut that
time..."
"It won't do him any good," the Major said with a
shrug. "The Canadian military is useless anyway. Do you know they have
more Generals than tanks, more Admirals than ships? Too many chiefs, not enough
braves..."
"He's top of his class in marks," Will continued.
"He just won the provincial hockey championship as team captain, whilst
his ribs were broken..." He shrugged.
"How did the Americans find out he was..." His father
again avoided the word.
"West was jumped a few weeks ago," Will replied. "Took
five of them to put him down..."
"Five?" the Major nodded. "You could have taken
five."
Will glanced up at the strange compliment and frowned, "I
just need to help him..."
"You can't help him," the Major replied, pouring two
cups of coffee, mixing them in exactly the same way, adding a pinch of salt
as he handed one across to his son, "and I don't know if I should."
Will looked at his father, and took a deep breath. "I've
never asked you for anything in my life... but please..." he stared into
his father's eyes. "Please."
"This isn't about you," the Major said firmly, downing
his coffee and walking to where his coat was draped over the back of a chair.
"I make no promises, and I'm not doing it because you begged me,"
the Major said, a note of finality in his voice.
"I know," Will replied with a nod.
