Chapter 3 #2
“Yeah, sorry. We don’t have to talk about it.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to know a little more.” He nodded, and she continued, “Is your living off-the-grid related to the PTSD?”
“Yes.”
“Is that on advice of your therapist?”
“Not really. She’s not against it for now. I think she feels it’s been good for me so far. But she doesn’t want me to make it permanent.”
“She wants you to eventually re-enter society.”
“Yes.”
“How about you?”
“I know it must sound easy to you, but for me, it’s not. I like it out there. It’s safe and peaceful. I love being in the wild. I feel at home. One of the army’s specialties is survival training, and I really liked it. So I’m trained for this, and it’s comfortable to me. I’m happy out there.”
“And being down here?”
“Civilization and people introduce dynamics that can be problematic for the PTSD.”
“Can you give me an example?”
“I’ll give you a real life example, then maybe that’s all we need to talk about tonight.”
“Okay.”
“One of my closest friends in the Rangers, Roddy, came home with the same problems as me. We served side by side and went through the recovery program together. One night several years ago he was in a bar drinking with friends when a drunk guy started abusing his lady. The guy was swearing at her, and at one point, he slapped her. Roddy confronted him. The man took a swing, and Roddy lost it. The PTSD kicked in. Long story short, Roddy killed the man on the spot. It took him about twenty seconds. He was trained to kill. He’d been in Afghanistan for six years.
He’d killed hundreds in combat. He’s among the Rangers’ most elite fighting machines.
A drunk guy in a bar had no chance against someone like Roddy.
When the switch got flipped, Roddy reverted to combat. ”
“What happened to him?”
“He’s in prison. Convicted of manslaughter.”
“Was the PTSD raised as a defense?”
“Yes, and the conviction is still on appeal. But our laws don’t have a defense for Roddy’s situation. And I’m not sure they should.”
“Really?”
“You can’t kill a man for slapping his girlfriend.”
Molly had to think about that. “Okay, I get that. But he was trained to do that by the army.”
“Yes, the army is very good at that part of the training. They haven’t given enough thought to what that does to a person.
They still don’t have answers for that. The recovery program I’ve been in is an attempt to address those issues but, honestly, the army is just floundering around when it comes to guys like Roddy and me.
In the end, they just buy us off with a disability and hope we don’t do too much damage.
Roddy is a great example of the army’s failure to prepare us for re-entry. ”
“Still, it seems like there needs to be some kind of accommodation for a guy who served his country like that.”
“I agree. But they don’t teach you to win a bar fight, or deescalate a situation. They teach you to kill or be killed.”
“Were you wounded in combat?”
“Yes.”
Molly felt that in her gut. He seemed gentle and harmless, but he was a killing machine. He’d likely killed hundreds and been wounded in combat. It was time to wind this conversation down. She didn’t know where to take it from here.
“I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. And, thank you for your service.”
“You’re welcome.”
Molly had prepared the spaghetti sauce early.
He grated parmesan cheese while she boiled noodles and prepared a simple green salad.
Dinner prep was interrupted twice by kissing sessions.
In the first, she walked up and laid a serious one on him.
She couldn’t help it. She was aroused. He was arousing to be around.
Just looking at him made her aroused. She needed to kiss him.
In the second, he came up behind her, reached around, cupped her breasts, and kissed her neck while she massaged her bottom into his arousal.
Then she turned to face him, and they really got into it, hot, open-mouth, deep, passionate kisses.
Molly thought about delaying dinner while they took care of business, but it ended with soft, playful kisses, and she decided patience was the better path.
They ate outside at the table, then convened to the Adirondacks.
Molly had prebuilt a fire in the fire pit, and she lit it and poured two glasses of cognac.
Night was falling on the lake. The sun was almost to the Canadian Rockies and was casting long shadows across the lake and bright colors on the far horizon.
The fire was shooting flames three feet in the air.
Molly felt the cool night air, the heat from the fire on her face, and the arousal continuing to build deep inside.
She hadn’t been with a man in a while, and she really wanted to be with this particular man.
She was already thinking about when she’d see him again.
“Are your trips out of the mountains scheduled?”
“Pretty much monthly except for winter. Four times a year, I have specific dates for my therapy sessions.”
“So this time of year, maybe in another month?”
“Yes.”
“Will you stop and see us?”
“Yes.”
“I know you’re not going to tell me where your place is, but I still want to ask you questions about it.”
“Good luck with that.”
She chuckled. She’d thought about questions that she might be able to get away with. “Can you tell me one thing about your set up that would surprise me?”
He chuckled and took a drink of cognac. The flames were dancing, and the fire was starting to produce some heat. The sun was behind the mountains. The lake was smooth and reflecting the sunset.
“I have a falcon.”
She looked at him with surprise. Okay, that was good. “A falcon?”
“Yes. I trained her to hunt, and she’s a good hunter.”
“She doesn’t come out with you?”
“No, she takes care of the place while we’re gone.”
She chuckled, picturing a falcon guarding over a rustic cabin in a deep wood. “What does she hunt?”
“Grouse, duck, pheasant.”
“Does she bring them home to you?”
“Yes. We let her keep the mice, rats, and snakes. But we like wild birds.”
“Oh, I love that so much. What’s her name?”
“Blitz.”
“Oh, this is so good. Okay, any other wild pets?”
“Just a lynx.”
“You have a pet lynx?”
“Yes.”
“How’d you get that?”
“While we were out hunting, Bear came trotting down the trail holding her in his mouth by the scruff of the neck. He dropped her in front of me. About a mile away, we found her mother’s carcass, the victim of wolves. She escaped somehow. She was a few weeks old, so we gave her a home.”
“And she gets along with Bear.”
“Best friends.”
“What’s her name?”
“Bella.”
“Oh, this is so good. You have a hunting falcon named Blitz and a lynx named Bella. Any others?”
“Nope. That’s the whole family.” He paused. “Well, Beryl, of course.”
“Bart, Bear, Bella, Blitz, and Beryl. Nice family.”
“We’re very happy together.”