The Train to Emeryville - Part 6

 It is five years previous, and a hot wind blows to the beach from the Makran desert.  Tim feels his body dehydrate as the heat settles in.  The landings on the beaches west of Bandar Abbas began with the first marine division as squads came ashore with the ‘Sea Mobs,’ automated amphibious robots with twin mounted .50 caliber machine guns and 30mm cannons.  Tim heard the ‘bumps’ of the 30mm’s taking out the bunkers and armored vehicles of the Iranians.  The Sea Mobs were operated by soldiers on the destroyers Harkness and Defiant, remotely in part with partial AI control.  They cleared the beaches after about an hour of fighting leaving many bodies behind.

Tim’s squad came ashore without taking any casualties.  They entered the outskirts of Bandar Abbas before they took significant fire.  The first Tim heard of it, two of his buddies were shot, one in the chest, the other in the arm.  Hunkered down behind a thick stone wall, he released a breacher, a two-tracked robot with a .50 caliber machine gun mounted in its center.  He armed the robot's AI and the robot rounds began to shoot in short controlled bursts.  

Once the breacher was working autonomously, he launched a handheld drone to scout the enemy positions and peek around dangerous corners.  “SO to squad,” he said, “you’re clear to the corner.”  The marines responded and moved out to occupy the street corner in front of them.  

The breacher had cleared the street in front of them and Tim cleared the squad to move forward.  A large overhead drone, run by battalion, used its thermal sites to scan the building in front of them floor-by-floor and spot threats.  One marine pulled a throwbot from the robotic pack mule that had entered the street behind the squad that carried most of the squad’s gear, ammo, water, and batteries.  The soldier chucked the throwbot through an open window in the building as Tim toggled between drone views on a ruggedized tablet.  

Another fireteam of three men tossed a ground robot equipped with chemical sensors and its own thermal cameras down a manhole into the rather complex sewer system.  The bot scoured the dark for potential fighters that could pop out any moment.  It triggered an explosive-packed tunnel set to trigger when a vehicle passed.  A medical bot was treating one of the wounded marines; the other one was dead.

Tim saw from his tablet that the building ahead was occupied by the Iranians, but before he could warn his squad, they opened up with RPG heat-seekers, which honed in on the marines' heat signatures.  One exploded next to him, and he lost consciousness.

When he came to, he was in a field hospital.  Bandages were wrapped around his head.  He couldn’t feel his toes, and for a moment panicked until he saw his toes.  The shock came when he realized that his right arm had been amputated at the elbow.

The Train to Emeryville - Part 5

 The next morning, Penny awoke and began to organize her day.  After dressing for a warm day in jeans, a tank top, and tennis shoes, she put away some of the things from her suitcase: toiletries, her vitamins, and the few clothes she had brought with her from Nevada City.  She needed to go to the bank and get some more money; she didn’t like to travel with much cash, and although she had a couple, she did not like to use credit cards for anything except emergencies.  As she moved around in her cousin's old room, she thought of the handsome Tim and his mysterious past.  She realized that she like him and wanted to see him again.

Tim called her about 10:00 a.m. just as she was finishing the cleaning of the kitchen.  Her hands were still damp from soapy dishwater and she had a green kitchen apron on.  

“How are you?” Tim asked.  He seemed a little nervous; his voice had an odd quaver to it and he paused a little after saying hello.

“I’m good Tim; I enjoyed our pizza last night that weighed exactly 1.84 pounds,” she said.

“Yeah, me too.  Are you busy today?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“How about we take in an A’s game.  Starts at 1:00 o’clock.”

They met at the shuttle station and took BART to the Ring-Central Coliseum station and from there they walked into the Oakland-Alameda Coliseum.  The coliseum had been redone since the 2020’s years and now was one of the premier facilities in the country to see a baseball game.  Mount Davis had been removed, and the seats were now much closer to the field.  She could smell cut grass and roasting meat from her seat.

They sat on the first base side of the field about nine rows above the field.  Penny, who had never been to a baseball game, thought this would be fun; there was a carnival feel to the air, and Tim seemed completely at ease.  They got hot dogs and beer from a vendor and made themselves comfortable as the first pitch was thrown.

Tim said, “There’s nothing like a baseball game to make me relaxed, especially with good company.”  He smiled at her.  Penny was still impressed with how big a man he really was.  He stood at least a foot taller than her and his long black hair and beard added to his sense of ruggedness.  His hand was big; big enough to crush apples she thought, and the muscles in his arm and chest rippled underneath his Oakland A’s t-shirt.  He talked like an emcee, explaining all the aspects of the coliseum and the rules of the game, of which she was mostly ignorant. It was hard to believe, sitting next to him at this happy moment, that he had any problems at all.

They watched the first few innings, chatting amiably about baseball, the weather, and the likelihood that the A’s would win, which seemed less and likely as the Angels continued to score. As the game wore on, Penny found herself wondering about his service in the marines and how he had lost his arm.  She finally decided to bring up the subject after their second beer.

“Tell me about your service, Tim,” she said.  “Do you mind talking about it?”

“Not much to tell.”

“You were in the marines?” she asked.

“Yes, two tours, both in Iran.”

“What did you do?”

He paused, apparently thinking about what to say.  “I told you.”

“Were you on the ground?”

“From the beginning.  I came ashore with the first wave at Bandar Abbas.  I was a systems operator for my squad.  I handled the drones and the robots during the invasion.”

“Can you tell me about that?”

The Train to Emeryville - Part 4

 Penny opened the door of her Uncle Jorge’s home and walked in.  She heard the croaking of the tree frogs from the living room, and she smelled the fresh scent of an automated air freshener in the electrical outlet wafting through the room.  The television was on; a true-crime show presented the case of the dressmaker’s children, who apparently liked knives.  Uncle Jorge watched TV all the time, and he enjoyed a good mystery.  

After saying hello, she put her handbag on the kitchen counter and made herself a cup of camomille herb tea.  The kitchen itself was spotless, maintained by a maid who came in twice a week.  The cups in the cupboard had interesting catchphrases such as ‘Of course I talk to myself, sometimes I need advice’ and a cup shaped like a prescription bottle with the prescription reading ‘coffee.’  Uncle Jorge’s Persian cat jumped onto the counter and rubbed against her arm, meowing loudly.  Penny patted the cat while her water boiled.  The atmosphere reminded her of her father; their home had been a lot like this before he died in the helicopter training accident off Camp Pendleton near San Diego.  The pain of that memory still smoldered; her mother had never gotten over it.  She committed suicide a year later.

Tough things happened to a lot of people, not just her, she reminded herself.  People who made a difference got over it and carried on.

When she joined her uncle on the couch next to his wheelchair, she put her hand on his arm, which he petted while smiling.  He was slightly bald with gray hair at his temples.  “How did your date go,” he asked.

“Pretty good,” she said.  “He’s an attractive man and an Iran veteran like me.” She took a sip of her tea.  “He was in the Robotics division: 273^rd RAS.”

Jorge turned to her.  “The Terminator Division.  That was a nasty business before they pulled those machines out.  They killed a lot of civilians as I remember; too many civilians for some people.”

“True.  It sounds like he has some PTSD about it.”  Penny wished he would mute the TV.

As if he read her mind, he turned the volume down.  “I know the Army and Navy needed those killing machines to win the war, but I’m with the people who are against them.  It makes warfare too impersonal.  To me, it’s like using cluster bombs.”

“If they do the job,” Penny said.  “War is about killing.  They sure didn’t have any problem killing our guys.”

They sat in tense silence for a moment, then Penny said, “I know it sounds weird, but I find that one of Tim’s most attractive features is his PTSD.”

Jorge’s look froze on his face like dry frost on a window.  “That doesn’t sound good.”

“It so hard for me not to want to fix people Uncle.  And it’s even harder for me to actually fix them.”  Penny’s frustration welled up in her as if she would never be rid of it.  “I’m only really comfortable when people around me are happy.”

“That’s not always going to be the case, especially if you date veterans,” Uncle Jorge said.  “Look at me.  It was years after I came back from the Stan before I was even decent to people.  A roadside bomb and then the hospital was there; no leg, no buddies, just pain and loss.  He patted the bald spot on his head.  “I remember that it took three therapists and risperidone to get me to the point where I could just be around people.  If I had a girlfriend who was trying to psychoanalyze me, I probably would have broken her neck.”

“Not really?” Penny said.

“Well, maybe not bad, but I would have reacted, perhaps violently.  People in pain don’t want to listen to someone talk about their pain.”

“He doesn’t seem near that bad,” Penny said.  

“If your soldier is up and functioning okay, that’s pretty good.  Just don’t push it.  In fact, here’s a challenge for you: Try to get to know Tim without trying to fix him.”

The Train to Emeryville - Part 3

 After she and her Uncle Jorge ate a meal of plantains and pinto beans, Penny walked to the bus stop on Fortieth Street and Hollis and grabbed the bus to Berkeley.  During the ride, she thought about what Jorge had said about her need to fix people; she didn’t really see herself like that.  Although she had tried to help Sam overcome his shyness and lack of ability in bed, she did not see him as broken and needing “fixing.”  People were the way they were created, with their own set of desires and problems; she knew that she could not change that.  She merely saw herself as someone who could help people overcome their limitations.  Of course, it didn’t always work; nothing ever did, but when it did, the personal rewards for her left her insatiate for more.

When the bus arrived at Shattuck Avenue, she got out and walked to the pizza place at University.  Tim was not there yet; she was a little early.  There was a musician on the sidewalk playing an acoustic guitar; the songs were classic folk ballads like “Where Have All the Flowers Gone” and “Blowin’ in the Wind.”  He was pretty good; he had a rich, deep voice, and played quite adequately.  He could have used a shower, though.

“He’s pretty good, isn’t he,” a voice said behind her.  She turned and saw that Tim had come up behind her.  He was dressed in a nice blue button-down shirt and jeans.  His hair was carefully combed and it looked like he had put some hair gel in it.  His smile was attractive; his body language welcoming.

“Yes, he is,” she said and put a couple of dollars in the musician's guitar case.  “I didn’t see you come up.”

“I’m sneakier than your average date,” he said.  “Let’s go inside.”

They took a booth in the corner.  There were blue and red menus with cute angel things drawn in the margins.  On the table, there was a scale, for what, Penny couldn’t imagine.  Did they weigh the pizza when they brought it?  The smell of freshly cooked bread pervaded the air; it made Penny salivate.  When the server came, they ordered a large pie with sodas.

“So,” Penny said, “What’s it like to be a librarian?”

Tim smiled and sat back with his legs up in the booth and his back against the wall.  “It’s a living.  Mostly I shelve books and help patrons with the computers.  That’s what I did in the Marines, computers and automated weapon systems.”

“What unit were you with?” Penny asked.

“The 273^rd Robotics and Automated Systems Division.  We were called the RAS division for short.”

Penny had heard of these guys when she was in the Army.  They were largely responsible for winning the war in Iran, although they were controversial.  Many people thought those killer robots should never have been authorized by Congress.  Penny knew that the demands of the war had necessitated their deployment, and they had been responsible for considerable death among civilians.  She wondered if this had any effect on Tim.    

“I’m impressed,” she said.  “That was some pretty technical stuff.”

“What did you do in the Army?”

Penny took a deep breath.  She was a little nervous; this man was incredibly handsome and just her type.  She felt attracted to him at a guttural level, something she had never felt with Sam or any other man for that matter.  “I was a battlefield medic,” she said.  I saw action in the last part of the war.”

“The drive on Tehran?”

“Yes.”  Penny felt quiet suddenly, remembering those days.  The fighting had been especially heavy in the last weeks of the war before the armistice.  She had seen enough blood and torn bodies in those weeks to last her the rest of her life.

“That kind of service can leave a scar on you for life.  I should know; I have a problem thinking about my service in the war.”

Penny leaned forward and folded her hands on the table.  The look on his face piqued her interest.  “What kind of problem do you have?”

At this point, the server brought the pizza and placed it on the scale on the table.  Penny thought this amusing; she laughed a little and smiled at Tim.  The pizza weighed exactly 1.84 pounds on the digital readout.  The server returned to the kitchen; Penny said, “I’m glad we know exactly what our pizza weighs.”

Tim smiled.  “Pretty funny, huh?  It’s their gimmick.  If you get the deep-dish, it sometimes weighs three pounds.”

“So you were saying?”

“Yeah, well I’ve had a lot of therapy after coming home about the war.  I blank out sometimes when I think about the war, so I’m trying to work on that.”

Penny could sympathize with that.  Her own experiences weren’t pleasant to recall.  “What about the war particularly bothers you.”

Tim paused his chewing; he started again and swallowed. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

Penny wiped her mouth with her napkin.  “Sometimes, it’s best to talk about these things.  That is something I learned by working with wounded soldiers.”

“I don’t think so,” he said and became quiet and withdrawn.  They ate the rest of their meal in silence.

Penny was a little taken aback by his behavior.  There was an attractive man who had a big problem, something that really appealed to her.  She remembered her Uncle’s advice and decided not to push it tonight.  There would be time to talk about this if he wanted.  She wondered if her attraction to Tim was because of her innate sense that he was damaged and needed fixing.  She shoved this thought down and made small talk with him.

The Train to Emeryville - Part 3

 Penny arrived at her uncle Jorge’s home about 5:30 p.m. after walking about a mile from the bus stop.  He lived in Berkely Hills at the top of a particularly steep residential road that circled lazily around the steep grade.   When she got there, she rang the bell, but there was no answer.  

She went out to the driveway.  Uncle Jorge’s house was a small, two-bedroom affair, painted blue with white trim.  The yard was neatly kept; the lawn was manicured and the flowerbeds were bright with green and yellow colors mixed with the redwood mulch.  Freshly steam-cleaned, the driveway had been bleached stone white, and the fence around the back yard was a pale, sky blue, complimenting the navy blue of the house.  A gardening drone was working in the front flowerbed.

Penny took off her pack and sat on the front step of the porch.  Her uncle would undoubtedly be along soon.  As she waited, she checked her phone; Tim had already sent a message:

::Mom says she is sorry.  Maybe we could get some dinner tonight?::

Well, he doesn’t waste any time does he, she thought.  She texted back.

::Where?:: 

::DYK Telegraph Pizza university ave Berkely?::

::Sure, How about 8pm?::

::See you there::

One of those regional door-to-door transports pulled up in front of the house.  The driver got down and opened the handicap door where her uncle Jorge sat in his wheelchair.   He caught sight of her as the driver lowered the handicap elevator of the bus.  She went to greet him.

“Penny!” he said.  “Sorry, I’m late.” She bent over to kiss him of the cheek; he patted her back.  “Let’s go in,” he said.

It began to rain as they got to the porch.  Shaking off, she wheeled her uncle into the living room.  “Where do you want to go?”

“Take me into the den.  You’ll see my spot.”

She took him through the kitchen and into the den, where there was an apparent space for the wheelchair.  He patted the couch, indicating where she should sit.

“So, how have you been?” asked Jorge.

Penny situated herself on the couch.  A sliding glass door to her right led to a portico with brick pillars; a picture of a peacock, taken in the San Diego Zoo, framed the wall above a large-screen television.  She detected the smell of Old Spice, her uncle’s favorite.  A fish tank with gravel, a miniature pond, and small frogs were behind her against the wall.  The frogs croaked; the atmosphere similar to an early evening walk in the woods.

Penny said, “I’m a little disheveled.  I broke up with my boyfriend; needed to get out of town for a while.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.  Was this the carpenter?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I never thought you two had much in common.  He was all construction boots and unfiltered Camel cigarettes as I remember.”  The light from the lamp by the couch framed him, a frown on his face.

“Yes, well he was not the most thoughtful man I’d ever dated, but he was incredibly attractive if you know what I mean.  I’m a sucker for big, bulky men that are rough around the edges.”

“Why didn’t you two stay together?” Jorge asked.

“He was pretty tame when it came down to it,” she said.  “It turns out I need a little more aggressiveness in a man than I thought.”

“I see.”  Jorge rubbed his chin.  “Well now that you’re here, you can fix me your beans and rice casserole.  You know its my favorite.  How long can you stay?”

“A couple of weeks probably.  I was going to go down to the Oakland Vet Center and see if they need any volunteers.”

“I’ve never understood your need to try and fix people.  You should have become a psychiatrist, not a trauma nurse.”

“In surgery, I actually do something that affects the patient immediately,” she said.  Her look turned dark, reflected in Jorge’s watching her.  “The problem is that we can’t fix everyone.”

He turned in his wheelchair and lifted his leg, amputated at the knee, onto a stool designed to prop up a reduced limb.  “No you can’t.  You fi the ones you can and do the best you can with rest.  You should not let your work bleed into your romantic life.”

“What do you mean?”  she said with a surprised look on her face.

“Were you trying to fix this carpenter?”

Penny sat back and thought about the question.  Sam had been timid in bed, even a little impotent for such a virile man.  She tried to get him more stimulated to love her, but in the end, her efforts were in vain.  She had tried everything she could think of but in the end, he couldn’t change him.  It was why they had broken up.

Penny said, “Maybe a little.”

His eyebrows were feathered dark in thought.  “People generally don’t want to be fixed,” Jorge said.  “You may be in for a frustrating life is you continue.”  He took a breath.  “Your alternative is to look for a man who wants help to be fixed.

She thought about Tim, who was nice and didn’t seem to have many problems.  Maybe he was someone she could be with without her need to fix him.  “I have a date tonight with a man I met at the BART terminal.”

Jorge smiled.  “Already you met someone here?  That’s pretty fast work.” 

“Well, it just kind of happened.”

“Promise me you won’t try to fix this man, whatever his problems.”

“Okay, I promise.”  Penny was sincere, but already she was wondering what Tim had under his rough exterior.

  

 

The Train to Emeryville - Part 2

     The Flying Burrito Bar was a small spot close to the residential part of Emeryville.  As they walked in, Penny noticed that there were only three small tables, two of which were occupied by people in conservative suits and dresses.  A large white and red board listed some fifty combinations of burritos available, all vegetarian.                             Tim said to her, “What kind of burrito do you want?”

Penny shrugged.  “Something with real beans.  Surprise me.”

“Okay,” Tim said.  “Mom, the usual?”

Jane nodded and set her satchel on the floor next to the chair she sat in.  Penny sat next to her placing her satchel against the wall behind her.  Tim went to the counter and ordered with a few gestures and then paid, standing close to where the food was delivered.  A man in a green suit stood next to him, also waiting.

Penny was caught up watching the professionals who were getting a quick bite, or perhaps a power lunch.  Jane lightly touched her arm and drew her attention.  “Do you find my son attractive,” she asked.

Caught of guard, Penny lied.  “I haven’t really thought about it.  We just met.”

“He’s in need of getting laid,” Jane said and glanced over at Tim.  “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to sleep with him.  How about fifty dollars?”

Penny, shocked, merely shook her head.  “Do I impress you as that kind of girl?”

“Oh, honey, don’t be upset,” she said.  “I didn’t mean anything by it.”  She placed her hands folded on the table.  “So, fifty?”

Penny pulled her chair and started to stand.  At that moment, Tim returned with the burritos.  “I got you a bean burrito…”. He looked at Penny.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing dear,” his mother interjected.  “I was just enquiring whether or not Penny here needed some money.”

Penny, upset and turning red, said to Jane, “I don’t need your money!”  She grabbed her backpack and headed to the door.  She thought, what total assholes.

Tim put down the burritos and followed Penny.  He hurried and caught up to her just outside the restaurant’s door.  He reached and caught Penny’s arm.  “Hey, my mom is a little rough around the edges.  Don’t be offended.  What did she say?”

Penny took a deep breath.  “She asked me to sleep with you for fifty dollars.”

“Oh,” he said.  “She has Asperger’s syndrome.”

Penny pulled her arm away.  “What?”

“I should have warned you.  She has a problem behaving appropriately.  Penny wasn’t that offended, just a little shocked.  She had learned about Asperger’s when she went to nursing school.  

“Look, I’m sorry.  Try to understand; she says and does inappropriate social things, particularly with new people.  I would never let her do something like that.”

Penny found Tim’s soothing behavior to be unusual given what she knew about him.  He impressed her as a rough and tough Marine; he was showing a softer side to her, which she found attractive.  “I know what Asperger’s is,” she said.  “You could have warned me.”

“It’s totally my fault; I should have never left her alone with you.  Come back in and eat with me, please.  Just don’t say anything to my Mom.  She won’t understand.”  

Penny warmed to him.  “All right, but I’m not sitting next to her.”  They walked back into the restaurant.  Penny sat next to Tim across from Jane and pulled her burrito platter over.  Jane was halfway through hers and didn’t seem to realize that anything was wrong.

“Mom, Penny is a nice girl.  She would never accept money for something like that.”  He took a bite out of his burrito.

“Well, I was just trying to be nice to your girlfriend.  She seems like a nice girl.”  She gave sparkling smile to Penny.

Penny was fascinated with Jane’s behavior.  Now that she knew about her condition, her interest in clinical psychology took over.  She had dealt with various conditions in soldiers during her time as a medic in Iraq, mostly PTSD.  In her experience, mostly these people needed understanding and someone to talk to.  

Penny finished her burrito and stood and wiped her hands with a napkin.  “I should be going,” she said.

“Can I have your number,” said Tim.

Penny considered for a moment.  “Let me have your phone.”

He gave it to her and she programmed her name and number into his contacts.  “There,” she said, “Call me if you want some company.”  She left, walking through the restaurant door and into the street.

“Will do,” said Tim, to no one in particular after she had gone.

The Train to Emeryville

A new story started 9/25/2021

 

    When the clock struck twelve noon, the blue and white BART shuttle from San Fransisco landed in Emeryville, California leaving a young woman, Penny Lopez, standing on the platform.  Beach blond, petite, and thin-waisted, she wore jeans and a medical uniform top, as if she were about to enter surgery in outpatient facility.  She stopped walking toward the gate to the parking lot and set down her satchel, which was stuffed with water, clothes, and snack bars and had a North American Union Flag on the flap.   She smelled the clean scent of shuttle fuel and the exhaust; and although she didn’t mind a little dirt, the station lacked the cleanliness she’d come to expect in her life.  

Tim Slater saw the girl come into the terminal where he was waiting for his Mother’s shuttle from San Jose.  Intrigued, her watched her fumble with her satchel while she looked for something, something apparently carefully stashed since she was removing clothing to get to it.  He wondered what she was doing coming to a nothing town like Emeryville.  Her apparent disorganization offended him; he required a high order of organization in all things.  For that matter, the terminal offended him: the sticky floors, the noisy traffic, and the two people behind him discussing oral sex.

Jenny walked down the platform steps and then sat cross-legged on the ground of the terminal, her satchel in front of her.  She examined her communicator with concentration; she couldn’t be lost, she thought, but it had been many years since she had come down here, and her sense of direction was notoriously poor.  She looked for a landmark on the communicator readout for Emeryville, hopefully, one that she could see from the elevated shuttle lobby.  

Tim thought about talking to her.  She looked interesting; her hair was straight and went to mid-shoulder; her bulge at the bust was not pronounced but could be said to be as petite as her build, she wore hiking boots, which, when considered with the blue jeans, indicated she might live in the Sierra’s.  Tim, felt a familiarity with her; and he decided, after some deliberation, to talk to her.  He walked across the lobby, and he tried to approach her in a non-threatening manner.

“Hi,” Tim said as he came up to her.  Up close, she had several beauty marks; one was on her cheek and several were on her neck.  Her eyebrows were plucked and her nails neatly manicured.  Tim thought she looked well-kept, not an itinerant hitchhiker at all.  She looked up at him with a friendly smile.

“Just get to town?” he asked.

She took in Tim; he had on his best pair of Dockers and a plaid wool shirt that he wore on cool days like today.  He was big; a hulking specimen who had an appearance of a wrestler.  His hair was shoulder-length, neatly combed, and freshly washed so that it had a sheen when the sunlight hit it.  She looked him over and paused at his left arm, which was missing.  Instead of a stump, he had a prosthetic arm, which was attached at the elbow.  He noticed the look, and felt uncomfortable and a little defiant, just as he did when anyone said anything about his artificial arm.  Her eyes paused on it for a beat too long.

“What?” Tim said.  “Haven’t you ever seen an artificial arm?”

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean anything; my brother had one.  Where am I?” she asked.

“Emeryville, California, population 31,899,” he said.   He had a scowl on his face.

“Oh good,” she said.  I was afraid for a moment I was in Oakland.”

“You may wish you were in Oakland.  There’s nothing much happening here.”

“I’m here to visit my Uncle.  You from here?” she asked.

Tim scratched the scar on his chest, and said, “Glided up from Modesto, yesterday.  I’m here to pick up my Mother; she should be here any minute.  I don’t live here anymore, but I come back to see my parents.”  She smiled at him, and the smile highlighted her beauty, which he found increasingly appealing.  

“Your brother is a vet?” he asked.

“Was.  He died three years ago.” Her shiny disposition became dull all of sudden.

Tim pulled his hair behind his left ear.  “Happens to the best of us.”

“Well, he’s at peace now.”  Her sunny disposition came back.  “He was never happy after he came back from Iran.  You might say he was troubled.”

He felt his thoughts swing to his own troubles; he lost track of where he was for a moment.  For a second, he felt the fear come back and sit with him, patient, waiting.  He struggled and succeeded in coming back to the present, just as Dr. Davis had suggested.  “I served in Iran; three tours.”

She looked at him, long and with respect, and then said, “I was an Army Corpsman in Iran.  My Uncle is a veteran too.  Afghanistan.”

“Well I guess the Army is okay, but it ain’t the Marines.”

A silence descended on them, and for a moment Tim couldn’t think of anything to say.  It was nice to talk to someone for a change instead of sitting alone in his apartment in Modesto, where he worked as a librarian.  A quiet job, he sometimes went nearly the whole day without saying anything except occasional directions to find a book or an article on the computer for a visitor.  Modesto was a flat town in a flat valley, the big valley, which had become almost a majority hispanic town.  Not only did few people talk in the library, when they did, chances were it would be Spanish they spoke.

He had become a librarian at the suggestion of Dr. Davis, who thought the environment would be a good one for overcoming his PTSD.  Because of his influence, he had, with some difficulty, earned his Master’s degree in Library Science from San Jose State University School of Library and Information Science.  The move to Modesto was a necessary one because they had offered him the best job.  Also, he couldn’t live with his mother anymore and her overly kind manner.  Nothing irritated him more than kindness.

“My name’s Tim, Tim Slater.”  He held out his hand. 

She took it and said, “Penny Lopez.”

Tim paused, and then said, “Do you need a ride?  My mom’s shuttle should be here soon.  I have a transport is in the parking lot.  Are you here by yourself?” he asked.

She hesitated, she didn’t trust him to know whether to trust him or not.  She moved away from him, stood, with the satchel between like a protective barrier.  She thought that he looked okay, artificial arm and all, but she remembered the vets at the Oakland Vet Center that were there when she had brought her brother in, and most of them hard to be around, even dangerous.  She hesitated; she had only recently split from her boyfriend, Sam, in their hometown of Nevada City, and her feelings were still pretty raw, even more like live wires discharging high voltage.  This man appeared to be okay; besides his appearance, he seemed to genuinely want to help her.  They were both vets too, and it would be unseemly to brush him off.

“Sure, I could use a ride,” she said, standing and putting on the backpack with a practiced motion.  “Want to wait over there?” She pointed to the bench by the concession machines which was empty.

They sat in the shade, the day being warm but not hot.  She set her pack at her feet, and said, “So, Tim, what do you do?”

“I’m a librarian.  I work for the Stanislaus County Library system in Modesto, thirteen branches and growing, that is if they pass the latest bond issue.”

“Do you work at all of them?”

“Just the main branch in Modesto.  I mostly work with the computers, helping people with the databases and other computer applications.”

Penny sat close to him, next to his artificial arm, which he pulled back so it didn’t poke her in the ribs.  She said, innocently, “I’d think it would be difficult to work with computers with only one hand.”

He reddened, saying, “I’m not handicapped.”

She put her hand on his shoulder, and said, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She was beautiful, he thought, and he wondered about her life and whether she was married.  He looked at the train schedule on the wall and figured they had at least fifteen minutes before his mother’s train got there.  

She reached into her pack for a bottle of water.  “Thirsty?” she said.

“No, a little hungry though.  I was going to take my mother to lunch when her shuttle gets here.”

She sipped the water, a ventured a glance at him.  He was handsome in a rugged sort of way; he had acne scars on his cheeks, which contributed to his overall rough look.  A large-sized Harrison Ford.  Kind of touchy though.  She felt a certain animal attraction to him; he was the opposite of Sam, who was as gentle as an afternoon breeze; his lack of rough edges had ultimately made her lose interest in him.  Tim had that brute appearance that she found attractive in men; even if they were a little too rough, a little too sharp around the edges.

“Want to go to lunch with us?” he asked.

Surprised, she considered.  Tim saw that she had dimples, which became apparent as she considered his request and gave her a cute appearance.  “My uncle said he wouldn’t be home until 3 p.m.; I suppose I could eat.  He glanced at her.  “Actually, I’m pretty hungry.”

“Good,” Tim said.  “I know a great burrito place downtown.’

Penny put the water back in her pack.  Tim stood and went to look up to find the shuttle.  She carefully looked him over when he stood in profile.  His build attracted her, as did, strangely enough, his artificial arm.  She had worked with lots of soldiers who had lost limbs, and she felt their loss almost more than they did, which was probably due to the empathy she inherited from her mother.  For her, the lack of a limb made no difference in a man, except when the loss affected them mentally.  She wondered if this was the case with Tim.

He returned and said,  “I think I see the shuttle,” he said.  “Let me help you get your pack on.”  He helped her get it into place, and together they stood on the platform as the train arrived.  After stopping, his mother got off and spotted him.  They walked toward each other.  Penny stayed where she was.

After greeting each with a hug,  they came back to where Penny was.  “Mom, this is Penny.  She’s here to see her uncle and I invited her to lunch.”

“Call me Jane,” she said to Penny and offered her hand, which Penny took lightly.   She examined Penny with a critical eye, frowning a little when she took her hand back.  “You’re not a local girl, are you?” she asked with a chilly voice.

“No,” Penny said.  She smiled, her disposition was sunny and warm.   “I’m from the foothills.  Nevada City.”

Jane looked Penny up and down.  “That explains the boots, I suppose; don’t they sell dresses in Nevada City?” 

“Mom, be nice,” Tim said.

“I am being nice,” she said, sounding a little hurt.  “I just think young women should dress appropriately and not look like they are going backpacking in the Rockies.”

Without further comment, Jane said, “Where’s the car?”