The Marine's Kiss. Shirley Jump

question wasn’t a hard one. But it required an answer more complicated than he could give to a group of nine-year-olds at eight-thirty in the morning.

      “I just decided to wear something else today,” he said finally.

      “Can you wear your uniform tomorrow?” Jimmy asked. “I bet it’s really cool. Do you have a lot of medals and stuff?”

      He’d had medals. Past tense. He thought of the dark-blue coat, once hung with ribbons and golden pins whispering of past deeds.

      But now…

      Now he didn’t wear it anymore. It had been far too painful a reminder, so he’d stuffed it into the dark recesses of his closet. A few months ago, that uniform had been his life. He didn’t have the athletic prowess of Mark, the brains of Luke, the business acumen of Katie or the focus of Jack. Nate thrived on action, adventure. And the only thing he seemed to be good at, since the Christmas he got his first G.I. Joe, was battling the bad guys—and winning.

      Now that he wasn’t wearing the clothes of a marine, he felt lost, as if he wasn’t sure what uniform he was supposed to wear anymore.

      “Can you wear your marine clothes tomorrow? I bet it’s really awesome,” another boy said.

      “No.” Nate’s voice came out tight and strangled. He cleared his throat and tried again. “No, I can’t wear it.”

      “Why not?”

      “Yeah, why not?”

      He cast a help-me look at Jenny. She grinned at him and stepped forward. “That’s enough questions for today,” she said. “It’s eight-forty-two. Time to get started on our vocabulary words. Now, everybody copy down…”

      While she talked, Nate scooted around the desks and made his way to the back of the room. He slipped his free hand into his pocket and fingered the piece of paper that had arrived that morning on his fax machine. Whether he liked it or not, he had to stay in Jenny’s class for the entire week.

      After Jenny had left, he’d called his V.A. doctor, thinking the physician would tell Nate he had a good reason to go on staying at home and off his knee. But no, the doctor had disagreed, and when the story of Jenny’s visit had slipped out, he’d ordered Nate to a week in Jenny’s class as “therapy” for his knee. Whether this was going to be good for him or not remained to be seen.

      Looking at the wide-eyed, eager faces around him, he realized Jenny had been right.

      These kids were going to eat him alive.

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