Michael Porter ran his worn fingertips over the stitching of his hat. With a sigh, he sat back from resting his elbows on his knees. Digging into his pants pocket, he rolled his eyes as he felt the empty packet of cigarettes. He had forgotten he was out.
It had been a half hour since he had arrived at Regiment for a briefing with Colonel Dixon. Whatever was going on in the large drawing room used for meetings was taking longer than expected. Hurry up and wait as usual.
He shifted his weight on the creaking wooden bench and peered across the hallway. Colonel Dixon's secretary was busy typing in the open room across from him. She paused now and then. Giving a sigh, she'd check the tape in her typewriter and then peck away at the keys once more. It was maddeningly predictable.
Michael tried to imagine what the secretary look like without glasses and her hair loose. He concluded it wouldn't be much of an improvement.
The door to the briefing room opened. A flood of uniforms strutting in all their ranked glory filled the hallway. He stood at attention and saluted. Most of them didn't acknowledge him. Rolling his eyes, he sank onto the bench. Porter glanced down at his watch. He was in desperate need of a drink.
As his gaze drifted upwards, he glimpsed a sculpted pair of ankles at the secretary's desk. His eyes lifted and he couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips. He'd have known those long legs anywhere. Edith Dixon turned, a folder tucked under her arm and reading a sheet of paper as she walked into the hallway. Michael straightened in his seat. He was about to say something when she looked up into his eyes.
Her expression was blank as she studied him. As though she was trying to place him. As though she didn't remember him holding her as they drove back from the line.
He had every moment of that evening stamped in his mind. Porter couldn't recall the last time a woman had need him like that. It had left him hungry to see her again. The next day, her father sent her away as fast as the paperwork could go through. Seeing her again almost made him forget the heaviness of the flask in his pocket. Almost.
"Lieutenant Porter." She sputtered.
Michael stood, "Good to see you, Edith. How have you been?"
"Well enough. And you?"
"Good, still in one piece."
"I see and still lacking a razor." She quirked an eyebrow.
He chuckled, "I told you already. I do the best I can in that department."
Edith managed a half smile as her hazel eyes flitted towards the staircase behind him. Her face was thinner then when he had last seen her. There were grey shadows of exhaustion in the hollows of her cheeks. The war was finally taking its toll on the Ice Queen of the 101st. Port drew a step closer and she retreated.
"You here to see the Colonel?"
"Yes," he shrugged, "Something about a possible promotion."
Edith wrapped an arm around her middle, her gaze returning to the stairs, "Good luck then, Lieutenant Porter. It was nice to see you."
Before she could take a step, Port ambled forward. He was close enough to catch the clean scent of soap in her hair. It only spurred his imagination, "Come on, Edith. Call me Michael now, would yah?"
She cocked a dark eyebrow, her expression cooling. "Lieutenant Porter suits me just fine, thank you."
Edith strode to the stairwell. Porter watched her every step.
#
A soft knock at the office door startled Edith from her work.
"Come in," Edith called out, peering up from the desk.
What intrigued Edith the most about Michael Porter was how he walked. He was an average sized man, not tall and lanky like Alex. And yet he moved as though a few extra inches were added to his height. He marched with long, determined strides, always driven towards a destination. From her few encounters with the man, Edith wondered if she had ever met anyone more lost. For the first time in her life, she found that she could relate.
She set down her pencil as Lieutenant Porter shut the door behind him. Resting her hands in her lap, Edith managed a smile. Running into him downstairs had been an accident. Alone with him in the empty supply officer's work space was on purpose. From the way he studied her with rapt fascination, she'd be lying if she didn't know what was on his mind. Edith still wasn't sure how she felt about it. One thing was certain, Michael Porter was much easier to read than his best friend.
"Burning the midnight oil, huh?" He gestured with his flask towards her work.
Edith glanced down at her wrist watch, "It's only 9:00 o'clock."
He snorted and shook his head, "You are so much like Alex sometimes."
Edith flinched but he didn't notice. He was too busy tipping his head back as he took a drink. Straight faced, she watched him approach the desk.
"So the promotion."
"Ah yes, your promotion. To what? Captain?" She leaned back in her chair.
"They are moving Lane up finally. Item Company will be without a CO again and they are considering me.” He drank again.
"You know you shouldn't talk with me about that-"
"Yeah I know. But I don't care about discretion right now. I just need to talk to someone."
"So I suppose that makes me the victim." Edith smirked, crossing her arms over her white blouse.
He held out the flask across the desk and lifted an eyebrow. Edith sighed, her eyes darting from the offering to his eyes. Without a word, she reached out and took it from him. She sniffed it and recoiled with a wince.
"Gracious. What do you have in this thing? Lighter fluid?"
Before he could answer, she threw back a shot. Coughing, her eyes watered as the liquid burned her senses. It was a comfort to feel something again. Edith had felt frozen since the winter in the Bois Jacque. She handed it to Porter, who chuckled on the edge of her desk. Their fingers brushed and Edith pretended not to notice.
"I thought you didn't drink." He commented.
"I don't," Edith shrugged, "Usually."
Porter glanced up from his hands and held her gaze, "Your father said they have been wanting to move me up for some time now. I suppose this means I’m finally coming out from behind Alex’s shadow."
She shifted in her seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the conversation. However she couldn’t help but ask after him. "He still Company XO?"
"He hates it. No surprise here. I’ve known the man since we were fourteen and shooting squirrels in the woods." He broke eye contact, "Got to be thankful though, haven’t had to shoot a man yet."
"Me neither."
Michael gave a short genuine laugh, "You have a healthy sense of humor hidden under that tough exterior don't you, Dixon?"
Gathering up the papers, Edith stood from her chair, "I have my moments. Though I have heard the names they call me."
"What names?"
"Don't play dumb with me, Lieutenant Porter," she chuckled, tucking the papers into a folder, "Ice Queen of the 101st, the Cold Fish-"
"Wait a minute- that's unfair," he balked, "You might be a bit intimidating but any man can tell, you are far from a cold fish. A woman with legs to rival Betty Grable is far from a cold fish."
Heat rushed into her face as though she was a silly, teenage girl. Edith pivoted towards a nearby file cabinet. An uncomfortable silence descended on the room and hung like cigarette smoke. She heard him take another drink. She wished he would leave but was reluctant to be alone.
"How can you stand it here?"
His strange question caused Edith to turn towards him. Porter's heavy gaze had grown distant. He stared numbly at the floor.
"What do you mean?"
"Listening to those old men play with lives like they were in a game of dice." Porter swirled the flask in his hand, "I hate it here."
Edith let out her breath. Porter drank again. She could tell he was already drunk or well on his way to getting there. The alcohol gave a lightness to her steps as she made her way towards him. As she stopped at his elbow, he peered up at her. His denim blue gaze was unfocused and pupils dilated. Reaching out silently, Edith took the flask from him. She screwed the cap back on and tucked it into the half open breast pocket of his coat.
"Go get yourself some coffee, Michael." She advised quietly, not meeting his eyes.
"Shoot. You really are beautiful." He stated casually.
The random force of the statement slammed into her. She didn’t know whether to laugh or thank him. Edith strode to the file cabinet in the corner. She threw open one of the drawers and blindly shuffled through the paperwork.
"Lieutenant Porter, I suggest a cup of coffee and early to bed," Edith directed coolly with a tremulous scoff. She sensed him stand and close the distance between them, "It will do you a world of good."
Edith curtly shut the drawer. Holding a folder in front of her like a shield, she found he was closer than she had realized. Porter reached over her shoulder, bracing the heel of his hand against the cabinet behind her.
"Lieutenant, you have had too much to drink." She weakly observed as he tugged the file from her hands.
He dropped it to the ground, the papers skidding out onto the floorboards.
"Porter-"
"Wait, just give me a second." He rested a hand on the arc of her neck.
Michael Porter leaned forward, smelling of Old Spice and whiskey. His kiss was tentative at first before he fully pressed his lips to hers. He wrapped his arms around her waist. He retreated, drawing a deep breath and studying her expression. Edith blinked into his face as her good sense slowly returned.
Being with Colonel Bentley had been a learning experience. It taught her that the men who had kissed her did not do it out of love. Michael Porter didn't need her, he just needed something she could give. Be it strength, reassurance or maybe a quiet hint of home. He was only testing her like bathwater. Yet as Colonel Bentley had drained her of herself with his kisses, Porter could do the same. She was tired of giving to men who had little of their own to return the favor.
"Edith, are you still here-"
The door whipped open and the two of them sprang apart. Colonel Dixon stood in the doorway assessing the situation as he would a field of battle.
Porter coughed and managed a salute, "Sir."
"Porter." Her father's eyes were calm. The sight rattled Edith. "I believe you have some preparations to make."
"Yes sir. I was just leaving." He nodded towards her, neither of them seeking eye contact, "Good evening, Lieutenant Dixon. Good night, Sir."
"Evening, Lieutenant." She breathed as he sidled past the Colonel in the doorway.
The door clicked shut, leaving her alone with her father.
"I see I have caught you at a bad time."
"Of course not, sir." Edith snapped straight, stepping over the discarded papers on the floor. "Can I help you with anything?"
"No, not that I can think of." Colonel Dixon edged forward, his hands behind his back. "Though I wonder if you can even help yourself right now, Edith."
"Sir?" She looked up from where she stood behind the desk.
Colonel Dixon eased himself into the chair catty corner to her. Perching his elbows on the arm rests, he brought his fingers into a teepee and observed his eldest child. Edith broke away from his pointed stare.
"Edith, do you know that Porter is married?"
She stopped cold, "No, I wasn't aware."
"Well, barely but still. Divorce papers are being drawn up but it doesn’t matter whether the man wears his ring or not." The Colonel's voice was still as deep water, "I didn't think you knew."
"Of course not, father. I'm not in the habit of kissing married men." She replied with a snap of vinegar in her tone.
"Or engaged ones?"
Edith hissed a breath and peered over at him.
"Yes, I knew about Bentley." He admitted, rubbing his forehead. "I knew about the weekend to London and your holiday getaway to the seaside. I wish I hadn't but I did."
Edith sank into her chair, "Did you know about his engagement?"
"Not until after you had broken it off."
"Who told you?"
"I think I heard it in passing one day." Colonel Dixon leaned forward onto his knees. "Edith, you are an adult who is very capable of making her own decisions. Whether or not I think they are wise is none of my business. But that doesn't keep me from hurting when I see the consequences of your actions coming back to bite you."
Edith rubbed her upper arm. She felt nauseous.
"Edith, please look at me."
She obeyed. Her father studied her with the pained expression of a long suffering parent. It was worse than disappointment. The only thing she had ever sought was his approval, his hard won praise. She wondered if that would ever be possible, especially after this past year.
"I'm sorry I've let you down, dad." She choked.
The Colonel kept her eyes for a moment before shaking his head, "What are you talking about, Edie? You have never let me down. Not once."
"But everything that happened this winter. And now with these men-"
"I could shoot them both and not think twice about it." He threatened, sitting up, "Taking advantage of you like that? It's hideous."
"Like you said though, I am an adult-"
"But you are my daughter! How dare they?" He snarled, leaning back in his chair.
Edith couldn't help a small smile, "I am sorry about what happened in the Ardennes. I am sorry I lied to you."
"I forgave you a long time ago. That's not what I am worried about. What I am worried about are the walls I see you building."
"Walls?"
"You have yourself in this neat little fortress. Your strength is inspiring, it's what drew cads like Porter and Bentley to you in the first place. But you are locking yourself away in a tower. I see it daily. Your mother has as well, which is why she insisted I send you to Paris over Christmas. Not that it did much good."
Edith shrugged. A brief memory of holding a lost coin to the moonlight by the Seine while Alex stood next to her crossed into her mind. She wondered if Paris had done her more good than she realized at the time.
"I'm not saying that being alone is bad. You can be alone and allow yourself to be loved by those around you. It's your isolation that worries me." He met her eyes again, "Your solitude, it will cost you one day if you let it continue. Cost you more than you realize. You cannot run this race on your own."
Each word was like the sharp pop of an M1. Edith jolted from her seat at the shock of it. The truth had a warm, whiskey burn to it to be sure.
He stood from his chair, "I'm not here to lecture you. I just couldn't stand on the sideline anymore and remain silent. I don't believe a father should, whether his child is six or sixty years old."
He turned towards the door.
"Daddy?" Edith sputtered, "I - thank you. I will try to do better."
"Edie, you never had to try. I just love you."
Edith let out soggy laugh, wiping her damp cheeks with the back of her hand. A strange moment of epiphany hit her. All those verses about free forgiveness for the asking made sense. It was though God was using her father to speak to her.
"Then I promise to do better with my choices. Especially with men," she chuckled.
"Good luck." He rolled his eyes, "As your father there will never be anyone good enough for you in my opinion."
Edith shook her head as the Colonel shut the door. She sank down next to the desk and rifled through the small bag she had packed. At the bottom was the worn tome. The spine crinkled as she flitted through the gold lined pages. Heart thudding against her breast bone, she found the words that had danced through her mind. Sitting with her back against the file cabinet, the verse rang clear as rainwater. But by the grace of God, I am what I am.
God did not expect perfection from her. Nor did He condemn her when she failed like human beings did so well. His grace covered her many failures. She didn’t need to punish herself to pay for her many mistakes. Christ had made that payment a thousand years earlier. She only needed to accept the gift.
In the quiet of the spare office, Edith folded her hands and surrendered her brokenness. It wasn’t much but now she knew, He was more than sufficient.
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