Greg and Allie, Pt. 01: The Beginning
This is something just a bit different from many of my other stories.
I realize I probably could have put this in any one of several different categories, but I chose to put it here.
I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
As always, constructive comments are always welcome and appreciated.
Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (Yes, I do moderate comments.
Please remember, this is a work of fiction, meaning that it is not real in any way, shape, matter or form.
...
"Hey Smith, better get a move-on. Your flight's leaving pretty soon," the driver shouted from the hallway.
"Yeah, I'm coming," I shouted back as I grabbed my bags and looked around to make sure I got everything. Once I had double-checked everything, I was in the hallway of the dormitory I had called "home" for the last year, double-timing to catch up to Jenkins, one of the company drivers. Together, we walked at a brisk pace to the truck outside.
I stowed my gear in the back seat and climbed in the front, where Jenkins was waiting. Fortunately, he had already turned the air conditioner on and the cab was nice and cold -- an improvement over the hot air outside.
"Let's roll," Jenkins said as he put the truck in gear. I looked out the window as we headed for the airport. I had spent the last year here in Erbil, Iraq, working as an IT contractor for an international oil and gas company, and I was anxious to finally get back home.
When we got to the airport, Jenkins helped me get my bags out, and shook my hand.
"It's been a pleasure working with you, Smitty," he said as we shook hands. That's me, by the way. Greg Smith, "Smitty" to my close friends. "Good luck back in the world. You ever get bored with life, we'd love to have you back." I snickered as he said that. This had actually been my third trip to Iraq and my first as a civilian.
I went through all the security, had my passport stamped and finally got on the aircraft. Shortly thereafter, we took off and I closed my eyes wondering what awaited me at home. If it had been up to me, I would've been out of here a month ago after I learned my mother had been diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer. But she insisted that I stay and finish my contract.
"A man's word is his bond," my mother said. "If you can't keep your promises, then what good are ya?" That was just like her, I thought. I remembered that fateful Skype call just about a month ago like it was yesterday.
"We have good news and we have bad news," the doctor told us. "The bad news is your mother's got stage 4 pancreatic cancer. The good news is she's got 30 days to get her affairs in order."
"Damn," I said. "There's nothing you can do?"
"Other than try to keep her as comfortable as possible, no," the doctor said.
"Then maybe I should cut my contract short and come on back home," I said. That's when my mother piped up.
"Don't you dare," she said. "You've only got a month or less to go, so you finish what you started and then come home. I'll still be here. And if I need help, Allie is here and she can help me." Then she laid the line about a man's word being his bond.
But my world collapsed yesterday when Allie emailed to say Mom had passed away.
I guess to understand my story a little better, you probably need to know something about my family. My father, Irwin Smith, and my mother, Georgina, worked together in their own business for as long as I can remember. Dad was an architect and Mom was an interior designer. Together, they designed and built or remodeled custom homes. They were quite good at it and often reminded me of those HGTV programs where a husband and wife team designed and remodeled homes for people.
They did that until my second year in the Corps, when Dad was t-boned one night by a trucker who hit a patch of black ice on the road. The big rig slammed my Dad's pickup into a large tree. He was unconscious when they took him to the hospital and he never woke up.
Naturally, Mom was devastated, but her work ethic was such that she decided to finish the jobs they had pending, no matter what needed to be done. She hired an architect to complete the work my Dad had started and when those jobs were finished, she closed the business down. After that, she went into semi-retirement, writing blog posts about interior design.
The only remaining family member I have now is my sister, Allison, or Allie. She's eleven months younger than me, and she worked hard to complete her nurse's training several months early, taking summer courses while her classmates partied. When she finished her degree, she got a job at the local Memorial Hospital, working in the Emergency Room.
You'd never know we were siblings just by looking at us. I stand six foot two inches and weigh in at a muscular 200 pounds. Like my Dad, I have short dark hair and brown eyes. Allie, on the other hand, stands at five foot six inches and weighs somewhere around 125 pounds. Unlike the rest of us, she has long blonde hair and the deepest blue eyes you can imagine.
To the best of my knowledge, no one else in our family has blonde hair or blue eyes. Both our parents were only children, so there are no aunts, uncles or cousins, and our grandparents, who have been dead for a while, all had dark hair and brown eyes. I don't know where Allie got her blonde hair or blue eyes from, but it never mattered to any of us.
I enlisted in the Marine Corps straight out of high school. I was fortunate enough to get the MOS, or military occupational specialty, I wanted -- 0651, Cyber Network Operator, what the Corps used to call a data network specialist. That fit perfectly with my plans. I wanted to get as much training and certifications as I could, then start up my own IT consulting firm after I got out.
While I was stationed stateside, I attended college in my off-duty hours and got as many certifications as I possibly could. Two tours in Iraq, however, put a kink in my college education, and when I got out, I was "this close" to getting my degree. So I went to college using my benefits and finished my degree.
After that, I was offered an overseas contract job that paid exceptionally well, so I took it. The plan at that time was to take the money I earned from that job, combine it with some of what my Dad left me and start my own firm. Mom said I could take over the loft she and Dad used for their business to get started, and she also promised to help me get my books set up.
Keep in mind that our family has always been very close-knit, so I had no problem whatsoever learning business tricks from my mother -- she took care of the bookkeeping for her and Dad's business and was very successful at it, so I figured it would be best to learn from someone who knows what they're doing.
Right now, though, my thoughts turned to Allie. We had always been close. Oh, sure, we squabbled and argued like siblings generally do when we were younger, but we always made up afterward. A few things leaped out at me, though. In our last weekly Skype call, Mom said something to me that I thought rather odd.
"I want you to know that I'm very proud of you, son," she said. "I know your Dad would be proud of you as well. I just want you to promise me one thing."
"What's that, Mom?" I asked.
"Promise me you'll always be there for Allie," she said. "She's a very special girl and she's going to need you now more than ever." I already knew she was a special person. When Mom got sick, Allie sold her condo and moved back into the house to help take care of her. I knew it was hard for her to give up her personal space like that, but that's the kind of person she is.
"Of course, Mom," I said. I thought that odd, especially since I always looked out for her. I was your typical "big brother" type when it came to Allie. God help the sonofabitch who might want to hurt her, as more than one asshole found out the hard way.