Chapter 6

Greg rode up to the main gate of the base several minutes later and presented his dependent's ID card to the MPs on duty. They knew him well, but with the war in full swing everyone who needed to get on base had to show an ID and every car had to be searched before being allowed on board. Greg passed through the gate and rode down the main stretch of road before turning onto a side street that led into one of several neighborhoods of officer's quarters on base. A couple of minutes after that and he was riding into the driveway of their own modest unit, a small single-family house with a very tidy postage stamp-sized yard.

Leaning his bike against the house so that it was out of the way, Greg went inside. Blythe House was in the small dining room putting dishes away in the china cabinet. Greg went over and kissed her on the cheek.

"Hi, Mom."

"Hi, honey. How was your day?"

"Fine. Seemed to drag on forever," he said, drawing out the last word and rolling his eyes as she laughed. It was like this between them, casual and relaxed and without the tension that pervaded their lives when Dad was around. It was at times like these that Greg wished his dad would never come home. Not that John House was his real dad anyway. A couple of summers before, Greg had figured out that the man he'd always known as his father was not his biological father. At 12, he was almost as tall as his dad and had begun to push back against the rigorous demands his father made of him. During one of their more heated arguments, Greg had made it very clear that he knew the truth. That summer came to be known in Greg's mind as The Summer of Silence. His dad refused to talk to him, or even acknowledge his existence. Anything he needed to say he would type up on the old Smith-Corona typewriter in his study and slide under Greg's door. House the elder and House the younger reached an odd sort of truce as they settled into the new routine that summer, while Blythe was left to watch the two headstrong men in her life and wait for the moment when she would be forced to intervene yet again.

Greg wandered into the small kitchen, opened the refrigerator door and stood there, waiting for inspiration to strike while his stomach growled. Not seeing anything of interest, he made himself a peanut butter sandwich and headed into his bedroom, tossing his backpack into a corner on his way over to the desk against the far wall. Greg absently munched his sandwich while making a list for the next day, not even noticing when the sandwich was gone. He went back into the kitchen, where Blythe was busying herself with making dinner, and poured himself a glass of milk. He casually leaned against the counter as he drank and watched his mom's efficient movements. She glanced over at him and smiled.

"Last day of school for a week, isn't it?"

"Yep."

Blythe eyed her son wryly as she asked her next question. "How ever are you going manage to keep yourself out of trouble?"

Greg grinned. She knew him too well. "Declan and I are going for a hike tomorrow over by Sebun kawa - Seven Rivers." At his mom's look, he continued. "Don't worry, Mom. The trails are clearly marked. A person would have to be an idiot to get themselves lost up there."

Blythe was not so easily mollified. "You two aren't going to try anything crazy up there, are you? I know how you boys can get when left to your own devices. Don't forget what happened the last time you two went off on your own."

Greg considered her words. He had gone exploring with Declan not long after they met, just before his dad left with the air wing. Declan was showing him around the prefecture, and they'd inadvertently ridden their bikes into an area of the city where foreigners, gaikoku hito, were forbidden. Word spread quickly to both the Embassy and the Marine base, and when John House caught wind of it via his Commanding Officer, Greg found himself enduring several nights of sleeping in the damp cold of the backyard wearing nothing more than a pair of shorts and a t-shirt after a couple of grueling hours doing mountain climbers with minimal water breaks - during which his dad would bark out commands to recite from the General Orders for Sentries. The memory of that all-too recent time was filed away in the innermost reaches of Greg's mind, and it broke the lightness of the mood in the room.

Greg's blue eyes darkened. "I haven't forgotten," he said tersely, straightening up and moving to rinse his glass in the sink.

Blythe caught him by the arm as he turned to retreat back into his room. "Honey, I wasn't trying to upset you. I just want to make sure you boys are going to be careful." She smiled at her son fondly and patted his cheek. "I'm a mom. I worry about these things." She decided to change the subject. "I got a call from Household Goods today. They're going to deliver the piano on Monday."

Greg looked up, pleasantly surprised. "Seriously? Cool."

He walked over to the stove and lifted the lid on a simmering pot to reveal a thick meaty pasta sauce inside. It smelled great, and despite the fact that Greg had just eaten he could feel his stomach begin to rumble with hunger again. Blythe heard the sound and laughed. Her son was at that age where he could eat virtually everything in sight and still be hungry.

"Dinner will be ready in about an hour. Think that peanut butter sandwich will tide you over until then?"

Greg couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah. I'm good."