1972
The day before Greg's thirteenth birthday, he and Reilly walked to their favorite tomb.
"I'm telling him tomorrow after my party," Greg told her.
"He's going to do something horrible to you, Greg."
"What's he gonna do he hasn't already done?"
"I wish I'd never mentioned your stupid dimples."
"I'd have figured it out anyway. I'm just as smart you are," he scoffed.
"Not according to our IQ tests." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.
"At least I'm not a girl," he countered.
"No, you just wish you were," she replied with a saucy grin.
His eyes narrowed and she took off running with him close on her heels.
The next day, Reilly watched Greg closely during his birthday party. John and her father sat on lawn chairs watching the festivities. Her father sat next to the grill where hamburgers sizzled. Several boys from school came and they all played kickball in the backyard. Reilly's team lost to Greg's and he danced around her until she jumped on him. They rolled around for a minute or two then got up when Blythe and Meara began to bring out the food. They ate the hamburgers along with homemade crispy onion rings and root beer. Then Blythe brought out Greg's cake. He closed his eyes and blew out the candles. Once the cake was sliced and passed around, Reilly sat next to Greg on one of the blankets spread out on the lawn.
"I know what you wished for," she told him after swallowing a bite of cake.
"Do not," he told her and wiped some frosting off her top lip. He sucked it off his finger and then took a bite of his own cake.
"You wished that Uncle John would leave when you tell him."
Greg concentrated on his cake.
"He probably won't and you'll get in trouble. The worst trouble ever. Please don't say anything."
Greg got up and joined a group of boys sitting on another blanket. Reilly sighed, got up and threw her cake in the trash. For the rest of the afternoon she ignored Greg and played with her sisters, Catriona and Eithne.
After all the guests left and everything was cleared up, Blythe started cooking dinner. John sat on the couch in the living room watching television while Greg sat on the floor putting together the model motorcycle the McGrath's gave him. Thirty minutes later, Blythe came out of the kitchen and asked Greg to set the table.
"Sure, Mom. I'll do it in a minute," her son replied.
"Do it now like she commanded, son," John said dangerously.
Greg stood slowly and turned to face him. "I am not your son."
John stood up and Blythe came running from the kitchen.
"You are my son," John informed him.
"You were in Okinawa when I was conceived. You don't carry the gene for dimples. I wouldn't have them if I was your son. Your second toe is longer than your big toe. Mine isn't. Though you have blue eyes, Mom and some of your family don't. So, if I was your son, I'd have brown eyes. I don't. You are not my biological father."
All the color drained from John's face. He swallowed several times and then looked at Blythe. Tears streamed down her face. John walked past Blythe and her son to the front door. He opened it, walked out and quietly closed it behind him.
Greg turned to look at his mother. "I am not his son," he told her calmly before walking back to his room and closing the door. Blythe stood in the living room sobbing. The day she feared finally came.
John returned several hours later. Blythe sat on the couch staring at nothing,
"I'd like my dinner now," he told her stiffly.
She jumped slightly then got up and pulled his plate out of the oven where she kept it warm for him. He ate in silence then got up and went to bed.
The remainder of the summer, he said nothing to Blythe about Greg or his paternity. Greg spent most of that summer in his room. When John had something to say to him, he typed it out and slid the paper under Greg's door.
When Greg returned to school, John treated him with a cool civility. Things were never the same between them.
They moved from Egypt to The Philippines. Greg and John rarely spoke and Greg spent most of his time either on the beaches with Reilly or in his room reading.
One sunny afternoon, Greg and Reilly came running in dripping water all over the floor. Both held hand made spears with fish wriggling on the ends.
"We caught dinner!" Greg told his mother excitedly. "Reilly said we can keep hers, too, since it isn't enough to feed her whole family. But, we're going to catch more for them."
Blythe laughed. "Well, thank you, Reilly. Go put them in the sink. We'll have fried fish for dinner."
Both children ran into the kitchen and then dashed back out with their spears tucked under their arms. She mopped up the water off the floor and went into the kitchen to prepare the fish.
Later that summer, one of the boys from the base developed a crush on Reilly. Blythe and Meara weren't surprised. Reilly was as tall as Greg with long red-gold curls, large pale blue eyes and creamy skin that turned pale gold under the hot sun. She had long legs, a narrow waist and small, perfectly formed breasts. What did surprise them was Greg's reaction to the boy. Greg beat him up when he caught the boy kissing Reilly. Reilly was so angry with Greg she refused to speak to him for several days. Blythe was grateful John never found out. She had no idea how he would react.
The following week, Reilly was walking along the beach gathering shells. She wore a navy blue one piece swimsuit. She looked up when she saw Greg walking toward her. She quickened her pace but Greg caught up with her.
"Why'd you let him kiss you?" he asked.
She sighed and bent down to pick up an iridescent shell. She dropped it into the sack she carried. "I was curious," she replied. "I see Mom and Dad kissing all the time and they like it so much. I wanted to see what the big deal was."
Greg bent and picked up a perfectly formed brown and cream colored conch shell. He looked inside and pulled the conch out. Tossing the sea creature into the water, he handed it to Reilly.
"So, did you like it?" he asked.
"I don't know," Reilly sighed. "He put his tongue in my mouth. Then he bit my lip."
Greg shook his head in disgust. "He's an idiot. He didn't know what he was doing."
"Oh, and I suppose you do?" she scoffed.
"Of course I do," he told her as he bent down to pick up another shell.
"How many girls have you kissed?" she asked as she took the shell from him.
"Six."
"Do you put your tongue in their mouths?"
"Not at first," he told her. "There's a girl on base who taught me to French kiss. She is very talented. She let me feel her up."
"Are you talking about Susie?" she asked as she bent down and picked up a dried up starfish.
"Yeah. She's got great tits."
Reilly snorted. "She lets all the boys do that and even some of the girls."
Greg stopped and put his hand on her arm. "Seriously?"
"Yes," she told him. "She's slutty."
"No, I mean about the girls," he breathed with a glint in his eyes.
She clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. "Yes."
He released her arm and they resumed walking. The tide began to come in so they turned back.
"Think she'd let me watch?" Greg asked as they approached the road leading back to the base.
"Why would you want-" Reilly began. "Oh, yuck! You mean the girls."
"Yeah."
"Probably," she told him. "She lets other girls watch."
"Have you watched?" he asked.
"No," she replied with a note of disgust. "I don't even watch her with the boys."
"I'm gonna ask her."
"Of course you are."
School started and Reilly and Greg spent all their time together. She never asked him about Kim and he never said anything to her about the other girls. Their teacher, Mrs. Jenkins, approached Gil and John about moving them both up a grade level. Both men refused. Reilly was happy but Greg was furious.
"He's always screwing things up for me," he fumed.
He and Reilly sat on a blanket on the beach watching crabs race away from the terns that soared overhead.
"Why do you want to move up a grade, anyway?" Reilly asked as she dug her bare toes into the sand.
"To learn more. Duh."
"We learn enough and we get tutored by Mrs. Comstock after school. Plus, we're learning to play the guitar," she reminded him. "We might not have time for that and be able to come to the beach every afternoon if we move up a grade. Besides, I like our teacher. She gives us extra work."
Greg shrugged. "He didn't even ask if I wanted to do it. Just told Mrs. Jenkins no. At least Uncle Gil asked you."
When they returned to their homes on base, John was waiting for Greg.
"You start football practice next week," John informed him.
"I didn't sign up for football," Greg told him. "I signed up for track."
"You start football practice next week," John repeated. "You aren't going to be on the track team. You're going to play football. I played football and so did your grandfather."
Greg stared at him with intense hatred before walking out. He stomped over to Reilly's house. When he walked in, Meara and Gil looked up at him from the couch.
"She's out back with the rest of the kids," Gil told him. "You might like playing football."
"I wanted to be on the track team with Reilly," Greg told him.
"I know," Gil told him. "Your dad thinks you spend too much time with Reilly and not enough time with boys your own age."
"Go talk to her," Meara told him.
He pushed open the back door and saw Reilly playing soccer with her siblings. Reilly carried Eithne on her back as she kicked the ball. Greg joined them and they were soon shouting and laughing. Finally, Meara came out to collect the younger children. Greg and Reilly sank down in the thick green grass. In the trees overhead, parrots called out.
"He signed me up for football," Greg told her as he pulled up tufts of grass.
"But, we're going to do track together."
"Your dad said John thinks I spend too much time with you and wants me to spend time with the other boys," Greg told her.
Reilly lay back and looked up at the sky. Greg stretched out beside her.
"He can't keep us apart," she told him.
"I know. I just don't want to play football."
They lay together in the lush grass until Meara called them in for dinner.