“Almost nine,” he agreed, head down and concentrating on getting the pasta just right. The smell of garlic permeated the air as he tossed the crushed cloves into the mix. “I’d been out nearly six months when we met.”

“You’re not reserve anymore!” She reached out and touched his arm to get him to turn around and look at her.

“I know, but Jack called Dave and twisted his arm into letting me go for a while.” He looked up into her blue eyes and wondered why he could not tell Jack, “No.” The hurt in her gaze was almost more than he could bear.

“Jack. You mean General Horner. The ‘Jack’ who wanted you to get a commission?” she asked with dark suspicion, setting the wine down. It was her way of clearing the decks and he took it for a bad sign.

“How many Jacks do you know?” he asked playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

“I don’t know him — you know him.” She had moved in close to him, crowding his space and more or less making him back up.

“You’ve talked to General Horner before.” He turned back to the pasta, running from the argument and he knew it.

“Once, and it was until you got to the phone.”

“Mmm.”

“And why the hell do they want you?” she asked, still crowding in. He could faintly feel the heat from her body, raised by a combination of the wine and the argument.

“I don’t know.” The fettuccine ready, he added the Alfredo sauce, covered and warming on the stove top. The heady smell of parmesan and spices filled the air.

“Well, call General Horner and tell him you’re not coming until we know why. And fettuccine Alfredo will not get you out of anything.” She crossed her arms again, then relented and picked up the wine for a sip.

“Honey, you know the drill. When they call, you go.” He portioned out the kids’ supper, readying trays for them to eat in front of the TV. Normally they tried to eat together, but tonight seemed like a good night to create a little distance from them.