“That’s up to your grandmother,” he told her.
Brian came alive. “You got your airplane here? That’s cool. Can I go too?”
“Brian wants to go to the Air Force Academy and fly fighters like General Bender did,” Sarah announced. “We used to talk to him all the time when he worked in the White House.”
“Shut up, Chubs,” Brian grumbled.
Pontowski arched an eyebrow at Maura, an unspoken question. “Well,” she said, “I suppose it’s okay.”
“Great,” Brian said. “Let’s go.”
“How about after the soccer game?” Pontowski ventured. Brian sulked and followed them into the bleachers behind the reviewing stand where Little Matt had almost been chaired. The teams were already on the field, as the team captains flipped a coin for the kickoff. “Is that Zeth, center midfield?” Pontowski asked. Little Matt confirmed his guess. Zeth’s team won the toss and two forwards stepped into the circle for the opening play. The referee blew his whistle and one of the forwards faked a pass to the side, stepped over the ball and back-kicked it to Zeth. She moved the ball downfield with speed and finesse. “She’s good,” Pontowski said admiringly. “Watch how she can drop the ball to her feet, keep it there, and pass off accurately.” The tempo picked up and it became obvious that Zeth was controlling the center, causing constant disruption when the opposing team tried to bring the ball downfield. “She’s fierce,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to play opposite her.”
“Do you play soccer?” Brian asked.
“I used to,” Pontowski answered.
“He played on the academy’s team,” Little Matt said. “He was an all-American.” Brian focused on Zeth, seeing her in a different light.
The forward playing opposite Zeth was the ringleader of the cadets who had tried to haze Little Matt. The other cadets had ragged him unmercifully because Zeth had stopped him and now he had a chance to even the score. “Stay out of the way, Trog,” he threatened. “I’ll run right the fuck over you.”
“Like last time?” She faked a move and scooted past him. But he threw out an arm and hit her in the breasts, hard. She ignored it and scrambled after the ball, hoping the referee saw the foul. But there was no whistle as she bumped shoulders with the midfielder bringing the ball downfield. She crashed into him again and took the ball away. She broke down the sidelines, charging the defending fullback between her and the goal. Her feet flashed and she passed the ball across the field in front of the goal. Her team’s forward was there and he drilled the ball into the net. Zeth trotted back up the field while the spectators cheered.
The forward was waiting for her. “Sorry ’bout the tit slap.” There was no apology in his voice.
The other side had the ball and again, she bottled up the center. But this time, she held back, always keeping the forward between herself and the ball. “Go for the ball, Zeth!” her coach yelled from the sidelines. But she concentrated on the cadet in front of her.
The forward grinned. “Tits hurting?”
“A little,” she said.
“Can’t stand the pain, don’t play the game.”
The opposing goalie kicked the ball upfield after a missed goal. Zeth put on a sudden burst of speed and charged the ball, bringing the forward with her. But she easily outran him. She almost smiled when the angles were right. Her right leg swung in a full kick, her momentum and body weight behind it. The ball was an artillery shell with a flat trajectory as it bounced off the forward’s face. He fell to the ground and she trotted over to him. The ball’s seams were imprinted on his cheek. “Sorry ’bout the head slap,” she said.
“Yes!” Little Matt shouted, coming to his feet. “She nailed him.” Brian was right beside him, shouting and pounding on Little Matt’s head. Little Matt jumped on Brian’s back and they danced around as two trainers helped the dazed forward off the field.
“Grams,” Sarah asked, “what happened?” Maura explained how the forward had fouled Zeth and gotten away with it. The kick decking him had simply been a form of rough justice delayed. She didn’t realize how rough and how delayed. “When did you learn about soccer?” Sarah asked.
“I was one of the first soccer moms when your mother was growing up,” Maura said.
“Mom played soccer?” This from Brian.
Maura laughed. “Only for one season. That was before soccer was popular here. She wasn’t very good and it was to impress some boy.” She led the way out of the stands. “Well, Matt Pontowski, how about that airplane ride? I just might want to go up myself.”
“Ah, come on, Grams,” Brian moaned.
“May I come in?” Zeth asked from the doorway. It was Sunday evening and Brian and Little Matt were studying, the iron routine of NMMI back in place after Parents Weekend. She stepped inside and sat on the floor, her back against Brian’s locker. “I thought you were bailing out?”
“I’ll finish the year then bail. That was a great kick. You really nailed that asshole.”
“Is that why you changed your mind?” she asked.
“A little bit. But it was everything. My Grams was so proud when she pinned on my boards. And Sarah kept taking pictures. And I went up for a ride in General Pontowski’s airplane. I’ve never done acrobatics and he taught me how to do an aileron roll. It was great.”
Zeth was persistent. “So why are you staying?”
“I’m not sure.” He thought for a moment. “Maggot’s dad said that flying fighters was the most fun thing he’s ever done in his life. He also said it was the hardest thing he’s ever done. You have to really work to get it and nobody cuts you any slack. I guess that means I gotta work for it if I wanta do it.” Brian pulled into himself, thinking. “Maggot’s lucky. He’s got a great dad.”
“Why do you call him Maggot?” Zeth asked.
“It seems to fit,” Brian replied. Then another thought came to him. He looked at Little Matt. “You okay with that?”
Little Matt shrugged. “It’s okay. And you got a cool mom.”
“So why don’t you two introduce them?” Zeth asked. She got up to leave. “Think about it.” She walked out of the room.
Little Matt shook his head. “Stupid. Can you see your mom in bed with my dad doing it?”
“No way,” Brian answered. “They’re way too old.”
Nancy Bender sat in the seat next to her husband enjoying the attention Delta Air Lines bestowed on its first-class passengers. She was a small, dark woman and in total contrast to her tall and fair husband. He was intellectual and analytical while Nancy was intuitive and spontaneous in her thinking, making wild leaps and quick judgments. Where he was prudent and reserved, she was lively and outgoing. Nothing seemed to match. Yet it was a good marriage and they complemented each other in ways that grew stronger over the years. Their marriage had endured rough passages, especially when their only child, Laurie, was killed in the crash of an F-15E. But they had made it.
She glanced at her husband. Bender was still working his way through the mass of material the State Department had given him during what he called the Foggy Bottom Charm School. At first, the charm school had been little more than briefings on social protocols and every hard question he raised was answered by “Your deputy charge of mission will brief you on that aspect.” Then he got cold and hard, the way only a general can. The bureaucrats responded by dumping a pile of documents on him, fully intending to bury him under an avalanche of information. Little did they know he would sort through it all, finding what he needed.
Nancy twisted in her seat, ignoring the queasiness in her stomach she attributed to middle age and the onset of menopause. “A girl could get used to this,” she said, looking out the window. Bender agreed with her. The perks and privileges that went with being the president’s representative far exceeded anything they had enjoyed in the Air Force. “Robert, what wing has the letters SP on the tail of its fighters?” Years of being the wife of an Air Force officer had taught her about tail markings, but she couldn’t remember what they all stood for.