Free Home Fires by Kathleen Irene Paterka

before them, sparkling glints of gold in the fading evening sunshine.
    Mike finished one of his sandwiches and rolled up the wax paper in a neat little ball before taking aim at the target several feet away. Kerplunk! He hit the trash receptacle dead-on.
    “Good shot,” Rose said, laughing out loud. “I couldn’t do that in a million years.”
    “Bet you can,” he said, urging her on.
    “I was never good at sports in school.”
    “Ten bucks say you can.”
    His eyes had all but vanished, squinting against the brilliant rays of the setting sun. But his face wore an encouraging smile and Rose had the sudden irresistible urge to take him up on the challenge. Being around him made the years drop away and she felt like a teenager again, all gawky, giggly, and unsure of herself. Unsure except for one thing. She really really, really wanted to hit that target.
    Rose wadded up her own wax paper scraps in a tight ball and took careful aim. Her thoughts focused, intent on the target. Imagine the bull’s-eye, see yourself the winner, shoot for the goal. She let fly.
    Ker-plop. It hit the ground several feet away from the large wire-rimmed basket.
    From the pained look on his face, it was obvious Mike was struggling not to laugh.
    “Don’t you dare say one word,” she warned as she bounced off the bench and retrieved the paper ball. Again she took aim, imagined herself victorious, and let the pitch fly with dead-on accuracy.
    Thud. The second shot landed in the dirt, farther away than her first attempt.
    “Come on, give it one more shot,” Mike said with a grin. “What have you got to lose? Besides, you know what they say. Third time’s a charm.”
    “Forget it.” Rose turned her back on the garbage can and flashed him a saucy stare. “I already told you I was bad at sports. At least now you know I don’t lie.”
    “Maybe not, but you do litter.” With a quick flourish, he rose from his seat, scooped the wax paper ball from the ground and, taking quick aim, sank the basket.
    “Show-off,” Rose hissed sweetly as he dropped onto the bench beside her.
    Mike stretched out his legs and glanced at her with an easy smile. “Thanks again for dinner. This was fun.”
    “If this is your idea of fun, showing me up shooting wastepaper baskets, I think you need to get a life.”
    “That might not be so far from the truth.”
    She shot him a sharp glance. Mike’s face was flushed in the filtering light of the setting sun.
    “I actually thought about calling you this afternoon and begging off. Don’t get me wrong,” he quickly added. “It’s not that I didn’t want to have dinner with you. But I got thinking about it, and, well, I guess…”
    Mike rolled his water bottle back and forth in his hands, staring at it as if it were the most important thing in the world.
    Rose swallowed hard. He’d almost called off their date? Whatever was troubling him, she was glad they were together tonight. “I don’t know why you changed your mind, but just so you know… I’m glad you did.”
    He glanced over and searched her eyes. “So am I,” he said after a long moment.
    They sat there in companionable silence and watched the bay’s calm waters grow dark as the evening sun lost its golden brilliance and melted into a fiery red. Boats drifted in on the horizon, returning from the deep waters of Lake Michigan to the safety of shore. Only the jarring call of the swooping seagulls interrupted the tranquility of the evening.
    “Maybe you won’t believe this,” she finally said, “but in all the years I’ve lived in this town, this is the first time I’ve actually sat down here by the waterfront and taken in the view.”
    “It takes a transplant like me from downstate to get you to realize what you’ve been missing all your life?”
    Rose eyed him in surprise. “Downstate? Is that where you’re from? I guess I thought…”
    “That I was from around here? I’ll take that as a compliment.” His face wore a satisfied