Free Tin Soldier: a short story by Resa Nelson

January 2
    Rick watched
anxiously as Abby undid the buttons of her silk blouse.  On the last button,
she froze.   He followed her gaze as she looked at the license she’d placed on
her nightstand after retrieving it from today’s mail.  He watched her eyes
trace and retrace the words embossed in gold at the bottom:  “United States
Government -- There is only one good reason to have a child.”
    It wasn’t that Abby’s looks repulsed
him.  She was just the kind of woman who failed to inspire a second glance. 
She was doughy and overweight.  Skin pale and freckled.  Hair black and wiry.
    The one
beautiful thing was what she didn’t have:  a gene tattoo.
    From the way
Abby stared at her license, she must have been on the verge of changing her
mind.  Rick couldn’t let that happen.  He’d invested too many years in her.  “What’s
wrong?” he said.
    She didn’t
look at him.  Instead, she focused on the last button, still undone.  “I don’t
know.”
    Naked under
Abby’s large and luxurious comforter, Rick slid over to the edge of the bed. 
If Abby wasn’t beautiful, at least she owned a beautiful sky-rise condo in the
heart of Houston.  The rooms were spacious, the carpets plush and feather soft,
and the furniture was heavy and expensive.
    With a soft
and gentle touch, he caught her hovering hands inside his.
    Abby looked up
abruptly.  “I don’t know.  Maybe it’s because I’m 40 and you’re 28.  Maybe I’m
having second thoughts about--but I can’t be having second thoughts!  I’m so
lucky.  So fortunate.  This is exactly what I’ve always wanted.  Beyond my
wildest dreams, even.  I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t--”
    Abby gasped
softly as Rick pressed the back of her hands to his lips.
    Rick watched
her closely.  He paid attention to the tiniest hint of color creeping across
her face.  The expression in her eyes.  The flickering of her gaze.
    Rick kissed
her fingertips lightly.  “Do you trust me?”
    When her hands
trembled inside his, Rick squeezed to hold them steady.
    “Yes.  Of
course.  I put my life in your hands every day.”
    Rick rose on
his knees on Abby’s bed to face her as she stood next to it.  He let loose the
last button and pushed her blouse off her shoulders.  “Show me where they took
it out.”
    Obediently,
Abby raised one arm to show him the underside of her biceps.  The scar was fresh
and tender, about half an inch long.  “I took the bandage off this morning,”
Abby said.
    Rick took a
good look at it.  He traced his fingertips around the scar.  He drank in the
moment as if it were well-aged whiskey.  He savored every second.
    Her doctor had
removed her Preconceive implant, leaving tiny and precise stitches.  It was
official.  Now she could get pregnant.  Abby was likely to be the richest and
most powerful woman Rick would ever know, but touching the skin around her scar
drove the point home. 
    But Abby
looked scared, like a little girl.  For a brief moment, it touched a place in
Rick that made him want to protect her.  The words popped out of his mouth
before he could take them back.  “We don’t have to do this.  Not if you don’t
want to.”
    It was all
Rick could do to keep a sincere look on his face.  He had to stay focused. 
Keep his eye on the prize.  Failure was not an option.  He had to get Abby in
bed.
    Abby’s words
flooded out from some secret place where she’d been damming them up.  “It’s
impossible somebody like you--anybody who looks like you--is alone.  I keep
thinking you must have a wife.  A girlfriend.  This is terrible and wrong.”
    Rick reminded
himself of the cold, hard facts of life.  One:  Life is war.  Two:  Everyone
else is the enemy.  Three:  The only way to win the war is to fight for
yourself.
    He kissed Abby
slowly and passionately.  “How could I kiss you like that if I loved somebody
else?”
    He could see
Abby steeling herself as she looked deeply into his eyes