Free Tin Soldier: a short story by Resa Nelson Page A

for the truth.  “That’s
not an answer.”
    Rick steeled
himself in return.  He’d already figured out a way to tell her as much of the
truth as he was willing to reveal.  “Even if I did have someone special, I’d
never turn you down.  Nobody ever gets a chance like this.  I swear, Abby, you
make me feel like the luckiest man alive.”
    He kissed her
again.  As their tenderness heated into lust, Rick wrapped his arms around Abby
and drew her down into the depths of her own bed.
    ###
    Before Rick
had time to shut his own front door, Shelly’s voice pierced the stale, smoky
air.
    “You’re late!” 
Moments later, Shelly walked into the living room, her high heels clicking
slowly and purposefully on the cheap tile floor that spread like a disease
throughout the tiny apartment, part of a rundown complex in a bedroom community
turned ghetto.  Everything in the apartment was chipped or warped or broken
with no hope for repair.
    One of the
pleasures of his bleak life was coming home and getting an eyeful of Shelly
every night.  She was a tall, leggy blonde with tourmaline eyes, chiseled
cheekbones, and a body that stopped every man cold.
    With Shelly on
his arm, Rick felt like somebody.  He felt like a success, even if only for the
few seconds before anybody got a close look at Shelly’s face.
    It wasn’t her
fault.  It was something the government had forced on her.
    A “1M” gene
tattoo glowed crimson red just under the skin between her eyebrows.  Her
genetic code indicated risk for ADD, bi-polarity, leukemia, and scoliosis. 
Although medically manageable, all costs for treatment and special education
would fall directly into the parents’ laps.  Hers was one of the worst genetic
rankings possible, and it ensured her Preconceive implant was unlikely to be
removed legally.
    Fresh out of
beauty school, Shelly had moved in with Rick’s family after finally landing a
part-time job as a manicurist at the local mall.
    “Sorry, Babe. 
I got stuck downtown.”
    “Again?” 
Shelly’s face was hard with unspoken accusations. She extended her arms to
embrace him, but Rick knew what she wanted.  As he drew her in for a hug, Rick
saw her nostrils flare slightly.  She inhaled, searching his face, his hair,
his breath, his body for the scent of another woman.
    Rick held her
long and close.  He’d cleaned himself up, then spent some extra time on the bus
to work off the equivalent of an honest day’s sweat.  The longer he held
Shelly, the more she relaxed.
    But she was
still edgy when she broke away.  “So did you take the bitch to the hospital? 
Did they fill her up with a turkey baster full of your juice?”  Shelly backed
away, her arms crossed.
    Rick took off
his thread-bare winter coat and hung it on one of the many hooks nailed into
the wall by the front door.  Judging by the other seven coats hanging crowded
on the wall, it looked like everybody was home.  A loud round of laughter
coming from the opposite end of the two-bedroom apartment confirmed it. As
gorgeous as Shelly was to look at, she wasn’t the easiest woman in the world to
placate.  Rick took a deep breath, then gave it a shot.  Calmly and warmly, he
said, “My day was fine, Honey.  How was yours?”
    As usual, it
was the wrong thing to say.
    Shelly
clenched her own arms so tightly it seemed impossible that her long, polished
fingernails didn’t puncture her skin and draw blood.  “How was my day?  Your
brother Frank slept in our bed and left drool on my pillow.”
    Rick shrugged
it off.  “Frank works nights.  Where else is he supposed to sleep?”
    Before Shelly
could answer, Rick’s family streamed into the living room.  Rick’s mother
cradled a large photo album in her arms.
    Shelly turned
away with a sick look on her face.
    “Rick,
sweetie,” his mother said as she kissed his cheek.  “Come look at pictures with
us.”
    “This is
supposed to be my day!” Shelly blurted, near tears.
    Everyone
stared at