“You surprise me, Daniel. Surely not Delta Force.”
“Green Beret. 3rd Group in the 2nd Battalion.”
“Well well. Those little shits, bringing you here, thinking that’ll work.” Lynch took a deep breath, a noisy phlegmatic sound. “Benjamin, you didn’t tell me your history instructor was a Green Beret. I’m surprised I didn’t notice special forces on your CV. Specialty?”
“Medic, assigned to battalion support,” said Jennings.
“Ah, a medic in a support company. Still, that’s something.” Lynch paused and searched the air, like a grizzly snuffling out a scent. “Jennings. Jennings. Are you related to Jim Jennings?”
“My grandfather.”
“God almighty, Daniel. Your grandfather was Major General Jim Jennings, Vietnam Veteran and kin to Henry Jennings, a general in the Union Army. And you were medically discharged as a Staff Sergeant? They must be turning over in their graves.”
Jennings felt the oxygen go out of his lungs. His head swam listening to his lineage used as a battering ram. He gripped the desk for support and he again chose not to reply.
No wonder Ms. Pierce fled.
“A medic,” said Lynch. “Don’t beat yourself up, Daniel, I hear RASP is damn hard.”
“RASP is for Rangers, Mr. Lynch. I passed the special forces’ 18D and I chose to be a platoon medic.” The defense sounded lame to his own ears. He wished he’d kept quiet.
“Good for you, Daniel. Those damn rifles are heavy, aren’t they.”
Jennings had been a trigger-puller, carrying an MK18. He’d been good with it and still possessed an M4, a purchase he regretted. But he wouldn’t defend himself against this man again. “Thank goodness I didn’t shoot my eye out.”
“Why didn’t you become a male nurse after? There’s still time.”
“Dad,” said the boy.
“It’s okay, son. Daniel and I are joking the way adults do. Testing mettle.”
“We should talk about Benji.”
“His name is Benjamin.”
“I don’t mind, either way,” said the boy.
“Your name is Benjamin, son, and it matters. Look at Daniel. Little things add up to big things. He introduced himself as Dan. Dan. Dan the injured platoon medic. You wish you’d gone in as an officer, don’t you, Dan.”
“Benjamin is failing my class and he can’t play football,” said Jennings, hiding behind the boy and his grade book. “Want to talk about that?”
“Yes we better. No child left behind, Daniel, and yet here we are. You’re failing my son. What do you intend to do about it?”
“I intend to teach him well and fairly grade all the work he turns in, Mr. Lynch. My room is used for a study hall during lunch for students with late work. Benji’s welcome to attend.”
“He’s welcome to attend.”
“Yes.”
“Your faith in the purity of the system feels like baby powder. How generous of you, Daniel, putting in extra time. Going the extra mile. But it’s taking a toll. You look tired. The first year is hell, isn’t it.”
“It’s a lot.” Jennings nodded. “Here’s the plan, Benji. Or Benjamin. You come to my room for lunch the next two weeks and get your late work done. You should be passing by then.”
“But the football game’s Friday,” said Benji.
“Work quick. You can do it. I’ll help.”
“He’s playing in that game, Daniel.”
“Kids don’t play if they have a D or F, Mr. Lynch. Not my rules.”
“Benjamin’s other instructors have a background in education. And he’s passing those classes,” said Lynch.
“He got lazy in my classroom. It happens.”
“Maybe you’re too busy being fun. You know what’s not fun, Daniel? Football. It’s work and it matters. A contest among men, and Benjamin already has interest from several ACC institutions as a junior. He’ll be playing football on Saturdays at the Virginia Military Institute and he’s playing in the game on Friday.”
“He’s got four days. He can do it,” said Jennings.
“Of course he can do it. It’s not Benjamin whose got’damn ability is on trial.” Lynch’s face reddened and he stood in a rush. The movement of air brought the scent of heavy cologne to Jennings. It nauseated him. Lynch took a moment to tug on his cuffs and pull his suit jacket into place and Jennings knew he was talking himself out of taking a swing. Lynch inhaled and exhaled through his nose, the way a bull snorts, and a drop of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He snapped a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at it.
Benji saw his father’s blood. “Dad, it’s okay. You should go. I’ll do the lunches and get my grades up. Besides I’ll be late for dinner. Okay? We should go.”
Jennings stood too. He couldn’t do it as quickly and Lynch was taller by four inches. So was Benji. The Lynch boys were long-limbed and thick.
And hirsute.
Lynch said, “We’re done. I need to visit the lovely and lonely Ms. Hathaway. I noticed her car still in the parking lot.” Lynch looked down at Jennings, an angry crimson grin, and he stuck out his hand and Jennings shook it. There was no contest of strength. No pressure. Jennings felt like he shook hands with a mannequin. “Here’s some advice, Dan. Your career in education will be a lot like your career in the military. It’ll be difficult and you’ll be paid shit. You need to be careful, else it’ll be short. So tread lightly, keep your gun oiled, and make friends with the General.”
Jennings gave him a polite smile in return. He let go and wiped his hand on his pants.
“Bye Dad.” Benji grabbed his stuff. “See you, Mr. Jennings.”
He hustled out and Lynch followed him to the door. Lynch had car keys in his left hand, the same hand holding the handkerchief. On his keyring was a large fish hook. He was scraping the pad of his thumb across the sharp barb over and over.
Lynch pinned Jennings with a mocking smile, the kind a bear gives a salmon flopping on a rock.
“Not bad, Daniel. You reek of sweat and fear but you didn’t break.”
“I don’t break, Mr. Lynch.”
“We just met. Give me time, I enjoy the process.”
Jennings maintained the
