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General Terrence Tordan reached across the table for the hands of his bride of eighty some years. Trouble to his enemies, Trouble to his superiors, Trouble to his friends, he had finally come to think of himself as just plain trouble.

Tonight, he was worried; something he rarely allowed himself to be. So he made gentle circles in both his wife’s palms.

“What’s worrying you, trooper?” Ruth, his wife, asked.

“I told you, I never worry. Worry is for the other guys.”

“Yeah. Some people believe that guff you spout off. Remember, I’m your wife, the mother of your kids, grandkids and great-grandkids, as hard as it is to believe. What’s eating you, Marine?”

“One of our grandkids,” Trouble admitted.

Ruth rolled her eyes at the ceiling for overly dramatic effect. “Lordy, which one now?”

“Kris.”

His wife sighed, then puffed out an “Oh.”

Shrugging, she said, “You, me, and anyone paying attention to the future of the human race. Has anyone heard from her?”

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