"I'm retiring."
These are the words that ruin everything.
When Dad stands in front of the first official Tracy Family Meeting and says those words, all but two jaws drop to the floor.
Uncle John had known, of course. He knows everything and on top of that, Dad wouldn't have made the call without him. It's Aunt Kay who surprises everyone, although, it probably shouldn't. Dad and Kayo are close. He respects her and even if he didn't, Aunt Kay has ways of finding things out.
The rest of the Uncles don't look as surprised as they should, which makes me think they probably saw it coming. Dad's been joking about retiring for years now. I think, more than anything, they're just surprised that he's actually following through with it.
It's the kids - we're the ones who take the hardest blow. Dad? Uncle Scott? Retiring? No way. International Rescue is in his blood. He's hardwired to fly a Thunderbird. Next to me, Jeff looks over his shoulder for the hidden cameras. This has got to be some sort of practical joke.
But when Dad goes on, we all know that it's not. "I'm getting older," he tells us, and he looks right at me when he says it. "It's not safe for anyone if I keep going on rescues."
If he expects anyone to say anything in return, he's disappointed. We're silent - no. Speechless. Over Dad's shoulder, Uncle John doesn't look like he much minds the quiet, but Dad... well, Dad's always been the sort of person to prefer a nice cacophonous afternoon. He clears his throat and goes on. "I'm not leaving International Rescue," he clarifies. "But I'll be helping John with dispatch. Our crew's gotten a little bigger over the years, so while he's up in the sky, I'll be down here."
Almost involuntarily, my eyes shift to the desk, but I tear them right back to the family meeting.
When I look back up at Dad, I know he's seen me and I swear he gives me the slightest nod. No one's ever sat at that desk. No one's ever used it. It's just there, occupied by a ghost, and now Dad's going to pull up a seat.
Maybe he's about to say so, but next to me, Jeff shoots up, always ready with a question. He's just like Uncle Alan that way, so at this point, Dad almost expects for his nephew to interrupt. "Who's going to be flying Thunderbird One, then?"
I retract my previous statement. These are the words that ruin everything.
Because when Jeff says this, all five Tracy kids sit up a little taller. They lean in a little closer, each of us hanging on my father's every word.
He notices, and then he smirks. "Yes," he says, drawing the word out, torturing us with every second he's got. "There will be an opening, thank you, Jeff." But Dad doesn't sound very thankful at all. "I haven't decided who's going to fill it yet."
And that's when my own words fall out of my mouth. "Wait," I say. "So if you're leaving and none of us are taking over, does that mean One's going to be out of commission?"
No. That can't be right. How is anyone going to run a rescue without One backing them up? Sure, Two's a beast, and Three, Four, Five are good for their jobs, but One... One is the Thunderbird.
But Dad just nods, like its the most normal thing in the world. "It needs a little rest before a new generation takes the keys. Brains is going to give it a few upgrades - clean it up a bit."
Next to me, Jeff is practically salivating. Not just Thunderbird One, but a new and improved Thunderbird One. On the other side of him, the twins just look up at their dad with that sense of pride they've had since before I was even born.
Overall, the whole room's excited. It's that energy that comes with change - nervous, but happy. Ready for a new era. All along the sofa, I can feel my cousins bursting with dream clouds and, well, I can't blame them. I've got a few of them myself.
Because I'm a legacy. I've got One in the palm of my hand. So when Dad talks on, I'm thinking about my spot in the pilot's seat. I'm imaging myself in IR blue, strapped into the seat of my father's 'bird. I'm picturing myself flying high around the world, answering distress calls and facing Mother Nature head-on.
When Dad dismisses the meeting, I'm surprised it's so short. The Uncles go back to eating and reminiscing while the cousins pick up their controllers, continuing with whatever game they had paused on the holocomm.
I find my father.
"Hey there, Luce," he says. L-U-C-E. It's not luck as in lucky, but rather loose as in loose cannon, or so my father likes to tease. "You're not playing with the boys?"
"Just wanted to say hi to my favorite father in the whole world," I told him, and I know he can see right through the act. That's kind of the joke. We're good at that, Dad and I. Joking without all the knock knocks or the crossing of the roads. "I don't think I've ever told you this before, but if you were my uncle, you'd totally be my favorite uncle."
"You're not piloting One," he says, and it's probably about the millionth time he's told me in my lifetime, so it sounds old and worn out.
"But Dad -"
"When you can drive a car, you can fly a 'bird," he says. "That's the rule."
That's when I smile at him, and he looks a little terrified. "That's my point, Dad. My sixteenth birthday's coming up in a couple of weeks. That's more than enough time for all the repairs to be made and then when it's done -"
"What are you talking about?" Dad says. "You're not sixteen. You're twelve."
See what I mean? Jokes.
I roll my eyes at him, but then I lean in real close, letting him know his secrets are safe with me. "Okay, but really," I say. "It's mine, right?"
And then Dad smiles, leans in closer, and says, "I don't know, Luce."
He takes off then, back to the table where all the grown-ups are sitting and I've got no choice but to go join the rest of the kids with the video games.