Debbie Kluge
Race Bannon
sat in a large, overstuffed chair in the family room of the Quest
Compound. The room was warm and a fire
flickered cheerfully in the fireplace in front of him. Outside, the world was
shrouded in white and the air was still and clear. The blanket of snow that had fallen the night before seemed
determined to obliterate anything that was dark and dreary. The bird feeder that Jessie and Jonny had
erected a few weeks before was full of lively little birds that flitted and
scratched, enjoying a holiday feast. In
the house, enticing scents of baking turkey, warm bread, and undefined sweets
wafted through the house, accompanied by the sounds of laughter.
Thanksgiving
had arrived. In a few hours, the entire
family would be sitting down to enjoy a large dinner followed by a quiet
evening of stories, games, conversation and togetherness. In the background, he could hear the sound
of Jonny's voice, then Jessie's laughing response. There was an intimacy to that laughter that automatically raised
Race's hackles. Down, boy, he thought to himself. Jonny's a good kid and Jessie loves
him. You've got to get used to this. A new voice joined in the laughter. It was warm and feminine, and he could
almost hear the smile in it. Varik
Moricz. After waffling for days, Benton
had invited her for Thanksgiving dinner, and, to his utter amazement, she had
agreed to come. They made a handsome
couple and Benton had been floating all day.
He sighed
deeply, continuing to stare out the window.
He made no effort to join the merry group in the kitchen. There was an aching emptiness inside of him
that he had been trying to ignore for the last several days. But each day it had grown, until now it felt
like a cancer eating at his soul.
He would never
admit it to the others, but he hated holidays.
Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, Valentine's Day . . . over the
course of about three months, there was a never-ending series of days that
seemed custom-designed to emphasize the fact that he was alone. He thought gloomily about his life. He was good at a lot of things, but he
always seemed to fail at the one thing that really counted . . . long term
relationships.
Oh, he was
good with women. There was no question
of that. And he had been involved with
a lot of very interesting women in his lifetime. Diana, Natasha, Jade, Estella . . . His mind froze.
Estella. Abruptly, he rose and
strode to the fireplace. Picking up the
poker, he prodded the wood viciously, then swore as the ache exploded into a
bottomless chasm that threatened to suck him in. He leaned forward and laid his head against the warm, rough
brick. There was a time when he had
been as happy as the other members of his family were right now. The warmth and love had radiated through
him. It had been like a salve on the
wounded part of his soul. He had felt
whole.
But it had all
fallen apart soon enough. Even at the
end, he knew he probably could have saved the relationship. But by that time he was too stubborn to
admit he was wrong. And, finally,
Estella had moved on without him.
He knelt down
and picked up a log. Weighing it in his
hand, he gazed at the fire for a long time.
No, he had made his choices.
There was no going back now, no matter how badly he might want to. You
made your bed, Bannon. Now you have to
lie in it, he thought bleakly. As
he leaned forward to toss the log onto the fire grate, he heard a soft footfall
behind him.
"Dad?"
Carefully
schooling his face, he turned and smiled at his daughter. "Hi, Poncheta. Is dinner almost ready?"
"In about half
an hour or so. We just missed you and
wondered where you were. Dr. Moricz was
telling this funny story about one of her lab assistants..."
"I'll be along
in a minute. I just wanted to tend the
fire."
Jessie Bannon
knelt next to her father and gently laid her hand on his arm. "What's wrong, Dad?"
Race looked at
his daughter and his heart ached. She looks so much like her mother, he
thought. There were times, like now,
when he thought it might have been easier if Jessie had never come back into
his life. She brought the memories of
Estella back so clearly. But he knew it
wasn't true. He would endure anything
to have his daughter in his life. He loved her so much. He forced himself to smile. "Nothing's wrong. What makes you think that?"
"You've been
sad for weeks. I can see it in your
eyes." She looked at him
thoughtfully. "You always are at this
time of year."
Race picked up
the poker and stirred the fire. His
daughter saw too much. What should he
tell her? Something that would keep her
from asking more questions, certainly.
But what? However, even as these
thoughts ran through his mind, he heard himself saying, "I miss your mother."
"She would
have come today, you know," Jessie answered softly. "All you had to do was ask."
Race hung his
head, the ache becoming almost unbearable.
How did Estella ever find her way this deeply into his heart? He'd never let anyone else get this close. Time heals all wounds, they say. But not this one . . . never this one. After a long moment, he sighed heavily and
raised his head to look at his daughter.
What Jessie saw in that instant, he would never know, but an infinite
look of sadness darkened her eyes.
She stood and,
reaching down, drew her father to his feet.
"Come on, let's join the others."
Race leaned
over and put the poker back into the stand, then put his arm around Jessie's
shoulders. "Okay."
As they
approached the door, she looked up at her father, and said, "It'll get better, Dad. Really it will."
He smiled at
her sadly, "Of course it will, Poncheta." As they walked into the kitchen, Race saw
Benton smiling down at Varik Moricz.
Whatever he said caused her to laugh, and she reached up to caress the
side of his face gently. Jessie shook
loose from his grasp, trotted across the room, put her arms around Jonny, and
peered over his shoulder at something simmering on the stove. He laughed and nuzzled the side of her face
affectionately.
Race crossed
to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee. He put a bright, false smile on his face and turned to speak to
Varik and Benton. But as he did so, he
whispered painfully to himself, Of course
it will.
The End
The character of Varik Moricz is owned by Elaine McMillan and is used
with permission.
© 1997, 2001 Deborah A. Kluge
DISCLAIMER: The
Real Adventures of Jonny Quest and all characters, logos, and likenesses
therein, are trademarks of and copyrighted by Hanna-Barbera Productions, Inc.,
and Hanna-Barbera Cartoons, Inc., a Turner company. No copyright infringement
is intended by their use in this story. All other material, copyright 1997 by
Deborah A. Kluge. All rights reserved. Characters and stories are in no way affiliated
with, approved of or endorsed by Hanna Barbera or Turner Productions. This is
created by a fan for other fans out of love and respect for the show, and is
strictly a non-profit endeavor.
