Chapter Six

The dinner passed in a blur of food, chasing four year-olds, wiping up spills, answering questions posed by eight year-olds about why his hair was so short and by sixteen year-olds about sex. ("You're a doctor and my parents won't tell me anything…"). Celeste was just as busy on her end, doing much the same.

"The best thing about this duty is that we won't have to be on the clean-up crew. But we'll probably get enlisted for break-down after the talent show. Not so bad, really." Celeste smiled as Ducky sidestepped a glob of mashed potatoes and dashed after one of the pair of cousins Celeste had dubbed "the two year-old twins from hell," to keep him, for the umpteenth time, from climbing the ladder attached to the wall leading to the projection booth.

"No, no Johnny. You can't climb up there." Ducky placed the boy in his seat at the table and tried to entice him to stay with a piece of cherry pie that Ducky ended up wearing.

"Do the parents ever come to claim them?"

"Eventually. But the parents wait until the kids are worn out and less of a handful." Celeste was mopping Kool-Aid off the table before it hit the hardwood floor. "And you wonder that I don't want to get pregnant…"

"Hey Doc," rang out a familiar voice.

"Ollie!" Celeste and Ducky replied in unison.

Oliver Johnston had been Celeste's best friend since sixth grade. They were on the same work/study program in London when Celeste and Ducky met, so it was a reunion of old friends as well as family.

"Sorry I couldn't make it sooner. Summer job," Ollie explained to Ducky. "I'm working at the 'Bijou' in the projection booth. It's fun, even though the pay isn't great. I got scheduled for the matinees today 'cause I wanted to be here. Am I too late for Grummie's custard cream pie?"

Celeste draped herself around her best friend's shoulders. "Better check it out. Take me with you…" She hung on as he moved toward the dessert table.

"Celly, you are such a goof. Help me out here, Ducky."

Ducky grabbed Celeste by the waist. She let go of Ollie's neck, turned around and draped herself around Ducky.

"Oh," she purred, "much better." She delivered a quick peck to Ducky's lips.

"Oliver's right. You are a goof." He returned the kiss a bit more slowly.

"Ewwww." It was little Johnny and his twin brother Joey.

"That's it! You're going back to your parents!" Celeste grabbed them by the hands and marched off to find whichever cousin, aunt or uncle they belonged to.

"So, Doc. I heard you met the Pastor. With your hand in the cookie jar." Ollie snorted. "I'd have paid good money to see that!"

"Thanks, Ollie. It was…awkward. I suppose it could have been worse."

"Not by much. For as much as they get on each other's cases, Celeste is still Daddy's Little Girl. She's probably his favorite, too, if he were to admit to having one. She's a lot like her dad, you know. Stubborn, sarcastic, funny."

"He's funny?"

"Yeah. Well you probably haven't seen much of that yet."

"No. Not really." Ducky was skeptical. "He clearly doesn't like me. He is running hot and cold, ironic given the shower I just took…"

"Yeah. I heard it was Grummie's idea. She's a pistol."

Ducky shook his head, "Pastor Porter is nice enough on the surface, but he's not at all fond of the fact that Celeste and I are serious about each other."

"Just how serious, Doc? I know being away at war gives people a new perspective, but, well, have you asked her?"

"I'll know when the time is right. But I want everyone else to know that I'm sincere and want the best for her."

Ollie looked at him, sincerity on his face. "I know, Doc. I've seen you together. I know how you treat each other. I don't think I've ever seen any two people that fit together as well. Not Viv and Ron. Not even the Porters. I wish I could find something like that, but for me…well, it's not too likely."

"Times are changing, Ol. Someday you'll meet the right guy…"

"That's what Celly always says. Just the way you said it, too. You two are sides of the same coin. A perfect fit. I envy you."

"I'm still afraid that Pastor Porter doesn't want to believe I'm sincere about wanting to…" Ducky looked around, desperately wanting this part of the conversation to remain private, and away from any Porter ears, "…marry Celeste. He's convinced I'm using her, at the very least for immigration status and we can pretty much figure what else he thinks I'm using her for…"

"Well, he's not a complete ogre, Doc. He opened his home to me when I was going through a lot. Plenty of dads are worse than Pastor P, trust me."

"I know, Ollie." He thought of his own father and the loveless marriage his parents shared. Of how nothing Ducky did was ever quite enough, certainly not good enough. How Ducky should have been more interested in sport – long distance running wasn't a sport – how Ducky should have specialized in heart surgery instead of general medicine.

And now he was facing another father that didn't think he was good enough. What could Ducky do to change Porter's perception of him?

"Explain this talent contest," he asked, the germ of an idea forming. "Are there prizes or is it just honorary?"

"Well, the prizes are pretty much gag prizes, but there's a popularity element as well. The family votes on the act they like the best. And the winners get like $20.00 to split amongst themselves. I'm in Alan's band 'Rat Control.' He was going to call it 'The Exterminators,' but Celly didn't think that was clever enough."

Ducky chuckled. "She wouldn't. Did she come up with 'Rat Control?' Sounds like her."

"They threw a bunch of names in a hat and picked one. That was the winner. It probably was one that she threw in."

"What are you guys playing tonight? Alan looks more a little more like a Grateful Dead type than the Beatles."

"Looks might be deceiving, Doc. Although Alan is rather fond of the Dead. We are covering 'Yellow Submarine' if you must know. A family favorite." Ollie looked at Ducky thoughtfully. "Hey, Doc…you want to sit in? You're pretty good, y'know."

"I'm probably better than I was back in London, given about all I did in my free time the last fourteen months was beat my CO at chess and play my six-string. It was pathetic, really."

"What? No pretty nurses?"

Ducky grinned. "Not even with trays…"

"Well, you're welcome to sit in. We're gonna practice in a few minutes."

"Have you got a spare six string? I could give it a go, but I've just had another idea. If you wouldn't mind singing a little backup. We can do a run through. It might be fun!"

"I'm game Doc." Ollie grabbed a couple of beers from the cooler and showed Ducky to the practice room above the garage.