A Dash of Summer
"Whoa!" Castle yells, reaching over to grab the wheel. "Slowly, turn slowly."
"I am," Dash says back, his voice sounding a little more intense than Castle would like. "We're crawling, Dad."
"We're not crawling. Listen to me - the golf cart tips over easily. You have to account for that when you make your turns. In the car, you can go faster." He grips the roof of the golf cart once more and lays his other hand at the back of the seat, ready to grab the wheel again if he needs to.
Dashiell is doing a pretty good job of paying attention, though there's not much of a chance of crashing out here. Still, tipping over might happen if Dash doesn't learn patience.
The boy presses his foot to the accelerator and Castle squeezes his neck. "You don't need that much gas."
"Can't you teach me on the car?" he whines.
"No. Absolutely not."
Dash grunts something that sounds appalling coming out of a five year old's mouth, and Castle thumps his ear like his mother would have done.
"Be respectful," he warns. "I'll take you inside."
"I'm respectful. I am. I just want it to go."
"We'll go a little faster when we get to the fairway." He winces because Andy probably won't look kindly on the golf cart racing across his expanse of pristine green lawn, but it'll grow back.
"Fairway? It's not - there's no golf, is there? Do we have a golf course?" Dash asks, his hands clamped tightly on the wheel at ten and two. Castle doesn't even have to work the pedals - Dashiell insisted he could sit on the very edge of the seat and stretch.
And he is. Barely.
Castle did at least make the kid wear his bike helmet.
Dashiell was not pleased.
"No, I'm making a joke," Castle explains. "Since we're in a golf cart. And the lawn is huge."
"It is huge," Dash says. He's doing really well, actually - he doesn't even turn his head to speak to his father, simply keeps his eyes straight before him. "Dad, did you know we have a mansion?"
"A mansion, huh?"
"Somebody at the wedding said it. She said, I didn't know it was such a mansion. It's a little much, don't you think? And then the other girl said it was a little much, but I don't know what little much is. What does she mean, Dad? Because much is many and little is little."
"Ah, I see your trouble. Whoa - wild man - I'm serious. When you take a turn, you have to let up on the gas pedal."
"I am. I am."
"The gas is the one on the right." Castle reaches over and squeezes Dashiell's right knee.
"Oh. Oops."
"Uh-huh. Remember it."
"I'm remembering." Dash wriggles on the edge of the seat and the golf cart jerks forward in response. "So tell me about the much and little."
"Okay, so when someone says it's a little much - they mean it facetiously."
"Like sarcasm?" Dashiell's mouth twists. Castle knows he hates it when phrases don't make logical sense - it's his mother in him, wanting neat rows and answers to every question. Of course, the fascination with those words is Castle himself.
"Like sarcasm," he confirms. "Because they really mean it's too much. Our house and probably being right on the beach and the pool and everything."
"Oh. Why is that too much?"
"Do you know what a mansion is?"
"A big house."
"Most people can't afford a really big house, Dashiell."
"Oh. So it's too much house - more rooms than... than we can afford?"
"No, kid. We can afford it." Castle gently steers them away from the low-rolling shallow dip in the green lawn behind their too-much home, but he stops talking to think this through.
He and Kate have been discussing creating an allowance so that the kids get some money for doing chores, giving them both ownership in their family and the loft, but also instilling an idea of the connection between work ethic and reward.
They haven't yet made any final decisions because they assumed this kind of thing was a ways off. But if his son is wondering about what they can afford, then maybe this is a conversation they need to have now.
Kate has been insistent on explaining to the kids that while Mom and Dad have a lot of money, that doesn't mean Dash and Ella have the right to do whatever they want, to get whatever they want.
Although, Castle has been spoiling them lately because he's been working so much. No wonder Kate's been exasperate with him.
Okay, here he goes. He'll have to gauge as he goes along how much is getting through to Dash. "Actually, Dashiell, those girls were commenting about our house because it's exactly what we can afford. What Mom and I can afford. And sometimes it's showing off how much money you make, bragging about it."
"Are we showing off?"
"Do you think we're showing off?"
"I don't know," Dash shrugs. "It's not nice to show off."
"No, it's not. Especially if people are hurting - or if they have less than you and are struggling to find food or homes of their own."
"Oh," Dash says. His voice is quiet and the golf cart shoots over the green lawn; Castle reaches out and squeezes Dashiell's knee in warning. The kid eases off the gas and the golf cart slows, Dashiell going easier at it. "Some people don't have homes."
"Some don't. And those of us that do have homes - especially people like Mom and me who have a too-much home and a lot of money - it's our responsibility to help out." A little oversimplified, but he's not looking to start a political debate. He just wants his kid to not feel entitled to the things his parents can give him.
"Dad, when my kindergarten class went to Central Park and ate lunch with the homeless guys-"
"Whoa. Hold on. What?" Castle stares over at Dashiell. "Was this on your field trip back in May?"
"It was our service project, Dad," he says petulantly, as if he's really saying, keep up. "Remember? You signed my permission form. Mom was on the bus with us."
"She was?" When did this happen? He missed a service project? He missed a whole entire field trip and yet he apparently signed a permission form. Truth is, since he or Kate have to 'sign' Dashiell's homework every night, he doesn't always look at the stuff he's signing.
"Yeah, Mom and a bunch of other kids' parents came too. We made lunches and put them in brown sacks and we took them to Central Park and handed them out. Mom was my buddy."
His head is reeling. "Mom was your buddy. You made someone's lunch?"
"It was an assembly line, like we learned in school. I was the mustard guy."
Castle laughs, feeling some of his discomfort at not even knowing about this begin to ease. Still, he missed a whole field trip - service project - and Kate said nothing to him about it. "Mustard guy. What did you mean that Mom was your buddy?"
"Every kid had to have a buddy. Because we're not supposed to talk to strangers. Mom had me and Jessie and Cole and Aerith and that's all. Mom had the most because she's a professional."
Rick can't help the leer that slides across his mouth since professional in Central Park has all kinds of connotations, but then he realizes Dash used that word because Kate is a cop. Oh. Well, at least they were being safe.
"So, you made lunches and packed them in a brown sack and then you handed them out to the homeless people in Central Park?"
As Dashiell has been getting into his story, he's slowed down even more, his eyes on his father, and now the golf cart comes to a creeping halt.
"Yep. It was cool. All those guys didn't have homes either. This one guy we talked to didn't have any front teeth and Mom said it wasn't polite to ask, but he heard me anyway. His name was Robert and he said he tried to stop a fight but he got punched out."
"Oh, really?"
"And then he looked at Mom and said, hey, I know you. And Mom said she remembered him too, and then Robert told me that it was a stupid choice to get in between two people trying to fight."
"Huh, what did Mom say to that?"
"Mom said that sometimes bad things happen even when you're doing something good and she said Robert was a good man to try to break up a fight. But next time to call her."
"I bet she did," Castle grins. The golf cart is totally at a stop now and he feels the breeze lift off the ocean and cool his neck. "Mom's right - it's not stupid to try to broker peace, but your friend Robert maybe shouldn't have gotten in between two people who are swinging their fists. What else did Robert tell you?"
"He said thank you for his mustard; he especially likes mustard and no one ever gives him enough. I told him I liked hot sauce and then he said he liked it too and Jessie said we were twins but not with the teeth. And Mom said she didn't think so; I was too short."
Castle blinks, inundated with the information, the whole story, and he can't believe Kate never told him about serving lunch to homeless guys in Central Park. Has to be more to the story. The whole kindergarten class was out there?
"That's cool, Dashiell. That's a really good thing you guys did. Sharing lunch with those guys. Talking to them. I mean, Robert never gets the mustard he wants, but since you were there - he did."
"Yeah, he did. But, Dad. They don't have homes and I have two homes. No, wait, three homes. No! Four - oh, hey, five - because Papa is one, and Allie and Rafe, and Gram. Dad. Dad, I have five homes. But Robert has all of Central Park which is bigger but no rooms, so I don't know."
"How do you think Robert likes that?"
"Not so good, Dad. Because he gets in fights and loses his teeth. I asked Mom what they do when it gets too cold, and Mom said the center helps them."
Castle nudges Dash's knee. "The center?"
"Where we were." The kid starts driving again, the golf cart lurching forward.
Castle hangs on to the bar framing the low wind screen. "Oh. I thought you were in Central Park."
"For making lunch," Dashiell says, practically rolling his eyes. The golf cart swerves and Castle has to catch the wheel, shaking his head at his kid's hand-eye coordination.
He'll have to get the details from Kate. Still, this is a really great foundation to start with. "You know how those girls thought our house was too much?"
"Yeah."
"It might be," he admits. "I bought it when the first book I wrote became a bestseller - which means a lot of people - millions of people - bought it and it made me rich. But back before I had Mom to help keep me smart, I spent a lot of money on things I didn't really need, but I really just wanted - to show off. So it is - or it was - too much."
"Oh. Why did you do that?"
"Remember when we went into the store and you saw all those different kinds of Batmans on the shelf? And you said you wanted them all and Mom said that wasn't practical?"
"Oh," Dashiell sighs. "All those Batmans."
"Yeah. I bought all the Batmans, kiddo. Sometimes we shouldn't buy all those Batmans, or the too-much house, or - well, the Ferrari - because there are people like Robert who don't even get to have too-much mustard on his sandwich. If we're not helping Robert get some mustard, then we shouldn't be buying up all the Batmans we want. You see what I mean?"
"Oh," Dash says, his mouth dropping open. Castle feels the golf cart slowing again as the kid processes that.
"But this house, Dash? It's a lot of house, yes. But what we do with our big house is what makes the difference. Do we show hospitality - invite people in for dinner and let them stay with us and share what good things we have? Or are we keeping it all to ourselves and never helping anyone else and being mean to people when they need our help?"
"We had all those people stay with us."
"We did. And you know what? This house is an investment in your and Ella's future - we use it as a family now and it gives us a place to recover after the school year or give Mom a break from work. Plus when Mom and I kick the bucket, you two can sell it off and have the money for the things you might need."
"Kick the bucket," Dash giggles and casts a sly look at his father for that. "Or when you buy the farm."
"Shuffle off this mortal coil," Castle counters.
"Shuffle off this... coral?"
"Mortal coil." Castle pronounces. He quickly straightens the wheel again as Dashiell's driving starts going in lazy, looping circles. "It's from Hamlet. Remember? Gram wrote it for you and Ella from Shakespeare."
"Oh, yeah! I remember now. I didn't know it meant die."
"It does. And back to the money stuff - you have any more questions about having too much?" He can tell the kid is bursting with ideas that probably can't quite make it out of his head, though he knows they'll come out over the next few weeks. The concentration Dash needs to drive has superseded the conversation, and Dashiell is struggling with whatever it is he wants to say.
Finally, Dash stomps on the brake, causing the golf cart to stop so suddenly that Castle pitches forward. He grips the bar tighter and regains his seat, glances over at his son.
"Dad, can I bring Robert some lunch when we get back to New York? With mustard and hot sauce."
Castle nods his head, clears his throat. "Yeah, my best man. We can do that. I think that's a good idea."