Disclaimer: The Hey Arnold characters belong to Craig Bartlett, and to him alone. That his characters have inspired such hubris in me that would see me attempt a fan fiction based on them, speaks volumes of my reverence of the man.

ICYMI: Preparations for the trip. A surprise send-off for Arnold by a most unexpected duo. And the flight to San Lorenzo itself.

Anyway, a new chapter has appeared. Enjoy.

11. Reflections

The pilot's announcement aired over the PA speakers in a rote delivery that had clearly been rehearsed many times over. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we have begun our descent to Aeródromo de San Lorenzo. We ask that you please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts until we have landed and come to a complete halt at our destination."

The plane's occupants were already seated at that point anyway; in fact, the announcement started most of them from their hazy slumbers. At least those with window seats wouldn't have cause to complain as they were to be treated to the sight of the lush and rugged San Lorenzan greenery, bathed as it was in the late-afternoon sunlight.

Arnold was fortunate enough to be one of those passengers. The foreign land showcased a verdant beauty unlike anything he'd ever seen in Hillwood and its surrounds, even during the peak of springtime.

Then the plane touched down and began its taxi to its final resting place: another private hangar. From there it was another almost overwhelming blur of activities to disembark. Customs officials boarded the plane to check their travel documents and luggage. Once more, efficiency was the order of the day…although there was a momentary lapse as one official struggled briefly to reconcile Gerald's appearance with his Nordic surname. But even that was quickly forgotten and the party eventually disembarked to an awaiting convoy of two weathered but otherwise mechanically sound Toyota Land Cruisers.

Alongside the vehicles were two individuals who introduced themselves as Farah and Lewis, their drivers. Once everyone had been introduced and their luggage loaded onto the vehicles, off they set for their accommodations.

The initial part of the journey took them from the airport and through some suburban areas, and even along the outskirts of Puerto Clara itself. From within the vehicles, the children could discern no significant differences between these neighborhoods and their own. Similar facilities, similar working-class vibe. Similar living standards by the look of it.

The main road then continued for some distance from Puerto Clara before deviating toward the mountains. From there, the (well-maintained) asphalt gave way to gravel roads that became more uneven and a ride quality that became more rodeo-like. The passengers' relief was therefore indisputable when they finally arrived at their destination.

Waiting for them was the rest of the rescue party, a group looking every bit as weathered as the Land Cruisers. Arnold's party recognized the man named Owens, who greeted the boy especially warmly in his Western Welsh burr.

"Arnold, my lad!" he called out once the footballhead's trademark feature came into focus

"Uhm, Mister Owens, right?" Arnold responded, his arm extended for a handshake. The gesture was firmly received by Owens, who added: "So glad you could make it! Maybe now we might have a chance at cracking this matter!"

Behind Owens stood MacArthur and Norton, whom Arnold could see were somewhat perplexed. What Arnold didn't know was that Owens's warm and friendly side was new to them. They'd always known him as a cold and calculating businessman first. Yet here he was, acting reassuringly avuncular – and openly at that – to a person whom on any other day would be considered a client, no more and no less.

Nonetheless, MacArthur and Norton also introduced themselves to the party. Their tone reflected civility and professionalism which they hoped would project a sense of realism that Owens seemed to have abandoned. Both groups exchanged greetings and introductions before the newcomers were shown around the village and to their quarters.

It may have been a humble farming village, but it was by no means squalid. Far from it.

Over the years, charitable intervention had built up the community so that it now included a school, a church, and also a community hall. In terms of infrastructure, the village as a whole boasted electricity, hot and cold running water, even 4G. The community hall, together with its rudimentary ablutionary facilities, would be their base of operations. No beds for them, though Owens and his team did arrange for mattresses to be provided for the tourists: at least they'd be spared direct contact with the hard tile floor.

They were also informed how their meals were pre-arranged and would be a communal affair served in a common dining area through the charity of the locals. Owens stressed to them they'd have to take pot luck as the meals would depend on the outcome of the daily harvests, hunts, or catches. Also…dietary preferences did not exist in this microcosm, nor did food allergies.

"Consider yourself duly informed," is how he capped off his explanation.

xxXXXxx

In any case, Arnold and company had an hour or so to settle in and maybe explore their surroundings before their dinner would be served. He'd accomplished the unpacking within half an hour, which was why he was now standing at the edge of the maize fields.

Staring.

Staring at the mountains in the distance. Those lush, craggy mountains, now a magnificent coppery hue thanks to the fast-approaching dusk.

Wondering.

Wondering if Mister Owens was right and those mountains would yield to him whatever secret they'd kept hidden from the world for a decade. Wondering still if he'd like what was to be offered. Yes, his grandmother and Rhonda had raised his hopes on the plane, but the doubt had survived the rest of the flight and was now reacquainting itself with him.

"I know that look!" Gerald's voice disturbed his solitude. "You always get that look when you're worried about how things will play out!"

"I do not!" Arnold protested.

"Uh-huh," countered Gerald. "Like I haven't seen that look whenever you come up with any of your wild ideas. It's that look you make when you're trying to sell us on your plans while you still have your own doubts!"

Why did Gerald have to be so truthful? Arnold then heaved a heavy sigh as he quickly realized the answer. Because he's my best friend and anything less than truthful would be a betrayal.

"Look, Man," Gerald continued. "None of us know what's up those mountains. But I just want you to know that I'm with you come what may, no matter what!" He punctuated his declaration with a firm pat on Arnold's shoulder.

And Arnold would have expressed his thanks, but the next words spoken weren't his.

"Hey! Don't forget me!" hollered Nadine playfully, having seemingly crept up on the best friends.

"Yeah," teased Gerald. "You're Rhonda's BFF and designated moral support! Speaking of which, where is she?"

"Testing out the 4G. She and her dad are Facetiming with her mother, letting her know we've all arrived and we're all safe and sound. Her mother says hi, by the way."

Can it be? These were Arnold's thoughts as he witnessed how naturally Nadine and Gerald were conversing. Not even a few months ago, all of Hillwood would have classified these two barely a notch above perfect strangers. And now this.

"And for your information, Mister Johanssen," admitted Nadine, "I may have had some reasons of my own for being here…"

With that, she slid up to Gerald for a light peck on his cheek that left him as crimson as the red on his number 33 tank top. The boys then watched her traipse away from them towards the maize field in a playful, loping gait. They watched in bewildered silence as she went about examining random stalks and ears, as well as equally random patches of soil. They noted how she was not above getting down on all fours for whatever she was hoping to accomplish, sometimes even mimicking a truffle dog in her actions. Occasionally she'd produce from the plants or the ground something that would hold her attention. A bug maybe, or a caterpillar, or maybe even a grub. Every specimen would be released eventually with utmost care. Another party trick came when they saw her deftly pluck a dragonfly from the air with her fingertips, examine it, then release it to continue its flight with no harm done.

"Wow!" was all that Arnold could say, having witnessed a much more comprehensive display of Nadine's bug-gathering skills.

"I know, right?" Gerald dreamily agreed. "She's so awesome in ways I never even knew!"

"Sounds serious," Arnold said drily. "You two, I mean."

"Yeah, I guess it is," Gerald responded, still in his dreamy tone.

"So where to from here?" asked Arnold. "You gonna start dating?"

"I'd like to, my man. It's just that I feel that for a girl like her, just movies and Slausen's won't cut it. And there's only so many times I can take her to the museum."

"Then try this," Arnold suggested with a little nudge to Gerald's ribs. "Go with her on one of her bug-hunting excursions every other Saturday. She'll really appreciate that. Plus…" – he trailed off with mischief in his voice – "it's summer, so you may just get to see her in her swimsuit for yourself..!"

Now if Nadine's peck on Gerald's cheek had left him red-faced, Arnold's last comment made the red positively iridescent, vivid enough to overcome completely the melanin in his cheeks. Despite the crippling shyness, Gerald was able to conjure a retort. "Hey, what gives? Since when are you the one with his mind in the gutter?"

"Well, he is Arnold Shortman, Hillwood's local man of mystery, so you never know…"

It was Nadine, returned and cupping her hands, impressed by whatever she was carrying in them. What she revealed to them was quite simply the biggest, ugliest spider the boys had ever seen. The sight of it was cause for them to yelp and recoil away from her, beads of sweat suddenly forming on their brows that couldn't be attributed to the heat and humidity.

Nadine remained unaware of their reaction, devoting all her attention to the creepy-crawly in her hands. "How cool is this?" she extolled. "A Phoneutria Nigriventer, and quite a healthy specimen too!"

"Nadine, are you nuts!" That wasn't Gerald; that was Arnold, having suddenly forgotten his gentlemanly ways.

"Aw, come on, Arnold!" Nadine protested, finally devoting some attention to the boys. "It's only a young adult! It's not even fully grown yet!"

And Gerald, while still maintaining a safe distance, would kinda sorta back her up by saying to Arnold: "Look, if she says she has it under control, then she has it under control."

"But it can still bite her..!" Arnold challenged back.

"Dude," Gerald retorted somewhat casually, "I gotta tell you some of the stories she told me on the plane about the times she was bitten and stung by these nasties. I mean damn, I'm the Keeper of the Tales and her stories scared me!"

"Hey!" Nadine exclaimed to Gerald, most indignantly. "They're not nasties, they're beautiful creatures!" She then changed to a more direct, more pointed tone for Gerald: "And besides, it can't be any worse than you two facing off against a whole sewer's worth of dirty, infected rats!"

"You told her about the Sewer King?" Arnold questioned Gerald in monotone disbelief, and with an eyebrow he didn't realize had quirked suddenly.

"Yep."

"And she believed you?" Arnold followed up, his disbelief primed and ready for the answer to that question being in the affirmative as well.

"Yep."

The disclosure floored Arnold. He and Gerald had agreed to keep that particular misadventure between themselves for fear of it never being believed. They'd decided back then that even in a city like Hillwood – a city already housing a local monkey-themed hero and also having housed a hermit with a preternatural affinity toward pigeons – an underground figure exercising dominion over swarms of sewer rats would be a believe-it-or-not too many.

But not to Nadine, apparently. "I mean, if you two could face off against hordes of those nasty vermin, what's an itty-bitty little cutie like this?"

"I'll leave Gerald to find out, thank you very much," Arnold announced as he slunk away from Gerald and Nadine. "He can always tell me later how it felt," he added slyly.

"Not cool, Arnold!" yelled Gerald. "Not cool! Aren't we bad boys for life? Y'know…ride together, die together?"

"We can do all that later!" Arnold yelled back in more good humor. "After I get answers about my parents!"

And suddenly, he and the rest of the trio went silent and all levity in the air vanished, as they were all reminded of the serious nature of their trip to this faraway country. What followed immediately was a three-way stare that spoke of them being so reminded, while also admitting that their brief light-hearted moment had been a welcome distraction while it had lasted.

xxXXXxx

Meanwhile, the Shortman elders were at the dining area, in spirited discussion with the rescue team. 'Spirited' being the operative word, as Norton had brought along a bottle of blanco tequila which was shared by all present. The biggest surprise came from Phil and Gertie, who were able to keep pace with the hardened crew.

Gertie refused to divulge her secret until Phil blabbed – in more layman's terms – that hers was a uniquely wired physiology that had long stopped responding to the effects of alcohol. It was the same reason for her physical endurance being off the charts, as they'd no doubt be finding out the following morning. Phil chalked his own tolerance to his time in World War II, where he took a SIG 44 round in the buttocks and the attending field surgeon was really eager with the morphine. And once Phil recovered from the stupor, that was it: from that moment, his body was almost completely immune against psychotropic substances.

Phil could see how engrossed the group was in his stories. He and Gertie, in turn, were no less fascinated by the tales with which their new friends were regaling them. They heard of how MacArthur survived being pitched off her yacht just off Cape Horn during her sailing days.

"And I tell you," she emphasized, "that has to be the coldest, choppiest, windiest stretch of ocean you'll ever likely encounter! And that's during daylight! It was dark when I got thrown off. So imagine being underwater, not knowing one direction from another. If I wasn't still tethered to the boat, I'd be fucked!"

They heard a lot more tales of valor. Norton's tale of helping the Afghan villager birth her child struck a particular chord with Phil and Gertie, though neither made any obvious reaction to the story.

Lewis recounted a quite bizarre tale of rescuing a party of nudist hikers from Ben Nevis 'who had only gone and overestimated the bloody winter temperatures and underestimated the snowfall!". That story raised the elderly couple's eyebrows, as well as a good few laughs all around.

Farah recalled helping to rescue a group of drunken louts in Newcastle who took one hell of a wrong turn one Saturday night and somehow stumbled into an abandoned mine - "As if there's any other type of mine in the UK!" He wasn't as good a storyteller as his comrades, but he held the visitors' attention well enough.

Then Norton singled out Phil as he called out: "Excuse me, Sir, but you said you were in World War II, right?"

"That's right, Sonny! Private Shortman, ugly as life and twice as large! Why do you ask? Did we meet? Were you at the Battle of the Bulge?"

Phil's response and questions resulted in snorts of surprised laughter, some of which was aimed at Norton. Norton remained undeterred as he responded: "Well no, Sir. But my great-granddad was and he had this wild yarn that's stayed in the family for generations."

"Oh goody!" Phil yelped in a puckish display of glee. "I love me a good war story!"

"You see, right? He kept telling us about how his regiment, the Twenty-First, was struggling against the Jerries in the Ardennes, trying to break through their lines. The best tactics that Monty and Bradley can conjure up. We're talking all hands on deck! We're talking tank divisions, airborne, ground troops, armored and anti-armor!"

"We get the point, Norton!" Farah chimed in. "How about you move the story along now?"

"Then one day it seems like the Jerries just up and left," continued Norton. "Retreated for Berlin and forgot to say goodbye."

"Spoiler alert, Norton," MacArthur chimed in, "but that's the end result as told in the history books!"

Norton remained undaunted as he powered on: "See, that's just it! The history books say the Allies won through grit, determination, and superior firepower! Truth is, up until that point, the Twenty-First was getting hammered. They're barely holding their position, maybe one step away from being overrun. Then the next day…poof, nothing! Great-Granddad told of how they were ordered to shut up and hold position anyway, just in case. Then soon, news filters down from Monty's office. Bradley's sent a communication that one Yank soldier – one – was able to break the line by feeding an entire German division spoilt meat! That's thousands of Krauts down for the count and desperately needing the bog while Bradley's armored divisions drive by without a shot being fired!"

"Yeah, I seem to have heard this story before," Phil warily commented, his voice taking on a few bitter notes. "Sounds like the ultimate in dumb luck but go on!"

"Of course, Great-Granddad and his company don't believe it. They reckon Bradley's taking the piss out of Monty, having a laugh over his almighty cock-up with Market Garden. Only it turns out Bradley's telling the truth when the name of the hero soldier starts doing the rounds. Private Shortman. Private Philip Shortman."

Norton's cohorts were rendered incredulous by the revelation and stared open-mouthed at Phil, realizing that in their midst was a bona fide war hero. However, Phil remained unmoved.

"You got the wrong guy, Sonny. I ain't no hero. Not anymore."

"More's the pity, Sir," insisted Norton. "I mean, Great-Granddad and his mates spoke of hearing how embarrassed Bradley and Eisenhower were at having their most detailed, intricate, coordinated battle plans undone and undermined by a lowly private driving a lorry. Then they denied the whole thing ever happened and told the world of how their great strategies helped pave the way to Berlin. You ask me, Sir, that's more than just a pity. It's a right royal tragedy!"

Phil remained steadfast: "I told you, Sonny. I ain't no hero!"

"I disagree, Sir!" – but so did Norton – "Thanks to you, my great-grandfather came home alive and built a good life for himself and his family. Do you have any idea, Sir, what an honor it is for me to serve the man who made all of that possible? Who made me and my military career possible? Great-Granddad never got to meet you, but now I've got a chance to return the favor!"

Anyone not named Norton found themselves profoundly moved by his story. Gertie herself was near tears upon hearing the broader context of her husband's wartime achievement.

Except for Phil: "Well, you can shove your honor. It's because of all that shit back then that we're sitting here in the first place!"

Anyone not named Phil found themselves profoundly taken aback by his callous remark. Gertie herself remained near tears as she knew what her husband was about to say.

"I told Miles that same story when he was about ten years old. It was his favorite story of them all; he couldn't get enough of it! You know what he told me when I told him the story for god knows how many times?" – at which point he felt his voice waver from a build-up of raw emotion – "He said 'Wow Dad, that was so cool! I hope I can be a hero to so many people like you were!' Next thing I know, he's traveling the world over, helping people and righting wrongs. Right up until that last mission ten years ago! Did he think he had to do all that just to make me proud of him? He's my son, goddammit, and I'll always love him, always be proud of him no matter what!

I mean, I almost didn't want to tell my grandson that same story. And when I did, I ended up having to drive all the way to D.C. just to prove to him that the damn story was true! And I still don't think he fully believes me! Now why couldn't Miles have been like that? Instead of idolizing his old man, wanting to be everyone's hero! He was already my hero, for god's sake!"

Phil then dropped his head into his hands from the emotion. And whimpered through the last of his self-restraint: "He didn't have anything to prove to me!"

A prolonged silence followed as nobody knew how to proceed.

"Mister Shortman," Owens eventually spoke with empathy. "I'll understand if you and your wife want to be left alone for a bit. But know this, please. Second chances in life are a rare beast, but tomorrow just might – just might – be your opportunity at one. One way or another, you may get your chance to say to tell him what you've always wanted to. It may be good to keep that in mind."

Phil said nothing in response. Instead, he and Gertie left the company for some much-needed solitude.

Nobody involved in the conversation was aware that, around the corner and out of sight, a certain raven-haired girl had been listening in on what she deemed would be an interesting conversation. She was gone before anyone was aware of her immediate presence.

Dinner was – perhaps unsurprisingly – a subdued affair with hardly a word spoken among the partakers. Not because the food was bad. Unusual, yes, but the total opposite of bad. The meal comprised a flavorful goat-and-pepper stew served with rice and beans. For the visitors to wash down the meal, they were provided with pitchers containing a mixture of sugarcane juice and lime juice. It all went down a treat.

Before long, the visitors felt their adrenaline and energy levels drain completely as the jet lag from the journey finally made itself known. Well, it was bedtime anyway as tomorrow was set to be a long day of slogging and scrambling. So while Owens and his team were in their quarters making last-minute adjustments to the itinerary and equipment, Arnold and company were preparing for bedtime. The ablution facilities proved adequate, if not the last word in luxury – quoth Rhonda Wellington Lloyd.

Regardless, the party members' bedtime preparations were eventually done and they all were plopped on their mattresses with whatever sleeping accouterments they had brought along. Rhonda and Nadine shared one sector, Arnold and Gerald another. Phil and Gertie had theirs, which left Buckley in his own corner.

And so to sleep.

But not for long in Arnold's case, as even his jet lag was struggling against his uncertainty. So much so that after about two hours spent tossing and turning, he felt the need to take the battle outside. It was around 10 as he aimlessly ambled about. He found his sleepwear ensemble – a green t-shirt about one size too big and a pair of light sleep shorts – to be just the ticket against the warm evening. He noticed also how the village hadn't yet fully fallen asleep as he heard bits of TV programs being watched.

A telenovela here – the melodrama transcended all language barriers.

A soccer match there, made glaringly obvious by an excitable Spanish commentator yelling 'GOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAL! GO-GO-GO-GO-GO-GOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAL!'

Even a cricket match between Sri Lanka and another team called the West Indies, the latter of whom seemed to be enjoying the viewer's support.

He eventually found a place out in the open to sit and gaze skywards. And…WOW! The night sky was illuminated by countless star constellations the milky magnitude of which left him breathless. He allowed himself to be taken in and humbled by the sky's celestial majesty.

Another distraction.

Another welcome distraction from both reality and probability.

"Seat's there if you want it," he calmly called to his back.

"I must say, you've improved quite a bit," Rhonda replied as she walked from the shadows to seat herself on Arnold's right-hand side. She was wearing an oversized lilac T-shirt over a similarly hued pair of light cotton PJ pants. Arnold stared in admiration; suddenly he didn't want to be alone anymore.

"Still worried about tomorrow?"

It was obvious that he couldn't sleep, so asking that question would have been pointless. Best she went after the reason.

"Yeah, kinda," he replied, though his voice conveyed more resignation than worry.

He felt Rhonda's left hand on his right and turned to see a look of quiet urgency in her expression.

"Something wrong, Rhonda?" he queried.

"Arnold," she began, "earlier today before dinner, I overheard your grandparents talking with Mister Owens and his team. And, well…" – she seemed unsure of how to continue – "about them…"

She relayed to him how despondent she heard Grandpa Phil become over his son. And also how Grandma Gertie seemed to be barely keeping it together.

"I'm not sure, Arnold," she paused to offer some insight, "but they're hurting more than they've been letting on. Grandpa Phil seems like he's ready to give up hope and it looks like he'll drag Grandma Gertie down with him when he does. The poor woman's really putting up a brave front for everyone's sake.

Arnold would have been surprised at that tidbit of information but for the fact that he had seen the cracks forming already.

"It's just like on the plane," he commented after some thought. "She tried to reassure me that things would work out. But I always felt she was trying hard to convince herself more than me. And then when you stepped in…wow, look how easily she blew us off…"

"No…I wouldn't call it blowing us off," Rhonda countered. "I think she was in a bad place like she's never been in before and she doesn't know how to handle it."

"Grandma?" Arnold said very close to dismissively. "No way! She's the strongest woman I've ever known! Nothing fazes her!"

He felt Rhonda's hand squeeze his more tightly. He watched as she struggled for the words she'd speak next. "I'm sorry, Arnold," she began as she stared apologetically. "I'm sorry for what I'm about to say...but as bad as you may feel about your missing parents, your grandparents are feeling it a hundred times worse."

She feared he might respond with anger and indignation. What she saw instead was a sorrowful look hinting at a truth already known while begging for added insight and understanding.

"I'm not saying you've got no right to feel sad and gutted over your parents." – She knew she had to explain herself quickly – "But they knew him for much longer than you knew them. They raised him, they nurtured him from a child to an adult. They watched him get married and have a son. And when they lost him after all that time…well, I can't…I don't want to…imagine what it must have been like for them."

And when he paused for more thought, she knew to her relief that she'd nailed the delivery.

"You know," he explained, "they always acted strong like they weren't affected. And now over the last few weeks, they actually started being sad in front of me about this. They'd always only be sad whenever I was sad." – he then looked more deeply at Rhonda with regret in his eyes – "I never thought to ask how they felt about Mom and Dad going missing. What an idiot I've been, huh?"

"But now you can do good by them tomorrow!" Rhonda then insisted.

"You mean..?" he was about to ask.

"Exactly!" she answered. "Be you tomorrow! Be the guy who inspires his team of wimps to take on Wolfgang and his goons! Be that awesome guy who can rally anyone to believe in the impossible! Be your grandparents' strength, for all our sakes! They've always been there for you, now you have to be there for them!"

She watched now as he lightened up, as a look of resolve crept on his visage. A newfound determination to see the matter through, come what may.

"Rhonda," he smiled a hopeful smile at her that she hadn't seen for a while. "You mind sitting with me a bit longer while we gaze at the stars?"

"Sure, why not?" she smiled back at him. "After all, we've already slept together, remember?"

Arnold briefly choked and sputtered upon hearing that last quip, much to Rhonda's amusement. He recovered from the surprise soon enough, and hand-in-hand they sat, eyes upward. Ready to embrace whatever outcome tomorrow might bring.

And that is it for this chapter, dearest readers. As always, my everlasting gratitude for sticking along for the ride and making this the worthwhile endeavor to me that it is. I am aware that this chapter is the longest yet in this story, but that's because the characters only had one night at their accommodations and there was much to happen that could only happen over there. Be assured that my chapters are only ever as long as I think they need to be.

But anyway, before we go to the reviews... for ease of reference, these are the people/events Norton references in his story:

Monty - Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery

Bradley – General Omar Bradley, who incidentally wasn't too keen on Monty (a Brit) being placed in command of certain US units.

Market Garden – Operation Market Garden, a failed WWII operation thought up by Monty before he and Bradley assumed joint command in the Battle of the Bulge.

And now to the reviews:

The J.A.M. a.k.a. Numbuh i: Thank you for the compliment. No comments on Phoebe; I don't trust myself not to give away any inadvertent spoilers.

Anonymous Latino: There are numerous reasons for the scene with Arnold, Helga, and Phoebe. Firstly, I wanted to show more evidence that despite not being romantically involved with Arnold, Helga still cares enough about him to wish for his happiness. Also, she's not totally given up on her old ways and is still looking out for her friend. As for Phoebe, she too feels no enmity towards Arnold despite him and Rhonda initiating the events that left her in her current situation. And though I've already had her say she doesn't hold that particular grudge against him, I thought having her hug him as well would drive the point home. What's also implied here is her acknowledging her own role in her change in fortunes and how she must now take charge of her own happiness. Then there's that last scene with Arnold and Rhonda...well, here's the thing: neither of them knows what to expect, so what harm is there in showing some optimism? It would otherwise have been a very depressing flight and I might as well have added Billie Holliday's Gloomy Sunday to the Deezer List.

The hotdog man: Wow, that's three for three with the pink notebook! Anyway, I'm so glad you enjoyed the chapter.

And now, the notes:

One facet in writing this story saw me trying to get into the head of Miles Shortman, trying to fathom what would motivate him to embark on his adventurous career. The only logical conclusion I could reach was that Phil also told him of his WWII adventure. But unlike Arnold, Miles was more captivated by the story. Why wouldn't he be? This is his dad, his hero, a man he idolizes. Of course he'd be motivated to emulate his father's deeds.

The series treats Phil's WWII misadventure as an in-universe true-life event, so I thought it a good idea to contextualize his achievement more broadly. So it was no incident that I introduced Norton as ex-SAS. I wanted him being a soldier to be a long-term, indirect result of Phil's wartime achievement. That way, Norton would be eager to convey to Phil how his actions affected countless people for the better, including his family. Too bad all it did was unearth decades' worth of painful, repressed memories, isn't it?

Phoneutria Nigriventer, aka the Brazilian Wandering Spider, is currently classified as the world's most venomous spider whose toxin "can cause loss of muscle control, which can result in asphyxiation, intense pain, and, in men, a prolonged, painful erection." A nice way to show off Nadine's devotion to pursuing insects, right?

I've always imagined Nadine as a free-spirited, spritely figure behind the scenes, especially when she's interacting with insects. Out in public, she'll reign in her quirks for the sake of civility. But in her element, with nobody who'll judge her, she'll cut loose in a heartbeat. That was the basis for my portrayal of her in the maize field. I'd say it's also an effective prop for Gerald to voice his growing admiration for her.

And finally, my Deezer List for this chapter:

Take A Picture – Filter

She is Love – Oasis [This one I had in mind for Nadine's scene in the maize field as the boys (especially Gerald) watch on.]

That's Just The Way It Is – Phil Collins (feat. David Crosby) [I had this one on repeat as I wrote the scene between Phil and Norton.]

Walking In Your Footsteps – Shout Out Louds [This one's for the very end where Arnold and Rhonda are settling into their stargazing and the proverbial credits begin rolling.]

And we're done for now. Thank you for spending some time with me and see you next chapter!