Gordon lay back on the pool lounger he had so thoughtfully bought his father. The giant pink flamingo had not gone down well, much to his amusement, and he had delighted to point out that it matched his dad's favourite shirt.
Needless to say, Gordon was the only one who used it.
He was is a rare retrospective mood today. Alan was off on his week-long inhouse college stay. Scott was somewhere being Scott. Virgil was helping Brains with updates on Two. John was up there being John. Judging from the smells coming from the kitchen Grandma was murdering something again. He'd long ago left off wondering where Kayo was.
It was the shirt. Yeah, he was going to blame the shirt. That pink flamingo shirt had survived so many attempted murders that it seemed to have a life all of its own.
The first memory Gordon had of the shirt was being sick on it. His dad had been throwing him up in the air and catching him, and his mom had clearly told him to stop before…too late. And, no, he wasn't a baby! He would have been about three years old, but being a preemie meant that he was quite small for his age.
The shirt may have pink flamingos on, but the base colour was the sky. Much like the sky today, a mid-blue sky with no clouds.
His dad had been wearing the shirt when an eight-year-old Gordon told him he had been picked to compete at the nationals. Dinner had promptly been reorganised and a BBQ arranged. Nothing said celebration in their house more than BBQ and apple pie. Dad had put an apron on that asked people to kiss the chef, which his mom did on frequent occasions.
He wondered if he could persuade Virgil to fire up the grill. The memories were feeding his stomach now! They hadn't really had one since they'd rescued dad, he had been too weak for that kind of celebration, but he'd been given the-all clear by Grandma, so maybe now would be appropriate. Gordon filed that away for 'later'.
Gordon frowned in concentration. When was the next time he's seen the sky-blue and neon-pink monstrosity?
For a long time after their mother's death the shirt stayed away. It was his father's favourite because his mother had bought it, a dare between them. And, as his father lost himself in grief so did his sons, until the point when they all nearly lost Scott. That had been such a wake-up for all of them.
And as the family got back on tract, once again the shirt came out.
The next time Gordon remembered seeing the shirt was here, on the island. They hadn't moved here all that long when Virgil, he was sure it was Virgil (Scott never thought about his food unless it was in front of him, John was nose-deep into a book), suggested the perfect day could be made better with a BBQ. Out came the grill and with it the shirt.
Scott and John may have mock-moaned about it, but everyone was delighted to see it again. Maybe their dad was finally healing.
Then Gordon was off to the mainland with Alan and Virgil to school, and John and Scott to college. It would be a little while before he would see the shirt again.
Holidays became family time and out the shirt would come. The sky-blue colour almost perfectly replicated the blue sky above the island they now called home for some of the year. And every time, at least once, they had a BBQ and the shirt was paraded. (Not the apron, that never got seen again.)
Then Scott had gone to USAF, John to NASA and Virgil to Denver; and Gordon was expected to choose a college. He really didn't want to, he wanted to straight into WASP and learn through experience, but he wasn't sure what his dad would make of that. A son that did not want to fly but wanted to swim – surely he would be used to that by now?
The sky just didn't hold him like it held his brothers.
He remembered talking to Scott about how to approach their father, and Scott had said wait until you see the shirt then ask. He had been very confident that their dad would be fine about it and his confidence bolstered Gordon's own.
Two days later the shirt was on. Gordon took the bull by the horns and asked to talk man to man with his dad. Alan had scoffed before Grandma clipped him. Dad had taken him into his study and Gordon had spent half an hour outlining why he wanted to skip college and join WASP without giving his dad an opportunity to get a word in.
Dad had sat there, listening, and all Gordon could focus on was the sky-blue of the shirt and the neon-pink of the flamingos and nothing else. Eventually he ran out of both steam and words and stood there like a naughty child waiting for their parent to pronounce punishment.
His father had asked if he was quite finished. Gordon nodded. Dad had simply said, 'if that is what you want to do, then I support you one hundred percent.' He had then signed the paperwork Gordon had had the forethought to prepare and that was that.
Scott had been right. Their father was not fazed one little bit that Gordon was not interested in flying. When he mentioned this, their dad laughed out loud and said he had known Gordon for 16 years, this had not come as a surprise at all.
So, Gordon loved the shirt. It was gaudy, and he wondered if he got his own love for garish colours and Hawiian shirts from his dad. If so, he thought it was a wonderful thing to inherit. He may not have inherited the flying gene, but he had inherited his dad's impeccable dress sense.
And Gordon lay back on the flamingo float, stared at the sky and contemplated sky-blue, neon-pink and shared interests.