THE REAL ADVENTURES OF JONNY QUEST

THE REAL ADVENTURES OF JONNY QUEST

Thanksgiving Blues

by

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.