November 26th,
"Ok...now slowly reel it in and then cast out again. Watch where it lands this time...keep your eye on it...good, good..." I stood on the deck as the Colonel's warm hands guided mine through the age-old motion. He paused as we both looked out onto the calm water of the lake, still partially shrouded by the early morning fog.
"So...I understand you've seen combat..."
And so began one of the strangest conversations I have had in a long, long time.
You are probably wondering how in the world I ended up fishing out on Butler Lake, alone in a boat with Dash's father. I am still a bit bewildered at the whole scene myself.
It all began early this morning...very early.
I was having trouble sleeping and had decided to go down to the kitchen for something to drink. Eating, of course, was out of the question, as I was still suffering from last night's Chinese food orgy...but I had caught the scent of fresh coffee brewing downstairs and the temptation was too much.
It was chilly, so I slipped into a pair of jeans and one of Dashiell's flannel shirts before heading quietly down the hall so as to not wake anyone. Dash was out like a light and didn't even stir as I left the warmth of the bed. Usually he is a light sleeper, but I suppose in the comfort of his home he doesn't feel the need to sleep with one eye open, a habit he developed during his days with special ops.
In any case, there was no one in the darkened kitchen so I quickly poured myself a mug of java, grabbed my jacket, and headed outside to take in the sunrise.
The land around the old farmhouse was covered in a thin mist, and the sun was just inching its way across the horizon, bathing the fields in a soft glow. It really is beautiful out here...tranquil. The air is fresh and clean, and though it lacked the comforting salty tang of the sea, the Midwest is certainly not as boring as I was led to believe.
It was with thoughts of water and the ocean that I made my way down to the side of the house where...on a trailer hitched up to a big red Dodge Ram pickup...stood a beauty of a boat. I ran my hand along its hull; reveling in the feel of the soft, smooth mahogany on my skin. It was a good sized craft, and obviously well taken care off.
So busy was I looking at the boat that I failed to notice the figure on the bow.
"Couldn't sleep?"
I jumped at the sound of the voice, nearly spilling my coffee all over my shirt, and turned to see the Colonel staring down at me, his face expressionless.
"No...I smelled the coffee and it drew me in. I am sorry to bother you." I turned to walk away but his voice stopped me.
"She's a beauty, isn't she?" He said, almost to himself. He certainly wasn't expecting an answer, and was a bit stunned when I spoke.
"A Chris Craft Runabout...circa 1930 I should guess...in good condition too..."
"You know your boats..." he raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"You see a lot of them growing up in the Vineyard. My dad had one just like it...a wedding gift from my uncle. She was called Hart's Desire" I ran my hand lovingly against the chrome edge of the gunnels, "...he used to take me out on it when I was a kid."
I didn't add that my mother had sold the thing only months after his death, replacing it at the family dock with a huge Sea Ray 'Sundancer' which I quickly christened Hart's Blood. The irony of the name was lost on her.
He pause and stared at me for a moment, his eyes intense.
"Martha's Vineyard? I thought Dash said you were from Boston." He murmured, the expression on his face familiar to me...it is the same look Dash gets when he has just figured something out that's a bit distasteful and is not quite sure how to handle it.
"I'm from a lot of places...Boston, the Vineyard, Scotland, Ireland..." I smiled uncomfortably, not quite sure what I had done to set him off, "...but I guess I would call the island home."
We stood in silence, the only sound that of the crickets singing in the fields around us and the occasional creak as the boat settled against the trailer. From his perch in the cockpit the Colonel stared down, considering me carefully. I was about to retreat back to the house when I heard his voice break the still morning air.
"...Do you fish?"
So it was that I was loaded into the cab of the pickup along with Shep and a huge tackle box, and an hour later found myself in the middle of a lake fumbling with the unfamiliar feel of a fishing rod in my hand.
The journey out here had been spent in companionable silence, broken only by the occasional conversation about boats and sailing, as well as Shep's excited whines as we neared the water.
It was odd, but not uncomfortable...and both of us were loath to break the spell of the wind in our hair once we took off across the water in search of the perfect spot to drop our lines. After that, it was all about fishing.
The Faireborn patriarch is as good a teacher as Dash...patient and willing. I knew nothing about the sport despite being on the water most of my life and growing up eating seafood the way some kids eat hotdogs, but by the end of the day I was casting my line with ease. He showed me how to find the fish and pick a lure...he guided me through the various motions of casting and reeling...he talked of Bass and Catfish, Walleye and Crappie...and I listened intently, interjecting with a question here and there, sharing some tales of my cousins and their deep sea exploits with Shark and Marlin.
In fact, it wasn't until we about ready to head in that the conversation suddenly turned more personal.
"...I understand you've seen combat..."
I stayed silent, my eyes on the lure bobbing in the water a few feet ahead of me. I didn't know what to say. GIJOE is a secret organization, and although Dash's father is quite well connected in the military, to confirm his statement would reveal more than I am willing or allowed to share. Women see combat in one unit and one unit only...
He laughed quietly when he realized no response was forthcoming.
"You are like my son, tight mouthed about your work with Abernathy." He paused as he cast his line out again, watching it fall in the water precisely where he had planned.
"I had heard rumors that women were fighting at the frontlines beside the men. I didn't quite believe it until I heard about you. I wasn't sure what to make of it...I'm still not." He leaned back in his chair, "I have been in battle and I know what's its like...I saw action Okinawa and Midway...I won't lie to you, it was horrid, a nightmare made real. I lost my brother there. I sent three sons to Vietnam...two came back. I'm not too keen on seeing wives, mothers and daughters in the fray."
"I'm a soldier as much as you are..." I said quietly, slightly annoyed. Old school thinking...there was nothing to do about it...to defend myself would compromise the Joe team.
"Never said you weren't...never said you weren't. I doubt my son would be partnered with you otherwise. I was going to add that reading your record nearly made me change my mind...nearly. I'm impressed Corporal...not bad for a Hart."
I looked up suddenly at the sound of my family name and met his eye.
"So you ARE a Hart, then." He didn't smile at me, but his eyes held neither anger nor annoyance...merely curiosity. "I thought as much. No wonder my son was acting so strange yesterday."
"He's a good kid, you know. The best of my boys...smart, successful...even if he isn't an officer." He smiled and looked back out onto the water, "You know...of all of them, he was the one who could have gone all the way...retired a General. I saw the potential in him the day he was born...saw it in his eyes."
"He does very well where he is, you know...you should be proud of him." I added quietly, not sure whether I should interrupt. It wasn't my place...or was it?
"Hmmm...what? Oh, the Special Forces...well, as I mentioned he doesn't talk much about it...for all I know he's pushing paper. But I hear things...I know he's right there in the action, commanding, respected...of course I am proud of him. I am proud of all of them...but still..."
He sighed.
"I worry about him...the others not so much. Dash is...he's different. Always been a sensitive kid underneath all the bluster. I don't like seeing him hurt...and he's been hurt before, as you probably know. I warned him, but of course he didn't listen. It's always been like that, I would tell him one thing and he would go and do the exact opposite. I'm glad she's out of his life...nothing but trouble."
"And now he brings you home with him...a debutant cum soldier from one of the wealthiest families on the East Coast...You have to know he'll never be able to give you what you are used to...he's an army boy...a working boy...."
"I never asked..." but he held his hand up to stop me.
"I'm not saying anything...I'm just telling you how I see it. I'm an old man, I know a thing or two about life...and I know my son. He is quite taken with you...blinds him to reality...again. You and he are from two different worlds...I want what's best for my son, I want..."
I don't know how I held it together. I could feel my anger rising, but somehow I held it in check. Somehow I managed to keep my cool and answer him in a steady voice.
"You want the same things I want...to see him happy..."
We looked at each other for a moment, and then I saw him smile.
"You've got a temper...I can see it in your eyes. You were going to rip my head off, weren't you?"
"I can neither confirm nor deny..." I smiled back and laughed, suddenly realizing what this was all about, "You took me out here to ask me my intentions towards your son, didn't you?"
At that he got all blustery and began to act...well...to act exactly like Flint would if caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Carole told me yesterday that the two of them never got along...that they were too different. After today, I have to disagree...
...They are too much alike!
"I gave it all up years ago...long before I met Dash. The money, I mean." I reeled in my line slowly, "As far as the Harts are concerned I am dead to them."
He looked over at me...and listened as I continued.
"I would be lying if I said I didn't miss it. But I made my choices in life and I have no regrets..." I met his eye, confident, unflinching, "...and I love your son. I didn't let anything get in my way when I left for the military...and I will not let anything get in my way with Dash. Not money, not my mother, not you...not anyone..."
We continued to stare at each other in silence as I waited for him to blow a fuse and throw me off his boat.
"You know..." he paused, collecting his thoughts "I think you are going to fit in here just fine...Corpo...Alison."
He smiled at me then and patted my shoulder affectionately, but before I could respond I felt a tug at the end of my rod.
"Hey...HEY! I think I got a bite...I got a bite...WOW!"
"Good girl! Now remember what I told you...."
And so ended my unexpected interview with Colonel Joe Faireborn. On the way back, he asked me more questions about myself, and my family. He is a nice man, a good man. And he obviously loves his family.
Speaking of which, they were all waiting for us when we finally made our way up the driveway at lunchtime, staring at me incredulously.
"What do you mean you went fishing?" Dash stood before me amazed as I showed off the Bass I had caught, "...fishing? With my dad...on the boat?"
"No Dash, we fished from the truck. Of course we went on the boat. It handles really well, although I think that the rudder needs to be adj..."
"He let you DRIVE the boat????" Carole exclaimed from behind me, Mickey and John just stood there with their mouths hanging open. Ray merely sat down and shook his head in amazement. Dash looked ready to collapse.
"What? What's a matter with you guys? Don't you like fish?" I held it up again, rather proud of myself..."I wanted to put it back, but your father wouldn't let me...said we could have it for dinner..."
"Which means I am going to have to show you how to clean the thing..." The Colonel came up behind me and took the fish from my hands "...its too bad we don't have a camera...you can send a picture to those Hart cousins of yours. Show them what a real fisherman can do. Marlin my ass...Dash, what's the matter with you, son? You look like you've seen a ghost..."
"Allie, go and see what you can do about the rudder on that thing...I'll put this baby on ice." Dash and the others stared at me with their mouths hanging open as their father walked up the stairs towards the house
As he passed Dashiell, he stopped and said something in a low voice. I couldn't quite make it out, but Dash blinked hard twice, turning to look at me with an odd expression on his face.
Mind you, as he disappeared through the door his last few words were clear enough to be heard by all of us.
"That girl is a Fairborn...temper and all."
Everyone stood frozen in place for a split second, before rushing at me all at once.
"Welcome to the family, girl!" Lynne kissed me on the cheek. I was confused and didn't really know what to say.
"God, he never lets ANYONE on his boat. Especially not a female! How the heck did you do it?" Carole hugged me, jumping up and down like a schoolgirl.
"I didn't do anything!"
"Well, you obviously did something..." Ray smiled and hugged me, "...my father has given you the thumbs up."
"More than the thumbs up! He let her take the wheel of the old girl!" John laughed, "Christ, Dash...you had better not let this one out of your sight or Dad will kill you..."
"Did he say Hart?" Joannie asked, "You're a Hart?! And he took you fishing? Wow..."
Dash meanwhile was still frozen on the porch, in his own little world. I left the gaggle of siblings behind me as I approached him, taking his hand.
"You ok? Did I do something wrong?"
He looked down on me then and smiled, bringing his hand up to brush my cheek.
"No...you didn't do anything wrong. Nothing wrong at all..." and suddenly I found myself in his arms as he spun me round in sheer delight.
"You are amazing, you know that?" He laughed at my confused expression and kissed me.
"You are all insane! The whole lot of you!" I exclaimed, trying not to laugh.
'Yeah..." Mickey ruffled my hair as he passed, "...but as far as my father is concerned you are one of us now. So I guess we had better fit you for a straight jacket."
So there you have it...somehow I had passed the test. I had been interviewed and accepted by the Colonel. Seems as though I am the only one who has done so BEFORE being engaged to one of the boys, and after knowing him for less than 48 hours. That I had been on the boat was a tale that would be told for generations to come. Apparently he is worse than Dash is about his car when it comes to the old Chris Craft.
I sat between Dash and his father at dinner tonight, both of them dotting on me like I was some long lost relative. The two men still hardly said a word to each other...stubborn fools, Lynne calls them...but they seemed to find some common ground via me, some vessel through which they could communicate in a strange, unspoken language.
I wonder if I should tell Dash what his father said to me...about how proud he was of his son. I know it would make his day, despite the gruff answers I usually get when I bring up their relationship. I could tell he loves his father...and is desperate for his approval in spite of any contrary behavior.
I saw a picture of Tom today on the mantle in the great room. He does look a lot like Dash...right down to the beret. I only learned of his existence while in DC, as Dash took a trip to the Vietnam memorial the day after the gala and came back a looking a bit melancholy. At first he wouldn't tell me what was bothering him, but he opened up over dinner and it was then I learned of Tom Faireborn and the sad circumstances surrounding Dash's appearance on the scene.
He is convinced his father compares him unfavorably to his lost eldest. I don't doubt that Dash grew up in Tom's shadow, pain and loss coloring everything he knew as a young child, so much so that even when he was older and his father started seeing his youngest unclouded by memories of his lost son the pattern of behavior and interaction was set in stone. Neither of them knows how to interact without that shadow hanging between them.
I suppose I shouldn't get involved. Regardless of the wonderful time I have had these past few days I am still, for all intents and purposes and outsider. Who am I to judge right and wrong on 48 hours of observation and some dime store psychological assessment?
I wonder if they will ever be able to work things out between them. Carole says its enough that his father finally approved of something Dash had done, and from the look on his face I knew the roundabout praise hit home. Can walls built up for over 30 years come down over a mere fishing trip? Doubtful...
But maybe it did cause a crack in the foundation.
No. Its up to the two of them to work things out themselves, my interfering, however well intentioned, will most likely do more harm than good. I certainly am no role model for parent-child relations!
I will stay out of it...
...For now.
"Ok...now slowly reel it in and then cast out again. Watch where it lands this time...keep your eye on it...good, good..." I stood on the deck as the Colonel's warm hands guided mine through the age-old motion. He paused as we both looked out onto the calm water of the lake, still partially shrouded by the early morning fog.
"So...I understand you've seen combat..."
And so began one of the strangest conversations I have had in a long, long time.
You are probably wondering how in the world I ended up fishing out on Butler Lake, alone in a boat with Dash's father. I am still a bit bewildered at the whole scene myself.
It all began early this morning...very early.
I was having trouble sleeping and had decided to go down to the kitchen for something to drink. Eating, of course, was out of the question, as I was still suffering from last night's Chinese food orgy...but I had caught the scent of fresh coffee brewing downstairs and the temptation was too much.
It was chilly, so I slipped into a pair of jeans and one of Dashiell's flannel shirts before heading quietly down the hall so as to not wake anyone. Dash was out like a light and didn't even stir as I left the warmth of the bed. Usually he is a light sleeper, but I suppose in the comfort of his home he doesn't feel the need to sleep with one eye open, a habit he developed during his days with special ops.
In any case, there was no one in the darkened kitchen so I quickly poured myself a mug of java, grabbed my jacket, and headed outside to take in the sunrise.
The land around the old farmhouse was covered in a thin mist, and the sun was just inching its way across the horizon, bathing the fields in a soft glow. It really is beautiful out here...tranquil. The air is fresh and clean, and though it lacked the comforting salty tang of the sea, the Midwest is certainly not as boring as I was led to believe.
It was with thoughts of water and the ocean that I made my way down to the side of the house where...on a trailer hitched up to a big red Dodge Ram pickup...stood a beauty of a boat. I ran my hand along its hull; reveling in the feel of the soft, smooth mahogany on my skin. It was a good sized craft, and obviously well taken care off.
So busy was I looking at the boat that I failed to notice the figure on the bow.
"Couldn't sleep?"
I jumped at the sound of the voice, nearly spilling my coffee all over my shirt, and turned to see the Colonel staring down at me, his face expressionless.
"No...I smelled the coffee and it drew me in. I am sorry to bother you." I turned to walk away but his voice stopped me.
"She's a beauty, isn't she?" He said, almost to himself. He certainly wasn't expecting an answer, and was a bit stunned when I spoke.
"A Chris Craft Runabout...circa 1930 I should guess...in good condition too..."
"You know your boats..." he raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"You see a lot of them growing up in the Vineyard. My dad had one just like it...a wedding gift from my uncle. She was called Hart's Desire" I ran my hand lovingly against the chrome edge of the gunnels, "...he used to take me out on it when I was a kid."
I didn't add that my mother had sold the thing only months after his death, replacing it at the family dock with a huge Sea Ray 'Sundancer' which I quickly christened Hart's Blood. The irony of the name was lost on her.
He pause and stared at me for a moment, his eyes intense.
"Martha's Vineyard? I thought Dash said you were from Boston." He murmured, the expression on his face familiar to me...it is the same look Dash gets when he has just figured something out that's a bit distasteful and is not quite sure how to handle it.
"I'm from a lot of places...Boston, the Vineyard, Scotland, Ireland..." I smiled uncomfortably, not quite sure what I had done to set him off, "...but I guess I would call the island home."
We stood in silence, the only sound that of the crickets singing in the fields around us and the occasional creak as the boat settled against the trailer. From his perch in the cockpit the Colonel stared down, considering me carefully. I was about to retreat back to the house when I heard his voice break the still morning air.
"...Do you fish?"
So it was that I was loaded into the cab of the pickup along with Shep and a huge tackle box, and an hour later found myself in the middle of a lake fumbling with the unfamiliar feel of a fishing rod in my hand.
The journey out here had been spent in companionable silence, broken only by the occasional conversation about boats and sailing, as well as Shep's excited whines as we neared the water.
It was odd, but not uncomfortable...and both of us were loath to break the spell of the wind in our hair once we took off across the water in search of the perfect spot to drop our lines. After that, it was all about fishing.
The Faireborn patriarch is as good a teacher as Dash...patient and willing. I knew nothing about the sport despite being on the water most of my life and growing up eating seafood the way some kids eat hotdogs, but by the end of the day I was casting my line with ease. He showed me how to find the fish and pick a lure...he guided me through the various motions of casting and reeling...he talked of Bass and Catfish, Walleye and Crappie...and I listened intently, interjecting with a question here and there, sharing some tales of my cousins and their deep sea exploits with Shark and Marlin.
In fact, it wasn't until we about ready to head in that the conversation suddenly turned more personal.
"...I understand you've seen combat..."
I stayed silent, my eyes on the lure bobbing in the water a few feet ahead of me. I didn't know what to say. GIJOE is a secret organization, and although Dash's father is quite well connected in the military, to confirm his statement would reveal more than I am willing or allowed to share. Women see combat in one unit and one unit only...
He laughed quietly when he realized no response was forthcoming.
"You are like my son, tight mouthed about your work with Abernathy." He paused as he cast his line out again, watching it fall in the water precisely where he had planned.
"I had heard rumors that women were fighting at the frontlines beside the men. I didn't quite believe it until I heard about you. I wasn't sure what to make of it...I'm still not." He leaned back in his chair, "I have been in battle and I know what's its like...I saw action Okinawa and Midway...I won't lie to you, it was horrid, a nightmare made real. I lost my brother there. I sent three sons to Vietnam...two came back. I'm not too keen on seeing wives, mothers and daughters in the fray."
"I'm a soldier as much as you are..." I said quietly, slightly annoyed. Old school thinking...there was nothing to do about it...to defend myself would compromise the Joe team.
"Never said you weren't...never said you weren't. I doubt my son would be partnered with you otherwise. I was going to add that reading your record nearly made me change my mind...nearly. I'm impressed Corporal...not bad for a Hart."
I looked up suddenly at the sound of my family name and met his eye.
"So you ARE a Hart, then." He didn't smile at me, but his eyes held neither anger nor annoyance...merely curiosity. "I thought as much. No wonder my son was acting so strange yesterday."
"He's a good kid, you know. The best of my boys...smart, successful...even if he isn't an officer." He smiled and looked back out onto the water, "You know...of all of them, he was the one who could have gone all the way...retired a General. I saw the potential in him the day he was born...saw it in his eyes."
"He does very well where he is, you know...you should be proud of him." I added quietly, not sure whether I should interrupt. It wasn't my place...or was it?
"Hmmm...what? Oh, the Special Forces...well, as I mentioned he doesn't talk much about it...for all I know he's pushing paper. But I hear things...I know he's right there in the action, commanding, respected...of course I am proud of him. I am proud of all of them...but still..."
He sighed.
"I worry about him...the others not so much. Dash is...he's different. Always been a sensitive kid underneath all the bluster. I don't like seeing him hurt...and he's been hurt before, as you probably know. I warned him, but of course he didn't listen. It's always been like that, I would tell him one thing and he would go and do the exact opposite. I'm glad she's out of his life...nothing but trouble."
"And now he brings you home with him...a debutant cum soldier from one of the wealthiest families on the East Coast...You have to know he'll never be able to give you what you are used to...he's an army boy...a working boy...."
"I never asked..." but he held his hand up to stop me.
"I'm not saying anything...I'm just telling you how I see it. I'm an old man, I know a thing or two about life...and I know my son. He is quite taken with you...blinds him to reality...again. You and he are from two different worlds...I want what's best for my son, I want..."
I don't know how I held it together. I could feel my anger rising, but somehow I held it in check. Somehow I managed to keep my cool and answer him in a steady voice.
"You want the same things I want...to see him happy..."
We looked at each other for a moment, and then I saw him smile.
"You've got a temper...I can see it in your eyes. You were going to rip my head off, weren't you?"
"I can neither confirm nor deny..." I smiled back and laughed, suddenly realizing what this was all about, "You took me out here to ask me my intentions towards your son, didn't you?"
At that he got all blustery and began to act...well...to act exactly like Flint would if caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Carole told me yesterday that the two of them never got along...that they were too different. After today, I have to disagree...
...They are too much alike!
"I gave it all up years ago...long before I met Dash. The money, I mean." I reeled in my line slowly, "As far as the Harts are concerned I am dead to them."
He looked over at me...and listened as I continued.
"I would be lying if I said I didn't miss it. But I made my choices in life and I have no regrets..." I met his eye, confident, unflinching, "...and I love your son. I didn't let anything get in my way when I left for the military...and I will not let anything get in my way with Dash. Not money, not my mother, not you...not anyone..."
We continued to stare at each other in silence as I waited for him to blow a fuse and throw me off his boat.
"You know..." he paused, collecting his thoughts "I think you are going to fit in here just fine...Corpo...Alison."
He smiled at me then and patted my shoulder affectionately, but before I could respond I felt a tug at the end of my rod.
"Hey...HEY! I think I got a bite...I got a bite...WOW!"
"Good girl! Now remember what I told you...."
And so ended my unexpected interview with Colonel Joe Faireborn. On the way back, he asked me more questions about myself, and my family. He is a nice man, a good man. And he obviously loves his family.
Speaking of which, they were all waiting for us when we finally made our way up the driveway at lunchtime, staring at me incredulously.
"What do you mean you went fishing?" Dash stood before me amazed as I showed off the Bass I had caught, "...fishing? With my dad...on the boat?"
"No Dash, we fished from the truck. Of course we went on the boat. It handles really well, although I think that the rudder needs to be adj..."
"He let you DRIVE the boat????" Carole exclaimed from behind me, Mickey and John just stood there with their mouths hanging open. Ray merely sat down and shook his head in amazement. Dash looked ready to collapse.
"What? What's a matter with you guys? Don't you like fish?" I held it up again, rather proud of myself..."I wanted to put it back, but your father wouldn't let me...said we could have it for dinner..."
"Which means I am going to have to show you how to clean the thing..." The Colonel came up behind me and took the fish from my hands "...its too bad we don't have a camera...you can send a picture to those Hart cousins of yours. Show them what a real fisherman can do. Marlin my ass...Dash, what's the matter with you, son? You look like you've seen a ghost..."
"Allie, go and see what you can do about the rudder on that thing...I'll put this baby on ice." Dash and the others stared at me with their mouths hanging open as their father walked up the stairs towards the house
As he passed Dashiell, he stopped and said something in a low voice. I couldn't quite make it out, but Dash blinked hard twice, turning to look at me with an odd expression on his face.
Mind you, as he disappeared through the door his last few words were clear enough to be heard by all of us.
"That girl is a Fairborn...temper and all."
Everyone stood frozen in place for a split second, before rushing at me all at once.
"Welcome to the family, girl!" Lynne kissed me on the cheek. I was confused and didn't really know what to say.
"God, he never lets ANYONE on his boat. Especially not a female! How the heck did you do it?" Carole hugged me, jumping up and down like a schoolgirl.
"I didn't do anything!"
"Well, you obviously did something..." Ray smiled and hugged me, "...my father has given you the thumbs up."
"More than the thumbs up! He let her take the wheel of the old girl!" John laughed, "Christ, Dash...you had better not let this one out of your sight or Dad will kill you..."
"Did he say Hart?" Joannie asked, "You're a Hart?! And he took you fishing? Wow..."
Dash meanwhile was still frozen on the porch, in his own little world. I left the gaggle of siblings behind me as I approached him, taking his hand.
"You ok? Did I do something wrong?"
He looked down on me then and smiled, bringing his hand up to brush my cheek.
"No...you didn't do anything wrong. Nothing wrong at all..." and suddenly I found myself in his arms as he spun me round in sheer delight.
"You are amazing, you know that?" He laughed at my confused expression and kissed me.
"You are all insane! The whole lot of you!" I exclaimed, trying not to laugh.
'Yeah..." Mickey ruffled my hair as he passed, "...but as far as my father is concerned you are one of us now. So I guess we had better fit you for a straight jacket."
So there you have it...somehow I had passed the test. I had been interviewed and accepted by the Colonel. Seems as though I am the only one who has done so BEFORE being engaged to one of the boys, and after knowing him for less than 48 hours. That I had been on the boat was a tale that would be told for generations to come. Apparently he is worse than Dash is about his car when it comes to the old Chris Craft.
I sat between Dash and his father at dinner tonight, both of them dotting on me like I was some long lost relative. The two men still hardly said a word to each other...stubborn fools, Lynne calls them...but they seemed to find some common ground via me, some vessel through which they could communicate in a strange, unspoken language.
I wonder if I should tell Dash what his father said to me...about how proud he was of his son. I know it would make his day, despite the gruff answers I usually get when I bring up their relationship. I could tell he loves his father...and is desperate for his approval in spite of any contrary behavior.
I saw a picture of Tom today on the mantle in the great room. He does look a lot like Dash...right down to the beret. I only learned of his existence while in DC, as Dash took a trip to the Vietnam memorial the day after the gala and came back a looking a bit melancholy. At first he wouldn't tell me what was bothering him, but he opened up over dinner and it was then I learned of Tom Faireborn and the sad circumstances surrounding Dash's appearance on the scene.
He is convinced his father compares him unfavorably to his lost eldest. I don't doubt that Dash grew up in Tom's shadow, pain and loss coloring everything he knew as a young child, so much so that even when he was older and his father started seeing his youngest unclouded by memories of his lost son the pattern of behavior and interaction was set in stone. Neither of them knows how to interact without that shadow hanging between them.
I suppose I shouldn't get involved. Regardless of the wonderful time I have had these past few days I am still, for all intents and purposes and outsider. Who am I to judge right and wrong on 48 hours of observation and some dime store psychological assessment?
I wonder if they will ever be able to work things out between them. Carole says its enough that his father finally approved of something Dash had done, and from the look on his face I knew the roundabout praise hit home. Can walls built up for over 30 years come down over a mere fishing trip? Doubtful...
But maybe it did cause a crack in the foundation.
No. Its up to the two of them to work things out themselves, my interfering, however well intentioned, will most likely do more harm than good. I certainly am no role model for parent-child relations!
I will stay out of it...
...For now.