5
In which Gordon arrives at the house, and is introduced to Virgil. Thanks very much, to Barb, Darkhelmet, Opal Girl and the others, for all your comments and suggestions. Since this certainly sort of seems to be another work-in-progress, your ideas are quite valuable.
Jeff clambered onto the middle bench of the humvee, stretched out, and went immediately to sleep, using his wrinkled suit jacket as an ersatz blanket. In less than thirty seconds, he was snoring.
Gordon sat slumped in the forward passenger seat, more than a little bleary, himself. Every so often he tuned in to bits of Scott's animated monologue, which seemed to consist mostly of family history and descriptions. 'Virgil', he gathered, liked to hunt and fish, played piano and painted, while 'John' was a bit of a cipher, the sheltered 'odd duck' of the Tracy family. There was another brother, or maybe not quite a brother, about whom Scott had very little to say. 'Albert', or some such; Gordon was too tired to absorb it all at one go. He needed quiet, rest, aspirin...
Given Scott's break-neck speed, they were very quick to reach the upper end of thecraggy volcanic island. There, he pulled their vehicle into a covered carport which huddled in the shadow of an enormous mansion.
'Bloody hell,' Gordon thought to himself, looking up through the passenger window, 'it's a damn palace!'
Except that it wasn't what you'd call classical, exactly. More a vast, modular, cantilevered, Frank Lloyd Wright sort of affair. Lots of windows and ledges, lava rock and shell-studded concrete. It all but poured from the mountain side. Didn't match the whole 'spear-wielding natives fling shrieking virgin to the volcano-god' scenario he'd sleepily dreamt up.
"Gordon!" Scott called, giving his shoulder a friendly punch. "You with me?"
"Oh..., Right. Sorry. Just, um..., admirin' th' house."
Scott followed his awe-struck gaze, a broad white grin splitting his tanned face.
"Yeah. The house. It's, ah..."
"Big," Gordon suggested, for want of anything kinder.
"Uh-huh. 'Big' about covers it," Scott agreed, wincing a little. "Of course, 'Architectural Nightmare' comes in a pretty close second, but that's just my opinion." Glancing sideways at the red-haired boy, Scott suddenly added,
"We're not really from here, you know. Virge and John, and me... And you , too. We're from the States. Kansas, originally, but there's property up in Colorado and Wyoming, as well. Farm and ranch land. Just so you know; this, um... this is new."
"New. Got it."
The distinction seemed important to Scott, so Gordon went along, supposing that matters would be clearer after a nap. He desperately wanted time alone, but there were further introductions to be made, more relations to meet.
Turning half way around in the driver's seat, Scott woke Jeff with a quiet,
"Father, we're at the house."
The older man roused himself at once, clearly still exhausted, but alert enough to nod, sit up, and run a hand through his mussed grey hair.
"Right." Collecting his suit jacket and travel bag, he opened the humvee's middle door and climbed stiffly forth. Scott and Gordon followed suit, Scott after cutting off the vehicle's engine and placing the keys in the dashboard glove box. Not much bother with thieves, apparently.
Jeff patted back a jaw-cracking yawn, then stretched until his joints popped.
"I'm headed upstairs," he informed his eldest son. "I'll be flying back to the Tokyo branch tonight, so until then, unless there's an emergency, I'd prefer not to be disturbed."
Scott nodded seriously.
"Yes, Father. I'll send Kyrano up with breakfast, and a paper, whenever you're ready."
Jeff favored his dark-haired son with an approving smile, saying,
"Good boy; hold the fort, and wake me at need." Then, slapping Gordon's nearer shoulder, he added, "Welcome home," and turned to go.
Scott's ramrod posture relaxed a little when his father was out of sight along the winding path to the house.
"C'mon," he said, giving the boy a friendly cuff to the back of the head. "Virge was out by the pool, when I left, drawing something. Probably hasn't moved an inch, since."
Gordon looked around a good deal as they climbed the flagstoned path, only half listening to Scott. There were, he noted uncomfortably, things skittering, buzzing, clambering and growing literally everywhere. If it wasn't blossoming, it was screaming, flapping or darting.
In Sheffield and Drogheda, folk kept their plants in pots at the window, or in tidy garden plots. In Madrid, there were Moorish-tiled courtyards filled with well-tended orange trees and climbing roses, the lot hemmed in by wrought iron and high walls. Here..., well, from Gordon's perspective, the botanical inmates were running the asylum. A bit of order and a hatchet was what it wanted.
The path branched off, at one point, and Scott took the left-hand way. Gordon fixed the route in his head, for later reference. Passing beneath an arbor heavy with flowering vines, they came to a sort of patio area, split leveled, with two pools, neither of them large enough for a decent workout.
'Cross that in no time,' he thought dejectedly. 'Have to more than double the total laps...,'
The pool deck was surrounded by a low, ivy-draped wall. There was a good bit of artfully arranged statuary and patio furniture there, and some tall potted plants.
Scott cut between a chaise longue and an umbrella table, leading the way to where a solitary figure in a paint-stained tee shirt and jeans sat crouched over a sketch pad, a stubby pastel crayon seeming incongruously small in his large, work-roughened hand. His hair was lighter than Scott's, a warm brown, and wavier, with a tendency to spring back from the forehead. His eyes, too, were brown, where Scott's were dark blue. More than that, the middle Tracy was large; even seated, he gave an overall impression of bear-like strength and power.
Gordon sized him up quickly as someone best not tackled hand-to-
hand; alone, at least. Definitely, the fellow would have the reach on him.
Virgil looked up from his drawing, did a startled double-take and dropped the sketch pad, frightening a nearby bird into sudden, squawking flight. He got to his feet, staring first at Gordon, then, questioningly, at Scott. His older brother nodded, smiling broadly.
Gordon tensed, but Virgil didn't rush him as Scott had. Instead, he came slowly forward, a shocked and wondering look on his face. He stopped less than a meter before Gordon, then extended a hand and, though the boy twitched away a bit, touched his face, brushing at the sun-bleached copper hair above his forehead.
"Still a carrot top."
Virgil laughed a little, like someone who'd just been given an unexpected, heart-stoppingly wondrous gift, then hauled him into a rib-crushing hug.
"Gordon...!" He whispered, "Gordon David Tracy! Damn good to see you again, little brother. Damn good."
Finally, he was released, and stood there between Scott and Virgil feeling strangely hollow. How could they love him so much, when they didn't even know him? And worse yet... how could he, guiltily and miserably, feel nothing in return? Fortunately, his new brothers were too distracted to notice.
They talked excitedly of introducing him to 'John', occasionally shoving him around, or playfully tousling his hair. Then, with a big smile, Virgil asked,
"So, what've you been doing with yourself all this time, Kiddo? Hiding?"
Hiding?
He thought of his mum, gone now, and of the Fellows family in Sheffield, where he'd first experienced curry. Madrid, the athletic dorms, what had felt like an unending rosary of hospital visits... Hiding?
He had to say something. They were looking at him, expectant and friendly.
"Um..., I bunked with my team, at th' dormitory. Did a bit of competition swimmin'. Nothin' much, really."
Virgil, hearing him speak for the first time, cocked his head quizzically, and smiled a little.
"In England?" He hazarded.
Gordon shifted his stance uncomfortably, looking slightly away. They'd moved around so much; his mum forever dreading phone calls in the night, or people coming to take him away from her. He'd been very strictly raised not to speak with curious strangers, or answer questions about himself in any but the most general terms. He wasn't to look suspicious or unfriendly, mind you, but to politely get away and tell her at once, if anyone evinced too much interest in him..., and then they'd move, again. Hiding, after all. Still, some sort of answer was called for.
"Oh..., a bit of all over, really. Here an' about with th' swim team, y' know."
"Could come in handy," Virgil reasoned aloud. "On some of our European mi..."
Scott gave a short, sharp cough, bringing his hand to his mouth, and shaking his head. Virgil immediately changed the subject.
"Anyway; c'mon, we'll give you the grand tour. If you like swimming, you're in heaven, kiddo, 'cause you've got two pools, plus the ocean. Perfect, huh?"
And then, clapping a hand to the back of Gordon's neck, Virgil led their way up to the house.
