Jeff slammed the front door so hard the porcelain figurines in the curio cabinet shook. Renee was too angry with her son to even move. She privately counted to ten. After realizing that didn't help, she slammed the back door making her own exit from the scene. Sam pulled the car into the driveway in time to see his "son" ride off on a motorcycle. His "wife" stood next to the garage just waiting for him so she could begin, "Do you know what he said today? Have you any idea what he said?"
Sam barely had time to get out of the car before she demanded an answer. "Hi, honey. Was that Jeff?"
She looked at him as if he was crazy. "Who do you think it was? Who else around here rides a motorcycle? He's the only one who's that foolish." There wasn't even a millisecond of time taken for a breath. "The principal called today. Our son, our little valedictorian, doesn't want to go to graduation. He's supposed to give the valedictory address. He's refusing to show up."
"He's valedictorian?"
Now she was angry with Sam. "When you're ready to talk about it, let me know. I'm going for a walk. Watch the roast in the oven." The smoke she left behind was almost as thick as the smoke from Jeff's motorcycle.
It was amazing how many times the phrase "Oh, boy," was appropriate. Walking toward the house, Sam thought about young Jeff and his volatile mother. He wasn't prepared for the anger he saw. From what Al told him, he thought Jeff probably wasn't much of a student and finding a college to take him would be hard, but this kid was a valedictorian, a valedictorian on a motorcycle with a rebellious streak as big as the city itself.
The back door was still open and the smell of a nearly done roast permeated the air. His common sense told him red meat wasn't healthful, but Sam always enjoyed a good piece of beef. He checked dinner and then made his way farther into the house. From what he could tell, he was alone. This kind of time was precious. It gave Sam an opportunity to investigate his current life. The ranch house was typical for the burgeoning suburb. He entered through the kitchen noticing the immaculate counter tops and sparkling white enameled appliances. Even Thelma Beckett would be in awe of the cleanliness here.
Finding the bedroom wasn't much trouble and Sam started looking for a change of clothes. Dan had a comfortable wardrobe, which was always a pleasure. The wall held a family portrait. They were pretty much an average looking bunch, except for the boy that had to be Jeff. This boy just didn't look like his siblings. In the Harrington faces was that All-American lack of ethnicity. Mousey brown hair, nondescript eyes, average build, not handsome, not altogether unattractive, just kind of normal. Then there was Jeff. His curly hair was dark, and worn long and wild. Even though he was small boned there was a strength in his build. A decided impatience shown in his dark eyes. This kid was the family oddball. A small chuckle sounded out. Whispering to no one Sam said, "Looks like Al."
From behind him he heard, "Don't blame him on me. I was only 16 when he was born."
Turning around with the smirk still on his face, "Well, it's not impossible, Al. I mean, you weren't exactly inexperienced with women when you were 16."
Al found no humor in Sam's gentle taunting. "Drop it."
For some reason, the conversation was making the Admiral more nervous than it should have. "What's the matter? You all right?"
He rolled his eyes and said, "I'm fine. I just have a weird feeling about this one and I don't know why yet."
With nothing more than that to go on, Sam decided to change the subject. He went for a safe subject. "How's Dan doing?"
"Verbena's with him. I think he's okay," but that was part of the problem. Everything seemed okay except for his queasiness. He became lost in his thoughts.
Sam started searching the closet for a change of clothes. "Any more word on Jeff? I saw him tear out of here on a motorcycle. He drives like you, too."
The crack brought Al back to the current situation and he wasn't amused. "I'm not his father." Al, unlike anyone else involved in the project, was fully aware of his alternate life history where he was married five times.
"It was a joke, Al. Take it easy. What's the matter? You've been acting weird since this leap started." He pulled a green polo shirt and a pair of jeans from the selection in front of him.
The Admiral shook his head, puzzled by the apprehension he felt. "I think maybe I met the kid in one of the camps. Ziggy says he dies in 1972. I was in a big camp then, lots of men, well, boys mostly. The boys were the saddest. They had a lot of trouble there."
Al had a tendency to minimize his enslavement in Vietnam by making others out to be the victims and heroes of that most ugly of wars. "Don't forget, buddy, you were young, too."
He quietly admitted to his best friend, "I was older then than I am now. The boys didn't live through the beating as well as us older guys. I mean, they beat us just as bad. Worse, usually, but the torture really messed up the boys."
It always overwhelmed Sam that his friend could throw around words like "beating" and "torture" the way other men talked about baseball and golf.
Al continued to reflect. "Jeff Harrington, I think maybe he was in camp with me, but Sam, I promised I'd never forget their names, you know the ones that died and now, I can't come up with a single one. How could I forget them, Sam? I watched them die and I promised I'd remember their names." He felt profound disappointment in himself.
Sam saw the horror of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome encroaching once again. "Al, you need to talk to Verbena. I don't know how to help you with this Vietnam stuff."
His reaction was quick and too defensive. "Did I ask for help?"
Sam made sure his eyes met the Admiral's. "Friends don't need to ask."
Al sheepishly looked away, embarrassed by his snapped response. Embarrassed also by his admissions about Vietnam. Those were protected thoughts he never meant to share.
From the hallway they heard Renee's rapidly approaching footsteps. She came into the bedroom and without saying anything she wrapped her arms around Sam and cried. A weird chill made Al shudder. Something about her eyes worried him, but he shook it off. The Admiral never handled tears well. "Sam, do something."
Sam nodded, held Renee and watched Al disappear into the white light of the imaging chamber door. "We'll get him into college, Renee. I know we will."
Without pulling away from her husband she said, "How can he do this to me?"
He kept his arms around her, but his face had a puzzled look. For some reason, he expected her to wonder how Jeff could do this to himself, not to her. Now, like Al, Sam was starting to feel uncomfortable. Exactly what was going on here?
The Observer decided to duck out. He exited the Imaging Chamber and quietly handed over the handlink to Gooshie. "What time is it anyhow?"
"Ten thirty. Have you eaten anything? You know, sometimes, you don't eat when Sam's in a leap." He had forgotten food again. "Admiral, Mrs. Calavicci told me to send you home for breakfast."
He hadn't heard a word she said, but he answered, "Yeah, thanks."
"Ziggy said that visitor's son died in Vietnam. Every time a leap has something to do with the war, you get a little unsettled."
He hated the idea that he was that transparent. "Unsettled? That's just what I need to hear. I'm going to my quarters. Call me if you need me, but only if you really need me." The elevator door opened. He was tired. Averaging about four hours sleep a night for more than ten years made him always feel tired. This was different though. This exhaustion had something to do with the leap. Something felt really odd, but worrying wasn't going to help. Maybe his PTSS was coming up again. Each time the humiliating self-betrayal resurfaced, he was surprised and angered. Al Calavicci was no mental case, but even he was having a harder and harder time believing that.
When he entered his rooms, Beth was in a debate with the only Calavicci daughter still at home. Allegra was her father's child. Of the four girls, Allegra looked most like him, had his temperament, his mind, and at 16 she even had his dark side. Beth was wagging her finger, always a bad sign, "You're not going. Period."
Al shook his head, "What's wrong?"
Allegra came to her father's side. He was usually her ally and together they overturned Beth's decisions more often than Beth liked. "Daddy, I'm 16 now."
"I can't imagine your mother is debating that. Where does she not want you to go?"
"An overnight party, that's all. I'm 16."
Beth piped in, "Ask her where this party is."
The Admiral looked at his wild child knowing he would not be overturning Beth's decision this time. "Okay, where?"
"It's just a party." She hoped he wouldn't want more information, but his eyes told her to fess up or else. "It's at the Doubletree in Albuquerque."
There was something Allegra didn't want to tell her father, but he continued, "Whose party?"
"Tiffany Hassilev. It's her birthday."
He continued to stare into her eyes, "Chaperones?"
The young woman whined, "Daddy, I'm 16."
Al could whine right back with the best of them, "I'm 64 and I was 16 once and I should have been chaperoned until I was 22. How dumb do you think I am? You're not going."
"Daddy, please."
"Allegra, it's not going to happen. That's it." His stomach rumbled loud enough for everyone to hear.
The youngest Calavicci rolled here eyes and started toward her room, "Fine. I won't go. I'll be an outcast. No one will ever invite me again. My parents don't trust me." She kept on muttering until they heard her door close.
Al sat at the kitchen table, buried his head in his hands and started laughing, "Where did we get that one?"
Beth put her arms around him, "Al honey, she's all you, all you. Now you know what my life has been like."
He leaned into her arms looking for comfort, "Babe, I love you. If you hadn't been there when I got home my life would have been a complete mess."
The reference to Vietnam was a warning signal. The Admiral was going to be having some hard times. "Oh, Al. Again? More dreams?"
He wanted her to hold onto him for dear life. "Not yet. Soon, I think."
The words chilled her. She'd heard them before and they always meant nightly horrible recollections of his personal hell. She had to brace herself because his hell always became the family's. At least Allegra was at an age where she had some understanding why her father sometimes screamed out in his sleep. Beth turned her focus back to her husband, "Al, you want something to eat?"
He shook his head. "I'd rather get some rest." He left Beth in the kitchen. Watching him walk away, head down, she knew the first of the dreams would be coming very soon.
Verbena Beeks was tidying up her perpetually disordered desk. It was almost 5:15 and she wanted to check on Dan Harrington before she signed out for the day. In her eyes, this was a dream leap. Dan was cooperative and didn't protest the light sleep medication Verbena administered. Al was getting much needed rest. Ziggy was in fine technical order. She was on her way out when she heard a voice.
"Dr. Beeks, I need to speak with you privately."
The voice belonged to Ziggy and the blessed calm Verbena was just reflecting on was instantly shattered. If Ziggy wanted her, then something was up. "What's wrong?"
"I'm not sure if anything is wrong. I discovered something in my investigation of Daniel Harrington and his family that may impact on the outcome of Dr. Beckett's leap."
"Shouldn't you be talking to the Admiral?"
The pause was long enough to let Verbena know something very bad was going on here. "I believe that you're the appropriate person to speak with. Perhaps you should sit down."
Verbena followed orders and felt her heart rate increase. "Okay, Ziggy. Give."
"Daniel Harrington's original name was Elwin Daniel Hackett. In 1943, prior to his current career, he was a salesman. He met his wife in New York City where he impregnated Renee. They left New York together at that time. In 1944four months subsequent to their marriage, their first son Arnold was born."
None of this seemed earth shattering. "What aren't you telling me?"
"Mrs. Harrington goes by Renee currently. Her original name was Irina. Daniel is her second husband. She was married before and had two children, the first, like Arnold, born of out wedlock a year prior to her marriage. When she ran away with Daniel, she abandoned her children when their biological father was overseas. Later, the father returned and attempted to reconcile with his children, but he died within months leaving the children orphaned."
The story wasn't unfamiliar and her intuition told her exactly the problem confronting them, but she needed to hear it. "Keep going, Ziggy. Say it out loud."
"Dr. Beeks, Renee Hackett is Irina Calavicci, the Admiral's biological mother."
Throwing her gaze to the ceiling Verbena cringed and moaned, "Damn it and this leap was going so well, too."
"I'm sorry, but I've checked every other possible scenario and she is his mother. I've also run every possible scenario regarding the importance of this information and according to my preliminary calculations, this fact should not impact directly on Dr. Beckett's mission, therefore it may not be necessary for the Admiral to be told."
"Not tell him? What do you think the Admiral will do if he discovers this on his own or worse after Sam leaps out of Dan Harrington?"
The computer was running the scenarios and finally, wistfully answered. "It is at times like this I'm glad I wasn't programmed to love. Good day, Dr. Beeks."
"Wait, Ziggy. Where is the Admiral now?"
"He's in his quarters. Goodbye."
She slowly exhaled, "Oh, boy."
Al woke up agitated, out of breath and sweating. The night terrors and dreamed recollections of his tortured incarceration startled him from sleep. This wasn't a good sign. Impossible as he knew it was, he felt Vietnam's dirt and grime on his face, and, while his bared back certainly wasn't bleeding, he shivered with the specter of raw, open wounds. Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome was too sanitized a name for what was happening to him yet again. It certainly was not post and the trauma was more than stress. There wasn't going to be any more sleep.
Allegra heard the sounds and came to his room. Opening the door slowly, she stood by quietly until she felt it safe to let him know she was there. She sat at the end of his bed. "Daddy? It's okay. You're home. You're safe."
His fatherly heart broke to hear his little girl comforting him. It was patently unfair that his children should have to go through this. He sat up and rubbed his eyes with one hand. "You'd think I'd know that by now. Sorry, kid."
She took his hand. "Mom went to the store. She just left about half an hour ago." His hair was wet from sweat. "Why don't you take a shower. You'll feel better. Mom left some spaghetti Bolognese for you. I'll go heat it up."
"You shouldn't be taking care of me. This is wrong."
"No, it isn't. It's exactly right. Go shower before you get all stinky."
Laughing out loud made him feel better. "God, I love you, kid."
She stood up and in a cadence too much like his she said, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get going." Winking at him, she left him alone.
A hot shower washed away the past for the time being. He pulled on a pair of slacks, but his back felt raw, like he still had open cuts slicing across it. He didn't want a shirt just yet. The fire of the recollected beating had to die down first. The emptiness in the pit of his stomach was eased with the homemade pasta Allegra prepared. He ate about half of the plate and couldn't down any more. He moved into his small home office and sat down in front of his computer console, but the administrative tasks of running the Project held no interest.
However, the desire to take off on his new sleek motorcycle started gaining momentum. He wanted to get out on the road again and feel the wind press against him as he flew along the highways. That would have to wait though. Dan Harrington's youngest son's name would be inscribed forever on the Wall if he couldn't help figure out how to save him. He barely heard Allegra call him, "Dad, Dr. Beeks is here."
"Beeks? I'll be right out." He saved his work, slipped back into the bedroom to grab a black silk tee shirt to pull over his head. Walking into the living room he saw the project shrink, "Verbena, everything okay?"
The psychiatrist was seated on the couch. "Dan is fine, but there's a wrinkle you need to know."
He sat in an armchair across from her and kept the conversation moving. "What can I do for you?"
The inevitable had arrived. "Al, there's something about this leap. It's peripheral information actually. Shouldn't impact on Sam at all, but . . ." She stopped talking in anticipation of the explosion she was about to witness.
"You're making me nervous."
Easing into the subject seemed the better route. "Does the name Elwin Hackett sound familiar?"
It wasn't completely unfamiliar, but nothing about it brought any real recollection. "I don't think so. Who is he?"
"Elwin Hackett is Daniel Harrington's original name. He changed it." Al's face questioned the importance of the information so far. "Renee was married before. Dan got her pregnant and she left her husband and two children in New York City to run off with him." Al's throat tightened and he had to consciously relax in order to breathe. "That's when they changed their names."
He knew exactly where this was going, but someone else had to say it out loud first. "What was her name?"
No more evasion was possible. "Irina Calavicci." Verbena braced herself for a wave of fury, but it never came.
His eyes narrowed down and he grunted out a laugh. "It's been one hell of a day." Avoidance was always his way to handle uncomfortable situations. "You want some coffee? Ally makes great espresso."
This was certainly not the reaction she expected. "That's it, Al?"
"Does Sam know?"
"Not yet. Ziggy found out in her research. She told me. We're the only ones."
"If it doesn't matter to the leap, then it doesn't matter at all."
His nonchalance bothered her. "I don't believe that."
With a practiced, disarming, charming smile he said, "Sweetheart, I'm sorry, but I don't care what you believe and," he repeated, "If it doesn't matter to the leap, it doesn't matter at all."
Verbena leaned closer to him, "I'm sorry, Admiral. I'm sorry you have to see her again. Can you be objective here?"
His dark eyes bore into hers "Trudy was four when our mother left us and, in case you didn't know, she had Down syndrome and was severely mentally retarded. Our mother abandoned us and for nine days, I bathed my sister. I fed her. I changed her diapers. I read to her. I put her to bed. Kind of a lot to expect of a seven-year-old, don't you think? Now you tell me if I can be objective. If I could, I really would be nuts and you'd have me on a couch staring at ink blots." He hoped he was hiding his growing anxiety. Standing up was an invitation for Verbena to leave and she understood. "I have to check on Sam, so I guess I'll end up seeing her again."
"Okay, Admiral. If you need to talk, call me anytime and I mean anytime."
After she left, Al had the freedom he required. Both his hands immediately clenched into fists that were not going to open for anyone. Deep breaths weren't helping much and only seemed to fan the fire in his gut. He wanted to douse the heat with a bottle of Glenlivet, but opted for pounding a fist into the table. "Damn it."
Allegra overheard it all. "Dad, is my grandmother really part of this leap?"
"That woman is not your grandmother. She has to earn that title by being my mother and she didn't bother doing that." He had slept, sort of, ate a little and still he felt tired and hungry, but sleep and food held no appeal. "I'm going to get some info from Ziggy and then see Sam. Tell you mother." Flexing his fingers, he walked back into his tiny office and activated his computer terminal. "Ziggy, anything new on Jeff?"
It took a few seconds for the computer to respond. "Have you spoken to Dr. Beeks?"
"Renee is my mother. Anything new on Jeff? How is he doing in school?"
"You're half brother is a 4.0 student, Admiral."
Al hadn't really considered Jeff in that light. He had a half brother. He had fourhalf brothers and two half sisters. There was this family in Chicago and he had a blood tie to it. He shook the thought out of his head physically. "I'm bordering on being extremely out of patience. Don't make me drag everything out of you."
Resigned to Al's mood, Ziggy continued. "Jeff seems to have inherited many of the same traits you did." Al cringed at the comparison. "He likes to move fast on machines and with girls. He has had the lead in three school plays and has a particular aptitude for electrical design, physics, astronomy, theater, literature and art. See what I mean? Just like his half brother."
"Stop calling him my half brother. It doesn't impact on the leap, so drop it."
"Originally I did say there would be no impact, but I reconsidered. You, more than anyone, are capable of understanding Jeff's dilemma. His mother doesn't understand his ways and his ways are yours." Continuing, Ziggy asked, "Do you look more like your father or your mother?"
Al had to think back to the few pictures he had of his father pictures that were only in his mind. "My father was built more like Sam, you know, tall, broad shoulders. I guess I'm more like my mother, lucky me."
"Remember when Dan arrived, he said you looked familiar. Jeff's physical resemblance to you may be part of the problem. Perhaps Renee never reconciled her abrupt departure from you and your sister and transferred that guilt onto Jeff. He is, in essence, being punished for reminding her of you."
As he spoke, he hated what he said, "Am I supposed to care?"
"I'm only offering this analysis to help Jeff."
Privately he admitted Ziggy was right, but he needed to maintain some sense of authority. In the ugliest voice he could muster to cover his apprehension he said, "Don't patronize me." His own mind was racing faster than Ziggy's CPU. He walked from his office and told Allegra, "I'm going to see Sam." He was on his way out the door when he stopped, returned to his child and held her. "I love you, Allegra. You need to know that." He touched her innocent face and kissed her forehead. "You have to know that."
Allie was a bit disconcerted, "I do, Dad. I love you, too."
Ten minutes later, the Imaging Chamber spun around the Admiral for a few seconds and then he "landed" in Dan and Renee's bedroom. The sight of Sam asleep next to his mother even if at a Sam Beckett respectable distance threw his rage into his heart. She'd sleep with anyone. He felt himself growing pale and forced a few deep breaths to help steady his nerves. Renee couldn't hear him, so he spoke out at a normal volume, "Wake up, Sam. Come on. We got to talk."
It took almost half a minute of one-sided conversation to get Sam to open his eyes. The moment Sam was able to focus he got up motioning for Al to follow him. They didn't speak until they were on the back porch. Al wasn't hiding his bitterness very well. He started in right away, asking with all the sarcasm he had, "Is she any good in bed?"
Sam knew when the Admiral was being playful. This was not one of those times. "Not funny, Al. She's a wreck with worry."
"You mean you didn't screw her?" Al didn't want to say these things but something almost compelled him to. "She only married you because she got pregnant and anyway, you should be worrying about Jeff, not her."
Something was really wrong. Not only did Al sound drunk angry, he was dressed in plain black. No color anywhere. "What's the real problem here, Al?" For Sam, Al's eyes were always the alcohol giveaway. From what Sam could tell, the Admiral was stone cold sober and that almost made him more nervous. "Jeff isn't home yet."
"I'm not surprised." The leaper looked puzzled. "Sam, when you go off mad on a motorcycle, you stay out all night."
"How do you know?" Realizing exactly how he knew, Sam followed up immediately, "Oh, I forgot you used to do that." The motor pool at PQL had one corner reserved for Al's array of bikes. No amount of talk about the hazards kept the Admiral from racing away every so often on one of his imported machines. "That garage of yours still packed with donorcycles, I mean motorcycles?"
He skipped over the reference to organ donors. "Yeah, just picked up a new one, an Italian import. Maybe I'll go for a ride when I get back." The thought of riding into the New Mexico mountains really appealed to him.
"I know why Jeff rode off, but why do you have to?" The lack of a verbal answer was a full chapter of information. Al was in distress. Vietnam would do it, but then a lot of things would. "Al, what's the date at the project?"
"July 28th."
The date didn't ring a bell. Amazingly he remembered June 15 was Al's birthday. That shouldn't be a problem unless, "Did you just have a big birthday like your 60th?"
"Sixty?" While Al looked and behaved far younger than his age, he was surprised Sam shaved years from the reality. "I just turned 64. Why should that matter?"
"I'm trying to figure why you're on edge here. I don't think it's Jeff. Something's going on with you. What's wrong?"
It was an invitation to tell Sam about Renee, but he still couldn't give voice to this information, not to Sam. It amazed him that seeing his mother, at his age, had such a profound effect on him. The woman had been out of his life for 57 years. "You're going to think it's stupid."
Hoping to relieve the tension, Sam teased, "I know. Beth's mad at you."
Sam just gave him an out. A sheepish grin was produced and with a typical arm-waving gesture he confessed, "Yeah, Beth's mad. So what's new?"
"She'll get over it. I don't know why, but she always forgives you for whatever it is you do."
Trying to get on the subject Al shot back, "Cute. Now, about Jeff."
Sam sat in a rattan chair. "I've been thinking about him, Al. Why would a valedictorian want to go off and join the Army at the height of the Vietnam War?"
"I hate to break the news to you, but some smart guys went to Vietnam, Sam." Ziggy was making all the appropriate noises as Al punched in query after query, but the things he was telling Sam came from his own experience, not from the computer. "Jeff has never fit in. He's the least favorite kid in this house and he knows it." He pointed toward the bedroom. "Going to Vietnam is his way of punishing her."
"Does he hate his mother that much?"
"He probably loves her, but that just makes her rejection all the worse. Since the day he was born, he's reminded her of. . ." and he caught himself before he said too much, at least he thought he had.
"Of what?"
The Admiral started pacing back and forth. "I don't know. I'm just talking." The pacing quickened. "Listen, Sam. Jeff wants his mother to love him and she doesn't and she never will. What could be the ultimate revenge?"
"You're asking me? How should I know?"
"You don't know, but I do, smart boy." His temper was starting to get the better of him. The news about Renee was festering too quickly. "When you really want to get to someone, you make them feel guilty. Being responsible for your own kid's death is about the worst. He knows exactly what he's doing. I'd even bet he volunteered for all the dangerous missions his squad got. I knew guys like that. Could never figure it." That last statement was a lie, but he didn't think Sam would catch it.
Sam was exasperated. "How are we going to talk him out of trying to screw up Renee's life?"
"We don't have to. All we need to do is get him past joining the Army although screwing up Renee's life would be a nice little bonus."
Now there was no question in Sam's mind. "Al, you're still not coming clean here. What is the matter? and this isn't about an argument with Beth."
He hung his head. If he didn't tell, his brain would implode. "I shouldn't be telling you this."
Sam's heart started racing, "Are you alright?"
His face tightened into pure pain, "This is hard."
"You didn't answer me. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. I feel like hell, but I'm fine. The thing is," hiding behind eyes closed tight, he revealed, "Renee and I have met before."
"Jeff is your son. I knew it."
In hostile anger, Al barked, "How many times do I have to tell you I'm not that kid's father? You'd think you'd start believing me." His finger pointed to the bedroom again. "It's her. She's my mother." Sam sat open-mouthed, stunned into silence. Al's outrage grew. "I wonder why she doesn't seem to care for Jeff. You said we look alike."
"Alike? What the hell are you talking about? She hasn't seen you since you were a kid."
"Jeff doesn't look like the other Harringtons. I bet if you find pictures of him as a kid we'd look alike. She hates him because he reminds her of what she did to Trudy and me." Spitting out his wrath and hate fueled the tirade. "Some piece of work, my mother, isn't she?"
Sam liked to give people a fair chance, but he wasn't sure what to do. There would be no defending Renee to Al and he didn't really want to defend her. In his most horrible nightmares, he couldn't imagine Thelma Beckett abandoning her children. "How long have you known this?"
"I just found out before I came." Words were simply not coming to him. They spoke in silences for a very long time. Finally, a key turned in the back door and Jeff came in. Al sighed in relief, "Good. He's safe." Neither Jeff nor Sam said anything. The young man sat on the couch across from his "father." Al moved closer to his brother. "What do you say, Sam? Think we look alike now?"
There was no doubt. Jeff looked more like Al than Bingo did! Sam voiced, "Oh, boy."
The half brothers both said, "Oh, boy, what?"
The unison was startling. "Oh, boy, nothing. Are you okay?" A slight shrug and downward glance told Sam that physically Jeff was fine, but inside he was ripped into shreds. "You want to talk?"
The physical resemblance was striking, but the posture and attitude were even more remarkable. "Not really, Dad."
Sam pressed on for both of Renee's sons. "Well, I'd kind of like to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?"
Resigned to yet another conversation about the problem in the Harrington household, Jeff gave in, "Sure, what the hell, but I don't have new answers for you. She hates me."
Speaking to both of the people before him, Sam said, "I don't think she hates you. Your mother is confused about some things. People do stuff they don't mean to do. It's hard for her to figure out all the ramifications of her actions. It's hard to live with guilt."
Jeff rubbed his hand over his face in a move that duplicated the Admiral's. "So tell me about that one. I feel guilty all the time. I can't help it if I look like her first son. I had nothing to do with it. To be honest, from what she says, he was a sociopath and it was probably a good thing he didn't live to grow up. He'd be some kind of mass murderer, I'm sure. I mean, Dad, I never beat up other kids. I didn't drown my little sister." Al was turning ghostly pale at the lies he was hearing. "I think the world is lucky he hanged himself after murdering Trudy. It was a terrible experience for her. I understand that, but Mom makes me pay for what he did every day just because I look like him. I'm tired of it."
Al was unable to hide his desperation. "Why would she lie like that?"
Sam was as stunned as his friend. There was no way to answer Al's question. "Jeff, I understand why you want to leave. To be honest, I don't blame you, but what I don't understand is why you're choosing to go into the Army when you have so much potential for college. It takes quite a mind to be valedictorian and college will get you out of the house as much as the Army will. It's also not nearly as dangerous."
"I got to go, Dad. If I'm going to write about war, then I need to experience it."
Al threw his attention back onto Jeff. "What's he planning to write, Sam?"
"What do you want to write?"
Using mannerisms that Sam had seen so often in Al, Jeff sighed, rolled his eyes, and ran his fingers roughly through his hair. "Dad, this is a dirty war. We got men and boys dying there for no reason. I want to know why they think they're there. I want to get inside the minds of the front-line guys. I'll only understand that if I'm one of them."
Mumbling, Al whispered, "The kid's got some integrity."
Trying to address Al and Jeff at the same time, Sam asserted, "That's stupid. There are ways of finding out what happened without being there."
"Maybe so, Dad, but I write from inside me. I'm not a historian or a journalist, looking to be objective."
"A novelist can write from research and imagination. Stephen King didn't experience homicidal talking cars and exploding chickens."
Jeff laughed at the comment and it was the same high-pitched sound Al had. "Who? You know we're never going to agree here. I want the Army. There's no other way for me to know the truth about what's happening there."
No minds were going to be changed tonight. Sam was tired and he could see Jeff holding back a yawn. "I think it's time to go to bed. We'll talk tomorrow when you get home from school."
"I'm out of here, Sam." The whoosh of the chamber door brought on the white light.
"Tomorrow is Saturday. Well, actually today is Saturday. Goodnight Dad."
Looking to say goodnight to Al Sam said, "Be careful on that motorcycle."
The brothers answered in unison, "I know. I know," and left Sam alone.
Jeff walked toward his room. As he walked past his younger sister's bedroom, he heard muffled tears. It wouldn't be the first time he'd found Michelle crying. Dealing with the crap the world threw at him was a lot easier than trying to make things okay for Michelle. He timidly knocked at her door and opened it a crack. The crying turned into sniffles. With a quiet voice he asked, "Are you awake, kid?"
Her little girl voice answered, "Yeah, I guess so."
Jeff made his way to her bed and nudged her a little. "Move over." Sitting down, he marveled at how young she looked. When he was 14, he figured he was practically grownup, but this kid was far from maturity. "What are the tears for?"
Her hand wiped away the telltale signs. "I wasn't crying."
"Right, so what are the tears for?"
She looked into the eyes of the only sibling that paid real attention to her. "It's Mom and you."
That was the answer he expected, but it always hurt to know his sister was also paying for the tension between him and his mother. "Kid, you know it's only me that she has trouble with. She thinks the world revolves around you and you know what? I think so, too. You the best of the bunch of us."
Michelle adored Jeff and his pride in her made her grow three inches taller. Her smile told him how pleased she was with his words, but she had to tell him, "I'm not anything special. You're the special one, Jeff. I don't understand why Mom doesn't like you."
The kids didn't hear Sam walk past the door. He heard the talking and stopped to eavesdrop.
"It's really complicated, Michelle. It all has to do with her first kids, you know, the ones she had with her first husband."
"I hate them. They're ruining our lives."
Jeff wasn't sure what to tell her. "I've tried to figure it out myself and I can't. It's hard to imagine anyone could do the things her first son did. I guess I look a lot like him and that makes Mom uncomfortable. There's nothing you or I can do about that. It's Mom's problem and we're the ones paying for it." He snuggled up next to her, protective and caring. "So we have to look out for each other. I promise, I will never leave you."
She looked into his eyes. "But you're going to Vietnam. What if you don't come home?"
Sam whispered to himself, "He won't unless Al and I can stop him."
He embraced his kid sister and told her with true belief, "Michelle, I'm not going to die. I promise you, I will not die."
Remembering how his brother Tom said those same words to his sister Katie made Sam's stomach knot up. Tom did come home after Sam changed history, but the original timeline still haunted him.
Michelle's tears started again. Sam heard the boy sing softly to her. "Imagine there's no heaven. It's easy if you try. No hell below us. Above us only sky. Imagine . . ."
A shudder chilled him to the bone. Now hispast was haunting this leap along with Al's. He needed to go back to sleep. He needed respite.
