Chapter 4: The Last Time
The beach was packed.
A rainbow of umbrellas and towels covered the sand. Children built sandcastles and screamed with laughter as they sprinted through the waves. Their parents sat quietly in the shade, forcing sunscreen onto their bratty kids' arms, doing the crossword, reading the newspaper and murmuring about the horrible events in the world. Seagulls skittered among the humans, searching for abandoned bags of potato chips and discarded French fries.
Pete Mitchell enjoyed all the activity. He couldn't imagine looking out at the ocean without being surrounded by all kinds of loud noises. He sat back from the crowd, away from the water, just thinking. He stared out at the waves, trying to get himself psyched up, but it just wasn't working. Perhaps he should just give up and go find his friends.
It had been awfully nice of Slider to invite him on this lovely, sunny Cali vacation. Well, if Maverick was being honest, he had sort of invited himself along, but he knew Slider wouldn't mind. After all, if his best buddy Kazansky was going, he had to be there to help lift his spirits. Good ol' Iceman could be such a grump! The poor guy needed him!
Pete Mitchell was shocked to think of how much had changed over the years. When he'd first met Tom Kazansky, they weren't friends, not at all. Mitchell found him to be an arrogant, short-tempered bully. Really, he couldn't imagine being so egotistical! What a jerk! But once Mitchell got to know him a little better, he realized he wasn't so bad after all. Kazansky was actually a pretty cool dude! Who knew? He was kind, strong, no-nonsense. He was passionate and hard-working. He was a phenomenal listener, too. Mitchell often told Kazansky of the misadventures of his childhood, or what his mom was like, or the tales he'd heard about his father. Kazansky would sit there and quietly listen. He would stare deeply into his eyes, as if trying to see into him. Mitchell enjoyed all the attention. His stories were even more entertaining than he thought, apparently! Kazansky never listened to anyone else with that same quiet intensity.
Mitchell was immensely grateful to have him in his life. He considered Kazansky to be his best friend. He'd even told him that at one point, though he didn't return the sentiment. But it was okay. Even after all this time, Kazansky remained a closed book. Mitchell supposed it was simply his nature. He knew Kazansky really liked him, though. He didn't need to say it. His friend needed him, and Mitchell needed him too.
Especially after…
After what had happened some years ago. Something unimaginable. Maverick's best friend in the whole world, Goose, had died during a training exercise. It was a completely needless death. Nobody deserved to die that way, especially not a soldier.
Mitchell had been left behind—left with the guilt, the grief, the rage, adrift in the aftermath. It had been a hard fought battle to heal, to find any semblance of peace. He came to realize that he would never completely shed the pain. He would always carry his friend with him. It wasn't about abandoning that great weight on his shoulders, but rather learning how to bear it.
Life went on, and Mitchell went on without his dear friend. He coped with the loss as well as he could. He focused on his work. Focused on his friends. Focused on the newbies. Recently they'd welcomed two new recruits. Walnut was a rather green but more than competent RIO. Ratchet, who flew with the soft-spoken Walnut, was his polar opposite. He was loud and energetic and pretty damn hilarious. Mitchell liked him well enough. He could be a bit much, but he was mostly fun to be around. Plus it was nice to have another little dude on the boat. Mitchell enjoyed teasing him about it. He looked funny with his face all crumpled and grumpy.
One day, in the mess hall, Maverick and Ratchet got into a bit of a scuffle. Walnut came over to them, expressing concern and trying to break it up. But Mitchell assured him it was fine, nothing to worry about! Just a bit of rough-housing, just "boys-will-be-boys" type stuff!
Then Ratchet smashed his elbow right into Maverick's nose. But that was an accident, right? Right? It had to be.
Mitchell stumbled back, hand covering his throbbing nose. He felt the warm, wet blood pool against his palm. His mouth filled with a sickly salty taste.
"Man, what the hell?" he muttered.
But Ratchet stalked away from him without a word.
With a pained groan, Mitchell sat down at the nearest table, clasping his bleeding nose with both hands. He could hear the men around him murmuring, obviously talking about him. He tried to ignore it. Once he'd recovered from the shock of being elbowed in the face, he realized he should probably get off his ass and go to the doctor's office.
"You okay?"
Mitchell looked up, then looked up a little more to see Kazansky standing before him. He stared down at his friend, looking equally concerned and annoyed, a pretty common combination for him.
Mitchell cracked a smile. "Yeah, I've had worse," he replied smoothly.
Kazansky tapped his friend's blood-soaked fingers. "You're bleeding."
"Just a little," he lied. "Really, it's not that bad."
"Bullshit."
"It's fine. Really. I'm fine. I'll just drop by the doctor's real quick and—" Mitchell started to stand up, but Kazansky grabbed his shoulders and forced him back into his seat.
"Let's try to slow the bleeding first," Kazansky said sternly. "I don't want to find your blood all over the halls tomorrow morning. Right now you're kind of a health hazard."
Mitchell shrugged. "Sounds good, I guess. So you're gonna keep man-handling me, then?"
"If you knew how to take care of yourself, I wouldn't have to."
"What? I can take care of myself."
Kazansky rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure." Then he got up and left him.
Mitchell remained in his seat and waited. He looked at his blood-crusted hands and felt a wave of nausea wash over him.
Kazansky returned a minute later with a small bundle of stringy white fabric. He held it out to him. "Here."
Mitchell shook his head in confusion. "Where'd you find gauze so fast?"
Kazansky pointed over his shoulder. "First-aid kit. You should really know where all of them are."
Mitchell glanced over at the white, metal box on the wall which bore the iconic red cross. He'd honestly forgotten all about it. He took one of the gauze pads and pressed it to his nose. Immediately Kazansky grabbed his hand and pulled it back.
"Don't press too hard," he advised.
"Okay," Mitchell sighed. He put the pad back on his nose. Then Kazansky squeezed into the seat next to him, so close their knees touched. Mitchell heaved another sigh. What was the problem this time?
"You're doing it wrong," Kazansky told him. He grabbed Mitchell's hand and rested the lump of gauze against his nose. "You're being too rough. Also, you're gonna wanna pinch your nostrils, all right?"
Mitchell pulled his hand away, face warm with embarrassment. "Yeah, I can do it myself," he mumbled.
"Can you?"
"Yes."
"Then do it. And do it right."
Mitchell laid the gauze against his nose, gently. He pinched his nostrils, gently. All the while Kazansky watched him like a hawk. Mitchell waited several moments and then, slowly and carefully, he tilted his head back. He'd seen people do this in the movies all the time, so he figured it must be correct. But apparently not. Kazansky grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head forward again. But it didn't hurt. Actually, it felt sort of—
Umm, well, it didn't hurt, that was the point.
"Don't do that," Kazansky scolded. "All the blood's gonna run back into your sinuses." He narrowed his eyes at him. "Let me guess, you saw it in a movie."
Mitchell looked away from him. "No…"
Kazansky sighed lightly. "You're such a liar, Mitchell."
He chuckled. "Yeah, sometimes." He kept applying the gauze, kept pinching his nose.
"Are you okay?" Kazansky asked gently.
Mitchell looked up at him again. "Yeah. Like I said, I'm fine," he replied cheerfully. Kazansky didn't say anything. He studied his friend's face, blue eyes flitting around. Mitchell shifted in discomfort. Why'd he have to look at him like that? What was he searching for? Mitchell sort of wanted to look away, sort of didn't want to look away. It was just confusing. Eventually, Kazansky got up and spared him any further discomfort.
"Go to the doctor's," he ordered.
"Yep, sounds good. I'll see ya later."
Kazansky smirked. "Not if I see you first."
Mitchell smiled, but only to himself, because his friend was already gone.
Pete Mitchell still hadn't moved from his spot on the beach. He dug his fingernails into the sand in frustration. He'd been in Cali for nearly a month now. If he hadn't worked up the nerve by this point, maybe he never would.
Just go. Don't think too much. Just go fast. Get it over with.
He jumped to his feet.
Like ripping off a Band-Aid.
He walked quickly down the beach, weaving around the sunbathers and crossworders and screaming toddlers. He jerked to a stop, just mere inches from the dark waves. It was as if there was some invisible force controlling him, dragging him away from the water, begging him to go back to the beach, where it was safe.
His heart pounded out of his chest, his breath stayed trapped deep inside his lungs. He began to sweat, but it wasn't from the hot midday sun. He clenched his fists hard, digging his nails into his palms.
Come on. Do it. Do it. Come on.
He took a few more baby steps. One, then two, then three. Closer and closer until finally his feet touched the water. His body screamed against it, but he kept pushing himself farther. He edged out into the ocean, until the water was up to his knees.
God, it's cold. Why is it so cold?
He scrambled out of the water, nearly toppling over a tiny toddler with swimmies. The little boy stared up at him with big bug eyes.
"Careful, Mister," he murmured.
Pete blinked at him, finally back in the present, back to reality. He managed a small smile. "Sorry about that, kid. You okay?"
The boy gave a little nod and waddled his way into the shallow water.
Pete scoffed and made his way up the beach, thoroughly pissed at himself.
The hell's wrong with you? Why're you such a god-damn coward? If a little kid can do it, why can't you?
He felt cold all over. He felt the goosebumps, the stiff, aching muscles, felt the hair on his arm standing up.
I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy.
He quickly put on his t-shirt and gathered up his towel. He tried to calm down. He'd have more time later. There would always be more time. He couldn't think about it anymore, though. Not now. He had somewhere to be, people to see. Yet, he still couldn't stop his mind reeling.
I'm not crazy.
But maybe he was. And maybe there was no fixing it.
Pete Mitchell waited on a bench on the boardwalk, excitedly checking his watch every few seconds. The amusement park nearby produced a cacophony of screeching rollercoasters, shouting carnival-barkers, and the always present sound of screaming kids. It was the perfect place to meet up—plenty of excitement and entertainment. Strange how things worked out sometimes.
"Hey, Pete!"
He jumped to his feet and peered down the boardwalk. He saw Carole waving, smiling, with the kid hanging onto her arm. An older woman he did not recognize trailed behind.
"It's so good to see you again!" Carole said, pulling Pete into a hug. "It's been too long!"
He hugged her back. "Hey, Carole. How are you?"
She pulled away from him with a sigh. "Oh, I'm just fine." She patted her son's head. "This one keeps me pretty busy."
The boy bounced up to Pete with a mischievous grin. "Mom says I'm a handful!"
Pete laughed. "Well, try to go easy on her, Brad!" He leaned down to ruffle his hair.
Brad snorted as he swatted his hands away. "Nuh-uh! No way!"
Carole rolled her eyes. "I swear, he just never stops."
Pete looked to the mysterious woman behind her. "Umm, hi," he greeted her.
"Oh, where are my manners?" Carole scoffed at herself. "Mom, this is the famous Pete Mitchell you've heard so much about. Pete, this is Angie, Nick's mom."
Pete blinked at her, a bit caught off guard. He never thought he'd end up meeting his best friend's parents. He'd heard a number of stories about Goose's mom. They'd been so close, and he never had a bad word to say about her. Pete wondered for a moment where his dad was, but then he recalled that they were divorced, and he had remarried some years ago.
He shook her hand with a bright grin. "It's very nice to meet you, Ms. Bradshaw. I've heard nothing but good things about you."
She chuckled. "It's nice to meet you too, Pete." She winked at her daughter-in-law. "You were right, he is quite charming."
Carole smirked. "I don't believe that's the word I used."
Brad pointed to the vicious animal on Pete's worn out t-shirt. "Crocodile!" he shouted.
"No, it's actually an alligator," Pete corrected him gently. "My mom got this for me when we went to Gatorland."
Brad's mouth fell open in shock. "You saw alligators?! Real alligators?!"
"Sure did! Got to feed 'em and everything!"
"Woah!"
"They had zebras there, too. The only zebras in central Florida."
"Zebras, the striped horse of Africa!" Brad declared, obviously quoting from a book he'd read.
"That's right, Bradley," his mom said. "Now, how about we go—"
Brad ignored her and held out his arms to Pete. "Hey, pick me up!" he yelled. "Please? Just like you used to, remember? Please?"
"Now, Bradley," Carole began gently. "Remember you were a lot smaller then. I think now you might be a bit too—"
"No, it's totally fine!" Pete cut her off. "I'm stronger than I look!" He picked up the kid, and with a pained grunt, put him onto his shoulders. "Woah, okay," he chuckled weakly. "You're just …just a little bit bigger than you were a few years ago!"
Brad stared out at the amusement park. "Wow! You can see everything from up here!"
"Yep." Pete strained against his weight, but he smiled through it and tried not to look too uncomfortable. "Which ride you wanna go on first?"
"Ferris wheel!" Brad practically shouted into his ear.
"Hope you've got a girlfriend to ride it with you! That's what Ferris wheels are for!"
Brad gagged. "Eww! No! No girls allowed!" he declared, pumping his fists in the air.
"Aww, don't be like that," Pete chuckled. "You'll change your mind one day!"
"No, I won't!"
Carole patted Pete's shoulder. "Okay, that's enough. You're gonna hurt yourself."
"What? No! I'm fine!" Pete croaked, his shoulders shaking violently.
"Umm, no, you're not." She smiled up at her son. "Come on, time to come down."
Pete slowly and carefully lowered the kid to the ground, and he let out a tiny "aww" of disappointment as he shuffled back to his mom. Pete gave her a grateful smile. Carole smiled back, but something was odd about her expression. The light in her eyes seemed so dull.
Carole glanced over her shoulder. "Umm, Mom? Could you take Bradley to get some cotton candy, please?"
She gave a cheerful nod. "Of course!" She held out her hand to Bradley. "Let's go, sweetie."
Brad grabbed her hand and off they went. "Let's get the blue one, Grandma!"
Carole breathed a sigh of relief, thankful for the break from that tiny ball of energy. "Come on, let's go for a little walk, okay?"
Pete nodded and the two headed down the boardwalk, away from the amusement park, away from Brad and his grandma. Why was Carole trying to get him alone? Something didn't feel right.
"I really needed to talk to you," Carole began softly.
Pete panicked. What was this all about? It sounded serious. It sounded bad. He didn't want to know. "Okay, let's talk!" he said quickly. He grinned at her and playfully elbowed her arm. "Did you really call me charming?"
"Oh, God, no," Carole chuckled, rubbing at her eyes. "You know how moms are, they love to tease. I never, ever said you were charming, no."
"Uh-oh, did you hear that, Goose?!" Pete shouted up at the sky. "She's totally crushing on me!"
"No, I am not!" Carole also yelled to the heavens. "Your friend's a liar!"
Pete shook his head. "No, I never tell a lie."
Carole smiled at him. "How are you, Pete?"
He hesitated. "Good. I'm good."
"Yeah, you seem good. You seem really happy."
"I am!" Pete looked out at the sea, its waves shimmering with bright white light. It appeared much less threatening from here.
"We just moved to a new place," Carole told him.
Pete blinked at her in surprise. "Again?"
Carole nodded, still wearing the same hollow smile. "It's a really little town in New Mexico. But it's growing bigger every day. It's great. Bradley just loves it there. We're both making plenty of friends."
"Good."
"I've got a new therapist too, Dr. Gould."
"That's good." Pete didn't really know what else to say. The conversation just felt awkward and sad. Even though Carole seemed so happy, even though she smiled, she was…off.
Suddenly, Carole stopped walking. She stood there, staring down at her feet. Pete stood with her, waiting, listening to the distant roar of the amusement park, and the crashing of the waves buried beneath it.
"Pete, we can't visit anymore," she said.
His stomach dropped. He couldn't understand. Why?
She looked at him. "I was talking with Dr. Gould, and she thinks it's best if I don't see you for a while. And I agree with her. It's…it's dredging up too many things." She sniffled. "I just wanted to tell you in person. And Bradley was so eager to see you, of course I-I couldn't cancel the trip. But this is it. This is the last time. For a while, at least." She wiped at her eyes. "It's just too much, seeing you," she croaked.
Pete nodded. He didn't even know what to say. He understood, of course he understood. He just felt so crushed. He felt like he'd been chewed up and spit back out.
"Pete, it is not your fault," Carole murmured, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Th-this is just…it's just something I have to do for myself. You didn't do anything wrong. You're a great man. You've been such a good friend to me and my husband and my son. I don't—"
"No, it's okay. I get it." Pete forced a small smile. "You do what you have to do."
Carole pulled him into a hug. "Thank you. Thank you for understanding."
Pete hugged her back tightly, even as his smile faded away.
After a few moments, both of them let go.
"We should probably see how Bradley and Mom are doing."
"Yeah, good idea," Pete replied. He followed her back up the boardwalk. They kept on talking about anything and everything, mostly less serious matters this time. But all the while her words echoed loudly in his mind.
"It's just too much, seeing you."
