Chapter 11: Take me with you
"Kuiil? I need your help on something else."
Those had been his first words once he'd left the welcoming center and had sat, hardly moving, in his car – Paz's car – and picked up his satellite phone – Paz's phone – after having spent countless minutes locked in an internal debate. He was at war with his instincts, but one thing was certain: he wanted the child out of there and with him. For good. No matter how illogical it was. And no matter what it would cost him.
Mando wasn't used to either ask for help (and first, recognize that he did need help) or make decisions for himself. He had always followed orders. Because he had no choice, with the gang and his gratitude towards them for having been rescued and his constant fear of being abandoned again as a child, but also because it simply suited him more, he guessed. He had decided to join the army, after all. One of the few decisions he'd ever made. He wondered what that said about him exactly, to decide to follow orders. But now he was certain of something else. Something he wanted for himself. And that something was the child, safe and in his care.
He kept thinking that Paz had sent him there with this very purpose in mind – his mentor had known what he was doing all along. Mando had just needed to see it for himself. He couldn't let the kid go. And, amazingly, the kid didn't seem to want to let him go either. What a strange feeling – to be wanted.
Kuiil, who was already busy taking care of other legal matters for him, still took the time to suggest someone else. A protégé of his, it seemed, who knew family law and could practice in Washington. He met the lawyer the following day in one of Seattle's numerous cafés.
"Ignacio Gutiérrez", he introduced himself, "but everybody calls me I.G."
He was younger than him, tall and rail thin. Mando got the distinct impression that the man was a genius after only a few exchanged words, but that his social kills left a lot to be desired. But no matter, if he was as good as he let on, he could look past his quirky habits and matter-of-fact speech.
"You are an unmarried man of almost forty with current legal problems with both the FBI and the Los Angeles District Attorney's office, no money, no job and no valid identity, a checkered past doing dealings for a well-known criminal organization and you want to adopt an eighteen months old baby boy of unidentified origins whose parents are dead, killed by another well-known criminal organization and remaining family unknown."
"That's about the gist of it," confirmed Mando.
"Single-parent adoptions usually take years, and when the putative adopter is a man, it can take even longer. Even when their profiles are perfect, and yours is definitely not."
He sat back heavily in his seat, having expected something like that, but still finding the words hard to hear.
"That being said, after having consulted with Kuiil, who I understand is representing you in your current legal problems, once your name – your actual name – is cleared, your file might start looking better. Especially with your military past, and a commendation from the FBI."
"A commendation from the FBI?"
"If they do not give you one, they are fools," he commented in his almost mechanical tone.
Mando took the time to taste his coffee – he'd come back to this place, he had never tasted one so good, and the kick of the caffeine was helping him stay on track.
"So you think I might have a chance?"
"For adoption? Difficult to say. To become a foster parent on the other hand, this should be doable."
I.G. had to explain to him that fostering would be the first step towards legal adoption. And that he could have sole custody of the child and be his legal guardian even if he wasn't officially his father. It was a lot of technicalities as far as he was concerned, but he didn't care about labels – as long as the boy could grow up with him, he'd take it.
"What would be the time frame for that?" he asked, fearing he'd miss out on too many milestones in the kid's life – he already thought the boy had changed in the few days he hadn't seen him.
"You have to do this step by step: first, focus on clearing your name and deal with your legal issues. Then secure a proper job and a decent apartment – the judge will not even let you have visitation rights without that. Finally, get ready to have your hopes constantly raised then crushed, and answer more questions and fill in more forms than you can imagine."
Mando was going to need more than caffeine. Although he was trying to project his usual calmness, the lawyer seemed pretty well-versed in reading his clients.
"If you are ready to take all of this on, I will be happy to assist you, and I believe we can win."
"You really believe that?" he marveled, wondering if the man had been listening to his own words.
"Yes."
"What about payment? Your payment, I mean," Mando queried. Kuiil had refused any money, looking at him strangely when he'd suggested it in the first place, but I.G. was a different matter. He knew lawyers' fees could set him back quite a bit, and he tried not to appear too apprehensive.
"Kuiil tells me you are a pilot, is that correct?"
"Yes, that's true."
"And as such, you need to fly regularly to retain your license and credentials."
"That's right," confirmed Mando.
"You can fly any aircraft?"
"Anything I can rent," he shrugged.
"And you can take people on board with you?" I.G. pressed.
"Sure."
"Then let me know next time you are going flying, that will be payment enough."
"You've never been on an airplane?" he uttered, puzzled at the request.
"Not in a cockpit, no. And I heard it was…a very pleasant experience."
Mando smiled and nodded, hoping his surprise at the younger man's oddity wasn't showing.
"You got it," he promised.
"If no remaining family is found for the child," he carried on, unfazed, "and from what you have been telling me it seems unlikely, you will have few contenders, if any, as statistically speaking, Latino children, especially boys, are not on top of prospective adopters' lists."
They shared a knowing look at that, and Mando was tempted to ask I.G. if he also had personal knowledge on the matter. Maybe he'd get the nerve to ask Kuiil sometime.
"The Washington State Department of Social and Health Services will soon take over from CPS," the lawyer continued, "and probably place the boy in a home. Once your legal problems are dealt with, you'll be allowed to visit him there. After a while, we'll work on getting you weekends. Chaperoned at first, then on your own."
A lot of red tape, but Mando could kind of understand the point. Still, to know that he could not simply take the child home tomorrow was hard to swallow, although he'd obviously known it was never going to happen. His running away days were over.
"Here in Seattle?" he asked.
"Or in Olympia, but most likely here."
Mando hadn't thought about it until now, but he'd known he couldn't realistically go back to Los Angeles. His life there was over, and had to remain that way for his safety. Seattle was as good a place as any as far as he was concerned – he'd never consciously chosen where to live, as he had moved around a lot with the army and the Air Force. If that was where he was supposed to be if it meant he could see the kid on a regular basis, then so be it.
Finding a job was his first hurdle. He had no résumé to speak of, and obviously no cover letters. He first had to clear his name and hopefully complete his Master's degree before he could hope for better. It meant finding employment where they didn't ask too many questions, and paid under the table. That was fine with Mando, as he needed the cash to pay for the furnished, one bedroom apartment he had managed to find. It was just a start, and he didn't mind the shabby place – he'd known worse.
New to the city, he'd started inquiring in bars. He visited countless establishments before he was pointed in the right direction. He couldn't pretend to much, but bouncer seemed to be up his alley. He wasn't the tallest or the meanest looking, and the eye roll he received when he mentioned his military background wasn't encouraging – Mando guessed all prospective bouncers tried that one – but he was put on a trial period at a shady club in South Park, not far from his place.
They apparently desperately needed more security, but didn't want to pay for it, as he quickly found out. Still, the money was decent, and he didn't have to tackle patrons to the ground every day to either frisk them or send them back inside when they hadn't paid their tabs. Some nights were mind numbingly slow and boring, but he found ways to occupy himself with the other bouncers – no one was interested in talking about their pasts, and that was fine with Mando too, but they all enjoyed a good game.
"What about this one, Din?"
"Check for a knife in his left back pocket," he advised, no longer starting when people were using his real name.
"Bingo!" said the other man a few seconds later, and didn't begrudge the five bucks he now owed him.
Needless to say, his services were appreciated, especially when he successfully managed to run after clients who had been causing a scene – not the best way to let his body heal he knew, but the bonus in cash were welcomed – and he was soon given more hours.
It quickly meant he had little time for commodities such as sleeping or eating, but anything that would bring him closer and faster to his goal, get the kid out, was worth the discomfort. He typically worked from 6PM to 3AM, woke up after four or five hours of sleep when he was lucky, went for a run or the gym, studied for his online degree, ate lunch when he remembered or when he met Cara and/or Kuiil to go over his statements, spent the afternoon advising, consulting or testifying to whatever the FBI was throwing at him in person, in closed court or over the phone, then went to work again. An endless loop, that implied thinking about the kid was kept to a minimum, but he preferred it that way.
"You look like shit," told him Cara one day, probably two months into his new life.
"Thanks," he replied laconically, but she was right. He had to break up a fight the previous night at the club, and his face had taken a beating.
"When are you going to quit this job? I thought it was just temporary."
"When are you going to provide me with identity papers and a social security number under my real name?" he countered.
"Soon," she sighed, "you know how slow administrative processes can be, and I'm doing my best. But really, though, if it's a money issue, we can pay you. We usually put our informants on a retainer."
"Is that what I am then, an informant?"
"Well, no," she admitted, her voice turning softer, "but I worry about you."
"Don't, I'm doing fine."
Mando was used to not having a lot of money at his disposal. But he had to be extra careful these days, as he needed to put enough cash away to secure a better place for when he'd be allowed visitation rights, and to pay for flying time. If it meant he had to skip a few meals, then so be it. This was just a temporary setback, and he'd known several throughout his life. Cara seemed to understand his predicament, though, despite his constant reassurances, and kept on insisting they met for lunch, so that she could put their meals on the Bureau's tab.
"Paz is gonna have my ass…" she mumbled.
"You're in contact with Paz?" he asked, surprised.
She shrugged and evaded his question, pressing him to order his food instead.
"I do have some good news, though," she started again once the waitress had left their table, "it seems that we're finally going somewhere with your old gang. We've secured some more testimonies. But your boss is still in the wind."
Mando wasn't surprised Greef had evaporated. He had never really been suited for his line of work, and was probably whiling away his days on some sunny remote island. One that didn't have extradition agreements with the US. He honestly didn't care, especially if it meant NF members would be indifferent to his own current whereabouts. He could do with not having to live with a constant target on his back.
"And your lawyer is doing wonders with the DA. He managed to get him to drop the charges against you and let us focus on continuing to build our case with your help."
He was pretty sure Kuiil had been using tried and true blackmailing methods to get the District Attorney to back off. The old lawyer was an expert in legal intrigues and knew the Los Angeles procedural world like the back of his hand. Mando usually never managed to catch a break, and yet he couldn't imagine how worse off he'd be now if it wasn't for Kuiil finding him after all those years. Not for the first time, he wondered how different his life would have turned out if the old man had looked for him a little harder when he was seven. But there was no point focusing on the past and blaming him for something that had never been his fault in the first place – he had to look towards the future, now.
"How are things going with your other lawyer, the eccentric one?"
Cara had met I.G. once, and 'eccentric' just about covered it. But the man was proving as valuable as Kuiil, even if things were moving at a snail's pace.
"I should be allowed to visit the kid in a couple of weeks, I.G. managed to find a more lenient judge who's willing to give me a chance."
"That's good! The little one will be thrilled to see you."
"I haven't seen him for such a long time, though. Maybe he's enjoying his new life…" he wondered out loud, trying not to show how much the thought pained him.
"I'm pretty sure he's 'enjoying his new life' just as much as you are, Din," she uttered cynically.
"Any news on his family? Or his name?" he asked, changing the subject.
"No, still nothing, we're not very hopeful. But we are trying."
Mando nodded. He was of two minds on the subject – part of him hoped someone would claim the kid and he'd be reunited with his closed ones, while the other, bigger part (he could admit that) wished the boy would be his in all but genetics. Still, the child needed a name, and he didn't want to cast aside his parents' sacrifice – he'd honor them by restoring it, if he could.
He received a call from Paz the next morning, just as he was about to go for a run. Although he now had a regular cell, his former superior kept using the satellite phone he had given him.
"Cara said you looked like shit," he started with, skipping formalities.
"Hi, Paz," he replied, his tone probably not masking his sarcasm.
"What's the plan, kid, getting yourself killed before the end of the year?"
"It was just a few punches," Mando argued, "they pay well, and I should soon have enough for a deposit on a better place with room for the boy."
"Have you been using the cash I gave you in Bolinas?" Paz asked.
"No, it's in a safe deposit box, I'll give it back to you next time we see each other." Mando hadn't thought his apartment was secure enough to keep the money.
Silence on the other end of the line.
"Did you sell the car?" Paz eventually queried.
"Of course not." It was in an underground car park he paid by the month, and he was still using it, the empty child seat taunting him every time he looked in the mirror.
"Are you being stupid on purpose?" Angry now, and Mando sat down on his ratty sofa bed, aware that their conversation might actually take a while.
"Paz, I'm doing fine. It's temporary, and once I get my papers in order I'll be able to open a bank account and look for something else."
His assets had been frozen on his L.A.'s account, but there hadn't been a lot of money left there anyway. It would have been easy to open a new one under a fake name, and his first instincts had been to do so, but he couldn't jeopardize his tedious legal proceedings. Both I.G. and Kuiil had warned him he was under a microscope now, and that any deviation from the straight and narrow would probably mean never seeing the kid again.
"About that, Cara should have them next week."
"So soon?" he marveled, remembering his discussion with her the previous day – it hadn't sounded possible then.
"Yeah, she just wasn't reaching out to the right people," he grumbled.
Mando didn't comment.
"After that, I'll have your USAF file updated, and you can use it to get whatever job you were aiming for with that degree of yours."
He refrained from commenting on that either – Paz had probably guessed part of it already.
"Thanks, that might not be easy to have my name changed on everything."
"I know the right people," he reiterated, and that was true enough.
"Listen, kid, use that brain of yours and do me a favor – pay the deposit for a better apartment with the cash I gave you, you can reimburse me later, sell the car or not, it's yours now, and start looking for a better job as soon as Cara delivers the goods. They should have enough for their case now, they can proceed without you."
Mando sighed, staying silent.
"When are you graduating for your thing?" Paz asked, not minding that he had nothing to say.
"End of the month, I passed the exams but I still need to hand over some essays."
"Any graduation ceremony I'll be invited to?"
"It's an online degree, Paz," Mando reminded him with a smile.
"Shame. And when are you seeing your boy?"
Your boy.
"In two weeks. And it'll be almost three months since he saw me for the last time."
It kept bothering him. How much time had elapsed already, and how big a chunk of the child's short life it represented. What if he didn't recognize him? What if he liked the State home he was living in? What if they never let him have him? What if…
"Say hi to him for me. And take pictures. Soon you'll be able to spend more time with him."
Paz hadn't tried to cheer him up or comfort him, no. He'd kept things real – see the kid, then carry on with his mission to become his legal guardian.
So that's what he did, and two weeks later he was starting to feel a little more confident. Both Cara and Paz's promises had come through, and I.G. was able to put forward a much better prospective foster parent to the judge. He was still working his old job, but in a classier club – he even had healthcare coverage for the first time of his life outside of the armed forces. In two more weeks, once he'd graduated, he'd start figuring out if his intended career plan could come to fruition. He now also lived in West Seattle. The place wasn't great, but it had two bedrooms, it was clean, the neighborhood was safe, and he'd bought actual furniture. He could also park his car outside without fearing it would be stolen, so that was an added bonus.
He hadn't managed to sleep a wink the night before he was due to visit the boy. It was just for a few hours, and he'd be surrounded by other kids and Human Services workers, but he'd take what he could get. His heart pounding and his stomach like lead, Mando pushed in the door to the big house located a few miles from the city center.
The first thing that struck him was the sheer amount of kids. And the noise they were making. There must have been thirty kids there, of ages ranging from as little as one to twelve or thirteen. Which probably explained why he had such a hard time finding the boy at first: he was sitting in a corner on his own, playing quietly with cubes.
"He's been a bit withdrawn," told him the worker who had opened the door for him. "But this is normal at the beginning."
The beginning? It had been months!
"Is he…doing okay apart from that?" Mando asked her, keeping his distances for now, for fear he'd spook the toddler who still hadn't noticed him.
"We've been calling him William for the time being. We know the authorities are still trying to learn more about his past. He's been a bit difficult with his food and won't play much with the other children. It's been hard for him, but he'll get there, they all do."
Mando didn't know where to start: the boy, his boy, a picky eater? He ate anything and everything. Didn't play with other children? He'd watched him draw with Winta for hours on end. And that name… Realistically, he knew it was better to give him one, but could they have tried to find him something a bit more…suiting?
"You can go and play with him if you want, but don't be surprised if he is a little subdued."
At least, the lady was nice, Mando conceded. And he knew she was probably doing her best for all those kids.
He slowly walked towards the toddler and sat on the ground in front of him – his hair had grown back a bit, he was pleased to see, and he didn't look too different physically. The child still hadn't looked up from his toys.
"Hola cariño, ¿no me recuerda?" He asked him, just loud enough for him to hear. Finally, he raised his brown eyes towards him. It wasn't the smile, or the 'up' arms he'd received in the welcoming center, but there was clear recollection there, and Mando breathed in a little easier.
The boy stood up, and he remained frozen on his spot on the ground, wondering what he would do. Mando had his answer quickly, when he walked a little distance away from him then came back armed with a mountain of books, deposited them next to his crossed legs, then unceremoniously sat on his lap, his small back against his chest.
"You want me to read all those to you?" he surmised, a genuine smile playing on his lips.
The curly mop nodded, and that was it.
They weren't interrupted until it was time for an afternoon snack, and Mando was immensely grateful. He'd treasure those quiet moments once they'd be forced to separate again. The boy barely spoke, but he helped him turn the pages, his small hand against his, and nodded every time Mando asked if he wanted another story.
The child – he refused to call him William – didn't leave his side for the snack, and ate everything he put in his plate. Mando tried not to look too gleeful at that, but probably didn't succeed. He knew he didn't have much time left, and remembered taking a few pictures later on, once he'd got the child to finally smile at him and say a few words, including the name he had for him.
"Entonces, ¡te acuerdas de mí!" he marveled cheerfully, but not softly enough apparently, as the woman who'd spoken to him before made a remark that hardened his resolve to see things through.
"We know his parents must have spoken Spanish to him but we haven't continued doing that. It would just be confusing for him at his age to hear two languages, and we want him to have a smooth transition towards adoption, I'm sure you understand."
But Mando didn't understand, and his voice took on an edge he couldn't suppress.
"How would speaking Spanish complicate his adoption, exactly?"
The woman sighed, and he could see she meant well and wasn't purposefully trying to aggravate him.
"I've been doing this job for a long time, and that's just the way it is, I'm afraid."
Mando guessed that was also why they called the kid William – the epitome of an Anglo name.
Just before he had to leave, he took the boy in his arms for a hug, and whispered one more promise in his ear, one he didn't let anyone else hear.
"Sabes que yo nunca, nunca te voy a dejar, ¿cierto? Te lo prometo."
Despite his cold words to the DHS worker, it seemed he'd made a good impression. And his next step towards becoming a foster parent was to take place two weeks later – he'd be allowed to have the kid home for a weekend, but someone would be checking on them regularly and inspect his apartment beforehand. Mando spent an entire day cleaning it top to bottom and made sure he had stuff for the boy, including books – in Spanish, and in English, to hell with their logic. He didn't regret the extra time spent, when he saw the worker looking through each nook and cranny of his small place. He only lied once, when she asked him if he kept guns in the house. He did, but he'd hidden them well – he hadn't felt in danger for his life since he'd moved to Seattle, but he wasn't taking any chances. The weapons were out of the way, and the kid wouldn't be able to access them. He'd have to think of a better solution once their living arrangement was made more permanent.
The first night the boy spent in his home, he didn't sleep either. He sat next to his small bed and watched him rest peacefully. His little chest rising up, and down, and up again. Mando couldn't believe how much his life had changed. He had a job interview the following week, one he never thought he'd get. And he couldn't stop thinking that he wouldn't have had the nerve to try for it if it wasn't for the sleeping boy next to him. He had given him courage. Meaning to his life. The fact that he now had to think of the child's needs ahead of his own was a blessing – by doing right by the kid, he had to do right by himself as well. The child had to be his priority, which meant he couldn't take needless risks anymore – someone was counting on him to stay alive.
From then on, things moved a lot quicker than they had previously. The job interview was a success, although he'd be on a training program for a few months, and his petition to become a foster parent was officially accepted – his first step towards adopting the boy was completed. He was in a daze when I.G. called him to announce it, and they celebrated with a flight over Puget Sound the following day. For someone who rarely managed to catch a break, that was several in a row, now. He could start having the kid stay at his place for more weekends, minus the DHS chaperone. They were still few and far between though, but Mando tried to focus on the positive – the boy seemed to be doing better, and spoke more and more: Spanish, and English.
I.G. asked him to meet him at City Hall one day, sounding very excited – which was saying a lot, for the stoic man.
"Do you remember I petitioned to have his name changed?" the lawyer asked.
Mando frowned, as he didn't remember that – but maybe he'd told him and he just hadn't been listening properly. The young man was spouting so much legal mumbo jumbo that he sometimes simply stopped paying attention.
"Sure," he still replied.
"Well, it was granted, given that the boy has no birth certificate and no next of kin."
"But wait…" said Mando, trying to slow him down, "We still don't know his name."
Cara had never found it, although she had been trying for a long time, now. Surely, they could still give it a few more weeks.
"You want him to be called 'William' for the rest of his life?"
"No," he conceded, torn. "But the name his parents gave him…"
"The boy will never know his parents," I.G. interrupted bluntly, "but he'll know you. And you should be allowed to choose his name, as you are going to be the one raising him."
Mando was struck dumb, his mind on overdrive. He needed more time! He couldn't just decide on the spot something that was so important. And yet I.G. seemed to think so. He seemed to think it was his right. And to hear the lawyer say it out loud scared him more than all the official papers he had made him sign already. There was no going back from this.
"What if we find his name later on?" he hedged.
"Then you'll be able to change it again, if you so wish. But the child needs a name, now. Today."
He paused, trying to order his thoughts. He'd never consciously considered it. He just knew that 'William' wasn't it.
"It has to mean something to you. Don't try to think of the boy's biological parents. Think of you and what's important to you."
That wasn't very helpful, he thought at first. And yet, a few minutes later, he had it. I.G. nodded, apparently alright with his choice, and that was it. He'd just named his son.
He caught his next break for Christmas – he was allowed to have the child for the holidays, a full two weeks, and was also permitted to travel with him and go over State lines. I.G. had warned him that the adoption process would be a mix of ups and downs, and he hadn't been lying. The few days they were allowed to spend together were scarce, and his heart broke every time he was forced to hand the child back to the DHS. The toddler's harrowing sobs when that happened were not helping either, and more than a few times he doubted his resolution – maybe he was hurting the kid with this constant back and forth. Maybe he should just let him go so that he could have stability in his life. Other times, he was tempted to run away with him again – to get in his car, and drive off.
But Din stayed true to his course. For he was Din now, and tried his best to think like him and not like Mando anymore. And on that cold December day, Din drove to Bolinas with his son.
It was strange to retake the 800 miles journey. He'd been tempted to fly there, but it actually proved cathartic to revisit the experience. This time, he could stay on the main roads, and he didn't have to tirelessly look in his rearview mirror to make sure they weren't being followed. He wasn't sure if the boy remembered anything from that stressful ordeal, and perhaps it was better if he didn't. But when he told him they were going to see Paz, he surprised him.
"Pancake Paz," the now almost two-year-old said in his small but clear voice.
"You remember Paz's pancakes?" he marveled incredulously.
And the child nodded, smiling.
"Well, you'll have to ask him to make some more, then."
"Cara will be there, too," he added, "you only saw her once but she's really nice." And 'really not into the whole babysitting thing', she'd told him preemptively many times, as if he was going to suggest such as thing. But it didn't hurt to let her think so, just to see the panicked look on her face.
They'd left Seattle early, but still arrived after the child's usual bedtime, as Din had taken several breaks along the way – there was no rush after all. The toddler was still wide awake when he parked the car though, as if he could feel the reigning excitement. Christmas was supposed to be for children, and he was lucky to be able to share it with his boy. But he'd be lying if he didn't admit he was also happy to see his friend again.
Paz welcomed them in, the boy sticking close to him but much less apprehensive than the first time he'd seen the imposing figure.
"Hi, little one," he told him, kneeling down to be on the same eye level, which Din found quite thoughtful.
"Hi," he got as a reply, little hands grabbing at Din's jeans for courage.
"Do you remember me?" Paz asked, forcing himself to make his deep voice softer.
"Pancake Paz," the boy enunciated clearly, his eyes fixed on the ground.
The guffaw was loud and pronounced and Din feared it would be too much for the toddler, but he actually surprised him, and emitted a giggle. His boy was a fighter, his character becoming more assured day after day.
"I'll make you pancakes tomorrow, what do you say?"
"Thank you," the child replied, not missing a beat.
"And I hear you have a name, now. A name your dad has refused to share with me," a look in his direction, but Din shrugged – he had wanted to wait for the right time, and that time was now.
"Paz, meet Santiago Dawid. Santi for short."
Paz stood up, his eyes serious, and Din hoped he hadn't made a mistake.
"Dawid?" his mentor repeated.
"For his second name, yes." Silence. "I wanted to check if it was okay with you first, but there was no time and…"
"No, it's good," Paz patting him on the back once, definitely not as hard as usual, "It's good, kid, thank you. I'm… honored, really."
Din didn't think he'd ever seen Paz speechless, and he could tell he needed a minute to process this. He'd decided to name his boy after the city his parents had left behind, and the little brother his best friend had lost.
"You do know you're gonna have to teach him to spell it out for a lot of people, right?" he remarked once he could focus again. The Polish name was indeed pronounced 'Dahveet', and that had made him hesitate a bit, but he didn't regret his decision. Especially if it seemed to make such an impact on his old superior.
"You'll just have to teach him, then."
"Yes, I could teach him some Polish…" Paz agreed, pleased with the prospect.
"No swear words until he's at least twelve," Din asked, aware that it was probably a lost cause.
"Yeah, yeah…" he replied, offering his hand to Santi, and walking to the kitchen with him for a late snack. Food always worked.
Cara joined them the next morning, after breakfast – the promised pancakes that they managed to eat on the deck. Din had missed the Californian sunshine, even if he'd made a new life for him and the kid in Seattle.
It was the first time Din saw Paz and Cara together, and he was tempted to ask them if there was anything they wanted to share with him but one, it wasn't his business and two, they'd tell him if and when they felt like it. Still, their constant bickering was part fun, part scary to witness – they were too much alike to not make any situation explosive.
"You're telling me you let him run after that Gideon dude without his gun?"
It was after dinner, now. They'd spent the afternoon on the beach and the boy had run and jumped everywhere, but he still wasn't tired, and had asked for one more story – it was now the third time.
"¡El último libro!", Din told him, meaning it.
"Sí, dada," promised Santi, although Din wasn't sure he meant it. He always finished with a story in Spanish, as it seemed to calm him more, but there was such excitement in the air that he wasn't surprised he didn't want to be sent to bed.
He tried focusing on the words he knew by heart and the little boy against his chest, and not listening to Cara and Paz's argument, but it was proving difficult.
"He just run off after him! I'd been shot, remember?"
"But why didn't he take his gun? He just needed to shoot him and be done with it!"
"He was already quite far, and there was no time," Cara defended him.
Paz continued grumbling and complaining that they had both been stupid and careless, and Din left them to it, taking his (finally) sleepy child to bed.
When he rejoined them, they were laughing, and Din had the distinct impression that he was now the sole subject of their conversation.
"What is it?" he asked, sitting back down on the sofa and accepting the glass of whisky Paz handed him.
"I forgot I never told you that," started Cara, still smirking, "but remember when you blacked out after you landed the helicopter?"
"Well, no, that's the point," replied Din.
"The hospital staff had to drag your ass out of the cockpit and you were pretty much dead weight, but they also had to figure out how to get rid of the helicopter."
"Right, I never thought of that…" he admitted.
"Exactly, and they had to find a pilot, but no one wanted to fly in such weather, and that thing literally stayed on the hospital roof for two days."
"If you had told him that after he woke up, he'd have probably offered to take it down for you that very day," Paz noted, and they both started laughing again. Din rolled his eyes, but that was actually something Mando might have said, they were right.
"Let me guess, did he complain at any point that he didn't like flying any helo smaller than a four-blade?"
"He said something like that, yeah," confirmed Cara.
"This guy, he was top of his class during pilot training, and obviously he qualified for the fighter/bomber track and everybody assumed he was gonna do that… And he turned them down! He chose airlift/tanker. He could have flown an F-16, but he preferred big ass aircraft. Your first 'fuck you' to the brass, and not the last."
"I just preferred flying support," Mando shrugged in reply.
"They really hated you for that, and that made me laugh so much," Paz recalled fondly.
"Well, I didn't really like that clique, anyway. The West Point, Maverick-wannabes who thought they were better than everybody else."
"Some of them had seen Top Gun one too many times, that's true. And they still fucking hate you, by the way," Paz added.
"Well, fuck them," Din answered, the whisky helping him admit his feelings. That had been the only time during his military career when he had been made feel inferior. Because he hadn't gone to the right schools or met the right people and joined the Air Force late. And he'd been glad to eventually join Paz's squadron. Paz had been the one suggesting he should switch from the Airborne in the first place.
"And how is it going at that new job of yours? You know that broke his heart, right?" asked Cara, looking at Paz who pretended to hold his chest.
"I would have gotten you back in if you wanted to, kid," he told him, more serious.
"I know, Paz," Din acknowledged, "and I did think about it, you know. Honestly. But…"
"You have the boy, now," Paz agreed, understanding.
"Yeah, and it's nice just flying for the sake of flying, you know? I'd thought I'd apply for cargo pilot before Santi, and I'd started looking into that in Los Angeles. I wouldn't have minded the long hours and strange schedules. But now… When I saw Delta was recruiting fly-by-wire pilots for their new fleet of Airbus at Sea-Tac, I just thought I'd try my chance."
"And you got in," Paz marveled.
"Yeah, I got in," Din nodded, smiling genuinely, part of him still not quite believing his luck.
"And you'll soon be paid a lot more than the both of us," noted Cara.
"Not just yet," he hedged, although it was true that he'd be able to live quite comfortably. Something that would definitely help with Santi's adoption, I.G. had confirmed.
"Admit it, you just wanted to be a Captain again," Paz pointed out, not entirely wrong.
"I'm not there yet, I still need to complete dozens of hours in the simulators, but I should have a better idea of my schedule next month. I'm qualifying for the three types of A330 models they have. I guess I won't be flying the A380 just yet, but maybe one day…" Din pondered.
"You and big airplanes… Are you compensating for something?" asked Cara, and Paz laughed again.
After a cursory – and deserved – roll of his eyes, he let them talk about something else while he sipped his whisky. He'd be careful to refuse the next one, this time.
Din let his mind wander, marveling again that he'd soon be a full-fledged commercial pilot, working for one of the most respected US airline companies. He still couldn't believe how understanding they had been, and how normal it had seemed to them to ask for a workable schedule. He'd basically be doing his dream job from 9 to 5. He couldn't fly long hauls with Santi in his life, not yet at least, and that was fine – they needed pilots for intra-continental flights anyway. And yes, there was even a kindergarten right in the airport where his son would be welcomed. Healthcare? No problem. Paid holidays? You got it. Din had paved the way for the boy's permanent arrival in his life, and he hoped that day would come soon.
The next day was Christmas Eve, and they spent a big chunk of it cooking and squabbling over which dishes Santi absolutely needed to have for his first Christmas. They each took turns playing with the boy or reading to him – even Cara, although she refused to do the silly voices Paz had had no problem copying from Din, instantly becoming a hit as the big bad wolf – and they even managed to agree on which Disney film he'd be allowed to watch as a treat.
"Of course you chose The Rescuers. There's a pilot in it, that albatross," noted Paz.
"How do you know?" Din asked him with a smile, stumping him.
On Christmas Day, Cara received a text, and mentioned something about FaceTiming, whatever that was. Din had also been exchanging well-wishes with Kuiil and I.G. and hadn't really paid attention to what she was saying.
"Video call?" she clarified, when she realized he was at a loss.
"With whom?" he frowned, Cara mumbling something about 'useless engineers'.
"Omera and her kid, we've been texting. You could introduce Santi to them, they'd be thrilled."
To say that Cara had dismayed him with her suggestion was putting it mildly.
"You've been texting Omera?" he uttered, his voice apparently taking on a tone unusual enough for Paz to stop whatever he had been doing in the next room to come and observe the scene, hiding a grin and not being very successful at it.
"Sure," shrugged Cara as if it was the most normal thing in the world, "she's nice. And since you haven't been sharing any new development with her…"
"What have you been saying?" Din pressed, thinking he still appeared nonchalant.
"Oh, you know… That you were no longer about to spend the rest of your life in jail. That you had a cool new name. That the kid was almost yours. That you were still desperately single and would soon earn 200K a year…" A beat. "Ok, the last two I didn't share."
"Funny," Din deadpanned, hoping she actually hadn't phrased the other ones exactly like that either.
"Din, come on! What's the harm? It's just one call and that kid of hers is desperate to see the boy. Surely you can grant them that for Christmas?"
She made it sound so reasonable. And yes, it would also be nice for Santi, he guessed. Maybe he remembered Winta. So he relented, not having understood that it was to take place right this minute.
It went about as well as he had expected, but he tried to answer all the questions Winta was throwing at him about Santi. "It's such a great name!" the young girl had said, and that had pleased him at least. His son was a bit puzzled at the tablet screen showing people, as he had never experienced such a thing before – you and me both, buddy, thought Din – but he seemed responsive to Winta's voice, so maybe there was recollection there. Din remembered to introduce Paz after the man bumped his shoulder for the third time – the last thump quite hard – and he was free to discretely observe Omera when she was busy talking to Cara about some TV show or other they were apparently both watching.
Din started breathing normally again when it was over, after they'd made vague promises to do that again soon – he tried not to shudder at the thought. Hoping he hadn't made too much of an ass of himself, he pretexted that he needed to change the boy to leave the room. Honestly, he didn't normally get so flustered, but Cara had tricked him. It wasn't fair.
"So are you going to visit them like you said?" Cara asked out of the blue after dinner, once Santi had been put to bed following eight different stories – six from Paz.
"Did I actually say that?" he wondered out loud, certain she was having him on.
"Well, you kind of implied it. Saying you lived only two hours away now in Seattle. And that it would be nice if the kids could see each other again."
Oh, he had, hadn't he.
"And you never told me she was so beautiful, you little shit," added Paz.
"I told you she was," Cara reminded him, as if their conversation couldn't get any weirder.
"I didn't see how this was relevant," uttered Din.
"Yeah, right," snorted Paz, exchanging a knowing look with Cara he didn't see.
They fortunately started talking about other things after that, and Din breathed a sigh of relief.
The subject was mentioned again later that night, although he hadn't been meant to know. He was on his way to the kitchen to get a glass of water when he heard Cara's voice, stopping him in his tracks.
"You think it worked?" she whispered.
"I don't know, but he'd be a fool not to take the bait," replied Paz.
"That's only a small detour on his way back, surely he'll go see them now that he found out they'd be more than up for it."
"You haven't known him long enough, he's a stubborn one. And completely oblivious to boot."
"Your friend…" Cara commented.
"Yours, too."
"Right," she admitted. "Let's go to bed and I'll figure out something else for tomorrow. This operation is going to be a success."
Din smiled as their voices disappeared behind a closed door.
The kid woke him up later still. He hadn't done it for a long time, but then he hadn't been spending that many nights with him in the past few months. He hoped the boy didn't have nightmares at the home too often, as he didn't want to imagine the different kind of welcome they received there. Din picked him up immediately, recognizing the tears for what they were – fright – and did his best to soothe him.
"Tranquilo, hijo, tranquilo," he whispered, then froze when he realized what he had said. He'd been using the word in his mind for a while, but never out loud. That it had come out in Spanish first didn't surprise him. He decided to switch to English for now – one revelation was enough.
"Let's go see if the stars are out, Santi," he suggested, the boy only hiccupping at that point, but not ready to go back to sleep yet.
It was too cold to go on the deck, but the glass window in the pitch dark living room provided a nice enough spectacle. He pointed all the constellations he knew to the child, and they made plans. One day, when they'd be allowed to have more than weekends and holidays, he'd buy a house like this one. Not too close to the city center and facing the sea. Maybe in Sunset Hill where the view over Puget Sound was beautiful. Sure, the sky might not always be as clear as in California, but they'd have the beach, too. And a garden. And he'd take him on that plane, like he promised. In a year or two, once he was a bit older. And they'd be back here for the 4th of July next year, Paz had made him swear to it. They'd see the fireworks again. And maybe they'd go visit Winta and her mother soon, because it could be nice to become their friends. And even though no one knew the precise date, his birthday was coming up next month. So they'd choose a day, one they were permitted to spend together, and that would be it. Each year after that, they'd celebrate on that day. For ever and ever.
But first, sleep, my son.