CHAPTER 22

I set Dad's digital alarm clock for five-thirty.

The clock had four different alarm options. I had no great love for any of them, but I decided to go with the crowing rooster. I hate being shocked awake; and if I chose to be awakened by the radio, I'd have to be careful picking a station to set it on. Rock 'n' roll would be as hard on my nerves as a buzzer or a bell would be; soft music would pass right through me. So, I opted for the cock-crow. At least it had the advantage of being . . . novel.

I was not, however, as prepared for the cock crow as I would've liked; nor was I as ready to get up at the crack of dawn as I'd hoped. I located and pressed the bar that was the "snooze alarm", knowing that it would go off again in ten minutes; but I needed a little time to turn on the table lamp and locate the "off" switch. That done, I rolled slowly out of bed, nearly falling on my kiester in the process, as I misjudged how close I was to the edge of the mattress.

"Oh, boy," I moaned. "Maybe Mac was right: maybe we should go up after breakfast."

I mulled it over as I sat on the edge of the bed, looking in the direction of the window and seeing just a hint of sunlight beginning to appear around the edges of the Venetian blinds. Remembering how glib and superior my attitude toward Mac had been the night before, I sighed, shrugged and got to my feet. "Okay, okay," I told my conscience; then I muttered, "I'm coming, Dad. Save a trout for me."

I took a slightly warm shower—cool enough to wake me up, but not cold enough to shock my system. Then I shaved and dressed in one of the new pairs of jeans I'd bought and the "Flyboys" t-shirt. I thought Dad and Uncle George would get a kick out of that one.

By the time I reached Bear Log Hollow, it was a quarter to seven. I parked the Cherokee on the other side of the Land Rover so that Dad and Uncle George couldn't see it. They were, as I'd expected, sitting around the breakfast campfire, drinking hot coffee and frying freshly-caught trout.

"Hello the camp!" I called out, as I'd seen cowboys do in many a Western.

"Jack?!" my father called out in mild surprise; then he and Uncle George both got to their feet. "How . . .?. . . What . . .?"

I smiled. "Sit down and pour me a cup of that coffee—if you've got another cup. I got up at five so I could get here in time for breakfast. I need a little caffeine to wake me up."

"Oh, we have another cup or two," said Uncle George as he filled one for me. "It's a set of six. We didn't want to break it up."

I walked over to him and took the cup from his hand. "Thanks! Mm! Nothing like a cup of hot coffee on a cold mountain morning!"

"Jack, what are you doing here?" my father asked.

"You're not surprised that I found you?"

"Of course not! I knew Mac'd figure the puzzle out quickly enough. I just wasn't sure how long it'd take you to decide to pay us a visit—if you chose to do it all. To tell you the truth, I didn't know what to expect . . . except maybe some nasty repercussions for interfering in your lives. So, talk!"

I nodded, walked over to the tree, reached up and removed the plastic bag from the hole. "I think this might give you a clue," I said, returning to the fire and handing the packet to Dad.

"You were here!" he said in awe. "So, you got my letter."

"Yep. Got it, read it. Replaced it with this."

"What the—? Jack, did you do this?"

"Yep. Mac showed me how to cut-and-paste, and I put it together."

"What exactly were you planning to do with this?" Uncle George asked, looking at the photos and documents over Dad's shoulder.

"Isn't it obvious, George?" said Dad. "The boys were going to call in the Marines or somebody, report that there was a nest of terrorists camped out up here, and tell them about this 'evidence' hidden in the tree." He was smiling. "Isn't that right, Jack?" He actually looked proud that we'd come up with such a scheme.

"Well, that's a big part of it . . ." I replied, giving him my own version of the cat-that-swallowed-the-canary look.

"You mean, there was more to your plan than that?" Dad asked, amazed.

I nodded.

"Sit down, George . . . you too, Jack," Dad demanded. "I hate it when people hover."

I pulled up a rock and sat down. The fire was blazing hot. I unzipped and removed the windbreaker I was wearing and tied it around my waist, revealing my "Flyboys" T-shirt. Dad and Uncle George were gawking at it. I stood up and turned around to show them the back.

"Ah," Dad said. "Clever. Has Darla seen it yet?"

I shook my head. "No, and I don't intend to let her see it 'til after we're married."

Oops!

Eyebrows went up and Dad and Uncle George looked at each other. Then they looked back at me. "Married?" Dad queried . . . calmly, I might add. "I'd hoped you two would hit it off, but I didn't expect you to start talking about getting married after only four days, Jack."

I shrugged. "What can I say? We love each other. Darla's the best thing that ever happened to me. I just wish I'd let it happen sooner . . . like thirty-five years ago."

"Your mother and I used to wish the same thing," Dad confessed. "Now, tell us about the rest of the plot you and your brother hatched."

"Allow me," came Mac's voice from the parking zone.

Oh, boy! Now I'd never get a trout!

"Here, Jack," said Uncle George, handing me a metal plate. Dad then took the trout out of the skillet with a fork and dropped it onto my plate. "Thanks!" I said. Uncle George then offered me a fork, which I also took.

"Got enough for one more?" Mac asked as he approached the fire and took a seat on another rock.

"Maybe," said Dad, "but you're going to have to earn it by telling us the rest of the plot, son."

Mac sighed. "Can I least have a cup of coffee?"

"Sure," said Uncle George, pouring him a cup. "Here."

"I take—"

"Two lumps," said Dad, dropping them into Mac's cup and handing him a spoon.

Mac took a cautious sip and smiled. "Perfect!"

"Now, about the rest of the plot you two hatched . . ." coached Uncle George.

"Yeah. Well, we sent telegrams—in your names—to twenty of your hunting and fishing buddies, inviting them to come up here tonight at around seven for a campout-soirée."

"The idea," I continued, "was to make it look like there was a whole passel of terrorists camped out up here and not just you two. You'd've all been rounded up and questioned all night and probably into the morning by agents from Homeland Security . . . ."

Mac was smiling wistfully. "It would've been great!" he said; "but Darla talked Jack out of it, and he talked me out of it. . . . So, here we are, telling you about it."

"Does that mean there's not going to be a campout-soirée?" Dad asked, disappointed.

"Oh, the campout's still on. We didn't contact your friends and tell them not to come. We just decided not to call in the troops and raid the party, that's all."

"You needn't have bothered to come all the way up here just to tell us that," said Dad. "When our friends turned up for the party, it would've been a heck of a surprise."

Mac and I looked at each other, then at Dad, and Mac said, "There's more to it than that, Dad. Shaun O'Shaughnessy was supposed to post a map on the outside wall of the Outpost—a map that Jack and I labeled for your friends, to help them find this place. But we were a little—" my brother and I looked at each other and then got a bit sheepish, "—busy last night with the ladies," Mac continued, "and forgot to take the map up to Shaun's house."

"And it's just as well," I put in. "When I told Shaun the raid was off, he was seething—started raving like a madman. He's determined that the raid's going to go through—with or without our help"

Uncle George looked at Dad and said, "I guess we pushed him a little too far, Pete."

"Hah!" said Dad. "He and his father don't know the meaning of an honest dollar! They gouge people for every stinking little thing they sell in that store! Even as cheaply as we got off, the mark-up was still twenty percent above normal retail!"

"I always knew their prices were a little high, but—" I ventured

"A little high?" said Uncle George. "That family has always been a bunch of highway robbers! Story goes that their ancestor who founded the place left Ireland under a cloud of suspicion. Never heard what he was suspected of, but considering what cutthroat businessmen they are . . . anything's possible."

"And Shaun's got it in for you guys because he can't pull one over on you?" Mac asked.

"Huh," said Dad, "not as much as he'd like to, anyway." He sighed. "So Shaun's going to call in the troops himself, is he?"

"Yep," I said. "Darla suggested that you move the campsite and leave instructions for your buddies on how to get to the new location. Of course, I told her you probably wouldn't go for it."

"Darned right we won't!" said Dad. "We'll just sit here calmly, drinking coffee, roasting wienies and marshmallows, making s'mores and swapping ghost stories; and we'll invite the troopers to join us if they like. I don't think it'll take them long to realize we're just a bunch of old men on a camping trip and that the call they got was a prank."

I smiled. "I kinda figured you'd do something like that. . . One thing, though: Shaun wants to 'watch the fireworks,' as he put it. He'll probably be hiding close by."

"If he is," put in Uncle George, "chances are the troops'll spot him, too—if they surround the entire area in order to avoid letting anyone slip away."

I nodded. "You're probably right about that."

"And," said Dad, "if the troopers do pick him up and ask if he belongs to us, I'll tell them flat out that we got it on good authority that he was the one who made the phone call. . . Shaun may end up in the hoosegow himself for a while. . . Probably do him some good."

"Sounds like tonight could be lots of fun," I said.

"Care to join us?" Uncle George asked.

I shook my head. "I've gotta catch a flight back to D.C.: I'm turning in my resignation—retiring. I'm gonna bring an engagement ring for Darla back with me."

"Do her kids know?" Dad asked, concerned.

I nodded. "I met 'em yesterday. They had a few questions; but, overall, they were okay with the idea of Darla and me getting married. I think the nature of our past history kind of won them over."

"You were awfully good to her when she was a kid, Jack," Dad said.

"I tried. I just wish I'd noticed how grown up she was at the end."

"Well, you can't turn back the clock, Jack—or the calendar—but you can make up for some of the time you've lost."

"That's what we're planning to do."

"So, when's the wedding?" asked Uncle George.

"We haven't exactly set a date yet, but we're going to do it as soon as possible."

"Are we invited?" Dad queried.

"Of course! Wouldn't be the same without you two."

"Uh, Dad . . ." said Mac.

"Yes, son?"

"There's something I need to tell you . . ."

"About Jamie? –or about your undercover work for the NSA?"

Mac's jaw dropped. "How did you . . ."

"I'm a newspaperman, Mac. I can find out just about anything: I have sources." He winked at me.

"Jack, you didn't tell him yourself, did you?"

I shook my head. "Nope. It comes as a surprise to me that he already knew. . . And you were worried about what would happen if he found out . . . ."

Dad looked at Mac askance. "You didn't trust me, Mac?"

"No, it's not that! It's just . . . nobody knows I work undercover for the NSA. No one's supposed to know. I was afraid I'd get into trouble with my superiors if they found out my cover wasn't secure."

Dad laughed. "Don't worry about it, Mac. My source just happens to be one of your superiors."

"What?!"

"Yes sir! . . . I can't tell you his name, though: that might cost him his job. He knows you're my son; and he wanted me to know what you've been doing, so that I could be as proud of you as I've always been of your brother. . . Now, Mac, I want you to know that I've always been proud of you. There's never been a need for you to try to compete with Jack, or to try to be like him, or to be the exact opposite of him, or anything else. . . I've always loved you and cared about you for who and what you are—a unique individual. You're caring, courageous and intelligent. What more could a father want in a son?"

There were tears in my brother's eyes. I smiled softly as I finished my trout.

"Thanks, Dad. That means a lot," said Mac.

"Now, aren't you glad you got out of bed and came up here, bro?" I asked.

"Shut up, Jack!"

"Don't you two start," warned Uncle George, "or I'll knock your heads together."

"Yes, Uncle George," we said in unison.

I finished my trout, put my plate where all of the other dirty dishes were and stood up. "I guess I'd better head out. I've gotta make a plane reservation and get packed. Then I'm gonna call Darla and tell her goodbye."

"I thought you said your goodbyes last night," said Mac glibly.

"We did. But, when it's time for you to return to L.A., are you gonna consider last night sufficient as a goodbye to Jamie?"

"I was just yanking your chain, Jack. I know you've gotta talk to Darla before you go. I understand completely. . . Yeah, I'll probably call Jamie before I leave town—which will also be later today. I've gotta put in my resignation, too. I'm moving back here. Jamie and I have decided we wanna keep dating."

Dad and Uncle George looked at each other. "Better and better," Uncle George commented. "I have to admit, Pete: you were right about those two, too."

They then looked at me. "Give Darla our regards," said Dad. "Tell her she's forgiven, since everything turned out all right."

"More or less," Mac and I said together.

Dad and Uncle George laughed. "You see?" said Dad. "You spoke in unison. That proves it."

Mac and I looked at each other and groaned. "You win, Dad. Mac and I have bonded. It wasn't easy, but we managed to find some common ground and develop a certain . . . grudging respect for each other."

Mac added, "There probably won't be any more fighting or arguing between us, but that doesn't mean we won't still be giving each other a hard time now and then—like teasing, you know?"

"Hey," said Uncle George, "you boys might not realize it, but your father and I are also several years apart in age. I'm approaching seventy, and Pete here will be eighty on his next birthday, as you well know. We shoot barbs at each other from time to time, too, just not in front of other people. We keep our differences between us. I suggest you do the same."

"Amen!" said Dad.

"We'll try, won't we, Mac?"

"I will if you will."

Dad and Uncle George rolled their eyes and groaned. "Mac . . ." Dad scolded.

"All right, all right. I'll try to be nicer to Jack."

I smiled. "Attaboy, Mac. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I've got packing to do. I'll call each of you sometime next week. Take care, Dad, Uncle George. Mac, I'll see you back at the house."

"Yeah, Jack. I'll be there a little later. Dad and I have some catching up to do."

"Have fun."

"Bye, Jack," said Dad and Uncle George. I waved at them over my shoulder as I left.

(*)

I made my flight reservations: I had to be at the airport by 2:45 in the afternoon. Then I packed my suitcase and my suit bag and put on my regular-duty uniform.

I had a few hours to kill, so I decided to give Darla a call and see if she had some time to spare.

"Hi, Jack," she said. Her voice sounded happy. "Did you go up to Bear Log Hollow?"

"Yes, I did. Dad and Uncle George send their regards. I was right: they're going to stay there and wait for the raid to go down and invite the troopers to join them for s'mores."

Darla laughed. "That sounds like your father!"

"Dad figures that if the troopers are thorough in their searching, Shaun could end up being the one who gets arrested."

"That would be ironic, wouldn't it?" She sounded amused.

"No more than he deserves, from what Dad and Uncle George told me. But, I didn't call to talk about my visit to the campsite. I'm catching a flight back to D.C. this afternoon, and I have some time to kill before then; so, I was wondering if you could spare an hour or two—"

"For you? Of course I can! You'll have to come here, though—just in case I'm needed. But we could go out to lunch at noon if you'd like . . ."

"I'd like—very much. Raven's Roost again?"

"Not necessarily. If you'd rather go someplace else, it's okay with me—as long as they serve American food."

I smiled. "No Mexican, no Chinese, no Italian, no Indian . . ."

"Nope."

"Aw, what the heck . . . let's just go to Raven's Roost again. I'd like to try something else on the menu. In the meantime, I'm on my way. Keep your lips warm for me."

It was just past ten o'clock by the time I pulled into the parking garage at the Standard-Gazette. I whistled as I locked up the Cherokee and headed for the elevator. When I disembarked on the appropriate floor, I removed my cover and made a beeline for Darla's office.

As I drew near his desk, former lieutenant Lerner rose to his feet and snapped to attention again. "Lerner!" I barked. "At ease, man! I'm only wearing my uniform because I'm flying back to D.C. today. Good golly, don't you know how to leave the service gracefully?"

Lerner reddened and stammered out an apology. "Sorry, Admiral. I guess I was a little too well trained."

I softened. "It's okay, son. But you'd better learn to be a civilian fast. If you don't, people are going to think you're a little . . . strange."

"They already do, sir. But I really am trying."

"Try harder." I looked at him sternly and continued on my way to Darla's office.

She was standing in the open doorway, smiling bemusedly. "Hi, sailor! Would you like some company?"

I smiled back at her. "You bet I would! You offering?"

She laughed. "Come on in, handsome. I've kept my lips warm for you . . ." She closed the door, but she left the Venetian blinds open this time. I guess she figured it was time everyone in the office knew that she and I had something going—not that there was any real doubt about it before; but, at least now they could see for themselves and say with absolute certainty that the boss lady and Mr. Beckham's son, the admiral, were an item. . ..

"I'm going to miss you, Jack," she said after the first round of kisses.

"Not half as much as I'm going to miss you. . . I'm not sure exactly how this whole . . . resigning my commission, retiring from the Navy, and quitting my job at Homeland is going to go down. Do I have to give two weeks' notice? Do I just fill out the paperwork, turn it in, and wait for word that my resignation's been accepted and my request for retirement approved? I really don't know. All I know is, I want out of there ASAP. I don't want to wait any longer than is absolutely necessary to make you my wife. As it is, we're gonna have to go through the whole marriage license thing . . . blood tests and all the rest of that rigmarole."

"Wherever we get married, we'll have to abide by the laws of that state," said Darla.

I sighed. "I wish we could just elope to Vegas. It'd save so much time and trouble . . ."

Darla smiled. "Not to mention I'd be yours a whole lot sooner." She kissed my chin.

I kissed her nose. "That, too. Do you wanna get married here?"

"Why not? My parents could drive up and stay for a couple of days, and my kids could fly out here again. . . I know Joan and her family will want to come . . ."

"I promised Dad and Uncle George they could come, too . . . After that—" I shrugged, "—we'll live wherever you like."

She looked thoughtful. "How about Colorado Springs? Since your dad's here in Denver, and my folks are down in Pueblo, we'd be perfectly located. We'd be able to get to either city in a relatively short time. It's not quite as big and sprawling as Denver, either, so it'll be a little easier to get around."

"What about your kids and your grandkids? Are you sure you wanna be this far away from them on a permanent basis?"

"We'll fly out to Seattle and visit them once in awhile, too. Right now, though, I think we need to focus on spending as much time as possible with our parents, since they're all getting up there in years. As much as I hate to think about it, any one of them could pass away at any time. I'd like to be close at hand, just in case."

I nodded. "You're right. I don't like to think about it, either; but you are right. So, how soon after the wedding do you want to move down there?"

"Why not immediately? I've already put my letter of resignation on your dad's desk; I just have to wait and see how soon he'll let me go. Once he does, I can concentrate on preparing for our wedding and finding a place for us to live. If he lets me go before you get back from D.C., I could spend time with a realtor, looking at houses that are for sale in Colorado Springs."

"No honeymoon?"

She laughed. "One has nothing to do with the other, Jack. If I find us a house, we can get all of our stuff moved into it before the wedding; then we'll be able to settle right in as soon as we get home from . . . wherever you decide you want to take me."

"I get to choose?"

She nodded. "Take me someplace you've been to that you really, really love and that you'd like to share with me . . . someplace special."

I smiled. "I know just the place . . . ." I was about to tell her where, but she put a finger to my lips.

"Surprise me, Jack. As soon as we know for sure when the wedding's going to be, make the plane and hotel reservations and then tell me where we're going after we get to the airport."

I smiled. "I love you, Deej."

She smiled back at me and said, "I seem to remember—on Tuesday evening, when you took me home after dinner and told me you loved me for the first time—I said something to the effect that I didn't expect you to say it again anytime soon." She shook her head. "I was completely wrong. You've said it more than once everyday. I can hardly believe it of you, Jack."

"Honestly, neither can I. But the fact is, D., that what I feel for you is so strong and so powerful . . . I can't keep it in. If I don't tell you I love you, I feel like I'm gonna burst. Really."

"I feel exactly the same way, Jack; I felt that way for years. It was torture, not being able to tell you, because I knew you didn't feel the same way about me. I didn't want to lose the relationship that I did have with you by saying something you weren't prepared to hear."

I put my hands on her cheeks and gazed into her eyes tenderly. "I'm sorry my insensitivity and blindness caused you so much pain, D. The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you. You were always special to me, regardless of the fact that I didn't always show it."

"I love you, Jack Beckham."

I gathered her into my arms and kissed her more passionately than I had during the first round of warm . . . greetings—but not quite passionately enough to make her weak in the knees this time. I didn't want her to collapse like that with her employees looking on.

"Is it lunchtime yet?" I asked softly as I withdrew my lips and gazed into her eyes again.

"Maybe . . ."

"Then let's get going," I said in a husky voice. "I don't have a lot of time left."

(**)

While Jack and Darla were kissing, talking and making future plans, Dad and I had a nice long talk. It was the first time in a very long time that the two of us actually sat down together and truly communicated. It felt good.

Strangely enough, during the course of our conversation, I felt compelled to ask him what things were like between he and Jack all those years before I was born. I'd heard some of Jack's side of it, but I wanted to know how Dad felt.

He told me that Jack had always been headstrong—even as a child. He wanted to go his own way and "do [his] own thing," no matter what the consequences. The friends he'd had back then hadn't been a good influence on him, either, which is why he'd spent so much time in the principal's office. The leprechaun incident with Darla, however, had changed him.

It was a slow change at first, according to Dad. Jack was still a rowdy little troublemaker on the weekends, but never in front of Darla. She'd begun to look at him with hero-worship in her eyes, and he hadn't wanted to do anything in her presence that might disillusion her. He'd really enjoyed playing the hero—it felt good; and the need grew inside of him to do more.

"So, Darla really did help turn him around, then?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, most definitely! After the leprechaun episode, he never again paid a visit to the principal's office. He started paying more attention to his grades and participated in sports."

"Baseball, hockey and track, right?"

"Primarily, although he was second string on the football team and a bench player on the basketball team, as well. Being on teams and working hard at everything he tried to do helped him develop self-discipline—without which he never would've gotten into the Naval Academy; and, having Darla to care about made him more aware of the needs of others. He overcame a lot of his selfishness and became less self-centered because of her."

"It's a good thing he took an interest in her, then, since most kids are basically selfish by nature," I stated.

Dad nodded. "Yes, they are. Very few children who've been spoiled all their lives grow up to be thrifty, hard-working, responsible adults. When they've had everything given to them on a silver platter, they expect the entire world to treat them the same way." Dad shook his head. "It's become something of a social disease these days."

"I know. I've seen it way too often in L.A. Kids want a paycheck, but they don't want to do the work to earn it. It's sad."

"Yes, and your mother and I didn't want either you or Jack to turn out that way, which is why we decided—as good, responsible parents should do—not to indulge and spoil you. We did our best to teach you both the value of a dollar—and the merits of good, honest toil—by making you work to earn at least a portion of the money that it took to buy the more expensive 'toys' you wanted."

"Well, it certainly worked. Expensive things are more appreciated—and taken better care of—if you have to pay for them yourself . . . or if you have to struggle in some way to get them."

"That's precisely the point," said Dad. "I've seen too many toys broken within a day or two of being received—even as Christmas or birthday gifts. A lot of children need to work to earn something before they truly appreciate its value; and when they do, they're more willing to take good care of it."

"You've made your point successfully, Dad. . . Now, what about all those campouts the two of you went on together. . .?"

"Oh, gosh!" said Dad. "The campouts! Where shall I begin?"

I shrugged. "At the beginning, I guess . . ."

"Well, yes, but, it's not really as simple as that. . . You see, son, during Jack's rowdier years, your mother came up here, too. Jack behaved better for her than he did for me. She was Mom, after all. . . She did everything for him: washed and ironed his clothes; fixed his meals; bought or made him his favorite snacks and desserts; nursed him when he was sick . . . even took him breakfast in bed if he wasn't throwing up. (She also made him clean his room and get his homework done, but those were orders he accepted. On the other hand, though, the things I made him do weren't offset by things that I did for him.) . ..

"What Jack didn't realize back then is that it's part of a woman's calling as a mother to nurture and care forher children and to teach them to be honest and upright. (Mothers seem to have a knack for knowing when a child is lying to them, which gives them an edge when it comes to teaching their children the value of honesty.) Fathers can—and should—reinforce the mother's lessons in honesty and integrity; but their primary responsibility is to teach their children how to make a living and how to survive as an adult in this crazy, mixed up world. At home, I taught Jack all about making a living; on the campouts I taught him survival skills. Kids never fully appreciate those things until they grow up and start trying to make their way in the world."

"So, the campouts were one of the ways you had of trying to teach Jack a few things."

"Yes, they were. There are a lot of things a boy can learn when camping out. You and I came up here a few times, too. You must remember some of what I taught you . . ."

"Yes, I do; but I didn't take to it the way Jack did. He still loves camping; I don't. I always hated the invasions of bugs, bears and belligerent, begging birds—and overcooked eggs and burnt bacon. I prefer a well-stocked kitchen, indoor plumbing, and a comfy bed with a good, firm pillow. I'd rather be indoors, safe from prowling wildlife; and only occasionally bothered by biting and/or stinging insects."

"And yet," said Dad with mild amusement, "you spend a lot of time out in the open, pretending to be a nature lover."

I smiled crookedly and said, "Ironic, isn't it?" Then I sighed. "But that's my life—for now, anyway. I'm about to give all that up, though, and look for a job here. I'm not sure yet what I'm going to do, but I'm considering applying for a desk job at Homeland. Jack said he'd put in a good word for me."

"His word should carry a lot of weight; and, since he's planning to leave Homeland himself, nepotism shouldn't be a problem."

"That's what I was thinking. For now, though, I'd better head back to the house, finish packing, and hit the road. I'd like to get at least a third of the way to L.A. before I stop for the night." I stood up and reached out a hand to my father. He took it and made it clear that, rather than shaking hands with me, he wanted me to help him to his feet. "Thanks for the talk, Dad," I said as I pulled him up off the boulder he'd been sitting on. "I have a greater appreciation now for you and Mom—and Darla. Jack wouldn't've turned out as well as he did if all of you hadn't been a part of his life."

Dad wrapped his arms around me in a fatherly hug. "Take care, son . . . and don't forget to give Jamie a call before you leave town. I like that young lady. She'd be good for you."

"I know. I like her, too—a lot. Take care, Dad. Uncle George—"

Uncle George was asleep; our conversation must've grown tedious to him. He was lying on his thin air mattress, his hat over his eyes, snoring away. "Tell him I said goodbye. I'll call you when I get to L.A. You'll probably be down off this mountain by then. Bye, Dad."

I strolled to my old, beat-up, red Jeep, climbed in, started it, and left. This was a day and a conversation I would remember for many years to come.

(***)

I don't remember what I had for lunch that day at Raven's Roost. All I could do was sit there and pick at my food, gazing longingly across the table at Darla.

I couldn't believe how much my life had changed in just a few days! The greatest miracle of all was that, after all these years, Darla still loved me. Even now I could hardly believe it.

"You're awfully quiet, Jack," she commented.

"I'm just a little depressed," I said.

She smiled a sort of sad-soft smile. "I'm going to miss you, too," she said.

I smiled back at her. "I know. I just wish I knew how long . . ."

She nodded. "Me, too. Just . . . call me, as soon as you know."

"I will. I hope they don't make me stay more than two weeks."

"So do I. And I hope your dad doesn't take forever to choose my replacement."

I shook my head. "I don't think that'll happen. And, while he's at it, I have a feeling he's gonna replace himself, too—as publisher. I don't think he's ready to sell the paper yet; but, since he's turning eighty on his next birthday, he might consider taking a less active role in the decision-making process."

Darla nodded. "I hope so. I've seen his face when he's had some weighty decisions to make. He looks kind of . . . gray . . . and . . . a little dyspeptic. I think it's getting to be a bit too much for him. I told him I thought he should slow down, but he said he was fine. He didn't look fine, though."

"Maybe now, with Mac and me both moving back here to Colorado, he will retire and start taking it a little easier."

"I'll talk to him about it when he calls me into his office to discuss my resignation."

"Be gentle."

"Jack, would I ever say or do anything to hurt your dad?"

"Not intentionally, no."

She crossed her heart and said, "I'll be diplomatic, I promise."

"I'm gonna hold you to that." I sighed. "Let's get out of here. I've gotta get to the airport soon, and I'd like to say a final, proper goodbye before I go."

She nodded. "I think the Cherokee's roomy enough for that."

I looked at her in mild surprise. "Really? The parking garage?"

She nodded again. "Why not?"

"Well," I considered, "I suppose we could move to the back seat . . ."

She smiled. "You should've just traded it in on one without a stick shift, like you said."

"Yeah, well . . . since I didn't, the back seat is our next best option—if you insist on making out in the Cherokee."

"I haven't made out in a car in . . . oh, gees!—years!"

"Having kids kinda puts a crimp in things, doesn't it?"

She looked thoughtful. "Kids do tend to change your life; and, the more kids you have, the more and the greater the changes."

"I'll have to take your word for that; but I imagine it's true."

She stood up. "Let's go, then, Admiral. Time is a-wastin'."

(****)

It was nearing lunchtime by the time I got to the think tank. I parked in the visitor parking lot and went inside. Jamie came down from her lab a few minutes after she was notified of my arrival.

"Mac! I thought you were heading home today!"

"I am. I just wanted to see you one more time before I go. I'm not sure how long it'll be before I can come back here. I don't know what . . . my employer's policy is in regard to termination. Hopefully, though, I won't have to stay longer than two weeks, but . . . I just don't know."

"Do you think you could . . . call me, while you're in L.A.?"

"I was gonna ask you if I could. I mean, I'd really like to . . ."

She nodded—almost enthusiastically. "Please!"

I nodded, too. "Okay. I'll call you every night. What time?"

"Eight o'clock my time, I think, would be best—seven Pacific. Will that work for you? Or do you need to call a little earlier?—or later?"

"I might need to call later . . . sometimes; it depends on how my days go. I just wanna be sure that, if I do have to call later in the evening, you won't be asleep or anything."

"I don't usually go to bed until around ten-thirty or eleven—which is nine-thirty or ten in L.A."

I smiled. "Good! Great! That'll give me a huge window of opportunity."

She nodded. We just stood there, then, looking at each other. Unlike Jack and Darla, we didn't yet have enough between us to be entirely comfortable and at ease with one another. I decided it was time I left. I was about to say so when Jamie asked, "Would you like to have lunch before you leave?"

"Same place?—across the street?"

"Yes," she said, nodding. "It is closest, and my time is somewhat limited. I'm sorry—"

"It's okay. I understand. It doesn't matter that much, anyway. I don't think I'll even notice the food."

"Me neither."

I held out my arm and she took it, smiling softly. However long I had to remain in L.A., I knew it would seem ten times as long as it really was . . .