CHAPTER 23

It didn't take nearly as long as I'd thought it would to get everything settled in L.A.—not even with my superiors at the NSA. When they found out I had a girlfriend back in Denver, they understood; and when I told them that my brother, Admiral Beckham at Homeland Security, had suggested I apply for a job there, they said they'd put in a good word for me. It was almost unbelievable how cooperative and upfront they were about everything. It was a genuine relief!

Saying goodbye to my various environmentalist friends was . . . different. I had a lot of them, and none of them wanted me to go. But, when I told them I'd met someone back home in Denver, it was all I could do to keep them from shoving me out the door. If there's anything environmentalists believe in as much as they do protecting the environment, it's love and romance. They all wished me good luck and Godspeed and said I'd better invite each and every one of them to the wedding, but not to be too upset if they didn't show up. They did, after all, have commitments to the environment, and Denver was a long way away. . . Yeah. . . So much for lifelong friendships . . .

I took a desk job at Homeland, with the stipulation that I be allowed to quit at anytime. I wanted that clause just in case things got dicey because of my dating Jamie. As I'd said before, security personnel might get concerned when two government employees are having a serious relationship. So, if it ever looked like it was going to be a problem, I'd leave Homeland and find something else to do with my various abilities.

Oh, and by the way, I was completely upfront with Homeland about my NSA undercover work, and my superiors at the NSA did put in a good word for me, as promised. As a result, the folks at Homeland wanted me to do undercover work for them; but I flat out told them no. I didn't wanna do that anymore. They respected my decision and let it go.

I also told them all about Jamie and that we were dating. I let them know that they were welcome to do any kind of a background check on either one or both of us at anytime and neither of us would kick up a fuss. If they ever became suspicious of us or any of our activities, I, for one, would leave the government's employ and rejoin the private sector. I could not, however, speak for Jamie; but I sincerely hoped it would never become an issue. So far it hasn't . . . that I know of. So, Jamie and I are scheduled to be married in January. Thanks, Dad—for everything.

Your turn, Jack . . .

(*)

So . . . the wrap-up. Yeah. I had to stay an entire month in D.C., so Darla and I got all our paperwork for the marriage license done while I was gone. She told me what I needed, I got it taken care of, and she turned in the completed application.

By the time I got back to Denver, she had found us a nice, split-level, four-bedroom home in Colorado Springs. It had an office in the basement that she had set up for us to use as our "writers' room". It also had a two-car garage, which we intended to actually use for our cars.

The wedding was scheduled to take place the first week in August, and Mac agreed to be my Best Man. "This is a big step up from being ring bearer," I told him. "You'd better not lose the ring!" He, of course, took umbrage, so we got into a mild argument; but, Darla and Jamie put an immediate stop to it. Anyway, it was just a make-believe fight. We don't argue for real much at all anymore. . . Getting along with each other has kind of taken some of the fun out of life. . ..

I was half-right about Dad: He did retire from the paper, but he sold it, too—to the same guy who bought and refurbished the drive-in movie theater. Dad had already let Darla go by then and had given Walter Siler, the managing editor, her job as editor-in-chief; and Joe—the associate editor whom she had wanted to be her replacement—was made the managing editor. But the job of publisher was left up to the new owner to fill. He asked Dad to stay on as publisher until he could find someone with the proper credentials to fill the job. It took about four months.

Over a two-day period prior to getting married, Darla and I moved all of our furniture and most of our other belongings into our new home in Colorado Springs. Darla had already sold her condo and was rooming with Jamie until after the wedding.

Darla's parents came up from Pueblo and stayed with Joan and her family. Mr. McIntyre rented a van to help Darla get moved. Dad, Mac, Uncle George and Joan's husband, Dave, helped out, too.

My stuff was shipped from D.C. in a moving van, which, providentially, arrived at the new house right on schedule. If it hadn't, we would've been forced to postpone leaving on our honeymoon for a day or two, which really would've messed things up.

Darla's kids and grandkids all came to the wedding, along with the aforementioned family members who helped with the moving. Her brother Terry was a no-show, but that didn't surprise anyone, although his ex-wife, Beth, and their kids showed up. She and the rest of the family still had a bond, regardless of Terry's current behavior.

The years had not been kind to Beth. Looking at her now, it was hard to believe she'd ever been a cheerleader—never mind the prettiest and most popular one. I was glad I'd never let my drinking get that out of hand, or I wouldn't've gotten where I was now, with Darla at my side. She's more than worth any and every sacrifice I might be called upon to make.

We had the wedding in the church our families had both gone to when we were kids. There was a different pastor by now, of course, but that didn't much matter. He was a nice enough guy and knew our parents, even if he didn't know us. Darla and I opted for traditional wedding vows, with the modern replacement of "obey" with "cherish." I didn't object. If I ever got out of line, I wouldn't want Darla to obey me. But I knew darned well she'd always cherish me—as I would her.

Not being a first-time bride, Darla chose not to wear a wedding gown—of any color. She wore instead a midi-length dress of ecru, with lots of lace and beads and . . . I won't even try to describe it in detail. It was beautiful; she was beautiful. She had a matching hat with a half-veil that only half-covered her face—pretty much just her eyes and the top half of her nose. But, it was enough of a veil for me to lift before kissing her, anyway. I rented a nice tux, similar to the one Mac had worn to the weddings of some of his tree-hugging friends in L.A. It felt weird, not wearing my dress whites; but, since I had retired from the Navy, I was no longer authorized to wear the uniform.

Darla was kind of sad about that, but I wasn't. Even though I knew she liked the way I looked in it, I didn't want to pay the price of having to stay in the service for even one more week. It was time for me to move on. After a gentle heart-to-heart, Darla came to understand that . . . or so I thought. . ..

Sometime after we returned from our honeymoon, I walked into our bedroom and found Darla in the closet (it was a walk-in), gazing at and caressing my dress whites—which were enveloped in plastic wrap—and sighing wistfully. I said, "Oh, D.!" and took her in my arms. "If you miss it that much, I'll put it on for you. All you had to do is ask!"

So, every now and then I get into one of my uniforms: sometimes the summer whites (with shorts); sometimes the navy-blues; sometimes the khakis; and sometimes the dress-whites, depending on Darla's mood and the time of year. It's an indulgence I don't mind giving in to . . . not that I'd ever deny Darla anything: she never has and probably never would ask for something unreasonable. She's too practical for that.

I took her to Jamaica for our honeymoon. I'd never been there myself, despite the fact that she'd asked me to take her somewhere that I'd already been and that I really, really loved. But, everything I'd seen or heard about Jamaica drew me to it. So we went . . . and it was great. Of course, just about anyplace where there wasn't a war going on would've been great, as long as Darla and I were together. We stayed for two months. It made me glad I was almost rich. . ..

After we returned to Colorado, we did some serious house- and repair work. (Our "new" house was over thirty years old and seriously needed it.) It was a great way for me to keep busy and not miss being employed quite so much.

Once we got the house thoroughly clean and in good repair, we went to work writing our books. I hadn't realized what a tremendous undertaking it was going to be. I told Darla my stories, and then we worked together to fictionalize them. It didn't take "Admiral Carter" long to take on a life of his own. His character was well defined. I like him; so do a lot of other people. . . Darla says she likes me better, but she'd say that anyway, even if it wasn't true. She's like that.

I moved my planes to a small airport in Colorado Springs, and I take Darla flying occasionally. We fly up to Denver or down to Pueblo from time to time to visit our folks. Someone is always at the airport to pick us up, so we don't have to rent a vehicle. Once winter begins to set in, however, I'll lock the planes away and we'll drive to the home of whichever of our parents we plan to spend Thanksgiving or Christmas with. We've decided to alternate between the two each year. This year we'll be spending Thanksgiving with my dad and Christmas with the McIntyres; next year we'll reverse it.

So, I guess that's about it for us. We're here . . . in Colorado Springs . . . living happily ever after—not something I ever imagined would happen to me. But I owe it all to Dad and to an insidious plot he cooked up to help Mac and me find fraternity . . . which we finally did.

THE END

. . . sort of . . .