Monday mid morning.
"Well Doc?" Stringfellow Hawke fixed the older man with a steely, impatient blue glare. "What do you say?" he prompted, watching as Dr Marcus Coleman scrutinised his medical charts, in silence. "Doc?"
Coleman finally looked up from his file and regarded his patient with gentle eyes.
"Helen said that you were chomping on the bit to get out of here."
"Doc, you must all be so sick of me! I'll just bet you can't wait to toss me outta here." Hawke grinned, hopefully.
"Well," Coleman let out a deep sigh. "I have to admit that you are something of a disruptive influence around here. Got all the senior floor nurses complaining that they can't get any sense out of the younger girls. Wondering around the place with love struck looks on their faces. Sighing and gazing adoring at your door, as they find some excuse or another to walk past," he chuckled and Hawke pulled a sour face.
"So what are you waiting for, doc? Besides, I am assured that I do have a home to go to. And I would really like to see it …. Before I turn forty!" Hawke joked again now.
"Patience my boy," But Coleman was smiling at him now, and Hawke began to see a glimmer of hope. "There's no denying that you have made a remarkable recovery. Physically, you're in good shape. A little more physical therapy wouldn't hurt, maybe work out with them an exercise regime that you can follow at home, to strengthen those leg muscles. Looking at your notes here, there's nothing to concern us in your blood work, you seem to have gotten your appetite back with no ill effects, your EEG and EKG scans all came back within normal ranges, and the X rays all show that bones have knitted perfectly," he let out a soft sigh then. "So, it looks like I really can't justify keeping you here any longer."
"Yeah!" Hawke punched the air joyfully.
"I guess that means you're pleased?" Coleman chuckled softly at his patient's antics. "Of course, the memory loss is still a concern to us, but Dr Walker seems to think that you are coping with it much better now, and, that given time, in the right environment, your memory will return. To what extent, he can only guess, but, he thinks you will retain most of the memories from before the crash, if not the incident it's self. Dr Walker is arranging for you to see a colleague of his, in Los Angeles," he paused briefly then. "Although, Helen was telling me that you don't plan on leaving Elkington until after she delivers. Wise decision," he smiled then.
"It's probably the best thing, for both of you. We can keep an eye on you for a little while longer, as an out patient, and if you should need us, for any reason, we're not that far away."
"Does that mean that I'm outta here?" Hawke pressed, eager for an answer now.
"I guess so."
"When?" he demanded now.
"Well now, you have physical therapy appointments arranged for the rest of the week, sessions with Dr Walker too, and we should really give Helen and Dominic a chance to get used to the idea that you will finally be coming home. There will be arrangements to be made, the children to be told ."
"Ok, Doc, I hear all of that," Hawke sighed softly, trying to hide his impatience. "But, when?"
"How about, Friday?" Dr Coleman grinned happily.
"Friday sounds just great to me, doc!" Hawke grinned broadly, his relief evident in his expression.
"Is it really so bad in here?" Coleman arched an eyebrow, but he was only teasing the younger man. Secretly he was very pleased that his patient was so impatient to get out into the big wide world and begin to live the life that he was meant to have.
It was the most positive reaction he could have hoped for from the young man.
"No doc, just a whole lot better out there. Like everyone keeps telling me, I won't get to remembering who I really am, and what I do, until I get out there and find out, experience it again."
"Very true, my boy. Just don't expect too much too soon. From yourself, or the people who love you. It is going to seem strange, to all of you for a while," Coleman advised. "Take each day as it comes. Good, and bad alike. That's my advice to you, and, when you are good and ready, it will all make sense to you."
"I sure hope so, doc. I sure hope so."
However, at that moment, nothing could mar Hawke's relief and pleasure at the thought of getting out of this hospital room, breathing real fresh air instead of the recycled stuff that came through the air conditioning system, and to feel the warmth of the sun on his face once more.
And to take whatever opportunities came his way to find out, once and for all, who he really was.
Rid him self of this notion that this was all some elaborate ruse, designed to part him from Airwolf. That some unseen foe, was manipulating him, and pulling the strings.
Or confirm it.
He needed to know which Stringfellow he really was, and which life he fitted into.
If he was Hawke, then he would fight tooth and nail to get away and get help.
And, if he was Santini?
Then he would accept that on face value. Accept that everything he had been told and everything that he could see and feel and hear and taste and touch, were indeed real.
But, not until he had definitive proof.
It would take something special to make him believe it.
And he could not get over the feeling that the truth lay out there, beyond these four hospital walls, and soon, he would have all the time he needed to pursue the truth, wherever it may lead him.
Monday – early evening.
"Would you get that please, Papa Dominic?" Helen Santini called out from the kitchen as she heard the telephone ringing out in the hallway. "I can't leave this right now …."
She was stirring a deliciously aromatic, meat and tomato sauce to accompany the spaghetti that was bubbling away cheerfully on the back burner of the stove. The kitchen was also filled with the smell of garlic, as thick slices of crusty Italian bread, lavishly smeared with garlic butter, browned gently in the oven.
"Sure thing, honey!" Dominic Santini called back cheerfully and a few seconds later the telephone stopped ringing.
Helen Santini continued to concentrate on preparing their evening meal, keeping one eye on her boys as they played boisterously out in the back yard, whilst adding just a little more seasoning to the meat sauce.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed as Dominic Santini appeared in the open kitchen doorway, Lucy Santini straddled around his huge waist, and held in place by his big, sure arms, a tattered rag book of nursery rhymes in her clenched fist as she gazed adoringly, with big green eyes, up into her doting grandfather's smiling face.
"That was Doc Coleman," Dominic began, and immediately Helen's head shot up and she turned away from the pan of gently simmering food to regard him with big, anxious green eyes.
"Hey, steady kid, he's ok," Dominic assured her, taking in the fear in her eyes. "The doc just called to tell us that they're letting String come home …. Friday!" he grinned.
"Friday?" Helen's eyes grew wider in her slightly flushed face. "Oh my! So soon? So much to do! Cleaning up around here, groceries to buy …."
"Wow, kid, slow down," Dominic chuckled, and then watched in consternation, as Helen Santini's composure crumbled completely and her chin began to wobble, as tears cascaded down her cheeks. "Helen?"
"He's coming home? He's really coming home?" she sobbed and sniffed and setting down the spoon that she had been using to stir the hot food in the pan on the stove, swatted at her tears, as they continued to stream down her face, trying valiantly to smile all at the same time.
"Yeah, honey, he's really coming home," Dominic Santini, still cradling Lucy in one arm, marched quickly across the kitchen, turned out the heat beneath the pan of meat sauce on the stove and then gathered Helen Santini into his other arm, feeling a lump rising in his own throat as he did so.
"Our boy is really coming home," he held on to her shaking body, knowing that this particular storm of tears was caused by relief.
Relief that finally, at long last, their ordeal was over, and they would all be together again.
One big, happy, family.
Lucy Santini's happy shouts and giggles brought her curious brother's running to the kitchen from the yard and after learning that their Daddy was coming home in just a few days, pretty soon they were dancing around their mother and grandfather, shouting and laughing happily.
"Daddy's coming home! Daddy's coming home!" they sang out, as they jigged around the homely kitchen filled with the delicious aromas of their home cooked family dinner.
As she watched Dominic Santini dancing around the kitchen with his grandchildren fussing around him, Helen Santini's tears melted away and she began to smile radiantly.
It was all going to be all right.
String was coming home.
Home.
At last.
Where he belonged. With the family who adored him.
He would soon be well and strong, and once he was settled and back into some kind of routine, the memories would come flooding back.
She was sure of it.
She simply could not allow herself to believe anything else.
Nothing was going to spoil her happiness at that moment, and as the gang of dancers circled around her, she took Dominic Santini's hand, and grabbed Christopher's small mitt in her own as he passed her, and began to dance around the kitchen with them, laughing gaily.
"Hey, take it easy kid, remember the baby," Dominic warned gently, but secretly he was glad to see her smiling now, and found himself offering up a silent prayer that all their tears were finally over and done with.
Except, tears of happiness that was.
May there be plenty more of those in the days to come ….
Friday - mid morning.
"What?" Stringfellow Hawke asked with a frown, in response to the pained look on Dominic Santini's face, as he stepped out of the small bathroom adjoining his hospital room.
It had felt a little strange to him, at first, to discard the comfortable and familiar pyjamas, and to pull on his street clothes for the first time in what for him, felt like only a few days, but for Stringfellow Santini would have been almost five months.
However, once dressed, he had to admit that it felt good to be wearing the soft denim blue jeans, pale blue shirt and blue and white checkered sweater that Helen had sent in a holdall with Dominic. She had added a quaint blue neck tie, which he had opted not to wear, baby blue socks, soft black leather loafers and to complete the outfit, a lightweight padded black waterproof jacket, which Dominic had draped casually over the foot of the bed when he had arrived.
The clothes were a little big, especially the jeans, but Helen had also thoughtfully provided a narrow black leather belt to hold them up.
He had obviously lost a few pounds since he had been here. Not surprising, he reasoned. If, he was really Stringfellow Santini, then four months in a coma would almost certainly result in weight loss and loss of conditioning and muscle tone, and since his awakening, he hadn't found the hospital food much to his taste, although Helen's thoughtfully packed baskets of food had tempted his taste buds and helped to stimulate his appetite.
"What?" he demanded again now as Dominic Santini continued to frown at him, trying to work out what exactly the look on his face was meant to convey. "What? What?"
He followed Santini's gaze then, glancing down at his clothes once more and then back up at Dominic Santini, realising immediately what was bothering Dominic.
"Geez, son," Dominic sighed softly, unable to conceal the shock in his voice. "I got so used to seeing you lying in that bed," he paused to clear his throat then. "Maybe you want to think about tightening your belt a little more, or else those pants will be down around your ankles before we get to the parking lot," he suggested, somewhat ruefully, and Hawke automatically reached for the belt around his waist and cinched it tighter by a notch.
"Sorry, son. Guess I just never realised how much weight you lost lying there," Santini apologised gruffly and Hawke walked slowly over to him and put his hand gently on the older man's shoulder, smiling softly at him in understanding.
"You were never a big guy, but," Santini coughed again to clear his throat. "The sooner we get you home and get some meat back on those bones the better."
"A couple of weeks of Helen's cooking, and I'll soon have me a belly like yours," String teased. "Sure you're not expecting another little addition to the family?" he joked, grinning broadly at the expression on Dominic Santini's dear face, as he reached out and gently patted the older man's ample belly. "Hey, I think it kicked me!"
"Wise mouth! I'll kick you, all the way from here, to Boston, if you don't quit that!" Santini growled playfully now, and then reached out to hand his son his coat, which had been lying across the foot of the bed. "Ready, son?"
"Yeah, I just need to get my toothbrush and shaving stuff," Hawke made to walk back toward the bathroom.
"No, son, I don't mean that," Hawke turned back to regard the older man and saw the look on his face. "I mean, are you ready?"
"Yeah, Dom."
Hawke let out a deep sigh.
He knew what the older man meant.
Out there, beyond these four walls, beyond the hospital grounds, things were going to be very different. He was going to be confronted with a lot of things that his stay in hospital had offered him a little protection against.
Out there was the real world.
Real life.
Dominic Santini was naturally a little concerned that his son might not yet be ready to face that much reality.
However, Stringfellow Hawke had done nothing but think about what lay beyond these four hospital walls, and was curious to find out more about Stringfellow Santini and his life.
"I'm ready. I've never been more ready," he assured the older man now. "I've thought about nothing else all week, and yes, although I have to admit that it's a little scary, I know that I can't stay here for the rest of my life. So, it's time I got back in the saddle and found out more about the man that I am," he took the black padded jacket from Santini then and shrugged into it.
"I know it's not going to be easy, Dom," he turned away then and walked back into the bathroom, to collect the last of his belongings, including his toothbrush, toothpaste and shaving gear.
"Things in this life seldom are," he reappeared in the bathroom doorway then. "And the worthwhile things are often the toughest to deal with, but, I'm ready, Dom. I have to get out there, and live whatever life I find, mostly because I can't do anything else, and I am certainly not ready to die just yet, too damned stubborn and 'ornery and curious. There's still so much that I want to see, and do, Dom," he walked over to the bed then and began to stow away his things, checking that he had everything else, neatly folded into the holdall.
"I'm glad to hear you say that, son," Santini smiled now. "We all know that it ain't gonna be plain sailing, but …."
"We'll work through it, Dom. We're family."
"Yeah. So would it kill ya to call me Dad, once in a while? I've kinda missed it …."
"Ok …. Dad," String smiled cheerfully then, although the word still felt alien and uncomfortable on his lips.
However, he could instantly see the pleasure the simple gesture brought to Dominic Santini.
"So, what are we waiting for!" Dominic Santini reached out then and scooped up his son's bag, then slipped his other arm around Hawke's shoulder and began to guide him toward the door.
"Dom, er …. Dad," Hawke faltered, briefly, as they approached the door.
"What son?"
"How's Helen? I mean …. Er, do you think she's ready for this?"
"Son, she's never been more ready! The house shines like a new pin. She laundered just about anything she could get her hands on, including the bills in my wallet!" Santini chuckled at his own joke then, and Hawke rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation.
"She cooked enough to feed several thousand Dodgers fans, and threatened the kids with San Quentin, if they even so much as breathed out of place," Santini continued to grin. "She's ready son, believe me. She's waited for this day for so long."
"No sign of the baby coming yet?"
"No, not a one, although, she's been fussin' around the house like the proverbial mother hen, fixing and cleaning. Nesting, I think they call it. Seems to me she was exactly the same way with Dom Junior. You still worried about being there when the baby is born?"
"Not worried, Dom, I mean, Dad. Just a little …. Uncomfortable," Hawke confided. "I don't want to let her down, but, I can't help feeling that I really don't have the right to be there. Not to mention the fact, that, I can't guarantee that I won't faint dead away, just when she needs me most of all."
"So, you do remember being there when Dom Junior was born!" Dominic Santini chuckled at the precious look on his son's face. "Thought I'd save that one, for the big day."
"What? Oh no! I didn't?" Hawke gaped at Dominic Santini in painful embarrassment, only to find the older man nodding gently back at him, as he wrestled to fight a losing battle to grin. "I did," Hawke groaned. "I did?" Santini nodded. "Oh God!" Hawke groaned again. "Tell me you're kidding, right?"
"No, son. How the mighty oak did fall," Santini chuckled softly at the precious look on the younger man's face. "Of course, I wasn't there, but the way Helen tells it, you turned a very pretty shade of green, and folded up like a rag doll. Like a puppet with its strings cut, just as Dom Junior made his appearance!" Santini chuckled then.
"Big, strong, tough guy like you, bent over like an ear of corn in a breeze. Of course, Helen wasn't very amused at the time, but, she can laugh about it now. You handled it much better, when Christopher came along, and by the time Lucy arrived, you were a seasoned veteran. So, you see son, whatever happens, you and Helen have already been there, and done that."
"But, I don't remember," String protested.
"It doesn't matter. You really don't have anything to worry about, or to be embarrassed about, String," Santini reached out and squeezed his son's shoulder affectionately now. "You have a loving, understanding, and very tolerant wife, kid, and she'll still love you, even if you do faint dead away!" He clapped his son jovially on the back then.
"It's part and parcel of life and love and having a family, son. In many ways, I envy you. I never had that. Not unless you count the night you and Sky were born. I never had the chance to watch my child being born. Who's to say that I wouldn't have keeled over too?" Dominic confided, slipping his arm around his son's shoulders once more.
"You remember what a calm, strong, placid man Steven was? Fought in two wars, saw all kinds of hell and never batted an eyelid. Well, not when St John, and you and Sky came along. Why else do you think he ate all of those cigarettes? And he didn't even have to be in the room with Connie!" Santini grinned.
"If you ask me, they would have been sweeping Steven up with the trash, if he had had to actually see any one of you, pop out! Oxygen and pethadin, would have been for him, not your Mom. Tough as old boots was Connie, and a good thing too, else there wouldn't have been any more baby Hawke's after St John , if she had been as weak stomached as Steven."
"Some things are just too overwhelming, but, embarrassment or no, I still wouldn't have missed if for the world, son. What's a little dent in my ego, compared to seeing my child come into the world?"
"I guess you're right, Dad."
"And what does it matter if a few doctors and nurses find it amusing to see you turn up your toes? You wouldn't be the first guy to react like that. You don't have to live with them. Helen is the only one that matters, and I know how much she wants you to be there. So that you and this baby get the same start in life as the other's did."
He regarded his son with steady, serious grey eyes now.
"And even if you do keel over, Helen won't think any the worse of you, son. She loves you, no matter what," Santini assured. "She just doesn't want you to regret not being there, for this little one, is all."
Hawke found himself nodding now.
What Dominic was saying made perfect sense.
If he was Stringfellow Santini, and this was his child.
But, he could not stop the nagging doubt at the back of his mind that he wasn't Stringfellow Santini and that he had no right to be involved in this child's birth.
Or, the lives of the other Santini children.
No matter how much he might want it.
And he did want it.
More than he had ever thought possible.
"You and Helen will work something out when the time comes," Santini sighed softly, taking in the uncertain expression on his son's face, knowing that he had given him much to think about.
"Let's get you home."
"Home," Hawke nodded.
"At least you won't have to worry about the kids bouncing all over you. Helen asked Mrs Randall, her neighbour, to take them for the day so that you would have a chance to get settled. They can be a bit of a handful, especially all together, but they're real angels most of the time."
This Dominic Santini sounded so proud of his brood of grandchildren, Stringfellow Hawke felt a moment of sadness and regret for his old friend. That His Dominic had missed out on having grandchildren of his own.
Not that the older man had ever actually said anything.
Except the odd less than subtle hint that he should have a brood of kids himself, Hawke thought ruefully to himself.
"Ready?"
"Yeah, Dad. Take me home."
"My pleasure, son. My pleasure."
The house was nothing elaborate, a suburban semi detached in a good neighbourhood, with three medium sized bedrooms, a neatly manicured front lawn with a strip of blacktop for a driveway and fenced in backyard for the kids to play in.
Stringfellow ….
No last name, for now, he had decided …. At least until he was sure which last name truly belonged to him ….
Stringfellow, regarded the property without emotion, as Dominic Santini pulled up in the driveway. It was modest and obviously functional, but, in all honesty, he did not think that after the simple rustic beauty of the Eagle Lake cabin, it was something that he would have chosen for himself.
Indeed, although the sleepy little town of Elkington was picturesque and pleasant enough in its own way, String knew that it was not a place that he would have chosen to live in. He liked peace and quiet and solitude, when it suited him, but, there were also times when he craved a little excitement and the bright lights of Los Angeles provided him with enough distractions when he needed to relax and take his mind off more serious things.
However, Elkington, and this house, were to be his home for the time being, and he just had to accept that.
Dominic Santini hurried him out of the jeep, cajoling him as he retrieved his overnight bag from the back seat, and slung his arm casually around the younger man's shoulders, and guided him up to the front door, which Helen Santini opened, wearing a soft smile, her big green eyes full of anticipation ….
And something else.
Uncertainty?
Which Stringfellow was she welcoming into her home?
Her arms.
Her heart.
She pressed soft, sweet, warm lips to his cheek as he crossed the threshold, but made no other romantic gesture, did not even offer him a 'welcome home', instead she slipped her arm through his and while Dominic Santini took his bag upstairs, gave String a conducted tour of the ground floor of the house.
Firstly the lounge room, on the front, off the vestibule, with a brick fireplace and comfortable but worn furniture. The room was tastefully decorated and a reasonable size, light and airy, overlooking the lawn and the street out front.
There were several small photographs lined up on the wooden mantle shelf over the fireplace, which he guessed had never been used for a real fire, and he picked each of them up, curious.
A smiling Stringfellow Santini, in his Airline Captain's uniform, hat tucked under his arm, as he smiled brightly for the camera, looking handsome, and proud, and super confident.
Stringfellow and Helen, at the beach, laughing happily. Windswept and tanned, holding each other close.
Dominic Junior, Christopher and Lucy, paddling in the surf on a secluded golden beach, with Helen holding tightly onto the two smaller children's chubby little hands.
Happy, family, photos depicting a happy, family, life.
Helen Santini watched her husband as he handled each of the photographs, and tried to hide her disappointment when not so much as a flicker of recognition crossed his handsome, chiselled features.
He still did not remember.
The beach photographs had only been taken a few weeks before the crash that had put him in the coma, at their small, secluded, private beach in Malibu. A precious Sunday, the one day he could generally count on being at home with his family.
They had taken a picnic down to the beach and splashed in the foamy surf, made mud pies and built sandcastles with moats and turrets, and made up stories about fairy princesses being held prisoner inside, by ogres or evil princes with dragons guarding the gates, waiting for their handsome prince Charmings' to come to their rescue, on their elegant, dashing white horses.
String had taken out his surf board for the first time in ages and had lost himself in the thrill and exhilaration of being one with the board and the water, and she had watched him with a mixture of terror and pride at his skill and bravery.
And later, when she had settled the kids down, for their afternoon nap ….
Helen closed her eyes briefly and drew in a soft, shallow breath.
She couldn't think about that now.
It was a lifetime away.
Two different people.
Helen watched as he replaced each of the pictures on the mantle, then walked up to join him, slipping her arm through his once more, and guided him out of the lounge room, down the hallway to the dining room, which was smaller than the lounge room, and had old, dark, heavy furniture in it, but was redeemed by a large picture window that gave a splendid view of the back yard with its neat lawn and flower beds, and the kids sandbox and swing set.
Next was the den, and he immediately guessed that this was where the kids spent most of their time, when they were forced to play indoors, for there were comic books, toy soldiers, toy cars and stuffed animals lying on the floor and on the small sofa, which was positioned in front of a small portable television set.
Finally Helen guided him to the back of the house and the pretty kitchen which smelled of pine detergent and freshly brewed coffee. There was a small loaf of freshly baked bread, cooling on a wire rack on the counter beside the cooker, and a plate of freshly baked oat cookies on the kitchen table, along side three mugs and the pot of coffee.
Dominic Santini had already made himself comfortable at the table, a mug of the aromatic coffee in one hand and cookie crumbs around his lips and down his shirtfront.
Helen busied herself with pouring out coffee for herself and String and then sat down at the kitchen table, and immersed herself in watching her husband as he and Dominic caught up on old times.
String didn't contribute much to the conversation, she noted, letting Dom do most of the talking, probably because he still couldn't remember anything of his life before, but he was smiling along with the older man, as Dominic laughed about some prank that he and Steven Hawke had gotten into, while serving in the Army Air Force in the Second World War.
It seemed just like old times.
Almost.
And finally, Helen Santini allowed herself to relax.
He was home.
He looked well.
A little pale, after months in a hospital room without fresh air and sunlight, but she knew that that would soon pass and he would be more like his old self again.
He was home. That was the most important thing.
She felt the baby inside her belly stir, and laid a warm, comforting hand against her swollen abdomen, smiling softly to herself.
It wouldn't be long now.
The child within was growing restless.
Impatient.
She recognised the signs.
Soon, little one, very soon.
Now that Daddy's home.
"I'd better be going," Dominic Santini announced after his third cookie and second mug of coffee. "You guys must want some time alone."
"Why don't you stay to dinner, Papa Dom?" Helen invited, watching String's face as she saw the look of hesitation settle there, and realised that he must be feeling a little nervous about being alone with her at last. "There's plenty, and the kids will be disappointed if they miss you," she concluded, throwing her husband a look that said she understood.
No expectations.
No pressures.
No need to rush into anything..
There was so much for him to take in..
She could wait.
And it was obvious that Dominic Santini did not want to let his son out of his sight just yet. That he had waited so long for this day to dawn, he meant to milk it for all that it was worth.
So why not indulge the old coot?
She saw String nod very gently in response to her look, and knew that he understood.
"Well," Santini hesitated, desperately wanting to stay and see the kids and spend some quality time with his son, but also aware that these two young people needed time alone, to get used to each other again.
"Go on, Dom, er, Dad," String smiled softly in encouragement. "We could make it a big family welcome home dinner."
"If you're sure?"
"We're sure." String and Helen said in unison, and then grinned at each other, exchanging a look that said that they had all the time in the world.
"Well, thanks."
After coffee and cookies, the men retired to the lounge room to sit and talk, and Helen busied herself in the kitchen with fixing the family dinner. She had been to the grocery store and stocked up on everything that she might need to whet String's appetite, bearing in mind his no meat rule, and then she went up to their room and opened up his overnight bag, pulling out his pyjamas and robe, and took them down to the laundry room and threw them into the washing machine.
Mid afternoon saw the return of the Santini children who piled into the house in a flurry of excited noise and threw themselves firstly at their grandfather and then, somewhat shyly at first, at their father.
Somewhat overwhelmed, String sat with Lucy on one knee, and Christopher on the other, listening to their inane chatter and watching as Dominic Santini paraded around the lounge room with Dom junior on his back, braying loudly and bucking wildly like a donkey, and he could not hide his mirth at the older man's antics.
He could not recall ever seeing the older man like that before, but it was obvious that he was used to it, and that he was enjoying himself immensely.
Dinner was a huge success, although Helen Santini could not help noticing that her husband ate little, just sitting there, drinking in the sight of Dominic Santini, at the head of the table, holding court with his grandchildren, more than making up for what String did not eat, with several helpings of dessert.
However, as the evening progressed, Helen could see that String was getting tired. He was losing concentration and his eyes seemed heavy, as though he were struggling to stay awake, and after several subtle hints, Dominic Santini, understandably reluctant to let this happy day end, finally kissed each of his grandchildren goodnight as they settled in bed at last, after one last bedtime story, and then after giving his beloved son a strong bear hug, and a penetrating look as they stood on the front doorstep, Dominic turned his attention to his beautiful daughter in law, and pulled Helen to him in a tight hug.
"Thanks for today, honey. It's been great. Really great," he whispered into her hair, then dropped a soft kiss to the top of her head. "It'll be ok," he assured. "He'll be ok."
"Yes, Papa Dominic. We'll be ok," she reassured him in an equally soft voice now. "Come to lunch on Sunday?" she added for String's benefit, and saw him smile and nod his approval of her invitation.
"I'd love to, but, I think you guys need some time to yourselves," Dominic Santini sighed, then turned and walked out onto the drive way. "Call me if you need anything," he turned back to grin at her. "Especially, if my new grandchild decides to make an entrance!"
"Not long now, Dominic. Patience," she admonished lightly, then watched as he climbed into the jeep and backed out of the driveway, smiling softly to herself.
It had been a great day.
A wonderful day.
The best.
The Santini clan, all together again, at last. Laughing and joking around and being the happy, contented family they had always been.
Yes.
Indeed, it had been a wonderful day.
When she returned inside, after locking the front door, she found String in the kitchen, drying plates and stacking them up on the counter beside the sink.
"I didn't know where they lived," he waved the dish towel at her and then at the stack of plates.
"You didn't have to do that, honey."
"I know I didn't, but I wanted to. First normal thing I've done in months," he smiled softly at her. "Thank you for today."
"You're welcome. Why don't you leave those? I don't know about you, but I could use an early night …."
Helen Santini was suddenly startled by the look that crossed her husband's handsome face.
Embarrassment.
Shyness.
Oh boy!
Suddenly confronted with the idea of retiring for the night, he was embarrassed about their sharing a bed.
Dear God!
She could begin to see colour creeping into his cheeks now, as he began to blush.
"I'll take the couch."
"No you will not!" She told him defiantly.
"Helen, I …."
"String, look at me, I'm eight months pregnant, my belly is as big as a bowling ball and my ankles are like two fat salamis. I feel like a beached whale, and I can barely manage to waddle around like a duck! Do you really think I am in any condition to …. "
She grinned, coyly, then and watched more colour creep into his cheeks.
"Believe me, honey, the only thing on my mind tonight is sleep."
"But …. But …."
"We have to get things back to normal around here as quickly as we can, String. So, you take out the garbage, and I'll tidy away the dishes, and then, we'll climb up those stairs together and get ready for bed. Just like we do, every night. Just like we have done most every night, since we got married."
Her tone told him not to argue with her, and he supposed that she was right.
If he was Stringfellow Santini, sharing her bed would be the most natural thing in the world.
But, he still didn't know for sure that he was Stringfellow Santini, and he felt awkward and shy about lying down beside her, so close.
So intimate.
"I think I can just about manage to keep my hands off you. Tonight," she grinned wickedly then. "I promise," she was teasing him now. "I don't know whether to be flattered, or, to be mad at you, for being so damned conceited. You're not that irresistible you know! But, if you have some excess energy," she crossed the room and took the dish towel from him, then turned him around and pointed him toward the trash can which was full to overflowing.
"That should bring you back down to earth, lover," she chuckled as she pushed him gently toward the trash can.
String let out a soft sigh and looked back at Helen Santini, long and hard.
She was a beautiful young woman, even in this advanced stage of pregnancy, sassy and funny and desirable.
And ….
She was …. his wife ….
Possibly his wife ….
Maybe..
Stringfellow made a decision there and then.
If, this was how things were going to be, then he would throw himself into it wholeheartedly, after all, it was the only way that he was going to get anything positive out of the experience.
And surely even he could control himself enough to spend the night with her.
Simply sleeping.
It was what married people the world over did. Every night.
Piece of cake.
It wasn't like he wasn't yearning to have her close, feel her body pressed close to his, his arms wound around her, holding her near ….
But what he wanted most from her at that moment was comfort.
Reassurance.
And, to be able to offer her the same things, in return.
Anything else that might happen between them, would only happen when they both wanted it. When they were both ready for it.
And certainly not before that precious new life came into the world.
They finished tidying the kitchen together, in companionable silence and then after locking the back door and switching off all the lights, they made their way up the stairs, String allowing Helen to use the bathroom first, to wash, undress and brush her teeth, while he slipped into freshly laundered pyjama bottoms, and neatly folded his clothes, as he sat on the edge of the Queen sized bed and waited for his turn in the bathroom.
Helen came out clad in a long white cotton nightgown, which fell to her feet in soft folds and was buttoned up tightly to her neck.
A statement, he wondered silently as he went into the bathroom and regarded his reflection in the mirror over the sink, as he squeezed toothpaste out of the tube.
I'm not sexy.. I don't feel sexy right now, and I'm not trying to trick you or trap you or lead you on.
When he returned to the bedroom, Helen was already neatly tucked up in the big bed, lying on her left side with her back to him, the lamp on her nightstand turned out.
He padded softly, on bare feet across the room and slipped into the bed beside her, keeping his distance as he pulled up the clean, crisp, sweet smelling sheets and reached out to slip off his watch, and then turn out the lamp on the nightstand on his side of the bed.
He lay on his back, quietly, in the darkness, just listening to the sound of her soft breathing, not sure if she was asleep yet, or just resting, and then, as though it were the most natural thing in all the world, Helen Santini turned over, now facing him, and reaching out with her hand, slid his left arm up over her head and around her shoulders and rested her head lightly on his chest, pressing soft, warm lips against his ribcage, before letting out a contented sigh and snuggling closer.
"Goodnight, love," hhe mumbled sleepily.
"Goodnight, Helen."
A few minutes later String became aware of her soft, regular breathing, fanning his chest, and he knew that she had fallen asleep.
Only then did he allow himself to rest his other arm around her warm body, and draw her even closer, closing his eyes and letting out a soft sigh, as he too allowed himself to relax and succumb to sleep.
If, this really was his life ….
With this woman, and these children ….
Was it really so bad after all?
No.
No. It was wonderful.
And he could not help offering up a silent prayer, just before sleep claimed him, that soon he would learn that this really was who he was, and what his life was all about.
That he really was Stringfellow Santini.
Because, the man was incredibly blessed.
Had he really known just what he had?
Had he really appreciated all the good things in his life?
Stringfellow Hawke did.
And hungered for those kinds of blessings, in his own life.
And at that moment, he would gladly trade places with Stringfellow Santini.
