“Yeah, whatever,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d have the stones to do it, Romeo.”
“What? Hit you?” I said. “Are you kidding?”
“That’s why I picked the bar! It was a public place.”
“Hold still,” the doctor told him.
“Hold still, aye.” He sighed. “I’m never gonna live this down when I get back to the team.”
“Oh?” Anne said sweetly, in the same mocking voice her daughter used.
Rich ignored her and said to me, “If anyone asks, there were four of you.”
“Why not six?” his mother said archly.
“Yeah, six is better. I took five out, but you managed a lucky hit.”
“Are you going to hold still or not?” the doctor said.
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”
“All I need is two minutes without you talking,” she continued. “Do you think you can manage that?”
“Will do.”
“Thank you,” she said in exasperation.
“I was sucker-punched, by the way. In case you were wondering.”
She sat back and rested her forearms on the tray. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah. The kid came out of nowhere.”
“I’m sure.”
“Hit me for no reason.”
“Mmm hmm.”
“Well, he’s dating her. She’s my baby sis—”
“Richard!” Anne snapped. “Be quiet and let her work. I’m sorry,” she added to the doctor, “he chatters when he’s nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” Rich protested. “Only, I don’t like needles.”
“I’ll be gentle,” the doctor told him. “This won’t hurt a bit. Just relax—”
“You’re enjoying this,” he accused.
“Not particularly. I’d enjoy it more if you’d hold still and let me do my job.”
He steeled his nerves for the coming needlework, and the doctor finished quickly once he stopped talking.
“There,” she said in a soothing voice. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Keep it dry for twenty-four hours—”
“Wash it with clean water after that,” he finished. “Use Vaseline to keep it moist. See a corpsman in three to five days to have the stitches removed. Yes, ma’am, I know.”
She stripped off her latex gloves and threw them in the trash. Then she glanced at me.
“Next time, act like adults,” she told the pair of us. “Big boys talk. They don’t hit.”
“They do in my line of work,” Rich said.
His mother cleared her throat.
“I’ll take it under advisement,” he said to the doctor. “Are we done here?”
She nodded.
“You feel like a drink?” he asked me.
“Only if you’re buyin’.”
“No, but my dad is.”
Anne sighed. “Men…”
“Can’t live with ’em…,” my mother added.
“Can’t shoot ’em,” the doctor finished.
“Amen to that,” Christy agreed.
* * *
Christy and I met our families for an early brunch on Sunday. Rich and I didn’t suddenly become best friends, but he treated me with a bit more respect than before. He had a nice shiner to remind him, although my hand throbbed painfully when my pain meds wore off.
“What’re you smiling about?” Rich asked after we finished eating.
“I was just thinking… your head’s harder than my hand.”
“In more ways than one,” his father said.
“Be nice, dear,” Anne told him. “We all know where he gets it.”
“Who, me?”
“Yes, you.” She smiled for real and said to my parents, “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
They exchanged pleasantries and then we all stood to say goodbye.
“We’ll see you tonight,” I told my parents. “Probably in time for dinner.” I hugged Anne and shook Harold’s hand. My vision swam as pain shot up my arm.
“Sorry,” he said. “I forgot.”
“I stuck it out there. So it’s my own fault. Anyway, we’ll see you on Saturday.” I grinned and added, “Probably in time for dinner.”
“Of course,” he chuckled. “Rich can bring the scotch. Johnnie Walker Blue, wasn’t it?”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Rich lied with a perfectly straight face. He tossed his chin at me. “See you soon, kid. Remember what I told you.”
“By the way,” Harold said to him, “you never said what that was about. At the bar last night…?”
“I didn’t?” Rich said mildly. “Oh. I suppose you’re right.”
“You know I outrank you.”
“And I’ve been trained to withstand interrogation.”
“You see what I have to live with?” Anne said to my mom.
“Oh, I know. I have two of my own.”
“Be glad it’s only two,” Anne said. “The others are just as bad.”
“Hey! I’m not,” Christy said.
“No,” her mother agreed. “You’re my beautiful girl.”
“I have one of those too,” Mom said. She put her arm around Erin, who seemed flabbergasted.
Harold looked at his watch. “We need to finish packing,” he said to his wife. “Sabrina needs to be at the airport in two hours. Chop-chop.”
“Time for us to get a move on too,” my father agreed.
We said our final goodbyes, and Christy and I headed out to the car.
“I’m glad they all got along,” she said.
“Me too.”
“I wasn’t worried, but I sort of was.” She glanced up at me. “You and Rich seemed to be getting along better today.”
I nodded. “That’s how it is with guys. We fight and then we’re friends.”
“I’m glad I’m not a guy.”
“Me too.”
She looped her arm through mine and sighed.
“Good sigh or bad?” I asked.
“A little of both. I always hate saying goodbye to my family, but we’ll see them in a week.”
“What’s the good sigh for?”
“Do you really need to ask?” She smiled up at me. “I’m feeling very affectionate toward you right now.”
“That’s what I was hoping.”
“Oh?”
“Well, we have a few hours before we need to leave for Atlanta. And we have the house to ourselves…”
“What about your hand?”
“I’m sure we can find a few positions that work.”
“Only a few?” she teased.
* * *
We arrived in Atlanta to find that a small change of plans had caused a large change of mood. My dad had accepted a reverse seniority trip, which was basically forced overtime. He could have refused, but not if he wanted to stay in the good graces of almighty Crew Scheduling.
Dinner was a subdued affair. Mom started doing laundry immediately afterward. Dad retreated to the garage to work on the Karmann Ghia, his airport car. And Erin disappeared into her room with her Walkman. Christy and I were left to our own devices, so we went for a walk and then went to bed early for a change.
“I’ve got to get out of the ’27,” my dad muttered early the next morning as he prepared to leave. He draped his uniform coat over his arm and kissed my mom. “Tell Erin I’m sorry I missed her.”
“She understands.”
“Tell her to have fun and be safe.”
“I will.”
“I’ll call tonight when we get to Bloomington. Love you. Bye.” He kissed her again, waved at Christy and me, and hefted his suitcase and Jepps case. “Somebody oughta put wheels on these things,” he complained under his breath. “He’d make a million bucks.”
Erin shuffled into the kitchen about fifteen minutes later. “Did I miss Dad?”
“Sorry, honey,” Mom said. “He waited as long as he could.”
“That sucks,” Erin said. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“He thought you needed your sleep.”
“He did? Or you did?” She huffed. “Never mind. I need to pack.” The tension lingered even after she’d gone.
Mom let out a long, weary sigh.
“I thought you were getting along better,” I said.
“We were. But not lately. This trip…”
Christy and I shared a look.
“If you ever have daughters,” Mom told us, “just let them do whatever they want. It’ll save you a lot of heartache. They’ll probably grow up to be hippies, but at least they won’t blame you for it.” She massaged the bridge of her nose and sighed again. “I need to finish doing laundry, or she won’t have anything to pack.”