“This is the first time you’ve ever brought someone home who’s special to you,” my mother said. “I’m glad you brought Seamus with you. He will always be welcome here if you love him. But how does he feel about you? I can’t tell, and that concerns me.”
It concerned me, too. I could read between my father’s lines, but I clearly did not know the general well enough yet to translate him. “I think he feels the same,” I said, wanting to be honest. “I hope so.”
My mother poured another cup of coffee for both of us and gave me some time to think, distracting herself by preparing breakfast. I knew she had more questions than I had answers. And they were good questions. I’d become a master detective when it came to analyzing the clues and building a case, but the general had never spelled anything out for me or defined the rules of engagement for us. Until he actually did, I’d never know if I’d reached the right conclusion. I suspected that the general, faced with this new sensation, was afraid. I could not put him at ease when I felt uneasy myself.
My mother brought orange juice, English muffins, and oatmeal to the table, and I hadn’t even poured the milk on my cereal before she resumed her inquisition. “So how much experience does he have with this kind of thing?”
Apart from his friend, the major who’d died from AIDS, I didn’t know the depth of the general’s experience. He’d admitted some connections since then for the purpose of sexual gratification, but I hadn’t insisted on confession of how many or how often. I assumed I was, or would be, if I was lucky, his first and last serious, long-term relationship with another man. So, I merely explained he’d been married for about ten years and had gotten divorced a few years back.
“Because he’s gay?”
“His wife asked for the divorce. It wasn’t his idea.”
“Did she know about him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. He didn’t protest when she said she wanted to split up.”
“What happened to his wife afterward?”
“She remarried. I don’t know anything more.” I hoped my mother didn’t express interest in contacting her to get the real lowdown.
“Did they have any children? They’d probably be about your age.”
“Thanks for pointing that out, Mom. No, there were no kids.”
My mother persisted. “What about other men? While he was married? Or after the divorce?”
“Mom, why don’t you ask him? I don’t feel right telling tales about him when he’s not here to defend himself.”
She nodded, her resolve cemented. “All right, I will ask him.” She would, too. “Has he come out, Harris? Publicly, I mean.”
“Um…no.”
“He hasn’t?” She seemed genuinely surprised. “Why not?”
“Being romantically involved with another man—a junior officer, no less—is hardly a smart career move for a general, even if the Air Force allows gay people to serve openly,” I said. “Coming out isn’t exactly in his best interest, either.”
She shook her head. “I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t he want to come out, since he can? Wouldn’t that set a great example for the people in your unit?”
And everyone else in the Air Force, too, I thought. To my own surprise, I’d never thought to ask such a question. Had he ever considered coming out publicly? Would he, if I asked him to?
Time to shift tactics again. “Mom, do you like him?”
She sighed. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. But now I have to look at him in a different light, and I’m inclined to be more critical. I think he’s too old for you. He’s a little self-centered, if you ask me. He smokes. He’s divorced. He’s…well, I’m not going to tear him down in front of you. Because I really do like him.” She gave me the first hint we might make peace when she giggled. “And by heavens, Harris, he’s certainly a handsome man.”
He certainly was, and when the man you fall in love with happens to be the sexiest man you’ve ever met, it’s frosting for your favorite cake.
“And terribly charming, too. I can certainly see why you might fall for him.” She grew reflective again, as if she’d suddenly reclaimed her proper “mom” decorum. “Harris, I’m a little worried about how all this will turn out.”
“I know, Mom. I appreciate your concern.”
She nodded. “You just be careful, Harris. Okay?”
“Okay.”
We finished eating even though the oatmeal and toast had long since grown cold. We were content, and I helped her with the dishes afterward and even swept the floor, feeling slightly guilty about the dog hair. My mother surveyed my diligence with satisfaction. She’d taught me well.
“You and Seamus will keep a clean house,” she said. “He’s just as neat as you are. He even made his bed this morning, hospital corners and all.”
I wondered how my traveler was adding up in my mother’s mind. The pieces probably didn’t fit. His contradictions endeared him to me, but who else knew him as I did? The rest of the day passed uneventfully. My mother raised some good questions, and I had plenty to think about as I kept my ears tuned for the sound of my dad’s pickup on the gravel driveway.
Chapter Seventeen
The pickup pulled into the driveway in the early dusk. I could hear my father and the general talking, even laughing, as they brought their tackle and the cooler into the basement. They washed their hands at the utility sink and then came upstairs, both of them grinning. The creel was loaded with eight sleek, glistening rainbow trout. “How about that?” my dad said. “You ready for a feast tonight?”
I knew they were feeling good because of their luck, but something else had happened, and I wondered precisely what. They seemed to be the best of friends. And the general was wearing one of my dad’s prized hats, a shapeless thing with lots of history, decorated with colorful flies he’d tied himself. I wonder if my dad hadn’t surrendered it for the day because the general had caught five of the trout.
“What’s your secret, Traveler?” I whispered to him.
He cupped his hand around my ear. “Use bait that works,” he said. No help there. We trooped back outside to the driveway for victory photos, my father and the general standing by the skiff, holding up the string between them, heavy with the spoils.
When we had a minute to ourselves, I filed my complaint. “Thanks for skunking me out of my fishing trip with Dad,” I said.
“I sympathize,” he said, “but it wasn’t my idea. Remember? How was your day?”
“Got the third degree from Mom. You don’t need to tell me what kind of day you had. And you don’t need to look so smug, either.”
*
The general cleaned the fish, earning bonus points with my mom, as my dad usually deferred this chore. Traveler dispatched them neatly and efficiently, slicing the bellies and removing the guts and bones. He chopped off the heads and tails and wrapped the scrap in newspaper as I watched, fascinated by his facility. For all my experience, I wasn’t sure I could have done it with such precision. He’d obviously cleaned fish with some frequency.
My father fired up the charcoal grill out back, and the general volunteered to cook as well. He seasoned the trout with fresh lemon juice, sea salt, and coarsely ground black pepper and set them, sizzling, on the grate. Sparingly, he prodded the fish with a fork while he and my parents debated the merits of various other ways of preparing fresh fish—dipping in milk and cornmeal and pan-frying, for example, or broiling in the oven, or, God forbid, breading and deep-frying, which the general dubbed a sacrilege while my parents nodded, solemnly.
“You don’t want to mask the flavor,” the general said. “They’re fresh-caught, damn it, and you ought to taste the lake.” The discussion expanded to include appropriate sauces, from tartar to Hollandaise, but they agreed that good, fresh fish could stand on its own merits.
He asked if they’d yet learned the trick for freezing trout, gutted and cleaned and then frozen in some of the same water where you caught ’em. Just bring back a gallon or two, the g
eneral said. Clean the fish and freeze them in a cardboard milk carton filled with the lake water. “When you cook ’em, they taste fresh-caught.” My mother fried potatoes with onions, as she always did with fish, and fixed some fresh coleslaw.
In spite of the good feeling radiating from the kitchen, my mom made sure the general and I remained separated at the table. So we sat across from each other, and I had to make do with his grin from a distance and once, when my parents were distracted, a slow, deliberate wink that made me feel as if he and I were in some kind of outlaw cahoots.
Dinner was delicious, and the general was quite modest under the extravagant praise we heaped on him. Somehow or other, everything seemed to be mended, and the cracks didn’t even show. After dinner, he even offered to do the dishes. My mother protested. “You caught the fish and cleaned them and cooked them, too. The least I can do is wash up.”
The general wouldn’t hear of it. “Go relax. Both of you. Harris, I’ll wash, and you’ll dry.”
“I’m on vacation,” I said. “You can’t order me around.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “But I can ask politely, and you’ll do it. Please?”
I laughed. “All right, sir.” That was one for the list. His eyebrows flexed, and he grinned.
“There,” the general said to my mom. “I’m in charge. Now go.” Reluctantly, my parents filed out. I know they didn’t miss doing the dishes. They wanted to chaperone us, and I could hardly blame them. But I was eager for news about the fishing trip, and I wanted to be alone with Traveler, even for a few minutes.
In the kitchen, we stood side by side at the sink. He was elbow-deep in plates and suds, and he scooped up a handful of foam and deposited it on my nose. I wiped my face and scooped up more of the same and paid him back in kind.
“Keep out of my water.”
“Sir. Yes, sir, sir.”
“Behave, Dishrag, or I’ll wash your mouth out with this soap.”
“I’d like to see you try it, sir.”
He maintained his decorum. “That’s three,” he said.
“Four,” I said. “You need some help keeping track, sir?”
“Okay, five,” he said. “You’re mine for the rest of your days, or at least until next Tuesday.”
“I couldn’t be happier. In case you’re counting, sir, I’m actually up to six, and that’s just in the last ten minutes. Seven, if you include the one at the table.”
“I will annotate my list accordingly,” he said. “And being an honorable man yourself, you will pay your debt in full.”
With one sudsy mitt, he pulled me close to him, his hand on my neck bringing me in, and he dropped his mustache to mine. He paused for a minute and whispered, “I don’t care if we get caught this time, either,” before trapping me again. The water dripped down my back, but it hardly mattered.
After finishing the dishes, we went to the front-porch swing so he could smoke his night pipe. Seated next to him, I listened to the quick scrape of match on box and watched as the flash illuminated his face. Carefully he puffed on the pipe, drawing fire into the tobacco, coaxing it to burn. When it was lit to his satisfaction, he moved even closer and put an arm around me. He took a long draw and exhaled. I don’t think I ever heard a more satisfied sigh.
“You haven’t told me anything about your fishing trip,” I said.
I could feel his grin, even in the dark. “Some things a man has to keep to himself.”
That was that. I knew I’d never get anything out of him. But I doubted, based on my own numerous fishing excursions with Dad, that they’d said much of anything. Fishing can be its own reward, its own conversation.
“Where did you learn to fish?” I said.
“My grandfather taught me years ago,” he said. “We used to go fishing a lot when I was young. I loved it. Loved him. Every summer, all by myself, I’d get shipped up north for two months to his farm in Pennsylvania. That’s where my mom grew up.”
He seldom shared any details about his upbringing, and I listened with interest. “My old man might have been a father, but he sure wasn’t a dad. He never wanted to play ball or go camping or fishing or hiking, and I was itching to do all those things. I’m fortunate my granddad shared those interests with me. He believed summers were made to be spent out of doors, and that’s what we did. I lived for those times. Until today, I haven’t gone fishing since he died, almost thirty years back, not long after my mother.”
He sighed, and a moment later shook his head as if to shake off some ghost. “You’re lucky your dad’s like he is.”
I agreed. “You’re welcome to borrow my dad anytime you need one, Traveler.”
“Thank you,” he said. “You’re very generous.”
There was one caveat. “I’ll have you know that my offer does not include future fishing trips. Those are mine.”
He laughed. “I didn’t mean to cheat you, but it was important for your dad and me to spend some time together, man to man. It didn’t hurt that I was damned lucky today.”
Clement and Sixtus roamed the porch, restless. I suspect we weren’t active enough for them. The general reached for one of them and got both for his efforts. “One dog for each hand,” he said. “Perfect.” They could hardly contain their pleasure.
“Just try and stop.”
“I don’t mind,” he said. “I always wanted a dog. My dad would never permit it. Said they were noisy and dirty and too much work and trouble.”
“Well, they are noisy and dirty and too much work and trouble,” I said. “But so are you, and that didn’t stop me.” He laughed. “A dog will be your friend forever. You couldn’t ask for a more loyal companion.”
Adding one to your life was not a responsibility to be taken lightly, however, I told him. A dog demanded attention and regular exercise every day. A dog meant commitment. A dog was yours to look after for the rest of its life.
“I don’t care,” he said. “I will have a dog. One of these days. We will have a dog.”
“You can borrow Clement and Sixtus anytime, too, Traveler.”
He nodded, satisfied. I would share anything with him. We sat in silence for a while, watching the dark and the stars, and I never felt luckier. When he was finished with his pipe, he knocked it against the porch railing to empty the ash. He unwrapped a peppermint for himself, and we stood up and faced each other. His mustache whispered against my neck and then my cheek until it tangled itself in mine. I would have stayed there all night, surrendered to his mint and rum-and-maple, but he pushed me away gently.
“Time to go in,” he said. I protested, but he said, “I have to respect your folks. This thing can’t be easy for them. Not that it’s easy for me. You’re quite tempting, you know.”
Anger washed over me and put me in the mood to argue. “And just what is this ‘thing’ you’re so worried about? I wish you’d tell me one of these days so I’d have a clue.” Maybe I resented the fact that I’d spent the day worrying about him and defending his honor, and now that we finally had some time to ourselves, he wanted to cut it short.
I sat down on the porch step. He sat next to me and put an arm around my shoulder.
“Call it what you will, Sundown,” he said. “I wonder myself sometimes. Maybe I don’t know the destination, but I’m damn sure I want you to come along.” He brushed his mustache against my cheek. “Trust me,” he whispered. “Please?”
I wasn’t ready to be placated, but he led me inside. He passed the rest of the evening with my parents watching television, one thing I’d never known him to have the patience to do. He was proving himself quite adaptable, but I was still upset, still impatient, and chose to retire to my room with a book and the dogs for companionship.
Chapter Eighteen
I overslept the next morning. I’d done nothing the previous day to tire me out, unless it was the discussion with my mom, which had been exhausting in ways that had nothing to do with physical labor. Maybe I’d been keyed up because the general was out of my sight an
d with my father, a potentially volatile combination. Or maybe the whole situation simply frustrated me. At any rate, the clock read 9:09 when I woke up.
Dad would still be asleep, his tradition for a Saturday. We wouldn’t see him until nearly noon, the only day of the week he indulged in such luxury, perhaps to catch up from the other days, when he arose at five a.m. My mom would already have laundry under way, and no doubt the general was on his second or third cup of coffee. I dressed quickly and headed downstairs, stopping short when I heard the general laughing, hearty. And one thing that truly shocked me: I could smell his tobacco.
A light, cool breeze in the hallway told me that the window was open, but my mother was actually letting him smoke his pipe in the house. In my memory, no one else had ever been granted such a privilege. Clearly, the general’s stock had skyrocketed overnight.
I don’t usually eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help myself on this occasion. Quietly, I padded toward the kitchen entryway and stopped just outside. Though they could not see me, I had clear vision of the table, of my mother already dressed, and enough of the general to determine that he wore his shabby brown bathrobe. If he had tied the sash as carelessly as usual, my mother would have a good view of his furry chest. Clement and Sixtus prowled underfoot, restless, in case someone might drop a toast crust or a hamburger.
I backed up and chose my vantage point, well out of sight but well within earshot. “You have to understand our concerns,” my mother was saying as I held my breath and tuned in. “Harris is really taken with you. You know that, don’t you?”
A pause. “Is he?”
“Of course he is. Don’t tell me you haven’t figured that out. And he’s scared to death of you, too. I don’t know what you’ve done to him, but I don’t quite understand how he can be in love with you and afraid of you at the same time.”
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