by Laura Acton
It was almost nine by the time they finished. Jon and Dan hastily returned to the auditorium and resumed their seats just as a music instructor announced, “We have a special treat this evening that isn’t in the program. Our advanced cello quartet with the assistance of our drummer wish to play a song they have been working.”
Kent’s quartet strolled on stage as Kent ambled to the microphone sporting a huge grin. He laughed so hard at dinner when his dad regaled them with the bagpipe call the team had today—almost as funny as watching Uncle Dan run into walls and fall off chairs. He beamed with pride as he spoke. “We would like to dedicate this song to my dad and all the members of TRF Alpha Team. We promise not a single cat was tortured as we practiced.”
Dan and Jon stared at each other wondering what was coming given Kent’s comment. Jon turned to Jen and glimpsed her covering her mouth and softly giggling. A glance down at Joey found him bouncing on his knees as his hands held imaginary drumsticks and started moving as if playing drums.
Kent took his seat and positioned his cello. The drums started a familiar beat, and the celloists began playing a rousing and exceptional version of ‘Smoke on the Water.’ The audience became enthralled, and when the group finished, the spectators rose to their feet applauding for an extended time.
Jon and Dan shared a ‘what are the odds’ look joining the standing ovation. As the crowd resumed their seats, Dan smiled. This Christmas is full of family, humor, and love. Life is beautiful, just like Brody said it would be.
Honoring a Vow and Old Grudges
48
December 22
Larkin Children’s Home – 9:30 p.m.
Alban Kettle held his six-year-old brother Brandon close, stroking his back to console him, though in a way trying to soothe himself too. It wasn’t working. His mere seventeen years on this earth weren’t enough to prepare him to handle everything thrown at him, but his eleven younger brothers looked to him to resolve their problem, he would do his best and pray things worked out.
His gaze locked with sixteen-year-old Craig’s who held Brandon’s identical twin, Bryce, in his arms in much the same manner, both little boys sobbing their hearts out. Tonight would be the last time all twelve siblings bunked together unless he found a solution by zero nine hundred tomorrow. Alban’s eight other brothers surrounded him waiting for guidance, words of wisdom, or encouragement, but he just didn’t know what to say.
Alban turned his eyes to ten-year-old Ross, he had yet to cry, so angry, everything bottled up inside him, which worried Alban. He shifted to nine-year-old Justin and eight-year-old Grant who stood near him. Both struggled to be stoic, but he noted tears forming in their eyes. The sight broke his heart. They fought so hard to become a family … true brothers … and succeeded. Now they were being ripped apart and scattered to the wind regardless of their feelings on the matter.
Grant’s tears got the better of him, letting out a sob as he ran to his beloved brother, fifteen-year-old Gavin, and clung to him. “I don’t want them to leave. God took mom and dad, twice, and now Bryce and Brandon are going.”
“Alban will think of something. Be strong,” Gavin murmured picking up Grant, still so small for his age. He held tight patting his little brother’s back, not wanting to let go—not now and not ever. If someone had told him when his mom married Grant’s dad that Grant would become his favorite brother, Gavin would’ve laughed in their face.
Gavin’s own eyes started to prickle with tears recalling the events of seven years ago when Captain Kettle married Mom. His natural brothers, Alban, Macon, Kaison, and Justin, became rivals and bitter enemies of their new stepbrothers, Craig, Todd, Stuart, Ross, and Grant, after their parents married. Blending the family had been rife with arguments and several fist fights.
Their animosity intensified after their half-brothers Brandon and Bryce were born. He and his biological brothers felt like the red-headed stepchildren because they bore the last name Tabor, not Kettle. With the birth of the twins, the Tabor/Kettle balance was thrown off. Before, it had been five against five and equally matched with each brother alternating in age by a year. Alban Tabor was the oldest, followed in birth order by Craig Kettle, Gavin Tabor, Todd Kettle, Macon Tabor, Stuart Kettle, Kaison Taber, Ross Kettle, Justin Taber, and lastly Grant Kettle.
It took little Grant’s battle with cancer to pull them all together and forge unbreakable bonds. Each losing a parent had initiated them to death and grief, but when Grant was four, and his life hung in the balance, they realized, who their birth parents were made little difference in the scheme of life and loving those you cared about, regardless of blood ties, meant everything … at least Alban and Craig recognized this.
Gavin shifted his gaze to the two eldest. They buried the hatchet first, banding together as fraternal brothers, helping both camps bond and begin to accept each other as family. Alban advocated a mutual adoption, to establish a legal alliance as well. As a result, their new father, Captain Gordon Kettle, adopted them and their mother adopted the Kettle boys. Alban still amazed Gavin today. His brother was so young when he made such an adult suggestion.
At first, Gavin was utterly against the idea. He thought it was somehow a slap in his father’s face. His dad, Neil Tabor, had been a good man and great drummer, who died tragically when the band bus went off a cliff on a snowy night. But his mom said it was not a dishonor to their father to adopt the name Tabor-Kettle, which would honor both the men who would have a hand in raising them.
So, legally they all took the hyphenated name, but after a few years, they simply chose to go by Kettle. It was easier, and by then, they had settled in, becoming one happy family. Sure, they had a few brotherly conflicts, but they were only squabbles in which any set of boys close to the same age would engage. Their rare disagreements no longer drew lines based on their lineage.
Grant turned his teary and scared eyes to Gavin. “Who is going to pick me up from school and stop the bullies?”
Witnessing the fright Grant’s eyes Gavin wanted to reassure him, yet found it difficult to speak as his throat formed a lump. He swallowed several times and struggled to sound calm. “I’ll find a way, little buddy.”
“But Ms. Crudele said you can’t. She’s sending me far away. I don’t want to … I want you!” Grant dissolved into tears and buried his face into Gavin’s neck as his short, thin arms squeezed as tight as he could, and his small body shook with the force of his emotions.
Noticing Gavin became too choked up to talk, fourteen-year-old Todd wrapped his arms around both of them. “God will light a path for us to be together. Gavin will always be here for you. We all will.”
All of them became over-protective of Grant, but none more so than Gavin. Grant would have died without a bone marrow transplant. God had a strange way of showing them they belonged together. Out of all the family, Gavin’s marrow matched Grant’s best even though they didn’t share ancestral links.
For the past four years, Grant gravitated to Gavin for comfort and safety. Gavin accepted his role as protector with an open heart. By the time Grant recovered, they had bonded deeply without the familial tie an ounce of blood would provide. However, because Gavin provided the stem cells to Grant, both boys insisted they were now blood brothers.
But now, now they all worried. Gavin wouldn’t be able to be there for Grant. He would be unable to protect his little brother. Their unique family unit was being torn apart by an uncaring social worker.
His arms crossed over his chest, anger brewing and ready to explode, twelve-year-old Stuart declared, “I hate Crudele! She is a witch! This isn’t right. Not right at all. She can’t break us up. I won’t let her!”
Thirteen-year-old Macon nodded. “We need to do something. How can we stop them from taking Grant, Justin, Brandon, and Bryce away?”
“We must stick together. Dad said we had to take care of each other,” eleven-year-old Kaison said as tears filled his eyes.
Ten-year-old Ross’ face was red, his eyes and
fists scrunched tight in anger. “We run away! She can’t steal from us them if we aren’t here.”
“Yeah, if they can’t find us, we stay together!” Stuart agreed with Ross.
Kaison agreed but asked, “Why is she taking them right before Christmas?”
Craig turned pleading eyes on Alban. “We mustn’t allow her to get away with doing this to us. She has no heart.”
Alban took a deep breath praying that his voice would remain calm and not reveal his inner turmoil and fear. “I tried everything I can think of. If only I were already eighteen, but I’m not. We’re wards of the province. Though, I’m not giving up. She might win this battle, but we’ll win the war!”
“But she’s sending us away now!” screamed nine-year-old Justin. “I don’t want to go! I wanna stay here with you!” Justin dropped to the floor in a heap as deep sobs wracked his body. “I want daddy. Why did he have to die? Why did God want all our moms and dads and our uncle? We need them.”
As Todd moved to comfort Justin, Craig addressed Alban. “Why did she do this now? You’ll be eighteen in two months.”
Alban fought back his tears. “You know why.”
“Well, she’s wrong! That heartless witch is wrong!” Craig bit out harshly.
“Wrong or not, she holds the power, and I have none,” Alban stated. His mind was awash in anguish over this situation. He tried many things, yet Ms. Crudele remained unsympathetic to their wishes. She had her mind set and no rational argument he presented changed her decision. Alban agreed with Craig. She is cold and heartless.
Alban begged for them to be kept together, at least through the holidays—hoping they could all stay in this place until he turned eighteen. He planned to petition for guardianship of his eleven younger brothers when he reached the age of majority. He was up to the task though Crudele didn’t think he could manage. The narrow-minded woman failed to acknowledge that Alban had been taking care of his brothers for years.
After their mom was killed by an armed intruder a few years ago, Alban and Craig stepped up and kept things running smoothly at home. As a flight instructor for the Air Force, their father worked long hours and traveled to other bases often. So they mainly raised their little brothers.
Sure there was a live-in nanny, an adult in the house for legal purposes. Though, she only did the cooking and necessary driving until Alban obtained his driver’s license. Everything else … homework, house cleaning, laundry, and afterschool activities … they managed themselves. Alban kept them on a tight leash and well regimented with schedules and duties for all.
Discounting Alban’s demonstrated abilities and his maturity level, Ms. Crudele only considered his age. She didn’t have their best interests at heart—heck she probably didn’t possess a heart. Taking Brandon, Bryce, Grant, and Justin away from them two days before Christmas was cruel.
They still grieved the loss of their dad and Captain Bunge, their honorary uncle. Both men died in incidents during training flights, with only a week separating them. Their deep wounds were barely scabbed over and were about to be torn open yet again—this time they might never heal.
It was not the accidents themselves which concerned Alban the most. Like members of most military families, he understood they would likely never be told the real reason the crashes occurred. What worried him most was the resulting devastation their untimely deaths caused to his and his brothers’ world.
Uncle Bunge had been their dad’s closest friend with whom their shared a mutual affection. After their mother died, based on the strength of the brotherhood Bunge and Dad shared, their uncle agreed to become their legal guardian should their father pass away—a fate which sadly came true.
Then a mere seven days later, while still reeling in shock from Dad’s death, and just beginning to grasp how life had irrevocably changed for them, tragedy struck again. Their beloved uncle was gone, and their world was thrown back into chaos. This time they lost not only a man they considered a friend and a source of love and solace but possibly their third father.
Now, a short four months later, God tested them again. They were about to lose their youngest brothers even after battling to stay together. Despite Alban’s wisdom beyond his years, he was still regarded as a child in the eyes of the law. Ms. Crudele, an adult, held all the power, and her wishes superseded their desires. For some reason, she determined they should be separated heedless of their multiple entreaties to remain together.
Alban scanned his brothers … each overwhelmed with sadness mixed with fear, anger, or both and all except Ross had tears in their eyes. Their bond was strong regardless of birth parents. Alban made an emotional decision. “I won’t let the heartless witch separate us. Not now, not ever. I will fix this, and I will find a way to fulfill the promise I made to dad and mom.”
“How?” Craig asked, uncertain of the expression which crossed Alban’s face. In truth, it scared him, but he trusted Alban to honor his vow.
En Route to Hardy Home – 10:30 p.m.
Jen turned her head and peered into the back seat of their sedan. She smiled seeing Joey sound asleep in his booster seat leaning his head against Dan’s side. In a soft voice, Kent was regaling a sleepy Dan with the latest song his quartet decided to learn.
She liked that Dan listened to Kent and had a grasp of a wide variety of music. In the beginning, Jen had found that odd, until Dan shared his best friend had had an eclectic taste in music and exposed him to all genres. She turned back to the front and glanced at Jon. Her smile broadened.
This afternoon and evening had been on the entertaining side. Jon brought Dan home and explained to her what happened to his team. Once assured they were all alright Jen was concerned but acknowledged the humorous aspect of the day. She made up the guest room so Dan could nap, and he slept until dinnertime. The poor guy ran into a few walls and missed the chair entirely. She tried not to laugh, really, she did, but couldn’t help herself.
Speaking quietly, Jen asked Jon, “Should I plan on making you and Dan breakfast in the morning?”
Jon nodded. “Yeah, I cancelled workout … everyone needs more rest. Breakfast would be nice. Better make enough for two Kent-sized appetites.”
A soft giggle burbled out as Jen covered her mouth. “Figured that already after Farrell’s parlor. Pancakes should fill the bill.”
Flashing red and blue lights and a siren interrupted both conversations. Jon noted the motorcycle officer in the rearview mirror, reflexively glancing at his speed, he was within the limit. Although the stop appeared questionable, he signaled and moved to the side of the road. He put the car in park, lowered the window, and waited for the officer to approach.
Dan leaned his head back to rest. Despite a long afternoon nap, he was ready for bed. His extra exposure to marijuana contributed to his tiredness as well as kicked in the munchies. When Jen suggested they stop for a treat after Kent’s concert, he was all in. Kent bet him that he couldn’t win the parlor’s ‘Sink’ challenge. Dan, in turn, threw down the gauntlet to Kent. Dan accepted the dare and was now over-stuffed.
Both he and Kent had a grand time tackling the tasty quest with gusto. The parlor awarded free ice cream for a full year to any contestant capable of consuming eleven scoops, three bananas, strawberries, butterscotch, hot fudge, mountains of whipped cream, and chopped walnuts. The only catch is they had to finish the gigantic sundae within thirty minutes to claim their prize. Although they both won, Dan didn’t think he could stomach more frozen desserts for at least a year … if not longer.
Kent turned to his dad, holding his stomach, not feeling very well after eating the entire sink—an accomplishment which still surprised him. He had kept talking to Dan on the way home to try to ignore the rolling queasiness and wishing he hadn’t challenged him. “Were you speeding, Dad?”
Jon chuckled. “No. Not sure what the issue is.”
Constable Jean-Luc Fouquet ran the license plate to determine who he was dealing with before approaching the vehicle. He hated wor
king night patrol, but since last summer, the last time he tried out for the Tactical Response Force, that was all he seemed to pull. Still pissed John Brewer had been selected over him and then Brewer up and left the force. What a wimp, Brewer was unable to handle taking out someone. I was the better choice, but Hardy keeps squashing my chances. The perceived slight stuck in his craw.
The car’s owner popped up on his screen, Jonathan Grant Hardy. Fouquet grinned. Well, well, isn’t this fortuitous. Seems about time for a little payback. Wanting to screw Hardy, Jean-Luc’s mind began to run through all the conceivable violations he could write tickets for in addition to the initial citation for a broken tail-light.
Kent’s stomach heaved, ready to expel all the dairy products. Ah darn, I’m gonna puke, need to get outside. Only thinking of not stinking up the inside of mom’s car, unaware of the possible consequences of his actions, he lurched out ignoring the shouts from his father and Dan. Bile rose, and he ran a short distance away before dropping to his knees and emptying his stomach’s contents in the dirt.
Dan and Jon reacted simultaneously, both aware of how an officer might respond when an occupant of a car unexpectedly surges out. The risk of harm exponentially increased when darkness reduced an officer’s ability to see well, particularly if the officer is alone with multiple subjects.
Jon shouted, “Kent, stay in the car,” as he opened his own door, knowing he needed to act to draw attention to himself and away from his son.
“Wait!” Dan said as he reached across the back seat to grab Kent. Failing to make contact, he immediately moved to follow Kent out of the passenger side rear door. Once out, he rushed to protect the kid.
Assuming a non-threatening posture, Dan pivoted to face the motorcycle cop with his arms out to his side, palms open and facing forward to show he held no weapon, shielding Kent’s kneeling form with his body as best he could. The only thought running through Dan’s mind was, please don’t shoot.