by Dinah McLeod
“You’ve come here before?” I asked, turning my attention to Morgan who, as I’d suspected, was grinning broadly.
“Yeah.”
“Morgan...”
“Come on, Dad, give it a shot.”
I couldn't help but grin at his pun. “I don't think your mother would like this very much.”
“Does she have to know?”
I gave him a sharp look. “Are you implying we should lie to your mother?”
He shrugged, looking a bit sheepish. It shifted his features, making him look much younger. My heart clenched at the brief reminder of the boy he’d once been. I had to face it sometime: he was growing up and there wasn’t a thing I could do to turn back the clock.
There were red laser beams flying around everywhere and a constant barrage of grunts, muttered curses and shrieking. “Laser tag?” I asked without ever taking my eyes away from the action.
“Laser tag,” Morgan confirmed, sounding very proud at having pulled one over on me.
“I've never played,” I admitted.
“I know, Dad. But you should be a natural at this sort of thing, right?”
I found him grinning at me and I smiled back at him. “Well, I guess we'll have to see, won’t we?”
* * * * *
Three hours and five games later, we collapsed into a booth at a nearby rundown diner. I was more out of breath and sweaty than I’d been in a long time, but my face ached from smiling so much. Morgan, who had plopped on the bench across from me, had tilted his head back and closed his eyes.
“What can I getcha?” A waitress asked, approaching with wariness.
“Water,” I gasped out. She gave me a dubious look before walking away. Only when she returned with a pitcher and two cups did Morgan speak.
“Pass it over here.”
“Get your own,” I quipped as I poured out a glass. Morgan chuckled when I slid the glass toward him. “So, that was intense.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, somewhere between a grunt and a moan.
“Is it always that bad?”
He grinned at me. “Yeah.” He put the cup to his lips and we were silent as we took long, gulping swallows. When I put my cup back on the table, I immediately began to refill it. I drank that one, too, and refilled Morgan's cup before I finally felt like I was beginning to cool off. When Morgan had drunk his fill, I cleared my throat.
“So, how’s Chloe?”
If he was surprised by my question he didn't show it. “She's doing good.”
“You went to her house last night?” I prompted.
“Yeah.”
Geez, when had he become so monosyllabic? When he was a kid, I could hardly get him to take a breath. I winced at the thought—there I went again, comparing him to a little boy he’d outgrown long ago. “So, when’s this test you're studying for?”
“We weren't studying,” he replied, his tone so casual that I almost didn’t know how to reply.
“So, you were...”
Morgan rolled his eyes and snorted. “Practicing reproductive techniques, what d'ya think?”
I wanted to scowl at him, but I just plain didn’t have the energy for it. Our waitress came back, still eyeing us warily. She stood by the table, tapping her pen against a yellow order pad, waiting for us to speak. “What do your customers order when they have a hangover?” I grunted at her.
She narrowed her eyes at me and cut her gaze toward Morgan, then back at me. “Anything with grease, which is pretty much everything here. Best cure I know.”
“Great,” I ground out. “Got anything stronger?”
“It’s none of my business, Mister, but—”
“Don’t worry, Ma’am,” Morgan said. “He’s only kidding. We’ll take two of your blue plate specials, with eggs, over-easy and bacon, please.”
She scribbled hurriedly, sneaking peeks at us over the top of her pad. “What you want to drink? Water still?”
“Coffee, black,” Morgan supplied.
I’d watched him in surprise, suddenly feeling more alert than I had moments ago. Why was it that when he spoke to perfect strangers he spoke respectfully and actually seemed to possess manners? I supposed I should feel glad that he spoke that way to anyone, that there were moments when his upbringing seemed to stick. Indeed, I did feel pride as I looked at him.
But I didn’t say any of that. What I said was, “You drink coffee?”
“Black. Like you.”
It was the first time I could remember hearing him admit to doing anything the way that I did, and I took it in stride, determined not to call attention to it. “Who do you usually go to laser tag with?”
“Huh? Oh, guys from school sometimes. Sometimes I go by myself. When I need to think, you know.”
I chuckled at him. “When you need to think? I’m surprised I could even hear you yelling over all that noise.”
“It’s great, yeah?” Morgan pushed his bangs out of his eyes for a change, and when I looked at him I could see the grin on his face mirroring my own.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “So, did you have fun?”
“Sure thing, Dad.”
“So would you agree that I know how to have fun then?”
Morgan paused for a beat before he groaned. “Oh, man.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, pumping my fist in the air.
“Dad, please act normal,” my son groaned.
“Would if I could,” I teased, but I did lower my arm. “So, it seems to me I recall a wager being made.”
“I knew this was going to come back to haunt me,” he moaned, leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling. “Okay, so what do you want?”
“I figured you got to choose our activity this time, next time you let me pick.”
Morgan sat up and peered at me through his bangs. “You’re for real?”
“Yeah, you know. When you’re not busy practicing reproductive techniques, that is.”
Morgan rolled his eyes at me, but I could tell he was pleased. “So, what do you want to do? Please tell me it’s not stamp collecting or bird watching, because honestly, Dad, I don’t think my heart could take it.”
I had to laugh at the melodrama. It was better than his silence or the clipped answers I’d been getting earlier. “Hey, fair’s fair, I shouldn’t tell you. Turnabout and all that.”
“Give me a hint.”
“Twist my arm, why don’t you.” His eagerness was a far cry from the indifference he’d been treating me with before, so I decided to go ahead and tell him. “You ever shot a .9 millimeter?”
He sat up straighter, his mouth dropping open. “Dad, Mom is going to kill you!”
“Does she have to know?” I quipped, echoing his earlier words. I was rewarded with a quiet chuckle. “I’m going to clear it with Mom first, but I think as long as we promise to shoot the targets and not each other she’ll be okay.”
Morgan turned his head to the side, staring at a menu as he grinned. The hair fell away from one of his eyes, and looking at his beaming face, past the long hair, I could suddenly see it: my face reflected in the features of my son. “You know what we should do,” he said, his tone conspiratorial. “We should totally prank Mom. You know, get some fake blood and stuff.”
“And stuff?” I echoed.
“She’ll freak,” he announced, as though he couldn’t think of anything better in the world.
When our meals arrived we began eating our syrup-drenched pancakes and eggs as though it was a contest. Only when we’d finally set down our forks and pushed our plates away—if it had been a contest, Morgan would have won—did I dare broach the subject I’d come here to talk about.
“Hey, you know what I was thinking about earlier?”
“Yeah?” Morgan asked with a belch.
“Do you remember when you were a kid and you begged Mom at least once a day to have a baby?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I remember it. Every night before you went to bed, you prayed for a brother, although you eventu
ally said a sister would be okay. And then any time we saw a baby, I mean anytime—in the supermarket, or at the movies or wherever, you’d remind your mom that you wanted a baby brother. You started to get kind of annoyed at her, actually, as the years went by.”
“Yeah, I kinda remember that.”
“Do you ever wish…” Now that I’d started, I had no idea how to steer the conversation the way I wanted it to go. Morgan and I were just starting to build a bond; I didn’t want to risk destroying it. It wouldn’t take much, considering it was so fragile as it was.
“Nah. I like being an only child. Siblings are a pain in the ass.”
I frowned at him, my brows coming together. “Watch your mouth, Son.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
At least he hadn’t rolled his eyes, I thought. That was progress. “You ready?”
“Yeah. I guess Mom will be wondering where we are.”
I stood to my feet and threw some money on the table. As we walked back to the car, I wondered how to bring the topic back up. It didn’t seem to be something Morgan really cared to talk about, but I had to work my way into the news somehow. For perhaps the hundredth time I wondered if I shouldn’t just leave it to Shelby. She had a knack for knowing just what to say.
“I can drive,” Morgan offered when we got back to the car.
“I don’t know,” I started to say. To his credit, Morgan didn’t get defensive, which is why I paused and thought about it. It had been so long since he’d asked to drive that I’d forgotten how much he liked to do it. What teenager didn’t? We’d been talking about getting Morgan a car of his own for his eighteenth birthday right before I’d entered retirement. Considering the debt we were in and the scaled back income, I doubted that was a possibility now. “You know what? Why not? Just, be careful. It’s an expensive car.”
Morgan didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t hide the grin that split his face when I tossed him the keys. I climbed in the passenger side, not without a bit of trepidation. I needn’t have worried. Morgan proved to be a very careful, alert driver; yet another area Shelby had nailed. Was there anything that woman couldn’t do?
With a start, I realized that we’d both be doing everything all over again. We’d have another first birthday, another child to teach to swim, to ride a bike. Suddenly, I felt bits and pieces of Morgan’s childhood flash before my eyes. It was over all too quickly and I felt new pangs of regret when I realized all I’d missed. No wonder he found it hard to be around me—I was almost a stranger.
But this was my chance, I saw with newfound clarity. This was my chance to make it up to him, to both of them. He’d be leaving for college soon, but until then, we were going to start acting like a father and son, and doing some of the stuff I’d always said we would: hunting, fishing, shooting. More laser tag, if he wanted. Basketball. The list went on and on.
I could make it up to Shelby, too. Being out of the Army meant that I could be here for this new child, and for her, in ways that I never was able to before. There wouldn’t be any doubt that I would be there for the birth. Though I’d managed to be at the hospital when Morgan was born, we’d spent the three weeks before the due date wondering if I would be. My unit had deployed before he was a week old, and when I’d come back, he was already walking.
This time, I could be there to help with the late night feedings, the diapers and reading bedtime stories. I’d be there for birthdays and on Christmas mornings. For Easter egg hunts and school plays. The more I thought about it, the more excited I became. I felt some of the tension I’d been carrying around fall off, like throwing off a weight I’d thought was permanently attached. But with my mounting excitement came the mounting fear of how my son would take the news. Would he be jealous that this child would receive my attention in a way that he never had?
“You got quiet,” Morgan observed. “Mind if I turn on the music?”
“You know the rules. Passenger chooses the music.”
“Whose rule is that?” When I didn’t answer, he reached over and switched on the radio. Still keeping his eyes on the road, he changed it to an alternative rock station and began drumming his fingers on the stereo to the beat.
Maybe I was being ridiculous. It wasn’t like we’d planned this, after all. It wasn’t like we were trying to replace him. Maybe he’d be cool with it; maybe he wouldn’t even give it a second thought. I reached over and turned the music down, deciding it was now or never.
“Okay, you can pick the music.”
“No, it’s not that. Listen, Morgan, there’s another reason I wanted to have some time alone with you today.”
“Oh, man,” he said with a laugh. “Like I didn’t know that? What’s is it? My grades are still pretty good, Dad. It was just one test, and I’ll be able to make it up.”
“No, it’s not that. Wait, what?” I furrowed my brow. “What test? Did you miss a test?” He went silent all of a sudden, and I knew that I was going to have to pry it out of him. “Morgan?”
“Geez, Dad, dial it back a notch. Can you, like, go all G.I. Joe without even trying?”
“I’m not sure what that means,” I returned. “But that doesn’t tell me what I want to know. What’s this about a test?”
“You remember the anti-war demonstration Chloe was talking about at dinner a few weeks back?”
“Of course.”
“Well, to do that, I sort of had to miss English.”
I took a deep breath so that I wouldn’t scream at him—again, putting my first instinct on the back burner. When I did speak, I’d relaxed a fraction. “You know what? I am going to choose the music.”
“Is that my punishment?” he asked hopefully.
“Sorry, Pal. Not by a long shot.” The two of us fell silent and it stayed that way for the rest of the way home.
Chapter 6
Shelby
I was in the kitchen pulling a pan of baked spaghetti pie out of the oven when I heard the door open. I set down the baking dish and whipped the oven mitts off, rushing to the living room. I’d barely set foot in the room when I felt the tension in the air. It seemed that the wall that had existed between father and son had grown even thicker, though I wouldn’t have thought it possible.
“Hi,” I greeted them. “I’ve got dinner ready—”
“We already ate,” Morgan said in a mulish tone that gave me pause. “I’m going to my room.”
Before I could protest, he raced past me, and I turned to Dean, looking for answers. My husband watched our son pass, then walked over to me, pulling me into a hug.
“Hey there, Beautiful. Miss me?”
I smiled up at him. “Of course I did. Did you two have fun?”
“We did, believe it or not.”
“So what’s with the—”
“Mmm, something smells delicious. I should have told you we went to eat after.”
“I made spaghetti pie,” I told him, pretending to pout. “I hate to eat alone.”
“I guess I better make room,” he said, kissing me lightly. “How about a glass of wine to go with it? I could use a Scotch, myself.”
“Sure,” I replied gamely, letting him lead me to the kitchen, willing to pretend for the moment that nothing was wrong.
“Wine’s still okay for pregnant women, right?” he asked as he poured.
“I think so,” I said with a laugh. “It’s been awhile.”
“Time we both brushed up then.”
“I’ll only have a sip,” I promised, taking a seat at the dinette.
Dean winked at me as he set the glass down in front of me. “I didn’t pour you much anyway, have at it.” After he set the glass down, he leaned over and kissed my forehead. Then his hands slid down to rest on my belly. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. And why are you whispering?”
“I just don’t want Morgan to overhear before I have a chance to—”
“You didn’t tell him?” I exclaimed in dismay. “What did you do the while you were gone?”
>
“Play laser tag. I was going to tell him, Shels.” He dropped his hands and walked around the table to the other chair. As soon as he sat down, he took a sip of his Scotch. “I started to, and that’s when I found out he skipped school for his protest party.” He sighed loudly as he swished the Scotch around in the cup. “I don’t know what to do about that boy.”
I could barely contain my laughter. “Yes, because you never would have done anything like that.”
“Exactly. Wait, what are you talking about?”
I smirked at him. “I don’t know, think back. Didn’t you skip not one, not two, but several classes in your junior year?”
Dean stared at me for several moments before he looked away, sighing. “That was different, Shelby. I was getting in some training with soldiers! They taught me a lot about Army life, if it weren’t for them—”
“They taught you dirty Jodies,” I countered, scoffing. “And I seem to recall you telling me that your dad was just as pleased with you as you are with Morgan right now. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Watch it, Woman,” he growled. “You’re carrying my apple seed as we speak.”
I tossed my head back, sending my dark, wavy locks flying. “Apple seed? Really, Dean, you can do better than that.”
“Well, it’s my seed, I got that part right.”
“My point is, we’ve all done things to drive our parents crazy. You were Morgan’s age once, and you did the same things.”
“No way! I learned useful things with those guys. Hell, I can still recite the first Jodie I ever learned.”
“Don’t,” I moaned, but I was too late. Dean was already singing.
“If I die in the Spanish Moors, bury me deep with a case of Coors! If I die in Korean mud, bury me deep with a case of Bud! If I die in a firefight—”
“Enough!” I protested. “You’ve made your point. Now go talk to your son!”
“Are you sure we can’t just send him a bouquet of balloons with baby bottles on them? Or better yet, say it with flowers?”
I shot him a frigid look, but he just laughed. “All right, let’s talk to him together,” he countered. “Doing this without you was my first mistake.”