by Ames, Alex
Rick
Rick stepped out of the plane at Boston Logan Airport and stood in line for the boarding of the small feeder plane that would take him to Nantucket. He was dead-tired. Louise had gifted him business class travel, but Rick was not a creature of the air and hadn’t slept a wink. A news channel monitor beside the check-in counter was showing entertainment news. Suddenly there it was, in big red letters, “Louise Waters and Kids in Mob Stampede.” Rick’s blood ran cold. He stared slack-jawed at the display, but the sound was off and the text band showed only keywords: “LA supermarket incident. Waters’s shopping trip goes awry. Endangering kids in her care. Five shoppers hurt. 100K damages.” A rapid sequence of network news footage and iPhone videos of tumultuous scenes with cornflake boxes in the background, a big tattooed black guy pushing people around, a close-up of Louise’s tear-stricken face, a shot through a tinted police car window with a hint of Britta’s face, and so on.
“Sir, excuse me? You’re next.” The lady waiting behind Rick tapped on his shoulder.
“No, you are,” Rick said and ran to the ticket counter to catch the next flight home.
Louise
The team went into full damage-control mode the second Arielle’s media alert texts started pinging like crazy at ten that night. First the assistant couldn’t believe her eyes; then she verified and realized it was even worse when she saw the first video posted to Facebook. She called her boss, who jumped into the car while Arielle woke up the public affairs agent to start spinnging the story.
At the Oxnard police station, the kids were sitting in an interogation room with pizza and soda, finally getting their Saturday dinner. Louise was in the office next door, giving her statement.
“I think we can agree that this has been the most terrifying and most exciting shopping trip ever,” Charles said, mouth full.
“My coloring book got lost,” Dana complained, munching crust in her slow-mo eating habit.
“We’ll get you a new one tomorrow,” Agnes said, glad that the chaos had left no injuries. Charles was a bit bruised from the fat lady’s legs and would need to adjust his glasses, but that was about it.
“Do you think we’ll ever be allowed to go into that store again?” Britta asked.
“It wasn’t our fault, was it?” Charles said.
“Will Louise go to jail?” Dana asked. Despite being dead tired, she found this police station very interesting. All the detectives with their gun holsters, the officers in their uniforms, the smells, the run-down offices—definitely not daycare.
Agnes smiled at her baby sister. “No, of course not. She made a mistake, but did nothing illegal.”
The Flint kids continued eating. “I hope Dad doesn’t get wind of this,” Britta said.
“Fat chance. If he hasn’t already seen it on the news, the police would have called him. Louise isn’t our mother, after all,” Agnes explained.
Charles wiped his mouth. “That’s the reason why no one has questioned us so far. Most of us are minors and without a guardian present. No way, José. Hasta la vista.” He stared back at a passing policeman and did an uncanny Pacino impersonation. “Nuttin’, you’ll get nuttin’ out of us.”
twenty-three
Choices
Rick
Rick was lying on the couch in the den, reading the latest Tom Clancy reboot, which Britta had given him for his birthday. The supermarket incident was fresh in everyone’s minds, and Louise was gone for a meeting with another actress.
I should go for a run on the beach or take a swim.
There was a modest knock at the door, and Agnes came in.
“Hi, Dadster. Got a minute for me?” She looked pretty serious when she said it, and Rick immediately noticed the absence of the other three; somehow they had retreated under some stern instructions into their bedrooms without him noticing. “Yeah, sure, always.” Rick sat up. “What is up? Did you dent the car in a time of financial family crisis?”
“No, different.” Agnes pulled up her dad’s rolling office chair and sat down.
“All right,” Rick said.
“Dad, whatever I’m about to say, remember that we love each other.”
Rick’s nodded. “I will. Except . . . you’re not pregnant, are you?”
“Dad, shut up and let me say my . . . Pregnant, no, I am not pregnant. Don’t confuse me. This is hard enough on me, and it will be hard on you.”
“Okay, you have my full attention and silence.”
Agnes took a deep breath, wrung her hands, and looked at her dad. “I got accepted to college. The letter arrived two days ago.”
“Already? That is fantas—”
She held up her finger to remind her dad of his promise of silence. “It is not one of the colleges we’ve been discussing. Actually, it is a college I’ve had my eyes on since day one of the search.”
“UCLA?”
“Dad, silence. Have we discussed UCLA? Yes. So this is not about UCLA. You remember our discussion about purpose? About doing something important in life?”
“Sure,” Rick said hesitantly.
“I have been accepted to the US Naval Academy.”
Rick stared at his eldest daughter open-mouthed. “Naval Academy? As in US Navy naval?”
“I have enlisted for an officer career in the navy. They’ll give me a college education and a degree—systems engineering, if you must know.”
“But don’t you need to become a soldier in order to go to college . . .”
“And I will continue on a Navy officer career path for at least five more years afterward.”
“Are you . . . crazy?”
“Dad . . .”
“No, listen to me now! Do you have any idea what this means? The navy? You will have a job that will get you killed. Or crippled. Or worse! Have you seen what these ISIS guys are doing to women?” Rick felt his face turning red. “And a job where you have to kill other people. In masses!” Pictures of fallen soldiers, maimed bodies, and terrorists pulling dead soldiers’ bodies through the streets of Middle East villages flashed through his mind.
Agnes crossed her arms. The conversation was definitely not going the way she wanted it to. “You’re done?” she said, tight-lipped.
“Done? I am not done. I won’t let you throw your life away. You’re an honor student—you might even become valedictorian. We checked out the best universities in the country, and you want to become a damned soldier?”
“I will not become a damned soldier, Dad! I will become an officer of the United States Navy. That is a respectable and honorable job. With a purpose.”
“Agnes, I won’t allow it!”
“You have no choice in this, Dad. I already signed the papers. I turned eighteen two weeks ago, which is the age of consent for enlisting. After I finish high school, I will move to Annapolis next June.”
Rick was speechless. This could not be happening, not my Agnes. Bella, please, please, please tell me what to do. Tell her what to do!
No inspiration was given by Bella’s ghost. Rick was alone in this.
“Agnes, I don’t know what to say, but I can’t give you my blessing,” Rick said.
Agnes jumped up. “Dad, I will become an officer, and there is nothing you can do to stop me!” She ran out of the den and upstairs and slammed the door of her room.
Now that was a disaster. Rick rubbed his face. Images jumped into his head of Agnes in a million dangerous situations where she was killed, burned, maimed, and hit by bullets. Shutting his eyes did not help.
During dinner that night, the table stayed quiet. Charles diplomatically held back with Navy career statistics, Britta poked at her food, and even Dana noticed the muted atmosphere. Agnes was a no-show. Everyone wrapped up the day without being told to do anything; even Dana did not make any fuss being prepared for bed, and at eight p.m. Rick found himself alone in front of the television. A muted click-clack sound upstairs told him that Dana had had a successful breakout from her bed, sneaking to Britta or Agnes. Her w
ay of coping with the situation, for sure. Rick let her be, as he was still too shocked.
Not only shocked. Also disappointed. Why the secrecy? She could have told me right away when we started college hunting. So why did she keep her plans and decision to herself?
There had been no precedence in the family for a few generations now. Rick’s grandfather had fought in World War II, had been part of General Patton’s march through Africa and Italy. He had actually met Rick’s grandmother in Rome and married her after the war. But after that, Rick wasn’t aware of any close family member ever joining the military. His little Agnes, a navy officer. He had flashes of Demi Moore in various uniforms, with short hair. Probably the way Demi had looked in the Tom Cruise–Jack Nicholson military courtroom drama, with white uniform and black cap, was what Agnes would look like with her jet-black hair. Rick fetched his iPad and surfed for officers’ careers, US Naval Academy! Agnes a soldier!
Louise had planned to sleep in Malibu, and she wasn’t back from her business date yet. Rick felt sad, not having her around to talk about what was circling in his head. He took two sleeping pills and went upstairs way before his usual time. Rick knocked briefly at Agnes’s door but received no answer. He still hadn’t anything to say, so he whispered “Agnes, sleep well, I love you,” in a low voice through the closed door. Sleep did not come easily that night.
Louise
“Your father is pretty upset.” Louise had decided to tackle the issue head-on the next day when she had returned. She had waited for Agnes in front of the school, and they went to the mall to have a quick lunch in the food court, Louise with a salad and Agnes with sushi.
“I know. I hate that, but there is nothing I can do about that. The decision is made.”
“You want to talk about it?” Louise asked.
Agnes chewed and swallowed. “When you left home and had to find your way in LA, did you know what you wanted?”
“Sure. I had the objective to become famous. Laser-sharp focus. Nothing to deter me.”
“Hm. But aren’t there steps in between? Like getting a small role first. Learning the trade. Stepping up from there. And then reaching critical mass and having the skills, network, and influence to actually be a star?”
“Not in my case. It was like, put it all on red. Similar to what I am doing now. Leaving my job behind and investing in a family.”
“But how did you know it would work out?”
“I didn’t. But I had nothing to lose. I was sixteen, without attachments or responsibilities.”
“It took you eight years to break through. All or nothing makes it sound like a single game.”
“Life’s roulette wheel is slower,” Louise said, finishing her salad. “What I really want to say is, my life is not your life. The situation is different, the girl is different. You need to make your own decisions.”
“Nicely bringing the topic back to me,” Agnes said and also finished her food.
“Agnes, don’t worry too much. Your dad will come around, I am sure. Picking a job is something that will influence maybe not all of your life but at least the next ten years of your life. At twenty-eight, you will be a different girl and maybe then build cars or go into advertising or simply raise your kids in Illinois and fulfill your dad’s dream.”
“Do you think that I’m rebelling against my dad? I mean, we had had some daughter-parent conflicts before Mom died, but after that we were a united force against the younger Flints. Am I now making my choice to show my independence? And wouldn’t that be wrong?”
“Agnes, are you fine with your decision?”
Agnes looked into Louise’s eyes. “Completely!”
Louise took Agnes’s hand. “Then don’t overthink it. If becoming a navy officer is the worst you do to rebel, you guys are in good shape.”
“So, what’s the advice from the all-on-red person?”
“No advice. I am right in the middle of it and don’t take sides,” Louise said. “Plus, my current ball is still rolling.”
Rick
“Do you know that my life wouldn’t be half as exciting without you guys around?” Hal said when he and Rick met half an hour earlier at Starbucks. They sat in the morning sun and sipped coffee in venti cups.
“Tell me how she could this to us? The navy! Where did this come from?”
“Have you asked her?”
“The escalation of our argument didn’t allow for further explanations,” Rick admitted.
“She will look terrific in a uniform. Agnes has been so serious these last years. I bet she’ll kick ass as an officer, ordering poor sailors around.”
“Don’t make it sound like a fun thing,” Rick said. “She’ll order them to die. She might die!”
“She might also die in a different job. Would you argue the same way if she had decided to become an oil-rig engineer, or a mining expert, or a police officer? All dangerous jobs.”
“Yeah, I would hate these jobs, too!” Rick snorted. “I’m her father! I have to protect my little girl. My not-so-little girl. A corporate lawyer. Advertising. Building cars.”
“Yup, I think we are getting closer.” Hal laughed and took a sip and adjusted his sunglasses to look after an attractive woman walking toward her car.
Rick grunted. “Don’t turn against me. I need best friend advice, not have everyone against me.”
“I am not turning against you. But I am her godfather, remember, so I am torn both ways. But the best friend advice says, hug her, tell her that you love her, and ask her what kind of gun she wants as a graduation gift.”
“Very funny!” Rick crossed his arms and sulked.
Hal turned to his friend. “Agnes is your first daughter. Man, time flew for us the last eighteen years. Just yesterday we got drunk after Agnes was born. And then snap, seeing her grow up, Bella’s death, everyone around you shocked and coping.” Hal sat back again and took another sip. “And Charles turned certified-genius weird and Britta your little rebel. Agnes was the stoic role model of a daughter supporting her dad, keeping the family together. She was a leader. All the time. And face it: she already is an officer.”
“I love her for her support and feel kind of sorry for her at the same time. She basically had no late-teenage phase, grew up at fifteen.”
“Right. And now see my point, my friend: Agnes likes structure. Family offers a structure. She fought an uphill battle, to stay with the military analogy, to keep this structure working after Bella died. I think she is aware that growing up means leaving the original family structure. And she will find that in the military. The military will fit her like a glove. Without knowing, you always had a little officer in your house.”
Rick looked at Hal. “I am speechless about your insight into my family and our psyches. I’m impressed!”
Hal gave a small nod of the head. “I know you need to keep your money together, so I won’t charge for this session.”
twenty-four
The House of Waiting
Rick
Rick was able to rearrange the Nantucket visit for later that same week. The whole gang, chauffeured by infallible Floris to make sure that they found their way back all right, brought Rick to LAX, and from there his plane flew east.
Once more, next try.
He got onto the plane on a hot Southern Californian early autumn day and stepped out of the plane in Nantucket after changing planes in JFK in pleasant low-seventies with a steady cool breeze.
I remember now: there are seasons in other parts of the world. His East Coast time had been long ago, and he had forgotten how much he had liked the real change of seasons. Should have come by boat, thought Rick as he saw the Atlantic spreading out left and right as he briefly paused on top of the stairs stepping off the plane. More fitting than a plane.
A taxi brought him to the address that the granddaughter Vicky Wallace had mailed him. Nantucket Island had narrow streets and neat little houses. Everyone drove slowly, and the sky had clouds, real clouds, not the typical So
uthern California haze. Every now and then one cloud would cover the sun for a few minutes, and the light changed dramatically with shadows and colors. A lot of East Coast memories flooded back to him, already so many years ago. It made Rick feel old.
The taxi driver gave him a look through the rearview mirror. “Business?”
“Hunting down a mystery.”
“You’re a private detective?” Toothpick Driver glanced backward once more. “You got the look. I mean like this actor from TV, Castle?”
“Detective, me? No, shipbuilder.”
“Builder? Yeah, I remember, Folsom Shipyard. I am taking you to the old lady, right? Vera Folsom? She must be close to a hundred years old.”
“Close, yes,” Rick confirmed.
The taxi slowed. “Here it is. Sixteen dollars. Good luck with your mystery.” He handed over a business card. “Call me when I should take you back into town. I know you Angelenos have issues with walking.”
“Thanks. I might surprise you there. Keep the change.” Rick retrieved his overnighter and stepped out. The small, red, wooden Cape Cod house was somewhere in the middle of the island, a neat little garden, fruit trees, and shrubbery all around. Not a single palm tree and the absence of lush greenery were the first things Rick noticed. The island was green, but a different one. A slender blonde woman in blue jeans and a jean shirt came out of the house as Rick approached. She was about his age and clearly a sailor, with healthy tan and hair bleached by sun and saltwater.
“Vicky Wallace,” she introduced herself. “You don’t need to introduce yourself. You really look exactly like on TV and on the Internet.” She laughed.
“No escape from my girlfriend’s fame. Sorry about the busted date a week ago.”
“At least your excuse was well documented,” she said. “Grandma is having her midday nap for another hour or so. She’s really excited to talk to you.”