by Greg Cox
“WELCOME HOME, DAD!”
“WELCOME HOME, SIS!”
“WELCOME HOME, SWEETHEART!”
Cheers and applause hailed the first appearance of the troops, followed by tears and squeals of delight as individuals spotted their respective loved ones. Neatly regimented ranks broke apart into a riot of emotional reunions. Spouses leapt into each other’s arms, locking lips in public displays of affection. Small children scampered to embrace their parents. Older relatives wept openly at the safe return of long-absent sons, daughters, nephews, nieces, and grand-children. Handcrafted signs, painstakingly prepared, were tossed aside and forgotten in the joy and excitement of the moment. Bouquets of yellow roses were crushed between enthusiastic hugs and kisses.
Lost in a sea of jubilant strangers, Ford looked around anxiously, searching for a familiar face. At first all he saw was other people’s reunions, but then:
“Hello, stranger.”
Elle emerged from the chaotic mob scene, her sandy blond hair and hazel eyes instantly rendering everyone else insignificant, aside from the mop-headed four-year-old boy clutched in her arms. A rush of emotion overcame Ford at the sight of his wife and son, who had only been flickering images on a computer screen for over a year now. He couldn’t help noticing how much bigger Sam was; he’d been barely more than a toddler the last time Ford had laid eyes on him in person. He tried not to think about how much he’d missed during the young boy’s growth.
They jostled their way through the crowd toward each other. Beaming and beautiful, Elle put Sam down on the pavement in front of his father. Ford half expected the boy to come charging toward him, as so many of the other children were doing with their parents, but instead Sam looked oddly tentative. He hung back shyly, retreating behind his mother, while Ford stood by helplessly, uncertain what to do. At the moment, defusing a roadside IED seemed simpler and easier than re-connecting with his own child.
Elle broke the awkward silence. “Lots of discussion about who gets the first hug.” she explained.
“Where’d you come out on that?” Ford asked.
Elle bent to confer with Sam. “You change your mind, honey?”
Sam stared at Ford wordlessly. Ford knelt down before him, approaching him as delicately as he would an unexploded bomb.
“I’ve been carrying around that last hug you gave me for a long time,” Ford said gently, even as Sam continued to gaze at him as though he didn’t quite recognize the uniformed stranger before him. “I could sure use a refill.”
The boy came out from behind Elle, but still appeared a little shy. Elle placed a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder, while casting an apologetic look at Ford.
“Let’s do this,” she suggested. “Why don’t I go first and check it out and make sure Daddy still knows what he’s doing?”
She came forward and, for the time being, all Ford’s fears and worries evaporated as she was there in his arms once more, holding him close, kissing him passionately, and he felt keenly just how much he had missed her during his long months abroad. Sam was squeezed in between them, hesitantly joining in the celebration. The three of them clung to each other, wrapped up tight in the moment, oblivious to the tumultuous scene around them. For the first time since the plane had touched down, Ford truly felt like he was home.
At least for now.
* * *
“Welcome Home, Daddy!” read the homemade banner taped to the dining room wall.
The sun had fallen by the time they got back to their modest home in San Francisco. Ford was relieved to see that the house looked much as he remembered, aside from a few new knick-knacks and appliances. Dinner was cartons of ice cream, including Ford’s favorite: Rocky Road. Across the table, Sam dug enthusiastically into a big carton of chocolate-chip mint. His earlier shyness had faded somewhat, now that they were all settled back in at home, in familiar surroundings. Maybe Sam had just needed a little time to get used to seeing his dad again?
Ford hoped that was the case. “Sam, you better enjoy this,” his mother said. “You’re not getting ice cream for dinner every night.”
“We aren’t?” Ford said through a mouthful of Rocky Road, provoking giggles from Sam. “Why not?”
Elle rolled her eyes. “Sam, how do you have a ten-year-old for a father? How is that mathematically possible?”
After ice cream, it was time to put Sam to bed. His room still had same blue wallpaper, adorned with rockets and blazing comets, he and Elle had picked out four years ago. Pencil markings on a wall charted his growth. Although Elle had been needed to help Sam into his pajamas, Ford had insisted on tucking his son into bed himself. But first he had to clear off a menagerie of toy soldiers, tanks, and dinosaurs from atop the covers. He couldn’t help smiling at the toys, which reminded him of the same ones he’d played with as a child—before his mother died and everything went to hell.
Don’t think about that now, he scolded himself. Concentrate on today… and Sam.
“See this one here?” He plucked a green plastic soldier from the bed-slash-battleground. “That’s a lot like Daddy in his uniform, but mine’s way cooler. We need to go to the toy store, find you a Navy man. How ‘bout that?”
Sam nodded happily, grinning up at Ford, as his dad tucked him in.
“Alright, big man,” he said, mussing the boy’s hair. “Hit the rack.”
Sam cuddled in beneath the covers. “Can you sing the dinosaur song… like Mommy?”
The dinosaur song? Ford was baffled—and acutely aware of long he had been missing from his son’s life. “Not sure I know that one.”
He looked to Elle for help. She smiled at him from the doorway, letting him fend for himself, just like he’d insisted.
Captain Freeman was right, he decided. They really don’t train us for this.
He got up to leave. A worried look came over the little boy’s face.
“Dad? You’ll be here tomorrow, too, right?”
Ford winced at the anxiety in his son’s voice.
“Yeah, buddy. I told you. The next two weeks are all yours.” He reluctantly retreated toward the hall, where Elle was waiting. “Now get some shut-eye, okay? I’ll still be here in the morning.”
“You promise?”
Ford leaned in and gave Sam a gentle peck on the forehead. He wished there was more he could to do to reassure his son. He knew what it was like to have a father you barely knew anymore.
“You bet,” he promised.
* * *
“—so by this point, he’s literally buck naked with his jock strap on his forehead, a banana in his teeth, hooting like a monkey—and that’s when our C.O. steps in—and I swear to God, looks him right in the eye, not skipping a beat, goes: ‘At ease, Lieutenant.’”
Elle doubled over, giggling hysterically, as Ford acted out the anecdote for her entertainment. They had the lights on dim in the kitchen and a half-empty bottle of wine rested on the table between them. Ford knew he ought to get some sleep—he had been traveling nonstop for over a day now—but he and Elle had a lot of lost time to make up. She struggled to catch her breath, laughing so hard tears leaked from her eyes. Ford cracked up, too.
He came around the table and pulled her close.
“I missed your laugh,” he said, relishing the feel of her against him. “My last roommate honked like a mule.”
She melted into him. The familiar scent of her hair stirred his memories.
“I missed you, too,” she said.
Their laughter gradually subsided, but he kept holding onto her, unwilling to let her go. Back on tour, while disposing of explosive ordnance, there had been more than a few tense moments when he’d thought he’d never have a chance to hold Elle again. Part of him still couldn’t believe that they were really back together again after all that time. Hilarity gave way to intimacy as she rested snugly against him. Just like old times.
He drew her toward him. She resisted at first, eyeing him with a wary expression, but, to his vast relief, she let i
t go for now. Their lips met as they surrendered to a mutual hunger that had not been satisfied for far too long. The kiss deepened, growing in heat, while they pressed against each other with ever-greater urgency, their hands exploring the tantalizing contours beneath their clothing, their fervent grip and lips anchoring them together. Locked in each other’s arms, they began to ease toward the bedroom.
The phone rang.
“Don’t,” he said. “Not now.”
Elle disengaged from the embrace, pulling away, but he held on to her waist. Her face was flushed. “It could be work.”
She was a nurse at San Francisco General Hospital, and she took her responsibilities as seriously as he did his. It was one of the things he loved about her, even when their respective duties pulled them apart. He clung to her playfully, nuzzling her neck, even as she leaned over to answer the phone.
“Hello?” she said into the receiver, fighting back giggles.
“Tell ‘em you’re busy,” he whispered seductively into her ear. “Tell ‘em your husband is unbuttoning your shirt as you speak—”
He heard a muffled voice on the other end of the line, but was more interested in exploring the tantalizing contours beneath Elle’s clothes. She wriggled deliciously and made a very half-hearted effort to swat away his wandering hands while he nibbled on her ear. She turned her moist, enticing lips away from the phone.
“Ford, stop it—come on—!”
Not a chance, he thought.
The muffled voice spoke again. All at once, her frolicsome manner evaporated. She stopped responding to his caresses and gave her full attention to the phone instead. Barely suppressed giggles were cut off abruptly. Her expression darkened and Ford knew at once that playtime was over. He listened intently, frowning.
“No, this is Mrs. Brody,” she replied to the unknown caller. “Yes, he’s my husband. Hold on a moment.”
She covered the phone and turned slowly toward Ford, who braced himself in anticipation. Judging from Elle’s reaction, he knew he wasn’t going to like this.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s the consulate,” she said tersely. “Joe… he’s been arrested in Japan.”
Ford felt like he had just been sucker-punched. Whatever trace of his amorous mood had remained dissolved completely, consumed by an all-too-familiar mixture of resentment and gloom. He should’ve known that the call was about his father—and his never-ending obsessions.
Jesus Christ, Dad, he thought. What have you done this time?
Ford slumped in a kitchen chair, already exhausted at the prospect of having to deal with his dad again. It never ended, year after year, all the way back to terrible day fifteen years ago, when Ford had watched the nuclear power plant vanish from sight, taking his mother with it. Joe Brody had begun to melt down that day as well, and his son was still dealing with the emotional fallout, all these years later.
“Ford?”
Elle held out the phone. He lifted his head to meet her worried gaze. He had no idea whether he could handle this again. He stared at the phone as though it was a ticking time bomb, about to blow up in his face… one more time. What the hell was he supposed to do?
“He’s your father,” she reminded him.
* * *
Ford rummaged unhappily through a bedroom dresser, searching for a clean pair of socks. His duffel bag rested on the bed nearby. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. He hadn’t even unpacked yet and here he was packing to leave again. He pulled open another drawer, unable to find what he was looking for. He didn’t even know where anything was anymore.
“Why was he trespassing in the quarantine zone?” Elle leaned against the wall, watching him pack. She nodded at the dresser. “No, the other drawer.”
“Why do you think?” Ford said bitterly. “Lone crusader for the truth, all his crackpot theories.”
“Your father’s a good man. He just needs help. He lost everything that day.”
“So did I. But I got over it.”
“I can see that,” she said wryly.
Ford paused in his search, realizing how he must sound. A photo of Elle and Sam, residing atop the dresser, reminded him not to take this out on her, and how much this whole situation sucked.
“We’ve worked so hard for everything we have, Elle. I’m afraid he’ll ruin it. Every time I let him close, he tries to drag me back. I can’t live in the past. I can’t put our family through that.”
“He is your family, Ford.” She came toward him, smiling. “You’ll be back in a few days. It’s not the end of the world.”
He wondered what he had ever done to deserve somebody so patient and understanding. He pulled her close and they kissed, doing their best to make every moment count.
Just a few days, he thought. That’s all.
SIX
“What is the duration of your stay?” the customs official asked, inspecting Ford’s passport.
An endless flight, one connection, and fifteen time zones later, Ford trudged wearily through Narita Airport, toting his carry-on luggage. He’d managed to catch a little sleep on the planes, but the prospect of returning to Japan had stirred up unwanted memories. Bad dreams had followed him all the way across the Pacific.
“One day,” he said curtly.
He fully intended to deal with his dad’s latest mess and get back on a plane to Frisco as soon as humanly possible. He’d promised Sam two weeks and he’d be damned if he’d let his crazy father cut into that precious time with Sam. More than he already had, that is.
“And the nature of your visit?” the customs official asked.
Ford paused briefly before answering. “Family.”
That was good enough for the official, who briskly stamped Ford’s passport. Ford bypassed baggage claim and headed straight for the taxi station outside the airport. The bright sunlight came as shock after leaving Frisco in the middle of the night. He wanted to catch a cab to Tokyo and crash in a cheap hotel, but instead he asked the cabbie to drive him to the police station where his father was still being held.
The drive was both longer and faster than Ford would have preferred. It was late afternoon by the time he found himself sitting in the austere waiting area of a Tokyo police station. Stark institutional walls and sparse furniture rendered the room inhospitable, not that anyone was ever likely to drop by for the amenities. Wanted posters and security alerts were pinned to a bulletin board. Ford tried flipping through some old magazines, only to discover that his Japanese wasn’t what it used to be, despite the long-ago efforts of Miss Okada. He glumly watched a parade of cops and perpetrators pass in and out of the station. He would’ve killed for a cup of black coffee, but that didn’t seem to be an option.
A middle-aged couple, their faces drawn, sat stiffly in the seats beside him. They looked about as happy to be here as he was, although he guessed that they hadn’t traveled nearly so far. Ford didn’t have the energy to try to make conversation with the couple, who appeared caught up in their own troubles anyway. They gripped each other’s hands as they waited. He wondered how long they’d been married.
A buzzer sounded and an inner door unlocked. Ford and the couple looked up to see a bedraggled teenager, decked out in Goth regalia, escorted into the waiting room by a duty cop. The boy’s Mohawked head was hung in shame and he stared at the floor, unable to meet his parent’s gaze. The black mascara around his eyes was smeared, as though he’d been crying. The teen’s mother placed a hand over her mouth, stifling a sob.
The father, a sober-looking gentleman in a conservative suit and tie, rose to face his errant son. The older man regarded the teen in silence for a moment, his stony face unreadable, then came forward to hug his son. The boy collapsed against his father, weeping and apologizing for whatever offense had landed him in the hoosegow. His mother, also forgiving, joined her husband in assuring the teen that, no matter what, he was still their son.
Maybe it was just the jet lag and lack of sleep, but Ford was moved by what he witness
ed. He watched enviously as the trio departed the station together. That was what a family was supposed to look like. Not like…
“Been a while,” Joe Brody said.
Ford looked up to see his father standing before him, unkempt and disheveled from a night behind bars. He was rake-thin, having lost weight since the last time Ford had seen him, and there was more grey at his temples than Ford remembered. Stubble carpeted his face. If anything, he looked like he’d been sleeping worse than Ford. Heavy pouches shadowed his puffy, bloodshot eyes.
Caught up in someone else’s family drama, Ford hadn’t even noticed his dad being led in. Father and son stared at each other awkwardly, both of them searching for a place to begin. It had been a long time since they had known how to talk to each other, or been entirely comfortable in each other’s presence. Ford suddenly envied that Goth kid.
Unable to find the right words, Ford just held out his hand to shake.
It was the best he could do.
* * *
A partial view of downtown Tokyo from one small window was the only selling point of the cramped and cluttered garret Joe Brody currently called home. It was dusk and neon lights filtered in from outside as Ford and his father entered the apartment. Ford glanced around dubiously. This dump was a far cry from the cozy suburban home he had once shared with his parents—in what was now a radioactive ghost town.
“I’m sorry you had to come all this way, Ford,” his dad said. Joe stepped over tottering stacks of books, magazines, and newspapers piled high on the floor. A single beat-up futon was littered with dirty laundry. Crusty plates and dishes were heaped in the sink of an adjacent kitchenette. An open doorway revealed an unmade bed. The stuffy atmosphere was badly in need of air freshener. Joe avoided Ford’s eyes. “Couldn’t you have just given them a credit card?”
I wish, Ford thought. Bailing his dad out wasn’t the issue here. It was the fact that Ford had needed to do so in the first place.
He refrained from saying so. The awkwardness between them had not gone away during the short drive here. Joe flipped on a light, igniting a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, and Ford got a better look at what his father’s life had become.