by GJ Fortier
“Me too,” June agreed. “I love the professor, Don, Jimmy,”—she took his hand— “and you. But that doesn't mean I'm naive enough to ignore the fact that there had to be some bigger goal here. Maybe it's time for you and me to get on with our lives.”
“I do miss San Francisco.”
“Not for long.” She smiled at him.
“Nine more weeks, huh?” He stood and offered her his hand.
“Just nine more.” Looking down at the stone-shaped speaker at her feet she added softly, “I just pray Jimmy didn't hear what Chi said.”
9 The Car Ride
4 July 2010
“STOP THE CAR!” CAROL shouted from the passenger seat as she kicked at the floorboard with her bare legs.
Rob gave her an incredulous look. “What is it?”
“Rob, stop the car now!” she demanded through gritted teeth. She was flailing wildly between her knees with her only available weapon, the bulletin she had collected from an usher as they entered church earlier that morning.
“What's the matter?” Rob asked, deftly turning their Ford Taurus SHO off of Main Street into a parking lot and slamming on the brakes. Glancing over his shoulder he saw their seven year old twins, C. C. and her brother Christian, securely fastened in their seats with looks that betrayed a growing degree of concern as they stared at the back of their mother’s head.
“There’s a wasp in here!” Carol shrieked as she removed her seat belt, flung the door open, and jumped from the car all in one motion. “Get out! Get out of the car, right now!”
The kids began screaming and tugging at their harnesses, their eyes wide. Once free of their bonds, they reached for the door handles, but it was no use. The child safety locks were on. They pulled and pulled, but the doors wouldn’t open.
“Calm down,” Rob said evenly as their screams grew in desperation. “I don’t see it, Button. I don’t see a wasp.” He craned his neck to scan the interior. Then, as if it was coming in on cue, the reddish-brown insect rose with a buzz from the floorboard, struck the windshield and then slowly bumped its way along toward the driver's side. Rob frowned. “There it is.” He glanced back at the children who were still screaming. “Hun, the kids can't get out. The safety locks are on.”
Carol didn’t hear him. She was too busy running her fingers through her shoulder- length auburn hair in order to prevent the bug from taking up residence there. After a moment, she noticed Rob hadn’t moved. “What's the matter with you? Do you wanna get stung?”
Rob couldn’t help a smirk as he wondered if she would start undressing right there in front of the convenience store. Meanwhile, the instigator of their little disturbance flew lazily toward him. It landed on the armrest in between the front seats, where it began to wander aimlessly around the gray leather-clad lid of the center console. The kids, still in the back, screamed louder at the sight and began attempting to melt into their seats, having given up on escape.
Carol, finally realizing the kids were trapped, opened the door to allow them to scramble out. Christian turned to look at his father on his way out. “Get out of the car before you get stung, Daddy!”
The insect continued its wayward trek around the armrest, but for only a moment longer. In the blink of an eye, Rob slapped his palm down squarely, eliminating the threat. Looking at the lifeless insect, he felt just a hint of remorse. “Figures. I just detailed the car yesterday.”
Rob stepped out of the car and faced his family. He was not an exceedingly large man, standing just over six feet with an average-sized frame kept in shape by a rugged daily regimen. His closely cropped brown hair waved slightly in the breeze. His blue-gray eyes were hidden behind a squint in the noonday sun. Dressed casually, he wore a gray tee shirt with the word NAVY across the chest, tan cargo shorts, sandals, and a Texas A & M baseball cap.
After college, Rob's first assignment in the Navy had been aboard the USS West Virginia, an Ohio-class nuclear-powered ballistic missile submarine. He joined the engineering crew there just before the Gulf War began in 1990. He had grown dismayed by his nonexistent role in the conflict and wanted desperately to acquire some combat experience. On a drunken bet, Rob had applied to Basic Underwater Demolitions/SEAL training, or BUD/S, at the Naval Special Warfare Training Center at Coronado, California. He was accepted, and, once there, he endured some of the most physically and mentally demanding training in existence in any of the armed services.
After more than two-and-a-half years of training, Rob had joined his team and served with the SEALs for just over eight years. During that time, he was deployed to numerous hot spots throughout the world and experienced more than his fair share of harrowing situations. Near the end of his time with his unit, he and Carol had started attending the chapel services on base while he was stationed at United States Fleet Activities at Yokosuka, Japan. After reevaluating his moral convictions, he made the decision that the responsibilities of a SEAL were no longer conducive to his personal goals, and he requested a transfer. It seemed that God himself was listening to their prayers as, quite unexpectedly, an instructor’s position opened at the Navy’s Nuclear Power School in Charleston, South Carolina, allowing them to return to their childhood home of Summerville.
Rob grinned at Carol across the top of the car, which did little more than exasperate her. She had the same expression as before, but her hair was now a tangled mess. Rob worked to keep a straight face, knowing that laughter would likely incite an explosive response. He took a deep breath. “It's dead.”
Carol Tyler wore white shorts and a white and yellow striped sleeveless top. She was not much bigger than her young twins, her small frame standing a solid foot shorter than Rob’s. Her bright green eyes, freckled face, and tiny stature deceived people into thinking she was a decade younger than her forty-six years. Her personality was typical of her Irish heritage. She was long on love, enjoyed life to the fullest, and had many friends. But in her youth, her legendary temper had flared easily. She was in more control as an adult, but occasionally, when warranted, the Irish temper reappeared.
“You killed it?” She was a bit annoyed. Cocking her head to one side, she added, “What’d you do that for?”
Rob tried to think of the appropriate response as he watched her tentatively peek into the car. The mess on the armrest confirmed her husband's claim. She wrinkled her nose and opened the glove compartment, removing a pack of the type of wet cleaning tissues that all good mothers kept close by in the event of an emergency.
Rob smiled widely. In that random moment his love for her seemed greater than it had ever been. He felt like a schoolboy catching a glimpse of his sweetheart from across a crowded room. He looked over at the twins and realized, as he did each morning, that he had been blessed with a family that he could hardly have imagined in his youth.
Before the birth of the twins, he and Carol had both been nervous about the prospect of becoming parents. So in preparation for parenthood, Rob and Carol hosted a foreign exchange student in their fourth year of marriage. In August of 2001, fifteen-year-old Karina Yevstafyeva from Yekaterinburg, Russia came to stay with them during the academic year. Only weeks after her arrival, they had experienced the tragedy of the September 11 terrorist attacks. Karina, so far from home, family, and friends, had bonded quickly with her surrogate parents during the shocking events of that terrible day and the days that followed. Their year together seemed to pass quickly, and when the time grew short they were all saddened. Karina looked forward to returning home to family and friends, but she was heavy-hearted to leave her American family. However, on the day before her departure, the pain of loss had been deadened significantly for Rob and Carol when they learned that Carol was pregnant.
Rob had later learned that one of the local churches in town had a sister church in Kamensk-Uralski, a city in the southwest corner of Siberia only about two hours from Yekaterinburg by car. They had joined the church’s mission team and had traveled there several times in the past seven years, meeting Ka
rina's family and attending the church that she had joined after her experience with Rob and Carol. They even invited her to spend summer vacations with them when she could.
Carol emerged from the car holding the tissue containing the remains of the wasp at arm’s length. Spying a trashcan by a gas pump island, she trotted over and deposited the makeshift coffin. Spinning around, she walked back, keeping her eyes fixed on Rob. “All you had to do was open all the doors. It would've flown away.” She turned her attention to the children's clothes, which had gotten twisted during the emergency. “Well, so much for the quality of this outfit.”
Rob saw the torn front of C. C.’s little sundress. The bow had gotten caught on something in her scramble, and had pulled part of the collar away from the neck seam. “Well, she’ll probably outgrow it in a couple of months anyway.”
“Yeah,” she replied, grudgingly accepting his logic. She searched her purse for a safety pin.
C. C. began to whine. “But I like my sailor dress.” She then brightened a bit at a thought. “I bet Grandma can fix it,” she said.
Carol attached the bow and collar with the safety pin she fished out of her purse. “I bet she can, honey.”
Rob slapped the roof of the car. “Well, c'mon. Papa's waitin'! Let's go. Hurry up!”
“Hey, hey, hey! Watch the handprints, buddy. Don't you forget whose car this is.” A mock threat was in her stare. They had bought the car two weeks earlier, and Carol had quickly claimed ownership. She helped the kids back into their seats.
“Well, I'm the one who washes it,” Rob replied, feigning injury.
“Yeah,” she chuckled, slipping into the passenger seat, “four times in two weeks.”
“I haven't heard any complaints. Besides, I thought it was our car.”
“You mean like the Bronco is ours?”
Rob’s canary yellow and white 1969 Ford Bronco was a high school graduation present from his father. “Well, yeah. But you don't like my Bronco.”
“Only because I need a ladder to get into the thing,” she retorted.
“Hey, since you named this one Scarlet, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't refer to Daisy as a thing.”
The kids giggled as the banter continued. Such “arguments” were commonplace during rides in the car.
Carol joined the giggling herself. “Well, daisies are mostly white anyway.”
“Only the petals,” Rob reasoned. “The middle part is yellow.”
Carol turned suddenly serious. “Did you remember the swimming stuff?”
“In the trunk.”
“What about the hot dogs? You know Christian won't eat a burger.”
“Got 'em.” Rob looked at Christian’s reflection in the rear view mirror. “I can't believe that a red blooded American boy … my son … won't eat a burger.” Christian stuck his tongue out in reply.
“You should try one,” C. C. advised her brother. “They're yummy. With gooey cheese … and cat-soup …” She emphasized the point by licking her lips.
But Christian simply directed his tongue at her in answer.
“Christian, stop sticking your tongue out at people. It's not nice,” Carol instructed without turning around.
The boy's tongue darted back behind his lips. He had learned through distasteful experience that his mother had an uncanny talent for producing a bar of soap out of nowhere to rub on the exposed appendage.
It was quiet in the car for some time after the rebuke. Rob was considering turning on the radio when Carol asked, “Who all is coming today?”
Rob tallied the names. “Dad and Mary, Sack and his new girlfriend, Becca—”
Carol closed her eyes. “Please do not call him that in front of … ever.”
Rob used his closest friend’s partial nickname from years of habit. “Sorry,” he said sincerely. “He's been Sack to me for almost eighteen years.”
Carol threw her head back against the headrest, then reached over and pinched Rob on the forearm.
“Ouch! That hurt,” he protested as he rubbed the affected area on the steering wheel, making the car swerve slightly back and forth.
“Who's Sack, Mama?” came C. C.’s query.
Carol glared menacingly at Rob.
Quick on his feet, he constructed a lie. “No, no, honey. Daddy didn't say Sack. Daddy said back, because … because Uncle Stacey is coming back from … where he's been to come to Papa's barbecue.” He looked at Carol, fearing a rebuke for lying. But she simply stared at him and waited to see if C. C. bought it.
“Hurray! Uncle Stacey is coming.” She reached over and grabbed Christian's arm. “I like Uncle Stacey. He dunks,” she said excitedly.
Rob sighed in relief as Carol continued. “Becca? Do I know her?”
“No,” he replied. “Neither do I.”
“How old is this one?” she asked with a smile. She had a good idea of the likely answer.
“Twenty-four … twenty-five. Something like that.”
“What?” Carol laughed. “Will that man ever settle down with someone his own age?”
“No,” Rob said stoically.
“That's how old Karina is.” She looked back at Rob, her smile fading. “I'll kill him.”
“I know,” he replied. He knew she was only half serious. Though he wasn't sure which half.
Carol was fond of Sack. After all, he had literally saved Rob's life several times. She owed him. Not to mention the fact that Sack was the only member of his old team who would even speak to him since he left their ranks. She did allow herself to think his nickname.
“No,” she continued, “I won't kill him. I'll make him wish that I'd killed him.”
Rob didn't doubt her.
“Who else is coming?” She asked.
“I assume your folks are gonna be there.”
“Yeah. They said they were coming. Anyone else?”
“Danny and Carla.” He placed a bit more emphasis on these names.
Carol’s head snapped back. “Danny and Carla?” It was almost a gasp. She would have never guessed that the couple would be coming.
“Yup,” he replied, not looking at her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Carol took a moment for her mind to switch gears. “Are you gonna ask ‘em?”
Rob’s smile faded. “Yup.”
* * * * *
“ARE YOU ABOUT READY?” Carla called from downstairs.
Danny Carter took one last look around his makeshift office in the townhouse where he had been living for more than ten months. He wanted to make sure he hadn't left anything. They would be leaving South Carolina for good the next day, and he was being thorough, having checked the room three times that morning.
“Here I come.” He closed the door behind him. His wife was at the bottom of the stairs setting plastic bags containing an assortment of sodas that they had bought the night before on the floor next to the front door. She wore blue jean shorts, a white tee shirt and red flip-flops, the perfect attire for a barbecue. There was timeless beauty in her flawless mocha skin. Her short black hair, and the face that it framed, made him smile. How did I get so lucky?
He was dressed similarly in khaki shorts, a black tee shirt, and sandals.
He started down the stairs. “Everything packed?” He really didn't need to ask. He knew how meticulous she was about such things.
“Yes,” she declared. Her smile nearly took up her entire face, revealing her perfect teeth. Her brown eyes shined brightly with anticipation as she turned to face him. “I can't believe we're actually going home.”
He scooped her up and spun her around. “I know, I know! We get to sleep in our own bed.”
“Cook in our own kitchen,” she added.
“Watch our own TV … in our own living room!”
“And eat at The Magic Gourd,” she finished, referring to her favorite Chinese restaurant.
The two were psychologists, Navy lieutenant commanders, who had been assigned this temporary duty in September of th
e previous year. It hadn’t been a typical assignment by any means. They were there observing and evaluating a candidate and his family for a classified DOD project. They hadn't been told anything about the project. They were instructed to befriend the couple, perform an intensive psychological examination, and report their findings to Captain Bernard Walsh at the Pentagon. Danny often wondered if it was simply the fact that his office was in close proximity to the captain’s that had gotten him this assignment, or if the captain was being honest when he said that he considered Danny and Carla exceptionally talented professionals who came highly recommended.
The one hitch was that they couldn't let the subjects know that they were being evaluated. This fact had made the couple uncomfortable in their assignment. Although they hadn't hidden their identities and they continued their practices at the naval base in Charleston, it was understandably difficult for the doctors to perform their duty.
When they arrived in Charleston, it had been much easier than Danny had anticipated it would be for him to make fast friends with the potential candidate. When he had the occasion to invite the commander out for lunch one Friday, Danny mentioned that he was feeling a bit out of shape. It was widely known that Commander Rob Tyler had, at one time, been a SEAL. So he asked his new “friend” if he would teach him the SEAL workout routine. Rob was more than happy to do as Danny requested, but only if Danny committed to workout with him five days a week without fail.
Danny felt he was in pretty good shape, despite what he had said. So he agreed.
They’d met the following Monday at the physical training area on base at 0400 hours, and Danny had quickly realized his error. Rob’s SEAL workout was extremely intensive, and it was followed alternately by a five kilometer run or a one thousand yard swim.
By January, Danny had been able to complete the routine plus the run or swim. Carla had become quite adept at giving him post-workout massages. After six months, Danny had discovered that the recommended frequency for the workout was twice per week, not five times, as Rob had required. But by that time he had gotten accustomed to the routine. And he had to admit that he was in the best physical shape of his life. He had thanked the commander sincerely several times for his assistance. Carla had even playfully suggested that he try out for the SEALs, but Danny was profoundly relieved when he found out the cut-off age was twenty-eight.
