“I got you something too. It wasn’t easy. You have everything.”
He snorted. “Hardly.”
I ran back to the living room and my purse. I had wrapped it in Christmas tree themed paper with thin, red ribbon that twisted into curlicues when I ran my scissors over it. Compared to the elegant gift that David gave me, it looked juvenile.
I handed it to him with a shrug. He smiled and said, “cute.”
“Whatever,” I replied. “Just open it.”
He removed the cheap ribbon and ripped off the paper. When he saw Mont Blanc on the box, his breath caught.
“You didn’t,” he gasped then pulled off the lid. And there was the pen nestled in it’s fake velvet lining.
He yanked it out of the box and pretended to sign his name in the air with it, grinning from ear to ear.
“Wow, I love it. I’ve always wanted a nice pen. You even got it in a color that matches my best Ungaro suit.”
I nodded. “That was the plan. I figured that was the suit you’d be wearing when you signed any big contracts or anything.”
“You realize I’m an academic not an attorney. I’ll probably only wear my suit to funerals.”
“You’ll find a time to wear it, and a time important enough to appropriately use your pen too.”
“I’ve got to try it.” He bolted into his room, tore a piece of paper out of a drawer, and started writing his name over and over again. Of course David’s signature was beautiful—large and flowing, but masculine too—like David. I giggled as I watched him sign his name with obvious relish. He turned back to me.
“Now it’s my turn. Are you sure you can afford this?”
“Yep, I had been keeping some cash back for emergencies, but now that Mom sold some of her jewelry, we’ve got some wiggle room. Remember, we’re even going to visit my Dad in Florida next week. I can afford the pen.”
He carefully put the pen in the top drawer of his desk. Then got up, came over to me, wrapped his arms around me and started kissing me. “Let’s see how loud I can get you to scream this time.”
I giggled with pleasure and anticipation as he pulled my sweater over my head and started stroking, kissing, and disrobing me all at the same time.
David
As usual I konked out as soon as B.D. and I finished our epic, gift-giving sex. When I woke up, I put on some jeans and wandered the house looking for B.D. because she wasn’t in bed, but I found her sipping tea on the back porch wrapped in a plaid throw and looking over the garden. She turned to me when I opened the door. I sat in the chair next to hers and took a sip of her tea.
“Mmmm, peppermint.”
“I hope you don’t mind that I raided your tea stash,” she said.
“Not at all,” I replied. “I’m glad you found it.”
“I should go soon. Mom wants me to go to the store with her to get any last minute things she needs for the “traditional” holiday meals,” she said glumly.
“Mealssss?” I put the emphasis on the s.
“Yes, meals. We have a feast of the seven fishes for Christmas Eve and Cornish game hens for Christmas.”
“Sounds yummy,” I answered.
“Sure, SOUNDS yummy, but tastes not so good. Mom’s best childhood friend was Italian, so they always had the feast of the seven fishes, and she loved it. So now she likes to make it—sort of. She appreciated the meal, but didn’t pick up any Italian cooking skills, so the meal has seven fishes, but they’re not all good. I admit over the years, she’s learned how to make a few things well like clams in red sauce.”
“Really? I love that,” my eyes undoubtedly getting that hungry look.
“Sure and other stuff too like shrimp with cocktail sauce and Tuscan fish stew even the Caesar salad.”
I raised my eyebrows quizzically.
“Anchovies—the dressing has anchovies. But then things decline rapidly. She usually rounds out the seven with things like salmon croquettes and tuna fish casserole and roasted fish over vegetables or—the worst—some new fish recipe she found in Better Homes and Gardens. Furthermore, because she buys the fish for the good dishes fresh from the market, she buys tiny amounts of those, both because she can and it’s expensive so it keeps costs down. Consequently, we get a few bites of the good food—like maybe two shrimps with the cocktail sauce and a tiny ramekin of stew—but a full serving of salmon croquettes and tuna fish casserole. The end result is that by the end of the agonizing two hour meal (two hours because Mom is shuffling things in and out of the oven) you’re stuffed, but you have an odd, metallic taste in your mouth. We usually end the meal with a chocolate mousse that I make. It’s easy and good, but I need to put it together so it can set up. And the other kicker is because we’re so stuffed, we can only stand to eat enough of the super-chocolaty mousse to over-power the odd metallic, fish taste in our mouths. You do not want to come. The lows drag the highs way down. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be making bread for your Mom?”
“Right!” It dawned on me that the bread had probably over-proofed. I jumped up and ran in the kitchen and sighed in relief. The bread looked fine. I poked it a few times, and it sprang back just like it was supposed to. I started steaming the oven.
“At least let me take you home,” I offered. “You didn’t take all the gifts Mom got for your family, and you won’t be able to carry them all.”
“She shouldn’t have. I didn’t get her anything.”
“Honestly,” I explained, “she doesn’t want gifts from you. I think these are just things from the sample closet, and she likes the idea that you’ll get some use out of them. She said if anything didn’t fit, you should bring it back around her office, and she would find something that would fit.”
“Okay, but your mother is too good to us.”
“No, she’s not. She’s just good enough,” I told her and kissed the end of her cute nose. Then I grabbed the bag full of gifts Mom had left for B.D. in the utility room.
I helped B.D. load the bag of gifts into the back of the Honda, then drove her home. Before she got out of the car, I leaned over and kissed her. She blushed. “I guess I’ll see you next on Boxing Day,” I stated a little dejectedly.
“First, Boxing Day is a British thing—not a Texas thing. Second, you can live without me for one day,” she scoffed. I helped her get the giant bag of gifts out of the car, kissed her again, and then turned back to my car and home. I was dreading spending one day apart from B.D. I wasn’t sure how I would spend the rest of my life without her, but it was for the best. I would just drag her down—eventually. I’d savor these last few weeks together, then figure out a way to move on.
Chapter Twenty One
B.D.
David seemed ridiculously happy to see me the day after Christmas. He was wearing a new pullover that his mother had given him. I was wearing the light weight, cashmere sweater that his mother had given me too. It was emerald green, had 3/4 length sleeves and a scoop neck. It looked pretty conservative until you saw the back—it almost didn’t have one. We had lunch at D’Amico’s—one of my favorite places. Then we went back to his house and, of course, had sex then fell asleep. That’s the way the rest of the break went. Sometimes we had dinner at my house, sometimes his. On January first he dropped me off at my house, and I reminded him, “Be at our house at 6:45. Even though the plane doesn’t leave until 9:30, Mom wants to get there in plenty of time.”
He leaned over and kissed me, lightly. His arms were casually wrapped around my waist. “I’ll be here.” He kissed me again, then walked back to his car. He waved before pulling out of the driveway. I went inside to pack. I probably wouldn’t sleep tonight. I was so excited to see Dad. Even though we wrote every week and spoke on the phone every month, I hadn’t actually seen him in almost two years. Mom ambushed me inside.
“David knows to be here at 6:45, right?” she asked.
“Yes, I reminded him, and I’ll call tomorrow at 6:30 to be sure.”
“Great, great. Are you packed?
”
“No, I was going to pack right now.”
Mom rubbed her hands together nervously. “You read the rules about what to wear, right? Modest clothing, closed-toe shoes?”
“I read them, and who wears sandals in January anyway?”
“Just making sure. Pack a bathing suit and four outfits. You never know what might come up. We might go to the beach late Sunday or something.”
“I’ll be prepared.” I went into my room and pulled my overnight bag out of my closet. I had a really nice, Victronix overnighter from before the unfortunate incident. I laid out four tops, four bottoms, a pair of shorts, and a bathing suit. Surely it was at least as warm as it was here in Pensacola. I rumbled around pulling things out and crammed them into the overnighter, editing and adjusting until I had everything in the bag except the few things I planned to use in the morning. Then I checked and stuffed my passport, a book, a roll of quarters, and a moleskin into the over-sized bag I planned to take on the plane. Finally, I got ready for bed and set my alarm and the alarm on my phone. Then I rechecked them, turned off the lights, and got into bed. After five minutes, I turned on my night light and rechecked the alarms. I tried to sleep again. After ten minutes, I checked everything again. I lay down in the dark thinking about seeing Dad and, I couldn’t help it, clapped my hands and kicked my feet. This time tomorrow, I’d be in Pensacola trying to sleep after having spent several hours with my Dad. I’m so excited; I’m sure I can’t sleep, but clearly I exhausted myself with checking, because the next thing I knew, both alarms were going off.
I got up and got dressed. Mom was making bacon and eggs for breakfast. I nibbled some bacon and toast, but that was all I could handle. I put my last few things in my bag, checked my ID, and then the time. 6:15—too early to call David. I checked on Veronica who was still fast asleep.
I shook her. “Veronica, it’s 6:15. If we miss the plane because of you, I’ll never forgive you.”
“What?” She rubbed her eyes.
“We’re going to see Dad today, remember?” Her blue eyes narrowed as she processed the information, then she remembered and sprung out of bed as if she’d been launched from a rocket. She grabbed her clothes and ran into the bathroom. I wandered into the living room to watch a bit of TV to pass the time. At 6:30, I texted David. At 6:35, I hadn’t gotten a text back, so I hazarded a call. A sleepy David answered the phone.
“B.D.?”
“David.”
“What’s up?”
“You’re taking us to the airport in ten minutes, remember?”
“I’m what?”
“Driving to the airport.”
“Airport?”
“We’re going to see my Dad.” I could feel the realization hit him.
“Airport! Right. What time is it?”
“Almost 6:40.”
“Right. I’ll be right there. Right.” He cut off the call without a good-bye, but at least he was coming. Then I heard a commotion from Veronica’s room and wandered back to check on it and found her room in complete disarray. Clothes covered almost every surface. In the middle of her bed sat her overnighter—empty.
“You haven’t packed yet?” I nearly screamed at her.
“I planned to do it this morning, but I overslept, and now I can’t get organized.”
“Go pack your toiletries. I’ll pack your clothes. Go.” She ran into the bathroom. “Mom, go to the bathroom and help Veronica finish packing.”
“She hasn’t finished packing yet. Isn’t David supposed to be here in just a few minutes?”
“Yes, he is. I just talked to him. He’s on his way. Help Veronica finish packing. She’s in the bathroom.” Just as I had done last night for myself, I picked out four tops and four bottoms from the chaos. I went to her drawer and grabbed a swimsuit and some shorts and packed them into the suitcase. I grabbed undergarments and pajamas and folded them on top. I got an extra pair of shoes and some flip flops and crammed them into the outside pocket. Veronica and Mom rushed in with a toiletries bag and curling iron. We crammed those in and zipped up the bag.
“Do you have ID?” I asked Veronica. She thought for a second and then flew to her desk, opened the drawer, and rifled through. After a few seconds, she shouted, “aha!” And waved her passport in the air. I rolled my eyes.
“Do you want to take something to read on the plane?”
“I’ll just use this,” she waved her phone at me.
“Charger?” I asked.
She walked over to her desk and ripped one out of the wall and crammed it into her purse.
“Great, I guess we’re ready.” As if on cue, the doorbell rang. “I’m sure that’s David.” Veronica grabbed her bag and bolted for the door. I ran through the house turning off lights. As Mom and Veronica rolled their bags out the door, I made a pass through the kitchen and turned off the coffee machine and a burner on the stove then grabbed my bag and headed for the door. As David piled my bag on top of Mom’s and Veronica’s bags, Mom yelled, “Hurry up B.D.; we don’t want to miss the plane!”
I rolled my eyes and handed my keys to David. “Could you come back later and make sure everything’s turned off and locked up? Mom left a burner on, and I don’t know what else I might have missed.”
“Can do!” his voice a little too chipper as he stuffed my keys in his pocket. We piled into the car and sped off. The clock read 6:55. Not bad.
*
Mom fretted and wrung her hands until we were ensconced in our row. Mom got the aisle. Veronica took the window, and I sat wedged between them. I didn’t mind. I was too excited to sleep the night before, so I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
And then Mom was shaking me awake. “How can you sleep B.D.? We need to hurry. The flight was delayed. It’s almost 1:30 local time.”
I shook myself awake. “The flight was delayed?”
“Almost an hour,” she answered in an agitated voice. “The pilot said that he would make up some of the delay, but we’re still going to get in almost an hour late.”
“Relax, relax. It’s not a big deal. We didn’t check our bags, so we can walk straight to the car rental. We’ve got a reservation. I’ve already got directions to the base programmed into my phone. We’ll probably still get there by 3pm and that’s the soonest they’ll let us in. And it’s not like they won’t let us in if we’re late. That’s just time we’ll miss out on. It’s fine.”
“We can’t miss any time,” Mom replied desperately.
“Yeah, I want all the time we can get with Daddy,” whined Veronica.
“I do too, but you both need to relax. We’ll get there when we get there.”
*
An hour later, we were careening down the highway toward the military base that housed the prison camp.
“Slow down, Mom. If we get stopped for speeding that will just make us later.” Mom eased up slightly on the accelerator, dropping us down to just under ten miles an hour over the speed limit. I hoped that they tolerated speeding in Florida like they did in Texas. I wished I could drive, but since I was just 19 years old, putting me on the rental as a driver would be astronomically expensive—never mind that I was a much better driver.
“Mom, get in the right lane. We’re going to exit off the highway in just over a mile.” Mom nervously changed lanes. Fortunately traffic wasn’t bad. As the exit approached, I talked to Mom slowly in an attempt to calm her down, but it wasn’t working. “Exit here and turn left at the light.” Mom tapped on the steering wheel as she waited for the light to turn. When it did, she spun out like a teenager. “Watch your speed, Mom. The speed limit is 45.” She slowed down.
At 2:45, we pulled up to the guard house at the entrance to the base. Mom explained, “We’re here to visit my husband.” The guard gave her a questioning look. “He’s at the prison camp.”
“That’s the south entrance, Ma’m.” I thought Mom’s head would explode.
“What’s the best way to get there, sir?” I asked before Mom could say something
she’d regret.
“Make a u-turn around the guard house exiting base onto the freeway. Turn right on the freeway and proceed .6 miles until you come to the entrance marked south entrance. Stop at the guard house and explain your business.” He said it an official but bored tone that made me think he had said it a few times before.
I nodded at the guard. “Thank you.” He raised the crossing guard so that we could pull past the guard house then turn around to the exit and then we waited while he raised the other guard and we pulled out and back onto the highway.
“It’s not a big deal, just .6 miles.”
“The directions should have said it was the south entrance.”
“Yes, they should have,” I agreed, “but we’re on the right track. We’re almost there. Slow down just a bit.”
Mom slowed down and turned into the driveway marked south entrance.
“We’re here to visit my husband at the prison camp,” Mom repeated.
“Name,” the soldier stated more than asked.
“Dorothy Chase with daughters Bambi and Veronica Chase.” I glared at Mom. The soldier examined his clip board.
“My information says that a B.D. should be with you.”
“Yes, that’s right. B.D. instead of Bambi,” my mother nodded in agreement.
“May I see some ID? Just yours for now.” Mom reached into her purse and pulled out her driver’s license. The soldier checked it against his clip board and nodded. Then he reached into his drawer and pulled out a form and started filling it out. He walked around to the front of the car and copied the license plate. Then he handed Mom the slip. “Please display this on the driver’s side dashboard.”
“Yes sir,” Mom replied and put it on the dashboard and waited for him to open the gate. He went into the guard house and came out with a map.
“Ma’m,” he waved the map in Mom’s face. I looked over at it. With red pen, he drew our route on the map as he talked. “Proceed .2 miles down this road until you reach Admiral Weston road. Turn right. Proceed .3 miles down Admiral Weston and park in lot K on the left in the section marked visitors.” He circled a building two away from the lot. “The Intake building is where you need to go. Follow the signs.”
Waves and Light: Opposites Attract Series Page 24
