by Whyagain
He smiles and turns his mug in his hands. Since Melissa decided my dad and I should have a little quality time alone, I play the good host and offer cream though I know he doesn't take it.
It's been weeks, I think, since I've seen him last. Maybe it's been longer; I don't know. With Jacob, it's hard to tell. Weeks fade into months, months into years. But I'm supposed to be his son this time, so I'll play along.
He sets the cup down reluctantly and tells me he's sworn off coffee, that he doesn't like the taste anymore. I laugh and tell him no one likes the taste of black coffee. He tells me he's heard of a caffeine diffusion technique, though, that his body wouldn't protest. I don't quite get the last part, and the conversation falls into stasis.
"So," he begins, glancing somewhat ruefully at the steaming cup. "Heard from your sister lately?"
"Sam?" I start. He doesn't usually divert to her unless something's wrong, or he's afraid he'll offend me by not bringing her up. But, lately, the more I see of my father, the less I know my sister. I know it sounds strange, but sometimes Jacob paints a picture of her I'd have never dreamed.
She's so different.
I remember that little blond head trailing after me, her sharp eye spotting me crouching behind the elm, her infantile hands lobbing snowballs at the back of my head. I guess she's not five anymore.
"I haven't seen her since New Year's," I tell him.
He nods. He seems to regret bringing it up, but I love Sam because she's my sister and I like her well enough as a person, at least the one I pretend to know. And, as much as I despise the sanctimonious cult that is the military and as much as I have tried to escape its influence on my life--
That sounds melodramatic. I'm not that kind of person. I like to let things alone. Mel calls it "fester," but, either way, it's a lot less conflict.
That being said, I still like to pry snippets of information from Jacob and my sister about their involvement.
Like this: I know they come into contact with each other, but not very often. Jacob'll tell me he's seen Sam last Thursday, but, the thing is, Mel will have tried to call Sam that day and was told by some SF lackey-slash-secretary that Sam was unavailable until that Monday. And I don't even know how that's possible since Sam's supposed to be working with telescopes deep underground and Jacob is . . . not nearly as smart as Sam.
I get snippets, but that's it. They're both well-trained, but so am I. I can see a fish tail when the boat's rocking.
"I got a call from Pete yesterday, though." I smile. Pete's a good guy and a good cop. The expression he made when I told him the beautiful, leggy blond in the corner sipping cold beer from the bottle and spouting off about her Harley was in fact my sister was absolutely priceless.
"Oh?"
I don't question it, but I hear some sort of resentment in his tone.
"Yeah. He wanted to know if Melissa and I wanted to go to Steve's with him and Sam this Friday." Steve's is a dive, but their beef is top-notch. Besides, there's no bigger aphrodisiac than a woman and a steak--and I mean that for my wife, of course. It might give Pete an aneurism, but I think I'll risk it.
"Sam's busy Friday," he says flatly. I don't question him. He knows a lot more about Sam's schedule than anyone else I know.
"What? Something exciting happening in the world of deep-space telemetry?" I scoff. I can't help it. Secrets, secrets. That's all I ever get.
Jacob smiles and I swear it's a sneer. "Deep-space is always exciting."
"More exciting than a good-looking cop and a pound of the juiciest steak you've ever tasted? Not to mention your devilishly handsome brother and his stunning wife as company. Yeah, I can see how you'd want to pass that up for a refracting telescope and a room full of nerds on a Friday night."
He's quiet and I can't help studying him. It's a cop thing, I figure.
He's grown thinner and less toned, his body tense and hunched over his folded hands, but he is older. We all are. He's got scars on his hands I don't remember. His expression exudes wisdom and experience, but I know that can't be right. He's never been wise and he doesn't pay much attention to experience. He's becoming a mystery like no one else I've known, like a switch has been flicked and he's become a different person.
Since he showed up on my doorstep and opened his arms to me, he's been that different. All my life, he's never been so . . . still. It's almost as if he's having silent conversations with himself--thinking about things before he says them. He never used to care before.
"What do you think about this Pete guy?" he asks, taking his eyes off his hands.
"He's a good guy. He really is." I do my best to produce confidence in my gaze. "I worked a couple cases with him."
"Really?" he asks. "He's really a good guy?"
His worry surprises me, but I don't say anything about it.
"Too good to be a cop," I tell him.
He seems satisfied for the moment, but drops his eyes again.
Sam didn't tell me much about his sudden change of heart concerning our feud. Then again, seven--eight years isn't very sudden. Still, Jacob's as stubborn as a mule with the stamina to go with it. His obstinacy never startled me before.
"Anything new with you?" he asks.
"We think we're pregnant again." Melissa likes it when I say "we."
"Really? That's great. How far along are you?"
"Not even three months," I tell him, grinning. All things considered, it's still nice to have a father this time around. "We didn't plan it this time. I mean, we're happy about it, obviously, but it just came as a little bit of a surprise."
"It always does."
"We don't know if it's going to happen, of course. Mel's miscarried before."
"What are you hoping for?"
"Well, I wouldn't mind a boy, but Mel wants another girl. You know how that goes."
"Yeah," he grins. "I'm happy for you, son. Both of you. I truly am." His eyes tell me he's in earnest.
I laugh. "'Course, now all we have to do is get Sam married off and you will be up to your ears in grandchildren."
He smiles penitently and hesitates on his question. "You think this Pete character, you know, is right for her?"
I'm a little astonished, more by his insecurity than the sudden leap he's made joining Pete and Sam in imaginary matrimony, but I shrug. "I don't know. But, like I said, he's a good guy. And, while he hasn't said he's ready for anything like marriage, well, he's not getting any younger."
I watch his brows furrow.
"Why? You have someone else in mind?" I chortle, but he doesn't.
"I think she does."
I know he's not kidding, but I can't help it. "It's the military, Jacob. Don't tell me she fell for an officer."
His eyes flash. "Your mother did."
I feel my ears burn, but I promised myself when I accepted his embrace that I would try. The room falls silent.
I remember the way it used to be, no matter what Jacob tries to say. Sure, I knew they loved each other; there just was more yelling than love in the house, and that was when he was around. And that wasn't very often. Typical military career corollaries. Nothing new and nothing unusual, at least, I know that now.
"Look, Pete likes Sam. He's happy and he seems to think she's happy. And, when Sam's unhappy, we all know it. Workplace relationships never work out, especially in the military."
He just nods. He doesn't seem into talking anymore about Pete. I can take a hint. I'm not that much of a bastard.
"Okay. I'll bite. Who is he?"
Jacob smiles. "Classified."
It's his favorite word and I don't mind the teasing so much.
"Damn, and here I thought you were going to expose the sordid underbelly of military relationships between officers. I guess I'll just have to wait for my next edition of Military Minds and Mines." I laugh and he smirks. "So, I take it he's an officer?"
Jacob actually grins. "Classified."
"Okay, let me take a shot. I am a cop, after all. And, Mel's on this kick about 'walking in your partner's shoes,' so I've been reading this romance novel, and I think I'm getting good at this whole thing."
He looks amused and more than a little dubious, but how can I explain that I don't like to disobey my wife? It's a difficult thing, marriage.
"And you don't have to say anything," I quickly assure him. "Let's see . . . It's got to be cliche. Sam's life reads like the intro to a dime novel, like I said. So, she's working on something top secret, highest level. She's studying the depths of space when she stumbles upon a conspiracy in the reprobate--" I stress the word because that kind of thing makes him twitch "--military to trick the people of earth into thinking there are no aliens out there. She tells her superior officer, who just happens to be the hunky Heathcliff she's been lusting after for years but can't get close to because of their positions.
"Anyway, she has to go into hiding because the military sends thugs after her for finding them out. Said hunk becomes her body guard. Long story short, Sam comes up with an amazing device--because she was always doing that sort of thing--that broadcasts the prof of extraterrestrials and the military's involvement to all corners of the globe simultaneously and she and hunk live happily ever after having wild, passionate sex in the broom closet of an underground base."
Jacob's small chuckle turns into a full-blown roar as I reach the part about Sam's device.
"Did I hit it?"
He wipes his eyes. "Not quite. I'd keep working on that profiling thing, there, Mark."
"Am I even anywhere close?"
He sobers, studying me. "Well, you got the part about the aliens."
I can't tell if he's shitting me, but I laugh anyway. It's nice to have a father.
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whyagain
january 2007
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"When you coming home son? I don't know when, but we'll get together then, dad. I know we'll have a good time then." --Cat's in the Cradle, Harry Chaplain