Air Force Sweetheart -- TacPzlSolGp Chap. 32/34

previously:

Time creeps along like the weather has frozen it to the consistency of salt water taffy, but finally 6:30 comes along, looks around, and decides to go back to sleep.

I figure I’ll give Mom until seven, then call. I check to see that I have enough change and then go for another cup of vending machine coffee. It looks like instant and tastes like ditch water, but it’s better than nothing.

At 7:08, time speeds up a little and the sun is just making its appearance, throwing a dusky grey light through the cloud cover. A light snow is falling and people are moving around the terminal again. I opt for the phone call and a cab. As I walk out the door into the chill morning air, the sun is just beginning to brush aside the clouds, so it can warm the cold Earth beneath.

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Admin Note: Originally published on BigCloset TopShelf by T D Aldoennetti on Wed, 2008/12/03 - 2:23am, Air Force Sweetheart -- TacPzlSolGp Chapter 32 is revised and reposted on XXX BC Time/Date Macro XXX. ~Sephrena

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The Fickle Finger of Fate:

 

Chapter 32

 

I’m standing in a phone booth by the taxi stand at the airport with the cold handset to my ear and I hear the phone ringing on Mom’s end of the line. I’ve already paid the driver to wait for me but I want to give Mom a call before I just drop in on her with a truckload of baggage. Someone picks up.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, before she has a chance to say hello.

“Hi, Janet. What’s up?”

“This isn’t Janet, Mom. This is Lucy.”

“Lucy? My goodness. How are things in your neck of the woods? It must be awfully early back there. Is anything wrong?”

She would ask that, wouldn’t she? I try to control myself long enough to say, “I’ll tell you all about it when the cab pulls up. I’m about thirty minutes away, at the Cheyenne airport.”

“Lucy, what’s wrong? You sound depressed.”

“When I get there, Mom. Okay?”

“Okay, but you’d better not hold anything back.”

“Promise, Mom. The whole pain and nothing but the pain.”

By the time my cab plays slip’n’slide over the icy roads to reach the house, Mom has had time to dress and put on real coffee. It’s hot inside, at least sixty-five degrees, so I shed my overcoat in a hurry, placing it in the hall with my luggage. Mom has the puppies corralled in the living room, which seems to have been ‘child-proofed’ since I was here last.

Some puppies. They’re about sixty to seventy pounds and probably still growing.

“If I don’t put them here,” she explains, “then they’ll be underfoot all over the house with us.”

“Aww, Mommm. Let them out, I haven’t seen them in a long while.” Only the once, actually, but I feel a little guilty that two Happy clones were my idea. It seemed like a great idea at the time.

“You’ll be sorry.” She opens the gate and an avalanche comes thundering toward me.

I manage to sidestep (who ever said that a black belt in karate isn’t worth anything?) and they go down in an embarrassed heap. As they get up, they’re much more cautious in their approach, until I start petting them and then they can’t get enough and are soon vying for best location to get scratches.

“Which one’s which, Mom?”

“Ask them. Tell one of them to S-I-T but don’t name the other, they’ll show you.”

“Happy, sit.”

The one I’m scratching looks at me funny and then sits down still trying to put his head under my hand.

“Sneezy, sit.”

Now the other one sits, still trying to do the same under my other hand.

“What command are you using to release them?

“F-R-E-E.”

“Okay you guys, FREE.”

They both jump up and start moving around again.

“I forgot how much energy young dogs have.”

“Older ones do too. They just have more restraint. That comes with education and wisdom, just like humans.”

“No. No more scratches. Enough’s enough.”

They calm down and sit down where they can watch, just in case a wayward hand happens to offer itself at the right height.

Mom pours me a large cup of her coffee, with a spoonful of sugar, and then pours one for herself as we sit at the dinette just off the kitchen. The two dogs are watching us carefully for any indication that we might abandon our insane obsession with bitter liquids and start scratching them again, like sensible creatures would do. I disappoint them by taking a deep swallow of the coffee and relish the flavor and strength. This makes the coffee at the airport taste like warm dishwater, but then I knew that at the time, but was less temperate in my assessment. Must be Mom’s calming influence.

Never one to hesitate, Mom says, “Do you want to settle in or talk first?”

“I think, settle in. Once I start talking, I may not be able to stop until I finish.”

She raises her eyebrows at me, “You make it sound serious.”

“It is, Mom. I’m just not certain how serious it is, or if it even matters any more.”

All business, she stands up and goes to the pot, saying, “Let’s top off the coffee and take it and your things up to your room. Those are new, aren’t they?” She points to my Colonel’s insignia.

“Well not too new. I told you about them in one of the letters or phone calls, I don’t remember which just now. You’ve never seen them though.”

“At this rate, you’ll be a general in just a couple of years.”

“Afraid not, Mom. They made it plain to me that I’ll need to wait the time it would have taken to go from Major to this before I’ll even begin to be considered for anything higher. Then again, I may not need anything higher. Give me a couple of minutes to take everything upstairs before I get into it. Maybe we should eat too. The telling is liable to go pretty long.”

I leave my coffee cup and go out to carry things upstairs. In my room I drop my shoes and place my overcoat in the closet, then go back down for more. A second trip and it’s all upstairs, where I quickly change to a winter skirt and blouse and put on a little jewelry, my watch and some perfume. Searching for my earrings, I find a pair that will do and push them through the holes in my ears. My tan flats slip on, then I’m headed back downstairs.

“I was about to send out a search party.”

“I took the time to change. It’s my personal life I’m going to be discussing anyway, so the uniform wasn’t germane.”

“Did that young man you’ve been telling me about for months finally ask the question?”

She sees the pain cross my face and immediately adds, “Oh, baby, I’m sorry. He dumped you, didn’t he?”

“Not exactly, Mom. I sort of dumped him, but I don’t think I really should have.”

She’s a little confused, but seems like she would like to find him and give him the lecture of his life anyway. “What do you mean, ‘Not exactly?’ He didn’t get you pregnant and then try to skip did he? Oh, no, sorry, I forgot…. Did he try?”

“No, Mom, he never touched me.”

“He likes men, then,” she concludes, with an indignant tone in her voice.

“Mommm!” Geez! Just because he respected me enough to let me heal at my own speed, that doesn’t make him gay! My mother surprises me sometimes.

“All right, all right. I’ll let you tell it.”

As we begin eating breakfast, I start the whole tale beginning with our first meeting in the line of duty, and moving on to the serious dating and everything until last Saturday night, when he was tired after a very long day, and my encounter with the ghost of his dead wife, whom I’d known about, but shouldn’t have known about, but whom I’d thought had been exorcised by our new relationship. Then I went into the pain I felt, and still feel, when he wouldn’t come inside to talk to me, but then he vanished off the face of the Earth and they were hunting for him but hadn’t been able to find him. The whole sordid mess.

“How do I get into these things?” I finish.

“You still love him, don’t you?”

“Yes. No! Maybe. I don’t know. I’m confused and hurt.”

“So you ran away.” She tightened her lips a little. She didn’t look quite as supportive as I’d imagined. “Does the Army know you’ve gone?”

“Yes,” I hastened to say. “Father gave me a set of orders so I could come home to pick up the pieces.”

“Father? Oh, yes. I remember now, that General and his wife. You need to give me her address. I like her and would enjoy corresponding. How long are you home?”

“I have two weeks.”

She nods her head, but not in agreement. “That will either prove to be not nearly enough or far too much. Whichever outcome, it will be the result of how and what you do now.”

I’m still toying with the remnants of my food with the fork and reach another small bite up to my lips once again remembering for about the tenth time that the food went cold some time ago. I return it to the plate. “Mommm, what am I supposed to do now? I mean…. Geez, we really liked each other, but he has that ghost riding around with him all the time, and I didn’t realize how deeply he’d….” Even as I’m speaking, I hear how petty I sound, even to myself, so I stop.

“We seldom do, baby. We seldom do. Men tend to keep things bottled up. Sometimes the lid blows off and then there are problems. He’s probably in just as much pain right now as you are, maybe more. He just needs more time to figure it out.” She looks at me, speculating, then comes to a decision. “My suggestion is to go somewhere completely different for the next two weeks. Don’t sit around here and dissect yourself and him, but go somewhere you haven’t been, and have no memories of, and just explore and give yourself a chance to fully heal from your own hurts. If you think he’s worth saving, you’ll have to be strong for him, baby, and you can’t be that if you’re in as much of a pickle as he is. Go to Southern California, say, a whole continent away from Washington, get yourself a swimsuit and have fun in the ocean. Forget everything for two weeks and then go back and look at the problem with renewed vision. Give both yourself and him a chance to heal.

“But it’s winter, even in Southern California,” I whine.

She purses her lips, and I don’t need access to any secret codes to tell she’s irritated with me. “Even if it’s a little ‘cool,’ it will seem like a tropical paradise after all this, even after Washington.” She sweeps her hand around in the air, alluding to the snow surrounding the house, the icy roads, and the orbital inclination of the Earth. “Stay here today and then fly out to the West Coast and forget everything for a while. Just be certain to let me know where you are, and keep in touch.”

“I’ll think about it, Mom. Here, let me do the dishes, then I think I’d like to go shopping. I don’t really have much time for it while I’m working. I don’t get to cook much either, so I cook tonight. I have some new recipes I’d like to try out. In fact, I’ll fix us a light lunch too.”

She brightens. “I don’t have to cook or clean? The kitchen’s yours, but if they’re good, I get dib’s on copies of the recipes.” She leaves the kitchen to me and goes out into another part of the house.

I clean up the kitchen and dinette as I think about what she was saying, about getting away from everything for a while. The more I think, the better it sounds. If I stay here, there’ll be too many distractions, so I won’t be able to think. Now that I think about this, I suppose trying out recipes is a distraction too, but now I’m entering a recursive loop of second thoughts, an occupational hazard. One thing at a time, Lucy. I check the supplies in the house so I can purchase whatever we need to prepare the half dozen or so things I’d like to try. Then I change my mind. It would be more responsible to purchase everything I need from scratch, rather than using up Mom’s supplies.

“Mom? I’m going to call a cab and go out,” I yell as I go up the stairs to my room.

“No, you’re not. I want to go out too, so you’re riding with me, like it or not,” she yells back. A minute later she meets me in my room as I’m gathering my civilian fur-lined wool coat and putting on my fleece lined boots. Toasty. We walk to the garage and get in her car as I explain that I’ll need to stop by the market on our return, so I can purchase groceries for the banquet I’ve planned for tonight.

We spend a few hours shopping, and then stop by the travel agency again. I purchase a ticket for San Diego and the agent tracks down a hotel with a private beach. It’s a little pricey, even though it’s the off season, but I ask for a week and pay in advance, telling Mom that I’ll call and give her my room number once I have checked in, but write down the main number on the pad by the phone, just in case she needs to leave a message or something before I arrive. Now, on to the supermarket. This is quite different than Mr. Carwell’s market. It’s more like the big store near home in Maryland. The layout is a little strange, but there are a lot more things available.

We take a shopping cart and wander through the store, picking up things here and there. I think I’ll try some canned ingredients rather than taking the time necessary to prepare fresh items to mix into my concoctions. Pre-ground coffee? What do you do if it’s not a blend you like? I think I’ll stick with picking out my own beans then grinding them. I scoop a bit from five different containers of various coffee beans, in flavors that looked interesting, mixing them in the bag as I go down the line, then dump them in the grinder, set it for fine and place the bag beneath the spout to catch the grounds. Pressing the start button sets it into action and yields me a bag of my own custom blend in about a minute. Modern life is wonderful, when you think about it.

We continue around the store and I pick up some Dutch bittersweet chocolate cubes and small bottles of vanilla, lemon and orange extract. I forgot to check on the sugar, salt, baking soda and powder, so I pick up those as well. Both white and brown sugar in one pound sizes, plus two small packages of yeast culture. Then I move down the aisle to the spices section and come away with a round dozen bottles. I have trouble finding several of the more exotic spices, but a thoughtful sales clerk passing down the aisle directs me to their oriental foods section, where I find what I need, or what looks to be close to it. We’re near the meat department, so I walk over and talk to the butcher. I select a large top sirloin that he recommends and ask to have the fat and silverskin trimmed. They tell me it will be an extra twenty-five cents to trim all the excess off. Not bad, the three pounds of sirloin is $9.15 so the quarter doesn’t bring it up too far, and trimming is a lot of work. I’m glad to leave it to a professional.

A half gallon of milk comes next, and a small container of whipping cream. I check everything I have and remember the bananas. There I have a bit of a problem. I need a lot of brown on them and these are mostly yellow. Maybe I can make up for the lack of concentrated flavor by adding a little more banana. It can’t be too much because the proportions will suffer and maybe my finished product won’t come out right. I could try mashing a few extra bananas and just take the juice. Then I remember apples. They’ll hasten ripening, but I don’t have much time, so I grab a half-dozen, put both fruits into one bag, and hope for the best.

If that doesn’t work, I’ll give the other a try. By now, I seem to have everything, so we walk up to the check out counter. The checkout clerk knows Mom, and evidently my sister, because she says, “Hi, Mrs. Mason, Janet.”

“Hello, Dorothy, this isn’t Janet, though; this is my other daughter, Lucy.”

“Oh? Hi, I haven’t seen you in here before. You look almost identical to Janet. Are you twins?”

I smile. “No. I’m her younger sister by a couple of years. We’re often mistaken for each other.”

“Uhmm. This looks like you are planning a party. I may come to your house to eat tonight.”

“You’ll need to hurry,” Mom chimes in. “Lucy’s fixing something different tonight, and tomorrow she’s gone again. That way, if we don’t like it, she won’t be around for us to complain to.”

“Smart girl,” she replies, smiling pleasantly. “That’ll be $48.43. Pretty expensive, I hope it’s worth it. Did you check the eggs to see if any were cracked?”

“Yes, they’re okay. I only need four anyway so I’ll be all right. Thanks so much, and nice meeting you.”

Mom and I roll the cart out to the car as the checkout girl begins chatting with the next customer. We load the car and make our way home with the chains clanking on the icy street. Going up the driveway works out okay. I get out to unlock and open the garage door and Mom slides the car back inside, then shuts it down. I close the door from inside and throw the bolt as Mom unlocks the door leading to the house.

We begin to bring in the groceries, setting them in the kitchen and then going back for more, until the kitchen counters are loaded. Then we bring our other purchases into the house and lock the door to the garage before taking our things upstairs. I drop my boots and coat in my room and put on my flats again, then go down to begin the preparations for supper. Happy and Sneezy are following my every move, hoping for some morsel to find its way to the floor during my unpacking or cooking.

Looking at everything, I realize that I may have gone a bit overboard. I call upstairs, “Mom, there will be an awful lot of food. Maybe you should invite Janet and Tony over for supper, otherwise you might have enough leftovers for two weeks and I don’t think they’ll keep that long. Don’t tell them I’m here though. Let it be a surprise. I think around 5:30 would be good, just in case I need a little extra time.”

Mom comes down to use the phone in the front hall as I start unloading the bags and organizing for supper preparations. Using some of the ingredients, including one of the bananas, I prepare enough batter and fillings for two of the five layer quick cakes and set them to bake. The apples may have helped the one banana slightly, but I want to give them a little longer to work before I make more. I fell head over heels for these cakes while in the hospital and conned the recipe out of that mess Sergeant. I make the chocolate sauce and put it into the refrigerator, then I fix us a light lunch, a salad with cottage cheese and tuna fish sandwiches. The cakes are ready, so I tuck them away where they are temporarily out of sight and then call Mom, saying, “Lunch is ready.”

She comes in from vacuuming and washes her hands in the sink, then dries them on the hand towel hanging inside the sink cupboard. She starts preparing the makings for tea and carries things out to the table as I speed up the water a little by staring at it.

It finally boils and I fill the large teapot bringing it and a very small pitcher, about a quarter cup, of milk for the tea. After lunch, I bring out the two quick cakes and she looks at me.

“Where did you find time to make those?”

“They’re called ‘quick cakes’ because they’re so quick to prepare. I’ve never made them before, so I hope they are as good as the one I remember.”

She takes a small bite and nods her head, “Good.”

“Try it this way, Mom,” as I show her by cutting a small wedge straight down the edge of my cake and then picking the entire short wedge of five layers up with my fork and putting it in my mouth. “Good. Just like I remember.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Lucy.”

She tries a second bite, cutting the cake my way.

“I want this recipe.”

“Of course, Mom. It’s only fair. I got most of my recipes from you, so you should be able to have new ones from me.”

We clear the table after we finish. I wash the dishes again while she goes out to finish vacuuming, polishing, and then cleaning the downstairs bathroom.

Now I begin preparation for supper. I throw myself into it. As this is my first time for my two main dishes, a Filipino paella, seasoned with spices I remember from ’Nam, and a quick faux-Chateaubriand with top sirloin steak. I’m uncertain of the exact time required. I know roughly, give or take about twenty minutes, so I think I’m doing all right. I make the Sergeant’s quick cakes for dessert. They’re so easy to make that I just slip them in between other things. Well, except for the baking and the whipped filling…. You make the whipped filling using two parts sugar and one part whip plus a tablespoon of milk… enough for two layers and then add the orange flavor to the one and the lemon to the other.

The thin chocolate topping is a combination of wedges of bittersweet and a little milk brought together in a double boiler. It’s not like a frosting. It’s simply a topping which is allowed to drip down over the sides and a little goes a long way, the sides of the cakes remain mostly uncoated to show the layers. The chocolate flavor is allowed to remain bitter to offset the sweet fillings.

The baked cake portions are baked or cut in thirds, top, middle and bottom. It’s pretty easy. When the batter is mixed, I add a very small amount of both orange and lemon extract to enhance the flavor just a little. The majority of the flavor is to be found in the fillings and the bitter chocolate topping. I cheated a little earlier and made enough topping for both the two cakes we had at lunch and the four for supper, then refrigerated it to hold. It probably won’t last past supper, but then we’ll use most of it anyway.

The two main courses are much more interesting and time consuming. The sirloin smells just like I remember. A small taste tells me it will come out perfect when it finishes cooking. The paella seems to be missing something but still tastes great. I’ll need maybe another hour on each that will place them just about 5:30.

In the meantime, I throw together a simple salad and pop it in the refrigerator to keep fresh.

The paella still disturbs me. If you hadn’t tasted it as prepared by our cook, then you’d never miss the slight difference. I search the recipe and find the missing ingredient, saffron. No wonder. I hadn’t seen any at the store, and can’t recall ever seeing it, so it must not be all that common, possibly because it’s so expensive. The cook had guessed the price to be about thirty dollars an ounce, or even more for the highest grade. I remember making that note. Oh, well.

Checking my three oven side dishes, roasted onions and winter vegetables, baked potatoes, a green bean casserole, I find them well on their way to coming out just fine. Now for the fun. I take the ground coffee and put it into a large bowl and begin to mix it well in case I didn’t mix them well enough as whole beans, and I want each flavor to be present in every part of the coffee. It smells delicious already, but I pour it back into the bag for now.

I drag out the large coffee pot down from the cupboard over the refrigerator, add water for twelve cups and place a filter in the brewing cup. Now I carefully measure out enough coffee for the twelve cups and add just enough powdered cocoa for perhaps three. I mix everything well, then place my mocha mix into the paper filter, since Mom doesn’t seem to have an Italian espresso machine handy. The coffee is ready to prepare, but I wait to start it until Janet and Tony arrive.

Now I take just enough coffee to make one cup and grind it as fine as I can then add four cups worth of cocoa, again blending well. Finished, I rinse all the bowls, dry, and put them away to regain as much counter space as possible. I find Mom’s two bread molds and begin mixing up the makings for two medium loaves of bread, the side dishes will come out of the upper oven when the bread goes in.

I finish mixing my ingredients and add the coffee/cocoa mix, blending well (about 3 minutes), then add my yeast and sugar, blending well. The mix is now ‘poured’ into the two bread molds and after they rise, kneaded again to fold everything once more. Now they are allowed to rise again before I exchange them for the side dishes in the top oven, resetting the temperature to bake the bread.

Reducing the temperature in the lower oven will allow the main dishes to continue cooking slowly, while the side dishes will remain warm in the same oven. It’s time to wash the bowls and some utensils and put them away. I check the double boiler and add more water, then I turn up the heat and add four bittersweet cubes, just a little sugar (about half the volume of the chocolate) and then add milk until the mix is creamy. I have to keep stirring constantly or it will stick to the bottom of the pan and won’t thicken evenly. I lift the top boiler off and watch as I stir to see if the mix thickens too far. I want to use it as a glaze for the bread but it needs to be able to harden so it doesn’t run off the bread when I cut it, or lay a piece on its side.

Maybe just a touch thick, back onto the boiler and add a tablespoon more milk again and repeat the process. Much better. The timer rings and I pull the bread to check it. Five more minutes. Back in. It raised well, so the extra yeast offset the effect of the coffee and cocoa. The texture of the interior will be the final judge, too much yeast and the bread will have a coarse texture. Too little and it wouldn’t continue to rise enough. I check my main dishes again, and the warmth of the side dishes. Okay. This is fun.

Finally the bread should be finished and I kill the top oven and pull the loaves, placing them each on a cooling rack. I hear Mom letting Janet and Tony in so I start the coffee and begin to wrap up as many dirty things as possible just as Mom and Janet come into the kitchen.

Janet squeals, “Lucy!” and rushes over to hug me. She turns to Mom, “You stinker, you didn’t tell me she was here. When did you arrive? How long are you here? Wow, you look good.”

“So do you, Sis, I’ve missed you. I got in early this morning and leave tomorrow morning. I just wanted the chance to try my hand at some new recipes. You guys get to be my test subjects.”

“Knowing how well you cook, I’m sure they’ll be delectable.”

She opens the oven door a crack and sniffs the food, “Hmmm, let’s eat.”

I begin to pour a small stream of the chocolate mix onto the bread gradually coating the entire top with chocolate.

“The bread looks great.” She sniffs a couple of times before going to the coffeepot.

“That smells different. Good but different. Where do you get the ideas for these things?”

“Oh, here and there. Mostly there.”

She gives me an exasperated look.

“Sis, would you and Mom set the table and start taking everything into the dining room. The bread needs to cool another ten or fifteen before it goes, and the coffee will be ready in about five.”

Checking the bread I find the chocolate is hardening nicely despite the warmth of the bread. I use the bread knife, taking a thin slice. The interior came out fine rather than the large coarse bubbles found in some breads. The taste is good, just enough cocoa and maybe a touch too much coffee flavoring it but it’s okay. I take a small swipe of the remnants of the chocolate and taste the bread again. Nice. They go hand in hand.

I turn to offer a taste of the bread to Happy and find the two puppies sitting there expectantly. Tearing the bread apart I offer them each a small piece without the additional chocolate. Chocolate contains a chemical that’s poisonous to dogs. Like us drinking alcohol, too much could be fatal. I shake myself out of my reverie and take a loaf of bread out to the table then return to the kitchen for the coffeepot, holding the second loaf in reserve. The puppies are now seated around the table waiting patiently for handouts. They move occasionally as they decide who might be the next soft touch gently placing their muzzle on the victim’s leg and giving ‘I haven’t eaten in a week’ gazes up from soulful eyes.

-o~O~o-

Supper was a great success. Tony ate two helpings of everything. Where he packs it, I haven’t the faintest. If I ate as much as he does, I’d be a blimp. We girls are happy to just savor the taste of a little of everything.

The salad I learned to make so many months ago has now been attempted, also successfully. It doesn’t taste quite the same to me but is still good. I suppose the old adage, ‘If you make it yourself it never tastes as good as when someone else makes it,’ is still true.

Tony retires to watch televison while we clean up. Half an hour later, everything is done and we go out to join Tony who is busy sawing wood on the couch. Janet apologizes then she awakens Tony, who says the meal was ‘good.’ Janet leads him out to the car after she and I have a sisterly hug, the dogs keeping them company until they both are inside the car, then running back to sit next to Mom.

The four of us wait on the porch until Sis drives away with Tony asleep once again while riding as the passenger. Back inside, we turn on the news and catch the wrap up. Mom turns to another channel which is just beginning their evening news, so we’re treated to their particular slant on the latest disasters afflicting a weary world. They somehow forget to mention the Fickle Finger of Fate bearing down on Earth from somewhere in outer space, which is about to touch down on me once more.

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To Be Continued….       © 2008, 2009 by T D Aldoennetti & Rénae Dúmas. This work may not be replicated or presented in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder) or her assigned representative. ALL Rights Reserved, including but not limited to ownership of Characters, final content decision, and more. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental. An Aldoennetti Original.