Guess who's coming to dinner?

PART 18

“Oh yeah,” said Karen after I had related the contents of my meeting to her. “How do you figure on doing that?”

“Hell if I know?” I admitted sheepishly. “It just sounded like something cool to say.”

“I can’t believe you turned down that much money,” she continued, amused at my situation.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Well those boxes arrived from the law firm. I had the mover’s drop everything that would fit in your office and the rest of it is in the dining room. Which is not I guarantee not what your noble ancestors intended when they build the place.”

“Don’t be so sure.” I said, thinking about the last command of William Scott. A man who advised his son to burn buildings to the ground wasn’t going to get put out of joint by a couple of bankers' boxes of paper even if several of them were stacked so high that the chandelier was in danger of being hit when they inevitably tumbled to the ground.

So that was my life for the next few weeks. School in the morning, exercise and prenatal maintenance in the afternoon and my evenings as a hot coed were spent at home going over the books of a major company. The only way I was able to cope, particularly with my heavy schedule, was that I had such a large and caring support staff in my girls. Our little micro sorority had become so close knit in so short a time that Laura had only half jokingly begun looking through the Greek alphabet and trying to find out what it would take to get our own charter. I put my foot down as politely as I could but I think they only began to see reason when I pointed out they would inevitably have to share rooms with other girls if the sorority got off the ground. But they all chipped in, taking over all the fiddly bits of the household for me so that the only thing I had to worry about was showing up for dinner.

The Scott Company was in trouble. Those tax returns showing a net loss were not all fabrications for my benefit. America had sort of gotten out of the infrastructure business right around the same time as it had become unfashionable to be an American engineering company in those countries that were still building major dams, bridges and highway systems. Compounding my troubles, labor costs had skyrocketed as well as benefits costs like health care. And, just as a cherry on top of the dessert of my destruction, the bottom had dropped out of the minerals market as well when the economic downturn had drastically reduced the demand for raw materials

The company still owned assets, and many of them. The value was not significantly decreasing and could even be expected to gain over time. But it wasn’t drawing much income: the company seemed to be my own situation writ large. Wealthy in assets but not in cash. And those assets could be sold but only by selling them for much less than they were worth. Only the fiber optic cable business seemed to be on the auction block for a good price and they were insisting on so gargantuan a premium on it that it was unlikely anyone would take it off their hands. All that was merely academic, of course, since there was nothing I could do to force them to take my advice even if I knew what to tell them. But it did point out that, if something wasn’t done soon, there wouldn’t be a kingdom left to rescue.

So that’s all by way of prelude to explain why I was in no mood to put up with being blocked out of my own garage by one of my renters cars again one Friday night. I had taken the evening off as a sort of well needed treat. I drove Melanie myself instead of being chauffeured ,went to a movie and binged on theater popcorn and Cold Stone ice cream and otherwise did my best to prevent Dr Lyons from calling my pregnancy underweight! My blood pressure though, was starting get out of hand by the car lot my driveway had become

Way back when this house had first been built, three car garages were probably seen as unnecessarily decadent for a one family home. But now there were six of us girls and each of us, even the disowned Caroline, had her own car and things were starting to get out of hand. The girls tried parking in the street to prevent stalls from being blocked in but my tight ass neighbors went on a jihad and if a girl didn’t move the car after 24 hours they proceeded to have it towed by the city. I may not be able to solve the economic problems of the world's premier nation and the slightly less complicated issues of a multimillion dollar company, but a bigger garage? That I could build.

I found a contractor that would start right away and for an extra $500 I even found one with a cousin in city planning that could expedite the permits. I needed them for the literally heavy lifting in my current gravid state but, once the cement was poured and the foundation laid, I told them to take a hike and started doing a little home improvement as therapy. There was something viscerally pleasing about using a hammer on a reluctant and unwary nail. I hoped I wasn’t using it as a phallic substitute, but quickly shook my head and discounted it. What I couldn’t seem to shake off was my overprotecting roommates.

“Ah… Katie?” asked Karen who must have been elected to approach me since she had known me the longest. “What are you doing?”

“Framing,” I enunciated well as I could as I pulled another nail from my mouth and started hammering on the two by four beam.

“I mean, what are you building? When those men came here with the cement we all thought you were just making the driveway bigger so we could park off the street.”

“Winter is coming,” I said as ominously as I could manage. “The Starks are always right, eventually. When the snows fly I’m not going to be stepping onto an icy driveway, heavy with child or carrying a newborn. And not for nothing, but your cars are probably the most valuable things you own and they should be protected. So I am building an extension to the garage. If I can match the bricks right I may even be able to make it look like original construction… hand me that level would you?”

“The what?” she asked me, confused.

“That metallic bar next to the bucket with the little air bubbles in the middle. I need to make sure this is straight.”

“You’re building a garage?” she asked dumfounded.

“Ayup,” I acknowledged not seeing the big deal about it.

“You can’t.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” said Karen, crossing her arms under her breasts irately. “If it somehow passed your notice, you’re pregnant!”

“So?”

“Katie!”

“Look Karen, I appreciate your concern but pregnant woman were doing heavy manual labor for the first twenty odd thousand years of human history. It’s only the last few generations that people have started to worry about it.

“Think of the baby!”

“I am, and the fifty feet of icy driveway to my front door if I don’t do otherwise and besides I promised you a garage stall when we made that first contract. I left it out of the other girls' but you have one. And most of the time you have to park outside now.”

“I don’t mind,” she said waving her hands extravagantly.

“But I do Miss Steiner,” I said giving her a hard stare. “And I have an unreasonable objection to being forsworn. My doctor says I need to keep exercising anyway. And last and not least… it’s fun.”

“Really?” she asked, slightly cowed, and then inspiration struck her. “Then you should let me take a try at it!”

“Are you sure?” I asked her somberly. “Have you ever used a hammer before?”

“I helped daddy build our tree house. Or as much as he would let me anyway. Just show me what to do.”

So it wasn’t long at all before I was reposed on a deck chair that Karen had drug from by the now empty pool and “supervising” construction. Rachel showed up to see what had happened to Karen’s rescue mission and was drafted into duty holding beams in place. Eventually Joanne and Laura came home as well and parked well before the garage and all the debris we had stacked in front of it. To get into the open slot they had to use the two wheeler a bit and they finished just in time for my shipment of bricks to arrive from the Builder’s Supply Company. And since they had proven themselves crackerjack pack mules they were tasked with the unloading.

Before long, there was so much hither and yon noise and racket that one of my stalwart neighbors came over to tell us to settle down and being the only male in eyesight was guilted into lifting up one of the heavy beams for Karen by feminine wiles from five directions. He gave me a dejected look, like I was supposed to rescue him but I had some lemonade in my hand at the time and had just got in a comfortable position where my back wasn’t hurting me. Caroline was the only one to escape, and that had less to do with her offered excuse of making dinner than her obvious knowledge of what I was trying to pull over on these city kids.

Oh gee Aunt Polly! I sure did want to white wash that thar fence!

***

September came and went and I was now shopping exclusively in the maternity section. I had got by for as long as I could on what I had inherited from Jessica but at a certain point I reached the inherent design limitations of modern fabrics and had to give in to the inevitable. The girls used it as an excuse to go on a shopping expedition and I gave in thinking at least I could use them as native guides. I was eventually grateful because we came across an absolutely FABULOUS find. It was a pink pregnancy t-shirt that emphasized upstairs more than I liked but more than made up for it by what was written on the bottom. “This baby bump brought to you courtesy of a US Marine.” It wasn’t technically accurate since Thomas was in the Navy until he graduated and could accept a commission in the service of his choice. But for some reason they didn’t manufacture t-shirts proudly stating courtesy of a midshipman. The pink was still a bit hard for me to adjust to but the message fit my sense of humor perfectly and it quickly became my favorite garment.

So there I was… just short of seven months pregnant 11:39 AM, Sunday October 1st the year of our sometimes lord twenty hundred and eight. I answered the doorbell because I just happened to be the closest to the entryway at that time. I opened it to reveal a government car in the driveway with a red flag sticking out the window with three stars on it, and a man in uniform looking at me with a facial expression that…. Well… let’s just say I could count his fillings. Man needed to learn to take better care of his teeth. Must be all that time in the desert.

It wasn’t Lieutenant General James Ryan Jr. U.S.M.C.’s finest hour.

“Jes… Jessica.” he eventually gasped out.

“Yes General,” I said frozen in place since there didn’t seem to be any point in denying it. He had met this body last Christmas although it had been substantially thinner then. “Though I go by my middle name Katherine now, or Katie.”

“And Tom he’s…” he said indicating my belly with his shaking fingers.

“Yes,” I said very softly but he seemed to be able to hear because he jolted at the news.

“Right!” He said pulling down on his uniform jacket to smooth it out and brought himself to attention. “Well… Have a nice day.” He said nodding to me and about facing to march toward the sedan in the driveway.

“What?” I said totally surprised at his reaction. “Wait! Where are you going?”

“Maryland,” he said without stopping as I began to chase after him. “I only have three days in country to kill my son.”

“Dad wait you can’t,” I said before realizing what I had spoken.

THAT stopped him in his tracks

“DAD am I?” he said, narrowing his eyes.

THINK McFly think!

Ah I hell… I’m tired of lying. About some things anyway.

“Thomas and I, when we realized I was pregnant, we married. My own father has been dead a decade and I’ve just been thinking of you as Dad since May.”

“Married!” he gasped out as his legs gave out on him and he eased himself into the autumn leaves of my lawn. “Since May!?” he asked me still showing off his dentition.

The waiting car at this point let loose two men in Air force utilities one of whom was reaching for his sidearm. When the General saw the look on my face, he turned to see what was going on.

“It’s fine airmen. I just had a bit of shocking news,” he said to them with a wave of his hand.

“Sir, are you sure,” the nearer one said still advancing. “What did the girl do to---”

“Get back in the car you zoomie bastard!” my father shouted out in a command voice perfected in three wars and four decades of service. “If I ever need your help you will be able to tell by the bullet holes in my head!”

“Sir, yes sir!” he said as they both scrambled for the protection offered by the vehicle.

I couldn’t help myself. I started laughing, then I sat down next to him in the grass to prevent myself from falling down like he had. My giggle fit was helped in no way by his still confused look trying to be converted into a military scowl.

“What may I ask is so funny Jesi… Katherine?”

“It’s the U.S. chair force General,” I said still smiling but finally able to speak. “They don’t have the brain power to see past the obvious…. They got a good look at my favorite shirt and they probably figure YOU’RE the father,” and then I started giggling again when his deeply tanned face started going red.

“I’m not sure the Marine Corps would assume any better but you’re probably right. I’ll have to see if I can reason with them on the way back.”

“What are they, and YOU, even doing here General?”

“There was a seminar at STRATCOM this weekend, General Wainwright lent me his car and drivers when I said I had someone to visit in Omaha,” he said looking at me and still breathing a bit heavily. He was in good shape for sixty but he looked to be only one more shock away from a heart attack. “My lady wife accepted an invitation from you for Thanksgiving dinner in this town. Said you and Tom were ‘getting serious’… SERIOUS!… anyway, I thought I would drop in before flying to Washington and take my son’s girl out to lunch sort of get to know her better. I called the house this morning and one of the girls said you would be at home all day.”

“She probably left me a message or something but I just woke up, I’ve been catching as much extra sleep as I can, I’ve just been feeling so tired lately… the baby.”

“Maggie was the same way,” he said giving me a half smile. “My wi… your mother in law. Damn my son! doesn’t he know they can cashier him for this?”

“I thought it was,” I began saying and then realized who I was in his eyes. “That is to say, your son is as you made him, and he wanted to do the right thing.”

“And he could have done it without forswearing himself! He swore an OATH!”

“So he did,” I replied defiantly. “To his wife.”

“So he did,” my father agreed while he closed his eyes and tried to gather his scattered wits. “But that’s for later, I’ve been through five pregnancies… well, three and a half if you count time served. But I still know at this stage in the game you are almost constantly hungry?”

“I could eat,” I admitted glad we had moved on to a safer subject.

“Well then, daughter,” he said getting to his feet and offering me his hand. “Let’s at least solve THAT problem, it’s your town. I’ll treat if you pick.”

“Sounds like a deal,” I said as I was hoisted to my feet like a salvaged shipwreck. “Let me just change my clothes.”

“Good idea.”

***
My father was somewhat surprised when every last one of my roommates invited themselves along to lunch but in true Marine Corps fashion he looked on the bright side of a bad situation and decided to bask as the alpha male surrounded by pretty females. Even if one of us was fat , bloated and nervous as all hell. The Airmen were exiled to a corner of the restaurant but the general stood them both a cheeseburger if not one of the many beers that were on tap. My friends could tell that I was a bit on the skittish side and I suspected I would never find out which of them had taken that phone call this morning. But they made up for it by taking the lead in the conversation and saving me from having to think what to say to the man I had modeled my life after. Eventually after one too many questions like “what was it like to be in the ARMY” my father got tired and asked if he could be alone with me while the others got dessert. After waiting for my slightest nod, they smiled and left the table for the front end of the hamburger joint.

“You have some good friends,” he said while he was looking down at his plate and pushing around some garnishes with a French fry.

“The first one just sort of followed me home one day and well, once you start a collection...”

“Hmp,” he grunted by way of acknowledgment and then looked up and stared right at me. “I have to tell my wife, Katherine. Man and wife shouldn’t have any secrets and need to be able to trust one another.”

“Well… you’ve been married longer than I have,” I granted him.

“She’ll want to help out with the baby.”

“I would welcome the help of my mother-in-law,” I said with only the slightest hesitation on those final two words.

“I haven’t decided what I’m going to tell the Navy,” he continued despondently.

“Why would you need to tell them anything?” I asked, my cheeseburger turning to cold lead in my gut.

“He’s married and a midshipman and those are two things that are not allowed to go together.”

“There is precedent, a waiver could be gotten.”

“Maybe, if he had asked ahead of time. Or even shortly after but here we are months after the fact and every day he is there he is in violation of regulations he swore an oath to abide by… What the hell was he thinking?”

“I was… that is, we were thinking we loved each other and that the navy didn’t need to know until we were ready to tell them. It's not like I am applying for dependents benefits… You would turn in your own son?” I asked him, not really believing that even HE was such a hardass.

“I would,” he hesitated a bit trying to form the right words. “question his competence as an officer. It’s not about right or wrong. It’s about honor.”

This is defeat

The Canadian’s have their own military. Most Americans wouldn’t think to credit it, but they do. Small, but still a first rate, first world, armed force, even if they commit the great sin of not having a Marine Corps. And of course, they have their own Academy with an accompanying staff college for post graduate education in military science. The man in front of me had taken me there once. I must have been all of 11 years old if I remember right. He had been invited to teach a three day class and I was taken along because we were going to use the other four days of his week's leave to do some father and son bonding fishing trip in the Ontario wilderness. I was kicking my feet around on day two when I slipped my minders to take a little look around the place and came across a painting that still sends shivers down my spine, and this while I was wearing one that hadn’t ever been near the damn thing.

It was a painting of a World War One battlefield. Which one I couldn’t say, the Canadians had plenty to choose from. It was about fifteen feet tall and thirty wide and intimidating as all hell to a boy just in size alone, never mind subject matter. But when you took a look at it, the painting sent you to a place deep in your soul that you didn’t know was there and never wanted to go back to. It was a village scene, dark and dreary; the church was caved in by artillery. Crops in the field were trampled and an ambulance was lying on its side with its contents spilled. There were dead horses, dead poppies, dead hopes, and dead men, and not a few women as well who, from the looks of their garments had not had an easy time of it before meeting their end. The rain had covered everything and turned the whole lot of it into mud and made little rivers on the ground but with a red tint to it that you knew had come from still fresh spilled blood. And there were rats… who the hell painted rats? And life-sized ones at that. The rodents were scurrying about in the ruble and several of them were grouped around a corpse in pride of place at the center, I suppose the artist was trying to say that they were the only ones that had a good time of it. The painting was untitled. But underneath was a simple brass plaque inscribed with these words.

“This is defeat… avoid it.”

I had been to other military academies. My father was magnanimous and made sure I had options; he didn’t want to be accused of cookie cutting my life out for me…much. I had been to West Point and VMI and had even held my nose and taken a tour of Colorado Springs.

They all had paintings of one kind or another, usually of some heroic figure in uniform as a shining example to the boys who followed him to live up to his standards. Sometimes there would be battle scenes as well. The ones at Annapolis were particularly telling. Magnificent portraits of naval combat, flags unfurled, all sails set as the noble American Navy charged off to smite the ungodly (mostly the British). It stirred your heart strings and made you feel like you had to be a better person to measure up to all that glory. When I took time to ponder the issue though, I have to wonder if that painting in Kingston, and others just like it, would be the better choice. That instead of the more common American approach of reveling in combat and hoping for a valorous death, the academies should be teaching their charges instead that war has a cost and, while it is a noble thing to defend ones nation, we should not be looking forward to dying for it.

Canadians, hell… it’s like they are a whole other country or something. This is defeat, avoid it.

“We’ll get an annulment,” I said firmly though the words were like a knife in my heart as soon as I said them. “That way the marriage never existed, and Thomas was never in violation of regulations. And has never broken an oath. An Annulment is like a legal time machine. It can be done. You and the navy will be happy and I…”

“What?” he asked me quietly.

“I’ll have to get used to not being called Mrs. Ryan. I’ve been correcting people all summer on it when they call me Miss, I was growing rather fond of the title.”

“You think that will fly?”

“Not many would question it, two kids, too young to make a decision. We can claim it was duress or even mental illness. Pre-partam depression wouldn’t be much of a stretch. I love my husband General and he needs to be protected, even if that means he has to be protected from me.” I lasted this long without crying, and was quite pleased with that. But there was only so long that could be kept up and I wasn’t ashamed of these tears at all and didn’t even blame them on the pregnancy.

“Ah, hell Katie,” he said moving in to give me a hug pre-empting my girlfriends who were about to move in from across the room. “You don’t have to do that, we’ll figure something out.”

“Yes I do!” I gasped out looking up at him as I wiped my eyes. “You’re right, they will find out eventually and will shit can him not just from the academy but all military service. And that’s very important to him, and ME! He would do just about anything for it. Besides it’s not like we could live as husband and wife for another four years anyway. We’ll get married, properly next time, once he’s graduated. Our daughter will be the flower girl.”

“You’re having a girl?” he asked brightening up significantly.

“Yes,” I answered. “Something about Ryan sperm I guess, shoots a female eight times out of ten.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret Katherine,” he winked at me. “Fathers, if he’s any sort of man at all, we don’t mind having daughters. When you first hold your child in your hands and count those ten toes and eleven fingers, you forget about everything else. I would have been just fine if Tom had been a girl too. Though if that had happened we of course wouldn't have met so I guess I’m pleased enough with the results so far… now dry your tears and we’ll head home. We’ll speak to our respective spouses tonight and see if we can figure out a way from under all this drama.”

“Yes General,” I said taking the offered napkin.

“Please Katie, call me dad.”

“I’ll… see if I can get used to it.”

***

Typos have been stolen by that dartardly Robyn Hoode