Sunday, June 24, 1984
Bob, the Wheeler’s pilot landed the plane perfectly on the airstrip and taxied up to the gate. In the back of the plane, Jim Frayne and Dan Mangan unlocked their seat belts and stood, stretching out the kinks that the seven hour flight had put in their shoulders and necks. Flying in a private plane beat commercial in that getting up and moving around was a great deal easier, but storms over the midwest, and turbulence near the Rockies had confined both Jim and Dan to their seats. For two young bodies used to regular physical exercise, sitting--even in the comfortable leather seats of the Wheeler jet--for that long of a time had not been terribly pleasant.
“What time is it?” Dan asked
“It’s five o’clock our time,” Jim replied, “I think that makes it two o’clock Pacific time.”
“I need to buy a new watch. Do you think we’ll have time?” Dan stretched again, and picked up his bags.
“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Jim said, retrieving his own bags. “The camp is pretty far out in the woods, so we’ll probably pass a few stores on our way. Ready?”
“Lead on, Frayne.” Dan followed Jim off the plane, and into the terminal.
No one was waiting for them in the terminal. Jim checked his watch again, then checked it against the clock on the terminal wall. Turning to Dan, he shrugged. “I thought someone from Nature Trek was going to meet the plane.”
“That’s what the letter said,” Dan agreed, unzipping a pocket on his bag and pulling out said letter. “See, right here. ...either Bill Murdock or Ted Jannings will meet you at the airport...” He looked around. “I see exactly no one. Did they know we were not coming in commercial?”
“Yeah. I told Mr. Davis that Dad was sending us in the Wheeler, Inc. plane. He said it wasn’t a problem.”
“Well, maybe we should check the other terminal, just in case.” Dan re-zipped his bag. “If there isn’t anyone out there, we can call the camp and find out what’s happening.”
Jim nodded his agreement, and they headed into the commercial terminal. There were people milling around, but no one who appeared to be waiting for two boys from New York.
“Why did we fly in to this airport?” Dan asked, humor infusing his voice. “This airport that’s a four to five hour drive from our destination? Remind me again.”
Jim stifled his irritation. “We flew in here because Bob has family nearby. We were trying to be nice. Remember now?”
“Oh, that’s right,” Dan thumped Jim on the shoulder. “We were being nice. Let’s go call the camp, and find out what we should do next.”
Dan found the pay phone, and Jim made the call. Dan couldn’t hear much of the conversation, but he could tell that his friend was getting perilously close to losing his temper. Jim’s face was nearly as red as his hair, and he was shaking his head as he spoke. Finally, Jim started nodding, his normal color returning, but as he hung up the phone, his green eyes were troubled.
“So?” Dan asked.
Jim held up his hand, and made another call. When he finished the second call, he turned to Dan and explained, “According to Mr. Davis, I called the camp this morning and told them we were going to be delayed for a few days.”
“What?” Dan felt as confused as Jim looked.
“That’s what I said,” Jim told him. “I told him that I hadn’t called, and I think he believes me, but that doesn’t change the fact that someone did. Nor does it bring our ride.”
“A joke, maybe?”
“Not very funny,” Jim said. “A little trick like that could have cost us our jobs.”
“It didn’t, did it?” It was Dan’s turn to be concerned.
“No, thank heavens,” Jim assured him. “After I explained, Mr. Davis apologized and gave me a couple of options. We can stay overnight here in a hotel tonight--at Camp expense--and he’ll send someone down for us tomorrow, or we can get a one way car rental and drive up tonight.”
“Drive?” Dan’s eyes lit up at the prospect, and then clouded. “But how are we going to rent a car? I thought you had to be twenty-one?
“Usually,” Jim said with an embarrassed grin. “ But Dad happens to own Americar West Rentals. That’s who I just called. They do have a car for us. All we have to do is go sign for it. Sometimes having a millionaire for a Dad comes in handy.”
“I’ll say. Let’s go.” Dan shouldered his bags. Jim did the same, and they followed the signs out to the rental desks.
It was nearly four in the afternoon before they were safely tucked into a 1984 Toyota 4-Runner with Jim driving, and Dan navigating. Dan navigated them about thirty minutes down the road, before they ran into a police road block. Slowing to a crawl, Jim followed the direction of the police officer directing traffic. “What’s up?” he asked Dan.
Dan shrugged. “I don’t know. Rolling down his window, he asked the approaching officer, “What’s the problem, sir?”
“Running a manhunt, son,” the man said. “May I see some identification?”
Dan fished out his wallet, and handed his license to the policeman, who glanced at it and handed it back before walking around to Jim’s side of the vehicle. “You boys are a long way from home,” the officer commented, handing Jim his license.
“Yes, sir,” Jim agreed. “We’re on our way to Metaline Falls. We’re going to be counselors for Nature Trek.”
The officer raised an eyebrow. “Good program,” he said.
“Who are you looking for?” Jim asked.
“Guy who robbed the Yakima National Bank Friday night. He shot the security guard, but we got a partial identification on the car.”
“Is the guard okay?” Dan asked, leaning across the seat to ask.
“Too soon to tell,” the officer answered. “This guy’s slick. We think he’s hit at least five other banks between here and Idaho. This is the first time he’s slipped up. We’ll get him.”
“Good luck,” Jim called, as the officer stepped back, waving them on through the barricade. They were soon back on the highway, rolling merrily along. Dan perused the map, muttering to himself before directing Jim into the parking lot of a Fred Meyer Store.
“This is the place the rental guy suggested we stop so I can get a watch.” Dan opened the door. “You want to get a soda or something?”
“Sure.” Jim climbed out of the car. “You realize you have to drive next, right?”
“Are you serious?” Dan turned and looked at Jim with disbelief.
“Yeah. We’ll take turns, right? You can drive until we stop to eat.”
“Cool,” Dan couldn’t stop the grin that split his face. “Then let’s get the shopping done.”
“I can’t believe I get to drive a 4 Runner!” Dan chuckled as he buckled himself into the driver’s seat and started the car. “With leather seats, too. Being the son of a millionaire sure does come in handy.”
“Yeah.” Jim’s voice had an edge to it. “Can we just give it a rest now? Please?”
“Sure.” Dan glanced at his friend. Jim looked grim. “Why?”
“Because it isn’t who I am.” Jim stared out the window as Dan turned the car onto I-90 “I mean, it is who I am now, but it isn’t the real me. It isn’t who I want people to see when they look at me.”
“Oooooooooo-Kay,” Dan drawled. “I guess I can understand that, sort of. But...?”
Jim sighed. “Did you see the guy at the rental desk when he recognized my name? Matthew Wheeler’s son. He was...”
“Fawning?” Dan asked with a grin. “Yeah, I noticed...a little.” He put some adoration into his voice. “Of course we have a car for you, Mr. Frayne-Wheeler. Your father’s office called and told us to give you whatever you needed, Mr. Frayne-Wheeler. I’ve got someone detailing the car, right now. Would you like me to shine your shoes while you wait?”
“It’s not funny!” Jim said with a scowl.
“Yes it is,” Dan countered. “You don’t think so, because it happened to you. If it were happening to anyone else, you’d be laughing too.”
“Would I?”
“Yes.” Dan checked his mirrors and changed lanes. “You’d be grinning like a fool if some lackey was drooling all over Brian, or Mart, or--God-forbid--me. It’s amusing because I know that you aren’t like that, but it is hilarious watching people act like you are.”
“So you’re laughing at them, not me?” Jim asked.
“I’m laughing at them and you,” Dan admitted. “Them, because of what they’re doing, and you because you look so uncomfortable while they’re doing it. It’s funny.”
“So you say.” Jim sighed, leaning his head against the window.
Dan wisely let the matter drop, concentrating instead, on driving.
By quarter after seven, the snack food was long gone, and both the boys and the Toyota were feeling the need for fuel. Dan pulled into a filling station to top off the tank, while Jim went in to ask for dining suggestions. A few minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of the Cheney Crest Motor Lodge. The gas station clerk had recommended The Diamond J Coffee Shop for dinner, and it was located next to the motel.
They took a little longer eating than they had planned, but the food was much better than the standard coffee shop fare they had expected. Jim’s bad mood had dispelled somewhat over steak topped with grilled Walla Walla onions, baked potatoes with fresh sour cream and mixed grill of zucchini and baby carrots. By the time they had finished their pie--local cherries in a flaky crust, topped with vanilla ice cream, Jim was feeling almost happy.
It didn’t last long. Jim climbed behind the wheel, ready to drive the final leg. As he turned the key, the engine turned over, but did not catch. He tried again. Again the engine turned over, but didn’t catch. With the vague hope that the third time would be the charm, Jim tried once more. The engine whined and grumbled, but the vehicle did not start.
“Give it a rest,” Dan said. “Something’s wrong. It isn’t going to start.”
“Did you put the right kind of gas in it?” Jim asked.
Dan rolled his eyes and gave Jim a “give me a break” look. “Yes, Jim. I put in the right kind of gasoline. I also checked the oil. It’s something else.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. The lights work, so it isn’t the battery.” Dan unbuckled himself and opened the door. “I’m going to check the engine. Care to join me?”
Lifting the hood, Dan peered at the engine. Jim came around and looked too. In the fading light, Dan checked the different hoses and cables. Jim asked, “Could it be the distributor cap?”
Dan checked. “Nope. It’s on tight...except...” He bent down, taking a closer look. “I need a flashlight.”
I have one in my bag. Hold on a minute.” Jim went around the back, and Dan heard him rummaging around. A few minutes later, Jim reappeared, shining his flashlight on the engine.
Dan took the light and directed the beam where his hand had been. Leaning until he was almost on top of the engine, he reached down again, and came up muttering under his breath.
“From the sound of what I think you’re not saying, the news isn’t good.”
Dan pointed. “Look and tell me what you see.” he said.
Jim looked. “I see the radiator, and the battery, and the carburetor, and the distributor.”
“Down there,” Dan said tightly, redirecting the light.
“Spark plugs?” Jim offered.
“How many, and what are they doing?” Dan asked.
“I see four, and three of them are just sitting there. The fourth one has a do-hickey hanging from it. Why?” Jim looked at Dan curiously.
“That do-hickey,” Dan told him in exasperation, “is called a spark plug wire. There should be four of them, connecting each of the plugs to the distributor.”
“Where are they?” Jim asked the question, realizing how foolish it sounded as the words left his mouth.
“I don’t know!” Dan exploded. “They were there when we got here, or we wouldn’t have gotten here. I didn’t take them, and you didn’t take them, but somebody did take them. The car won’t go without them, Jim. Dude, we are screwed.”
Jim looked at the vandalized car, and back at Dan. Shaking his head, he too, began to mutter under his breath.
In the end, they spent the night at the Cheney Crest Motor Lodge. The one auto part store had closed at five, and none of the repair shops were open on Sunday. The desk clerk had been very sympathetic and very helpful, calling up the local police, and making sure that Jim and Dan got a special rate on the motel room they ended up renting. He had even managed to get the 4Runner towed, although repairs would not begin until the morning.
The deputy sheriff responding to the call had been perplexed by the vandalism. Scratching his bald head, he mused aloud. “The college kids have all gone home, and the rodeo is still a week or so away. We don’t get a lot of malicious mischief this time of year.” Shaking his head, he ran a finger around his shirt collar. “You boys aren’t from around here, but I can’t figure how anyone knew that, nor why someone would vandalize your engine.”
By the time they finished filling out the police report and checking into the motel, both Jim and Dan were exhausted and somewhat short tempered. Jim used his father’s credit card to pay for the room, and to call both Matthew Wheeler and Nature Trek. While both Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Davis had been understanding, Jim hung up the phone feeling irritated and frustrated by the entire day.
Dan tossed his bag on the bed closest to the window, leaving Jim the bed nearest the bathroom. Flopping down on the green bedspread, he stared moodily at the ceiling. Jim hung up the phone and sat on his bed, staring at the wall.
“So, what did you think about the deputy sheriff?” Jim asked.
“Worthless.” Dan growled, his voice taking on a mimicking tone. “Oh, cain’t imagine how this happened. Who would do such a bad, bad thing? Oh well, you boys ain’t from around here, so don’t expect me to get off my donut eating butt and figure out how and why you ended up stranded in our charming little town.”
“He wasn’t that bad!” Jim protested, biting back a laugh.
“Yes, he was!” Dan responded. “He took us into the restaurant to fill out the report, and as soon as we signed off, he ordered himself coffee and donuts.” He sighed. “Cops like him make me rethink joining the police force.”
“Really?” Dan had Jim’s full attention now.
“Yes, really.” Dan rolled over, facing Jim. “I thought I wanted to be a cop for a lot of different reasons. Now, I just don’t know if they’re the right reasons.”
“Well,” Jim said, stretching out himself. “You’re good at a lot of things. You really know cars; you could be a mechanic. And you are really good at science. Maybe you should think about medicine.”
“Same job, different body of work,” Dan joked. “No. Cars are a hobby, and Brian gets to be the doctor. I’m not much for hospitals and blood. I just like figuring things out, finding the whys of how something works.”
“Then how about being a scientist? You know, doing research, finding cures.”
“Yeah. Except I’d get stuck on making artificial livers, or obsessed with curing liver disease.” The bitterness in Dan’s tone was sharp.
“Is that how your mom died?” Jim asked quietly. “Liver disease?”
Dan found himself unable to speak, so he simply nodded.
Jim was silent for a moment, contemplating. “My mom had rheumatoid arthritis,” he finally confided. “My dad had a heart aneurism, and when he was sick, my mom took care of him. It wore her down. By the time he died, going through all of the arrangements and the debts, her body couldn’t cope. I think she married Jonesy because he was always there.” Jim closed his eyes. “Like a big, ugly piece of furniture.” The humor he had hoped for fell flat. “It was too late, though. Her body just gave up. It was hard, watching her fade away.”
Jim sat up and turned his back on Dan, busying himself with taking off his shoes. Dan kicked his off from his reclined position, letting them fall with a clunk, to the floor. “Tell me about it,” he said somewhat hoarsely. “I don’t know what was harder; watching Mom get weaker and weaker, or knowing that there wasn’t anyone else out there who cared.”
“You had Regan.”
“No, I didn’t,” Dan corrected. “He didn’t show up for over a year after Mom died, and even then, he wasn’t all that enthusiastic about me. I mean, we’re okay now, but those first weeks...” Dan shuddered at the memory.
Jim turned back, facing Dan. “So you were really on the street, alone, for a year?” he asked.
“No.” Dan answered slowly. “Not exactly. I was in foster care for a while.” Dan hesitated, wondering how much to tell Jim. It wasn’t a matter of trust; he trusted Jim. But the part of the story that was his was so intermingled with the part that wasn’t, he didn’t know if he could separate the two. “The first one was... horrible.” Dan rubbed his neck, unconsciously fingering old scars. “I wasn’t safe. I never knew when I was going to end up being used as a punching bag or an ashtray.”
“Wait. An ashtray...you mean...?” Jim leaned forward. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” Dan extended his left arm, showing Jim two raised scars on the inside of his elbow, both roughly the size of a cigarette tip. “Those are just the ones you can see. R.B pretty much believed in using whatever he had handy, and since he usually had a cigarette in his hand...” Dan broke off, fearing he’d said too much.
“Arby?” Jim asked.
“No. R.B. The Rat Bastard,” Dan answered. “I don’t speak his name. He is simply the Rat Bastard, R.B. for short.”
“He actually burned you?” Jim shook his head.
“That was one of his kicks,” Dan shrugged. “He was also fond of slamming my head into walls and beating me with his fists...among other things.”
“Sheesh.” Jim breathed. “Jonesy never did that, the cigarette thing, I mean. He was happy taking his dog whip to my backside. He used his fists once or twice, but the bruises were too obvious. People complained. Even when he tied me to the bed, he made sure the ropes didn’t leave marks.”
“After the first couple of times, the R.B. was careful not to hit where it showed,” Dan mused, “Probably because the social worker was still coming around a lot. But, I got really good at making myself sick just before gym class.”
“Isn’t that the worst?” Jim sympathized, “Knowing that someone is going to see when you’re changing.” He shuddered at the memory. “What did you do?”
“I ran away.” Dan told him. “But I got tangled up with Luke again, and that was bad, too. Then I ended up in another foster family. That was a good one, really good. I would have stayed there forever, but Luke found me. He...made threats--threats he would have carried out. I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt, so I left and went back to the gang. That’s where I was when the cops came. It’s funny, but getting arrested probably saved my life.”
“Is that why you decided to be a cop?” Jim asked.
Dan grimaced, rolling over again. “Maybe. Truthfully, I don’t remember why I thought being a cop was a good career choice. Maybe because once you’ve had the barrel of a gun pressed between your eyes, you want to be on the other side of that gun.” He shrugged. “Or maybe I felt the need to make amends for the bad things I did.”
“What things?”
“I used to steal cars,” Dan hesitated again, biting his lip. “And I am pretty sure I moved drugs. Weed and cocaine probably, but I never looked, and asking...well, let’s say it wouldn’t have been smart.”
Jim was silent, his green gaze unwavering. Dan closed his own eyes, unable to look at Jim, unwilling to face the inevitable disgust Jim must feel.
“Who held the gun on you?” Dan opened his eyes. Jim repeated the question.
“Luke,” Dan answered. “The first time I went back on my own; just before he took me out of commission for a long time. He was flying, and I was just kneeling there with the gun in my face, thinking that he might actually pull the trigger. He didn’t, but there were times...” Dan closed his eyes again, grasping for control. “...there were days after that, when I wished he had.”
“Yeah.” Jim’s voice was barely a whisper. “I know that feeling.”
Dan didn’t reply, he just waited. After a moment, Jim began to talk. “I was alone with Jonesy for almost two years,” he said. “We’d never liked each other, and after Mom died, he didn’t even try anymore. He just watched me, and told me how worthless I was, how stupid and weak. Even when he was beating on me, he always made me see how it was my fault; because I was such a waste.”
“That sucks.”
Jim nodded his agreement. “The first time I ran away, I actually got farther away than I did the last time. But I was stupid. I went home--to the last place I lived with my parents. Jonesy caught up with me outside the cemetery where my parents are buried.” Jim took a ragged breath. “He chased me in his truck, and he cornered me. I thought he was going to run me down and leave me dead in the street.”
“But he didn’t.”
No,” Jim shook his head. “He dragged me back to his farm, beat me bloody and tied me to that bed. For three days he left me like that, taunting me, humiliating me. He nearly broke me. Those were the days when I wished he had just run me down. It would have been easier.”
“But you did get away,” Dan said. “The next time you made it, and it ended up working out pretty well, right?”
“It did,” Jim smiled. “I ended up with a new family, and some great friends. But some nights...”
“...you can still see him coming after you.” Dan finished.
“Exactly,” Jim agreed. “Sometimes, I hear his voice in my head, and I wake up...”
“...in a cold sweat? Frozen and unable to move?”
“You too, huh?” Jim asked.
“Yes, me too.” Dan sighed. “When I first got to Sleepyside, I just kept waiting for Mr. Maypenny or Regan to get so fed up with me that one of them would just kick my ass, and then kick me out. I felt like I was walking on eggs.”
“Not anymore?”
“No, not really.” Dan sat up on the bed. “Reg...Uncle Bill and I went to family counseling for a while, and that helped, and Mr. M. is...well, he just isn’t like that. He’s...calm, for lack of a better word.”
Jim smiled, wryly. “The Wheeler household is not exactly calm. Sometimes I still feel like I’m an outsider,” his voice saddened, “walking on a tightrope, waiting for them to change their minds.”
“But they love you.” Dan reached out to touch his friend, but pulled his hand back. “Surely you can see that?”
“Yeah. I can see it, and don’t call me Shirley.” Jim joked weakly. “Logically, I know that they care about me. And they’ve been great. The adoption was final barely a month after the papers were signed, and I know that my new parents aren’t going to revoke it. My heart knows that. My head, though, my head can’t help but worry that someday Mother and Dad are going to wake up and realize that I am what Jonesy always said I was; a lazy, stupid, smart-mouthed, waste of skin.”
“You’re not. He just really did a number on your head.”
“I know.” Jim sat up on his bed. “I just don’t know how to make it stop.”
“Is that why you get all...perfect, sometimes?” Dan asked, “To prove that you aren’t what your stepfather said?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean,” Dan said, “The way you get sometimes, when you want everyone to do it your way. Uptight and sort of self-righteous. Especially when you start ragging on Trixie.”
“Leave Trixie out of this.”
“Why?” Dan asked bluntly. “She’s the one you hurt the most, when you act that way. One minute you’re her biggest supporter, the next minute you’re acting like one of the pod people from planet Zortek, telling her that she’s overreacting, telling her to slow down. Heck, I keep waiting for you to tell her to take up knitting instead of solving mysteries.”
“I wouldn’t hurt Trixie,” Jim protested, “I...care very much about her, and I just want her to be safe.”
“You give her mixed signals,” Dan pointed out. “You gave her that silver bracelet, marking your territory like some dog, but then you turn around and wait until the last minute before asking her to go to a dance with you.”
“The Spring dance?” Jim asked. “I asked her at the same time Brian and Mart asked Honey and Diana. You were there.”
“I was there,” Dan concurred. “And I remember it. You made a joke out of it, giving me the first go at asking her, like one of us was going to be stuck with her.”
“It was a joke!” Jim protested.
“But it wasn’t funny, Jim.” Dan shook his head. “Not to her. You hurt her feelings, but she’s so nuts over you that she tried to laugh it off. I wonder what you would have done if I had asked her then, when you gave me the opening?”
Jim didn’t answer, he stared at Dan, his jaw and fists clenching.
“I could have, you know,” Dan mused. “Lester had asked Ruthie, she would have gone with him instead, if I had asked Trixie.”
Jim’s look was murderous. Dan grinned, and flopped back onto his back.
“She’s too young.” The words squeezed out through Jim’s tightly clenched teeth.
“She’s fifteen.” Dan rolled onto his side. “Fifteen and already half in love with you. If you blow it with her, you’ll regret it. Have you even kissed her?”
“Yes!” Jim spat defensively, his face flushing. “No...yes!”
Dan laughed, and Jim calmed himself. “I have kissed Trixie, not that it’s any of your business. Unlike some people, though, I don’t just go around kissing all the girls I meet.”
“Am I supposed to be insulted?” Dan asked.
“Yes, Casanova, I was insulting you.”
“Oh. Okay.” Dan thought for a minute, before speaking. “I’m not trying to razz you Jim, but Trixie is special. You’re really lucky that she feels like she does for you. That’s not easy to find. My parents had that kind of love.”
“My parents had it, too,” Jim admitted. “Mom always said she fell in love with Dad when she was eight years old, even if they only saw each other when he came to visit his uncle.”
“How old were they when they got married?”
“She had just turned eighteen. Dad was twenty-two.”
“My mom was fourteen when she met Dad,” Dan shared. “He was seventeen. They never actually dated. He went to Vietnam right after he turned eighteen, and when he came home, they got married. Mom was sixteen.” He laughed. “I asked Dad once, how he knew Mom was the one. Do you know what he told me?”
“No,” Jim replied. “What did he say?”
“He said that once you find a girl who makes you want to kiss her and never stop, marry her. The wrong girl, you can always leave; the right girl, she gets into your heart and soul, and stays with you, no matter where you go.”
“Is that why you kiss so many girls?” Jim joked. “You’re trying to find ‘the one’?”
“No.” The serious tone in Dan’s voice took Jim by surprise, causing him to look at his friend. Dan shot Jim a sad smile. “I’ve already met her,” he said. “I held her, and I lost her. Someday, maybe we’ll reconnect again. I hope so.” Dan shook off his reverie, and grinned, his eyes twinkling wickedly. “I just kiss the other girls to be polite.”
“I’ve heard that you’re very polite,” Jim teased.
“My Mama raised me right,” Dan said. “Besides, there really haven’t been that many.”
“How many?”
Dan sighed, counting on his fingers. “ Jenny Sills, Ruthie Kettner, Kelly Sommers, Dacia Kimes, Hallie Belden and Josie Fisher.”
“That’s all?” Jim asked in disbelief.
“When do I have time?” Dan asked. “Between school, work, the club, volunteering, helping my uncle, basketball and baseball, I barely have time to sleep, let alone date.”
Jim hesitated, but had to ask. “Who was the girl? You know, the ‘one’?” Was it Josie?”
As if Jim’s words flipped a switch, the shutters closed on Dan’s eyes, and he smirked, “Is Trixie yours?”
“I don’t know.” Jim could tell that Dan wasn’t going to discuss his love life any longer. “I haven’t kissed as many girls as you have, but I do know it’s hard to stop, once I start with Trix.” He sighed. “That’s why I don’t kiss her. She’s too young, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop.”
“She’s fifteen, Jim.”
“I know.” Jim said. “But I want her to be safe. I don’t want anyone to hurt her, especially not me.”
“You?” Dan scoffed. “You might have a temper to go with your hair, but you also have more self control than most people I know.”
“When I’m with Trixie, the self-control takes a vacation.”
Dan’s grin got wider. “Sound like she’s the ‘one’ to me,” he teased. “And I don’t think you have to worry too much about your self control.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because,” Dan was all seriousness now. “Trixie knows a little about defending herself, and I know that your sense of self preservation is high--you wouldn’t have survived nearly two years with your step-bastard if it wasn’t.”
“What does that have to do with...oh.”
“Oh, is right,” Dan told him. “You ever lose control, and she doesn’t want you to, you’ll have to deal with Brian, Mart, Mr. Belden, Regan and me--and that would be before we turned you over to Bobby, Honey, Diana and Mrs. B.”
“You forgot Mother, Dad, Miss Trask, Tom, Celia, Mr. Maypenny, Mrs. Vanderpoel, Spider, Sergeant Molinson and Cook.” Jim started to laugh. “You’re right. My sense of self-preservation is much too strong for that!” He shot Dan a look of confusion. “So what am I afraid of?”
“To quote a shrink I know,” Dan said, altering his voice slightly, “Why don’t you tell me?”
Jim was silent, shaking his head. Nearly ten minutes passed without a word.
“Okay, I’ll tell you,” Dan finally said. “But only because it is getting late and I really want to shower and get some sleep.” Taking a deep breath, Dan began. “You don’t want to love Trixie, for the same reason you can’t fully trust the Wheelers. It’s all in the back of your head, and it’s fear. You are afraid that if you love them, they’ll leave; they’ll die, or walk away from you and you’ll be all alone--again.”
Dan waited, but Jim remained silent. Finally, Dan took his things and disappeared into the bathroom to wash the day of travel from his body. When he emerged, Jim was still in the same position. Dan straightened up his area and crawled into the bed. “Goodnight,” he said.
“Where did you get so good at that?” Jim asked softly.
Rolling over to face his friend, Dan asked, “Good at what?”
“You’re right,” Jim responded. “I am afraid of losing them, Trixie more than anyone else, but I think that’s because she is so impulsive and takes so many chances. But how come you can see it, and I couldn’t?”
“For the last sixteen months, I’ve seen a counselor, a shrink,” Dan explained. “For the first six months Uncle Bill and I both went twice a week. Then it was once a week, mostly me, and now it’s just if I need to talk. She’s good, and she helped me see that, although opening my heart to other people means putting it at risk, not taking the risk can be even more painful. She asked me once, if having my father die like he did was worse than not having the memories of the things we did when he was alive.” Dan shook his head. “It hurt, when they came to tell us he was dead. It hurt a lot, and it still hurts sometimes, but I have memories of camping trips and cars we took apart and fixed. I remember being on base with him, and shopping and hiding presents for Mom together. I remember them teaching me to skate, and watching them skate together on Boxing Day at Rockefeller Center. I don’t think that I could survive without those memories. I can’t change the fact that my parents died; I can remember all the good stuff that we did, and I can live life like they would have wanted me to.”
“Maybe I should talk to your counselor,” Jim mused. “What you said makes sense.”
“I can give you her card when we get home.” Dan stifled a yawn.
Jim rose, gathering night clothes and toiletries. “I’m going to rinse off and turn in,” he said, walking toward the bathroom. Turning he added, “You know, you might want to consider being a psychiatrist, yourself. You’d be good at it.”
Jim closed the door of the bathroom; Dan rolled onto his side, considering.
