[19 Dec  2000  -  Sausalito, California.]        

DINO

It was a shitty thing to do, I know... but I tailed her.  I just couldn't let it go like that.  Not with the questions her responses had raised for me.  Following her wasn't hard.  She didn't speed much or weave in and out of traffic.  I just hung back and used the drive to replay our meeting over and over in my head.  To my knowledge, none of the other brothers had gone looking for people they knew personally from their pasts and Max sure as hell would have told us if he was aware of the possibility one might accidentally run across some other version of themselves.

That got me thinking.  To be fair, it wouldn't be possible for a lot of them.  Cort, Lachlan, Bud, Max and several of the others had been pulled out of time so whatever version of them that existed in this Otherplace would have long since past away.  Still, there were no tales of the more 'modern' brothers; Biebe, Wigand, Mitchell- ever running across another version of themselves.    

Had to be related to the fact I am not like the others.  Not a true brother.  That I really wasn't supposed to be here.  It certainly lends credence to the notion that my crossing was a fluke.  I mean, let's get real.  Nobody else's best friend got pulled along with them in the crossing.  My mind just kept sticking on one thing, kept going back to that one moment in time just after I took out that door in that Iraqi prison and locked eyes with the man in that cell-that moment when Terry knew I was going to get him the fuck outta there, orders be damned. 

Sometimes, I think maybe I robbed fate or karma or God or whatever grand design had slated him for death.  Cause man, he was at the very gates when we locked eyes and I took his hand to heft him up over my shoulder.   

I think maybe that's it.  I did something that fate hadn't anticipated.  Maybe my being here is some sort of way to restore balance to some cosmic equation.  That thought, though existential and more than a little out there, brought a small smile to my lips.  Have to share that notion with the old man the next time we hit the town and drink a few bars dry.  He's already shouldered and swallowed the blame for my being here.  It's a serious character flaw of his- and I have to admit the idea of letting him in on my theory gave me a morbidly humorous little charge.  Maybe it wasn't the old man who'd fucked up my chi.  Maybe I'd fucked up his first.  Heh.  Let's see him try to take the blame for that one.     

Whatever the reason, the fact remained that I was still here.  Still stuck in this place, my mind whirling, trying to grasp all the possible implications of Heather's earlier words.  Her Dean?  And why had she been the one to scatter 'my' ashes?  What about my parents?  And just what the hell had happened to the Dean that had lived in this world?  More to the point, what part had this Heather played in his life?  I simply couldn't let those questions go.  And as painful as all this was, I couldn't make myself let go of this root.  I guess it's a bit like Max and this 'family' of his.  You might not always like it, but when it's all you have left, you find a way to make it work.

My inner train of thought was cut off when Heather turned her Jeep into McDonald's, parked, got out and went inside.  McDonald's?  What the hell kind of man was she seeing?  Fucking cheapskate.  I pulled my rented POS Taurus into the parking lot next door and killed the engine.  I cracked the tinted windows and lit up, absently watching the kids running around in the 'Play Place' that was attached to the back of the McDonald's.  It was protected by a grid work of black iron bars- probably as much to keep the crows out as it was to keep the kids in.  It was one of those surreal moments.  I've done a lot of surveillance in my time and seen a lot of weird shit, but watching a big purple Grimace filled with kids bounce around was a first for me.             

I took another drag and rubbed at my temples.  The door to the 'Play Place' flew open and I was surprised to see Heather come through it, looking around with concern.  A moment later, I heard what sounded like, "Mamatu!  Mamatu!" and one of the kids broke from the others and ran to her.  He couldn't have been more than three.  Cute kid from what I could see of him.  He was bundled up against the cold in a hooded jacket but his little arms and legs pumped hard as he ran toward her.  I could hardly process what I was seeing as she dropped to her knees and hugged the kid close, petting at him- his arms and head and back, like she was making sure he was OK before she looked around again. 

Something shifted uneasily inside me.  I'd seen women act like that when I'd returned a child that had been held for ransom, but why on earth would Heather's obvious distress over our earlier meeting make her afraid for her child?  Cold fingers of dread snaked through my chest.  Please, please don't let me be right....  She swung him up into her arms and his hood blew back in the wind.  His eyes were as blue as a summer sky... and his hair was the exact same shade of insane red mine had been at that age. 

My chest seized.  I couldn't even breathe.  My cigarette burned down to nothing.  I couldn't do anything except sit there, drawing in these great shuddering gulps of stale air.  That was Dean's son.  I'd stake my life on it.  I was caught somewhere between shock, elation, disbelief, fear, disgust and hope.  A son.  That was one mighty big root to cling to.... but I couldn't make it mesh with the image I had of my Heather.  There had been an awareness between us- and truth be told, a few uncomfortable moments, especially after she hit eighteen... but I never touched her.  Not once.  Didn't even kiss her goodbye when I left that final time.  She'd been nineteen to my thirty-one and I'd had nearly a decade of combat experience by then.  The gulf between my jaded life and her naive innocence was much too wide.  I hadn't wanted to be the one who took that from her.

I felt angry that the Dean in this world hadn't been so honorable.  Disgusted with myself- even if it wasn't 'me' who touched her.  It felt like the knowledge that a version of me had spoiled her innocence had in some way defiled the memory I had of her that was sweet and pure.  The fact that this Heather was a woman and not a child- and that I was very much attracted to her- only served to confuse me further. 

I'd been prepared to make only the most tentative overture with a girl I once knew.  To have not only fatherhood, but the knowledge that 'I'd' acted without honor revealed so rudely- well, that weighed heavily upon me... and yet, there was also this strange measure of comfort in the idea I wasn't quite as bereft of family as I'd imagined myself to be.  The responsibility was overwhelming and terrifying but oddly settling, too, in a disturbing sort of way. 

I watched the two of them in rapt fascination.  Heather had joined another woman at a table and they chatted while her son played under their watchful eyes.  A little spark of pride flared to life inside me and took hold.  He was a fearless little man.  Trying to keep up with the bigger kids.  Climbing so high.  Shouting with exuberance.  Hardly sat still long enough to eat a few French fries and dig the pickles from his hamburger.  That made me laugh.  I don't like pickles in my burgers either.  He ate a few bites and ran off again, that damned red hair of his sticking out like a sore thumb.  You couldn't miss that kid if you tried. 

I raked my fingers through my own red hair, which had thankfully faded from that vivid shade.  Think copper top, not carrot top.  I saw some things I didn't like though.  I noticed Heather didn't eat.  She had a cup of coffee and picked at what her son had left behind but she seemed either too shaken or too busy looking after him to eat anything.  I wondered if that was why she was so slender.  Keeping up after that kid seemed like a full time job in and of itself. 

That got me thinking in a whole different direction.  Who watched him while she was working?  The woman she was with?  For a man who hadn't really given the idea much thought, I suddenly discovered a strong aversion to daycare.  I didn't want my son raised by strangers.  It was a completely irrational thought.  To begin with, he wasn't really 'my' son- he was hers.  Moreover, if she was a single parent, she really didn't have the option of being an at home mom, now did she? 

I looked closer at them and worried my old pack of cigarettes between my fingers, fiddling with the one that was left.  I always think better when I have something in my hands.  Heather was wearing a blue shirt and a pair of faded jeans.  They could have been the current style- or they could have just been old.  Though her son was dressed warmly in what looked to be new clothes, she was shivering in black knee-length sweater-coat that was much too thin for this weather.  Earlier, I'd assumed she'd chosen fashion over functionality.  Now I wondered if maybe that was the only coat she had. 

I had the sudden, irrational desire to go back in time, find that other Dean and kick the living shit out of him.  What the hell kind of man leaves a woman in that situation?  I admit, I've done a lot of shitty things in my time... but to the best of my knowledge, I've never done anything this bad.  And that some version of 'me' had done this to a person whose memory I cherished?  That just killed me.

My little fantasy just sort of dissolved after that.  I had no right to take any pride in that boy.  No right to judge how she raised him.  Jesus.  Who am I to make judgment calls like that?  And getting some sort of charge that we both picked the pickles from our burgers was just plain pathetic.  It only reminded me how desperate I was to grasp at this particular root.  She had no reason to let me in her life.  None.  In fact, it seems she had some pretty valid reasons to keep as far away from me as she possibly could- and yet I couldn't shake the feeling I still hadn't yet gotten a glimpse of the larger picture.  There was something here I was missing.   

I also couldn't seem to deny this intense attraction I felt towards her.  Unfortunately, it was wound up in guilt and my confusion over this entire situation.  There were so many threads all tangled up here.  My disgust over what this world's Dean had taken from her.  My own memories of the Heather in my past were soft and sweet, quite different in nature from this harsh reality.  And then there was my fierce attraction to this incarnation of her.  The fact that she had a redheaded son somehow made it both stronger and more daunting.  Seeing Heather hold a redheaded child hit some kinda major trigger in me while also offending my sensibilities- I didn't want to be a replacement for someone else.  Nor was she the kind of person to ever want that for herself.  My feelings like I had no right to intrude on their lives warred with this feeling in my heart telling me not to let either of them go.  Ever. 

In short, I was a fucking mess.  

It got worse when I realized Heather was staring at this car.  The windows were tinted.  She couldn't see in, and yet I had the feeling like she knew exactly who was sitting behind the wheel.  Fuck.  I needed to get the hell out of here.  Put some distance between myself and this latest development.  Just drive.  Think.  Take some time to wrap my head around this and just figure out what the fuck I was going to do about it all.               

I took a long drive up the coast.  Did some serious thinking.  Made my way back to the hotel about a little after 7.  Showered and shaved while I waited for the food I'd ordered up to arrive.  I wasn't hungry but I forced myself to eat something when I realized the only thing I'd had today was a cup of coffee hours ago.  No wonder I felt like crap.  By 8:45 I was outside Heather's door, gift in hand.  No, not flowers.  That was much too intimate.  I brought a simple bottle of red wine.  Figured if she did let me in to talk, we'd probably need it.  I didn't presume to bring anything for her son.  I wasn't even sure she'd let me talk to her, much less to her son. 

I knocked and stepped back, not quite sure what to expect.  It most certainly wasn't for her to get the door before I'd even dropped my hand all the way back, like she was waiting on me.  Expecting me.  We just stared at each for this long moment and then she opened the door wider and stepped back wordlessly, waiting for me to come inside.

"How did you know I'd come?"  I couldn't help but ask.

She gave this little smile.  "The Dean I knew would have."

I didn't know quite what to say to that so I just handed over the wine and gave her a little smile in return.  "I'm sorry for earlier-"  Sorry for scaring her.  Sorry for tailing her.  Sorry for spying on her son.  Damned sorry and completely horrified I'd distressed her so terribly.  Take your pick.  I'm pretty sure she got my meaning, though. 

"You saw him, didn't you?"  There was no need to ask which 'him' she meant.  Her son, of course.  I nodded.  Her face was tight but her mouth turned up in this sad little smile.  "His name's Andrew- Andy."  She had a far away look in her eyes.  "Andrew Thomas O'Leary." 

"Like his dad," I added unnecessarily.  Thomas was my middle name too.  

She nodded and then held up the wine.  "Will this be OK?  Or would you prefer some scotch?"  The tone of her voice suggested I was going to need it. 

"Scotch, please."  I bit back the 'honey' that seemed to want to pop out whenever a pretty woman offered me a drink.  I wasn't here for that- but she was pretty.  Soft spoken, no doubt in deference to her sleeping child, and dressed simply in a pair of jeans and a soft green sweater that showed off her figure and made her eyes look more green than gold.  My Heather had smelled of lavender; this Heather smelled faintly of lavender but more like soap and baby powder.  It was a small difference, but one that sobered me nonetheless. 

There was this horrifically awkward moment where we just kind of cringed a little, not quite sure what to say or do.  We both seemed to snap out of it at the same moment and talked right over each other.

"Mind if I-"

"Why don't you-"

She shrugged and simply said, "I'll go make the drinks.  Feel free to look around."  Her tone seemed to hint she wanted me to do just that.  She turned back to me and added quietly.  "Just don't wake Andy, OK?  His bedroom is down the hall to the left."

I nodded again and moved toward the living room.  The house was very small but it felt warm and cozy.  Two bedrooms.  One bathroom.  One open living space that incorporated the living room, the kitchen and a small breakfast nook.  It was simply decorated if not a little spartan.  Mostly earth tones, beige, brown, green, rust.  Portraits of Andy at various ages lined the hallway.   

It was the items on the mantle that caught my attention, however.  I was struck by a moment of sheer disbelief.  Tucked between a few treasures I didn't recognize (an ugly but lovingly made play-doh sculpture, a red pebble, a button from an old uniform, a silver baby rattle, and a sand dollar) were a few items I did recognize.  A gold major's leaf next to what had to be her Dean's dogtags.  I felt my heart climb into my throat.  Gen's captain's bars and her dogtags rested beside them. 

For one wild moment I felt intense sadness twined with wild elation.  After I lost Gen, they became my two most precious possessions.  I had thought them lost to me forever when I crossed and now, here they were, restored to me.....

Jesus.  What the fuck was I thinking?  They're not mine; they're Heather's.  The desire to touch them was so strong.  I restrained myself, afraid I wouldn't be able to let them go if I did.   

I was suddenly struck dumb.  Why did Heather have these things?  My head spun.  Oh God.  This Dean knew Gen.  Loved Gen.  I braced my hands on the mantle and tried to slow my breathing as my thoughts whirled around faster and faster.  What had happened to them in this Otherplace?  An image of Gen's headstone rose up in my mind.  The one from this world had a different, later date.  How did she die?  How did Dean die?  Did the Dean in this world turn to Heather after he lost Gen?  Is that what happened? 

I closed my eyes and breathed in a ragged breath, struggling for control.  This was all so much.  Almost too much.  Part of me just wanted to grab those precious mementos of Gen and run somewhere; hole up where I could lick my wounds.  Some higher part of my nature won out, however, and I simply stood there, realizing I was already in this too deep to walk away. 

That was the first time I realized the root I'd chosen to cling to had already begun to twine around me and was clinging back. 

I shuddered when I felt Heather's small hand stroke my back gently.  I opened my eyes and she pulled away and handed me a drink.  I took a big sip and then immediately wished I hadn't.  You don't gulp scotch that's that damned good.  It suddenly struck me as funny.  Guess I was on a bit of overload there, and I laughed as I stared at the glass.  "S'good."  Actually, it was one of my favorites.   

She laughed quietly.  "It should be.  He bought it," she said dryly.  

Jesus.  I sucked in a deep breath.  No wonder I liked it.  I was drinking from a bottle 'I'd' bought in some other life.  It was enough to make your head spin even without the alcohol.  I looked away from the mantle, trying desperately to get my shit together and focused my gaze on a little desk in the corner that was piled high with files and a top-of-the-line, but seriously outdated, laptop.  There was a mug of tea beside it and a bottle of Aspirin on the shelf above.  Sticky notes were everywhere.   A pair of glasses sat upside down on top of an open file.  It was a workspace that was obviously getting some serious use. 

I looked back to her, confused.  "You work at home?"  I thought she worked at the VA.    

"Yeah."  She nodded.  "I transcribe medical records....  I just volunteer at the VA one day a week because it's fun and because they said they'd give me my old job back when Andy's old enough to go to school if I came in and helped them out in the meantime."  There was another awkward moment and finally she just shrugged and sort of led us over to the small couch.  She took a deep breath.  "This is confusing enough already... uh, Dino."  I noticed her hesitation.  That nickname was unfamiliar to her.  "I think we should start at the beginning, OK?  Can we do that?" 

I nodded.  "You want me to tell you about the crossing again?"  

There was a flicker in her eyes then, a fleeting touch of the amusement that so often sparkled in my Heather's eyes, and then it was gone.  "No...."  She sighed.  "Well, I mean yes..... Crap."  She took a big sip of her wine and I couldn't help smile a little as she tripped over her words, but the moment suddenly grew serious.  "I think we need to talk about that, too, but there's something I think you need to know first."

"All right."  She was nervous again.  More nervous, I should say.  She got up quietly and bent to retrieve something from the old sea chest that served as a coffee table.  It smelled musty, like nostalgia and cedar.  She removed a few items; a small black velvet bag, an envelope, and what looked to be a picture frame wrapped in red silk.  She closed the lid of the trunk but the cedary smell remained.  It was pleasant, but my attention was held by the items in her hands.  She held on to the envelope but set the bag on top of the silk-wrapped frame and handed them to me.  There was such tenderness in her eyes then, like she was trying to lend me strength and I knew then that whatever image was in the frame was going to be really hard to look at.

I lifted the black bag but she stayed my hand with hers, the softest of touches.  "You look, OK?  Take your time.  I'm going to go check on Andy."  She brought me the bottle of scotch and took the envelope with her when she left. 

Suddenly a bit afraid of what the picture might reveal, I opened the little black bag first and upended it.  Two gold rings fell out into my palm.  I sucked in a sharp breath.  These were the wedding rings I'd had commissioned for my marriage to Gen.  The one we never had because she died so unexpectedly.  Tears burned behind my eyes as I nestled the smaller ring inside the larger one and closed my fingers over them, squeezing so tightly that it left their imprint in my palm. 

And God bless Heather for leaving me the bottle and some privacy for this moment.  I took a deep drink, returned the rings to the bag and refilled my glass with a shaking hand.  Jesus.  My hands were still shaking as I undid the red silk from around the picture.  What I saw there stunned me into unnatural stillness, save for the hitching sob building behind the lump in my throat. 

Oh God.

It was us.  Gen and I.  A black and white professional portrait of the two of us together, my arms wrapped around her from behind.  She was wearing one of my white dress shirts.  It covered her breasts but was open to reveal her swollen pregnant belly.  Her hands rested atop it protectively.  My hands rested over hers.  We were wearing the rings I'd just returned to the little black bag.

My wife.  My child.  Unable to look at the image any longer, I turned it over and there on the back was written in Gen's pretty scrawl were the words:

Dean, Gen & Andy 
March 3rd, 1998            

I'm not ashamed to admit I cried then.  Not the jerking sobs of desperation I cried when I lost Gen.  This was something different.  Like emotion seeping from me.  I felt both excruciating pain and intense joy.  I felt profound happiness that this Dean had been granted what I had not- and I felt jealousy, too.  This deep sadness that I have no memories of that special time that had been captured on film and preserved under glass.  I didn't get to see Gen's body change.  Hold her hand while she pushed our child into the world.  Cry with her in joy.  Complain to her about stinky diapers or smoke cigars in celebration with my buddies or taste the milk from her breasts. 

I knew in that moment, the scraggly root I'd so desperately needed to cling to had become something so much more.  It was wound firmly through every part of me now.  My body.  My mind.  My heart.  And I realized this one moment was every bit as profound as when I met Terry's eyes in that cell. 

A single moment that changes the course of your life forever.  

This morning, I was alone in the world save for the friendship of one good man.  Now... Now I had a family.  A little boy who was a living breathing piece of my love for Gen and Heather, the precious soul who had watched over him.

Jesus.  Heather.  Lost in thoughts of Gen and our son, I'd forgotten about her.  How had she come to be his mother?  Did she have any idea the debt of gratitude that I owed her?  How could I ever make her understand what this meant to me?  What she meant to me?  And how the hell did I reconcile that feeling with the attraction I felt toward her that had nothing whatsoever to do with gratitude or appreciation? 

Although to be honest, right now, that attraction was the very last thing on my mind.  I wanted to talk to her.  To thank her.  To get some answers from her.  I didn't want to scare her but I knew I needed to tell her soon I had no intention of walking away from either of them.  I intended to have as big a part in their lives as she'd let me- and in truth, I wasn't above pressing her for more if she didn't want me in Andy's life.  It was a shitty thing to think considering the enormity of what she'd sacrificed to be a mother to my son, but it's the ugly truth.  Nothing on this earth could keep me from a child I made with Gen. 

Nothing.  

I was also certain it wouldn't come to that.  Heather could have turned me away at the door.  Instead, she invited me in and revealed to me the truth, even gave me the space I needed to come to grips with it in privacy.  It showed an understanding how deeply she knew my love for Gen ran as well as an understanding of me as a man outside of Gen.   

I went to the kitchen and splashed some water on my face, dried it and returned to the couch where I poured myself another scotch.  Heather appeared a few minutes later, looking nervous and tentatively standing at the very edge of the room.  Her eyes held a deep pain.  We both teared up in the way that happens when you look in someone's eyes and realize another person understands the piercing hurt you feel and it somehow cracks the dam holding back your own emotion. 

By all rights, it should have been another awkward moment, but it seemed the most natural thing for us to embrace, to hold and shelter each other, sharing both old and new hurts.  Slow tears from each of us.  Hers wet my neck.  Mine fell into her hair.  Neither of us were embarrassed. 

We settled into the couch a little while later.  Close but not touching.  I wanted desperately to hold Andy too- to see what parts of Gen I could see in him, but I knew I couldn't right now.  Not yet.  It was enough to know he was sleeping safe under her watchful eyes.  And that both of them were safe under mine. 

I listened quietly while she told me the story.  How the Dean of this world had been her friend growing up.  She blushingly admitted to a few sparks, but he'd done much the same as I had, to my infinite relief.  Left her a token to keep for him and disappeared from her life the year she turned seventeen.... only this Dean hadn't lost touch with her.  He'd sent a few letters over the years.  A forgotten memory flittered through my mind.  I'd started a couple letters to my Heather, too, but for some reason, I just couldn't ever finish them.  I'd burned mine.  The Dean in this world had sent his.  They'd remained friends.  Only friends.  And he'd returned one year with the news he'd met a girl who'd knocked him flat on his ass.  Sounded like my Gen.  Heh.  The next year, he'd returned with the girl in tow.  Wanted her to meet his other family. 

She smiled in the retelling, her enjoyment obvious.  She and Gen had been good friends.  She'd been a bridesmaid at their wedding and when she'd moved to California to attend college, Gen and Dean had been her home-away-from-home as her family home had once been that for her Dean.  When she graduated from college, she'd gotten a small apartment and taken a job at the VA here.  After Gen had given birth, she and Dean had asked her to be Andy's godmother, never imagining they would both die before Andy saw his first birthday. 

Gen had loved being a mother but she'd loved her job, too.  She'd gone back to work when Andy was about six months old and had been killed on her first assignment in much the same way my Gen had died.  That still didn't explain why she was buried in fucking Indiana, though.  Nor did it explain why her headstone had been inscribed with her maiden name, not Genoma O'Leary. 

Like it had happened in my time, this Dean had been away on a covert mission, out of contact at the time of Gen's death.  And as it turns out, the story Heather told only reinforced my disillusionment with the Marine Corps.  They had withheld the information from him in the field, afraid it would compromise his ability to lead the mission.  In his absence, Gen's parents had stepped in and had her buried in Indiana.  As godmother, Heather had retained legal guardianship over Andy in my absence but was unable to stop them from taking Gen's body.  The use of her maiden name on her headstone had been one last stab at the son-in-law they'd never liked. 

Heather had been successful in defending our apartment, however, and I was stunned to learn that after her Dean had been killed, she'd carefully boxed up our things, thinking Andy might want them someday.  Everything we'd left behind of a personal nature was in boxes out in Heather's garage. 

Aware she'd jumped over the details of her Dean's death, probably to spare my feelings, I asked her to go back and tell me exactly what had happened.  It wasn't pretty.  Her Dean had been devastated by the loss of his wife and filled with righteous anger.  He had grieved alone and with Heather, and had spent many long hours alone with his new son, but was unable to put Gen's death behind him without answers.  He wrote his son a letter, left it in Heather's care and lit out, determined to get to the bottom of Gen's death.  Heather wasn't made privy to the details, but the Marine Corps had notified her some weeks later that Major Dean O'Leary had been killed. 

His will had left everything to Andy, and as his guardian, she'd used a small portion of the money as a down payment on this home and invested the rest so she'd be able to pay for college when he was old enough to decide what he wanted to do with his life. 

I still didn't understand why she was struggling here alone, though.  Gen's family was a bust but what about her family.  Mine?  I knew Heather was estranged from her father, but what about her mom?

"Cancer," she shook her head.  

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry."  I gave her a hug and felt the loss in my own heart.  I never much liked her dad but her mom had always made me feel at home.  "What about your brother?"

She smiled a little.  "He's been deployed to Mogadishu."

I nodded.  That made sense.  There was some serious shit going down in Somalia right now.  "My family?"  Why hadn't they stepped in to help her out?

Her brows drew together in confusion.  "Your family?"

"Yeah, my mom and dad, surely they'd want to be apart of Andy's life."

"Oh, Dean, I'm so sorry.  They died in a plane crash on their way to Paris for their 35th wedding anniversary."

It almost didn't register at first.  "They went to Italy," was all I could think to say.  My mom's Italian.  Their 35th wedding anniversary was in 1996.  They went back to Italy to celebrate with her family in San Gimignano before my parents struck out for Rome and the trip of a lifetime my dad had been promising her since as long as I could remember. 

She shook her head and put her hand on my arm.  "Their destination was Paris.  TWA flight 800.... It crashed and sank off the coast of Long Island.  Did that happen in your world?"

I nodded numbly.  I hadn't realized I'd been holding out against hope that I'd somehow find a way to connect with my parents in this Otherplace even though I think I knew in my heart it would never happen.  I took a steadying sip of scotch.  I didn't cry but she held me and rubbed my back gently.  It felt good.  Soothing.

"Why did you...." I cut off my inelegant question but she answered it anyway.

"Dean and Gen, they gave their lives in service to their country.  Giving mine to Andy was just....."  Just the only thing she could do.  She'd given up her carefree youth to be a mother because sometimes, you just have to suck it up and take what life hands you.  This time it was me who rubbed her back.  "I loved them both, you know?  Dean and Gen.  I love Andy, too.  So much."  Her voice hitched. 

"I know you do."  We parted and I poured her another glass of wine and myself some more scotch.  "About Andy.....  how much does he know about all this?"  He was little more than a baby, but surely he was aware he didn't have a dad.

Her eyes glittered wetly.  "I told him he was extra special and that God had given him two mothers."  Jesus.  The realization hit me like a ton of bricks.  When I'd heard Andy calling to her, he wasn't saying 'mamatu'.  He'd been saying 'Mama Two'.  That Heather hadn't taken that from Gen will remain one of the most precious gifts anyone will ever give me in all the days I walk this earth.  "And I told him that his first mom was in Heaven with his dad and that they always love him no matter where they are."

My eyes burned.  "Thank you."  I met her soft gaze.  "I want to be a part of his life, Heather.  Of both your lives."

"A part?"  Her eyes were wide and she looked like a scared rabbit.  I could see the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat, thready and fast.  I realized then why she'd been afraid for Andy.  All this time I'd been scared she wouldn't let me in his life when she must have been afraid I would take him from her.  Jesus. 

"You're his mother, honey," I tripped over the title but my next words were stronger.  "I'd never take him from you.  I want to raise him together.  With you, in whatever way is best.  I want to be his dad."

Her face relaxed and it dawned on me then how nervous she'd been from the moment I'd first walked through the door.  Afraid all this time she'd lose the only family she really had left.  She nodded and then sort of turned green and bolted from the couch.  I heard the bathroom door close and the faint sounds of retching.  Fuck.  I got up and paced a bit, afraid going in the bathroom after her would invade her privacy too much and sick myself that I'd caused so much distress she'd been overcome with nausea when relief flooded her. 

I wandered into the kitchen to get her a glass of water.  She wouldn't want more wine now.  The scribbly artwork proudly displayed on the fridge made me smile.  So did the half dead plant by the sink.  My Heather had always been killing plants too.  I gave it some much needed water and returned to the couch.  Heather came back out a few minutes later, pale but looking more relaxed than she'd been since I'd come through the door.

"Sorry about that."

"Sorry for scaring you."

We both talked over each other again.  She gave me this small smile.  The first smile that had touched her eyes since we began talking.  I gave her the water and we sat back down.  The relief on her face was so evident.  I kicked myself for not putting her at ease about that straight off.  I would never take Andy from his mother.  Rubbing my face, I looked at the clock.  11:42 p.m.  It felt much later than that but we still had so much that needed to be said.  Might as well stay up and talk.  I knew neither of us would be able to sleep anyway.  Not with so much weighing so heavily on our hearts and minds.

She handed me the sealed envelope that had been resting on the sea chest while we talked.  "I think you should read this."  It was the letter Dean had written to his son just before he'd left.  It felt so strange to see Andy's name across the front in my handwriting.  A letter written in my hand that I'd never penned or read.  It was a surreal moment.  Heather motioned to the porch swing out back.  "You can read it out there if you want.  I'll bring you an ashtray."

I realized then that I'd been patting my pockets the way I do when I'm hunting for my cigarettes.  I read the letter in the wan porch light and then turned it off and just sat there, letting my tears fall unseen in the dark.  It was a letter to my son full of all the things a man would want to impart if he knew he wasn't coming back.  This Dean's love for his family burned through the pages, his every word engendered with so much feeling and love for his wife and small son.  Reading it was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.  Enclosed inside it was the first picture Gen and I ever had taken together; both of us in our uniforms at the Air Force ball.  Our first date.

Also tucked carefully inside were two little packets of wax paper.  One held a lock of my hair.  The other held a long lock of Gen's shiny brown hair.  She'd sent it to me in a letter once and I'd kept it ever since.  I brought it to my face and inhaled the faint trace of her scent that still clung to it.  It gave me an erection.

I sat there a long time in the cold night air, thinking about how strange life was.  The crossing that had robbed me of my old life had somehow managed to restore to me the things that had always remained beyond my reach. 

I pulled that pack of cigarettes from my jacket pocket and lit up that last one that I'd been unable to light until this moment.  Somehow, in the face of the new gifts I'd been given, holding on to that last taste of my old world just didn't seem that important anymore.