Dear Alice,

The last three weeks have been nothing short of glorious.  During that time, Henry and I have spent four afternoons together.  Despite the difficulty of the first couple of meetings, we have moved passed the tough ground, and are now discussing the truly important issues: which teams he supports, what movies we consider essential, our shared love of history and the general nature of the world as we both understand it.  Interspersed with those visits have been three phone calls, full of laughter and playful banter.  Each time it gets easier.  Each time I feel us grow closer.

But today, I feel a shift.  His holiday is over and I'm driving him back to the Academy.  This change in proximity may well instill an emotional distance between us.  Although the progress we've made has exceeded my most optimistic expectations, now it hits a wall - school.  He'll be involved again with his mates and his studies, and I fear we may slip back into the silent phone conversations and broken promises. 

I'm just scared, I guess.  And maybe something more.  I've discovered not only do I need him, but I find myself wanting to be needed by him.  Give it time, I keep repeating.

It is indeed a strange phenomenon that getting close to someone makes the state of being alone even more acute in their absence.  It's almost like weather.   Being in the constant chill of loneliness, as I was for years, brought about a tolerance for it in a way.  I got used to the temperature of it, even as I yearned for something else.  But getting close then being pulled apart again replicates entering a warm home then being confronted anew with the cold upon return to the outside.  These extremes are something foreign to me, and not altogether comfortable. 

But I'm just being insecure.  I can visit him.  I can call him.  He will call me.  He actually has initiated phone conversations himself, twice in fact.  So I should worry less and enjoy the ride up with him.  This will be our last face to face conversation for awhile. 

I have agreed to pick up his friend, Jason, on our way, as is Michael's custom when taking Henry back to school.  It will be an interesting dynamic to see him interact with a school mate, and I'm looking forward to that aspect of the trip.  But at the same time, I slightly resent the intrusion into our private world.

I wonder if Henry has gleaned as much out of our reconnection as I have.  Does he see it as the end of a minor amusement, to be filed away with other holiday activities, or as the first chapter of a book yet to be written? What will he take with him from our time together?  Hopefully, a hunger for more.

God, emotions are exhausting, but exhilarating, too.  So wish me luck.

                             Terry

I loaded Henry's luggage in the trunk then turned back toward the house in time to see him hugging Penny.  It momentarily brought to mind Alice's embrace of Peter and I felt like an outsider again, but I shook that thought away and focused on the task at hand. 

Armed with a map to Montgomery Hall, by way of Jason's home, we set off.  I was hoping he wouldn't sense my growing feeling of loss.  It was as if I missed him already, even though he was still in my presence.  Relationships.  Hot. Cold.  Elated.  Deflated.  Did it ever level off for smoother sailing?  Even if that answer was no, these past three weeks had been among the best in my life, and the promise of a future with Henry made the mercurial aspects seem less daunting.

I was hoping for one last deep conversation with him, but was unsure if we had time to tackle anything of consequence during the drive.  As per his usual pattern, he stayed quiet until I opened the opportunity for talking.

"Anything special on your mind today?" I asked lightly.

"Yeah, there is."  His tone was serious.  I had been so locked into my own reverie, I hadn't noticed his.  "You know when you said there may be something I might want to talk to you about, something I couldn't discuss with my friends or with mum and Michael?"

Ah, he needed me for something.  I let the thrill of that thought sink in for a moment and tried not to sound chuffed. "Yeah?"  

"Well, there is something.  But you have to promise not to tell anyone or to do anything about it."  

I pulled out of my self congratulations.

"Those are pretty steep conditions."  

"You've got to agree," he stated firmly.  Whatever it was, it was important to him.

What's he been hiding from me?  What is this that can only be discussed on his way back to school?  Maybe a problem at home?  Maybe what I had been suspecting - violence from Michael?  I felt my shoulders tighten.

"Are you in any danger?" I probed.

"Me?" he sounded more surprised than dismissive.   "No."

"Because if you are, I will take action."  I wanted him to confide in me, but there was no sense making a false promise.

"No, I'm not in danger."  He was less than convincing, but I played along.

"Alright, go ahead."

"You promise?"  He was too self-protective, too nervous.  My suspicions seemed more likely by the moment.  

"Henry, just tell me."

His sigh spoke volumes.  "You know when I was asking about your dad hitting you?"

Ah, Jesus.  Here it comes.  This is what had to wait until we were heading away from home.  Damn it.  God Damn it.

I tried to keep my tone light so he wouldn't slam shut.  "Yes."  

"Well," he spoke slowly, "I have a friend that I suspect that may be happening to."

My fingers gripped the steering wheel, but I forced my demeanor to appear calm.

"Henry, you can tell me if it's you."  I wanted him to deny it as much as I wanted to know the truth.

"It's not me," he insisted.  "It's a friend.  Honest."

No, the truth had to come out, even if I had to pull it out.

"Henry, just trust in me," it was somewhere between an order and a plea.  "I already suspected from our first conversation.  Tell me what's going on and we'll work through it together." 

I felt the anger creeping into my voice.  I pictured myself tearing Michael apart.  That's why he wasn't home the night I came to dinner.  He predicted I would sense it.  Henry had let it slip to Penny about my father's violence by then.  She could have warned him off, knowing I would observe astutely and come to the obvious conclusion.

But suddenly his tone was more persuasive.  "I swear, it's not me.  It's a friend.  In fact, it's Jason, the one we're picking up on the way.   That's why we need to talk about it before he gets in the car."

The wind was momentarily stilled in my growing storm and I held it in check for a moment, awaiting more information.

Henry persisted.  "Don't you think if Michael was hitting me, I'd want you to swoop in and beat the crap out of him?"  It was logical.  "Trust Me.  I'm telling the truth."  I did trust him.  Even in this.  "It's Jason I'm worried about."

I felt myself slowly becoming convinced.  Slowly.  

He clarified his intent.  "It's just that I don't know what to do about it.  How to be a good mate, you know?  I thought since you'd been through it, you might be able to tell me what your mates did to help you."

It made sense.  My shoulders relaxed and I released a welcome sigh. 

"Okay," I said after a deep breath.   "What makes you suspect?"

He settled himself into the seat and made his case.  

"Well, whenever his dad visits, Jason gets really nervous.  He goes way out of his way to make sure nothing goes wrong, nothing makes him angry or disappoints him.  When he gets his school marks he's always worried about falling short of his dad's expectations."

A nervous son, a father's demands.  Not enough.

"What else?"

"He has the lamest reasons for not wanting to go home on holiday.  And when he does go home, he comes back in this weird mood.  Either he's wired, like some animal just let out of a cage, or else he seems literally beaten down.  No energy.  No sense of humor.  Just...down."

I remembered those two extremes and how they had manifested in me.  Still not enough, though, for proof.

"And?"

He hesitated.  "And I've seen bruises.  Right after he gets back from having been home.  Bruises you wouldn't get from rugby, you know?"  

Physical evidence.  Perhaps enough to convince.

"Like what?"

"A couple of times there were red stripes cross ways on the back of his legs.  And once there were marks on either side of his neck - as if someone had gripped him around the throat."

I felt the lump as I swallowed, the pressure of my father's fingers, the diminished oxygen.

"So I pointed them out," he continued, "and he got all pissed off and defensive.  Told me to mind my own business and wouldn't talk to me for a couple of days."  He looked at me intently.  "It wasn't even the bruises so much as his reaction.  If they were from a game of touch footy with mates at home, he would have just said that, right?  He wouldn't have gone on a rage."   His case now made, he needed the verdict.  "Well?"

"Yeah.  You might be right."

"So why'd he get mad?"

"Part of it may be that he feels embarrassed.  It's hard to admit you're the victim of someone else."  I could see myself skulking through the school corridors, shoulders hunched up, keeping the coat slightly away from my back, my head down so no one could read my face. 

"But there may be another deterrent to his talking about it.  Do you know if has younger siblings at home?"

"Yeah, a sister.  I think she's ten."

Ah, the trump card.

I nodded.  "His father may be threatening to harm his sister.  My dad used to tell me if I got any outside help or tried to get him in trouble, my little brother would pay the price.  It worked well.  It kept me in line."

"So you think I'm right?"  

"Sounds feasible."

Henry looked away for a minute, as if my confirmation made the situation more real, more immediate.

"So what do I do?  Do I tell the head master at school?"

"No," I said quickly.  "I know it seems like that might help.  But it wouldn't.  Jason probably feels like he doesn't have much control over his life.  That lack of control is frightening." 

The secret.  After the safety and the dignity are gone, the secret is the one thing you still own.

"The only thing he can control is information flow.  If outside authorities get involved, he loses that.  That loss would put him, or his sister, in more danger.  And it would make him feel more powerless than ever." 

The ultimate check-mate.  Getting help means getting hurt.

Henry's frustration was evident.

"Will it just stop by itself?" he asked, feigning a hope he already knew was false.

"Probably not."

"So what do I do?  What did your mates do to help?"

"My best mate, Kyle," I pictured his sly grin, his dangerous wink, "he knew.  Kyle confronted me one day.  He told me I could lie to others about bruises and missed school.  But I couldn't lie to him.  He promised he'd never go behind my back and tell anyone.  He'd leave the telling to me.  Then he said if I wanted to talk, I could.  After that, he never brought it up again."

"I didn't tell Jason what I suspected.  I didn't get the chance to."

"Jason needs to know, first and foremost, that he can trust you.  He needs people around him he can trust.  Trust not to interfere.  Trust to keep their word about it.  If you do tell him you suspect, you need to make it clear to him that you won't go to the authorities unless he asks you to."

Henry pondered that, without response.

"There were other things Kyle did for me.  He offered his home as a safe haven.  I went there when tensions were running high."  I remembered easing the back door shut so it wouldn't make a sound.  My silent escapes. 

"He also kept me laughing.  When you get that tense, a good laugh is the best immediate help."

"Okay.  I can do that."  He brightened a bit.  "I'm actually funny sometimes."

"Yeah," I smiled, "I've seen that."  

His expression slipped back into seriousness.  He needed more.

"Also," I continued, "when you get hit, you build up a lot of aggression.  So Kyle would help me channel it with something physical - kicking a soccer ball around or running laps at the track.  And sometimes, just to make me feel better, he'd suggest we do things I was good at, like..."  I stopped.  Henry didn't need to hear about our escapades with girls.  "What's Jason good at?"

"Everything," he laughed.  "He's a great rugby player.  Really aggressive on the field.  Likes to knock heads.  He's gets a bit over the top, though.  He earns us the most penalties."

"Hmmm, he's playing from anger."

"Yeah, the coach talks to him a lot.  Doesn't tone him down much, though."  

"What else is he good at?"

"He's good at his courses.  He's good talking with girls."

Have to maneuver around that one.  "Well, find a way to reinforce that part of him...without being too obvious.  Reminding him what he excels at will make him feel like less of a victim.  Less beaten down."

"Right."  Henry sat up straighter, as if more content with the suggestions.  

"Offer him a safe haven - invite him home with you for holidays sometime.  Check with your mum first, eh?"

"Yeah.  'Course."

"So, safe haven, source of laughter, channeling anger with physical activity, reinforce strengths, and be someone he can trust.  Got it?"

"Yeah, those are some good ideas."  He paused.   "I just wish I could make it all stop for him."

"I know."  I smiled.  The more I got to know Henry, the more I liked him.  "You've got a good heart, you know?  Wonder where you got that."

We smiled, but there was still a tension in the air that needed to be acknowledged.

"I know it can be hard to watch a mate in pain," I said respectfully, "and not be able to do much to help."

"Like it was...like....," he stammered.  "Like with your mate...the one who killed himself?  I know you didn't want to talk any more about him..."

"No," I said firmly, "I don't."

"I've just been wondering if that was the worst thing you've ever seen."

A flood of memories washed by quickly, indistinct but terrifying.  I evaded the question.

"I don't really rate tragedies by degree, you know, bad to worst.  I've seen a lot of things I wish I hadn't."

"Were most of them related to the service?"

Flashes of images, now razor sharp, raced in sequence through my thoughts like a litany from hell.  The mass grave of young girls we found in Bolivia, my Captain holding a woman's palm to the flame of a gas stove to get answers, the interrogator in Afghanistan carving the fetus out of a pregnant girl in order to extract information from her soldier boyfriend, my sister's anguished final weeks of pain.  I shook my head and inhaled deeply.

"Most, not all."

"How do you deal with them?"

"Some better than others," I forced a smile.

The images settled around me as I swept them back into the unseen corners of my mind.

"Mum says you've been through a lot of difficult things in your life, but you've always faced them with courage."

I arched an eyebrow and swung my chin to face him.

"Your mother said that?"

He smiled, slyly.  "She talks nicer about you than you imagine."

"Apparently so."  I paused, reflecting.  "That's generous of her to say, but I'm not sure it's accurate.  Some things I just got away from rather than facing, my father for one.  But she doesn't know much about my relationship with him, and I'd like to keep it that way, okay?  For instance, she didn't know he hit me."

"Yeah, sorry.  I just assumed. I figured I screwed up when I saw her look of surprise.  I guess I shouldn't have brought it up to her."  

His remorse was replaced almost immediately with curiosity.

"Did you want to get away because you lost respect for him?"

"Well, mostly because he posed a physical threat on a regular basis.  But yeah, the lack of respect made me less patient with him." 

"You know," he said pensively, "I've been wondering about that since you told me.  You said when he cried in front of you he had a good reason.  What was it over?"

I saw again his tear streaked face, and yet felt no compassion for it.  Still.  Perhaps I could find it by talking it out, like Alice had taught me.

"I had a sister who was diagnosed with cancer," I began.  "When he brought the family together to tell us the diagnosis, he barely got the words out, and then collapsed into tears."

"And you resented him for that?" Henry asked, sharply.

I stood my ground.

"I wanted him to suit up for battle, you know?  Say we'd get good doctors, good medicine, better treatments.  Give her some hope, at least.  But he didn't.  He just cried as if we were already at her funeral."

"Maybe he wasn't showing weakness," he offered.   "Maybe he was showing how strongly he loved her.  You said he was a man of few words."  

No, that wasn't it.  I still felt no forgiveness.

"His role as a father was to make us feel safe," I insisted.  "But instead, he made it suddenly clear that there were things he couldn't protect us from.  He forced me to confront mortality at that age.  I could have waited to learn that one."

"I still don't see how you can get mad at someone for showing grief."  

"He made me afraid so I turned it into anger.  Anger is an easier thing to feel than fear.  Anger implies you have some control over the situation; fear confirms your helplessness.  He couldn't protect me, so I saw him as weak."

Henry continued his defense.

"His child was dying.  Announcing it would have been hard for anyone.  I don't see how doing something hard can be seen as a weakness."

That one slipped stealthily through my well cared for grudge.  I teetered in my conviction for a moment and tried to justify my reaction.

"I was eleven, okay?"

"Yeah, but you're thirty-six now," he observed, "and there's still resentment in your voice when you talk about him.  And that moment is still how you measure strength and weakness.  You haven't let him off the hook yet."

"Should I?"  The question was more rhetorical than sincere.

He paused and asked quietly, "did she die?"

I swallowed hard.  "Yes."

He reflected, respectfully, and concluded, "So in a way he was right."

My heart opened just a sliver, but still wouldn't yield.

"He was right, but he was right too soon.  Hope is a perishable commodity.  It expires quickly unless you keep it alive.  He took away our hope before we had a chance to feel it." 

She was so young, so playful, such a loss.   

"There's plenty of time for despair.  But hope has a very precious window of opportunity.  You have to feel it while you can.  So he was wrong to take it from us."

He shook his head, unable to see it from my eleven year old eyes.

"Still seems pretty harsh."

Fathers and sons: an unrelenting dynamic, at once hopeless and yet imperative.  I couldn't understand nor forgive my father.  My son couldn't comprehend my lingering bitterness.

"Why does this bother you?"  I was intrigued.  "You didn't even know him."

The look in his eyes revealed the truth.  It wasn't about my father.  It was back to Henry and me, and our continuing struggle to know each other.  He tested the waters.

"I'm just thinking if you're that hard on everyone, I'm gonna disappoint the hell out of you."

Was I hard on everyone?  A sigh escaped, almost indiscernibly, and I was sadly amused by the thought that I had so few people of value in my life, I couldn't truly judge if I had been hard on them or not.  There were not enough occurrences to determine a pattern. 

I decided consciously to always give Henry the benefit of the doubt, the available slice of my heart.  That would be my first instinct with him in future.  But did he have something in particular he was concerned about now?  I'd have to prod.

"In what way would you ever disappoint me?"

His tone was as vague as his shrug.  "You know, different ways."

He was heading somewhere with this, not yet comfortable enough to ask directly.  Would reassurance help?

"Henry," I said gently, "you have a tendency to circle around a subject before you get to the heart of it.  You don't have to do that with me.  Just ask me what you really want to know."

He hesitated, took a long, considered breath, and crystallized his fear in question form.

"If I didn't want to join the military would you think I was a coward?"

"Ah, there it is," I said lightly.  Cowardice - an important idea to a thirteen year old.  He didn't yet know that age would redefine that concept almost continuously.

"Well," I started, "let me say that I've never encouraged you in that direction, much less demanded that you join, so you're making an assumption without basis there.  But having said that, whether or not you're a coward probably depends on your reason for not wanting to enlist."

He sounded significantly older than his years, speaking as if the decision had been determined after considerable thought.

"I don't think I could shoot anyone."

"You'll be amazed what you can do when someone is shooting at you," I countered.

Again, he gave a thoughtful, well examined conclusion.

"I don't think I want to put myself in a position where someone would want to."  He paused, his eyes searching my face for validation.  "Does that sound like cowardice?"

I snorted a quiet laugh.  "Actually, the way you put it sounds like common sense, really."  

That wasn't the reassurance he was after and he waited for something further.  So I was more direct.

"I do not think you're a coward," I said firmly.  "And I can't think of anything you'd do that would make me determine you were.  So you needn't join on my account."

That wasn't enough.  He hung his head in quiet defeat.  

"Grandpa says I have to join."

My chin rose.  "He does, does he?" 

"He says it's what makes you a man.  And because my father was military and my grandfather, and his father and on and on, it's a tradition that has to be maintained."

Loosening that bastard's stranglehold on Henry may well prove to be a life long task.  I might as well start now.

"Well, I'll let you in on a little secret of life.  In matters like these, fathers outrank grandfathers.  And when you turn eighteen, you outrank both of us when it comes to deciding what you do with your life."

"But I don't want to disappoint him.  He's threatened to turn his back on me if I do."

I suddenly remembered the General's face, angrily insisting on full custody for Penny, trying his best to flush me out of Henry's life forever.   He shouted that I had no idea what it felt like to honestly love that boy.  I could still see the shade of red in his cheeks and the level of conviction in his eyes.

"Damn."  I touched Henry on the shoulder briefly to lighten the mood. "You're gonna make me do something rather painful right now."  I shook my head dramatically.   "You're gonna force me to say something nice about your grandfather."

Henry's look of surprise was worth the effort.

"That man loves you unconditionally and when it comes to shit like this, he's all bark and no bite.  He'll come around.  Don't let that concern you."

Tension still registered in his face.  I tried to clarify.

"Look, the real issue here isn't what I think, or what he expects.  It's whether or not you feel like a coward.  You only have to prove things to yourself.  No one else.  Okay?  You have to decide which is more courageous - shooting at people or refusing to." 

He looked down, considering that idea, but still couldn't let go of his grandfather's propaganda just yet.

"He said it should be a man's deepest instinct to want to protect his country.  And he should feel it as soon as he embarks on manhood.  Did you know at my age that you wanted to join?"

I laughed out loud.

"No," I chuckled, resolutely.  "I didn't know I was joining until a few months before I did.  I was at the middle part of seventeen when I made that decision."

He sat up straighter.  "But you joined because you felt that instinct to protect, right?"

"Not at all."  I laughed again.  Should I tell him that thought had never occurred to me?

"So why did you enlist?"  

"Isn't this our turn for Jason's street?" I evaded.

"Yeah, but..."

"Ask me that question later on the drive," I countered.  "I want Jason to hear my answer."

We snaked through the residential maze leading to Jason's house.  I could feel my senses heighten, my level of observation sharpen in anticipation of meeting him and particularly seeing any interaction with his father.

Unfortunately, neither parent was home.   Both were attending church.  My life had included so little religion, I often forgot Sunday mornings were set aside for worship. 

It was a sad irony to imagine Jason's father in prayer - a seemingly pious man who punctuated his life lessons to his son with a belt or back hand.  Spare the rod, spoil the child, I suppose.  My father never attended church, so his blows came without the accompanying blessings.

Jason was sitting on the front steps of his house when we arrived.  He looked at me curiously, then whispered to Henry, "Where's your dad?"

I'd been wondering how Henry would introduce me - he still hadn't found a name to call me that felt comfortable to him.  I awaited his response.

"This is my..... my first dad."

A sudden but subtle smile overtook me.  First dad.  Measureable progress.  The basis for all reasonable optimism.  

Jason's volume rose, "What, the K&R guy?"

My initial reaction was to be a bit chuffed that my son had discussed me with his friends, an indication that I was a part of his consciousness, if not his day to day life.  My second instinct was to wonder how much he had told them.  The nature of my job didn't always sit well with people.  I decided to dispel that concern.

"Nice to meet you, Jason," I offered my hand, which he shook decisively.  "Let's get this stuff loaded, eh."  We added his luggage and various boxes to Henry's, filling the back seat as well as the trunk.  "Not much room in here," I said as I encouraged the door shut.  "Better sit in front with us."

I scanned casually for bruises, heightened shoulders, or signs of gingerly movements that would indicate injury.  Nothing.  His demeanor was difficult to read - sort of a timid curiosity.  Apparently questioning adults didn't come easily to him.  But after a few minutes of silence, he ventured a try, nonetheless.

"Where was your last job, Mr. Thorne?"

My tone was gentle.  "Can't really discuss that stuff, Jason."

Another silence followed, and then he tried again.

"Henry says you speak six languages.  Is that true?"

I shot a disapproving glance toward Henry.  Boasting about me was something I was unprepared for and uncomfortable with.  The less people knew about what I do, the better.  My lack of response prompted Henry to jump in.

"He does.  French, Italian, German, Spanish and Russian."

"That's only five," Jason quipped.

"Plus English, ya sot," Henry jabbed.

"So, is it true?"

"Well, I'm not really fluent in any of them," I downplayed, "including English." 

"Are you learning any more?"

"I'm working on Arabic," I smiled, "but it's going slowly.  Are you interested in languages?"

"Yeah."  He perked up.  "The instructors tell us that a good grasp of languages gets you on a fast track to becoming an officer.  Is that right?"

"Yes," I confirmed.  "At least it did when I was in the service."

"You were SAS, weren't you?" he asked.  "Special Air Service," he echoed.

"Yes, I was," I answered quickly, masking another jolt of surprise.  How much had Henry revealed about me?  My swell of fatherly warmth was increasingly being replaced with the chill of over exposure, almost vulnerability.

Still difficult to let anyone get to know you? I mused.  Practice human qualities, but take control of the conversation.  

"You've got your eye on Special Forces, do you?"

"Doesn't everybody?"

"Actually, no," I said, firm as steel.  "It can be a hard road."

"Yeah, but worth it, right?" he said brightly.  

Spoken like a blind man about to rappel down an ice-covered mountain.  I, too, had felt that continuous need to grope for glory as a young man, when I had no true perspective.  One of the perils of youth was making life changing decisions with little or no information about what life was or what those choices would inevitably bring.

"I would recommend you put a fair bit of thought into that," I cautioned.  "You end up having to live with a lot.   Things you've seen.  Things you've done.  It isn't easy.  It's not a choice to be made lightly."

I considered what choosing a life in the SAS had done for me, and to me.  Innocence, once lost, can never be recaptured, nor even revisited.  You can tell yourself its absence is not as acutely felt because you offered it up yourself; no one wrenched it from you.  But the result is the same.  It's gone. 

Jason's voice brought me out of my reverie.

"Did you always know that you wanted to be in Special Forces?  Even when you were our age?"

"No.  I didn't even know I wanted to join the military until a few months before I did."

That was my signal for Henry to resume our earlier conversation.

He chimed in, right on cue.  "But you always knew you wanted to protect crown and country, didn't you?"

"Nope, it wasn't anything noble like that at all.  But that's a long story," I baited.

He took the bait.  "It's a long drive."  

Did I want to do this?  Did I want to compromise what admiration Henry might have held for my military service by telling the absolute truth?  Yes, it would be worth it.  That truth, I hoped, would show him that nobility of spirit doesn't have to be evident at his age.  It could lie dormant and rear its heroic head later on.  Yes, let him hear the truth and be easier on himself because of it. 

I was warmed by my budding comfort with parenthood.  Putting his needs first was becoming more instinctual, needing less forethought.

"Well, it all happened because of a spy novel I was reading," I smiled, remembering.  Ah, the strangest guideposts can redirect our journeys.

"In the book, our hero was being tortured by water poured down the throat to simulate drowning.  But through a series of breathing exercises, he was able to make himself pass out so they'd have to stop.  I thought that would be a handy thing to learn." 

Both boys looked confused, and I was pleased when it was Jason who asked, "Why?"

I addressed my answer to both, but wanted him to register it most.

"You see, my father used to bash on me a bit when he got pissed." 

He responded almost by involuntary reflex, "Your dad hit you?"

"Repeatedly," I nodded. 

Jason scanned my shoulders and arms.

"He must be big," he concluded.

"Well," I chuckled, "I wasn't exactly built like this in high school."

He took that in with a smile, and maybe a hidden hope.

"Anyway," I continued, "it wasn't just the punishment that was hard to take."

I kept my eyes on the road, directing my thoughts to neither boy in particular.  In fact, I could have been talking to myself.

"He used to play these stupid games, like having me count the whacks out loud.  Or he'd try to break me down while he was having a go at me.  He'd swing that belt until I could barely breathe.  And he wouldn't stop until I said I'd had enough.  You know, out loud, with the please, Sir and that crap."  I consciously quelled the all too vivid nature of my memories.

Jason's attention was completely focused.

"That was the hardest part of the whole process," I confessed, "admitting I couldn't take any more.  So I thought - what if I could go unconscious at will?  He couldn't get the words out of me, and he'd probably stop whacking me since there wouldn't be any sport in it."

Henry snorted a comfortable laugh, and Jason copied, but with an edge of nervousness.

"So I go to the local recruiting office, and ask the fella if he's familiar with this technique and has any literature on how I might learn it.  Well, he's no fool, this bloke.  He sees the red marks on my face from the recent back hand and starts sizing me up.  And to make sure it's not just someone knocking me around at school, he gives my back a little pat as he welcomes me into his office.  Of course, I wince just a bit since the belt marks are pretty fresh.  Now he knows completely what he's dealing with."

Both boys sat forward on their seats, waiting for more.

"So he says, 'I could get you information on that breathing exercise.  But how about instead, I show you a technique by which, in one move, you could drop him to the floor and he'd never fuck with you again.'"

We held our breath collectively.  

"Well, that sounded infinitely more useful," I laughed.

They joined in my laughter, briefly looked at each other, then riveted back to me.

"But this bloke, he's smart.  He says he can't show me that technique straight away, since if I do it wrong I could kill someone.  It would be irresponsible of him to teach me before he really has a sense of the kind of man I am.  So how about, in the meantime, we chat a bit while he uses his first aid kit in the back to patch me up?"

I could feel Jason pulling back, his ability to picture himself in that situation now compromised by threatened consequence.  I registered it, and drew him back in.

"Well, I didn't want any part of that.  I knew if it got back to my old man that I'd sought out medical help somewhere, I'd pay big time.  Or my little brother would pay for my sins, as he'd always promised."

He was with me again.

"So I start to make my excuses to leave, but this fella sets me straight.  He says, 'look, I know the drill.  You can't have him know you're getting help.  So I've got cream that can't be smelt nor seen.  Just helps you heal faster so you're more ready for the next round.'"

Jason's eyes betrayed a touch of skepticism, but he hung in there.  I reeled him in slowly.

"I'm still not trusting him, though, right?  Too much at stake.  But then he hooks me by owning up to his ultimate intent.  He says, 'here's the truth.  I'm gonna eventually talk you into joining the military because that's my job.  So I'm not gonna do anything that will piss you off or put you in danger, because then you're no good to me.  So you can trust me to stay out of your life, never break your confidence, and just patch you up whenever you need it.'"

Jason nodded so subtly, I almost missed it.

"So I let him patch me up," I continued.  "And sure as shit, couldn't smell it or see it, but it healed me faster.  I start going to his office pretty often, hoping he'll teach me this technique soon.  But instead he gets in my ear about what am I gonna do after school ends."

They settled back slightly in their seats, knowing the magic method wasn't forthcoming.

"I have a couple of choices, the way he sees it.  I can get a full time, low paying job and gather a couple of mates together to rent some shabby flat.  At the end of the week, after paying rent, utilities, food, and whatever, we'd maybe have enough left over for a couple of beers at the pub.  Or, I could enlist, the army would pay my room and board and give me the opportunity to get as far away from my town as I liked.  And as a side benefit, they'd train me in techniques to ensure that never again would anyone mess with me without regretting it."

The mundane costs of daily life may not have made the connection, but the last bit resonated, at least with Jason, who smiled.

"So my life's course wasn't based on anything noble.  It was simply the most financially viable way to get away from home.  It just seemed the obvious solution."

Henry spoke first, a touch of disappointment in his voice.

"You decided based on the money?"

"Yep, not a desire to protect the crown or to be molded into a man.  Just to get the hell out and learn what I could to protect myself.  Pretty selfish, eh?"

Jason ignored the lack of nobility and honed in on the most important benefit in his eyes.

"But you learned how to deal with people who tried to mess with you, right?"

"Yes."

His tone turned somewhat guarded but his curiosity prevailed.  "And your father - did he ever bash on you after?"

"He didn't get the chance." I smiled, remembering.  "I could sign up without parental consent once I turned eighteen.  But they wouldn't take me until I graduated.  So without telling my folks, I accelerated my courses so I could graduate a term early which coincided with my eighteenth birthday.  Once I joined, he never got the chance to use that belt on me again."

But there was a more imperative point to make.

"And the training I got took the fear out of confrontations - gave me self confidence.   That self confidence saves you on a couple of different levels.   It teaches you how to fight, but also to know when you don't have to, and to never fight out of anger."

I scanned Jason's face to gauge if that made any impact.  Not seeing what I needed to in his eyes, I decided on a more direct approach.

"I hear you're pretty ferocious on the rugby field."

"Yeah," he smirked, comfortably.

"Are you always in control, or does it sometimes get out of hand and result in penalties?" 

Still with bravado, "Well, I've earned us a penalty or two."

Henry laughed at the intentional underestimation.

I pushed my agenda.

"I hope you're not playing from anger."  He looked slightly deflated, as if I was admonishing him.  That wasn't my intent, so I personalized it.

"That's the thing I had to learn not to do. On the rugby field or on the battle field, it's the same.  He conquers, who conquers himself.  If you can't control yourself, you can't control the engagement.  That's very important to learn in battle, but also in rugby.  Precision is more effective than mere force."

He considered it, but needed a realistic solution.  "So what do you do with anger?"

Ah, engaged enough to pursue it.  I remembered the words of my drill Sergeant. 

"Let it be your fuel, but not your intent.  Let it make you stronger, but not direct you.  And never let it make decisions for you."

"You mean when you get mad at someone, you don't wanna hit them?" he asked, incredulously. 

"I might want to, but I don't," I answered and tilted my head toward Henry.   "I got pretty mad at Henry a few days ago, and I thought about back handing him.  But I didn't."

Henry met my eyes, knowing the moment I was referring to during his tirade about Jimmie's responsibility.   I wanted to hit him, but I didn't.  I had successfully overcome my father's legacy.

"Well," Jason quipped, "you haven't spent that much time around him now that he's a teenager.  You might be inspired to yet."

We shared the ensuing laughter as we pulled into the gate at Montgomery Academy.  

Unloading the luggage was a pleasant joint effort.  Felt good to be out of the car, put some back muscles to use and generally get my bearings in the place.  

My usual sense of efficiency was tempered by a growing realization that our face to face time was coming to an end.  As I felt myself slipping into a recurring sense of insecurity about our new-found relationship, I heard Jason quietly make an appeal to Henry. 

"He's pretty cool, really.  You should give him a break."

"Yeah," Henry replied.  "We're working on that."

Jason shook my hand strongly.  "Thanks for the ride.  Nice to meet you."

"You'll be seeing more of me soon," I smiled as I gripped his hand firmly.  "I'll be watching you both on the field, eh?"

He headed to his room down the hall, leaving me alone with Henry, who motioned his head toward Jason and whispered.

"So, what do you think?  Did you see any signs?  Am I right about his dad?"

I shook my head briefly.  "No visible bruises, no gingerly moves, demeanor seemed okay.  Definitely has some anger issues, but that could just be his age."  He frowned.  "Keep an eye on him," I offered. 

My assessment seemed vague partly because my focus was more on the moment at hand.  I was stumbling over how to say goodbye, when he caught me completely off guard with a suggestion.

"So there's this... this lady I know," he stammered.   "She's ...she's nice and quite a looker, you know, for someone your age."   He paused, smiling.  "I thought you might like to meet her."

Good Lord.  "Are you trying to fix me up?"

"Well, you said you wanted people in your life," he explained.  "I'm gonna be here at school, and it's cool that you and mum seem to be getting along, but it would be weird if you started hanging out together.  So I thought maybe you should get a lady of your own."

I laughed with an affectionate indignation.

"I'm perfectly capable of selecting my own women, thanks."

"I'm not sure you are." 

"Oh, you're not, eh?" I asked, slyly.

"Haven't seen any evidence of it," he insisted.  "Look at your track record.  I imagine mostly you hook up with one night wonders."

"One night wonders?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, "that's what I call them.  One night stand seems a silly name, since I imagine there's not a lot of standing around.  And one night lay just sounds rude.  So I think of them as one night wonders.  You know, you only wonder about them for one night.  Then there's nothing left to wonder about."   

I laughed out loud.  He'd actually put thought into it.

"And your last choice was...you know... married.  Then there's mum, but 'course that didn't work out.  You probably reckoned her for a one night wonder, anyway."

"Hey," I cautioned, "don't talk about your mother like that."

"That was more a reflection on you," he grinned.  

I cleared my throat.  "Point taken."  

"Anyway, I figured maybe you could use a little help."

"How do you know a woman my age, anyway?"  I was intrigued, slightly interested perhaps.

"Well, actually, I've got my eye on her daughter.  But she's a friend of mum's."

I watched the sliver of light go dark as the door of possibility slammed shut.

"Oh there's a brilliant idea," I laughed, rolling my eyes.  "Date a friend of your mum's.  God knows what she's said to her about me."

"I told you," he said emphatically, "she talks nicer about you than you imagine."

"To you, maybe.  When women get together and discuss ex-husbands, not a lot of compliments get thrown around.  Believe me."

"Well," he wasn't giving up, "you've been divorced for ages.  Maybe she hasn't said anything about you."

"We can only hope."

"Just ask mum about it.  The lady's name is Katherine Stanford.  But mum calls her Kate."

Kate Stanford?  Jimmie's widow?  A rush of lovely images meandered gracefully through the avenues of my memory.  Those deep brown eyes, that auburn hair, that knowing look and mischievous giggle.  Kate Stanford.  I'd thought of her many, many times... before Jimmie's death, that is.  Afterward, it seemed wrong.  But while they were married, she was untouchable because of her devotion to him, and therefore, quite easy to fantasize about.  Kate Stanford.  Available?  Hard to believe.

"She's single?" I sounded amazed.

"Of course, she's single," he huffed in disgust.   "Why would I suggest somebody who's already married?"

I knew I'd never mentioned Jimmie by name to him, so there would be no way for him to make the connection.  But somehow I was unprepared for him to know I knew her.  Fix this.

"You...you said she had a daughter," I stuttered.   "So I assume she's divorced then?"

"Oh," he bought it.  "No, she's a widow.  Her husband was a soldier.  Died in combat.  But that was years ago.  She's probably over it by now."

Over it?  I doubted it.  Hell, I wasn't over it.  Died in combat, eh?  Nice twist.

"I'll give it some thought," I evaded.

"Well, do," he insisted.  "I want to hear about it after you call her."

"Yeah, that'll happen," I smirked.  

Then we fell silent, knowing it was time.  

"I'd, um..." he stammered, "I'd better get to the cafeteria, or I'll miss dinner." 

I couldn't let him go.  Not yet.

How did I explain to him how important he had become in the last few weeks?  What significant thing could I say to sum up everything it meant to me?  How could I ensure our communication would continue and our relationship would grow?  How did I guarantee a place in his life? 

I couldn't.  There were no guarantees.  It would take continuous contact, deliberate intention.  I knew I'd follow through.  But would his interest wane?

"I'll call you in the next couple of days," I began.  "I'm off on a trip tomorrow, but you can reach me on my cell phone anytime.  I mean, don't hesitate to call, no matter how late because you never know what time zone I'll be in."  I sounded too desperate. 

He smiled sheepishly.  "I know.  I get it."

I cleared my tightening throat.

"And let me know about your game schedule."

"You really want to start making promises?" he probed.  Was he unsure?  Was he baiting me or letting me know it was important to him?

"It won't be like it was."  I laid a hand on his shoulder briefly.  "I'm gonna be here.  We'll start with your games."

"Well, I guess we'll see," he said quietly.  Was he pulling back from me?  Was this an echo of the tone he used with me before?  Before, when I was nothing to him?  Had I not made the progress I had imagined. 

Damn it.  Did I imagine it all, just like I imagined it with Alice?  The one thing I was pursuing with greatest intent - real human contact -seemed to be something I still couldn't gauge correctly.  Had I been deluding myself all along?

"Besides," he interrupted my swirling insecurity, "it might make me nervous on the field, knowing my dad was here."  

We both froze at the word.  Dad.  He said it to me.  It wasn't imagined.  It was measureable progress.  It was a father and son, saying goodbye, but making plans.

He reached toward me, awaiting our customary handshake.  I grasped his hand, then pulled him into me and wrapped my other arm around him.  Our footing was shaky and the hug not yet comfortable, so we pulled away awkwardly.

"We'll get better at that," he grinned.

I was still smiling as I drove out of the gates and back onto the motorway.

Hug, no matter how clumsy.

Expectations.

Dad.

Fathers and sons, a rugged terrain with moments of Eden-like perfection.  A goodbye that didn't mean an end, only a pause in the action.  I missed him already.  

But as our conversations played out in my mind, one image wafted in and out of my focus.  

Kate Stanford.  Hmmmm.