Special Forces - 18. Chapter 18

NICK

June turned out to be a very busy and eventful month. It started with the trip to Disneyland and the visit by the Joseph and the Mulraineys. Jorge was on a T-ball team (Sam was convinced he was major league material). I had been accepted into the Potters’ Guild and participated in their spring show. Sam’s company was a vendor at the annual international boat show. Without Maria’s help we would have been floundering.

Gary (Sam’s boss) had hired another salesman who was covering the late shift, so Sam’s hours were changed to 10-6 five days a week with Monday and Tuesday off, which was working out well for us as a family.

Darlene had the summer off work, so she kept the boys with her at least two days a week. Maria and Jorge were teaching Gregory Spanish, and he was picking it up quickly, as only a 5 year old can. I was tutoring Jorge in French each afternoon and Gregory joined in those lessons as well.

I got a call from the Colonel telling me that he and Amy, along with Wendy and her husband, were going to the Philippines to visit their son and his family in August, with a continuation to Vietnam to see Amy’s family, and Joseph was going with them. “But we got ourselves a situation,” said the Colonel. “Minute we tell Joseph about the trip, he says ‘can Tyler come?’ like it’s another trip to Disneyland or something. Well, of course there’s a million reasons why Tyler can’t come, and I was just about to say ‘no’ when I realized this is the first thing the boy’s ever asked for. So I told him Amy and I would talk it over, which we did. And there’s no good reason why the boy can’t come and a lot more why he can come. What do you think, Nick? Do you think the Mulrainey’s would go for something like that? You know them better than we do. And if we just flat out ask them and they say no the boys are gonna pitch a fit. We need some world-class diplomacy here, Nick.”

So Sam and I took on the role of negotiators and in spite of the initial, emphatic ‘no’ from the Mulraineys we persevered and eventually secured their approval. Like any good negotiation, there was give and take, and the ‘take’ for the Mulraineys was that Siobhan insisted that the Williams give approval for them to carry off Joseph to Ireland the following summer to visit their relatives.

Sam and I were a little too busy, really, and that was taking a toll on our love life. We still cuddled—a lot—and we still had plenty of sex, don’t get me wrong. But all of life’s distractions seemed to be draining the intimacy out of our relationship. These thoughts were niggling at me, but it was Sam who, in his usual take-charge manner, brought the subject up. We’d just had a quicky, and I was lying with my head on Sam’s shoulder drifting off to sleep when I felt him move away from me and the sheet slide down my body. I opened one sleepy eye to see Sam kneeling beside me staring at my torso.

“What, Sam?”

“You’re beautiful. I haven’t had a proper look at you for long time. I love you, Nicky.”

I reached up and gently rubbed my fingers over his nipple, taking in the sight of that sexy, broad chest. “It’s been ages since we’ve had some quality time, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, let’s plan a getaway, just for the two of us. How does that sound?”

“It sounds divine, Sam.” Then he kissed me tenderly and lay down beside me again. I resumed my favorite cuddle position. We were both far too tired to have a second round of sex, but my heart was bursting with love for the big man I was using as a cushion.

Darlene agreed to take Jorge the following Monday and Tuesday (Sam’s days off) so Sam and I decided to take Budweiser down to Ensenada. We’d been a little leery of going into Mexico with the boat, but friends told us that Ensenada was safe and fun.

Arriving in the Ensenada harbor around noon we quickly completed the necessary paperwork, then I pulled out the deli lunch we’d brought. We ate outside on the deck enjoying the warm sun and marina view. Once sated, Sam sat back with his arms along the back divan cushions and his muscular legs crossed and stretched out. A position that emphasized and impressive bulge; one that seemed to be growing larger by the second. His eyes took on a feral look as he slowly looked me up and down. My own cock stained at the fly of my shorts as I read the message in Sam’s smoldering eyes.

“What say we head below, Nicky?”

I grabbed his hand and all but pulled him down the stairs.

We passed an indolent afternoon in the shaded comfort of the cabin. We took our sweet time getting to know each other again, kissing and licking all those special areas that sent sparks shooting through our bodies. It took well over an hour before we reached the point of no return, and all that edging produced enough jizz to keep a sperm bank in operation for a year. Only none of it was saved in vials. It flew around the bed splattering not only us, but soaking the bed and even a few drops hit the low ceiling above the bed. As I lay panting, Sam licked every drop of liquid he could find from my body, then I returned the favor. We shared a deep come-flavored kiss then drifted off wrapped around each other.

The sex-nap, sex-nap routine happened at least two more times, possibly three (my brain was too serene to be bothered by anything as concrete as a number).

As the last crescent of the sun disappeared in an orange candescence on the western horizon, we made our way into town just beginning to come alive, in that quintessentially Spanish manner, for the night.

We found a wonderful little cantina that had a live mariachi band, and we enjoyed Mexican style seafood with fresh tortillas and sloppy green frijoles. Tempting as it was to order margaritas; we stuck with Corona beer and lime wedges, and drank it out of the bottle. I can’t ever remember having a dinner where the flavors were so vivid, so clear and intense.

After dinner we wandered the main street, looking in all the shops for the perfect gift for Jorge. It wasn’t an easy choice. We wanted to get him something that spoke to his Mexican heritage, but that wasn’t tacky, like a sombrero or poncho. At five years old, he was more interested in toys than clothes, so we focussed on that. Finally we settled on an exquisitely made child’s size guitar with beautifully inset mother of pearl marquetry. Sam said he knew enough guitar chords to get Jorge started, if he was interested. And we did end up getting a sombrero and embroidered shirt because with that elegant little guitar the mariachi look seemed authentic and not the least contrived. On a whim, we bought the same entire package, but with different designs for Gregory. The kids really were like the Bobbsey Twins.

We also found a gorgeous Oaxaca filigree silver and turquoise necklace and earring set for Maria. And, as a thank you gift to Darlene, we bought a beautiful fabric and hand-tooled leather purse that had been created by one of Mexico’s young up-and-coming designers. It was a bit pricey, but we felt extravagantly grateful after our libidinous afternoon.

With a good meal in our bellies, and the languidness that comes from severe sperm depletion, we let the gentle rocking motion of the boat carry us off into a deep, restful sleep.

We made love the next morning, then cleaned up as best we could in the boat’s cramped little shower. I brewed coffee while Sam walked up to a bakery and bought us those amazing Mexican rolls that are crispy on the outside and light as air on the inside.

Maria cried and tried to refuse our gift declaring, “It’s too much!” But we could tell she was thrilled with the set.

Darlene screamed, “Oh my God!” when we gave her the purse.

The boys eyed the guitars, shirts and sombreros warily. Sam found the chords for ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ on the net and within half an hour had the boys stumbling through the chords and singing it for an audience of enthused parents. As it turned out Darlene had taken piano lessons as a girl and had gone through a ‘folk’ phase with a guitar as well. She promised the boys she’d teach them ‘Kumbaya’ the next day. The boys disappeared into Greg’s bedroom, and for the next hour, could be heard strumming and belting out the lyrics to ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ with each repetition better than the previous. Sam declared that the boys were on their way to becoming rock stars.

The boys really did show aptitude and enthusiasm for learning the guitar so Sam reached out to the Borg to find a suitable guitar teacher. He specifically wanted someone who would connect with the boys and who would teach using encouragement not criticism. What he found was an extremely talented, alcoholic, chain smoking, disabled, PTSD addled vet named Slide. I took one look at Slide’s dark, grubby apartment and disheveled appearance and turned to bolt, but Sam lightly held my arm and whispered, “Give him a chance.” Sam evidently thought the guy had some redeeming qualities so I stood apprehensively and waited to see what would happen.

Slide focussed on the boys who were positioned timorously behind our legs clutching their little guitars and said, “Whacha got there?”

Sam was silent, and I was holding my breath.

The boys stepped cautiously around our legs and held up their little guitars for Slide to see.

“Whooeee,” declared Slide. “Them are some fine guitars! Your daddy told me you can already play a song. Feel like playin’ that song for me?”

We sat the boys on worn chrome and vinyl kitchen chairs and after wiggling around to get comfortable they shyly strummed and sang through ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’

“My, that was fine! That was some sweet music,” said Slide ingenuously. “Can you do it again, maybe sing a little louder for me?”

And the boys, relaxing under Slide’s sincere compliments (kids can sniff out a patronizing tone a mile away, and Slide’s held none of that), really tackled the next play though with gusto.

I looked to see Slide’s reaction, and what I saw were tears running down his cheeks. He wiped his crinkled face with a large hand and said, “It’s been a long, long time since I heard anything as beautiful as that.”

The boys beamed. I was stunned. What the hell just happened?

Sam was gloating on the way home. “Stop goating!” I said.

Sam chuckled and said, “Always trust the Borg, Nicky. Always trust the Borg.”

Slide agreed to meet us at the Armed Forces YMCA for lessons. That way he could give the lesson privately with one of the parents or caregivers close at hand. He’d be picked up and dropped off by a volunteer driver in a wheelchair enabled van.

When I took the boys for their first lesson a week later Slide said to me, “Just so you know, Nick, I been to AA and I ain’t had a drink in a week.” I didn’t know what to say to that, so I put my hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze and said, “Thank you.”

It was almost impossible to separate the boys from their guitars after that. They endlessly practiced the exercises Slide gave them. I expect that each boy left to his own volition might not be so enthusiastic, but together they treated guitar playing as a game and pushed each other along.

Sam came home from work day clutching a letter. His expression was grim, and he handed it to me saying, “Read this, and tell me what you think.”

I looked at the return address and asked, “Who’s S. Harmon in Oklahoma City?”

“My sister.”

“Before I read it, tell me what happened to her. What your last memories of her are. Good or bad.”

“Well, she’s three years older than me. We got along okay. She took care of me, you know. Then as soon as she finished high school she just vanished. Never heard from her again. The next year was pretty rough. My parents were drinking all the time and my dad was pretty violent. It was about a year after that that I fought back. Well, you know about that.”

“You never looked for her?’

“No, couldn’t see the point. She just disappeared. I figured she wanted to get away as badly as I did.”

“But now she’s tracked you down?”

“Uh huh.”

I read the letter. It was three pages, hand written. She’d tracked Sam down with a simple Google search which brought up his profile on his company’s website. His picture is on the profile, so there was no doubt she’d found her brother.

Their parents had recently perished when the rented trailer they were living in burned to the ground. The need to impart this news to Sam seemed to be the main reason for tracking him down, although she had been meaning to for years.

She’d left home and made her way to Oklahoma City which was about 100 miles away from their hometown. There she managed to get a job in housekeeping at a hotel, which is where she met her husband, Mike, who was doing an internship in the office. Mike encouraged her to get her degree, which she did at night while continuing to work at the hotel. Mike graduated from the University of Oklahoma in Hotel Management and was now the manager of a chain hotel near the airport. She had a degree in psychology and currently worked as a receptionist at a psychologist’s office. She was working part-time on a masters degree in clinical psychology and would take on clients at her office when she’d finished that.

She and Mike had two children. A boy 10 and a girl 7.

She wondered if Sam was married and had children. She asked if it was true that he’d been in the Navy.

Enclosed was a family photo. They were all good looking blonds with happy, smiling faces.

It was all good until she said they were active in their church where Mike was an elder, and they offered daily prayers of thanks for God’s manifold blessings. She always took time in her daily prayer to ask God’s protection of Sam.

It was signed, “Your loving sister Serena” and included her home and cell phone numbers.

I took a deep breath and sighed. “What are you going to do?”

“For now nothing. Right now I’m in shock. Dead parents. Religious sister. I need time to process all this shit.” He raked his big hands through his hair in frustration.

Which caused his shirt to stretch out over his massive pecs and biceps, which caused me to lose my train of thought about his sister’s letter.

Food would help. “Why don’t we put the munchkin in the car and head to the steakhouse for a proper dinner? I’ll drive and you can knock back a couple of Coronas while we’re there.”

“You’re on, Nicky. Let me grab a quick shower and change outa these work clothes. Do you mind wrestling that guitar away from the munchkin and getting him ready?”

Sam loosened up a bit over dinner. He said that he’d rather not have heard about his parents, but that it was at least a relief that they were gone. He told me that he and his sister had been close, and he was devastated when she took off without a word. “I just had to carry on, you know? Now here she is, after all these years...”

I could see Jorge eyeing us warily from his booster seat, concern written all over his face observing his Papa’s dour mood. I rolled my eyes towards him. Sam got the message and changed the subject.

“How long can you hold your breath underwater now?”

“Fourteen seconds now, Papa!”

They high fived that.

“How’s Kumbaya coming along?”

“Good, Papa! It’s easy. Just the same chords over and over. But the words are kinda funny, Papa. What’s a kumbaya?”

Sam and I cracked up at that. We had to admit to Jorge that we had no idea what a kumbaya was.

“How’s it going with Mr. Slide?”

“Oh, Papa! He can play the guitar so good! I think he’s sad, but when he’s teaching me and Gregory he’s not so sad.”

After Jorge was tucked into bed we continued the discussion about Sam’s sister. “It was nice to hear from her, Nicky. I don’t hold any grudges or anything. I wouldn’t mind talking to her, but that church of hers isn’t exactly gay friendly. I’m not going to take any homophobic shit from her! I’m so proud of you and Jorge I could burst. I ain’t gonna hide anything from her or anybody!”

“That’s a given, Sam. But you can give her a chance. If she can’t handle it, well, fuck her. You can go on being estranged knowing it’s her problem, not yours.”

Sam texted Serena attaching a photo of the three of us taken at Disneyland with a brief explanation about our family and telling her how happy we all are.

Two days later Serena texted back saying that she and Mike were praying for Sam. It was standard ‘love the sinner, but hate the sin’ mumbo jumbo. Bottom line was they seemed to want nothing to do with us.

Sam was livid. He was so mad he was hyperventilating. His fists were clenched and I feared for our newly renovated walls. He was deeply, deeply hurt. Not for himself, but for Jorge and me.

I was almost as angry as Sam. This sanctimonious bitch had cast a pall over our household. I just hoped the poisonous miasma would dissipate quickly.

And it did, after a few days we put the whole unfortunate incident behind us and carried on.

Joseph and Tyler were getting excited about their upcoming trip. The Mulraineys insisted that the boys take time to learn about the geography, politics and history of the areas they were going to visit. Amy Williams was teaching them a few words of Vietnamese.

Reports from both the Williams and the Mulrainey’s indicated that the boys were acting more like best friends than boyfriends, but Siobhan was sure they were kissing their brains out when nobody was looking. We all agreed there wasn’t much we could do if the boys wanted to take it to the next level. We’d given them the talk, now we had to trust them. At least they were out playing golf several times a week and not sitting indoors playing video games. The Colonel was thrilled to report that Joseph had given him some minor attitude, and he’d had to warn Joseph about being disrespectful. “Thank God the boy’s normal!” he laughed.

At the beginning of August I was in my studio, with the air conditioning running full blast, throwing pots. Jorge, Gregory and Maria were in the house. The boys were simultaneously playing the guitar and having a Spanish lesson. I hadn’t expected to be disturbed, so jumped when I heard a sharp rapping on my studio door.

There stood an unsmiling Maria with a boy in each hand. “You better come.” She turned and started marching back toward the house towing the boys brusquely.

What the hell? What could the boys have done that upset Maria like that?

I followed her to the front door which she pulled open, then she stood aside.

Standing there ramrod stiff was a woman I recognized as Sam’s sister flanked by her two children. There was no missing the shiner Serena was sporting nor the cast on the boy’s arm. My mouth opened and closed like a fish’s. I didn’t know what to say.

Serena did though.

“I’ve come to see my brother Sam.”