Goodnight, My Angel - Georgeotown Book IV - 20. GMA XX

“You know something? This is the first time I wore a coat and tie since your birthday party a year ago.” Brad Kennedy tossed his walking stick in Sparky’s back seat, belted himself in, and shut the car’s door.

“You should do it more often, Red. You look good.” CJ had approached his friend the previous week with a lunch invitation. Searching for increased funding, he had quietly lobbied on behalf of Heroes Haven and wanted Brad to meet one of the individuals he had spoken to several times. “So, let me tell you about Tammy. I told her you were like my brother. Also told her you were a good example of the type of vet we’re trying to help.”

What he did not tell the former Army Ranger was the meeting was also intended to assist the recovering vet. The time with Alex Minsky a couple of months before helped his friend’s attitude; he was in a much more positive frame of mind after. When he was fitted with new legs, he followed Minsky’s advice, working hard to regain mobility.

“Senator Duckworth—”

“We’re having lunch with a United States senator?” Brad sounded surprised.

“Umm… Yeah. Is that a problem?”

“Nah. I just thought you were staying out of politics these days. Figured we were meeting some rich person to ask for donations.”

“I am staying away. Mostly. This isn’t about politics. Heck, I didn’t even have to register as a lobbyist since I’m not getting paid. Anyway, retired U.S. Army Lieutenant Colonel Ladda Tammy Duckworth agreed to meet me when I asked your relative to introduce us.”

“Joe?”

“Yep. Representative Kennedy has become a good friend. Anyway, I approached Tammy to see if we could get her support lining up some Federal funds for Heroes Haven. The program intrigued her. She insisted on visiting the place. Afterward, she made phone calls and wrote letters to get us a little money. It’s an ongoing project, and we’re in regular contact. Okay, we’re here.”

CJ stopped in front of Forbes Grille and smiled when he saw the glint in the valet attendant’s eyes; the Tesla always attracted attention. The restaurant was a private dining club catering to business people. Years before, César bought a membership for his son as a present, and CJ made use of it on a regular basis these days.

Inside the door, long, mournful notes emanating from ceiling mounted speakers caressed CJ’s ears. A Florida grocery chain had used Pat Metheny's “Last Train Home” in holiday commercials for years. CJ was very familiar with it and thought it appropriate for the moment. Brad had escaped the battlefield, but he had a last ride before he was truly home. He needed to overcome his tragedy and focus on his future.

“Mr. Abelló, it’s wonderful to have you back with us.” The maitre’d flicked a silver lock of hair away from his forehead and shook hands with the younger man. “Senator Duckworth’s already arrived. She’s waiting for you in the dining room.”

“Thanks, Nelson. I’m not sure if you remember my friend, Brad Kennedy…” Nelson Wheatly had manned the front of the house for years; CJ suspected the sixty-something man had a photographic memory.

“Of course I do. You’re the friend who went into the Army after graduation.” He shook Brad’s hand enthusiastically.

“I am.” Brad tapped one of his legs with the walking stick. “My fighting days are over, though.”

“Well, welcome back. I guess we’ll have two honest-to-goodness American heroes with us today.”

 

“My apologies for making you wait, Senator.” CJ extended a hand toward the Thai-American official from Illinois.

“No apology necessary, CJ. You didn’t make me wait. I escaped the madness on The Hill early so I could catch a breath. I have you to thank for the respite.”

Brad stood next to his friend in silence until the woman locked eyes with him. “Brad Kennedy, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s mutual, young man. You two sit, please. You’re both tall enough I’m about to get a crick in my neck.” When the men took their seats, she spoke to Brad. “Where do you keep yours?”

The redhead appeared confused. “I’m sorry, ma’am?”

“Your Purple Heart. Where do you keep it?”

Brad hesitated for a moment. “Oh… I’m not sure where it’s at. I gave it to one of my dads and asked him to keep it safe. It doesn’t mean that much to me. Maybe if I have kids one day they’ll want to see it.”

“And why do you hesitate when you mention kids? Did you get injured somewhere that would prevent you?”

“No, not at all.” A miniature smile formed on his lips. “That part escaped injury and works well.”

“Good. In case CJ here didn’t tell you, I’ve given birth twice since I lost my legs. I want you to remember not having them doesn’t prevent you from doing almost anything you want.”

“Why did you ask about my medals?”

“A little unofficial research. I’ve discovered most recipients feel as you do. Politicians make a big deal out of awards and recognitions. They fail to understand what most of us want are opportunities. To live and be productive.”

“CJ mentioned you were injured in a helicopter accident—”

“Baloney! It wasn’t an accident! Those suckers were trying to kill me.” The woman’s vehemence startled CJ. “If it had been Vietnam or any other American war, you and I would be dead today. But we’re not thanks to improved field medicine. With so many of us returning injured, I intend to rattle as many cages as I can until all who serve are taken care of. It’s why I’m interested in the organization CJ represents. Have you been there?”

“No, not yet. CJ and Ozzie promised to take me for a day trip next month.”

CJ felt a need to explain. “Ozzie’s my husband, Owen, Senator. It’s a nickname.”

“I still have to meet him. I heard good things about him from a couple of mutual friends.”

“Then I’ll have to bring him by your office sometime soon.” CJ had a devilish smile on his face. “Or we can have lunch again if you want to escape the crazies one more time.”

Senator Duckworth’s laugh was rich. “I may just take you up on that. So, Brad, how long have you had your new legs?”

“Less than two months. I’m still getting used to them. That’s the reason for the stick. To help with my balance.”

“Give it time, soldier. It’ll get easier to maneuver around. Let me tell you something. I have a great pair of legs I hate. They’re painted to match my skin tone and one of the toes is a little longer just like my real one used to be. I look at myself in the mirror when I wear them, and all I see is loss.” She pointed at her steel and titanium prosthesis. “But when I see these, I see strength. Same thing with my wheelchair. People always want me to hide it in pictures. I say no! I earned the damn thing. It’s no different from a medal I would wear on my chest. Why would I hide it?”

Conversation lagged while the server recited the day’s specials and took their order. Brad asked for a beer, but when the senator requested iced tea, CJ followed suit.

“Has the Veterans Administration been doing right by you, Brad?” Duckworth toyed with a breadstick from the basket on the table.

“I guess… I’ve probably had it easier than others. One of my dad’s best friends’ a doctor. He and his two partners have become part of the team treating me. I know they’ve spoken to the VA docs at Walter Reed.” Brad smirked, stabbing CJ’s arm with a finger. “And this guy keeps an eye on me. I know he’s made phone calls to unjam things a couple of times. He also had a friend of his—a marine who lost a leg—fly in from California to talk to me.” Brad momentarily hesitated. “And I suspect that’s why I’m here today. He figured you could also help me.”

The woman neither confirmed nor denied his suspicion. “You’re lucky. The kind of support system you enjoy isn’t what most injured vets have. Too often, we abandon them. We use them up and discard them. One of us commits suicide every hour, and that’s one too many. We’re failing them, and it’s the reason I’m trying to help fund Heroes Haven. So they can expand their programs and hopefully save some lives.”

The food’s arrival interrupted their conversation. When resumed while eating, it revolved around the senator’s infant daughters, Brad’s brother and mother in Boston, and CJ’s impending graduation from college. Duckworth declined dessert and settled for a cup of coffee when Brad ordered a slice of pie.

“What are your plans for the future, Brad?”

“I…” He hesitated while drumming the tabletop with his fingertips. “I have no idea, Senator. I don’t have any training except for killing people. CJ asked me the same thing a year ago. At the time, I was considering following in my dad’s footsteps. Becoming a cop. But now…”

“Now what?”

“Well, now that’s out of the question. Not much use for a cop without legs.”

“Bullcrap!” She reached for her phone and tapped at it. “What’s your phone number? I’m texting you a name I want you to google later. Matias Ferreira is a U.S. Marines veteran who lost both legs. He was sworn in as a police officer in New York six years after he stepped on an IED in Afghanistan.

“Don’t give up on your dreams, Brad. The moment you want to quit is the moment when you need to keep pushing. It’s going to be difficult. It’s going to be painful. It’s never going to get easier. You just get stronger. Your future’s created by what you do today. Don’t allow fears or naysayers tell you you can’t achieve what you set out to accomplish.”

 

“You look good mixing drinks behind the bar, mate.”

“SPENCER!” Tank nearly dropped the cocktail shaker in his hand when Spencer Liston stood before him. “What the heck? What are you doing here? I’m going to kill your brother for not telling me you were coming in. How long are you in town for? I have to work a lot over the—”

The shock was such he apparently failed to notice CJ, Owen, and a pretty, young blonde standing behind the man. The loud laughter stopped him midsentence. “The two of you are so dead. Y’all, sit.” The commanding tone brokered no argument. “Let me finish this and I’ll be back.” While serving as groomsmen for CJ and Owen, the bartender and the younger Liston sibling befriended each other—both were gym bunnies and avid weightlifters.

He poured the contents of whatever concoction he was working on into glasses, garnished them, and delivered them to the waiting server at the end of the bar. A chuckling CJ pulled out one of the stools and offered it to the girl next to him. “Did you see his face? I think we surprised him.”

“I thought he was about to launch into a Harleyesque monologue.” Owen directed his brother to the seat next to the girl and sat on the other side of Spencer. “What with them living together, I was worried it was rubbing off on our Ragin’ Cajun.”

On Friday night before Christmas, Rum & Cola—the bar attached to Abuela’s Restaurant—was packed with young professionals. Some were well inebriated, no doubt having stopped by the popular watering hole after work and still languishing around. Others resembled the new arrivals, stopping for a drink while waiting for a table. All appeared in good spirits; the atmosphere brimmed with holiday cheer. Wanting to surprise Tank, CJ did not bother with reservations. One of the benefits of being part owner of the place was his ability to be seated even when it was crowded.

“Okay, now that I can think straight—”

“HA!”

Tank threw the white towel he had been wiping the bar’s surface with at CJ. “Y’all better watch it, bro. You’re next in line after I beat the crap out of your husband. Now, what’s going on?” He smiled at the girl sitting with the guys. “Hi. I guess you’re with these guys?”

“Nothing going on, mate. I missed my brother. So I flew over to spend the holidays with him.” Spencer reached for the woman’s hand. “And Tilda’s never been to America. Tank, this is my girlfriend, Tilda Lindsay. Tilda, my lookalike behind the bar is Tanix Janda. I’m sure you already figured out he goes by Tank.”

“G’day, Tank. It’s great to meetcha, mate.”

“Same here. How come Spencer hasn’t mentioned you in any e-mails? How long has this been going on?”

The girl threw her head back. Her teeth brightened the tanned face, and her laughter lit up the room. “Ah, yeah. He told me you were the guy in the wedding party he became closest to. He wanted to surprise you. We’ve known each other since we were kids. I’m also from the Hunter Valley. What are you making?”

Tank reached for a bottle of blue liqueur and poured a generous amount into a steel cocktail shaker. “Captain on Acid. Since you guys didn’t tell me what you wanted to drink…”

“Sounds scary. What’s in it?”

“Captain Morgan rum, coconut rum, pineapple juice, blue curacao, and a bit of grenadine. It’s a beachy drink for it being so cold outside, but it’ll warm you up. So, you’ve known Spencer since you were kids?”

“Yeah… When he came back from Sydney with his fancy Bachelor of Viticulture and Winemaking”—the air quotes made Tank’s grin grow—“we bumped into each other in town. After his trip here for the wedding, he called me, we went out, and we’ve been dating since.”

“So how long are you guys in town for? And what are your plans?”

“From what I hear, we’re eating a lot. CJ’s birthday dinner, Christmas Eve, and Christmas. At least you guys don’t celebrate Boxing Day or it would be one more.”

Spencer butted in. “We’re going to New York for New Year’s Eve. We’re in DC until the twenty-eighth. You should come up with us. I hear their place up there’s big enough.”

“I can’t. Gotta work that night.” Tank winked at Tilda. “Then I have a date with a hot college wrestler.”

 

CJ and Owen left their guests sleeping when they went to the gym the following morning. Jetlag caught up with the Australians, and they asked to sleep in. Breakfast was late; it was near noon when they bundled up against the cold and clambered into Sparky.

“So, you bought this house two years ago?” Tilda tucked a loose strand of golden hair under the knit Georgetown cap CJ had lent her.

“To the day!” Owen was excited to show off the place he and CJ would soon be calling home. They drove Spencer by it when he was in town for the wedding but were unable to show him the inside. “Days later, the people we leased it to took over. They vacated early. That’s why we get to go in.”

CJ felt giddy when he slipped the car into a spot in front. “We could park in the back, but we want you guys to experience going in through the front door.” The long, narrow house was empty and clean. The German company that leased it for the previous two years hired professionals to scrub the interior.

“Mate, your masonry needs work.” Spencer ran a hand over the white-painted brick next to the entrance.

“Too bad my brother isn’t here. He’s a brickie.” Inside, Tilda removed her overcoat and tossed it over the staircase’s handrail. “This is lovely. It’s in good shape.”

“Yeah, well, we’re about to gut the interior.” Owen shivered as he had when he and CJ had discussed how much work there would be. “We have lead paint, and that means removing lots of plaster. CJ wants an automatic house. That means we need to run all new electrical and wiring for certain things. Quite a few walls will come down and get rebuilt.”

“I’m glad we came by here and turned up the temperature before you guys arrived.” The furnace would be replaced with a more efficient gas-powered one to serve as a backup for solar power. “Let’s start upstairs. We’ll work our way down to the basement. That’s the only space for which we have decent architectural drawings.”

“You guys said the top three floors are the same, right?” Spencer trailed his brother and girlfriend with CJ at his side.

“Yeah. A seating area in front, a bedroom, a bathroom, another bedroom, and the storage space running along the back. The two middle floors we’ll rehab, but we’re not moving walls.”

“You’ll see the house CJ grew up in later, Tilda. We’re doing the same thing the dads did. The entire top floor will be a master suite. The seating area will become part of the front bedroom. The bathroom and closet will grow, and the back bedroom will become first a nursery and then an office slash study.”

“You and Spencer will have to come visit us again. We haven’t picked out colors, or furniture, or fixtures yet. But we’ll make sure all the bedrooms have comfortable beds.” CJ winked at his brother-in-law and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Wanker!”

Back on the first floor, CJ talked about placing a giant Christmas tree in front of the bay window facing the street. He cut the description of their plans for the main living areas short; he could tell Owen was itching to give his brother a detailed briefing on their plans for the basement. “Oz, why don’t you take them downstairs? I’ll join you in a minute. I’m gonna get that box out of the car’s back.”

“We still haven’t decided about the walls.” Owen was in the middle of his description when CJ returned. “CJ’s cousins suggested a brick veneer, but we’re not sure we want the fake stuff. They’re going to price using real brick.”

“Even behind the wine storage bins?” Spencer looked doubtful.

“Nope. Since it’ll run the entire length of the house, those outer walls are gonna be covered in spray insulation and drywall panels. The brick would be on the wall separating this section from the hallway we’re creating and all the equipment on the other side.”

CJ leaned the box he had fetched against the staircase and joined the others. “Since the house’s brick on the outside, and we’re covering three existing walls, we thought it would be cool to kinda recreate the feel with the new one we put up. We’ll use it to hang some art, and Ozzie wants part of it as a living wall. But I’m pushing to do that in the master bathroom. It’d be cool behind the soaking tub.”

“So all the bins will have glass doors?” Tilda flipped between a couple of pictures in Owen’s phone. “Is this a sink? Are you having a full bar down here?”

“Nope. Just wine and beer. And cigars. The doors Ozzie asked for so we could have different temperature zones. The sink’s there to rinse out glasses and stuff.”

“If you swipe through the rest of the pics, you’ll see the hammered copper bar sink they want to use. We won’t hang out here a lot. But on days like today, when there’s only four of us, we could sit here and share a bottle. Keep flipping. The blue leather chair and the cork storage barrel table you already saw in our apartment. The next picture should be the cowhide Barcelona chair and ottoman. Then there’s a few choices for two more chairs. We haven’t decided what we’re going to use yet.”

“Is this pink stone?” Tilda turned the phone around to show the referenced image.

“Yeah, my cousins are a pain the butt. They claim since this is gonna be a gay household, they had to throw a little pink in. That’s a slab sliced off an amethyst geode and polished. It’ll be the new top for the cork storage table. Oh, and although Ozzie claims we haven’t chosen the other chairs, my vote’s for the Frank Lloyd Wright barrel ones.”

“I’ll probably let CJ pick those. After all, he’s given me free rein otherwise. We’re using cork on the floor. I think it’s fitting, and cork’s an environmentally friendly material. It’s soft, would prevent a bottle from breaking if dropped, and it can be refinished like hardwood.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything, mate.” Spencer stared at the drawing on the tablet Owen had given him. “I don’t see a bathroom in here. What with all the drinking…”

“There’ll be one outside this room. Since this space will be locked, we want anyone using the laundry stuff to have access to the restroom. We’ll have a half-bath with a toilet, a urinal, and a sink.”

“A urinal?” Tilda sounded surprised.

“Yeah! Wait until you see my dads’ house. One of them insisted on putting one in their basement when they remodeled. Over there it works great since that’s where we watch sports, and men make up most of the guests.”

“What’d you go get from the car, mate?” The two couples had returned to the main floor.

CJ’s lopsided grin got an almost-giggle from Owen. “What is it with younger brothers? Spencer’s as nosy as Ritchie.”

“Watch it, you little bugger. I happen to be older than you.”

“Fuck off, Spence. Anyway, not sure if you saw the brass address plaque by the front door. Ozzie and I ordered a new one and it arrived a couple days ago.”

“Can we see it, please?” Tilda’s politeness was a welcome respite from most of their friends.

“Sure. Ozzie and I’ve been thinking about what we wanted on the new one for a while. We settled on it a few weeks ago after we met with my cousins.” CJ reached for the flat parcel, slit it open with a key, and removed the bubble wrap around it. “You guys are the first ones to see it.”

EVERHOPE
131 11th Street S.E.
Capitol Hill Historic District
National Register of Historic Places
1896

“What’s Everhope?”

“That’s the name of our house!”

 

CJ and Ozzie wanted Tilda to meet some of their friends, so they invited Harley and his girlfriend, Kim to join them at Guapo’s Restaurant for dinner. Located in the Tenleytown neighborhood near the American University campus, the Mexican eatery was a favorite spot, and it didn’t disappoint that evening.

“So, how did you come up with the name?” Kim Hoang attended the University of Maryland and was home for Christmas break. “Everhope’s very unusual. Although it has a lyrical sound to it.”

“CJ likes to name inanimate objects. I knew the house would end up with one. Since we own it together, I told him we had to name it together. He’s said from the beginning this would be our forever home—”

“You mean the two of you want to stay in Washington permanently?”

“I do, and it’s something I discussed with Ozzie before we got married. As much as he loves Australia, and as much as I love Florida, neither one of us wants to return to those places. The State Department may post me anywhere, but this will always be home base. It’s why we’re spending so much on the remodeling.”

Owen dipped a churro in chocolate sauce and closed his eyes while humming with content. “Anyway, Kim. We hope to raise our kids in DC. We hope our place’s always full of friends like you and Harley. We hope my Aussie family comes visit often.” Spencer fisted his chest in macho approval at that comment. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Next time you come, that’s where you’ll stay.”

“How about one more round of hot chocolate, guys?” CJ motioned for the waiter when everyone nodded. The tequila and chili powder laced beverage was ideal before they braved the cold once more. “Between our hopes for the place and hoping it will be where we live for many years, Everhope sort of came about.”

 

Sunday morning, CJ made sherry poached eggs and served them in crispy-prosciutto cups. Owen defrosted, sliced, and toasted one of the sourdough loaves he had shipped from San Francisco on a regular basis.

Bundled up against the cold, they set out on a sightseeing tour. The route and stops honed over the years were always popular with visitors. They started across the Potomac at the Iwo Jima Memorial. The Marine Corps Memorial was the one place in Virginia they parked Sparky and walked the grounds, even though they drove up to the main entrance of Arlington Memorial Cemetery and the Pentagon afterward.

Returning to DC, they found a spot in the same lot near the Jefferson Memorial CJ had used before. “Mate, this looks so different from the other two times I’ve been here.” Spencer had visited the monument by the Tidal Basin during his gap year travels and again when in DC for the wedding. “Both times were in summer. This is the first time I’ve seen the grounds covered in snow.”

By the time they were done with the presidential and war memorials, they were cold and hungry. They ducked into the Smithsonian’s Castle Café for sandwiches and coffee.

“Which one’s your favorite one, Ozzie?” Tilda circled a finger over a map of the Smithsonian. She perused the brochure while nibbling on her sandwich.

“The natural history one.”

The woman ran a fingernail along the drawing searching for it. “The National Museum of Natural History? Why?”

“Don’t laugh.” Owen looked embarrassed. “The dinosaurs. Yeah, yeah, I know that’s what a ten-year-old would say. But with me, it’s the fact that such incredible creatures disappeared. It was natural causes, but it drives me. I want to help protect the species we have today. It’s been a guiding force. I also like their Ocean Hall and the geology one. I mean, I wouldn’t mind one or two of those little gemstones.”

“Mate, that’s so gay. Jewelry?” Spencer had trouble talking and laughing at the same time. “But props for the first part. We’re all proud you’re making the world a better place.”

“What about you, CJ?”

“The National Museum of American History. The artifacts fascinate me. They’re like little windows into our past. Like with the red shoes from The Wizard of Oz, to me they mean nothing. But you stand near them long enough, you’ll hear an older person talk about seeing the movie when it first came out.” CJ raised a hand to stop anyone from interrupting while he sipped from his cup. “But to be honest, the one Ozzie and I’ve been to the most is the Air and Space Museum. My little brother drags us there whenever he can.”

“You’ll like Ritchie, babe.” Spencer’s head bobbed. “Solid kid, not as stuffy as my brothers here”—asshole was uttered simultaneously by CJ and Owen—“he’s already a pilot, and he wants to fly jets. Damn does he ever. I heard those words so often…”

“Well, okay then. Those are the three I wanna see. We can do one now if there’s time. If not, we have a couple of days.”

 

In the evening, Tilda at last met CJ’s fathers and brother. “So, you have Chinese food the same day every week?”

“Ever since Ritchie moved in.” Brett used a chopstick to push the last few bites around his plate. “We always liked eating together as a family.”

“It used to be a nightly event. Then, CJ and Ritchie had other interests and obligations, so it didn’t happen as often. We try to preserve the tradition on Sunday nights.” César sounded nostalgic.

“Mate, the dads are gonna be a basket case when Ritchie goes away to college next year.” Owen’s comment made Spencer look askance at him.

“The dads?”

“That’s what everybody calls them, Spence.” Ritchie pointed at the wine in the middle of the table. “Can I have some more?”

“I don’t know. Can you?” César’s words made CJ roll his eyes.

“Stop being an ass, Dad.” He reached for the bottle and passed it to Ritchie. Tilda and Spencer had carried half-a-dozen bottles of Tasmanian Kreglinger Estates Sparkling Rosé with them as a present. Since they would be unable to drink them New Year’s Eve, CJ and Owen decided to share them with the rest of the family. “No need to correct his lousy grammar all the time.”

“Hey! I use proper grammar.”

“Then you should have said may I have some more. Don’t worry, Air Force pilots don’t have to be smart.” CJ wiggled his eyebrows. “They only need to look studly.”

“Asshole!”