Cadet - 9. Cadet Third Class • IV

“Goddamm!” Brett ran a hand over the Cayenne’s slick, chalk-colored roof and turned to stare at César. “You knew about this, didn’t you? And you didn’t tell me?” Brett shook his head and opened the back to toss in his luggage. “I think I have a woodie.”

Ritch chuckled and César groaned. “I saw the charge, knew it was a Porsche, but had no idea what model he’d gotten. I mean, all we told him was it couldn’t be a two-seater, and it had to have all-wheel drive.” Ritch would later find out American Express had called César, and he had arranged a bank transfer to handle the limit on the amount charged. “The kid’s got reward points up the wazoo!”

Although the Academy had released cadets the previous day, Ritch remained in the dorm until Saturday morning to accept delivery. The ban on having a vehicle on campus still applied to him. Sixty minutes after the dealership dropped it off, he grinned like a fool while greeting his fathers at Denver’s airport. The three of them would be the first of a large family group to arrive.

“Any problems at the dealership?” Over the phone, César had given Ritch a quick tutorial on buying a car, and encouraged him to call if he had questions. The cadet never did.

“Nah… They looked at me funny at first. They prolly didn’t think I could afford the 911 I checked out when I walked in.” A quick glance sideways confirmed Ritch’s assumption: César rolled his eyes at the mention of the sports car. “Then, fucking Edrice made a comment about me trying to decide whether to buy a Porsche or a Cessna, and the salesman was about ready to blow me. They balked when I told them to put the entire amount on the card but surrendered after calling Amex when I told them I’d buy a car elsewhere if they didn’t.”

“It’s fun to play hardball, ain’t it? Did he?” Brett’s grin was clearly visible in the rearview mirror.

Ritch was confused. “What?”

“Did the salesman blow you?”

“Shut up, Papa. Anyway, Dad, Ed later admitted he made the comment on purpose. To let the man know I could afford anything I wanted in the showroom.”

“Speaking of Edrice, has he replaced the damaged stuff?” The cadets’ helmets, boots, and boards had been ruined when Defiance was destroyed. “Have you? I need receipts for the insurance claim.”

“No and no. Ed said he would wait until he returned from Christmas break. I’ll go with him, put it on my credit card, and you’ll have the records.”

“What about you?”

“Tomorrow? If you’re going back to Denver, I figured Papa could take me shopping while you run the limo service.”

With relatives flying in from different locations, the schedule had been tricky to coordinate. César’s parents, Sebastián and Rosario Abelló, and Ritch’s grandmother, Olga Santos, were arriving from Miami the next day. Although others would take the scheduled shuttle from the airport to Vail, César wanted to collect the older family members in person.

Brett undid his seatbelt and leaned forward. “I’m in. But if César gets to drive tomorrow, I want a chance today. Pull over.”

“Fuck no! I own Heinrich, and I just got him this morning. First drive’s mine.”

In the subsequent silence, Ritch could feel his parents staring at him. César recovered first. “Heinrich?”

Brett was a tad more effusive in his commentary. “What the fuck, dude? You already named it? You’re worse than CJ!”

Ritch actually giggled. “I had the name before I walked into the dealership. A couple of people in German class call me Heinrich as a joke. They all know I was born there. Since this is a German car…”

“Fine, whatever, makes perfect sense. Pull over. You already got to drive from school to the airport.”

“No!”

“I said pull over. That’s an order, cadet.”

“And I said no.”

“Okay. You do realize the Vail house’s mine, right? You’re no longer allowed to stay in it. You need to get a hotel room for the vacation.”

“Children…” It was not the first time César addressed his husband and one of his sons that way. “May I remind you that the house’s also mine, Jarhead? And Ritch, Heinrich may technically be in your name, but you know it’s meant to be a family car in the long run.”

“Yeah! And you get to take it to the Academy this summer and drive it all the time for the next two years. I should get a chance.” Brett sounded like a petulant child.

Ritch lost it; he could not stop laughing. “Fine, you big baby. I’ll take the next exit. You can drive after we stop for something to drink.”

Brett leaned back into the plush leather seat. The smug grin suggested he was satisfied with his victory. “How many horses?”

“Five forty-one.” Ritch had memorized most of the vehicle’s statistics.

“Fuuuck! I can’t wait to get behind the wheel.” Brett sounded like an excited schoolboy.

Ritch was in the back seat when they resumed their trip. “How was California?”

“It was a nice change to have warm weather.” César turned slightly to look at Ritch. “Reminded me of when we used to spend Thanksgiving in Miami.” The fathers had spent the holiday weekend in Malibu. “Between California, Mexico, and now Colorado, we’ve barely been in D.C. It’ll be good to spend January back home.”

“Is it finished?” The fathers had taken their time having the beachfront property furnished after taking possession of it earlier in the year.

“Yep. For now.” Brett had grown up in the house and had insisted on being actively involved in the decorating process. “You planning on going out there for spring break?”

“Ummm… Not sure, Papa. Will and I haven’t decided yet. We’ll talk about it when he gets here.” Ritch’s roommate had accepted the invitation to spend the second week of winter break skiing. “Speaking of La Casita”—the moniker used by Brett’s mother had been revived—“I did something at Falcons Lair you may want to do out there too.”

“Falcons Lair?” The fathers’ question was simultaneous.

Ritch chuckled. “Hey! I was in a naming mood, so the house got one too. It was actually somebody else’s idea. A guy in the Ski Club came up with it when we announced the trip up here.”

“Not sure I like that close association with the Academy. We may have to put it to a vote once CJ and Ozzie get in.” Brett stepped on the gas to pass a slow moving pickup truck. “Oh yeah! This fucker moves!”

“Don’t get pulled over, Jarhead.” Although César was known to at times ignore the posted speed while on his Harley, he was the most sedate driver in the family.

“Slow down! There’s a break-in period!” Ritch knew he sounded like a parent worried about a child. “No tickets, either. No need to baptize Heinrich. Yet. And about putting Falcons Lair to a vote? That may be difficult. The house wouldn’t recognize any other name.”

“What the hell you talking about, boy?”

“Boy? Fuck you, Cap! Anyway, although this place’s not wired like CJ’s house, the Echo Dots now answer to Falcons Lair instead of Alexa. Fadi sent me the software, and I installed it when I was here last month. That fucker’s gonna make a fortune. Did you know both Google and Amazon have licensed it?” Fadi Singh had gone to prep school with Ritch and was a student at Carnegie Mellon University. The previous Christmas, Ritch had hooked him up with an attorney who helped secure trademark protection and helped negotiate the deals with the tech giants. The software allowed users to change the Alexa and Hey, Google commands to anything they wanted.

The next morning, César dropped Brett and Ritch off in town on his way to Denver. When he returned with the grandparents, his husband and son were on the couch, beers in hand, watching football.

“Piloto! Nice car.” Sebastián Abelló had nicknamed Ritch pilot soon after the teen earned his license, and that was what he had called him since.

Ritch placed his beer on the side table and jumped to greet the new arrivals. “Thanks, Abuelo.” He hugged the man and repeated the greeting with Rosario. “Hola, Abuela.” He saved his most effusive embrace for Olga. “I miss you all the time, Aba.” Ritch helped carry the older family members’ luggage upstairs and spent the rest of the afternoon catching them up on what he had been doing since last seeing them.

Later in the week, when the Chicago branch of the Abellós arrived in Colorado, they used the shuttle service between Denver International and Vail. On the twenty-third, Ritch volunteered to make the four-hour round trip to pick up his brother.

“Here, you hold her.” Ignoring Ritch’s attempt to hug him, CJ thrust his daughter into his brother’s arms. “Uncle Ritch will entertain you while we get our luggage, Liebe.”

Ritch chuckled as he hugged and kissed his niece. “Not that I’m complaining about carrying her around the airport, but nice to see you too, CJ. Happy birthday.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Thanks for picking us up, Ritch.” Owen made up for his husband’s shortness. “Forgive your brother. He’s been irritable the last couple of days.”

“You’d be cranky too, if you had to work for Steven Ass Hole Northman like I do.”

“Who’s that?” Ritch had not heard the name mentioned in emails or conversations.

“His supervisor.” Owen winked at Ritch. “That’s not his real middle name. His middle initials are A H, and CJ turned them into A Hole.”

Ritch figured they had a two-hour drive ahead of them, and they could chat on the way to Vail. It was one of the reasons he had insisted on making the trip. “How the hell did you guys get through customs and immigration so fast? Hell, I thought I’d have to wait a while after the plane landed.”

“Diplomatic passports.” Owen retrieved a black booklet from his coat’s inside pocket and waved it in front of his brother-in-law. In contrast, most U.S. citizens carried one with a dark blue cover. “And a cute toddler. How come you’re here? We figured one of the dads would pick us up since you’d be sliding down a mountain.”

“Nah… Been doing that all week, and I’ll do it again after Christmas.” Ritch adjusted Liebe on his hip and stood next to the child carrier Owen placed on the floor. “Plus, I wanted to talk to you guys first.”

“What up, bro?”

Ritch looked at the ground for a moment and decided the best approach was to air the bad news without preface or embellishment. “Defiant was totaled.”

“WHAT?” CJ’s shout attracted milling passengers’ attention.

Owen appeared concerned. “Were you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m fine. It was empty when the semi hit it.”

“Wait. A semi?” CJ grabbed a bag from the carousel and placed it next to Ritch. “You sound awfully calm. When did this happen?”

“Over Thanksgiving.” Ritch anticipated what his brother’s next question would be based on the frown. “The dads didn’t tell you when they were in Mexico City, ’cause I asked them not to. I wanted it to come from me. In person.” Ritch had figured out his brother’s reaction might be milder if Liebe was present when he found out.

“Totaled, totaled?”

“Yeah, it was a mangled, metal mess, when I last saw it. I have pictures.”

“Nice alliteration.” Leave it to CJ to comment on language while discussing a car wreck. “Did you replace it or are you in a rental?”

“The dads told me to get something new.” Ritch grinned. “It’s in the parking garage.”

“Let’s get out of here.” Owen seemed impatient. “And let’s go see what you bought.”

Liebe wiggled in Ritch’s grasp, trying to slide down his side. “Papi, quiero caminar.”

Liebe had uttered her first words before she was a year old. The last time Ritch had been around her during summer break, she was on her way to becoming a chatterbox. He suspected his niece had inherited her father’s gift of gab. As he loosened his grip on the girl, she placed both feet on the ground and held up a hand.

Ritch squatted to be closer to eye level with the little blonde. “I can’t believe she wants to walk and said so in Spanish!” He switched languages on the spot. “¿Quien es Papi, Liebe?”

She pointed at CJ.

Ritch nodded in Owen’s direction. “¿Y quien es ese?”

“Ozzie.”

Shaking his head, Ritch stood and reached for his niece’s hand. “She calls CJ Papi and Ozzie by his name?”

“I’m also Daddy, and your brother’s Ceej sometimes.” Owen dropped the diaper bag draped over his shoulder atop the luggage cart and held a hand out for his daughter. “She goes back and forth between languages and names. Since she spends all day with the nanny, we try to use English so she grows up with both.”

Outside, a few feet away from Heinrich, Ritch clicked the fob in his hand. The car’s lights and chirp must have surprised CJ; he came to a sudden halt. “A Porsche?”

Owen and Ritch chuckled at his reaction. “Meet Heinrich, guys.”

“Oh, crap. You named it?” Owen, carrying the child seat, opened the door. “The older you get, the more you act like your brother.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been on a naming spree lately. The dads at first balked when I named the house Falcons Lair, but they finally gave in.”

CJ ignored the loaded luggage cart and walked around the Porsche. “We’ll discuss the house name later. Tell me about Heinrich.” He gave his husband a wink and Ritch a smirk. “And I’m driving.”

That evening, the grandmothers collaborated on a twenty-fourth birthday dinner for CJ. César had ordered individual cheesecakes for dessert, and CJ was handed two of them in separate plates. One had a candle shaped as a two, the other one a four. Liebe ate most of one.

On Christmas Eve, the large family troupe rode first a gondola then a Snow Cat to the Game Creek Club; they took over a large portion of the establishment. Since the restaurant was perched on the side of a mountain, the tractor was one way of reaching the lavishly appointed structure; skis, boards, and snowshoes were the alternatives.

Most of the family decided to avoid the slopes over the weekend, trying to dodge the large holiday crowds. Instead, they spent time indoors, or took walks through the village. Liebe was old enough to ride a miniature sled Ritch bought her as a present. Her squeals of delight charmed even strangers watching over their own children sliding down the miniature hill. After tumbling off a couple of times, Liebe apparently enjoyed being covered in snow and would jump off before reaching the bottom.

In some ways, Christmas Day resembled prior celebrations in Washington. The caterer that provided dessert for CJ’s birthday dinner supplied sufficient food to feed the family with enough left over to satisfy just as many people again. The gathering became raucous when the game between the Miami HEAT and the Los Angeles Lakers came on. Every other contest that day was enjoyed by everyone watching as sports fans; the HEAT-Lakers match brought out partisan rivalries.

“LeBron and AD are gonna murder you guys.” Brett had been high on his Lakers since they defeated the HEAT in the 2020 NBA Finals. Every game since, trash talking texts flew between the man and his two sons whenever the teams played each other.

“Fat chance!” Ritch had snatched Liebe away from the grandparents, who monopolized most of the girl’s time. He happily bounced her on his knee.

“Forget it, Papa. Bam and Jimmy are way better than those two losers. Hell, LeBron’s just a mercenary. He has no loyalty.” CJ stood, shaking his empty bottle. “Anyone want a beer?”

LeBron James, the world’s best player, had won titles while playing for Miami and Cleveland, before his latest with the Los Angeles team. He and Anthony Davis were considered one of the top duos in the NBA. The HEAT’s Bam Adebayo and Jimmy Butler were lauded as another one of the league’s premier pairs.

“Are the Nuggets playing home in Denver this week? We should go to a game.” Owen’s suggestion changed the topic from arguing about a televised event to planning for a live one.

“I told CJ I’ve been on a naming spree.” Liebe was down for her morning nap. The grandparents and the Chicago crowd had gone shopping or skiing, and Owen, CJ, Ritch, and the fathers sat outside on the deck beneath a gas tower heater. “But the next one’s gonna need you guys to agree.”

“We didn’t get to approve of Heinrich or Falcons Lair, but you want us to say yes to another one?”

“Shut up, Jarhead. I kinda like Falcons Lair. It’s growing on me. Let’s hear what he has in mind.” César had instigated the gathering as the family foundation’s annual board of directors meeting and a chance to discuss certain financial matters. “What’s your thinking, bud?”

“Well…” Ritch tried to recall the speech he had rehearsed the previous night. “I read all the stuff Rachel emailed me after last year’s meeting.” Rachel Stout, the foundation’s attorney, had shared minutes of prior meetings after his election to the board the previous December. “You guys”—he pointed at the fathers—“changed the name to the CBC Foundation when CJ joined, but you didn’t add an O or and R when Ozzie and I came aboard. Tots unfair.”

“Suck it up, valley girl.”

“Fuck you kindly, CJ. Anyway, we can’t keep adding initials, even though an L won’t be needed for a long time. Considering how Cap reconnected with the memory of his parents earlier this year, I think we should go back to Davenport Family Foundation.”

Owen was the first one to react, nodding vigorously. “I vote yes. Including my initial’s not a big deal. I really never thought of it, but I like Ritch’s idea. After all, Brett’s a Davenport, and we’re all family.”

César grinned and nodded. “All in favor?”

The five men all raised a hand.

“Approved unanimously. Rachel, whenever this is transcribed, make sure it’s clear Ritch moved the proposal, and Owen seconded it.” Using his phone, their conversation was being recorded for inclusion in the minutes. “And tell them to scrub the foul language, please.”

After a review of the year’s income and donations, César steered the conversation towards the homes in California, Colorado, and New York. “I’ve been doing a little tax planning, and Brett and I decided to make some ownership changes. We’re creating real estate trusts to hold each of our places and giving Ritch and CJ a one-third stake in them.” Shrugs and nods greeted his announcement.

“Okay, Last one. Let’s talk about Third Line Development’s ownership structure.”

When Liebe woke up, the men had already completed their discussion and returned inside. Ritch was tasked with changing his niece’s soiled diaper and, as usual, loudly complained about the smell. “My farts don’t smell this bad!”

CJ dismissed the complaint with a hand wave. “Whatever, flyboy. Think of this as another training session. For when we give you more nieces or nephews, or you have your own.”

Monday morning, as soon as the Chicagoans left for Denver’s airport, Ritch tackled cleaning the room his uncle, Rico, and his aunt, Lynne had occupied. Melissa Griffon would take it over when she arrived later in the day.

He was nervous about his long-lost relative meeting the rest of the family in person. Over the prior year, since discovering her existence on Thanksgiving weekend, Ritch had remained in contact. She had seen pictures of everyone and briefly chatted with some when Ritch called her while in D.C.

Once done, he attacked the bunkroom. Full during the preceding week, he and Will would be the only occupants the coming one. He stripped the beds, threw the sheets in the washer, and moved on to clean the common bathroom on the second floor.

Content with his efforts, he unnecessarily dusted the T-Rex tooth Melissa had given him as a gift. Ritch had it mounted for display and gave it to his fathers as a present. It now resided on a shelf in the living room. He thought of how he had re-gifted the fossil and hoped she would not mind.

“I’ll get it!” Ritch flew from the armchair he was reading in, and jogged to the front door. A blast of frigid air hit him as soon as he opened it; the weather forecast had predicted a temperature drop, strong winds, and snow by nightfall. “Damn, it’s cold.” Ritch had not been outside that day yet. “Did you have a good drive?” Melissa and Will had texted him when they left Wyoming some six hours earlier. “Where’s your luggage?” The visitors each carried a bottle of bourbon, but he did not see any bags.

“RITCHIE! Let them the fuck in and close the damn door. Are you trying to heat the outside or freeze us?” Sporting a wide smile, Brett approached the new arrivals. “Will! Dude! You’re looking well, you little shit.” Fist bumping the young man, Brett turned his attention to the woman standing next to the cadet; she seemed hesitant to say anything. Brett turned on the charm. “Welcome to Falcons Lair, Melissa. So very nice to meet you. I’m Brett Davenport, one of your nephew’s dads.”

She exhaled and seemed to relax. “You’re the Marine. Even if I didn’t know it before, barking orders the way you just did would have clued me in. How the fuck are ya, Cap?”

Ritch, along with everyone else, lost it. The laughter was hearty. CJ left his seat to join the group at the entrance. “Oh, I like her already. I haven’t seen anyone shock Papa like that in a long time. Ritch was right: you’ll fit right in with this bunch. I’m CJ, in case you forgot what I look like.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” She hugged CJ and winked at Ritch over his brother’s shoulder. “I know who you are, but who I really want to meet is your daughter.”

“Uhhh, burn, bro. Nobody cares who you are these days.”

“Asshole!”

Liebe had been sitting on Owen’s lap, but he placed her on the floor, and she ran-stumbled towards the group at the front door. “Papi, you used grownup word.”

Before CJ could reply, Melissa snatched the girl up. “You’re even cuter in person.”

“You shouldn’t have done that, Melissa.” Brett grasped the woman’s shoulder and gave it a shake. “You’re now fair game for these fuckers.”

“Grandpapa! You can’t say that in front of me.”

CJ ran a hand down his daughter’s back to soothe her. “We’re sorry, Liebe. We’ll try not to use grownup words when you’re around again. Forgive us. I got excited. Grandpapa’s just stupid. I’m sure Grandad will put him in time out later.”

“And on that note…” César had approached the bantering group and extended a hand to Melissa. “Abandon all hope of sanity, ye who enter the premises. César Abello, the other father. But you can call me Granddad, since that’s what the little monster calls me. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the family. Hope you realize you’ll have to deal with four generations while you’re here.”

Melissa smiled, handed Liebe to Ritch, and hung her quilted, full-length coat on one of the trees by the door. “Lead on, Granddad. I can already tell I’m gonna have a great time with you all.”

The adults, except for the grandmothers who remained warm inside, huddled around the deck’s gas tower heater, bundled up against the cold. “Jarhead, we need another heater.” César shivered. “I’m going on Amazon and ordering one.”

“Whatever. I’m feeling warmer by the minute.” Brett took another sip and picked up the Widow Jane bottle on the table. “This is excellent, Melissa. I’d never tasted it before. Thank you.”

Cocooned in the family’s security, Ritch had eagerly accepted a drink when Brett offered. He encouraged Will to do the same. Both declined the Cuban Cohibas CJ and Owen had carried from Mexico, but the rest of the men had lit up, and a blue haze surrounded them.

“You’re welcome. Thank you for inviting me down.” Melissa choked up and dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for Ritch. I’m not sure if he told you, but I nearly fainted when I first saw him. He resembles his father at a young age so much.”

“Yeah, but my brother’s not a dick like yours was.” CJ admitted meeting the woman had brought back painful memories. Memories he had previously claimed did not bother him any longer.

“Don’t be an ass!” Owen punched his husband’s biceps. “That’s a horrible thing to say!”

Melissa laughed. “Don’t be too hard on him, Owen. He is right. My brother was a dick when he was young, and it sounds as if things didn’t change much. Talking to Ritch over the past year”—she pointed at Brett and César—“I’ve figured out you two raised him right.” Melissa sipped from her tumbler. “Although looks and smarts are inherited, the way he treats others with respect is learned behavior.”

“Yeah, he treats everyone with respect except when cougar hunting. Then he’s a beast.” Will high fived CJ who had repeatedly teased his brother after hearing about Ritch hooking up with a woman ten years his senior.

“You’re dead, Bender.” Ritch shook his head and nodded at his brother. “And you… you better not give me any more shit. Isn’t Ozzie ten years older than you too?”

“Fuck you, mate. It’s only six.”

César raised his hand. “I’m six years older than Brett. In case anyone cares.” His crooked grin elicited a couple of chuckles. “Anyway, Ritch, don’t you have something for your aunt?”

“Oh, shit, yeah. Almost forgot.” Reaching into his coat, he withdrew an envelope. “Just so you know, yesterday we changed the family foundation’s name. Mr. A said it doesn’t matter for this check anyway.”

Melissa closed her eyes and appeared deep in thought. “It’s been the CBC Foundation for a bit, right? I read the little history included with the contribution you made last year.”

“Yep. But since there’s five of us, and only three had their initials on the name, Ozzie and I decided it wasn’t fair. So we pushed for it to revert to the original: The Davenport Family Foundation.” Ritch was glad Melissa seemed to follow his convoluted explanation. “Anyway”—he slid the envelope towards her—“that’s a little something for the rescue center.”

“Thanks, guys. Really, thank you.” As she spoke, she glanced inside the unsealed envelope, and her eyes widened. “Holy, fucking, shit! A hundred grand?” Sitting next to her, Ritch was the only one to hear the immediate apology over her language, thanks to their companions’ raucous response.

César was the first one able to speak. “We hope you can put it to good use.”

“Are you kidding?” She leaned over and planted a noisy kiss on Ritch’s cheek. “Thank you. Our medical shed’s falling apart, and this will ensure we can rebuild and improve it. Thank you.”

“Okay, enough of the sappy gratitude.” Brett raised his glass. “A toast. To Melissa and Ritch finding each other, and to the Bar Nunn Rescue Center.”

“Hear, hear!” CJ leaned against Owen and squirreled around until his head rested on his husband’s shoulder. “One of these days we’ll have to go see it.”

“Yes!” Melissa nearly jumped out of her seat. “All of you. All of you have to come visit.”

“I’d like that.” Brett glanced at César, who nodded. “Listen, what about we follow you home and check the place out? Once we get rid of the geezers and the children, the two of us have a few days before we return to Washington.”

The remainder of their time together, there was a lot of playing in snow, either on the slopes or on the grounds around the house. Liebe was old enough to dive into mounded snow and was sufficiently coordinated to take part in a family snowball fight. Her laughter delighted everyone.

On Sunday, after a myriad hugs and kisses, the grandparents, CJ, Owen, and Liebe caught the shuttle to Denver. Ritch and Will returned to Colorado Springs, and the fathers left for Wyoming in the Porsche.

“Take care of Heinrich.” Ritch shouted his final words, as he shut the hired car’s door and told the chauffer to step on the gas. Since the fathers were headed to Wyoming, they were unable to drive the cadets back to the Academy.