Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.
This story is one in a series about the relationship between James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt. The Kirk-Brandt Chronology lists all the stories, both in order of occurrence and order of creation.
Thanks to my betas, Wildcat and Editrix, for their suggestions, encouragement, and insights. Charles Duffy (mentioned briefly in this story) is the creation of James Winter and is used with J's permission. The explanation of how Kirk knew the formula for gunpowder came from RabbleRouser and appears here with her permission.
"Why are we eating here?" Fig cast a disdainful glance around the crowded officers' mess.
"I don't have time to go anywhere else," Brandt replied as she balanced her tray and added a glass of iced tea to its load. "Do you see anywhere--"
"There!" Fig cried. She hurried to the only available table, where she settled into a chair and turned a cool expression on the two lieutenants who had arrived at nearly the same moment.
Brandt watched as the men moved away and began reconnoitering the mess hall. Joining Fig, she shot a disapproving glare in her friend's direction.
"I hate people who pull rank over--"
"--things like where we eat? Yeah, I know just how you feel," Fig replied. "Besides, it's not like it's a good table."
Brandt winced as a clatter from the nearby tray dump confirmed Fig's appraisal of their location.
"Are you sure you don't want to have lunch at Fellini's?" Fig asked.
"I'd love to go to Fellini's, but I want to leave early today and I still have things to get done before Jim and I take off for the weekend."
"Jim." Fig rolled her eyes. "I suppose I should be glad you have time to even have lunch with me while he's in town."
"Now, Fig, be fair. Jim is almost never on Earth and--"
"--And I'm always here, like a faithful old dog."
"I prefer to think of you as a good-natured alley cat."
"Meow. So where are you going this weekend?"
Brandt muttered something and took a bite of her sandwich.
"Where?"
Brandt swallowed and said, "Iowa."
"Iowa? Why the devil would you go to Iowa?"
"That's where Jim's family is."
"So? They can't come to San Francisco? Oh, wait, forget I said that. Never let them invade your territory."
"Fig--"
"So what's the big event? Did someone grow a potato that looks like Zefram Cochrane? Or is it the all-county quilting bee? And how does one quilt a bee, anyway? Or do the bees do the quilting?"
"Your contempt for the rural lifestyle knows no bounds, does it?"
"Sorry, Rebecca, I didn't mean to insult all the fine folks at Sunnybrook Farm."
"If you must know, it's a family picnic."
"The family picnic? Oh, boy, are you in for it."
"It's just a picnic."
Shaking her head, Fig sighed with heavy wisdom. "I keep forgetting you have no family."
"I have Dennis."
Fig dismissed the idea of Brandt's brother with a contemptuous wave of her hand. "If he worked at it all year long, he couldn't possibly make you as miserable as a family picnic will. Don't you realize what you're getting into? Every Kirk from--"
"Every Tiberius. It's his mother's family."
"Even worse. Every Tiberius from the aunt who lives on the dark side of the moon to the cousins in East Bumfuck will converge to re-fight all their old battles and start a few new ones. And you, my friend, will be fresh meat."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"I know what I'm talking about, Suzanne. My family has a picnic every year. The only thing that gets us to stop torturing each other is the presence of a new person."
Brandt smiled indulgently. "What do you do to the 'new person'?"
"You'll feel like a lab specimen before the day is over. They'll want to know all about you, where you're from, what you do, what your family is like, do you carry a lot of debt, what's your medical history--"
"Fig, I'm trained to withstand enemy interrogation. I'm not worried."
"They aren't the enemy. That's what makes it so tricky. It's more like a first contact, and you're the alien. So be on the lookout for spirit stones."
"What are you talking about?"
"The first contact with the Jekka. Remember? I wrote my Academy thesis on it."
"Fig, I don't think Jim's family puts rocks out to keep evil spirits away from the village."
"They quilt bees."
"No, they don't."
Fig stabbed her fork into the mound of pasta on her plate and left it standing there as she fixed an exasperated gaze on Brandt.
"Tell me what you remember about Bowman and the Jekka."
"Is there a point to this?"
"Yes. I'm trying to prepare you for a family picnic."
"All right. About a hundred years ago, on an unexplored planet, Commander 'Oops' Bowman picked up what he thought were pretty stones that would make nice souvenirs for the folks back home. He didn't know the stones had been set out to keep evil spirits away from the village. When the gods didn't strike him dead, the people treated him and his crew like kings, because he had 'proven' he was a god himself."
"No, because he'd proven--albeit unintentionally--that they weren't outsiders. They don't teach that story at the Academy so we'll remember not to pick up rocks on strange planets. They want us to realize that every group has traditions that are meaningful only to the members of the group. Modern humans are no exception. Every family has something, some little thing that helps them distinguish themselves from the outsiders."
Having finished her lecture, she swirled some pasta around her fork and had just taken a bite when she noticed Brandt's uncomprehending silence. She swallowed and managed a patient tone as she said, "In my family, it's the digging spoon."
"The digging spoon."
"It's an old soup spoon that's bent out of shape because years ago, someone used it to dig in the garden. Somehow it never gets thrown out, so if there's a big dinner, it ends up in one of the place settings, especially if the kids set the table. If a family member gets the digging spoon, we all laugh, but if it's a guest..." Fig shuddered. "My mother is mortified and demands to know--" Waving her fork, she adopted an imperious tone. "--who set the table and how could they fail to notice the digging spoon, and even if it was the last spoon, how could they give it to a guest!"
"Horrors!"
"Laugh now, but Mother's reaction to the digging spoon is a surefire indicator of whether someone is an outsider. My brother's wife, Vivian, wasn't fully accepted until she'd had her first child. Even then, she wasn't sure, so she deliberately gave herself the digging spoon."
"And it worked?"
"Like a charm. Mother just laughed. Now Vivian knows she's one of us."
"Fig, I don't think a bent spoon is necessarily an accurate gauge of status within the tribe."
"You're wrong. The digging spoon--or some variation of it--will tell you everything. So if you see something that seems out of place--a fork missing a tine, a chipped cup--"
"Pretty blue stones in a circle around the house."
"Right. Even burnt food will do in a pinch. Grab it and watch what happens. They'll either kill you for discovering their secret or make you one of the tribe."
"Maybe I should carry some moldy cheese in my pocket, just in case. I could sneak it out at the right moment."
"Now you're thinking. My mother would commit ritual suicide if she thought she'd served you moldy cheese."
"Fig, I was kidding."
"Brandt, Brandt, Brandt. I don't think you're ready for a family picnic. Tell Jim to go alone, and you and I can go to Acapulco for the weekend."
"I thought you weren't seeing Pablo anymore."
"I'm not. But he's not the only cliff diver in the sea."
***
The next morning, Suzanne stood in front of the mirror in Jim's old bedroom, wondering if her outfit--a checkered cotton shirt and camp shorts--made her look like she was trying too hard. Studying her reflection, she considered her other options. Her teeshirt and jeans were already sweat-soaked from the early-morning horseback ride. The lightweight sportset, which was practical and attractive in San Francisco, looked pretentious in the farmhouse Jim had grown up in. Maybe the sundress...
Her stomach rumbled loudly, urging her to forego fashion in favor of food.
'Into the breach, dear friends,' she muttered as she stepped into her sandals and left the bedroom. If Jim's mother looked at her funny, she could always change before the rest of the family arrived.
As she hurried down the stairs, the smells coming from the kitchen reminded her that there was one thing she loved about visiting Jim's family home. There was always good food and plenty of it. She still couldn't believe Winona had gotten up at dawn to bake muffins for them to eat before their horseback ride. After one bite, Suzanne was ready to skip the Loess Hills and eat muffins all morning, but Winona had promised "a real breakfast" upon their return.
Now, thinking longingly of the buttermilk pancakes they'd had on the last visit to Iowa, Suzanne approached the kitchen and heard an affection argument in progress.
"But I was hoping you'd make your famous french toast!"
"Jim, I don't have time for that. It's eggs or nothing."
"All right. Over easy, please."
"Sorry, dear, I've already started scrambled."
As Suzanne entered the sunny kitchen, Winona looked up from the stove and said, "Scrambled eggs, Suzanne?"
"Yes, please. Is there something I can do to help?"
"No, I've got everything under control. Jim, get Suzanne a cup of tea."
As Jim rose from the table where he had been scanning the newsreader, Suzanne said, "No, sit!" a little more sharply than she'd intended. Despite the way she'd ridiculed Fig's ideas about family totems, she'd been unable to completely put them out of her mind. Telling herself that her refusal to be waited on was simply good manners, she went to the cupboard and began searching for a chipped cup.
To her dismay, all the china was in perfect condition, and as breakfast progressed, she found that all the cutlery was shaped as its manufacturer had intended. When Jim beat her to the only piece of burnt toast, she gave up and decided to enjoy the rest of the "real" breakfast.
The conversation throughout the meal was lively and relaxed, and she couldn't help preening herself a little when Jim reported her improving horsemanship and even bragged about how she'd jumped the fence at the bottom of Buckley's Ridge.
"How could you let her do that?" Winona admonished him. "That's a very dangerous jump."
"She did it on her own, Mom. I was completely taken by surprise."
"Suzanne, that's a very dangerous jump. What made you think you were ready to try something like that?"
"I wanted to get back here for breakfast and figured that was the fastest route."
"Well, that's a very dangerous jump."
"I'm sorry. Next time, I'll--"
At that moment, a timer went off and Winona left the table to tend to yet another helping of bacon. Grinning, Jim wagged his finger at Suzanne.
"Next time, young lady, ask before jumping that fence," he whispered.
"Is it dangerous?" she whispered back.
"Very dangerous."
"You know, I'm not deaf!" Winona called over her shoulder.
In the good-hearted laughter that followed, Suzanne decided that Winona's affectionate scolding had removed any lingering formality between hostess and guest. After all, Jim had been scolded within minutes of their arrival for renting a flitter when Winona would have been happy to pick them up at the groundport.
To hell with Fig's theories about sacred spirit stones and digging spoons, Suzanne thought. I'm as much of an insider as I want to be.
***
After breakfast, Suzanne cleared the table as Winona went through a checklist.
"Chocolate bars, marshmallows... I still have to make the lemonade..."
As Suzanne set a stack of dishes on the counter, her glance fell on the newsreader, which was set to local ads.
"A massage for only twenty credits?"
"That must be Lydia's new ad," Winona said. "Fruit salad--" She turned and saw Jim standing on a chair and reaching for a large bowl on the top shelf. "Not that one! I want the good bowl, the one Aunt Lila gave me."
"It's not up here."
"Then it must be in the pantry. No, don't get down yet. I think the lemonade pitcher is up there. The big one."
As Jim went back to searching the cupboard, Winona came over to Suzanne and tapped the reader. "I've heard Lydia is very good."
"I can't believe it's just twenty credits. A massage costs twice that in San Francisco."
"I think it's usually more. She must be trying to build up the business. Why don't I call her? If things are so slow that she's dropping her price, maybe she can take you right away."
"But I should help you with--"
"Nonsense. Everything is done."
"Go ahead, Brat," Jim said as he stepped down off the chair, pitcher in hand.
"But I can't leave you two with all the work."
"Don't be silly, dear," Winona said. "There's really nothing to do. And you'll save me a trip into town to pick up the ham."
"But--"
"I'll call Lydia. I'm sure she'll take you. She owes me a favor. The ham is at Olafsen's butcher shop on Twelfth Street just off Pine. It's already paid for."
"Let me just finish here and I'll--"
"No, I'll do that. Just get going. Rooster Olafsen is so mean, we'll be lucky if he hasn't sold the ham to someone else."
"All right, I'll hurry back."
"Don't hurry too much, Brat," Jim said with a wicked grin. "Remember the flitter's rented."
"I can handle the flitter, JT."
As she left, she heard him say, "Mom, did I ever tell you about the time Suzanne gave the trees at the Academy an impromptu trimming?"
***
By the time Suzanne had gotten her massage--one of the best she'd ever had--and picked up the ham--which Rooster Olafsen had turned over to her with grudging suspicion--it was almost noon, and as the farm came into sight, she kicked the flitter into high gear. Rolling her shoulders, she enjoyed the sensation of formerly stiff muscles now moving easily. And for only twenty credits! She took a swig from the bottle of water Lydia had given her, expressed her satisfaction with an exuberant "Ahhhh!" and burst into the tuneless braying that would have caused anyone within earshot to beg her to stop.
"Drink on, the white and the gold! Drink up, drink down, drink all you can hold! To Starfleet's honor, raise every glass, Who cares if Monday you have to drag your ass to class?"
With one hand beating out a counterpoint on the console and the other punching the directional controls on each downbeat, she didn't realize how close she was to the farm's main gate until she almost collided with it.
"Easy there," she murmured. "Damaging Winn's new sign won't win you any points."
She brought the flitter to a sedate landing, picked up the ham, and cradled it in her arms as she marched across the lawn. Not one to leave something unfinished, she continued her song in a quieter voice.
"Drink on, and don't let it show! Drink long, drink hard, as boldly you go! Til your impulse power is go-o-o-o-ne--"
Seeing Winona coming around the side of the house, she stopped short, suddenly aware that her volume had increased to an embarrassing level. But to Suzanne's surprise, Winona finished the song in a robust voice that would have done a drunken cadet proud.
"Hoist 'em high, Starfleet, drink on!"
"You know that song?" Suzanne asked, her eyes wide with surprise.
"George's father always used to sing that when he'd had a few," she said as she took the ham. "And George used it as a lullaby when the boys were babies. It's actually rather pretty when you slow it down and sing it softly."
After an astonished beat, Suzanne said, "That explains so much."
"Yes, Jim was a big hit at nursery school with that." Winona nodded toward the gate. "My new sign holds up pretty well, doesn't it?"
Seeing that the sign was only now settling into a gentle sway, Suzanne winced. "I didn't mean to--"
"Jim and Sam used to swoop past it to see if they could take it off. They managed it a couple of times, but they didn't fly nearly as close to it as you just did."
"I'm very sorry--"
"It's nice to know this new one can stand up to a good rattling. See? No harm done."
The sign finally hung motionless, its lettering sharp and clear in the bright sunshine.
Tiberius Stables Est. 2275
Grateful for Winona's generous attitude, Suzanne said, "It's a lovely sign."
They shared a comfortable silence until Winona clicked her tongue regretfully. "Poor Peter. He'll be so disappointed when he hears that you've already tested it."
***
Entering the kitchen, Suzanne's mouth fell open as she surveyed the counters piled high with food. Trays of baked goods, bowls of snack food, sealed containers with indicators blinking red for hot and blue for cold--
"Could you clear me a space for the ham?" Winona asked. "Just stack some of those up."
Still awestruck by the abundance all around her, it took Suzanne a moment to respond. She quickly moved several containers, saying, "If I'd known you had this much to do, I would have skipped the massage."
"I had everything ready in advance. All I did was pop a few things into the oven." Winona set the ham on the counter and lifted the wrapping. "Good, it's not too fatty. Did Rooster give you any trouble?"
"No, not a bit. I asked for the ham and he gave it to me."
"Rude old goat." She rewrapped the ham and went to the chiller. "Lemonade?"
"Yes, please."
Winona poured a tall glass and handed it to Suzanne. "Let me know if it's too tart."
Suzanne took a quick sip. "Perfect."
"Now let's see." Winona pulled her checklist and a stylus out of her apron pocket. "I can check off the ham... Jim's bringing down the chairs and tables from the attic..."
"I'll go help him."
"No, sit and talk to me while I finish up a few things."
Obediently settling into a nearby chair, Suzanne watched Winona slip on a pair of oven mitts and retrieve a tray of cookies from the often. "Where did all this food come from?"
"Oh, the chiller, the stasis unit, the pantry, the mud-room... Stop looking so guilty. This is the first time in years that I've hosted a big family party, and I'm loving every minute of it. And I hope you loved every minute of that massage."
"Yes, I did, but I could have gone another time."
"Suzanne." Winona put an oven-mitted hand on her shoulder. "I love my family, there are no better people on this earth, but if you're not used to them, they can be a little overwhelming. They're easier to take if you're relaxed, so I'm glad you had a massage. Are you sure you don't want a slug of whiskey in your lemonade?"
"Uh...no, thanks." Suzanne glanced at the chronometer. Jim's mother couldn't be offering her whiskey so early in the day, could she?
"No? How about one of those tranquilizers I give the horses?"
Catching the sharp-humored edge under Winona's air of concern, Suzanne laughed. "You're teasing me!"
"Well, of course I am! There's nothing for you to worry about. It's not like Great-Grandma Kirk is coming back from the dead. Then we'd both need horse tranquilizers."
"What?"
"You never saw such an old terror. The first time I met her, I called off the wedding. It took George six months to talk me back into it."
"What did she--"
Her question was interrupted by a series of crashes from overhead. Both women ran to the hallway and peered up the stairway to the attic.
"Jim!" Winona called. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine!" came an irritated shout. "Who put this stuff away last time?"
"Cousin Joanie's husband!"
"The one she just divorced?"
"Yes!"
"Good!"
There was a noise from above that sounded like something breaking.
"What was that?" Winona called.
"Don't worry, you won't need it until Christmas!"
"Maybe I should come up and help you?" Suzanne yelled.
"No! The last thing I need is--ugh!--a supervisor!"
"All right, dear, just holler if you need anything!" Winona listened for a moment. "Jim? I said--"
"Yes, fine, I heard you! OW! Damn. BRAT!"
"What?"
"Bring me the dermal regenerator!"
***
A half hour later, Winona had approved the setup of the tables, ordered Jim upstairs to "get cleaned up," and shooed Suzanne out of the kitchen, telling her to enjoy the "perfect weather." Now, sitting on the porch steps and feeling the humidity pressing her shirt against her increasingly sticky skin, Suzanne wondered what kind of weather would be considered imperfect.
Jim came out, freshly showered and wearing jeans and a teeshirt, and she jumped to her feet.
"Your mother won't let me help."
"Relax, Brat. I'm not the picnic police."
"Is it always this hot here?"
"This isn't too bad for July."
"Ohhhhhh," she moaned as she sank back down on the step. "What I wouldn't give for a nice Pacific Ocean fog to come rolling across those fields."
"The only thing that's going to come rolling across those fields is--"
"I know. Every living person with even half a drop of Tiberius blood in them."
Laughing softly, he sat down beside her and gave her a lingering kiss.
"Mmmmm, you taste good," she said. Then she looked up at the red mark on his forehead and frowned. "I hope that's not going to scar."
"Don't worry about it. Mom's a doctor."
"She's a veterinarian."
"What do you want me to do? Go the hospital because I bumped my head? Believe me, this is probably the first of many injuries this afternoon. It's not a family party unless someone falls off the porch, cuts a finger on the cake knife, gets hit with a baseball--"
"What kind of a family is this?"
"Just remember to go limp when Aunt Lila hugs you. Less bruising."
"Is it too late for me to go back to San Francisco?"
"Yes. There's nothing to worry about." He wrapped his arms around her. "They're all going to love you because I do."
"Great," she grumbled. "Don't I have any redeeming qualities of my own?"
"None that I care to tell my family about."
"So your great-aunts won't be impressed that I defeated a six-foot Ophyr warrior in unarmed combat?"
"Not unless you were fighting over casserole recipes. Brat, these are old ladies."
"Check."
"Very old ladies who have never even been off-planet."
"I got it."
"So don't--"
"JT, I spent six years at a school that was run by old ladies, several of whom had never been off the grounds, so don't tell me how to kiss up to sheltered old biddies, all right?"
"They're not old biddies, they're my great-aunts."
"Great-aunts." She shuddered. "And great-uncles and regular aunts and uncles and cousins who are so far removed that no one knows what the connection is... Haven't they ever heard of too much of a good thing?"
"Too much family? Don't say that in front of them, or I'll have to string you up in the barn."
"You and what army?"
He ruffled her hair. "You're going to fit right in with my cousins. When all else fails, you argue like a ten-year-old."
"You should have seen that Ophyr when I told him he ran like a girl."
Laughing, he moved in for another kiss but was interrupted by loud, impatient honking. Stepping out of his embrace, Suzanne looked up and saw a shiny blue flitter approaching.
"It's Aunt Minerva." He took her hand and stepped down off the porch. As she followed him, she began twisting her hair but stopped when he looked back and caught her at it.
"What?" she asked as she turned the motion into hair-neatening.
"There's nothing to be nervous about."
"I'm not nervous."
Raising his hand in a friendly wave as the flitter set down, he said, "No? I bet you didn't fix your hair for that Ophyr."
Jim held the flitter door open and an elderly woman stepped out and pulled him into a hug. When Winona joined them for a similar greeting, Suzanne stepped back and observed the scene, noting that although Great-aunt Minerva had returned to Jim for a second embrace, she continued to hold Winona's hand. In describing his family, Jim had told Suzanne that the two women were very close. Now, seeing them together, she saw a strong resemblance between them. Both were tall and slender, with high cheekbones and wide mouths. They even wore their hair in similar short-cut bobs, but at 67, Winona's hair had less gray than that of her centenarian aunt. Jim didn't look like either of them, and Suzanne remembered Winona saying that he was a Kirk, through and through. But when Minerva laughed at something Jim said, the sharp staccato startled Suzanne with its familiarity.
"Aunt Minerva, this is Suzanne."
Suzanne extended her hand and Minerva closed both hers around it.
"Oh my, aren't you pretty?"
"Thank you, ma'am, I'm--"
"Oh, none of that ma'am business. You call me Aunt Minerva, just like Jimmy does."
"All right...Aunt Minerva."
"That's better. Oh, Lord, it's hot."
"I've got lemonade in the house," Winona said.
"Lead me to it. That's a long, thirsty trip."
Jim and Suzanne followed the two women, who continued chatting as they went in.
"I thought you were coming with Lila and Harold."
"I had dinner with them two days ago, and that was enough of Lila's chatter to last me a while."
"Oh, Auntie!"
"Now, Winn, I've known Lila for most of my life and I love her, but the two of them in a confined space--When did you rearrange the living room?"
"A few weeks ago. But how are Harold and Lila going to get here?"
"Anne and Joanie are bringing them."
Jim, who had been smirking happily up until that point, came to an abrupt halt.
"Anne and Joanie are coming? Mom said they were going camping with the church choir."
"They decided to skip it so they could be here."
As Minerva sat down on the sofa, Suzanne whispered, "Who are Anne and Joanie?"
"Cousins," he replied curtly.
"And you don't like them."
"I wouldn't say that. But how would you feel about someone who told the Sunday school teacher to be nice to you because you had a steel plate in your head?"
"What!"
"Suzanne, come sit here so we can chat." Minerva patted the cushion next to her. "Winn, where's that lemonade you promised?"
"Coming right up."
As Winona passed Jim, he snarled, "You lured me here under false pretenses."
"Oh, hush."
Suzanne sat down next to Minerva, hoping to hear more of Anne and Joanie, but Minerva put her hand to Suzanne's cheek and turned her head to the side as she scrutinized her.
"Oh my," she finally said. "Suzanne, you have beautiful skin! Doesn't she have beautiful skin, Jimmy?"
"It was the first thing I noticed about her."
"And you smell so nice, too. What perfume is that?"
"I'm not wearing perfume. It must be the lotion. I had a massage this morning."
"Oh! A massage, you say? Well, a massage. What do you know? A massage. It does make you smell nice."
"It was wonderful. Very relaxing."
"Relaxing." Minerva frowned. "Yes, well, I can imagine it would be, once you get over letting a stranger touch your naked body."
"So you know about massages?" Suzanne asked with a sly glance in Jim's direction.
"Jimmy's Uncle Harold had one once." Minerva's mouth was a thin, disapproving line.
"He did?" Jim asked.
"Years ago, Jimmy, before you were born. It's all he could talk about when he came back from the service. Now where are you from, Suzanne? Winn told me, but I'm just so forgetful these days."
"Kyros."
"That's it. I knew it started with a K, and when I saw you on the steps with Jimmy, let me tell you, I was mighty relieved that you weren't a Klingon. Jimmy, go out to the kitchen and see what's happened to my lemonade."
Jim obediently abandoned Suzanne to his aunt's questioning.
"Now tell me, Suzanne, why do you need to be relaxed? What do you do for a living?"
"I'm in Starfleet."
"Oh! Starfleet! Like Jimmy."
"Yes, like Jimmy," Suzanne echoed, starting to enjoy herself.
"Isn't that nice? Do the two of you work together?"
"No, I work in Records."
"Records? Oh. Yes, I can see where it would be stressful keeping track of all those records."
"It's not exactly--"
"Don't you worry about it, dear, I'm sure it's very interesting work. But if you're prone to stress--"
"No, I just--I saw an ad on the newsreader and it was so inexpensive--"
"MINERVA? ARE YOU HERE? I saw the flitter--" A short, rotund woman burst through the door.
"Lila, for gosh sakes, I thought you weren't coming until later."
Winona and Jim returned from the kitchen and joined in the greetings.
"As if I would make Jimmy--hello, Jimmy, give your auntie a big hug--" Jim managed to hand off the lemonade just before Lila swept him into her arms and hugged him hard enough to truncate his "hello" into a grunt. "--as if I'd make my favorite nephew wait for some of my potato salad. Winn, you come over here. Oh! Oh! Oh!" She squeezed Winona on each exclamation. "And one more--OH!" Releasing Winona, Lila looked around the room. "Now who else--Oh my, this must be Suzanne."
Suzanne rose and extended her hand.
"Yes, I'm Suza--urk!"
As Aunt Lila pulled her to her ample bosom, Suzanne remembered at the last moment to go limp. Not that she had much choice. Buckling knees were the only option when faced with such a good-hearted welcome.
After wagging Suzanne back and forth several times, Lila released her and moved on to greet Minerva, who was remarkably spry for her age and managed to evade all but a kiss on the cheek.
'Owwwwww,' Suzanne mouthed to Jim.
"Think how it feels to an eight-year-old."
"Suzanne, come sit here and tell us all about yourself," Lila said as she sat down and pushed away the pillow Minerva had inserted between them.
"Well, I--"
"Do they call you Susie?"
"No, I've never--"
"Minerva, do you remember Susie Plunkett? The one with the parakeets? Doesn't Suzanne remind you of her?"
"No, not a bit."
"Well, get your eyes checked. She's the spitting image! Of course, I haven't seen her in years."
Suzanne glanced over at Jim and Winona, who were trying not to look amused.
"I wonder if she still has all those parakeets," Lila continued. "Suzanne, do you have parakeets?"
"No, but I have a dog."
"Oh, how nice. Everyone should have a dog. I have two miniature schnauzers, and they're the sweetest little things! Why, just the other day, I gave Fritzi a new bone and--"
"Suzanne had a massage," Minerva said.
Lila's eyes opened wide. "A massage?"
"Now she's all relaxed."
"Well, it was so inexpensive..." Suzanne shot a pleading look at Jim.
"Aunt Lila, I thought Anne and Joanie were bringing you and Uncle Harold," he said.
"Joanie didn't want to miss her hair appointment, so Anne said they'd pick us up later, but I didn't want to wait."
"Lila, you know you're not supposed to--" Minerva began.
The door slammed open, and a red-faced man, no taller than Lila and just as round, stomped into the house and handed a covered dish to Winona.
"Is this the potato salad?" she asked.
"How should I know?" he replied. "I'm just the delivery boy. Could be a bowl of fishing worms for all I know."
"Now, Harold!" Lila cautioned. "You promised you wouldn't be grumpy today."
"Well, gosh durn it, Lila, ya set down so close to the house that I could hardly get out. Thought I was gonna have to ask Jimmy to bean me in."
"That's 'beam in,' Uncle Harold."
"Don't you start correcting me, Jimmy. Get over here." He grabbed Jim's hand and shook it vigorously. Then he turned to Suzanne, a broad smile on his face. "And who's this pretty little thing?"
"This is Suzanne."
"What's wrong with her head?"
"There's nothing wrong with her head," Minerva snapped. "I told you she wasn't a Klingon. She's from Kokomo."
"Kokomo, Indiana? I knew a girl from Indiana."
"No," Jim laughed. "Suzanne is--"
"This girl was from French Lick, and she--"
"Don't you start, Harold." Minerva glared at him. "That story is--"
"Jimmy's old enough to hear it."
"I don't care, we're in mixed company, and it's not even one o'clock."
"Jimmy, this girl from French Lick--"
"Suzanne had a massage," Lila announced in a high, piping voice.
All eyes turned to Suzanne, the noteworthy girl from French Lick completely forgotten.
"A massage?" Harold echoed.
"Well, yes--" Suzanne said.
"She said it was durn cheap."
"And so relaxing."
"Relaxing? I should say! I had a massage once. When I was in the service, me and some buddies were on leave on Hupple's Haven, and this girl--"
"The one from French Lick?" Jim asked mischievously.
"No, but remind me to tell you about her, too. This girl on Hupple's--"
"Harold, one more word about Hupple's Haven or that girl from French Lick and I swear I'll--"
"All right, Minerva, settle down. I'll tell ya later," Harold whispered to Jim. "Now, Suzanne, grab some lemonade--" He waved toward the table where Winona had set the pitcher and several glasses. "--and let's you and me go out on the porch 'cause..." He paused until they were out of earshot of the ladies. "...if you need relaxing, I've got just the thing."
With a wink, he slipped a flask out of his pocket.
"Isn't it a little early for that?" she asked.
"I've been going to these picnics longer than you've been alive, missy, and believe you me, the only way to choke down Minerva's peanut butter bars is to kill all your tastebuds first."
***
Listening to Uncle Harold's stories of his exploits as an enlisted man, Suzanne couldn't help wondering if he always exaggerated his every deed or if he was doing it just to impress her. In either case, she was enjoying herself much more than she had expected to. His stories had little in common with official Starfleet history, but she knew plenty of "official" stories that were just so much smoke and corbomite. And was it really that implausible that Crewman Harold Tiberius had single-handedly opened the Tobian system to settlers?
"And to show their gratitude, the natives taught me how to shinny up those slippery trees they have and I showed them how to mix the fruit into dough and fry it. That's why Tobias III is the only place in the whole sector where you can get a dessert worth having."
As he sat back with a satisfied air, she laughed appreciatively and said, "Tell me about the girl from French Lick."
"I can't tell you a story like that!"
"You were going to tell it earlier."
"I just did that to shock Minerva. It's the only reason I come to these things."
"So are you saying there wasn't a girl from French Lick?"
"Oh, no, there was a girl all right," he said, pouring another draught into her lemonade. "But I'm not sure you're ready for that story."
"I've been to Hupple's Haven," she said with as much innuendo as she dared.
"You have? Is that club still there?"
"The Warp Core?"
"Yes! The Warp Core. I don't suppose Mizzette still works there," he said wistfully.
"No, but her daughter owns the place."
"Good for her!" He tapped his glass to hers in celebration, but after a hearty swig, he eyed her narrowly. "Say, does Jimmy know you've been to the Warp Core?"
"Sure."
"Did he take you there?"
"Of course not. What would be the point of bringing a date to the Warp Core?"
Harold's laughter came out in a loud blast. "HA! I like you. Have another drink."
***
While Suzanne was enjoying the history of the last eighty years according to Uncle Harold, Jim was at the far end of the property helping his cousin Evan unload creates of fireworks from a flitter.
"Double-check all the locks, Jim," Evan said. "I don't want any of the kids getting into this stuff."
"Checked and double-checked."
"Sorry. I don't mean to order you around like you're one of the kids."
"It's all right. In fact, it would seem strange if you didn't."
Years ago, the seven years that separated them had seemed like an enormous chasm, but they'd grown close when Evan had allowed "little Jimmy" (all of ten years old and not a bit happy about being regarded as "little Jimmy") to assist him in the science project that had turned into a lifelong avocation.
"Why aren't your boys helping with this?" Jim asked.
Evan shrugged. "Fiona won't allow it. Says it's too dangerous."
"That's what my mother said, but you still taught me how to make fireworks."
"Only because Aunt Minerva pointed out that if you didn't get to help me, you'd do it on your own and probably blow your hands off."
"Is that why Mom gave in? I thought I talked her into it."
"That 'risk is my business' speech? Mothers don't fall for that. I know. I tried it on Fiona."
Jim set down the largest crate and leaned against it. "Well, tell her this. Knowing how to make gunpowder saved my life a few years ago."
"I did tell her. She doesn't believe either of our boys will ever be chosen to represent humankind in a contest with a gorn."
"You never know."
"No, you sure don't. I wouldn't have thought you'd make a decent candidate."
"As gorns go, he was kind of a second-rater."
"Lucky for the human race." Closing the flitter's storage compartment, he said, "Well, that's it."
"I'll meet you back here when it's dark."
"No, you have a guest. You should enjoy the fireworks with her. What's her name again? Suzanne? I can't wait to meet her." He got into the flitter.
"Where are you going?"
"I have to go back for Fiona and the boys. She won't even ride with me when I have the fireworks on board."
Jim watched as the flitter lifted into the air and headed north. Then he turned away but had taken only a few steps when he heard honking above him. Looking skyward again, he saw another flitter approaching. The happy beeping continued and the flitter was still a foot from the ground when an elaborately coiffed woman hopped out of the passenger side.
"JIM!" she shrieked as she ran toward him. "For gosh sakes, look at him, Joanie!"
A plump redhead stuck her head out the window. "Anne, I haven't even set down the--Oh my! Oh my! Look at him! Jimmy, little Jimmy!"
The flitter came to rest with a dull thud, and Joanie joined Anne, who was hugging Jim enthusiastically.
To his surprise, Jim was actually glad to see the two cousins who had tormented him throughout his childhood, and when Anne shoved him into the flitter and Joanie cried, "Come on, Jimmy, we'll give you a lift," he accepted the offer. Sitting between them, he was treated to a cackling duet of gossip and innuendo, until they arrived at the house where they hurried him out of the flitter.
"All right, Jim," Anne said, "bring on the girlfriend so we can scare her off."
"She doesn't scare easily," he replied.
"Boy, some of the others sure did!" Joanie said. "None of them topped you though, Jimmy. Remember when you were five and we smeared shaving cream around the dog's mouth and locked you in the barn with it?"
"You know, that reflects so badly on you, I would think you'd be ashamed to talk about it."
"Ashamed? Not when I remember you screaming and beating on the barn door."
"Yeah, if it hadn't been for us, you probably would have never developed any strength of character."
Rolling his eyes, Jim led them to the porch where Uncle Harold was pouring another dollop of his special blend into Suzanne's glass.
"Anne, Joanie, this is Suzanne."
"Hello, Suzanne, I'm Anne."
"Hi, I'm Joanie."
Suzanne stood, drained her glass, and swayed loosely as she announced, "I had a massage. Durn cheap."
"Uh...good for you," Joanie said uncertainly.
"Excuse us," Anne said as she pulled Jim away from the porch. "Jim, I think your girlfriend has been sitting with Uncle Harold a bit too long."
"Do you have anything for it?"
"Yes, I have something. But what will you give me for it?"
"I won't tell everyone about the time you and Joanie sneaked off to Chicago for a wild weekend."
"How did you know about that?"
"Sam had a very big mouth."
"I knew we shouldn't have called him when we ran out of money."
She opened her purse, dug around in it for a few moments, and then pressed a small pill into Jim's hand. Shoving it into his pocket and hoping Suzanne wouldn't object to a little lint, he went back to the porch and took Suzanne's hand, saying, "Why don't you and I go visit the horses?"
Waving flirtatiously to Uncle Harold, she stumbled down the steps and allowed Jim to lead her away. Crossing the yard, she lurched against him and as he set her aright, his hand brushed her breast.
"Oo, you bad boy!" she chuckled. "Dragging me off to the barn for a quickie in the middle of your mother's party."
"I'm dragging you off to the barn--" He propelled her forward. "--so you can take the detox I have in my pocket."
"I'm not drunk!"
"You're not exactly sober."
"Wh--"
"That stuff of Uncle Harold's is sneaky."
"But I don't feel--"
"Brat, you were happily going off to the barn for a quickie in the middle of my mother's party."
After eyeing him skeptically for several moments, she gave a defeated sigh and held out her hand.
"Hand it over."
"Come on, Uncle Jim, really burn one in here!" Peter cried, slapping his baseball mitt.
Jim watched Peter bounce from heel to heel. At nine years old, Sam's youngest son was tall for his age and Jim was struck anew by the resemblance between the boy and Sam. Remembering how Sam's teasing had enlivened their games all those years ago, he called, "Are you sure you can take it?"
"Do your worst!"
"All right, here it comes!"
Jim wound up and hurled the ball, pulling back at the last moment. Peter caught it easily and gave his uncle a disdainful look.
"Aunt Rita throws harder than that!"
"Are you saying I throw like a girl?"
"No, I'm saying you don't even throw as well as a girl!"
"I dare you to say that in front of your grandmother."
"What does Grandma have to do with it?"
"Who do you think taught me to throw?"
"I take it back. You don't throw like a girl. You throw like an old lady!" Peter yelled as he ran off laughing.
Chasing him around to the front of the house, Jim barely managed to dodge a flitter that set down a few feet in front of him. A pack of children piled out and ran past him as a frazzled-looking man pulled himself out of the flitter and shouted, "Don't you even say hello to your cousin Jim?"
"Hello, Jim!" a couple of the children called.
Jim couldn't help noticing that they greeted the dogs with more enthusiasm. After shaking hands with his mother's younger brother, he said, "Who are all those kids?"
"They're my grandchildren. At least I think they are. They were all at my house when I said, 'Let's go.'" Turning to the pregnant woman who was struggling to get out of the flitter, he said, "How many of 'em are there, Karen?"
"Five, Dad," she said, "as you well know."
After hugging her warmly, Jim patted her stomach and said, "So this is six?"
"Yes, but we're only naming him that if Martin and I can't agree on something better."
"Where is Martin?"
"Band practice. He'll be here later. His marching band took the state cup so they're in the Federation Day parade this year. He's so proud of those kids."
"Are you still teaching, too?"
She nodded as she opened the storage compartment at the back of the flitter. "He makes them musical, and I make sure they can say 'I'm sorry, I don't speak Rigellian' in Rigellian."
She reached for a bulky stasis box, but Jim got it first and they started toward the house as he said, "I'm sure you teach them much more than that. You tutored me, remember?"
"So say something."
"Arik se versilta lu'u."
"Your accent is atrocious. And if you meant to tell me what a good teacher I am, it's versiftu, not versilta."
"What did I say?"
"You told me I'm an excellent glue."
"I'm sure you are."
As they crossed the lawn, he saw Suzanne talking with three teen-aged boys.
"Suzanne!"
A shout of laughter went up from the boys and as Suzanne jogged toward Jim, one of them called, "Told ya he wouldn't let us keep you!"
"What was that about?" he asked.
"I was going to be their mascot." He gave her a dubious look. "And work my way up to gang-leader, but they didn't know about that part."
"That sounds about right. Suzanne, this is my cousin, Karen."
"Hello, Karen."
"Hi. Are you enjoying the picnic?"
"It's great. I was just getting the low-down on what kinds of trouble teenagers get into around here."
"Jim could tell you more about that than they could. The father of every teenage girl in the county breathed a sigh of relief when he joined Starfleet."
"Really? He was practically dull when I first met him at the Academy. He must have had an epiphany crossing the Rockies."
"Jim dull? I don't think St. Paul had that big an epiphany."
"Will you stop?" Jim asked.
"No. This is why we have family picnics." She turned back to Suzanne. "So there was no girlfriend when you met him? Or were you the girlfriend?"
"No, not me. But there was...a girlfriend."
"The one from San Francisco?"
"Oh, no," Jim muttered.
"Ruth." Suzanne clipped the name smugly.
"Yes, Ruth. I remember her. I think we all remember her. Sweet. Pretty. Appetite like a little bird. Aunt Lila thought she was wonderful." The two women nodded at each other, dead-pan expressions on their faces, until Karen added, "Aunt Minerva thought she'd been mind-wiped."
"That's enough." Jim raised his voice over their laughter. "She was a lovely girl."
"Who wouldn't be, after an hour in the bathroom putting on makeup?"
"Karen."
"I'm sorry. I'll stop now. Pregnancy makes me cranky."
"Let's go inside and you can sit down."
As they stepped onto the porch, he began unsealing the box.
"Hey!" Karen slapped his hand. "No peeking!"
"I just wanted to see if you brought limpa bread."
"Of course I brought it, but you're not getting any until later. Give me that. I don't trust you alone with it."
She took the box out of his hands and went into the house.
"Limp bread?" Suzanne asked.
"Not limp bread," Jim explained. "Limpa bread. It's a Swedish--" He stopped, put his hands on her shoulders, and said slowly, "You've never had limpa bread."
"Well, no."
"Brat, you're in for a treat. Come on." Taking her hand, he led her inside calling, "Karen! Suzanne has never had limpa bread!"
***
Suzanne wasn't sure where all the cries of "What!" came from but within moments, she found herself seated at the kitchen table watching Karen cut a slice from a dark brown loaf. A half-dozen people were gathered around, and as she held out her hand to accept the offering and saw the eager expressions beaming down on her, she smiled warily, thinking of the aliens who had first greeted "Oops" Bowman.
Chewing on the rough-grained bread, she was surprised by the combination of flavors. "It's good! It's rye, isn't it? With a little..."
"Orange rind," Karen said.
"It's really good. Thank you."
"Wait until you have it with ham on it," Winona said as the others smiled their approval. "That's the best."
"Oh, like a ham biscuit," Suzanne said, remembering the regional delicacy Fig had brought back from a trip to Virginia.
The room went silent.
"It's nothing like a ham biscuit," Karen said as she closed the lid on the stasis container with a disapproving click.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."
The others quickly cleared the room, and Suzanne was left alone with Jim and Winona.
"I should just go home now, shouldn't I?" she asked.
"It's all right," Jim said.
"What did I say?"
"Don't worry about it," Winona said. "This family is a little crazy when it comes to food."
"But how is ham on limpa bread different from a ham biscuit?"
"A ham biscuit is just ham on a biscuit," Jim explained with a little impatience. "This is ham on limpa bread."
"Uh huh."
"With a little mustard."
"Oh, mustard! Why didn't you say so? Karen!" she called as she left the kitchen. "I didn't know about the mustard!"
***
By two o'clock, Suzanne estimated that between thirty and forty people were now in attendance, and most of them were edging toward the long table that sat in an open space among the trees. Finally, Winona shouted, "Get it while it's hot!" and everyone surged forward, quickly forming two bustling lines on either side of the table.
"Come on, let's eat," Jim said.
"Why don't we wait until the line goes down?"
"The line doesn't go down until the food is gone."
They joined the line, which moved very quickly, and as they neared the table, a small boy in front of Suzanne turned around and announced, "I'm Bobby. I'm six."
"I'm Suzanne. I'm more than six."
"Bobby, come over here. I made a plate for you," called a woman who was seated at a nearby picnic table.
"But I wanna make my own plate!"
"Bobby, over here."
"But--"
"Bobby," Jim said, "If you go sit with your mother, later on I'll teach you how to belch."
"I already know how to do that," Bobby sneered and proved it with a drawn-out demonstration.
"Robert Matthew Tiberius! Get over here right now!"
Belching defiantly, Bobby joined his mother.
"Obviously a gifted child," Suzanne said.
"Yes, it runs in the family."
They reached the head of the line and as Suzanne picked up a set of cutlery, she surveyed the happy chaos of plates being filled at a dizzying pace.
"More potato salad coming through!" Lila sang out as she pushed in front of Suzanne. "Make some room for this, would you, dear?"
Suzanne moved a tray of cheese and Lila jammed the bowl into the small space, nudging aside a pasta salad and a small mountain of corn muffins. Then she scooped a heaping spoonful of potato salad onto Suzanne's plate, saying, "This is Jimmy's favorite."
"Thank you, it looks delicious."
As Lila bustled away, Suzanne looked up and down the table and decided that despite the presence of children and the lack of uniforms, the scene was exactly like lunch at the Academy dining hall. In fact, she half-expected to hear Charles Duffy say, "You gonna finish that?"
"Does this remind you of anything?" she said to Jim.
"No," he replied as he juggled a hot ear of corn onto his plate. "Why?"
"I was thinking that it--"
"Can we please move faster?" pleaded Karen, who was farther back in line. "Some of us are pregnant and would like to eat something before we give birth!"
"Karen, catch!"
Jim tossed a roll in a gentle pop fly.
"Thanks, Jim! Next time, butter it, would you?"
Definitely the Academy mess hall, Suzanne thought. Except for one thing...
"Two demerits, Mr. Kirk," she said.
After a moment's pause, he broke into a grin. "Just keeping in practice for the big game, Captain."
"Go, Starfleet?"
"Exactly. And you'd better look sharp or you're not going to get anything to eat."
"Yes, I see that."
Apparently reaching across someone to snatch food off a platter was not only acceptable but required, and she soon had enough on her plate to cause Jim to comment, "You always did have fast hands."
Pleased that he had noticed her deft acquisition of a thick slice of ham, she flourished her fork and said, "Competitive dining is one of my favorite sports."
***
A half an hour later, Jim and Suzanne were sitting side by side across from Bobby and his mother. Winona, Minerva, and Harold had joined them and the hum of conversation from the other tables underscored the animated chatter at theirs. Suzanne was wondering if anyone would be offended if she didn't finish everything as long as she tasted all of it when Jim pushed away his empty plate, stood, and stretched.
"Jim, you're not through, are you?" Winona asked.
"No, I'm just taking a break. I want to see what else they're putting out."
"There's more?" Suzanne asked, who felt that she had already eaten more than she normally would in a week.
"You should have paced yourself," he said and headed for a table where Karen sat at the head looking overwhelmed by the antics of her young dinner partners.
"I'm going, too!" Bobby's attempt to join Jim was squelched by his mother's hand on his shoulder.
"You're not going anywhere until you take at least three more bites of chicken."
"But I'm stuffed!"
"A boy who's stuffed doesn't get any dessert."
"But--"
"Bobby," Suzanne said, "give it up. It's a no-win situation."
"What's that mean?"
"It means three more bites of chicken."
Bobby crossed his arms and settled into a sulk.
"Suzanne, I hope you left room for dessert," Minerva said. "I made peanut butter bars."
"I think I might have to skip dessert."
Harold winked at her. "Just save room for s'mores."
"S'mores?" Bobby asked, suddenly perking up.
"Only if you eat three more bites of chicken," his mother said.
With a heartfelt sigh, Bobby picked up a chicken leg and bit into it.
"That's one," she said approvingly.
"One what?" Jim asked as he returned with a plate of brownies.
"One bite. See?" Bobby opened his mouth wide.
"Bobby, that's rude!" his mother said.
"Sorry." The boy dropped his head in repentance as Jim and Suzanne exchanged smirks.
"Jim!" Anne descended on the table, brandishing a jar of chocolate sauce. "I saw you take those brownies."
"Don't worry. I'm going to share."
"We have other plans for them. Joanie! Over here!"
Joanie joined the group, and within moments, she and Anne had cleared a space at the end of table and repopulated it with a variety of sweets that Suzanne regarded with bewilderment.
"What are you making now?" she asked.
"Brownie sundaes," Anne replied, opening a carton of ice cream. "Jim, if you touch those brownies again--"
"I'm just having a crumb."
"Ha! We know all about you and crumbs," Harold said. "Remember the time Jimmy fed all the limpa bread to the ducks?"
Suzanne recoiled from Jim. "You fed all the limpa bread to the ducks? You barbarian."
"I was three years old."
"I'm surprised you were allowed to make it to four."
"So was I," said Minerva. "If there was one thing George was wild for, it was limpa. And when he found that Jimmy had broken up three entire loaves and fed them to Lila's ducks--"
"Wait, wait!" Harold interrupted. "You're telling it all wrong. We were all at our place and--"
"George was home on leave," added Winona.
"--and Jimmy was into everything. Every time you turned around, he was being herded away from something. Well, he started bothering the ducks and one of them bit him, so Jimmy punched her."
"You punched a duck?" Suzanne's lip curled in disgust.
"She bit me."
"Well," Harold continued, "George gave him quite a talking-to about being kind to animals, and I guess the little fella felt pretty bad because the next thing we knew, he'd fed all the bread to the ducks."
"Oh, George was mad."
"No one came between George and his limpa bread."
"So he grabbed young Jimmy and swatted him on the butt--"
"I like this story," Suzanne whispered, squeezing Jim's hand under the table.
"Then he picked him up and said, 'I'm through chasing you down,' and he set him up in the oak tree."
"Oh my!" Minerva laughed. "Poor Jimmy had to sit up there for at least a half an hour, and he looked just as dark and angry as a little thunder cloud."
"Why haven't I ever heard this before?" Suzanne asked.
"Because it never happened," Jim replied. "It's all a lie."
"There are pictures," Joanie said, waving the ice cream scoop.
"I'm never coming home again," Jim muttered.
"Oh, but you looked so funny," Anne said, passing him a sundae. "With your face all pouty and your fat little legs hanging down."
"I think George would have left him up there even longer if you girls hadn't started shouting 'Jump! Jump!'" Winona said.
"You were really evil, weren't you?" Suzanne laughed as she accepted a sundae from Joanie.
"We were terrible, weren't we, Anne? Then Jimmy started kicking at us and one of his cowboy boots flew off and--"
"Cowboy boots?" Suzanne's turned an innuendo-laden gaze in Jim's direction.
"Oh, the cowboy boots!" Minerva rocked back and forth laughing. "That was the summer of the cowboy boots!"
"Tell Suzanne about the cowboy boots," Anne said.
"Yes, tell me about the cowboy boots!" Suzanne looked up at Winona who was now standing behind Jim, her hand resting on his shoulder.
"Yeah, tell her, tell her!" Bobby crowed.
"Bobby, settle," sighed his mother.
"I have cowboy boots!"
"We're talking about Jim's cowboy boots."
"No, let's talk about Bobby's," Jim said.
"No, let's talk about yours." Suzanne elbowed him in the ribs.
"George came home on leave," Winona said, "and he brought the boys each a pair of cowboy boots and Jimmy fell in love with his. We couldn't get him to take them off. He wore them everywhere. I remember he told the minister his daddy was better than God because God had never given him cowboy boots. He had a hat and a holster, too, but the boots were his prize possessions. He even slept in them the first few nights."
"Cowboy boots in bed?" Suzanne murmured. "Kinky."
"He was heartbroken when he outgrew them. And to tell the truth, so was I. You were so sweet and funny in them," Winona said, rubbing Jim's shoulder. "I wanted to get him another pair, but he wanted the ones from his father. That Christmas George sent him another pair of boots so that was all right. And when I opened my present from Minerva--"
The two women exchanged a smile and Suzanne saw Winona's face shining with remembered happiness.
"I had those little cowboy boots bronzed," Minerva explained. "They made lovely bookends."
As everyone around the table roared with laughter, Winona leaned down and kissed her son on the cheek. Suzanne was close enough to hear her whisper, "Those were good times."
"These are good times, too, Mom," he replied.
***
After lunch, Winona took a brief leave from her duties as hostess to check on the progress of Artemis, a prize mare who had come up lame two days earlier. After satisfying herself with the horse's condition, she stepped out into the sunshine and stopped to enjoy the scene before her. The smallest children had crawled into nearby laps and were nodding sleepily as their elders talked under the trees, the smooth rhythm of timeworn conversations punctuated by the ripple of soft laughter. In the open field, happy shouts rose from a game that might have been touch football, soccer, keepaway or a combination of all three. Detouring around the game, she remembered all the family parties when her two boys had been in the thick of such activities.
Watching Jim draw his teammates into a huddle, a sudden wistfulness came over her.
George should be here, she thought, and Sam and Aurelan...
She chased off the melancholy thoughts with a shake of her head. She'd learned long ago not to let yesterday's pain steal today's joys. Jim was right--these are good times. Her family was all around her, still sharing the same jokes and stories from year to year and adding at least one new one at each gathering. She could imagine all of them together a few years from now, laughing at a new embellishment to the story of Suzanne's limpa bread faux pas--
Jim and Suzanne. What was going on with them anyway? Surely Jim wasn't holding to his vow to never put someone in the position of wondering if he'd come home alive. He'd trotted that pronouncement out soon after things fell apart between him and Jan Wallace. It had cut a little too close to a judgment on the choices Winn and George had made, and she'd conveyed her hurt in a martyred silence that elicited a quick apology.
But he was home now and very much alive. And this morning, she'd deliberately maneuvered Suzanne into going into town so that she could have some time alone with her son. After some not very subtle questions that he'd tried to dodge--why was he always so secretive with her?--he'd told her that the Enterprise was scheduled for a complete refit at the end of the five-year mission, which was just a few months away.
"What will you do?" she'd asked.
"Supervise the refit, I suppose."
"And what will you do when you're not supervising the refit? There's more to life than a starship, Jim, and if you're going to stay on Earth--"
Hands raised, he took a step back.
"I'm not moving back in here."
"I wouldn't let you, no matter how high the rents are in San Francisco. But perhaps you and Suzanne--"
"Mom, don't start."
"I'm just saying--"
"I know what you're saying, and I'm saying don't start."
"Maybe you should start! Start thinking about the future and what you want it to be! A smart gal like Suzanne isn't going to wait around forever."
At that, he burst out laughing. "Suzanne? Pining away like some Victorian maiden with a reluctant suitor?"
"No, not like that. But how do you know she doesn't want to take the next step?"
"How do you know what the next step is?"
"Because I know."
"Mom, you've got this all wrong. Suzanne doesn't wait for anyone. If she wanted to get married, she'd throw me across her saddle, ride into town, and stand me up in front of a preacher at phaser-point if necessary. But she's not about to do that."
"Then maybe you should find someone who will."
"Mom."
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Seeing that gesture, so reminiscent of his father, she suddenly ached with awareness of how alone she had been for the past twenty years. It was wrong, just plain wrong that George wasn't here to guide the son who was so much like himself.
"Suzanne is the girl I've got," Jim said in a patient voice. "She's the girl I want. And when the time is right, we'll get around to all that--"
"Marriage! It's called marriage! You can't even say it!"
"I can say marriage," he snapped. "I can even say 'Suzanne, will you marry me?' But I won't, because her mission doesn't end in a few months, all right? End of discussion."
He stomped up the attic stairs, and after silently reprimanding herself for letting the long-planned chat turn into an argument, she followed.
"What did you need from up here?" He stood in the middle of the floor, the dust ghosts settling at his feet.
"The extra tables and chairs. Put them in the yard where--"
"I know where they go."
With a renewed vow of forbearance and praying for the strength to keep it, she sat down on a nearby trunk and watched him shove boxes out of the way.
"Jim," she said quietly. "What kind of missions do records officers go on?"
"Forget I said that, all right?" He picked up a stack of folding chairs.
"Jimmy, wait. Set those down."
He put the chairs down as noiselessly as possible, and she realized that he, too, was regretting the sharp exchange downstairs. Quick to anger, quick to forgive. In at least that way, he was like her.
Suddenly a milder approach seemed the easiest thing in the world.
"I'm not a dope," she said. "I knew something was up the time you and Suzanne were here and she was called away in the middle of the night. There's no such thing as a 'records emergency.'"
He responded with a half-hearted shrug.
"I know that no one outside of Starfleet is supposed to know about certain things and I'm not going to ask questions you aren't allowed to answer. I didn't follow you up here to talk about secret intergalactic shenanigans. You obviously don't want me to talk about you and Suzanne either, but maybe you could just listen for a minute while I talk about your father and me."
He unfolded a chair, sat down, and nodded a silent 'go ahead.'
"When your father was away, I would remind myself that marriage is an all-or-nothing proposition and it isn't meant to be easy. Even though there were times I wished for things to be different, I knew that missing him was better than having someone else around. And the times when he was home counted for a lot. Remember those years we were all together, before he went on the Magellan? You learn to cherish those times to get you through the others. It wasn't easy, but I think it was worth it."
After a moment, he gave her an easy smile.
"Mom, I don't know what you're talking about."
She found she couldn't quite suppress her irritation at having that charming stubbornness turned on her.
"Well, if you ever do want to talk about what I'm talking about, I think you could benefit from my experience."
In the uncomfortable silence, he picked up the chairs again.
She said, "I don't mean to interfere," and his reply of "I know you don't," accompanied by another disarming smile had made it impossible for her to segue into some more well-meant interference.
Now, remembering that unsatisfying conclusion, she realized it had always been this way with Jim. They had to really get under each other's skin before they could calm down and have a rational conversation, and even so, after hearing her out, he always smiled and went his own way. She loved this stubborn son of hers, but it had been simpler with his easy-going brother.
"Heads up!"
The cry brought her back to herself just in time to catch a wayward ball. As she tossed it back, Peter called, "Nice throw, Grandma!"
For some reason, Jim shouted, "That was low, Peter!"
Before Winona could question the meaning of that exchange, three large dogs bounded onto the field, and the game disintegrated into an heated discussion of whether that constituted a foul, interference, or an act of God.
After the game broke up, Uncle Harold proposed that Suzanne join him in "an afternoon break," an invitation she declined in favor of racing Peter's miniature jets around a tabletop holographic track. When she'd first held her spacecraft in her hand--an orange box that resembled a shuttlecraft with fins--she'd had her doubts about even keeping up with the sleek red jet Peter had chosen for himself. But after winning three races in a row, she'd relinquished her "lucky" ship to a small boy who had watched the game with longing in his eyes. Feeling she was finally getting the hang of the family picnic, she had looked around for an opportunity to further prove herself worthy of a chipped cup.
Now, sagging with exhaustion, she sank down under a shady oak tree, wondering how she could have been so stupid as to walk into a trap like--
A droopy-eared hound dog flopped down beside her and gazed at her, his dark eyes pleading eloquently.
"Hello, Fillmore. Come on, right here." She patted her leg and the dog rested his head on her thigh. As she began scratching his ears, she said, "Did you see me out there? What a dope, right? Don't answer that. Hot day for a fur coat, isn't it? You should come to San Francisco. It's always cool there and you could meet my dog, Luke. He likes it when I scratch him right here." She dug in at the back of his neck. "Is that good?"
"Sure is," came a gruff response, but not from Fillmore.
She looked up and saw Jim leaning against the tree.
"Where have you been?" she asked.
"Brushing my teeth. We just had blueberry pie." He stepped over her and sat down on the other side of the dog.
"There's blueberry pie?"
"There was. Where were you?"
"Didn't you see me running around the yard with a toddler on my shoulders?"
"I thought that was a pie-induced hallucination."
"No, it was real and I've got the sore calves to prove it."
"How did you get roped into that?"
"'Roped' is right. A little boy with a face like an angel invited me to play Cowboys. After I said yes, he threw his lariat over me and informed me that I was the horse."
"Poor Brat." His attempt at sounding sympathetic was undermined by an ill-concealed smirk.
"I'm just glad he didn't have spurs. I thought I'd give him a good ride and that would be the end of it. So I ran and bounced and swooped and then--"
"He wanted you to do it again."
"And again. And again. And--"
"Yes, I'm familiar with that particular loop."
"I was looking for a soft patch to throw him in when someone took him away. I think it was Anne's husband--Joe?--I'm not sure. They're all starting to look alike."
"You know what a horse needs after a good gallop?"
"Blueberry pie?"
"A rubdown."
"Oh, would you?"
She moved forward and he knelt behind her and began rubbing her shoulders.
"Do my legs."
"I'll get to them."
Relaxing under his hands, she gave a happy sigh, which apparently reminded Fillmore that he wasn't getting any attention. At his plaintive whimper, she resumed scratching his ears.
"I think I like Iowa," she said. "Two massages in one day."
"Keep quiet about it or you'll cause a scandal."
"Like the girl from French Lick?"
"You've probably already surpassed her. You got drunk with Uncle Harold, you didn't know what limpa bread is, and you're on your second massage. Thirty years from now, they'll still be talking about you."
"At least I wasn't a Klingon."
"Thank heaven for small favors."
By now, Jim had moved down and was kneading her calves.
"Yes, right there," she groaned, slumping back to a prone position.
Following her lead, Fillmore rolled onto his back and stretched his legs in the air. When this failed to draw the required response, he nudged her with his snout and threw in a few pleading sounds for effect.
"Sorry, fella, I forgot all about you."
As she scratched his stomach, she fell into the steady rhythm of Jim's handsand minutes later, she was feeling as happy and relaxed as she had been after that morning's massage. She was about to compliment Jim on his technique when he knelt over her and surprised her with a kiss.
"Mom, they're kissing again!" yelled a childish voice.
"Just ignore it, Bobby!"
Jim chuckled. "If Bobby only knew..."
"Forget about Bobby. Let's try that again."
She reached up to draw him closer but Fillmore whined an impatient protest.
"All right," Jim said. "You keep scratching the dog. I'll get us some iced tea."
"Not too much sugar, all right?"
"I know how you like it."
"Yes, you do. You know how I like a lot of things."
Hearing the naughty come-on in her voice, he gave her a suspicious frown. "Have you been drinking with Uncle Harold again?"
"Care to check?"
She puckered her lips in an exaggerated smooch and he was about to oblige her when he was interrupted by Aunt Lila calling his name.
"Is kissing illegal around here?" Suzanne asked.
"Why do you think I left when I was sixteen? I better see what Aunt Lila wants."
She sat up and tugged at his shirt. "What about my iced tea?"
"Too late. If you hadn't delayed me with all that kissing, you'd have it by now."
After watching him walk away--feeling a slight pang of rejection when Fillmore joined him--she settled back against the tree trunk and let the afternoon heat lull her into a pleasant lethargy.
"My ponytail came out."
She opened her eyes and saw a girl of about seven years old standing before her with a straw carryall in one hand and an elastic band in the other.
"Do you want me to put it back in?"
"Yes, please."
The girl reached into her bag and handed Suzanne a hairbrush. Then she sat down, and Suzanne began brushing her strawberry blonde hair, half-wondering if this was the setup to something worse than being the horse.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Julie."
"I'm glad to meet you, Julie. I'm Suzanne."
"I know. You're Jim's girlfriend. My daddy says you're the latest."
"That's me, the latest and the greatest."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that Jim has had other girlfriends, but I'm the one who counts."
"Why?"
"You don't see any of the others around, do you?"
"What did you do to them?"
Suzanne laughed at the assumption that she had 'done something' to them.
"I cut off their ponytails and made them eat them."
"No!" Julie scoffed. "What really happened to them?"
"I lured them into a spaceship and they're still orbiting Jupiter." Julie pulled away and gave Suzanne a stern look. "No good, huh? Well, let's see..." She began brushing Julie's hair once more. "Would you believe I found a big ray gun that gave them all cooties?"
"No, really, tell me!"
"They married other people and lived happily ever after."
"I like the ray gun better."
"Me, too. There. Not a bad ponytail if I do say so myself."
To Suzanne's surprise, Julie pulled a small mirror from her bag and studied her reflection, turning her head back and forth with a critical frown. As the frown deepened, Suzanne said, "I'm a little out of practice."
"It's all right. Now I'll do yours."
"I don't think my hair is long enough for a ponytail."
"You could have a ribbon."
"No, that's--"
"Please? I'll make you so pretty."
Eyeing the little girl's sweetly pleading expression, Suzanne asked, "What did you say your name was?"
"Julie."
"Are you sure it's not Ruth?"
"That's my middle name! Julie Ruth Tiberius."
"And you're as sweet and pretty as a little cupcake, aren't you?"
She nodded emphatically. "I'm the latest and the greatest. What color ribbon do you want? I have red and blue and pink and yellow and polka dots--"
"Why don't I tie a ribbon around your ponytail?" Suzanne said, but Julie turned that ploy against her.
"Yes! Then we can be twins! Now first, I have to brush your hair. Then you can have a ribbon. And a headband."
"No headband."
"Okay. Just a ribbon."
"A small one."
***
"Jimmy!" Lila half-lifted herself out of a lawn chair and waved insistently. "Jimmy, come over here!"
Minerva, dozing in the chair next to her, said, "Lila, hush. I'm trying to rest."
"You can rest when you're dead. JIMMY!"
"Aunt Lila," he said as he joined them, "do you think you could call me Jim?"
"No, I couldn't. Now sit down. I want us to have a nice talk."
"I'd love to, but maybe we should move so that Aunt Minerva can sleep."
"No, don't go." Minerva took his hand and tugged gently. "Sit down and talk to Lila. I'll just close my eyes and listen."
As Jim sat down on the grass between the two chairs, his aunts patted his shoulders and murmured, "That's a good boy."
"Now about that girl of yours," Lila began.
"Suzanne?"
"Well, of course, Suzanne! How many girls do you have?"
"Right now, just the one."
"Well, I like her."
"I think she likes you, too."
"Where did you say she's from?"
"Kyros."
"That sounds far away. Is that where her family is?"
"Her brother lives in San Francisco, not far from her."
"That's nice. So the rest of her family is on Kyros?"
"There really isn't any other family. Her mother died when she was six, and she doesn't stay in touch with her father."
"But what about aunts and uncles? Grandparents? Cousins?"
"There aren't any."
"That's terrible! Why, I couldn't live without my family. How does she stand it?"
"You don't miss things you've never had."
"Oh, piffle! She probably misses them more. Poor little thing."
"Aunt Lila, please don't ever call Suzanne a 'poor little thing' to her face."
"Well, of course I won't! I would never bring up such a painful subject. But it just breaks my heart. Call me a sentimental old woman, but I think everyone should have a family to spend holidays with and to visit and--Where is she? I'm going to go give her a big hug. There she is. Little Julie's fixing her hair. How sweet! I'll give them both a hug."
Lila bustled off, yoo-hooing and waving.
"Is she gone?" Minerva asked, eyes still closed.
"Yes, she's hugging Suzanne and Julie."
"Oh, dear." Minerva sat up to observe Lila's loving assault. "At least it looks like she brought the hairdressing session to an end. Poor Suzanne! She doesn't seem like the fussy hair kind."
"She's not."
"So what kind is she?"
"Uh..."
"The marrying kind?"
"Aunt Minerva--"
"Are you going to marry her? It's a simple question, Jim."
"We're not in a hurry."
"Well, maybe you should be."
"All things come to those who wait."
"Only the things left by those who hustle. Abraham Lincoln said that."
"Didn't he also say 'Marry in haste, repent in leisure'?"
"No, I think your Uncle Harold said that."
Jim laughed. "We shouldn't make fun of Aunt Lila."
"What else are you going to do with her?"
"I should go rescue Suzanne. I promised her some iced tea."
As he stood, Minerva took his hand and gave him an earnest look.
"I worry about you, Jim. It feels like you're missing something. I guess I'm getting as silly as Lila."
"There's nothing to worry about."
"We're your family. Worrying about you is what we do."
***
Wishing she'd been able to resist a second and third s'more, Suzanne washed the marshmallow goo from her hands and dried them on a delicate towel. Folding it carefully, she hung it up, straightened it, re-hung it, and left the bathroom, pondering guest towels and their ability to intimidate. On her way past the living room, she saw Minerva in an armchair, staring off into space. A reader lay in her lap, its screen glowing softly.
Not wanting to disturb her, she didn't stop, but Minerva said, "Come in, Suzanne."
"You missed the s'mores," she said as she pulled up the ottoman and sat down.
"I never cared for s'mores."
"What are you reading?"
"I'm not reading, I was just looking at some old pictures."
Minerva tilted the reader toward Suzanne to display a still shot of a group of people. Then she pressed a control and the picture sprung up from the screen and came to life. Some of the subjects straightened their hair and clothing, while others appeared to be directing the photographer. The children shoved each other into place, laughing and making faces.
"Is that you?" Suzanne pointed to a dignified woman in the back.
"Yes, about thirty years younger. Let's see, who else would you know? That's Anne and there's Joanie. To look at them, you'd never know what little devils they were. And there's Sam. Did you ever meet him?"
"He and his wife came to see Jim at the Academy once."
"You met Aurelan? Oh, of course you did. I keep forgetting you went to school with Jim."
In the lively holographic scene, a dark-haired man picked up a small boy and hoisted him onto his shoulders.
"Is that Jim? Are those the cowboy boots?" Suzanne pointed eagerly at the boy's feet.
"Oh, I didn't even notice those! I guess this is Lila's picnic. That's Winn's brother Tom holding Jimmy up, and there's George next to Winn. Oh my. Look at her, how young and pretty she is. She was never happier than when he was home."
"It's a wonderful picture."
"Yes, it is."
Minerva pressed the control and the happy scene disappeared. Suzanne hoped it would be replaced by another, but Minerva said abruptly, "Jim said you travel a lot."
"Yes."
"That's too bad. Can't some of your work be done remotely?"
"I like going offworld. I get restless when I'm in one place for too long."
Minerva smiled. "I remember Winn saying something like that, right before she and George were married. She couldn't wait to shake off this place. Back then, the 'new frontier' was Alpha Centauri, and it seemed like George was assigned to each new outpost. Every few months, we'd hear that they were somewhere different. I can't even remember where Sam was born." She clicked her tongue and frowned.
"Do you think she shouldn't have gone?"
"No, not at all. Leaving home was the making of that girl. You'd never know it to see her now, but Winn was so shy and quiet. She learned a lot moving from place to place, but there comes a time to bring those lessons home and put them to work. For Winn, that time came when she found out she was pregnant with Jimmy."
"That's why she came back?"
"They were already here--George had a long leave and they were visiting--but the pregnancy made her decide to stay. It seemed like the wisest thing to do." Seeing Suzanne's puzzled expression, she said, "She lost two babies after Sam. First a miscarriage and then a little girl who only lived a few minutes."
"I didn't know that. I'm sorry."
Minerva nodded a sad acknowledgment. "I think Winn has always been afraid that Jimmy would be taken away, too. Poor boy, he's fought that his whole life."
"How do you mean?"
"She's always tried to protect him a little too much, but he had an independent spirit from the minute he was born."
Suzanne smiled. "I can believe that."
"He got it from his father. It's always seemed strange to me that Jim is such a puzzle to Winn. She handled George with no problem, but Jim has always managed to find a detour around anything that smacked of 'motherly concern.'" She stared off into the distance and tapped the reader absently. Then, coming back to herself, she frowned. "What were we talking about?"
"Why Winn decided to stay here."
"Oh, yes. George took an assignment in San Francisco and came home on weekends. He hoped to get another deep-space assignment after Jimmy was born, and he got his wish."
"The Tecumseh?"
Minerva nodded. "And another ship later on, I forget the name. So off he went, and Winn and the boys stayed put."
"So she didn't really plan to stay here. It just worked out that way."
"You could say that. Or you could say that she and George did a very good job of playing the hand they were dealt."
"It couldn't have been easy."
"If it was easy, it wouldn't be much of an accomplishment. And isn't Starfleet always saying that its people are the best and the bravest?"
Suzanne responded to the sharply pointed question with what she hoped was an ingenuous smile.
"But you're right," Minerva continued. "It wasn't easy, even if it was the best solution all around. It worked because Winn and George made it work. They decided that the boys would have a home and George would be in space and Winn would have her family and the farm." She set the reader aside. "Did Jim ever get you that iced tea he promised? Because I think it would hit the spot right about now."
They went to the kitchen and while Suzanne poured the iced tea, Minerva went out to the porch. When Suzanne joined her, they watched Jim knock a barrage of baseballs into a disorganized and overpopulated outfield. The oldest of the fielders was no more than seven and as each ball soared into the air, they all ran toward its destination, despite Jim repeatedly shouting, "Play your position!" After watching the chaotic action for several minutes, the two women were breathless from laughing, and when the players began retrieving the balls for another round, Minerva sat down in the swingseat Suzanne had shared earlier with Harold.
"Did you ever hear about Winn's brother, Tom?" she asked. "I don't think Jim remembers him. The last time Tom was home was... Well, I guess it was that picnic, the one where George put Jimmy up in the tree. Tom was in Starfleet, too. In fact, he introduced George to Winn."
"What did he do in Starfleet?"
"He was a weapons specialist."
"That's what I was for a while."
"Really? And now you work in records. Funny how life spins us around, isn't it?"
Suzanne nodded as she sipped her iced tea, wondering whether Minerva had planned all the twists in their conversation or was simply a master of improvisation. Either way, she would have made a hell of an operative.
"Tom loved children," Minerva continued smoothly, "but he never had any of his own. Never got married, either. He told me that he didn't have the courage to do what George and Winn had done. He said that the spacers who say they've given up home and family for a life of adventure are just fooling themselves. He was right about that, but he was wrong about not having the right kind of courage. He had every kind of courage there is and then some. I think he was just waiting for someone who could match it. As it turned out, he waited too long, but I guess none of us ever knows when too long will turn into too late." She swirled the long spoon in her glass and then gave a sudden snort of laughter. "Oh, goodness, why are we talking so seriously? I'm sure you don't want to hear all this family history."
"I enjoyed hearing it. Thank you for telling me."
"You're welcome. Sometimes it's good to share these things. I'm sure you understand."
Wondering if Great-Grandma Kirk had frightened young Winona with a similarly pointed chat, Suzanne took a moment to admire the steel in Minerva's deepset eyes.
I'm not a shy young girl who's never been off the farm, she thought and asked the question she was sure Minerva was waiting for.
"What happened to Tom?"
"He died in the assault on Tarsus."
Suzanne felt her heart turn over, and it was a moment before she could speak.
"He was in Klevecki's Raiders?"
"You've heard of them?"
"Of course. But Jim never mentioned that his uncle--"
"He's never been very talkative when it comes to Tarsus."
"Never? Not with anyone?"
"He told his father the whole story and I'm sure George told Winn, but the rest of us don't know much beyond the fact that he came home alive and somehow managed to come to terms with it." She patted Suzanne's hand reassuringly. "Like I said, George and Winn were good at playing a difficult hand."
There was a loud crack of the bat as Jim sent a line drive straight down the middle, setting off a mad scramble among the outfielders. Despite the cries of "Got it!" "I call!" and "Mine!", the ball shot past all of them and as they chased after it en masse, Jim dropped the bat and threw his hands in the air. Seeing Suzanne, he called, "Aren't you going to help me?"
"You always said I was no good at playing my own position!"
"You aren't, but at least you can catch!"
"You're on your own. I'm busy."
The players returned to the field, led by Bobby triumphantly carrying the ball. As the game resumed, Suzanne hoped Minerva would share more of her memories, but as the silence drew out, she realized that Minerva had said all she was going to say. Or perhaps she was waiting for Suzanne to say something.
"Minerva?"
"Yes?"
"When Winn's brother went to Tarsus, did he know Jim was there?"
"From all accounts, no, he didn't. But it's comforting that his nephew was one of the people he died to save. I look at Jim and I see what Tom made possible."
Suzanne followed Minerva's gaze and saw Jim going from player to player, moving them into position, stopping to adjust a glove here or answer a question there.
"You shouldn't be sitting here with an old woman," Minerva said as she lifted Suzanne's glass from her hand. "Get out there and show them how to catch."
A few hours later, as the last of the daylight was giving way to darkness, Peter and Suzanne were once again engaged in a concentrated battle across a picnic table. Each held a small control device and struggled to keep a mini-jet on the glowing holographic track that was constantly reshaping itself in the air above the table.
After watching her jet spiral off the track for the third time, Suzanne said, "There's something wrong with this jet. What happened to the orange shuttlecraft?"
"What orange shuttlecraft?"
"The boxy thing I was using earlier. When I was beating you."
"I think one of the dogs ate it."
"I think this game is fixed."
"I think you're a sore loser."
"I think the two of you aren't going to be allowed to play together anymore," Jim said as he joined them. "It's time for the fireworks, so pack it up."
At that moment, Bobby ran up and yelled, "Fireworks! Come on! It's dark!"
He took Suzanne with one hand and Jim with the other and dragged them toward the open field where the others were starting to gather. She turned back and called, "When I find that orange shuttlecraft, Peter, I'm going to demand a rematch!"
As they neared the group, Jim said, "Be a pal, Bobby, and go sit with your mother."
"It's better up front."
"I think your mother's up front."
"But I want you to sit there, too."
"Bobby, if you go sit with your mother--" Jim pressed something into Bobby's hand. "--I'll give you this."
"Great!" Bobby dashed away. "Mom, look at this orange spaceship!"
Suzanne turned a malevolent gaze on Jim.
"You cheat."
"I saved you from the ugly embarrassment of gloating over beating a nine-year-old."
"I wouldn't have gloated."
"You always gloat."
"That was my lucky shuttlecraft!"
"If you go sit up front, maybe Bobby will give it back to you."
"I may just do that."
"Of course you'll miss all the fun we could have if we sat over there, where it's more private."
"I think that's an excellent idea. It will save you the ugly embarrassment of being beaten up in front of your family."
Having put a discreet distance between themselves and the rest of the family, they sat down on the grass, but when he put his arm around her, she shrugged it off.
"You're not really going to sulk about this, are you?" he asked.
"I suppose I could overlook your shameless game-fixing, given the right inducement."
"I'm afraid the right inducement will have to wait until after the fireworks."
"What happens then?"
"Everyone leaves, and you and I can start the real fireworks."
"Ooooo, ahhhhh."
"Exactly."
He put his arm around her again and this time, she settled in and enjoyed his embrace as bits of conversation drifted back towards them.
"Someone get Karen a chair."
"I hope these are as good as last year's fireworks."
"Is there room on the blanket for me?"
"You've had enough sweets for one day."
And finally, Bobby's now-familiar voice demanding, "I want fireworks now!"
Chuckling, she said, "This couldn't be more different from the last shore leave we had together. It's so wholesome."
"Do you mind?"
"No. It's a nice change. But it's a little hard to believe that Starfleet's ruling tomcat got his start here."
"Well, I did. In fact, I got my first kiss--my first real kiss at one of these picnics."
"From one of your cousins?"
"Don't be disgusting. She was a friend of Marie's."
"Which one is Marie?"
"Bobby's mother."
"So what made it the first 'real' kiss?"
"Tongue."
"Of course."
"Her name was Ella. I was thirteen and she was fourteen--"
"An older woman? No wonder you were tongue-kissing on the first date."
"Actually, the first date came a few days later."
"Where did you go? Wait, don't tell me. Her apartment, right? Her husband was out of town--"
"We went to a baseball game."
"Like I said--How wholesome."
"And afterwards, we went to the gazebo in her parents' back yard."
"You didn't waste any time, did you? Did you even stay for all nine innings?"
"Yes. And believe me, everything that happened afterwards was her idea. I was terrified."
"Oh my God. Was she the first? The first 'real' one?"
"Define 'real.'"
"Penetration."
"Yes, she was real."
"Jim, that's so creepy. You were only thirteen!"
"You're just jealous that I didn't save myself for you."
"Sounds like you didn't save yourself for anybody."
"I haven't heard any complaints."
"So what happened with Ella?"
"We saw each other for a few weeks, and then I went to Tarsus and...well, you know the rest."
Remembering what Minerva had said about how easily Jim deflected his mother's loving concern, she realized that, much as she loved him, she was still outside of the circle he'd drawn around himself.
"No, I don't," she said quietly. "Not really. And I think I need to. I need to know how it all fits together--your family, the farm, what happened on Tarsus, everything. All I know is who you are now."
"Isn't that enough?"
"Maybe for someone who had family picnics and cousins who hit pop flies to them, but I think there's something here that I should understand, and I don't. Everything that's happened today--I've loved it but it's as if your family speaks a language I don't understand. I think I understand the Tarsus part of you better than the 'family picnic' part."
"What do you want to know?"
"What was it like, coming back here after what you'd been through on Tarsus?"
She watched as the man who had relaxed into the simple joys of this day gave way to the one who had faced terrors most people couldn't even imagine.
He's not going to tell me, she thought. He'll never let anyone get close enough for that.
Aching at this silent rejection, she wished the fireworks would start immediately--right then--so she wouldn't have to hear him say "It really doesn't concern you."
Then she felt his hand close around hers. She looked into his eyes and to her amazement, she saw no evasiveness, no shuttering of emotion. He took a moment before he spoke and as she watched him gather his thoughts, she remembered Minerva saying something about every kind of courage there is.
"It was strange," he said. "It felt wrong to be safe. Happiness seemed obscene."
"Does it still?"
He pulled back and she saw that her question had surprised him.
"No. Sometimes it feels out of reach, but not wrong."
"What happened that made it feel right?"
"Life happened. It went on. I tried to hold onto all the pain and anger, as if that gave it meaning, but eventually I realized that Tarsus was over and all of this--" He gestured expansively, taking in the people, the farm, the stars shining benignly overhead. "--was still going on. So I guess the short answer to your question is, I'm glad I had this place to come back to. It's not the cure for what happened on Tarsus, but it's an alternative to it."
She nodded slowly.
"What brought all this on?" he asked.
"I don't know. I've seen a different side of you today. Well, maybe not you exactly, but seeing all your family together and how they are with you and with each other and how much of that is in you and I didn't really see it before--"
"You're babbling."
"I'm thinking out loud."
"Any conclusions?"
"It's different from what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"Nothing. I didn't think there was anything more. That's what makes it a different side of you."
"It's still just me."
She curled her fingers into his. "Just you. If only it were that simple."
"It is. It can be."
He kissed her, a slow, lingering kiss that would have gone on much longer if they hadn't heard Harold and Lila approaching.
"Harold, did you bring the blanket? I don't want--Well, hello, you two! Why are you sitting here all alone? You can see better from over there."
"Lila, they're still young. They like to be alone with each other." Winking at Jim and Suzanne, Harold said, "It reminds me of the picnic I went on with that girl from French Lick."
"You never did!"
"No? Maybe I'm thinking of the time your father turned the hose on us." He started to lead her away.
"That's not how it happened. It was my brother and he was throwing snowballs."
"No, that was Christmas, when Bonnie got egg all over herself trying to do a magic trick..."
As soon as they were out of earshot, Suzanne turned a bewildered gaze on Jim.
"I bet if I stayed here long enough, I'd eventually hear the story of the very first Tiberius, who crawled out of the primal muck and made s'mores."
"Say that a little louder. I'm sure someone will verify it for you."
"Do they ever get tired of all those stories?"
"No. Sam used to call it the family mythology."
"Because none of it's true?"
"Because regardless of historical accuracy, it has meaning."
"And the meaning of Jimmy swinging his fat little legs in the tree is...?"
"Foreshadowing."
"Of what?"
"Of Jimmy growing up and falling in love with a woman who has a 'thing' for cowboy boots."
"Ah."
"And when she nips at him like an angry duck--"
"He soothes her with limpa bread?"
"Well, yes, but you're ignoring all the symbolism. For instance, the limpa bread represents--"
"Man's search for meaning in an unknowable universe?"
"No. It's--"
"Destiny versus free will?"
"No--"
"Wait, I've got it. Limpa bread keeps the evil spirits away from the village."
"You're hopeless."
"That's what you think. I bet I know what the girl from French Lick symbolizes."
With a loud bang, the fireworks began and joining in the cries of "Ooooo!" and "Ahhhh!" they turned their attention skyward, although Suzanne did sneak a glance or two at Jim to see his face lit by the fiery colors.
***
Late that night, Suzanne sat cross-legged on the bed, her hands resting in her lap. She could still feel the bone-deep languor of post-lovemaking, a sensation that usually compelled her to curl up against Jim and fall asleep in his arms. But this time, she wanted to drift a little longer on the sea of contentment, so she sat perfectly still, holding the moment close. The moonlight streaming through the sheer curtains, the steady chirp of the crickets, the scent of night blossoms on the heavy-laden air--they called to her like a perfectly woven siren's spell, innocent and insistent. She felt she could easily disappear into the summer night if not for Jim lying beside her, anchoring her with the barest touch of his hand against her skin. She knew that if she were to turn her head, she'd see him drowsing against the pillows with one arm thrown back against the headboard. His face would be ruddy from the long day in the sun and his mouth would be curved in a down-turned smile--only slightly, just at the ends--and the sight of that would draw her to him. She'd lay her head on his chest and listen to the slow beat of his heart until she picked up his rhythm--one breath to three heartbeats. And one of those breaths would end in his name--
"Jim?" she said softly into the night.
"Mmm?"
Nearly asleep, she thought. That "Mmm?" came from the auto-pilot. She fell silent, knowing he wouldn't notice her lack of response.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a movement from the curtains, and a moment later, she felt a breeze. She sighed at the gentle caress and heard Jim chuckle.
"What?" she said.
He cleared his throat, and when he began speaking, his words dawdled along as if vocalization took almost too much effort.
"Mom did some renovations to the house the summer I was seven, so Sam and I shared the room across the hall. Our beds were under the two windows. We'd lay there at night waiting for a breeze, and whoever got one would go 'Ahhhh.' I think Sam faked half of his, just to bother me."
"That's the sort of thing you do to little brothers."
"I know. Why doesn't Dennis ever tell me all the horrible things you did to him?"
She opened her mouth, intending to reply that she had been the best sister ever, when she was struck by the oddity of Dennis never ratting her out in front of other people. He'd bring up the escapades of their childhood, but he never teased her in the way he would have if they were alone.
Was that their 'family mythology'? Did they keep all that between the two of them--both the good and the bad--because there were only the two of them?
She thought of all the good-natured ribbing Jim had taken that day and realized that was how these people said, "Welcome home." That's how they reminded him of how much he was loved and that he could always come back and find that part of himself that he'd left in their safekeeping. Fireworks and cowboy boots are thicker than water.
She drew in a slow breath and as she leaned forward into whatever deep Iowan magic was gathering around her, something dropped into her lap. The instant she put her hand to it, she recognized it as Julie's hair ribbon. Fingering the crinkled satin, she made a mental note to give it to Winona in the morning and ask that it be returned to the little girl.
Too bad. It would make a fun souvenir, something to show Fig and make her gasp, "You wore a hair ribbon?"
But it wasn't hers. It belonged to Julie Ruth Tiberius and it was only on loan.
Oh, well. She could live without a hair ribbon. But what about everything else from this day? Were all the stories and laughter and affection on loan, too? She thought of the aunts and uncles and cousins, and how strange and funny and finally right it had felt to see a little bit of each of them in Jim. She thought how foolish she had been to think she knew everything there was to know about him. She thought about the crowded love that had surrounded him throughout this long and curious day, and what it meant for her to be a witness to it.
She thought about how she felt when the fireworks ended in a wild display that whistled and boomed and lit up the nightsky for a full five minutes. She'd jumped to her feet, cheering and clapping with everyone else. When it was over and people began moving through the lingering smoke, gathering their belongings and hugging their farewells, she'd felt she was seeing the day's events and the stories of the past mingle in the haze, and she had believed she understood--at least in part--what had been celebrated.
She thought about George Kirk crooning the Academy drinking song to his infant son, and Winona's brother who had died on Tarsus, and Cousin Evan whose lessons in fireworks had saved Jim's life. She thought about "Oops" Bowman who had picked up some pretty stones and unwittingly become part of a bigger history.
She thought about Jim saying, "It's still just me," opening a door she had believed was closed forever.
She looked at him and felt a surge of longing. Just him. She thought about her insistence that it couldn't be that simple and his that it could. She thought about Minerva eyeing her over a glass of iced tea and saying, "If it were easy, it wouldn't be much of an accomplishment."
She thought about being 'Jim's girlfriend,' the latest and greatest. And then she thought about being the last, the one who's there at his side when the picnic's over, when the mission ends, when the next adventure begins.
That was a position worth playing.
"Jim?"
"Hmmmm?"
"I think I figured out what limpa bread represents."
"What?"
She smiled at the bleary puzzlement on his face.
"It's the future. It's a family picnic years from now, and someone says, 'Remember Suzanne's first bite of limpa bread?' and everyone laughs--"
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about limpa bread."
"Go to sleep."
"Then you don't object to having it served at our wedding?"
"No, whatever you--" He sat up and gave her a sharp look. "Brat, is that a proposal?"
"Yes."
"Of marriage."
"Yes."
After a moment's pause, he put his hand under her chin and kissed her. She closed her eyes and tasted the gentle touch of his lips. Then he lowered her to the bed and kissed her ear, her throat, her cheek.
"You haven't given me an answer," she said.
He gave a low chuckle as he put his hand to her face and began tracing the line of her jaw.
"I would think that a woman who's figured out the symbolism of limpa bread would know that this..." He drew her even closer and his mouth was nearly touching hers as he said, "...means yes."
LIMPA BREAD
Mix together: 1-1/2 c. lukewarm water 1/4 c. molasses 1/3 c. sugar 1 Tbsp. salt Finely grated rind of 2 oranges
Crumble in 2 packages of dry yeast. Stir until dissolved. Add 2 Tbsp. soft shortening.
Mix in: 2-1/2 c. rye flour 2-1/2 c. regular flour
Knead and let rise. Knead and let rise again. Shape into 2 round loaves. Place on opposite ends of a lightly greased baking sheet. Let them rise until they double in size (45-60 minutes). Bake 30-40 minutes at 350 degrees.
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