Chapter 9

And the next day was Christmas. The only thing I owned that resembled a suit was my dress uniform, and this wasn't a military affair. So I put on a clean polo shirt, a dark green like summer leaves, and a pair of clean khaki pants, and my only pair of loafers, a present from one of my sisters a couple of years before. I had hardly worn them since she'd given them to me, but they fit well and were comfortable.

Max had given me directions to her place, and had said that 10 AM would be a good time, though if I came a bit earlier or later it wouldn't be a problem. I picked up her directions – in her legible but not very pretty writing – from the top of the TV and stuffed them in the pocket of my jacket. With my gloves on and helmet in hand I went out to my bike, and fired it up. I put my helmet on and set off.

Max shared a house with two other pilots at the intersection of Westview and Canyonview, behind the Canyon Plaza shopping center off of Tramway. Her directions were clear and precise – what you'd expect from a pilot, I realized when I had that thought – and I got there about 10 till 10. I parked in front of the house, and Max came out and said, "Go ahead and take it around back. It'll be safe there." So I walked the bike around through the carport to the back, where there was a concrete slab that I supposed someone had once intended for a patio but had never done anything with. I left the bike on the slab, and since it was out of view decided to leave my helmet there, dangling from the handlebars. Max came to the back door and led me inside.

It wasn't a fancy house, and I expected that since she was sharing it with a couple of roommates she was saving a good bit of money. It explained how she was able to do some of the things for me that she'd done – she wasn't hurting for cash. She took my hand once she'd closed the door, and led me through the kitchen into the living room. There was an older couple there, and they stood as we came in. "Mom, Dad," Max said, "this is my friend Derek Alba. Derek, these are my parents, Willard and Debra."

"Nice to meet y'all," said Max's father, and her mother said "Hello." They both shook my hand. He was taller than Max, but not by much, with thinning gray hair. He looked like he was still fit, and his handshake was firm. He was wearing a black suit and white shirt, with a red tie. She was about the same age I guess, though she was only partly gray, and shorter than any of us.

We all sat down, Max pulling me down on the sofa beside her while her parents resumed their recliners. It was a comfortable room, not pretty, but clean and neat and lived in. We all fit well in it, though I didn't think any of us would have been comfortable in a nicer room, the kind you see on the cover of magazines.

"Max has been telling us about you," her father said to me.

"I hope she's been lying about me, otherwise your opinion of me won't be very good."

Her father laughed, and her mother smiled. "Max," her father said, "this boy's just like you."

"I hope I'm not," I said. "This woman's insane."

"I won't argue with that," Willard said. "I helped raise her, remember."

I was already very comfortable with the Bois d'Arcs. There've been times when I met a woman's parents and felt a constant pressure, the standard he's not good enough for my little girl attitude, I suppose, but I got none of that from them. They seemed ready to accept me on Max's appraisal and my own merits. "I'm not sure," I said, "that she's completely grown up yet."

Max backhanded me on the arm – and I felt it too. "You'd better watch it, Derek, or I'll take you up there again and show you real maneuvers."

"If you try that, you'd better not let me work on the engines of any bird you fly. You'll wind up having to punch out every time."

"They're good together," said Mrs. Bois d'Arc, speaking for the first time since our greeting.

"They are," her husband said.

"Hey, we're here in the room!" Max said.

"Why, so you are!" her father answered. "I guess I missed you. When did you come in?"

Max threw a pillow from the sofa at him. "Who's still a child, Daddy?" she asked.

"Both of you," was Debra's declaration.

"I think that's three of us," I said, and grabbed another pillow and threw it at Mr. Bois d'Arc. "I'm on Max's side, by the way."

Her father laughed. "I gathered that. But I bet you're throwing pillows at her before the day's over."

"No bet," I said, looking at Max. "She's exasperating."

"No bet," Max said. "I'm exasperating, yes. But here's something else, Derek – I'm your friend. You don't get to throw pillows at friends."

I looked at her father. "Toss me one of those pillows, Mr. Bois d'Arc." He did. I turned and got up on one knee on the sofa. "Maybe I can't throw a pillow at you, Max, but I can hit you with it." And I did.

She grabbed it, and wrestled it away from me, and hit me back. She was laughing, and her hair had come out of its nice arrangement and hung around her face, slightly wavy and the color of straw. I grabbed for the pillow, and she yanked it out of my reach, and I overbalanced and fell against her. She wrapped me in her arms, and spoke over my shoulder to her parents. "What should I do with him – toss him out for the wolves, or stick him in the oven with the ham?"

They laughed, and she released me. I hurriedly got into a more settled position on the sofa, just in time for Max to say, "You're red again, Derek."

"And you know why."

"Yes, I do." I looked up at her, and saw that she was blushing too. "And I know why I'm getting red too, drat it!" It was the strongest language I'd ever heard from her.

I reached out and took her hand. "I guess we get red together." I looked over at her parents. "Max and I play rough sometimes, but let me tell you, she's a good woman. You can be very proud of her."

"We are," her father said. "What do you do for a living?"

I let go of Max's hand, glad to have something else to talk about. "I'm a jet engine mechanic in the 829^th Fighter Wing."

"That's Max's unit," Debra said.

"Yes. She's flown on my engines more than once."

"Aren't jet engine mechanics enlisted men?" That was Willard.

"Yes, sir – and a couple of women too."

"And Max is an officer."

"Yes."

"I was in the Army," he said. "I spent some time in 'Nam, in fact. And back then they didn't like officers and enlisted men being friends."

I glanced at Max, and saw that she was looking calmly at her parents. "The Air Force still doesn't like it. Technically we're breaking the regulations today, being here together. They call it fraternization, and though we've never had a date as such this would come under that heading, if they wanted it to."

"So are you boyfriend and girlfriend?" Debra asked.

"No ma'am," I said. "We're just friends – very good friends, but friends."

"You are very good friends, I can see that. But you say the Air Force doesn't approve?"

"They're not aware of this specific relationship," I said, "but in principle, no, they don't."

Debra took her husband's hand and looked at him, worried, I thought. He said, "Max, Derek, I hope you know what you're doing."

"We're not always sure, Dad," Max said, "but we are sure that we care about each other."

"And I'm sure, anyway," I put in, "that God's in this somewhere."

"You're a Christian, then?" Mr. Bois d'Arc asked.

"Yes, sir, for a few years now. In fact, day before yesterday Max and I 'went to church' – she took me up with her and we agreed that we met God up in the clouds."

"She's told us about that," he said. "I've never flown, except as a passenger, and I like it fine that way. But Max seems to think she can get closer to God up in the air than anywhere."

"I don't blame her," I said. "After Sunday, I can't say she's wrong."

"No, I don't suppose you can," he said. "I hope you're seeking God's will in this relationship."

"We are," I said, and Max nodded.

"That's good. I don't have any advice for you other than that, and I wish I did. It's not going to be easy on either of you, I don't suppose." He took a breath. "Well, let's change the subject. To what I don't know..."

"How about football?" Max said, and when her father's face lit up I knew I was safe. I don't care a thing about football, and if they got involved they'd ignore me for hours. So I sat back and relaxed, and listened to them talking about things I didn't understand at all.

Max's cooking was delicious. There was the ham she'd mentioned, and mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, a salad full of croutons and sunflower seeds as well as the usual items, and pecan pie for dessert. I especially complimented the pie, which is something you don't see much of in Massachusetts.

"Mom and Dad sent me the pecans from home," Max said. "They've got a tree in the back yard and they pick up pecans every year."

"I don't think I've ever seen a pecan tree," I told her.

"They have them – they have orchards somewhere in New Mexico, further south I think. But in Oklahoma you don't have to go very far to find one. A lot of people get pecans from their own trees. Here you have to buy them, and it's cheaper to pay Daddy the postage money." She smiled at her father.

"And she does pay it, too," he said.

"Or else," Mrs. Bois d'Arc put in.

Max laughed. "It doesn't matter who wears the pants in the family – Mom, you're in charge."

Willard put his arm around Debra. "She's in charge where she's best, and I'm in charge where I'm best. And so we've been married for a long time."

I looked at Max. "If I remember right, you're 29 years old."

"You remember right."

"So you guys," I said to her parents, "have been married at least 30 years."