Chapter 2

I can still see the wind in her golden hair. I close my eyes for a moment, I’m still there. The bluest eyes in Texas are haunting me tonight, like the stars that fill the midnight sky her memory fills my mind. Where did I go wrong? – Restless Heart

The dream was vivid and as James Cavanaugh awoke he held onto it for a few seconds before trying to push it away. The happy memories it invoked of a spring break from school nine years ago had no place in his life now. Unbidden, he could see his family and recall the nine-hundred mile road trip they had taken in their mother’s new Mercedes SUV south to Palm Springs and back.

On one of those days his mother had introduced them to the Coachella Valley Nature Preserve. For hours they had hiked the desert ridgelines in the wonderful dry heat while their father had played golf with his cronies. It was a time when their mother was still a young vibrant woman with a sense of humor and only a moderate drinker and the twins – younger brother Cameron and sister, Cassandra - were still nice kids at thirteen. Cassandra adored her big brother James and wanted to do what he did. In turn, he doted on her. Cameron was still a kid with great ideas and a winning personality, and a passion for science, especially robots and rocketry. Even then, James realized the day was so much better without their father’s presence.

He shook his head, trying to make that memory go away. “Ow!” That wasn’t a good idea, considering the headache that still lurked at the back of his skull – a remnant of the fever that had felled him a few days before.

He looked around. He was still in the hospital. In his short life he’d already had enough of hospitals. According to the whiteboard on the wall across from his bed, Nurse Anne was his keeper for the day and it was Thursday – so it had been four days. Fortunately, he’d recovered quickly enough that he’d been moved out of intensive care after two days. Feeling better, he was impatient to get out and back to work, and back to his own bed in the quiet of his room above the gun shop. Hospitals were anything but quiet restful places. He looked at the bouquets, balloons, and even Christmas decorations in his room. It was surprising. Did he even know that many people?

And what about Christmas? He’d been deployed somewhere the last four, and truthfully, he’d not missed it. Christmas was about joy and family. He had experienced little of the former, and had none of the latter.

When Ed Bailey had visited yesterday afternoon, he assured James that everything was being covered, but James knew better, especially during this busy time. Ed needed time to care for Melody and not worry about the store. He was touched by Ed’s concern and even his wife Melody, sick as she was, sent her best wishes along with a set of nice pajamas. They were both wonderful people. Why couldn’t he have had them for parents?

He didn’t want to remember his own family, in the good times or bad. They had grown so far apart that by the time he left over four years ago the gulf that separated them was a chasm miles wide and deep. When pressed one time about his family, he told the young woman who asked that he was an orphan by choice, not circumstance.

Another memory jumped in on the heels of the first – this one was of that last hurt-filled day when he left, declaring he would never return. The lingering anger and hurt surprised him as it escaped the sealed box that he had tried to keep it in for the last four and a half years. He closed his eyes and finally quit fighting and let the memory wash over him.

It was the end of June, actually the last Sunday in June, and he was seated at the large dining table in his parent’s home in Atherton California. With a population of seven thousand, Atherton, just south of San Francisco, represented one of the wealthiest areas in the US, and his father had built a home that was a reflection of his ego – oversized and tasteless, only limited by what the zoning commission would allow. James had hated it since they moved in just two years before as he started college a dozen miles up the road at Stanford. He tried to limit his time there as much as possible.

His father, Tom, required the entire family to eat dinner together every other Sunday, beginning at six p.m. sharp, and woe be it to anyone who was late. This family gathering supposedly gave Tom and James’ mother, Pamela (never Pam) information about how their three children were doing. In actuality, it was simply a forum for Tom who spent the time pontificating about the state of the world, or politics, or the economy and the morons in Washington or Sacramento. He was a very successful hedge fund manager who made a lot of money.

He prided himself in being a ‘self-made man, ‘ without any reference to the fact he had married well – ‘well’ meaning Mother had brought a considerable sum to the marriage. He never squandered the money – no, he put it to good use and he and his clients prospered, but he never acknowledged that he’d probably just be another talented broker in the San Francisco Bay Area, without the money Pamela brought to the marriage. He was also a greedy, unscrupulous, narcissistic adulterer.

Those Sunday dinners were a trial and Tom never seemed satisfied unless Mother or Cassandra or one of the staff was reduced to tears. Over dinner he inevitably proved that he was a crashing bore and a jerk.

James sat watching his father pick at his dinner. In recent years he had come to equate his tall thin, fair-haired father with the traitorous Cassius from the play, Julius Caesar. Shakespeare describes him in Act One, when Caesar says to Anthony; I want the men around me to be fat, healthy-looking men who sleep at night. That Cassius over there has a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much. Men like him are dangerous.

Yes, his father was dangerous. He was a bully and a spouse abuser – not with physical blows, but with cutting remarks and insinuations. The staff turnover was proof that he didn’t limit his cutting comments to the family.

Of the six people at the large rectangular mahogany table, James had the place of honor at the far end opposite his father, who always presided from his end of the table. To James’ right was his soon to be ex-girlfriend Erica. To his left was his younger brother Cameron. Next to Cameron, on his father’s right was his mother. Across from her was his sister, Cassandra.

He watched his mother, who true to form, was already half in the bag. She would, over the course of the meal, get completely drunk, often to the point where one of the staff had to help her from the table had she not already been forced to leave because of some terrible unpleasantness from her husband. They had not shared a bedroom since they had moved into this house.

His father had made sure James had a summer intern job with a prestigious investment firm in San Francisco, since he had just finished his second year at Stanford. Unbeknownst to his family, James had changed his major from business and accounting to computer science. That was where his interest was, and he could not fathom how the world could be a better place by James Cavanaugh walking, no marching – he pictured Nazi soldiers goose-stepping – in Tom Cavanaugh’s footsteps.

His gaze turned to his pretty blonde sister Cassandra, who was sneaking looks at her iPhone and looking extremely bored. He no longer loved, or even liked his sister, now seventeen. She had turned into a pampered, spoiled and entitled rich girl, who appeared to be extremely jealous of her older brother. He didn’t know why, but these days he simply ignored or avoided her, which of course made her even testier.

Cameron on the other hand, had put away his science and rockets and was doing his best to be a clone of their father. James just considered him a toady. Unlike the ‘lean and hungry’ look of their father, Cameron was trying for the rotund Falstaff look, but of course without the Falstaffian sense of humor.

James felt amazingly calm, considering the news he was going to impart, as he listened to Cameron drone about something he’d read in the weekend Wall Street Journal. He knew his father would be furious, but what was done was done. He just hoped he could get away from the table without giving in to the temptation to tell his father exactly what he thought, but if he burned some bridges tonight, well, no loss.

Next it was Casandra’s turn. She was pretty excited – though it wouldn’t do to show it – about an upcoming school-sponsored trip to Italy. Of course, she was in private school and a beauty in the mold of their mother, but she was also a narcissist and she considered herself one of the Queen Bees. To James she was just another obnoxious bitch like so many of their peers.

And then there was Erica, supposedly James’ girlfriend. She was a tall dark-haired beauty who came from another wealthy Atherton family. In her mind she and James would marry the day after they graduated from Stanford in two years. She had it all planned, and after they were married she would go to law school. Erica was certainly brilliant, but the simple fact James did not love her seemed incidental to her plan – no scheme - to unite the two families.

Actually, it was Erica’s mother who had made that decision, and James doubted the marriage would be anything other than a sort of business merger – a matter of convenience. James had seen enough of the loveless marriage of his parents and wanted nothing to do with it. Tom seemed to heartily approve of the match with Erica. Of course, why shouldn’t he? The way he paid attention to his future daughter-in-law was sickening. Those feelings seemed to be reciprocated by Erica. She was playing all her cards.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard his father say, “Well James, what’s new with you?” Show time. That’s what Grandmother Hawthorn would say. She was a gem, and it was after her death two years ago the family really started to go to hell, especially his mother, who had relied more on her mother than she realized until she was gone.

“On Friday, I quit my job at Baker and Baker.” He was actually astonished at how calm he sounded.

His father’s wine glass simply stopped moving about half way to his lips. James had his full attention now. Tom placed the crystal glass carefully back on the spotless white cotton tablecloth, and then said in a voice that equaled James’ for calmness, but with an edge of menace to it, “I’m not going to ask you to repeat what you just said, I heard you clearly. The foolishness of that move borders on insanity and certainly smacks of ingratitude to me and Phillip Baker who gave you that job over any number of equally or more qualified applicants. Was this just a stupid whim, thinking you’ll laze about here all summer, because I won’t allow that to happen, or was some rational thought given to your rash decision?”

The other four at the table just stared at him as if he’d grown another head. Cook, who was just then bringing coffee and dessert, took one look and retreated to the kitchen.

“Avarice, dishonesty, deceit, character assassination, indifference or disdain for others, especially those who are perceived as weaker, and then taking advantage of that weakness ... and that’s the tip of the iceberg at Baker. I made the mistake of showing my contempt for them all, and in one case defending a young woman who was made a scapegoat. They descended like a pack of rabid wolves, so I left. I’m through with them and with the business. In the month I worked there it appeared as if every other firm I had contact with was the same, although Baker appeared to be by far the worst.”

His father frowned. “So you don’t have the stomach for it huh? How do you think we got here?” He waved his hand at the ceiling. “I worked with fools just like them and I bested the lot of them. The difference is I enjoyed it!”

Out of the corner of his eye James saw Cameron smirk. His mother just looked sad and took a long drink from her wine glass.

“I will not allow you to take the summer off before school starts in the fall. You are not going to be sitting around, or out playing. If you don’t have a job within a week I’ll terminate the lease on your car, cancel all the credit cards and cut off any access to cash. Do you understand?”

His words were even more menacing because his voice had not been raised.

“I won’t be returning to school in the fall.”

This time the wine glass splashed red wine on the bright white tablecloth as his father slammed it down. It was as if the table had been injured and was bleeding beneath the finely woven cotton.

Before his father could speak, James continued, “I’ve already informed the registrar. They graciously said that since I was in good standing I would be free to return in the future, but I have no intention of returning.”

This time his father’s voice was far from controlled when he finally found his voice. “Then you are no longer welcome in this house and you will leave immediately!”

He heard his mother gasp, and his brother’s shocked look had turned to a smile.

To his right Erica simply stared - the shock on her face was clear.

When he had envisioned this scene earlier he had pictured himself at this point simply getting up from the table and walking out the door, but his father’s anger and bullying had changed things.

James’ voice was calm as he replied, “Gladly. I’ve simply had enough of all of you, Dad.” He knew his father hated being called ‘dad.’ “And you especially. Your bullying, cynicism, scorn for everyone else, and the fact you abuse all of us and especially mother is intolerable to me.”

Before his father could speak, James went on, turning to his mother. “And you Mother, what happened to the young, happy, beautiful woman who used to be our mother? The one who used to have a sense of humor and a spine? In the last couple of years you’ve turned into a disgusting, humorless, weak-willed drunk. Have you no pride? Has he beaten you down to the point where you can no longer figure out what’s best for you? You let him get away with flagrant philandering, and a complete disregard for you while he goes his merry way, impregnating young women and doing whatever he damn well pleases! I find it disgusting and I refuse to be around any longer to watch you kill yourself with booze!”

Red-faced, his father sat, seemingly incapable of speech while James continued his accusations.

It hurt him to see the tears streaming down his mother’s face, but he felt compelled to tell her what he saw.

Next he turned to Erica. “Erica, I know this completely screws up your plans, or should I say your mother’s plans.” James had cloned her cell phone several months before and had also hacked into her parent’s financial accounts. He knew all about them and her. “Erica, you may not know this, although I expect you do. Your parents live on the edge of financial disaster and it’s no wonder they, or at least your mother, believes a merger of our two families will mean financial solvency and will rescue them from their irresponsible ways. Well, that’s not going to happen. You don’t love me ... and I don’t love you - I’m just a means to an end. You might still have a go at ‘Dad, ‘ he seems to prefer girls your age...”

“That’s enough!” James’ father shouted, finally finding his voice and rising from his chair. “I will not be insulted in my own house. Not by a worthless lazy ungrateful bum like you!”

Erica, tears streaming, fled the room. James heard her heels clicking on the parquet on the way to the front door, and then the door slammed.

James also stood. “Sit down Dad, I’m on my way. And if you’re thinking about tossing me out before I’m ready, I’ll knock you on your ass.” He was amazed that he had used the same menacing tone his father usually used. Got it from the source. He had two inches in height and probably thirty pounds on his father and could certainly knock him on his ass.

Cameron was no longer smiling and his sister just sat unmoving, face white with shock.

James removed his light-colored silk twill jacket and draped it over the back of his dining chair, then undid his tie and dropped it on the table and began unbuttoning his tailored light blue Egyptian cotton button-down shirt. As he undressed he said, “Well, Dad, I figured you’d want me out, so I’m not taking anything with me. I really don’t want anything to remind me of any of you, or this place.”

Bare-chested he reached into his pants pocket and took out the keys to his Porsche and dropped them on the table. Next he unstrapped his Breitling Chronograph. He would miss that watch. His mother had presented it to him some months ago on the day he soloed on completion of flight training.

He then reached down and picked up a plain brown grocery bag that he had hidden underneath his chair and placed it on the table. “I did a little shopping at Goodwill in San Francisco and picked out a new wardrobe.” He took out a faded white polo shirt and put it on. He then exchanged his expensive trousers for a pair of well-worn tan chinos and his shoes for a pair of battered running shoes.

Everyone sat as if turned to stone as he changed his clothes. His father had even returned to his seat. Finally he reached into the inside pocket of his silk jacket and pulled out his fine-grain leather wallet and opened it on the table. “As you can see, I’m not taking any money or your credit cards, Dad, only my drivers’ license.” He held up the license before placing it in the pocket of his trousers. “I might need some ID where I’m going.” He then pushed the wallet toward his father’s end of the table.

His cell phone rang and he pulled it out of the grocery bag. “Perfect timing, my ride’s here.” He went to the ‘settings’ app on his phone and then touched ‘erase all content and settings.’ He then turned off the phone and dropped it on the table in front of him. “I think that about covers things. I do have another job starting immediately, and I’m happy to say it’s out of town, and if I’m very lucky it will take me out of the country for long periods of time, so I never have to see any of you again. I will spare all of you by not writing or having anything else to do with this family. In future, if asked, I will tell people I’m an orphan – better an orphan than having any further association with any of you.” He looked at his sister. She was openly crying now, making no attempt to wipe the tears. He found that odd. Why should she care?

“I trust that none of you desires to have anything further to do with me, but if for some strange reason you do, please spare me, do not ever try to contact me by any means, I will not be receptive, so let’s just call any relationship we had, finished.”

He pulled one last article from the bag – a very faded khaki jacket - and as he slipped it on, his father said without looking at him, “Good riddance. Don’t even think of coming back.” The menace in his voice had returned. He picked up his wine glass and drained it.

“Oh, rest assured the thought will never cross my mind.”

“And don’t even think about trying to get money from your trust. It’s only for school and I’ll make sure Mr. Denkins is informed that you have left school.”

James looked at his father and said, “Too late, I’ve already been in touch with him. Of course he reminded me that its mine to do with as I wish when I turn twenty five. If it was money from you I would have nothing to do with it, but Grandmother Hawthorn was kind enough to set it up and if I’m still alive...” He heard his mother gasp. “Then I might find something grossly inappropriate to do with it, like giving it to charity, or using it to help people. By the way, I’ve changed the beneficiaries. None of you,” he looked around the table “will benefit.”

James walked to the wood sliding doors leading to the hallway. At the doorway he paused and turned. He looked at the small pile of possessions on the table. “It’s pretty sad that all that’s left of me after twenty years is a wallet, a watch, car keys and a phone. I plan to do better in my next twenty years.”

Without another word, he turned and left. There was only stunned silence broken by muffled sobs in his wake.

As he walked out the front door he didn’t even bother to look back, but instead of feeling relieved or even victorious about his leave-taking, he only felt sad. It was almost as if he had failed them.

Saddened by the memory, he gazed out the hospital window, oblivious to the December sunshine. He figured they were all better off without contact. He was a failure in his father’s eyes – not that he cared about that at all, it was the other part of the equation that continued to bother him. Not often, but sometimes he had wondered if his mother had yet to drink herself to death, or if his sister had ever grown up and returned to being the loving, caring person he had known when they were younger. It hardly mattered any longer – he was on his own and never going back. He wished all memories of his family could be wiped from his mind. Did he? Perhaps not.

He had never contacted them, and until about six months ago they had made no effort to get in touch. Of course, his disappearance into the Marines was probably inconceivable to his family. He remembered his father’s often expressed opinions about those who served, ‘They’re a bunch of hicks and rednecks who couldn’t find any other kind of work.’ Of course he had never served, nor had any of his friends or for that matter anyone they knew.

James had found out differently. Those rednecks and hicks made up the core of a professional military that was the standard for the world.

He recalled his mother’s attempt to contact him through a congressman. He’d been told to report to his platoon leader, Lieutenant Jenkins. James was just in from a two week op in the mountains. He was tired and filthy and had a bloody bandage on his thigh where Doc Abrams had pulled out a chunk of shrapnel and then stitched up his leg.

“You wanted to see me Sir?” The platoon command post was in an ancient sand-colored mud-brick Afghan-built fort – if you could call it a fort. At least it was on a hilltop and had good fields of fire and observation. Lieutenant Jenkins, a Naval Academy grad but no stickler for spit and polish, sat behind an elderly-looking sand-blasted OD green field desk.

“Sit down Cavanaugh, before you fall down.” He gestured to a battered metal folding chair near the mud-brick wall. “Anyone tell you that you look like shit?” He did smile a bit as he said it.

“Yes Sir, I believe Gunny Rogers mentioned something to that effect...”

“How many times you been dinged, Sergeant?”

“A few times Sir, but Doc says I’ll be good as new in a couple of days.”

“Not keeping score?”

“No Sir. Doesn’t do to complain ... nobody listens anyway.” He smiled at the Lieutenant, still wondering why he wasn’t crashed in his cot by now instead of bantering with the LT.

“Speaking of complaints ... and that’s the reason we’re having this scintillating conversation while we both have better things to do. You haven’t been writing to your congressman about conditions here or anything else, have you?”