Kathleen Creighton - The Top Gun's Return

Like a lot of Starr family gatherings, this one hadn't really been planned. It had sort of grown out of everyone's natural desire to drop in and welcome Tristan back from the dead in classic Southern style, with gifts of-what else?- food.

It was Saturday; that morning Troy and Charly had driven over from Atlanta with a trunkful of sweet corn and watermelons, apologizing about the fact that they'd had to buy them at the supermarket, since nobody's gardens were producing so early in the season. Tracy and Al showed up around noon, bringing strawberries and homemade short-cake, and C.J. and Caitlyn hauled over a vat of potato salad big enough to feed the Seventh Fleet. Jimmy Joe had picked up baby back ribs at the supermarket and got the old, rusty half-barrel barbecue set up, while Mirabella, always the practical organizer, remembered to get paper plates, napkins, plastic cups and dinnerware, and all the other odds and ends vital for family picnics. To top it off, Mirabella's sister Summer and her husband, Riley, had showed up a little while ago, having driven all the way from Charleston with a huge cooler full of fresh shrimp-shucked-on ice. Now an enormous pot of water was simmering on the kitchen stove, ready to receive the shrimp, and the air outside was thick with charcoal smoke and the scent of lighter fluid.

Meanwhile, small children rolled and tumbled on the lawn, ignoring their mothers' warnings about chiggers, while the older ones were off in the woods somewhere, getting as filthy as they possibly could in the shortest possible time. The women visited and tended the food and the occasional child-related crisis, while the men…did what they usually did at such gatherings.

Except, at the moment it wasn't a car that had the undivided attention of every male member of the family, and a few of the others, besides. It was a motorcycle-a modest Honda, gleaming black and daffodil yellow-and its proud owner was Jessie's nephew and Mirabella's stepson, J.J., the soon-to-be high school graduate.

"We made the mistake of telling him he could have the transportation of his choice if he got straight As all senior year," Mirabella said mournfully. "I never thought he'd ask for a motorcycle. " She'd left her rocking chair and was leaning against a porch post, gazing at the knot of interested males out in the lane, and the way she said the word it might as well have been missile launcher.

"Well," Jessie said, "at least it's not a Harley."

Mirabella shot her a look. "Oh, he wanted a Harley. Thank God, his dad drew the line at that. At least…well, I guess you could say they compromised. If J.J. proves he's responsible enough to handle this one safely, Jimmy Joe told him he could have a Harley for his college graduation present."

Jessie burst out with a cackle of laughter. Mirabella bristled and said, "What?"

"Nothing-except you reminded me so much of Momma just then." She paused, then added, "You do, you know-you're a lot like Momma-in more ways than one. I've always thought so."

Mirabella considered, then smiled. "I used to wonder what Jimmy Joe could possibly see in me. The first time he brought me here-remember?-and I saw you and Sammi June and J.J., all of you tall, blond and thin types-you could have been clones of my sisters-and my heart sank because here I am, you know, built just like a fireplug-short, round, and redheaded. And then your mother walked out. And I remember thinking, Okay, yes, now I understand. I think it was actually at that moment I began to believe it could work between us." Her voice was the purr of a contented woman, and Jessie felt unexpected twinges of envy.

She studied her sister-in-law, realizing, not for the first time, that at nearly fifty, Mirabella was still an uncommonly beautiful woman. "And…it doesn't bother you that your husband picked you because you remind him of his momma?"

Typically emphatic, Mirabella snorted. "Why should it? It always seems to me, if a man has a reasonably healthy respect and admiration for his mother, it only makes good sense for him to use her as a role model when he goes to choose a mate for himself. Doesn't it? Ha-if only more men were that smart."

Jessie smiled; Mirabella was famous for being forceful in her opinions. Then she shook her head and had to look away, because her smile was fading fast. She took a breath and let it out, and when it did nothing to ease the knot of fear and sadness that had come into her throat, said softly, "Well, I sure don't think I'm anything like Tris's mother."

"How do you know? I thought she died before you met him."

"I've seen pictures-she was dark, like Tris-but that's not what I mean. From what he's told me about her, she must have been tough as nails. Typical German woman-the boss of the house, if not the house hold, if you know what I mean." She sighed as she watched the knot of menfolk and adolescents of both genders gathered out in the lane. With arms crossed she absently rubbed her upper arms with her hands, though it wasn't chilly. "With Tris and me it was different-maybe because I was young when he met me. Or…maybe I'm too easygoing, I don't know. Anyway, he was the boss, and that was that. About pretty much everything. I guess I just…wanted to please him. So I always-"

She broke off with a gasp as a metallic scream ripped the soft air. The black-and-yellow motorcycle had just shot out of the knot of spectators and was tearing off down the lane, a long, lean figure hunched low over the handlebars.

"Oh…God, that's Tris. What is he-" She stopped herself with fingertips touched to her lips, and cleared her throat.

"He'll be fine," said Mirabella dismissively, following her gaze. Then her eyes came back to Jessie, and she made a sound that was half sympathy, half exasperation. "Honey, don't worry. He's a big boy. I imagine he's got some catch-up living to do."

"It's not that," Jessie muttered with a sniff, impatient and appalled at the tears that seemed to flow so easily these days. She scrubbed them away with her wrist and, because she knew Mirabella wasn't going to rest until she'd gotten to the bottom of the reason for them, she went on bluntly, almost angrily, "Sometimes I think…maybe I was too damn agreeable. Back then. Too accommodating. I mean-if it's true men want a woman like their mommas, and I sure as hell wasn't…I can't help but think…you know…"

"Think what?" Mirabella wasn't inclined to help her out.

"Maybe," Jessie mumbled, embarrassed to voice the thoughts that had been haunting her, "he was bored with me."

She expected another one of Mirabella's patented snorts, but instead her sister-in-law said, with unheralded gentleness, "Now, why would you think that?"

So Jessie snorted instead, and began pacing restlessly across the porch. "Because he sure didn't seem to mind being away from me. In fact, it always seemed to me like he was eager to be gone. I think he loved being out there, in the middle of the action. I don't think he was ever happy when he was home."

She stopped to dash away a tear and stare across the yard at nothing. "We fought about it," she said at last, softly. "Before he left for the Gulf, that last time. I'd stood up to him, for once. I told him he was being selfish and childish, going off to a war zone when he had a wife and child right here who needed him. He didn't have to go. But he'd missed the action during the Gulf War, because of that water-skiing accident, remember? And he figured patrolling the no-fly zone was going to be his last chance at flying combat missions. He was so damn stubborn about it-he just kept saying, 'It's something I have to do.' Like nothing in the world was as important to him, not me, not Sammi June-nothing. It made me so angry, 'Bella. I was actually…I'd started to think-" She put a hand over her eyes and drew a shaking breath. "Oh God. I was thinking what it would be like… not to be married to him anymore. Not to have to always be saying goodbye to him, then getting used to him coming back. I was actually thinking maybe, when he came back, I'd leave him. That's why I moved back here and got that job at the hospital."