Hank Talbot grabbed the phone from his grandmother’s hand. They sat in the kitchen eating an afternoon snack of cinnamon graham crackers and sweet iced tea. When the cell phone jingled to the tune of ‘The Army Goes Rolling Along,’ Granny Bea snatched it up. Stepping out of the sliding doors, she answered it. Hank swiftly whisked it from her hands. He knew who was on the other end.
“Hello, dad,” Hank practically shouted into the smartphone. “Where are you? Oh, I know, you can’t say.”
"Hi, Buddy," Ollie responded, chuckling. "You made it to Granny's, all right?"
"Yeah, sure, dad," the eight-year-old boy answered.
Hank traveled alone on the plane since the age of six-years-old. He felt like a pro. Sometimes mom took him to the airport. However, more than likely, one of her friends dropped him off. He did not mind. As he told his friends, he enjoyed being a globetrotter. The furthest he had ever flown was from Tokyo to Naples, Florida.
“Boy was I lucky, dad,” Hank breathed, fogging up the screen. “I made the second to last flight before the airport shut down. Mom made the final one. She went to Jamaica.” The boy paused, then continued, “I don’t think you were supposed to know that.”
“Don’t worry,” Oliver answered, his voice less than jolly. “I found out.”
Taking great care, Ollie kept his aggravation out of his voice. He did not wish to speak about Liz at all. He had no wish to bring his only son into his dilemma.
“Let me talk to Granny,” he said instead.
“Sure,” the boy responded. Then, “Love you, dad.”
“Love you, too, buddy.”
The next moment, Beatrice Talbot said hello. She sounded cheerful, but Oliver knew she masked her concern. Instead, she made small talk: the weather, Hank's homeschooling, Jeff's inability to play golf.
“What’s going on with Liz?” his mother finally asked.
“Is Hank still around?” Ollie countered.
"No, I sent him off to do his classwork," Bea assured. Grasping, one-handed, behind her, she pulled up an aluminum lawn chair and sat. Since the pandemic kept everyone at home, she spent much of her time in the backyard. The clean, fresh afternoon air did her good. Too soon, the temperatures would become Florida oppressive.
"My darling wife got herself quarantined in Kingston, Jamaica, Mon." He had not meant to be funny. The 'Mon' slipped out.
His mother breathed in sharply. Despite the distance between them, she felt her son's misery. Years ago, she believed she had done the right thing by separating Ollie from Nicola Prescott. Bea only considered the difficulties a military marriage presented. If one entered it unprepared, it fell apart rather swiftly. Petite Nicola did not have the broad shoulders to bear the responsibility. Perhaps she could have learned on the fly, but why put her through all that?
Elizabeth Amberley seemed the better choice. However, time proved otherwise. Some military wives dedicated their lives to the service. They stood firmly between their husband's tours of duty and domestic life. The assets of such wives kept their men on solid ground. When the chips were down, they held the world upon their shoulders.
Then, there were the other types. Liz fell into that category. She acted impulsively. Throwing Ollie's position around as though she were the Queen of Sheba, she demanded her own way. When the going got tough, Liz got going. Jamaica, Acapulco, and Tahiti were only a few of her runaway spots. She was never available when needed. Oliver constantly ran to her rescue. He'd made a wrong choice, and Bea had pushed him into it.
“I’m sorry, Ollie,” his mother whispered, barely audible.
“So am I, mom,” her son answered across the miles.
“Are you going to arrange an EVAC?”
“Her father is going to arrange one.”
Oliver’s terse statement caused his mother to pause. Beatrice nearly urged him to rescue her. Then, she bit her tongue. Her mind whirled.
“Divorce?” she finally asked, holding her breath.
Never in the history of the Talbots had a marriage broken up. She nearly suggested counseling but stopped herself. Oliver and Liz had tried that, unsuccessfully. Following several sessions, the animosity between them calmed down, then boiled up again. The situation had gone too far to save it.
“Possibly.” Ollie cut the conversation short.
A moment elapsed between mother and son. Tension stood between them. Bea sighed; Ollie repeated her sound.
“Mom,” Lt. Col. Talbot cut into the silence.
“Yes, Ollie.”
Another long pause. The next question rolled on Oliver’s tongue. Unsure, he hated to broach the subject. However, it seemed pertinent to ask.
“Have you heard from Ivan?” The words tumbled out. For a prolonged moment, he did not believe his mother would answer.
“No, Ollie.” Tears clung to Beatrice Talbot’s lashes.
She placed her smartphone on the patio table and grasped the table's edges with white knuckles. Oliver knew better than to ask about Ivan. After all the years following his sudden disappearance from Swarthmore, she still ached for her oldest child. Often, in her sleep, she cried out his name. Beatrice loved both of her offspring. It broke her heart to lose one of them.
The plague outbreak in the LBGTQ community worried her. A little voice inside her head told her Ivan was a part of it. Early one morning, she believed she felt the wisp of a spirit leave her body. A deep sorrow gripped her. Without any actual knowledge, she understood her child left the earth.
“I’ll run another search, mom,” Oliver promised.
Previously, Ollie made the same guarantee many times. Each time he came up empty. Following his enrolment at Swarthmore, all vital information concerning Ivan Geoffrey Talbot, Jr. led to a dead end. As far as the public record was concerned, the elder son of Gen. I. Jeff Talbot did not exist. Oliver attempted differing variations on the name and still came up empty.
Before Beatrice mutter a response, Hank came back on the line.
“Dad,” the boy tentatively started. Then, in a rush of words, “Mom said we’re going to get rid of Blinky and Floyd next time we move.”
“Now, wait a minute, champ,” Ollie responded, suddenly mystified. “No one decided to get rid of Blinky and Floyd.”
“Mom did,” Hank countered, practically sobbing.
On the day of Hank's third birthday, Oliver discovered a litter of kittens near the trash dumpsters behind his office. Believing the cute critters would make a charming gift, he kept two. Then, he delivered the other three to a local no-kill shelter. Naming them Blinky and Floyd, the child kept them as his constant companions. A part of the family, the two pets traveled to each of the Talbot's new locations.
Feral cats and wayward wives abounded on military bases. With a new move in sight, families left their pets behind. The animals roamed the installations. They bred like rabbits, and the feral population grew. While the cat population thrived, the wives cycled around. After three or four years, those who made up the community transferred. New ones replaced them. The situation revolved.
Consistent animal lovers, the Talbots took their pets with them. Oliver could no sooner part with Blinky and Floyd than Hank could. The many cats and dogs he remembers moved along with the family. Furthermore, he implored other military families to do the same. However, more and more abandoned feral animals roamed around the bases.
"Mom was wrong, Hank," Oliver reassured, smiling. "Are they with you now?"
“Yeah,” the child answered, his lips too close to the screen. “They flew in the hold. After we hang up, I’ll take a photo and send it.”
“You do that, son. Let me talk to Granny again.”
“She went inside, dad. I think she’s crying.”
The silence grew between father and son. For a moment, Oliver thought the boy had hung up. Then his voice came back in a whisper.
“I think she’s crying about Uncle Ivan, daddy,” Hank stated. Although he did not know his uncle, he’d overheard talk about him. “Is Uncle Ivan in trouble?”
"We don't know, son," Ollie responded, wishing to close the subject. It had been impossible to keep Hank from learning about his missing uncle. However, the family tried to keep their chatter down around the young boy.
“Mommy’s in trouble again.”
“Yes, but we won’t talk about it, okay?”
"Yeah, okay, sure, dad," the boy answered conspiratorially.
After a hasty goodbye, Oliver hung up the phone. After a moment, it buzzed. Picking it up, he opened a video of two frolicking cats. Misty grey Floyd batted playfully at his orange and white sister Blinky. Lt. Col. Talbot grinned for the first time in ages.
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