Three Little Words

Anne slid behind the wheel, and I climbed into the passenger seat. Christy sat on my lap and pulled her warm headband into place. We drove to La Jolla with the heat on full blast and oblivious to the curious looks from other drivers.

“That was fun!” Anne said as we pulled into the garage. Her cheeks were pink and her hair frizzy where it peeked from under her scarf, but she looked exhilarated. “Who’s ready to do it again?”

“Maybe later,” I laughed. I patted Christy’s bottom and opened the car door.

“Hey, Mom,” she said as she climbed out, “do you mind if we—?”

“Make a snack? Of course. Paul, dear, will you bring the luggage?”

“My pleasure.” I smiled to myself as the bird-sized women headed inside to feed their bird-sized appetites. (Did you know that birds eat more than fifteen percent of their body weight every day? That’s astounding. An average human would need to eat twenty pounds of food to accomplish the same thing. You’d know that if you ever teased your girlfriend during a midnight snack. I digress, but I sort of had it coming.) I unloaded the ski bags and leaned them against the garage wall. Then I made two trips and hauled our suitcases and other bags inside. I took Christy’s to her bedroom and mine to the guest room. When I returned to the kitchen, Christy stood on tiptoe and gave me a kiss along with a mug of hot cocoa. I casually put my arm around her and soaked up her warmth as well.

Anne’s dark blue eyes smiled as she watched us, and I wondered how much she knew about our relationship. Probably enough, I decided. She must have read my mind, because she gave me a little smile of approval. She didn’t need to be Christy’s mother to see how happy she was.

Harold came home a couple of hours later, and Anne and Christy greeted him at the door. He kissed his wife, gave his daughter a hug, and then shook my hand.

“Glad you made it home safe,” he said.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Son, you’re going to get me in trouble if you keep that up. Just Harold.”

“Sorry,” I said. “It’s the uniform.”

“You could wear one yourself,” he said. “Birdy loves a man in uniform.”

“I love you in uniform,” she corrected. “Paul looks better in a suit.”

“There she goes again, thinking for herself,” I said.

Anne covered a smile, but Christy shot me a glare before she realized I was kidding.

Harold laughed. “She’s too much like her mother.”

“And that’s a bad thing because…?” Anne asked sweetly.

“Oh, no! It’s a good thing. Very good.”

She rolled her eyes and took his coat, which she folded and automatically passed to Christy. She stopped in surprise when she realized what she’d done.

“It’s good to have you home, Birdy,” her father said. “I knew you’d

eventually grow up and fly the nest, but I didn’t think it’d be so quick.”

“Don’t worry, Daddy, I’ll always be your little girl.”

“Maybe in my heart,” he said, “but you’re a young woman now. I might even get used to the fact that you have a young man in your life.” He smiled at me, but I detected a hint of calculation. “Speaking of which,” he continued,

“would you like to join me for a drink, Paul, after I change into something more comfortable?”

Anne quirked an eyebrow and silently asked if I wanted to be rescued or not, at which point I realized that Harold was going to interrogate me about the sleeping arrangements at the cabin. Lucky for me, I was one step ahead of him—I’d rehearsed my story during the flight from Tahoe. I did my best not to smile, but he’d been reading people’s expressions longer than I’d been alive.

“You and your strange sense of humor,” he said with an amused snort.

“Sorry. I can’t help it.”

“Maybe you’re right to avoid the military. That smirk alone could get you court-martialed.”

“Oh, Dad, be nice,” Christy said. “I happen to like his smirk.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” But he gave me a nod, if not of approval, then at least of acceptance. “I’ll meet you in my office.”

“I’ll pour the whiskey.”

“Now, you see that?” he said to his wife and daughter. “That’s the way this should work.”

I survived the inquest at the admiral’s mast. Harold was surprisingly smooth about it. I’d expected a frontal assault, but we mostly talked about the cabin itself and the towns around the lake. Still, he must’ve been satisfied, because he poured more whiskey and we chatted until Anne called us to dinner. We ate in the kitchen and continued the conversation about Lake Tahoe.

“We’re thinking of buying a house in the area,” Harold said. “Squaw Valley or Northstar, or maybe something on the south side of the lake.”

“It’s a beautiful area,” I agreed.

“We like the skiing, but it’s nice in the summer, too.” He glanced at his wife. “We’re thinking of staying in San Diego when I retire. And it’d be nice

to have a place up north to get away from the city.”

“We want something big enough that family can visit or use it when we aren’t there,” Anne added. She smiled at her husband, and I had the distinct impression that she’d just told him to add me to the list of “family.”