Didn’t get along? That was one way to put it. More like he could never do anything right, and when he messed up, he got closely acquainted with the man’s fists.
“You already know my story,” she murmured, and he did.
She was an only child, raised by her father, whom she had been close to before he died. Her mother left when she was three years old, and Malin had only seen her one time since, when she showed up for her dad’s funeral and Malin asked that the woman be escorted out. Her father had never remarried, and consequently, she had no step- or half-siblings.
“My step-father ruled with an iron fist. At least with me,” he said, surprising himself.
“What about your mother? Did he abuse her?”
“No.” Dutch would’ve killed the man if he had. “She took his side, though.”
“You went to the Air Force Academy.”
“That’s right.”
He still remembered walking to the bus stop alone the day he left home. He hadn’t looked or ever gone back.
Fortunately for him, a family who lived near the academy had “sponsored” him like so many of the local residents did.
In most cases, the cadets spent time with the family more often when they were freshmen and had very limited privileges, but in his case, he remained close to them all four years.
Both the man and the woman, Steve and Mary, were in their sixties when Dutch met them; their children were grown and had lives of their own, but visited their parents often.
Steve had been a pilot in the Air Force and had served in the Korean and Vietnam wars. He held the record for parachuting out of a plane that had been shot down, and living through it. Four times he’d gone back and gotten in another plane after being rescued and recovering from whatever injuries he had sustained.
He and Mary had met at church, back in her hometown in Minnesota. Steve had been stationed nearby, and she loved to tell the story of the first day she saw him, when he walked in with his leather jacket and white scarf. Mary’s mother had been aghast that the man hadn’t worn a coat and tie to mass, but Mary hadn’t cared. To her, he was the most handsome man alive.
The two had a good life together, traveling the world and raising their family. When Steve retired, he bought a piece of land with a view of the academy, and built Mary her dream house.
Dutch had known them for ten years when Mary passed away, and Steve followed shortly thereafter. While he knew their children, they’d never been especially close, so he lost touch with them.
His time at the academy would’ve been much different had he not known Steve and Mary. They always made sure he felt welcome on the weekends and at the holidays. They celebrated his birthday and always had gifts for him then and at Christmas.
“What are you thinking about?” Malin asked when he turned his head and realized she was studying him.
“The Heilmans. My cadet sponsor family.”
“Tell me about them.”
Dutch told her everything he’d just thought about, feeling bad at the end that he thought of them so rarely now when they had once been a lifeline for him.
“I think Steve was disappointed when I didn’t get a pilot slot, but he never said anything about it.”
“Did any of their children join the military?”
Dutch shook his head. “That probably disappointed him too. Not Mary, though. As the wife of a man who had been shot out of a plane four times, she made no secret that she supported her son’s and daughter’s decisions to choose careers where they stayed out of harm’s way.”
“They sound very nice.”
“They were the best. I remember that Steve’s favorite drink was a Cuba Libre, and he’d have a fit if anyone served it to him with spiced rum. And Mary loved her scotch—red label.”
Malin laughed. “Were they heavy drinkers?”
Dutch shook his head. “Not at all. It’s just that they were both so particular about it. Oh, the other thing about Mary is, one of her favorite things to tell people was that she used to babysit Bob Dylan. She always called him Bobby.”
“You miss them.”
“I do, and I feel bad that I don’t think of them more often.”