“Charting the Course”

By Shotzette

PG-13

 

This is only a work of fan fiction and is not intended to infringe upon anyone’s copyrights or intellectual properties

 

A sequel to Missy’s most excellent “Life Lines”

 

 

 

Bob sat on the damp sand and took another swig from his half empty bottle of Corona.  The beach was cold, but preferable to the warm vacation rental one hundred yards behind him.  He hadn’t heard any screaming, but he knew better than anyone that all hell could break loose silently, and at any time.  The dark tides rolled in an out, in a rhythm that was nearly in cadence with his own breath; in and out, in and out, one of the few things that you could count on in life.

 

“Hey!”

 

He sighed.  He didn’t recognize the manly timbre of the voice, but he remembered the tone of its childlike version too well.  “Hey, Dom.”  Bob gestured to the cooler with his elbow, his gaze never straying from the dark waves, “Pull up some sand and grab a brew.”

 

Bob heard the sound of the beer bottle being uncapped followed by the crunching noise of the sand next to him being displaced and a ragged “oof”.

 

“So?”

 

Bob shrugged.  “Yeah.”

 

“Wow.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And you’ve known?”

 

Bob took a sip.  “Nearly a month.”

 

Dom snorted.  “I guess she wanted to tell Frankie and me in person, right?”

 

“Rachel and I had to hear it in person, why should you two get off lucky?”

 

“*Your* Dad and *my* Mom, though?”

 

“That’s sort of the general idea.” 

 

“Wow,” he repeated.  “Was it weird for you?”

 

“Define weird?” Bob asked with a smirk as he glanced at the tanned guy to his right.

 

“She looked happy.”  Dom’s voice sounded thin and hollow.

 

Bob just shrugged.

 

“And your Dad looks happy, too,” Dom continued, “Really happy-- almost too happy.  Oh, jeez,” he groaned.  “Now I’m imagining why he’s happy.”

 

“There’s a twelve pack in the cooler.”

 

“Thank God.”

 

“How’s Frank taking the news?”

 

Dom shrugged as he reached for another beer.  “I don’t know, it’s hard to tell with him.  He’s not happy, but I don’t know if that’s because my Mom and your Dad are a couple or because she just told him that he has to move to California.  Not that he should mind, the way that he’s picked on in high school anyhow…  How’s Rachel?”

 

Bob’s brow furrowed.  “It’s weird for her.  I mean, I really think that she likes your Mom, but she’s not used to have to share my Dad.  If we’re all together doing stuff with Uncle Squig, everything’s cool, but when she sees Laverne and my Dad go off by themselves, I think she feels a little out of place.”

 

“Revenge of the Daddy’s Girl?” Dom asked with the kind of smirk that seemed to beg for a fist to punch if off of his face.

 

Bob shook his head and thought about it for a bit.  “It’s not quite that bad, but it’s different for her.  I think you’re Mom knows and she gives Rachel a lot of space.”

 

“She is pretty cool when the chips are down,” Dom replied, “I mean, she won’t take any shit, but she doesn’t get spun up by the small stuff.   As long as we at least brought home C’s and our rooms weren’t disgustingly gross, she wouldn’t ride us too hard.  She wasn’t naggy like a lot of Moms are, y’know?”

 

“No.  I don’t know.”  The words came out with a lot more venom than Bob intended them to have.   “Sorry, dude.”

 

Instantly, Dom’s smirk was gone and he looked abashed.  “No.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean…”

 

“I know.  It’s just…”

 

“What?”

 

Bob finished his beer in several long gulps and reached for a new bottle before answering.  “Do you remember my Mom?”

 

Dom shifted his rear in the sand, looked uncomfortable.  “I just met her that one time.”

 

“I know, but do you remember her?”

 

Dom nodded.  “Yeah.  It’s weird, I thought she was really pretty—not that there’s anything wrong with your Mom being pretty and I wasn’t saying that in a perv way—but I didn’t realize until like halfway thru the day that she and your Dad were couple.”

 

Bob’s beer threatened to exit from his nostrils.  “Huh?”

 

“Well, I mean, we flew out from Florida and it was all “Here’s your Aunt Shirley and your uncle Walter, here’s uncle Squiggy and aunt whatever her name was”

 

“Nashtinka.”

 

“You’re kidding.”

 

“I shit you not.”

 

Dom chuckled.  “I mean, there was just a bunch of strange adults all mixed together in a pack—and,” he said, his smirk returning, “some dopey blond kid who thought a shark could live in a swimming pool..”

 

“Yeah.  You were kind of a tool back then, weren’t you?”

 

“You got over it.  Anyhow, your parents didn’t seem like they were really together.  I’m sorry; I know I’m not saying any of this right.”

 

“It’s okay.  I mean my Mom had problems; a lot of problems.  And that was the day that the shit hit the fan.”

 

“I kind of remember part of that.  You and me were asleep on the fold out couch in the downstairs TV room when it all happened I think.”

 

Bob laughed despite himself.  “Remember how Billy Meaney was supposed to sleep out on the sofa bed with us too, but we told him that the beach house was built on an Indian burial ground and he freaked out and had to go sleep in the back bedrooms with his sisters?”

 

Dom’s laughter exploded in a nasal bark peppered with beer spray.  “That was hilarious!  I can’t believe his parents were surprised when he started performing in the Ice-Capades!”

 

“Yeah.”  Bob’s laughter evaporated as the other memories from that day flashed through his mind.  “I just remember seeing the blue and red flashing lights in the window and none of the grown-ups would let us outside.”

 

“I thought the Russians were attacking us.”

 

“I remember that your Dad pulled me aside afterwards and told me that my Mom was real sick, but that she was going to get better some day and that me and my Dad just had to hang on and keep going until that day came.”

 

“That sounds like my Dad,” Dom said in a rueful tone.  “He was always big on pep talks, especially right before a big game.”

 

“He thought he was telling me what I needed to hear.  I wish he’d been straight with me…”

 

“Bobby…”

 

“Bob.”

 

“Thank, god.  What is it with guys over fourteen who let someone put a ‘Y’ on the end of their name?”

 

Bob cocked his head to one side and looked like he was pretending to think; the move that he was sure drove his eighth grade history teacher off the wagon after four years of sobriety.  At least that’s what his guidance counselor had told him.  “Gee, I dunno.  I’ll have to ask my Dad, LENNY, or my Uncle SQUIGGY about that one, okay?”

 

“Seriously.  I think my Dad was being straight with you, or at least as straight as he was with himself.”

 

“Huh?”  Now the look was damn close to real.

 

“The thing with your Mom really freaked him out, too,” Dom explained, “I didn’t know it for a long time afterwards, but at some point—cripes, maybe in round twelve of marriage counseling, he told my Mom that he blamed himself for not seeing the signs that your Mom was having problems earlier.”

 

“Why didn’t he?”  It took Bob five seconds to realize that he was holding his breath as he waited for the answer.

 

“I dunno.  She was a friend.  He said that she was really smart.”

 

The tiny little bullshit detector in Bob’s brain flickered.  “Okay, she was a totally Anti-Pig hippie and your Robo-Cop Dad thought she was a friend?”

 

Dom laughed.  “I know; they were from two different planets, but he once mentioned that he’d never met a liberal before who could intelligently explain her beliefs with him and actually make him re-think his a bit.  Considering how conservative my Dad is, that says a hell of a lot.”

 

“He must have caught her on one of her less-crazy days,” Bob replied without a trace of guilt.

 

“Maybe, but he liked her.  Once my Dad likes someone—not that he likes anyone right away, he likes them for good.  Well, that and your Mom introduced my Dad to my Mom.”

 

Bob choked on his beer.  “You’re kidding me, right?”

 

“No, dude.  I’m serious.  He told me that both our Moms worked in my grandfather’s restaurant and that when he first saw my Mom, she wouldn’t give him the time of day.  He later found out that my grandfather was really sick and that she was too worried about him to notice much of anything.  Your Mom told my Dad to keep trying.”  Dom took several large gulps of his beer before adding, “Then again, I was only ten, and it’s not like he would have told me if there had been a kinky, late-sixties key-party that had taken a turn for the weird.”

 

“Ewww…” Bob reached for another beer.  “Thanks.  I really needed that in my head.  Anywho, sorry about that.”

 

“About what?”

 

“My Mom introducing your folks; considering how that worked out and everything.”

 

Dom’s brows knit together.  “Whaddya mean?”

 

“Well, it’s not like your folks are still together,” Bob explained in the same tone that he used when he was trying to teach Rachel how to tell time.”

 

“No, their not,” Dom admitted.  “We had some pretty good times though, and, he admitted, some rough ones.  Just like any other normal family.”

 

“Once again, define normal.”

 

“I know it when I see it.”

 

“Okay, what’s normal about my family?”  Bob’s question seemed tiny and unreal next to the sound of the ocean.  “My Mom killed herself, after being locked up and away from me and my Dad for a bunch of years,” he said as he counted off on his fingers, “ My Dad knocked up his girlfriend in my meantime, and got my half-sister out of the deal.  His girlfriend then dies, leaving my Dad, Uncle Squiggy, and Aunt Nashtinka to take care of us.  My sister then becomes a famous rock star, and Uncle Squig gets cancer and moves in with us when Nashtinka dumps him.  I enlist the day of my high school graduation so I don’t have to go and watch everyone else get there diplomas with their families there.  Please, point out the normal in all of this!”

 

Dom stared at him for several long seconds like he had sprouted a second head before replying, “You’re sitting on a beach, drinking with a bud, and bitching about how your parents fucked up your life.  If that isn’t normal, I don’t know what is.”

 

Bob blinked, and felt like he’d jumped off of a cliff to only discover that it was four feet off of the ground.  “Damn.”

 

“Yeah”.  Dom gestured back at the beach house with his thumb.  “Y’know, they might stay together.”

 

Bob shrugged.  “Everybody says they’ll stay, but they don’t.”

 

“So, why’d you come back and not re-enlist when your hitch was up.”

 

“Dude, the Merchant Marines isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

 

Dom choked on his beer.  “Who said it would be?”

 

“The recruiter at my high school.”

 

“They’re paid to say that, y’know.”

 

“I know, but he looked sincere.  Also, it let me earn some money for college without asking my Dad for it, or, as he shuddered, ‘my little sister.”

 

“Ouch.  So, where do you want to go to college?”

 

“Really?  Nowhere I’ve seen so far.”

 

“Come on, college is fun!  I spent five years there, and loved it!  Then the bastards made me graduate…”

 

Bob pinched his thumb and forefinger together.  “Listen!  Are you hearing the tiniest violin in the world, Carposi?”  He laughed and momentarily remembered what it was like to hear himself make such a sound.  “Pity party for the guy who hangs out with hot babes all day and calls it work”.

 

“It is work!  Besides, I’m still paying my dues.  Who do you think has to clean up when one of these bulimic models doesn’t make it to the bathroom in time?  Yours truly, my friend, that’s who!”

 

“I take it back,” Bob replied in mock sincerity, “yours is a hard life.”

 

Dom clinked his bottle against his.  “Damn straight.  And not the most lucrative at this time either.”

 

“You’re not the rich and famous king of South Beach?”

 

“Only to people in the know, and not that many people know.  Miami’s expensive, and now that Mom has moved out here permanently, I’m sure she’s going to want to sell her condo and yours truly is out on his asphalt.”

 

Bob winced.  “Ouch!”

 

“I can’t complain; she put me thru two and a half years of one of the colleges of my choice.”

 

“Miami…” Bob was surprised to hear the wistfulness in his voice.

 

“That’s the name, don’t wear it out.”

 

“I think I know why your models are puking if that’s the line you use.  I’m thinking…”

 

“That would explain why your hair is doing that weird thing.  How much mousse is in there?”

 

Bob swatted away the offending hand.  “Shut up.  Y’know how I said that college didn’t interest me?”

 

“It was only a beer ago, I remember that.”

 

“One place of higher learning did, but I don’t even want to consider doing it here.  Wow, I haven’t ever told anyone this before…”

 

“Are you going to tell me or make me guess?”

 

“The Police Academy.”

 

“No way.”

 

“Way.”

 

“Wow.  Really?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You’re so not like your Mom.”

 

“No, I’m not.”

 

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

 

“Well, I’m not,” Bob said less defensively, “and I actually finally got the proof.”

 

“What?”

 

“The thing that was wrong with my Mom was organic dementia.  It can be hereditary.”  Bob quickly took a sip of beer and watched his friend’s face for a reaction.

 

Dom blinked, and seem to pale a bit under his perma-tan.  “Dude.”

 

Bob shook his head.  “I don’t have it.  That’s one of the reasons that I signed up…”

 

Understanding dawned in Dom’s eyes.  “Because you knew that they’d do a physical on you…”

 

Bob nodded.  “Especially since I mentioned my Mom had it.  After I’d enlisted, of course.  They ran a whole battery of tests and psyche evaluations on me and about four different doctors told me I didn’t have it.  They even let me sign up for some really dangerous shit that I can NEVER tell my Dad about, cuz they wouldn’t let anyone with any mental problems do it.”

 

“Dude.  You are way more devious than you look.  And here I thought you were too naïve to be a cop…”

 

“It’s my thing.”

 

“Cheers, Dude,” Dom replied with a grin, and more than a touch of respect in his voice.  “ So you’d consider moving halfway across the country to join a police force when you have several here in your own back yard?”

 

Bob’s grin tightened.  “My Dad is also in my own backyard.  So’s my sister.”

 

“You don’t want to set bad example for the princess?”

 

Bob rolled his eyes in exasperation.  “Like I could…  Kosnowski isn’t exactly an unusual name.”

 

“I’ll say, I can barely say the damn thing.”

 

“I mean, it’s pretty well known that Rachel Kosnowski’s from this area…”

 

“And you are tired of being Rachel’s brother,” Dom finished.”

 

“No,” Bob said, as he shook his head.  “I’m tired of only being Rachel’s brother.”  And the crazy lady’s kid…  “I just need a change.  That was one of the good things about enlisting; I was a nobody.”

 

“Most people bust their asses to be a somebody.”

 

“If they know who and what they want to be.  I just know who I don’t want to be.”

 

“I get it.  I mean, I don’t understand what it’s like—but I get it.”

 

“Cool.   “

 

“Y’know, the condo has two bedrooms.”

 

“Considering that you lived there with your Mom, I’m kinda glad—ow!”  Dom punched hard for a short guy.

 

“Loser!  What I’m saying is that if I can keep paying my Mom the same rent…”

 

“And if I start paying rent…”

 

“She might not sell a really spicy condo that’s spitting distance from the end of the main drag in South Beach.”

 

“How far do I have to spit to get there?”

 

“You’re nearly there dude.  Wipe your mouth for Christ’s sake, that’s disgusting!”

 

“Sorry.  I mean, that’s really a great offer, but…”

 

“But what?”

 

“But we’re assuming that I’ll get into the Police Academy.”

 

“You will if the retired Captain Carposi makes a few phone calls…”

 

Bob shook his head. “Hey, I don’t want to ride on anyone’s coattails.”

 

“You aren’t; trust me.  He’s wanted me to sign up since forever.  He’s always been dying to make this call; it will just be for someone else.  Maybe that’ll get it out of his system,” Dom muttered as he took another sip.

 

“He doesn’t want Frank to go?”

 

“No one really wants Frank to have access to firearms.  Ever.”

 

“Alrighty, then,” Bob replied, neatly sidestepping the subject of weird Frank.  Then again, guys with black nail polish and eyeliner always gave him the wiggins.  “Hey, Dom.  You’re not quite the tool you used to be.”

 

“Give me time, bro.  Give me time.”

 

FIN