Unfailing Encouragement

Jeff sauntered down to the dining room, feeling relieved. His talk with his mother had eased his mind considerably.

"He's going through some of the same things you did when Lucy died." The woman with the short, salt-and-pepper hair and the fashionable bifocals had told him. "Not exactly the same thing, or to the same depth, of course, but there's a lot of grief and hurt inside him that will eventually come out. What you need to do is be there for him. I know it's hard when you're so far apart, and you can't physically be there with him, but phone calls and emails and reassurances that you'll listen to what he says, no matter how hard it is for him to say it, will go a long way in helping."

"Can you give him a call or drop him a line? I'm sure he'll want to hear from you, too." Jeff smiled at her, a weary expression

Grandma Tracy huffed. "I've already written him twice since this all happened. Land sakes, you'd think that boy never checks his mailbox."

Jeff laughed. "So, send him an email. It's not that hard, Ma. I know he checks that."

She sniffed. "I'll think about it. Not that I'm a Luddite or anything, it's just that I think letters written on paper are more personal, and more cherished. Plus, I have to think about what to say before I put it on paper. I end up editing my emails so much that I just send them in frustration, without saying half of what I mean to say. And I don't like that!"

By the time he'd replayed the conversation in his mind, Jeff found himself at his destination. Brains was already there, squeezing lemon into his iced tea. Scott came in, hair slicked down from his shower. He'd been home about an hour and a half or so, and with post-flights checks to be done, this was the first Jeff had seen of him.

"Hello, son," he said as Onaha brought in the salad. "How was your flight?"

"Long, especially when flying solo. I can see why you want to make that trip as seldom as possible." Scott settled his napkin on his knee as Virgil and Gordon joined them. The brothers greeted each other, sat down, and began to pass the salad around.

"Y-Yes, it is a l-l-l... quite a flight," Brains said, sipping his drink. "I p-plan on making it this w-w-w... Thursday. I w-want to see F-F-F... my son."

"You didn't say anything about this before, Brains." Jeff's tone was one of mild censure.

Brains met his employer's gaze steadily. "I didn't d-decide until just th-th... after lunch." He took another sip, then put the glass down. "I w-want it to be a surprise."

Jeff looked thoughtful for a moment then shrugged a bit. "Well, it's fine with me. I don't think I can spare the time, though."

Virgil looked eager. "Will you want someone to co-pilot, Brains?"

"Oh yeah! It'll be the Squirt's first track meet! Can I copilot?" Gordon put his hands together in supplication, giving Brains his best "begging puppy" eyes. "Oh, please, Brains! Let me come with you! Pleasepleasepleaseplease!"

Scott rolled his eyes, while Virgil swatted at his younger brother. "Hey! I asked first!" he said. He turned to smile winningly at Brains. "I'd be happy to copilot with you, Brains. And I wouldn't be half the pain in the neck that Gordon would be."

"No, you'd be double the trouble!" Gordon riposted. "Please, Brains!"

Brains sighed, and glanced over at Jeff, a silent "get me out of this" in his eyes. "I'll let your f-f-f... Jeff be the judge of who he can sp-sp-spare."

Jeff snorted a laugh. "We can discuss it after dinner, Brains." He swallowed a bite of salad, and said casually, "So, Scott. Tell me all about this date you had."

Heads snapped around, and widened eyes stared at Scott. "Date? You went to Wharton and had a date?" Gordon asked, incredulous, nearly dropping the bread basket as he passed it to Brains.

Virgil moaned. "A date... God, I've forgotten what one of those was."

Scott glanced around at his fellow diners, a confused frown on his face. Brains merely gave him a speculative look, saying nothing. Jeff hid his smile behind the rim of his drinking glass.

"Wait, wait." Scott said, pointing his fork at his father. "Where'd you hear...?" His face cleared with understanding. "Oh, I get it. You talked to Alan."

Before Jeff could say anything, Gordon leaned over. "So, what's his name? I hope he's legal... don't want ol' Scott here to rob the cradle..."

"She." Scott said firmly. "My date was female. And of age."

"Yes, a young lady with the rather flowery name of Sable de la Croix, according to your brother." Jeff kept his eyes on his food, still feigning indifference.

"Sable what?" Virgil asked, openmouthed. "Who names their kid that?"

Scott snorted. "I don't think that's her real name. She's into the theater... it's probably her stage name."

"Ah, I see. You went out with an actress." Gordon nodded slowly, a knowing look on his face. "Don't actresses have a reputation...?"

"I b-believe they do," Brains said, finally adding his bit to the teasing. "Not a very n-nice one, either."

"Oh, no. No, you don't. You're not going there." Scott shook his head firmly. "We went to dinner. She was called away to 'duty', whatever that was. We never even got to the movie."

"Still, how did you manage to score a date - with a female, no less - at Wharton?" Gordon chewed a piece of green pepper.

"Wharton needs workers. They hire people. Sometimes they even hire women." Scott stabbed a bit of carrot as if it had offended him.

"So, she w-works there?" Brains asked.

"Yeah, Brains. She does." Scott modified his tone when speaking to Brains. He was, after all, not a pestiferous little brother.

"But she couldn't have been a teacher," Gordon said. "I mean, I can't see any of them being young enough to catch your fancy."

"And Alan did mention she was, and I quote, 'very Goth'," Jeff added.

"So, let's do a little deductive reasoning here." Virgil rubbed his chin, looking off toward the ceiling. "She's probably not old enough to be a teacher."

"And too G-Goth to work in the a-a-administration building." Brains drained his iced tea, and poured himself another glass. "Mrs. B-Belvedere wouldn't st-st-st... allow it."

"Too true, Brains, too true!" Jeff stated, nodding sagely. "That leaves... let's see... maintenance?"

Gordon nodded. "And the laundry."

"The kitchen?" This was from Onaha, who was listening to the byplay as she brought out the main course.

Scott sighed. "Okay, okay. The kitchen - she works in the kitchen."

"Doing what?" Virgil asked, trying to sound pseudo-supportive. "I mean, to think that my brother might be dating... a lunch lady..."

Gordon cracked up, howling with laughter. Scott gave first him, then Virgil a look that would have killed them both right there on the spot, if such things could happen.

"I d-don't think I h-heard your answer, S-S-Scott." Brains was trying hard not to crack a smile.

"I didn't give one, Brains. But if the hyena here will shut up for a minute..."

Virgil gave Gordon a swift nudge to the ribs. "Quiet, you! I want to hear this!" Gordon took a few deep breaths, then drank off the contents of his tumbler, slowing his laughter to an occasional hiccup-like gasp.

Scott surveyed the all-too-interested faces surrounding him and sighed. "She works in the kitchen as a dishwasher."

This time Virgil joined Gordon in chortling at their older brother's discomfort. Jeff chuckled, and said, "Very classy, Scott."

"Hey! She is classy, in a weird kinda dramatic sort of way," Scott protested. "And she's responsible, too. Could have joined Alan, Fermat and me for dinner Friday night, but she said she had to work."

"You mean, she turned down a chance to be with you... to wash dishes?" Gordon's mouth dropped open.

All the men around the table laughed until Onaha came in with a fresh pitcher of iced tea. She poured a glass for Jeff and said, somewhat sharply, "It's no reflection on Scott that a young woman takes her responsibilities to her employer seriously."

"Thank you, Onaha!" Scott said in a fervent tone. Onaha smiled at him, patted him on the shoulder, and took the empty carafe away.

The laughter eased for a few moments. Brains took the opportunity to ask, "H-How did you m-meet this Sable d-de la Croix?"

"Alan told me he introduced them," Jeff explained.

"Yeah, that's right. He did." A slow smile spread over Scott's face. "In fact, when he introduced her, I had just caught them doing something very... interesting outside the gym."

The other diners glanced at each other, eyebrows rising. "Define 'interesting'," Jeff challenged.

"Well," Scott drawled, "let's just say she was... pandering to Alan's vanity."

This announcement brought frowns and confused looks around the table. "Care to explain further?" Jeff asked.

Scott's eyes widened, and the smile became a wolfish grin. "Better than that, I'll show you." He fished around in his shorts pockets. "Good thing I'm a creature of habit," he muttered as he pulled out his cell phone. Opening it, he pushed a few buttons, nodded, and handed it to Jeff. "There. That's what I mean."

Jeff frowned at the picture. "I don't see what's so special..." He handed the phone to Gordon. "What do you think?"

Gordon shrugged. "I dunno." He looked up at Scott and his eyes narrowed. "It's Alan. So what?"

Scott sighed and rolled his eyes in response. "Don't you ever check your texts, Gords?" He put his hand out for the phone.

"Let me see." Virgil grabbed it from Gordon just as his brother reached out to give it back to its owner. "Yeah. This is the picture you sent me with the text..." His eyes widened in revelation. "Now I get it! Make up! Alan's wearing make up!"

"Yes! Finally!" Scott curled his hand up into a fist and shook it. "Light dawns on Marblehead!"

"M-May I?" Brains asked, holding out a hand. Virgil gave him the phone. The engineer regarded the picture critically. "She d-does good w-w-w... she's good. Looks n-normal; all the d-damage is c-covered. Very sm-smooth."

"Let me see that again." Scott retrieved his phone and handed it to his father. "Ah, yes. I see it now," Jeff admitted,. chuckling. "Don't know why I didn't see it before." He gave the instrument back to his son. "So, she put make up on his face—for pictures, I gather."

"Yes. And the payment for her services?" Scott grinned. His shoulders straightened; he seemed to swell a little as he said smugly, "Being introduced to me!"

"She got the short end of the stick, I'd say," Gordon quipped.

There was a moment of startled silence, then everyone at the table burst into laughter. Scott sighed and shook his head once again, muttering, "No respect. Just no respect at all."

Monday morning saw Alan eating breakfast then running with the team. The chilled, damp morning air felt good on his skin, though by the end of the run he wished he'd worn some kind of hat. He took a shower in the locker room, and powerwalked his way to his first class. The warmth of the classroom hit him like a steam bath.

"Is it me, or is it hot in here?" he murmured to Fermat as he took his seat.

"It's h-h-h... extra warm," groused the younger boy. "It's like they think i-i-it's w-w-winter, already."

"Well, it has been pretty cold," Alan admitted as he pulled out his books.

"Not if you a-ask A.J." Fermat found his math class notes folder and opened it, creating a new file with an appropriate date on it. "He says it's just, and I qu-quote, 'a beautiful a-autumn m-morning'."

Alan snorted and shook his head. "You did tell him that where we live, it's spring right now, didn't you?"

The younger boy opened his mouth to reply, but closed it as Mr. Graboski rose to begin the day's lessons.

That was the beginning of a soothingly normal week, where, it seemed, everything fell into a proper, barely interrupted routine. Alan ran with the team in the mornings, had practice after classes, then a session in the weight room not long after dinner. Sometimes he and John Carter would work together; sometimes Xavion would be available to exchange spotting duties. Fermat ate with his team on their practice day, and fulfilled his obligation to the yearbook staff, having his picture taken as scheduled.

The near constant level of activity kept Alan from dwelling on Sugi and all that had happened over the past weeks. He checked his mailbox on Thursday to find two letters from his grandmother mixed in with all the official paperwork and a couple of get-well cards: one from a teacher at his former school, and, oddly enough, one from a cousin on his mother's side.

His grandmother's letters included a lot of comfort, and Alan smiled, feeling her warming presence as he walked back to his dorm. But as he read further, his smile faded.

Just remember, Alan, that what happened to you will leave its mark. Not just the physical scars you'll bear—though hopefully a reputable plastic surgeon can deal with those. There'll be wounds that go deeper, and last longer, if you don't actively work on healing them. This may mean some counseling; it will definitely mean keeping in touch with the family and being honest with them about how you feel. Burying it deep in your psyche won't help; I know that from personal experience. Unfortunately, it's what we Tracys tend to do. Push it way down deep, pretend we're okay, even when we're not. It's what your father did when your mother died, and it wasn't until he got some help, and was honest with himself, that he began to grieve and heal.

Alan closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, trying to control his tears. He was partially successful; his eyes only got moist, and no droplets fell as he blinked.

So don't shut out the family. I'm only a phone call away, and it's not so hard to calculate the time zone either! I'm even on the same day you are! Your father will expect you to call him and talk to him about things, as will John, and even Scott. And if you feel that life is overwhelming you, go talk to whoever the health professional is at Wharton. They'll have the names of some counselors you can unburden yourself to. Or ask your dad who counseled him. Just don't bottle it all up, okay, sweetie?

"Okay, Grandma," he murmured, sniffling.

"Hey, Pinky! Wait up!" A shout and running footsteps made Alan turn. Jason was sprinting towards him, a piece of paper waving in one hand. He stopped and waited for his friend.

"Hey, Jase," Alan said as Jason caught up. He nodded toward the paper. "Whatcha got there?"

Jason grinned. "A letter! A letter from my parents!"

Alan couldn't see what was so exciting at first, then he remembered where Jason's parents were. "That's great, Jase."

"They can't email me too often; there's no good internet connection where they are. And phone calls are a bear." Jason chattered as he fell into step with Alan. "One of the nurses returning home brought this with them and put it in the US mail for my folks." He shrugged. "Mail service isn't the best out there, either, and sometimes the authorities—or just some greedy person in their post office—will steal postcards or open letters... especially if they contain something like this!" Jason flashed a memory card at Alan.

Alan was still hung up on the idea that someone would steal postcards, and it took a minute for him to realize what Jason was holding. "A memory card?" He nodded at the device. "What's on it?"

Jason's grin grew wider. "Pictures! And maybe if I'm lucky, a video."

Even though Alan couldn't see for himself what was so exciting, he smiled anyway. "Hey! That sounds cool. Can we watch it? It'd be nice to sorta 'meet' your folks."

"You'd want to watch it?" Jason's voice showed his surprise. "I mean, no one's ever wanted to before. There might not even be one, just still shots."

"Yeah, I'd like to see it, or see the pictures if there's no video." Alan spread his hands. "My dad's been here, and so has Scott. My other brothers might show up this year, too. But your parents... what's the chance of us meeting them this year?"

The look Jason gave him was thoughtful. "I see your point." Nodding, he added, "Let me look at them first; sometimes there's stuff that I'd like to keep private... if you know what I mean."

Alan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know." He glanced back down at his grandmother's letter, then proceeded to fold it up and slip it back into the envelope.

His action got his friend's attention. "You got a letter, too?"

"Yeah, I did. Two, in fact. From my grandma."

"Does she live with the rest of your family?"

They stopped in front of Birchwood. Alan shook his head. "Nah. She lives in Kansas, which is where I lived just after my mother died. She helped raise me... at least, until we moved to the island."

"Think she'll come out and see you sometime?" Jason tucked his letter and memory card into a pocket of his backpack.

Alan's face went from a startled, "Hey, I never thought of that" to an excited, "What a great idea!" in a matter of seconds. "Y'know, I think if I invited her to a game, she just might come." He grinned and clapped Jason on the shoulder. "Thanks, Jase! That's a great idea!"

Jason laughed. "Glad to help!" He glanced at his watch. "I'd better hurry up and get my homework done, then call my grandpa. Need to find out if he got a letter, and if he needs the pictures."

"Right." Alan started to mount the stairs. "Thanks again, Jase. I'll see you at lunch tomorrow!"

With a wave, Jason hurried off, greeting and falling in step with someone else he knew. Alan finished climbing the stairs, and went to his room. Dom wasn't there, and Alan sighed, a sound mixed of equal parts disappointment and relief. He put his backpack away, and pulled out his mail again, opening up the letter from Kansas.

I miss you and your brothers, and yes, even your father. I wish we weren't so far apart. But a tropical island is no place for an old woman, and as for your father and brothers... well, Kansas is pretty flat and everyone knows everyone else's business, if you know what I mean. So we're just where we should be right now, as are you, young man. Despite all that has happened to you out there, I truly believe you are in just the right place, at just the right time.

Enjoy these days as much as you can, Alan. They will never come again.

All my love and kisses,

Grandma

Alan smiled softly, and sighed. He had to admit that he hadn't given much thought to his grandmother in a while. He had been so focused on becoming a Thunderbird, and trying to mend fences with his father, that the woman who had given him so much when he was little had been pushed aside in his mind and heart. Now a pang of guilt stung him. She called herself an old woman, Alan realized. I never thought of her that way, but she is getting older, and someday, she won't be here. There's a lot I need to tell her...

He booted up his computer and sat down, waiting for the machine to finish coming to life. Suddenly, he frowned at the letter, a thoughtful expression, then his face cleared and he nodded decisively. Pushing aside the device and making room on his desk, he pulled a piece of paper out of his printer, and a pen from his backpack. Slowly, using his best penmanship, he began to write.

Dear Grandma...

"So, Pinky," Zave set his breakfast tray down across the table from Alan. "Tomorrow's the big day."

Alan lowered his glass of milk, wiping his lips with a napkin. "Tell me about it. A home game, too." He huffed out a little breath, and shivered a little. "Getting goose bumps here."

"You'll be fine, Tracy," John Carter sat down next to Xavion. "How's the shoulder?"

Rotating the joint a little, Alan nodded. "Feels good. Got an appointment next Friday with the doctor. Hope to be fully cleared."

"Quiz team has a home game this week, too." Julio Estevez parked himself next to Alan. "Think we might get done a little early tonight? I'd like to check out the only undefeated team Wharton's got."

"Wait until basketball season," Zave said, smugly. "We'll bring home the title... again."

The others at the table groaned, and threw wadded up napkins at their captain. "Keep your mind on the track, Lewis," Jameson said. "Get through this track season and then think about the hoops."

"You're on the basketball team, too, Zave?" Alan asked, before chomping down on his toast.

"Yeah. I am. But I'm not the captain... or at least, I wasn't." Zave shrugged. "I suppose they might vote me in since this year's captain was pulled from school."

"They're even going to have a special tryout for the team in a couple of weeks," Julio said. "They lost too many players." He nudged Alan. "You should try out."

Alan shrugged. "I might. I'll give it some thought, anyway." He paused long enough to finish his milk. "How about the swim team? How are they doing this year?"

"They're still practicing for competition, which starts in December, I think." John tilted his head, gazing at Alan thoughtfully. "Thinking of following big brother into the water?"

"Big brother? Water?" Julio asked, looking from John to Alan. "What's this about?"

"My brother, Gordon, went to Wharton, too. He was on the swim team," Alan explained. He finished his last bite of fruit, and wiped his mouth and hands.

"He was more than on the swim team. He practically was the swim team. Broke records left and right." John shook his head. "I was only a fresher back then but, man, he was good."

"Well, I hope to be as good on the track, especially tomorrow." Alan smiled, trying to look confident, but there was a little nervous flutter that had taken up residence in his belly.

"Hey, if you're half as good at track as Gordon was in the water," John said, grinning. "We may be able to turn this season around."

Suddenly, the nervous flutter was joined by a heavy feeling. Alan smiled faintly, and huffed out a breath. "I'll do my best."