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Janeway-Paris farm
Brown County, Indiana
June 2383
I materialize in the house, and the first thing I see is Tom and his welcoming grin.
“Hello again,” I say as I set down my bag and step into his embrace. Actually, I saw him at home a few hours ago, just before I left to go on duty. “So, I take it your flight went well? Kids and dogs didn’t cause a ruckus?”
The dog question is answered as Cosmo and Comet come bounding in, looking none the worse for wear. I see that Molly is quietly napping, and note that we should check in with the vet next week.
“Getting those two in the crates was the worst part,” Tom explains as I give each of the dogs a head scritch. “But the boys did great; they’re sleeping right now. Mrs. Mason says she’ll stay with them while we’re gone.”
I head upstairs to our bedroom, with a quick stop to kiss my sleeping sons, and change into civilian clothes. We’ll see family this weekend, but the real reason we’re here is a sad one: We’re attending the graveside service for Diane Johnson, my almost mother-in-law.
Now, Di could be on the outspoken side; Mom once said she possessed “the sharpest tongue in the Midwest.” But she and I had a good relationship. Then again, we had a familial connection of sorts before I ever dated Mark. Our grandparents were friends; Di and her sister, Sarah, grew up with Dad and Martha; Sarah and Martha have been close friends for nearly 60 years.
Even though Di lost her “preferred candidate for daughter-in-law,” as Phee puts it, she apparently didn’t hold a grudge. When Voyager got consistent communications, I began to get letters from her. Once we returned, it dwindled to holiday and birthday greetings, plus the occasional visit when I was in Indiana.
Funny thing, though: she never mentioned Mark in her letters; if I asked during a visit, the answer was usually, “He’s fine … busy.”
On the other hand, she kept tabs on me, which I suspect Martha had a hand in. I received congratulations on my marriage, my new command, and later on my pregnancy and the boys’ birth.
I always wondered how much info was relayed to Mark, not that I cared. Though, when I last saw him three years ago, he was shocked to meet Tom.
ooo
The cemetery workers are adjusting Di’s casket on the lowering device when we arrive. Phee and Jim are here, standing off to the side with Martha, who gives me and Dad the once-over. “No uniforms?” she asks as Phee smirks.
“They attract too much attention,” I whisper back. I note that some people already are giving me quizzical looks.
Phee helpfully changes the subject. “I think that’s the ex-wife over there,” she whispers, nodding toward the family section.
I look over to see a dark-haired woman sitting in the second row. Next to her is a dark-haired boy, perhaps 6 or 7 years old. Meanwhile, Mark is in the front row with Sarah and her sons.
“That’s Mark’s boy,” Martha whispers. “At least the ex was decent enough to bring him.” I’m not getting into that, so I just nod.
The officiant arrives, and we fall silent as the service begins. Afterward, Phee and Jim go back to work; the rest of us walk to the cemetery’s reception center as the family says their farewells.
ooo
We’re quietly talking with Martha when Mark’s family arrives. Sarah’s first through the door, with hugs for all of us. “My gosh, you were just here three weeks ago; who knew you’d have to be back so soon,” she murmurs to me and Tom.
At the moment, Mark is introducing his son to Mom and Dad. I’m not sure what they think when they see Mark’s boy … on the other hand, I’ve given them two grandsons, who they’ll see at tomorrow’s cookout, if not sooner.
Mark and the little fellow stop in front of us. Fortunately, Mark remembers Tom, and is somewhat cordial as he introduces his son, Kevin.
“Hey, Kath,” he says softly when he turns to me, and squeezes, rather than shakes my hand. “This is Captain Janeway,” he tells Kevin, Dad immediately shakes his head as I shake Kevin’s hand.
“Sorry to correct,” Dad says, but it’s Vice Admiral Janeway,” he says, punctuating with a quick pat of my shoulder.
Mark looks embarrassed, and I feel sorry for him. “My mistake,” he said. “Are you still in San Francisco?”
I quickly explain my command, adding that I work closely with the Design Studio, then steer him toward Sara so we can say our goodbyes before this gets any more embarrassing.
“I suppose,” Mom says on the way out, “he wouldn’t have known about your promotion, or much about anything else.”
“Well, I suppose we’re even, then. Outside of him having a son, and his divorce, I don’t know much about him, either,” I say.
ooo
Sunday morning, and I’m puttering in the front garden, though I’m not sure why; it will be a while before we’ll be back.
The front gate alarm goes off; I head for the door, but Tom beats me to the master console. “It’s Mark,” he calls, “says he has something for you.” I raise an eyebrow at this, but … “Let him in; we can talk on the porch. Coffee’s out there anyway.”
He arrives and pulls a small storage container from the back seat. I step aside as he bounds up the stairs. I don’t know if he expects a hug, but I’d rather hold that boundary right now.
I wave him toward the chairs and offer coffee; he agrees with that knowing smirk I tend to get from family and friends.
“So, you said you have something?” I ask as I sit across from him. He nods. “I was packing Mom’s stuff; the care home wants everything gone,” he says as he hands me the container.
I open it to find a pile of correspondence … the boys’ birth announcement, holiday and birthday greetings, various PADDs.
“I knew you two had kept in touch; I didn’t realize she’d kept everything you’d sent,” he said softly.
“Neither did I,” I admit as I look through a few things.
He looks at the floor, then back up at me. “You look a lot better than you did in those early vids.”
Watched them, did he? “Well, the food’s better on Earth, and I don’t have the stress of keeping myself and 140 people alive,” or the bouts of sheer terror, I don’t add.
He swallows at that, then tries again. “What gets me is that she never told me anything. Until I saw you the last time, I had no idea you’d married, but she has a letter from you about it. Until Friday, I didn’t know that you’d made Admiral. And I sure as hell didn’t know that you have children until I saw the birth announcement, or that you’ve moved back here.”
“Let me correct you on something,” I say to head off his rant. “I didn’t move back. My family’s life is in Vancouver. This home is an indulgence, but it makes visiting a lot easier.
“As for your mom, she never talked about you either,” I point out. “I heard about your divorce third-hand.” And I won’t ask, but I truly hope it had nothing to do with me.
He sighs. “I don’t know. In one sense, it’s like I lost you all over again.”
At this point, I really want to ask if he’d ever heard of a vid, or forgotten how to send a message, but decide to let it drop; grief can come out in different ways …
“Are you planning to retire here?” he asks; the question is unexpected, so I don’t answer right away.
“I suppose it depends on when I retire, and what retirement will look like,” I finally say. I’m not about to tell him that my ‘Fleet retirement could end up being sooner than later.
“If you do retire, would you let me know?” he asks earnestly.
“Sure, but I might need a current address,” I say. He begins patting himself down, looking in pockets, until he comes up with an info chip. I can barely hold back my laughter; he did that when we were together. Guess some things never change.
Tom pokes his head out the door. “Sorry, but the boys are hungry; so am I.”
“And we need to leave soon, too,” I finish. Mark awkwardly gets up. “I should be going …”
The invitation fell out of my mouth. “Have you eaten? Or is Sarah expecting you?” He shakes his head. I look at Tom, who shrugs. “If you don’t mind leftovers, come on in.”
ooo
Actually, it was a nice lunch. We had to direct Kian and Cash back to eating, since they wanted to show off their ship collections. But once they settled in, we had a chance to talk a bit.
“Next generation of Starfleet?” he asks when boys and dogs go outside, and looks surprised when Tom and I wince. “Too early to tell,” I begin, “and we have a firm agreement not to push on that.”
I look at the chronometer. “We do need to get going,” I say gently. “With luck, the boys will nap on the flight back. He nods and says goodbye to Tom and the boys before I walk him out.
“Are you planning to come out for the holidays?” he asks.
Careful here. “We’ll see. We’ve missed two Christmases here because the boys were sick, or too young to travel. Now, they’re about to start dayschool, and we’re getting notices about beginner soccer and the like. So I can see their schedules taking over,” I say, and he nods in agreement.
“Besides, they’re old enough now that we can have adventures with them. There’s things we want to show them before they decide that Mom and Dad are boring.” At least that’s what we told ourselves when we bought that sailboat.
What I don’t tell him is that we aren’t renewing the contract for the farm; a decision made when CRG’s hovercar clients went to other design firms last year. I’ll keep a place in Indiana for as long as we have Mom, but this one won’t fit our life for much longer. I’ve asked Barb to look out for a smaller place in Bloomington, and told Phee that I’ll pay to board her horses if needed.
He looks at the chronometer and winces. “I should get going, too. I have to catch a shuttle to Mexico City this evening.”
“Mexico City? I thought you were in Brazil.”
“No, Questor moved us there two years ago. It’s a fun city, but the logistics make it tough to see Kevin.”
I shake my head, “One more mystery solved, I guess.” His answer is to shove his hands in his pockets and stare at the porch floor for a moment … which, if I remember correctly, means he’s mentally working something out.
“I’m trying to figure out what to say,” he begins. “I don’t want it to come out the wrong way. But I’m glad you’re here, to start with. And I’m glad you have Tom and your boys. You deserve some happiness, Kath.”
“So do you,” I point out.
He gives me a half-smile. “I don’t want to intrude, but I realized on Friday, and again today, just how much I’ve missed talking to you.”
My heart clenches at that, though I really shouldn’t give much away. “I miss you too, sometimes,” I admit. “I don’t have many people that I can argue philosophy with.”
This earns me a chuckle. “Look, do you think we could keep in touch? Drop each other a note on occasion? Maybe have a coffee if we’re ever in the same place?”
I don’t have to think about the answer. “I don’t see why not. But I will remind you that I’m not much on one-way correspondence,” I say lightly.
“All right, Admiral, you have a deal,” he says with a grin. “Safe travels, Kath.”
Part of me wants to hug him, but that boundary still needs to hold. “You, too, ” I say instead.
ooo
“Everything all right?” Tom asks when I come inside.
“Yes,” I say. “Seems that Di kept everything I sent; he got a crash course in my life. Looks like she effectively kept us from knowing about each other’s life.”
“Well, maybe she thought it would be too painful for him to know that you’d moved on; and vice-versa,” Tom offers.
“He’d told me about his marriage, but what you’re saying makes sense. Anyway, he said he’d like to keep in touch.”
Tom raises an eyebrow. “That what you want?”
“Within reason, I suppose. Before anything else, we were friends, back to when we were kids. It would be nice to have some connection to that part of my life. On the other hand, correspondence has never been Mark’s strong suit. So I suspect that it may dwindle down to holiday greetings, then stop.”
“Well, maybe he’ll surprise you,” Tom says. “But in the meantime …”
“You’re right,” I say with a pat to his chest. “Let’s pack up and go home.”