Family Ties — читать онлайн бесплатно полностью

Then he finished his whiskey and savored it before he swallowed. He nodded at my empty glass. “Another?”

“I’d feel guilty drinking another man’s whiskey if we’re going to be…

“Thank you,” I said when he returned.

“Drink up.” He took a healthy swig himself.

“If you don’t mind, sir, I’d rather wait. The first was to steady my nerves.

At this point I need my wits more than anything.”

His eyebrows rose deliberately. “I believe Daniel was right.” He considered me for a moment. “Christy tells us you want to be an architect.”

I didn’t bat an eye at the change of subject. “Yes, sir.”

“Why not the military? Your father served, didn’t he?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “But I want to serve my country a different way.”

“And you think building malls and country clubs is serving your country?” He scoffed.

“Then by all means, young man, enlighten me.”

supply depots? Those were all designed by architects.

“Amateurs discuss tactics, sir, but the professionals discuss logistics.

Logistics start at home.” I paused for a heartbeat. “So tell me, Admiral, would you rather discuss the tactics or the logistics of serving our country?”

I sat back and swallowed hard. The lump in my throat didn’t go away, and my muscles felt twitchy from the effort of sitting still, but I’d made my point. Whether he chose to accept it or not was up to him.

“And what if I simply tell my daughter she can’t date you?”

I snorted a soft laugh.

“You have a strange idea of humor, son.”

“No, sir. And I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I apologize if it sounded like it.”

“Something my grandfather said.” I paused to remember his exact words.

“He was a Naval officer. Academy, like you. He never made Admiral, but he still commanded men.”

“He told me never give an order you know won’t be obeyed.”

“Wise man, your grandfather.”

A knock interrupted him. The pocket doors slid open and Christy’s mother entered with a tray.

“We thought you’d like dessert,” she said.

If her husband was annoyed, he didn’t show it.

Christy stood in the entry foyer and looked in nervously.

“Christine, dear,” her mother said, “will you bring us fresh glasses and

the bottle of 18-year-old.”

Christy jumped like she’d been scalded, but went to the liquor cabinet and joined us a moment later.

Anne asked her husband, “Will you do the honors while I serve dessert?”

“My pleasure.” He poured four generous portions of the good stuff.

Christy sat beside me, upright and poised on the edge of her seat. She accepted her glass mechanically and glanced from me to her father.

Anne set plates of cake in front of us. She sat down and accepted a glass of whiskey. “Thank you, dear.” She looked as innocent as a lamb. “So,” she said lightly, “what were you gentlemen talking about?”

“Young Paul here was quoting Hemingway and Napoleon to me,” Harold said.

Christy looked at me.

“We were discussing the nature of courage,” he added.

“Surely you both know courage when you see it.”

“Oh, I know it,” he said. “I just don’t know how to respond to it.”

“That’s all right. Paul and Christine can decide for themselves.”

“What? Oh, of course,” Harold said. He smiled fondly at his daughter.

“Birdy has a good head on her shoulders. Besides, we only want her to be happy.” He looked at me. “You understand that, I’m sure.”

Anne cleared her throat quietly.

“Just Harold,” he said, almost absently. Then his mood changed and he decided to make the most of the situation. “So, what should we drink to?”

“Happy beginnings?” Anne suggested.

“Happy beginnings it is. Sláinte.”

We raised our glasses and echoed the toast.

Before we drank I glanced at Harold with a raised eyebrow.

Christy and her mother watched us.

His bright blue eyes narrowed with amusement. “Drink up, son. Your wits can stand down. They’ve earned it.”

“Thank you… Harold.”

He nodded at the unspoken “sir.”

Even Anne smiled at my delivery. She gave me a slight nod and then took a sip of whiskey. “Mmm, that’s nice.”

I glanced at Harold again and raised my glass.

We drank at the same time, and I made sure to lower my glass a fraction of a second before he did. He didn’t miss the gesture. He even smiled.

Christy drew our attention as she drained her glass and set it on the table.

Then she uncorked the bottle and poured herself another healthy splash. She lifted the glass with a shaking hand and drank it straight away.

“Oh, Harold,” Anne said with an affectionate laugh, “she’s your daughter.”

We returned to the kitchen after we finished the cake and drinks. Danny and Sabrina were there, along with two other men. They stood as soon as Harold entered the room. Habit, I decided.

“Paul,” Harold said, “this is my son Rich.”

“Paul Hughes.” I extended my hand.

“Rich Carmichael.