The 28-year-old entrepreneur taxied the biplane off the runway and parked her in the usual spot by the office. The small airfield's owner was an old friend, from the days when Dinh had been just another airplant and powerframe mechanic at SunHawk. Had it really been five years since he'd bought the business and moved it into the desert near Barstow?
As he climbed down from the plane, Dinh spotted his grandfather, sitting on the bench in the lengthening afternoon shadows. Robbie, who would turn 74 that year, still lived on his own in the small house he'd had for as long as Dinh had known him.
"Hey, Robbie!" Dinh called. "Be with you soon as I chock the wheels!"
His grandfather nodded, but didn't get up. That bothered Dinh; it wasn't like Robbie to just sit there. Maybe Steven was right....
Dinh pushed the thought from his mind and went through the familiar routine of securing his plane for the night. He wouldn't leave until Sunday afternoon. This being the start of a new quarter, there was a stockholder's meeting tomorrow. Not that there was likely to be any difficulty about that. Robbie and Harry Broderick each held 20% of SunHawk's stock and they gave their young partner a free hand, although Harry had been known to try to dabble now and again. Still, SunHawk had prospered in part because of Harry's eccentric business talent and Robbie's cool common sense-- between them, they'd managed to keep Dinh from making too many mistakes when he was new to the complications of small-business ownership.
The plane secured, Dinh retrieved his luggage and joined his grandfather.
"What's that?" Robbie gestured at the large mailing tube his grandson had tucked under one arm.
"Preliminary designs for the Kestrel." Dinh shifted the awkward length and grinned lopsidedly. "We just finished 'em. I figured you and Harry would want to see where all our profits for the next three years are gonna go."
"We trust you to know what you're doing," his grandfather assured him as they strolled toward the parking lot. "How's the contract with Paradym coming along?"
"Delivered the last three planes yesterday." The younger man grinned. "They're gonna send us a copy of the film, when it's finished."
"As long as we get the money before then," Robbie commented.
"Cashier's check for the balance before I gave 'em the keys," Dinh retorted. "And since one of 'em was the Von Richthofen tri...."
His grandfather chuckled. "It's rather hard to do a biography of the Red Baron without his plane," he conceded.
"That's what I figured," Dinh agreed. There had been some trouble, early on, with the movie company meeting their payment schedule. The contract had been for a full dozen planes-- the largest single sale SunHawk had ever made-- but the logistics of re-creating two World War I flying squadrons under a tight production deadline had given him headaches for months.
Now, however, the contract was completed, the money safely deposited, and the profits would cover operating expenses for a full year, even allowing for the exorbitant costs involved in custom-designing an aircraft.
"Where do you want to eat tonight?" he asked his grandfather. "My treat; I feel like celebrating."
"There's a new steak and seafood place near the Mission," Robbie suggested as he unlocked his car. "The paper gave it good reviews, and I've been meaning to try it."
"Sounds hopeful," his grandson agreed. "Let's go."
The restaurant was busy and they had to wait for a table. When they were finally seated, however, the service more than made up for the delay. Tall glasses of icewater, a basket of hot, obviously home-baked breadsticks, and attractive hand-written menus appeared immediately. Their waiter was only a moment behind, and she didn't object when asked for more time. Instead, she collected drink orders-- coffee for Dinh, tomato juice for Robbie-- and promised to return shortly.
They studied their options in a companionable silence, broken only by occasional comments on the items available. When the waiter returned, Dinh chose the steak-and-shrimp special. Robbie ordered a broiled swordfish fillet (no butter) with a baked potato (no toppings) and steamed vegetables. As the girl collected their menus and departed, the elder Michaels noted his grandson's surprised expression and asked what was wrong.
"Well, nothing, really," Dinh replied awkwardly. "It's just-- well, I was expecting you to order prime rib or something. You usually do."
Robbie smiled wryly and rubbed his chin. "My doctor," he explained, "has made me promise to watch my cholesterol. And since I gave in to temptation and had a bacon-cheeseburger for lunch...." He shrugged and sipped his tomato juice.
"Hmmm." Dinh lifted his freshly-refilled coffee. "Steven know about that?"
His grandfather scowled. "Yes, I mentioned it to him."
"That explains it, then."
Robbie queried his grandson with a look, and Dinh elaborated.
"He called me up two days ago. Asked if I'd been to see you yet this month, then ordered me to talk you into moving up to Newport Beach. Preferably into Patrick and Kevin's old room." He snorted in amusement and shook his head. "Wouldn't tell me why, either. Just said it was for your own good, and he was counting on me."
Robert Michaels' annoyance vanished. "And you said?" he asked blandly.
"That neither of us had ever told the other how to live his life, and I wasn't about to start trying now." The younger man shrugged and picked up his coffee. "I also told him you wouldn't be stupid enough to keep living alone if you couldn't handle it."
His grandfather didn't respond, but Dinh could tell he'd made his point and wisely changed the subject.
After dinner they drove to the beach-- post-prandial walks being another of Robbie's doctor's suggestions-- and strolled across the wet sand left by the retreating tide, watching the seagulls wheel overhead and the setting sun turn the Pacific to molten gold.
An hour later, Robbie drove his Taurus back to the small stucco home he had lived in since his wife's death. They entered through the kitchen.
"Coffee?" he suggested as he re-locked the side door. "I'm afraid it's decaf...." He trailed off, embarrassed by the exigencies of his new regimen.
"Decaf's fine," his grandson assured him easily as he lowered his luggage to the floor. "My doctor tells me I should cut down on the caffeine, too. I usually ignore him, though." His conspiratorial grin brought an echoing smile from his grandfather.
"When you're my age, you'll wish you'd listened to him," he admitted ruefully, and flipped the switch on the Braun. Then, because he didn't want to get into a discussion on his health, he added, "You haven't mentioned the Kestrel project since we left the airport."
Dinh shrugged and took his old seat at the kitchen table. "Not much to tell. Besides, I've been working on nothing but those specs for three weeks-- I'm beginning to dream about that damn plane." He ran a hand through his thick, shoulder-length hair, a familiar sign of frustration. "I'd rather wait 'til the meeting tomorrow, so I only have to go over it once. Okay?"
"Sure." Robbie saw no reason to press the point. "How are things going otherwise?"
"Pretty much as usual. Wait a minute." Dinh swung his briefcase to the table, lifted the lid, and removed a packet of photos. "Picked these up yesterday. Thought you'd like to see 'em." He handed them across the table before closing the case and returning it to the corner.
His grandfather accepted the envelope and slid the thick stack of glossy photos out. They were obviously candids, taken by people of varying photographic skill. "The company picnic?" he asked, and Dinh nodded.
Robbie flipped slowly through the stack, identifying the various employees, their spouses and children. With the exception of Eric Van Leyden, the aerospace engineer hired to design the Kestrel, all the people in the photos had worked for and lived at SunHawk since the move to the Mohave, five years ago. The picnic was an annual affair, and everyone helped. There was Jaime Castrizano, Dinh's friend since high school and SunHawk's chief mechanic and unofficial PR man, flipping burgers at the grill. Carlo Balistreri, who ran the manufactory, and his wife Sophia, SunHawk's office manager, serving ice cream to the collected offspring. Group shots of families and co-workers gathered around makeshift picnic tables or helping themselves from platters and bowls heaped with food. Pictures of children and adults at rest and play.
Dinh placed a cup of coffee at his elbow, and Robbie sipped distractedly at it as he continued. His grandson was in about a third of the photos, and Robbie marveled yet again at how far the boy had come from the suspicious, guarded stranger he'd met twelve years ago. The teen who'd moved to San Diego in 1985 would never have dreamed of running a race with a laughing three-year-old balanced on his shoulders, or taking sides in a water-balloon fight.
One series from the water battle-- which had obviously degenerated into a free-for-all-- caught his attention particularly. Dinh, towel around his neck and obviously just dried off, had been hit in a final, sneak attack by Van Leyden and responded by pursuing the engineer back onto the field of battle and tackling him-- straight into a gigantic, mud-brown puddle. The last photo showed the two young men sitting side by side in the miniature lake, covered with mud and laughing uncontrollably.
He left that scene on top and handed the stack back to his grandson. "Looks like you had a pretty good time," he chuckled.
Dinh shook his head, laughing. "That crazy Dutchman! It took three cycles in the washer to get the mud out of our clothes!" Still smiling, he returned the photos to the briefcase.
Robbie got up to refill his coffee cup, pondering the changes Dinh's attitude toward the engineer had taken. Five months ago, when the man had been two weeks at SunHawk, it had been, "that arrogant engineer I hired." By the last quarterly meeting, this had mellowed to "Van Leyden knows his stuff; but he's too damn stubborn." Now, three months later, Dinh's conversation was filled with "Eric said" and "Eric thinks" and "that crazy Dutchman", always in tones of warm affection.
He thought about that, then spoke, choosing his words with care.
"You and Eric seem to have come to an understanding."
Dinh froze momentarily, then straightened from replacing the briefcase. "He's a top-notch engineer. And he gets along fine with the staff-- now." His tone was carefully neutral, and he didn't meet his grandfather's eyes.
"Maybe you could bring him with you, next time you come," Robbie suggested casually as he resumed his seat. "I'd like to meet him."
Still not looking at the older Michaels, Dinh picked up his cup and carried it to the coffee pot on the counter.
"Especially," his grandfather added, "if you think this might be permanent."
The younger man refilled his cup before answering.
"I told you," his voice was controlled, but the tension showed through, "it's a temporary work contract. Two, three years, tops."
He didn't turn back to the table.
Robbie spoke again, very quietly, carefully calm. "We both know I'm not talking about the job."
It wasn't a question, and Dinh's sudden stillness showed he'd realized that. After a moment, he spoke, back still to the table.
"You-- don't mind?"
"Would it matter if I did?" he countered, very gently.
Dinh turned to face his grandfather. "Yes."
"But it wouldn't change anything, would it?" the older man prompted, still in that same gentle tone.
Dinh bit his lip and dropped his eyes to the floor, silent.
Which was, in itself, an answer.
Robbie sighed softly to himself. "Come sit down, son," he prompted, then added with a slightly forced smile, "You should know by now that I don't bite."
Dinh relaxed a fraction at that, and retrieved his cup from the counter before returning to the table. He remained silent, however, staring into the black depths of his cup and turning it uneasily in his hands.
Robbie watched him a moment, waiting for his grandson to speak. Finally, as the silence stretched, he realized he would have to break it himself. And not with platitudes or empty reassurances, either. Dinh had always been particularly sensitive to "comforting" lies, and his grandfather realized that honesty, however painful, was necessary now.
"I won't pretend," the elder Michaels began softly, "that it was easy for me to accept. It-- wasn't something that was acknowledged, when I was a boy." He raised his cup, drank. "But once I got over the surprise, I realized I should have known long ago. Would have known, if I'd ever considered the possibility." He paused, and took another mouthful of coffee, summoning up the strength for the next part. "I lost your grandmother because I couldn't accept that what I thought she should be wasn't what she was. I don't want to make that mistake again." Robbie looked up then, straight into his grandson's wary eyes. "I don't want to lose you."
Some of the unease faded from the dark brown eyes, and Dinh's voice was rough as he answered. "No chance of that." He summoned up a lopsided smile, and tried for a joking tone. "You know what they say. 'You can pick your friends, but you're stuck with your relations'."
"Hmmm...." Robbie smiled. "So, will you bring him with you, next time?"
Dinh shrugged. "I can ask. It's up to him, though." He paused, then continued, awkwardly, "How long... I mean, when did you...?"
"A couple of years," his grandfather explained. "Something Kevin said after that trip to Alaska made me wonder, but I told myself I was imagining things." He drank from his cup again. "Then you had that party-- remember, when the FAA approved your first home-built kit?" Dinh nodded, puzzled. "It was my first trip to SunHawk," Robbie reminded his grandson. "I noticed that wall in your office, how it was covered with pictures. From the reunions, weddings, graduations, birthdays-- all pictures of the family, except two. A photo of you and Tony Morelli, from one of your visits to Cincinnati. And a publicity still from your barnstorming days. The one with you and-- Danny, was it?"
"Davey," Dinh corrected him quietly, eyes on his cup again. "Davey Langford."
"He was-- more than a flying partner, wasn't he?" It wasn't really a question, but Dinh nodded anyway, and his grandfather continued. "I remembered how much more confident, more at peace with yourself you seemed, after that summer. And I realized I'd been blind, for a very long time. That I should have realized long ago."
Dinh met his eyes then, miserable. "I wanted to tell you, Robbie," he said softly. "It just... never seemed like the right time...."
He trailed off, and his grandfather gripped his forearm reassuringly. "I think I understand. What happened to Davey?"
"He's running a flying boat service in Maylasia." Dinh shrugged. "We still write each other, coupla times a year."
"And Eric? Is it-- permanent?"
Dinh shrugged again, and the ghost of a smile played over his mouth. "Too soon to say. It's-- complicated."
Robbie made an inquiring sound, and his grandson elaborated.
"It's a lot of different things," he said awkwardly. "For starters, technically, I'm his boss. If things went sour, it could get-- messy." He sighed. "And the engineering position is temporary; I can't afford to keep anybody on the payroll we don't need. So even if everything goes right, he's gonna have to find another job when this one ends, and there's no guarantee it'll be anywhere near here." He frowned into his coffee cup and took a sip. "Then there's the whole in/out argument. I mean--" Dinh squirmed a bit, glancing up half-sheepishly at his grandfather-- "I've never denied it, but I don't point it out, either. Eric's a lot more up-front about the whole thing; always has been, I think. And if this works out... Well, people are going to notice. And that could cause other problems." He grimaced and turned the cup in his hands. "A lot of my customers are ex-Army types; pretty conservative. If I-- went public-- I could end up losing a lot of business. Not to mention what it could do to SunHawk's health insurance rates. I can barely afford the coverage as it is. No way I can keep everybody covered if they jack 'em through the roof." Dinh snorted. "Hell, they'd probably cancel the policy outright."
"Isn't that illegal?" his grandfather objected.
"Only if they say that's why they're canceling," Dinh replied sourly. "All they need is a halfway decent excuse, and poof-- no more insurance." He raised his eyes to his grandfather's, uncertainty showing in their depths. "And I've got nine people on payroll, Robbie, people with families. People I'm responsible for. Do I have the right to risk their jobs, their security, for something that might not even last?"
"What do Jaime and the others say?" his grandfather inquired gently.
Dinh shrugged. "They're OK with it, so far," he admitted. "But will they still feel that way if they're collecting unemployment a year from now?"
"You worry too much," Robbie chided him. "Why not just let things develop, deal with the problems if they come up?" He smiled. "After all, you've got, what? Two, three years to figure it out?"
"Yeah." His grandson nodded sheepishly. "You're probably right. I just-- worry about it, y'know?"
"I know." Robbie yawned and glanced at the clock. "It's getting late. I'm for bed." He rose from the table, then turned in the doorway. "Bring that stubborn Dutchman of yours next time. I want to meet him."
"I will," Dinh promised, and smiled up at his grandfather. "Thanks, Robbie. G'night."
"Good night, son."
The Pewter Gryphon's Lair