Chapter 6

Cindy’s turn:

Rachel’s wedding. Yet another of those totally charming events we enjoy here in the Community.

Quirky? To outsiders, probably so.

None of our weddings follow that ‘British Royalty’ pattern, for one thing. Bot-bot, the robot ring-bearer, adds to the surreal effect. Music? Is US! We did Jewish and we did bluegrass and we did Cajun and we tripped on the classical.

At the end of it, though, Lotte, the Pilatus PC-12, is there at the field waiting on somebody to take the new bride and groom off to a mountain honeymoon, venue courtesy of the Solheim contingent of our bunch. Since these two have been ‘honeymooning’ for two years now, it wasn’t too weird to bring Sim and Beck and Tara and Aaron along. Everybody gets separate cabins.

Long trip there and back, so I grabbed a copilot, my sister Mandy.

Mandy, who I watched catching and dancing with our military liaison, Captain Daniels, known to all of us as ‘Captain Jack’, against his protests. He’s a degreed mechanical engineer, bright, capable, and right in the middle of the Air Force’s (and Pentagon’s) technical services. Good-looking guy. Showed up at the wedding of a couple of 3Sigma Robotics’ bright stars, looking quite impressive in his dress uniform.

I remembered our previous liaison officer, looking good in Air Force dress blues, and my mind wandered a bit to where HE ended up.

“I thought the army dress uniform was green,” I posed to him.

He grinned. “Doesn’t anything get past you, huh?”

“I try.”

“Well, Mizz Richards, you’re essentially correct as far as your knowledge goes, but there are levels above that Class A uniform. For formal occasions, you get THIS,” he said, sweeping his hand over his chest. “For formal occasions. Like hitting a party at the White House.”

“And you think the wedding of two Jewish kids in the middle of Alabama...”

“My boss told me that anything 3Sigma did was worth extra effort. And I know you can get more explanation from your husband.”

“I trust you, but thanks, I will ask...” I cut the conversation off as Mandy inserted herself into the discussion.

I want to have a conversation with my sister about this set of observations, but we have a planeload of passengers and I think this conversation’s not yet ready for public consumption. That means that the flight to Montana is a group thing and the subjects range widely in view of the wedding.

At least Rachel and Derek aren’t desperate to get at one another for the ‘first time’. Their ‘first time’ is a history lesson. That was almost two years ago, over two years into an exclusive relationship that apparently started upon their first meeting. The summation of those facts results in an intelligent and (mostly) mature couple who are a joy to have in the group.

Lotte, my Pilatus (They’re ALL mine except for Hannah. She’s posted in southwest Louisiana and the property of Haley Simon and Hanna Bertrand) performed her task flawlessly, depositing us on the apron of a Montana airfield.

Not to be anti-social, just practical, Mandy and I opted for an overnight stay in a nearby motel while the wedding group headed to their mountain destination in a rental SUV.

As soon as I put the transmission into ‘Drive’ she started, “I know you’re dying to ask...”

“You’re the one who decides what to tell me.”

“You’re my big sister. Who else would I talk with?”

“Now that we got THAT settled, what’s the deal?”

Mandy grinned. “I had a moment of clarity. Something clicked. Thunderbolt. That kind of thing.”

“Doll sister, he’s ... we haven’t known him very long...”

“You’re going to have to do better than that, big sister. I know YOUR story. Nikki’s story. Tina’s story. Kim’s story. The whole list...”

I had to chuckle. Mandy’s no dummy. “You have to do better than that.”

“It’s a place to start, though.”

“You DO have to admit, he’s pretty.”

“You two made a handsome couple on the dance floor. But...”

“But – nothing. Susan said the first time she touched Jason’s fingers, she felt a spark.”

“You’re talking to Susan about this? What about your charming but confused sister?”

“I knew we’d get a time. Susan was convenient, so I asked her.”

“What exactly did you ask her?”

“How she got started with Jason. She said it was sparks the first time their fingers touched. At a restaurant. In front of friends and family.” She sighed heavily. “Look, I know you told me that it took a little bit before you decided it was Dan...”

“I knew Mom’s version of the mating ritual. I was wary.”

“And I know OUR version. I know that Rachel and Derek clicked from Day One. Susan dated in high school. Our mom ... Cindy, she’s had a talk about the mating thing and she was really frank about the mistakes she’d made and cautioned me.”

“So Captain Jack comes bopping along and snags my only baby sister...”

“I don’t know about ‘snagged’. He’s ... well...”

“So you snagged HIM?”

“At this stage, there’s been no snagging in either direction.”

“Snogging, either?” I asked, eyebrow raised.

“You expect a lot of me if you’re tossing trans-Atlantic slang at me,” she smirked. “And ... No. Waltz. That’s all.”

“I don’t have to tell you, Mandy ... TWO people involved in this up front. Either of you acts dishonorably, the other gets hurt.”

“Mom told me about dents in her shell that took a long time to straighten.”

“Mom told you that?” I was STILL getting used to Mom’s transformation from quintessential Southern bar bimbo, the version that raised me – well, who was often present when I was growing up – versus the version of Mom that married Bill, that had TWO more kids, and who was step-momming her butt off with Mandy, who waltzed into her life at about the same age I was when she departed.

“She did, first time I said something about a boy I thought was worth starting a conversation. And when she saw me dancing with Jack, she gave me the full version. And you’re talking about the two people closest to the point of action. We have family. Anything I do affects everyone around me. So I really am paying attention to this. Not going charging off into something just for a momentary button buzz.”

She tossed me a look.

“I know about those and I have information that no matter how good it is on your own, a caring partner pushes it up by orders of magnitude.”

I was about to speak when Mandy’s phone rang.

“Hi, Dad! We’re headed to the hotel. What’s up?” Pause. “He DID? What’d you two talk about?” Squeal. “Me?”

Dana’s turn:

In the middle of life, there’s the part that is my educational process. During all this life, I was pushed through a physics doctorate.

Cindy and Nikki dragged me into the physics department – a series of high-energy experiments that they fit into. Doctor Hannalise Embert put me to work in a high-brained environment, nurtured me with the rest of that herd of misfits (NOT misfits – capable in ways most people won’t understand) and finally brought me into her office one day. When I came out, Nikki and Cindy were waiting with all too knowing grins.

Doctorate. From a Houston beltway trailer park to a doctoral candidate.

Ed was phlegmatic. “I knew you were special from the beginning – even before you moved in with your grandma.”

So the whole way on MY path, my terribly bright husband and my lifetime teacher great grandmother eased my journey. Doctor Hannalise Embert on the project shoved me into range for Doctor Joan Emmert who was #2 at the Auburn physics bunch. The two of them along with Cindy and Nikki kept me on the path to the goal. (Names are close. Brains are close. Personalities? Well, Doctor EmBERT, on the project, has a whole lot of that stereotypical Teutonic German scientist thing going. I don’t know how I’d categorize Doctor EmMERT),

Which leads us to this day:

Joan Emmert’s turn:

There she is, all 5’3” or so, navy blue skirt-suit, making her gray eyes almost iridescent.

Scary, dammit. As is her defense of her dissertation. “High current charging network utilizing high temperature superconducting materials.”

Eight PhD’s, including two from Los Alamos, all watching, but (amazingly) few questions. That’s because every one of them has had her at one of their research facilities producing input from a subject where SHE is ground-breaking.

She has agreed to refrain from addressing topics of interest to the Department of Defense. Have to (internally) chuckle: At the break, the Mexican pastries from Mizz Juana couldn’t have added more than 100 calories per bite. The coffee? Let’s not get pornographic here. How do I know Mizz Juana? One of the benefits of working with the 3Sigma bunch is a standing invitation to the community events.

Wrapping up her defense, and Dr. Thomas (from Texas) asked: “Dana, that lab slide showing the steam pop in Dr. Embert’s lab: I recognize your assistant there. How did you get Doctor Richards to act as your lab assistant?”

Dana smiled. I know her ‘gotcha’ smirk. This is it. “Sir, you didn’t look closely enough. That was her little sister, Mandy. Cindy has green eyes, while Mandy’s eyes are blue, but your point is well taken. There’s actually not much difference between the two of ‘em, and you’ll probably see Mandy here in a couple of years.”

Giggle. Not often you hear a young girl’s giggle at a doctoral dissertation defense.

The entire room groaned, and I laughed. Then (internally) I groaned, too. Kids. But considering the unanimity, and as previously arranged, I punched my cell phone.

Dr. Thomas said, “Joan, give the girl her doctorate, and then could I have her over at my shop for a few days? She could teach my students some things.”

I nodded, and then he said, “Dana, we each need one more thing from you, before we close these proceedings.”

Dana got a quizzical look, while Dr. Thomas lifted a cardboard box from the floor beside him, and pulled out a stack of those fake football jerseys. Dana cringed, while all the guys erupted in laughter.

I stepped over to Dana to hand her a marker pen, and Dr. Wilkins stepped in carrying two footballs. More laughter, and Dana gave an obviously forced smile.

Dr. Wilkins said, “Congratulations to you, Doctor Allen, and on behalf of the University, I take great pleasure in saying that YOU have added an entirely new dimension to the meaning of the phrase, “Student-Athlete.” We’re grateful, and I’d like your autograph on these balls, one for the athletic trophy case, and one for my office.”