Chapter 8

We walked toward the door of the restaurant. Now I was thinking that here I am, meeting her family for the first time, and public displays of affection might not be on the agenda. After we worked our way past the maître d' (yeah, I don't usually eat at restaurants with a 'maitre d'' even though I know they exist) and into the dining room, Jo's hand hooked the inside of my arm. Apparently she knows more about me than I give her credit for.

"There they are," she said, smile broadening. We navigated through the maze to a table near the perimeter of the dining room.

Mister, or was it Colonel Solheim looked the part. Maybe an inch or two taller than me, his hair cropped in a fashion that would still be at home in a meeting of the general staff, peppered with grey. When he stood, his back straightened. West Point shows through.

That old saw about 'if you want to see what your girlfriend will look like in twenty years, look at her mom', well, if that saying held true, then whoever ended up with Johanna Solheim was in for a pleasant view. Bridgette O'Neal Solheim was like a fable of the Irish wife leaning over a stone fence, red hair wreathing her pale face, blue eyes twinkling. I looked at her and saw Jo. Except Jo's eyes were a deeper blue and Jo's hair was almost naturally straight, where her mom's was a softy curled frame for her face.

And the first words I hear from them is the mom saying "Stoney, Stoney, Stoney," and smiling, grasping both my hands.

"Ma'am?" I said.

"Oh, fear not, Mister Randall Jackson. I've been hearing about you for two weeks." She smiled.

I was pleasantly aware that the father was smiling too. I extended my hand. "Sir," I said, "Randall Jackson."

He smiled. "I am Anders Solheim, father to Johanna." He pronounced it with a soft "j", almost the "y" one would expect from Norway. "Yes. I have to mirror my wife's knowledge of you. 'Stonewall Jackson' must have been fun in the army," he said.

"Heck of a reputation to match," I replied.

"Please, let us sit. Beer? Or wine? Or a cocktail?"

"I defer to your choice sir," I said. "I remain flexible."

If you keep calling me 'sir' in that tone, I fear I will revert to calling you 'lieutenant'. Is that the way we wish this evening to proceed?"

"No sir," I said. "But you are the father of Jo. Calling you 'Anders' doesn't work in my mind."

"Dad is messing with you a little, Stoney," Jo said. "I didn't give him many boys to practice on."

"Anders, really!" Bridgette said.

Anders, Mister Solheim, broke into a broad smile. "Jo is right. She does not bring home a lot of boys. My friends have horror stories. I don't. Well, perhaps one or two. And I would prefer a good beer. Texas does well in this regard. Do you drink Shiner?"

"An excellent choice," I said. "If I'm going to drink, Shiner Bock is wonderful. I know you're used to the beer of Germany."

"And Norway," Bridgette added. "Equally as good. And yes, Shiner is that good."

"I would like white wine," Bridgette said. "You, Jo?"

"Yes, Mom. Let the men have their beer."

The restaurant was not one of those 'in and out in a flash' establishments. Clients were expected to dine at a leisurely pace, and we complied. But the time we'd finished the soup, I had learned that my girlfriend's father was on the general staff of the division with which I'd served in the sandbox.

"I know more about you than you do about me, Stoney," he said. "I received the reports of your last battle. And the recommendations for your medal."

That last statement got me a look from Jo. Her father was walking into territory that Jo and I had not discussed.

"You never told me you got a medal." Jo's eyes widened a little bit.

"Everybody gets medals in the army, Jo," I said.

"I hope I'm not stepping on toes here," Anders said, "but everybody in the army gets awards. Stoney was recommended for the Distinguished Service Cross. That's only one step below the Medal of Honor."

"Stoney? You never told me."

"Jo, most people don't care what medals or awards a guy gets from something that happened years ago and far away."

"Oh, really, Mister Randall Jackson. I'm not some college bimbo. I am the daughter of an Army colonel. I admire my father and what he did. Don't you think I'd offer you the same consideration?"

Bridgette put her hand on Jo's arm. "Jo, most men do not talk about it."

"Excuse me, Mom, but you know every award and medal Dad's got..."

"I'm his wife, dearest," Bridgette said.

"I'm ... I'm..." Jo stuttered, "Stoney..."

"I'll tell you the whole thing, Jo, if you want. But it's not a subject for dinner conversation. Really."

"I'm sorry if I touched a nerve, Stoney," Anders said. "I thought for sure she knew a little of your history."

"I thought you said you were an engineer in the army, Stoney," Jo said.

"Combat engineers. It's a service branch. Not quite the same as engineering, Jo."

She regained her poise. The hint of her smile reached the corners of her mouth. "See, Mom? He is different."

The entrees arrived and conversation turned to lighter fare, but I still kept getting glances from Jo. And a squeeze of fingertips under the table. That squeeze was a relief. One never knows what may happen when your partner finds out things, even if the things aren't about cheating and previous loves and such things.

We talked about my work and Anders' work, how he parlayed a colonelcy into a position as an authority on security for overseas operations. This was Houston and a lot of companies had overseas operations, many of them in places where security might be a critical concern.

"You work with some of my clients, Stoney," he said.

"I design things."

"And I make sure people can hang around to build them," he said.

"Circle of life," I said.

Jo laughed. We spent a goodly part of the dinner talking about time spent in Germany, a not uncommon thing for American soldiers, and we talked about music.

"I found somebody to play along with me, Mom," Jo said. "We can actually do some Irish folk tunes."

"Oh, surely not," Bridgette said. "How does one get to hear that?"

"You find time in your schedule to come to my humble apartment..."

"A place I have never been, incidentally," Jo interrupted.

"As I was saying, we will have snacks and Jo and I will play all three of the songs we've played together."

"Where did you two learn you could play together?" Anders asked.

"On his boat, of course. What better place for flute and banjo than a sailboat."

"Ah, yes, Jo mentioned you have a boat. What sort?" Anders asked.

"An old Nonsuch 36. Cat-rigged sailboat."

"I know the type," he said. "It has been a long time. I once had a passion for sail. It fell behind passion for family and work."

"You've been on this boat?"

"Oh, yes," Jo said excitedly. "It's a wonderful thing. We anchored out in the bay, made sandwiches, played music, talked..." She eyed me.

I took the hint. "You know you are invited as well. We can make a time, a day trip, or an overnight, sail a bit, anchor, have a good meal, enjoy the wind and sun..."

"Did Jo explain what sun does to her complexion?" Bridgette said.

"Yes ma'am, she did. And she's got a ridiculously big floppy hat. I would think that you have one also." I smiled as disarmingly as I could. "Besides, Jo says that sun accentuates her freckles. I find them a particularly attractive bit of facial punctuation."

"I always thought of them as horrible blotchy things," Bridgette said.

I looked at Anders for a sign. He smiled almost imperceptibly. "Your husband likely feels as I do, and you probably ignore him as Jo does me."

"That's awfully perceptive of you, Stoney," Anders said. And yes, I explained to my young bride that I found her face a delight, freckles and all." He turned to Bridgette. "And dear, after twenty-odd years, you are still astoundingly beautiful. Freckles and all."

"See!" I told Jo. "He believes."

"Yes. Meeting Bridgette, young and very capable clerk at the Irish embassy, I became a connoisseur of freckled redheads. It turns out to be a very pleasant way to have spent my life."

I did catch Jo's satisfied smile at that comment. "There are worse things in the world than spending life with somebody you find beautiful."

"And smart, Dad," Jo added. "Mom is your mental equal."

"And I'm smart enough not to act it," Bridgette said.

Jo finally made the obvious observation. "Mom. Dad. I thought you'd be more interested in finding out about this guy your only daughter dragged to dinner."

Her mother fielded the first iteration. "Dearest daughter," she said, the lilt of her accent a delight to my hearing, "We did not expect you to bring somebody who we would find unacceptable to us. You're not stupid and you're not rebellious, and you're not gullible."

And then her dad filled in, "And I called Stoney's former commander and got his assessment, naturally. And his employer is one of our clients. A little judicious questioning and somebody drilled down in the organization to find me a few answers." He turned to me. "Stoney, I hope you don't find this offensive..."

"If it was my daughter, I would do as much," I said. "I trust that all they complained about was my propensity for coffee and practical jokes."

"Sooooo," Jo said, "he passed?"

"I didn't know we were supposed to keep score, my dear," Bridgette said. "This is not a sporting event. For two weeks you've told us about this man, and you did so in happy tones. You did not have to tell us anything, nor did you have to bring him with you tonight. We are happy with your choices." Bridgette wrinkled her nose when she smiled, something she passed on to Jo. "That includes Stoney."

"Well, thank you," I said. "You two have made me re-evaluate that whole 'colonel and colonel's wife' stereotype."

"Just remember, Stoney, every colonel was a lieutenant once himself." Anders said.

We got through dessert and were sipping coffee and still talking happily. Jo's folks were intelligent and easy to talk with. We ranged over a list of subjects, Jo jumping in on one side or the other. Jo's no dummy. I wouldn't've been sitting at this table if she was.

At the end of the evening, though, after her dad's handshake and her mother's hug, Jo and I walked away from them in the parking lot towards my car. Her face was still smiling under the glare of the lights. I unlocked the car and held the door for her to get in. When I got in on my side, she reached and touched my arm.

"You passed," she said.

"I wasn't even supposed to be tested," I countered.

"Oh, poor, poor Stoney," she sighed. "Don't take me for an idiot. Everything is life is a test, even the fun things. You knew this was a test."

"I guess so."

"You just don't know if it's a mid-week quiz, or a final. Or something in between."

"I gotta start dating dumb girls," I said.

"You know you won't," she said. "You won't put up with a girl who's all designer nails and trendy makeup and 'People Magazine'. You need me or somebody like me." Giggle. "Maybe Key."

"Have you met Key's parents?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "They came to see what sort of den of debauchery their daughter was inhabiting. They were relieved to find the other room occupied by a red-headed Norwegian Irish flute-player instead of a six foot six linebacker named Jamal. We all had dinner, and honestly, aside from a bit of pigment and Key's mom and dad having Southern accents instead of Irish and Scandinavian, they could've been MY parents."

"Good. Somewhat rarer than it should be, but good," I said.

"Not just black kids, you know," she said. "You don't want to ask how many of my contemporaries have parents still married to each other. I guess I should thank my Lutheran-Catholic background for that."

"It's a good thing. I enjoyed watching them while we all talked. They're still giving each other looks. You know what I mean."

She looked at me. "You mean like this?"

"Is it the same?"

"Could be."

"Now, where can we go to talk?"

"What are going to talk about?" I asked.

"You know what I want to talk about. What my father knows about my boyfriend that I don't know." She sighed. "Stoney, Dad is ... was a commander of men. A lot of them, because when he was in the sandbox the first time, he was a lieutenant colonel commanding an infantry battalion. I know what his shoulders looked like when he sat there after he came back and answered letters from moms and dads and wives who lost family. Dad lost soldiers, but he knew that his soldiers were somebody else's family. I got more than one unexplained long hug before I was old enough to figure out why."