A slice of Alabama waits for me on the farm. When I pull into the driveway, there's four faces shaded by the awning, sipping iced teas in mason jars. Vesper can't ever be trusted to sit in a chair, never mind how she sits in one. She's pulled herself up onto the porch railing and straddles one of the pillars. A bird cry goes out. Mom! Mom! Mom! The girls go wheeling through the air. I'm laughing as I park in my usual spot, reminded of that Disney movie that came out when Presley was little, Finding Nemo, and the seagulls on the rock. I can't afford to do the math on how much time has passed since then. My little girl isn't little anymore. She comes bounding off the front porch: a Hollywood vision with her waist long blonde hair blowing out around her sunkissed shoulders. Everyone told me, "She looks just like you, Stirrups," and I believed them when she was a baby, but I refuse to believe I was that pretty. They're all pretty. Violet, Vesper, Presley...my beautiful girls, sprinting towards the pickup. Probably Maverick's genes.

"Mom—" Vesper smacks into me the second I open the car door.

"Hey, my wild-girl."

Violet finds an opening in the hug and Presley easily sandwiches the twins between us. "How's Dad?" She asks.

"Perfectly fine — you know him, death defying."

Laughter bubbles from this tangled mass we've made. It races up my spine and vibrates the twins like alarm clocks. "My girls," I sigh and curl an arm backward to catch Violet while I lift a hand to Presley's cheek. A laugh barely squeezes past her lips as she leans into my touch. A warm drop rolls from the corner of her eye to my thumb and I brush it away. "I'm so sorry you had to go through all that worry. We'll have to give Daddy all of this week's barn duty, hm?"

We laugh again.

"Where is Daddy?"

Presley rests a hand on the back of Violet's head.

"He had to stay back, Vi, remember?"

"Yeah, but why? Is he in trouble?"

"Yeah —" Vesper straights up. She's got that look.

"What look?" Maverick always asks.

"That one."

"Well, it's the only one I've got."

"What exactly happened?"

I slump back against the car. "Can I get a drink before the interrogation, Officer?"

Grinning, Vesper takes my hand and leads us back to the porch.

Jamie is there leaning against the railing, both hands bulging from his jean-pockets, and his top two buttons undone. He's a perfect hybrid of his parents, but the pieces of him that are distinctly Ghost remind me just how vast the Atlantic is. 'An ocean between us,' Ghost wrote in one of her poems and framed it with small shells from the char and ash pebbled shores of Ireland. Jamie smiles and for a second, I see her face, but when he speaks it's just Jamie.

"How's Uncle Pete?"

"He's alright. The crash is nothing compared to the tongue-lashing he's getting right about now."

Laughing, Jamie pushes off the railing and intercepts me in a hug.

"God — you're tall," I complain as my voice is muffled by Jamie's shirt.

Jamie laughs, but it doesn't reach his eyes. When we pull apart, Jamie drags a hand through his already disheveled hair and down his face until his thumb hooks under his jawline. His gaze flits about as he absentmindedly strokes his jaw, mulling over the words spilling in his head. It can be a painful wait, which Ghost has taught me well.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," He says finally.

"It's part of the job," I sigh, "The only drawback."

"He's really okay, then?"

Jamie's eyes wander over to the three girls talking animatedly while they pour a second round of sweet-tea. They nearly lost their father today; a reality that Jamie deals with daily.

"He's okay, Jamie."

The skin of his throat stretches tightly, revealing a pulsing nerve before he nods and resumes his usual, relaxed manner. Presley comes bounding over with a full mason jar in each hand.

"Drinks are on the house." She winks.

"So, Mama," Violet pats the empty space on the swing beside her. "What happened?"

I tell them the entire story, from my perspective and from Maverick's. All but Vesper roll their eyes when I get to Maverick's bullheaded decision to ramp up to Mach 10. Jamie smirks behind his glass, no doubt imagining the choice words his father would have about taking such risks and directly disobeying orders. By now, word will have reached Iceman of Maverick's stunt. I'm running out of thank you gift ideas for every time Iceman's had to pull the proper strings to free Maverick from his own self-destruction.

Maverick's side of the story is far more interesting, and less emotional. We only spoke so much of what happened, but he said that he woke up to the feeling of his tongue falling down his throat. It had swollen so thick, it nearly plugged his airway. He rolled out from under a twisted, blackened scrap of metal and chose a random direction. All around him was desert as far as the eye could see. He was thirsty, and his black flight-suit absorbed the full sun so badly he considered stripping naked. Violet shrieks and winces. Vesper wrinkles her nose. Presley laughs hysterically and Jamie simply shakes his head in disbelief.

"Finally, he reaches a road."

"Empty?" Vesper asks.

"Yes, but there's a diner on the other side. So he staggers in, and he said everyone just froze. Some waitress was walking by with a tray full of drinks and handed him one of the waters. After he drank the whole thing, he asked them, "Where am I?" and this little kid goes, "Earth.""

Jamie spits out his tea.

The twins lean on each other to keep from toppling off the swing.

Presley face-plants into her hands. "Oh my gosh I hope they write a local article on that!"

We laugh until the pitcher's gone dry and everyone's stomachs call for dinner.

"What about Dad?" Presley asks. "Shouldn't we wait for him?"

I pause in the doorway. The sun is halfway hidden behind the western grove of trees that overshadow the chicken co-op. It's about this time of day, when everything is orange and brown like our old home-videos and Polaroids, that a motorcycle appears on the horizon, bringing my husband back to me. Cain never promised to send Maverick home by supper and this isn't the South. In California, there's no time-stamp for families to reunite at home. Maverick could be out all night. I could stand here all night waiting, letting bugs in. Well, if my stomach weren't threatening to eat itself, then I could wait all night. My feet drag as I pull them up and inside the house. Behind me, the screen door clicks shut.

"I'm not sure when he's getting in...but we'll leave enough for him to heat up."

Presley nods.

"Wash up, kiddos, dinner will take a while, why don't you put on a movie?"

The twins rush into the living room, already throwing out titles.

Jamie lingers by the fridge. "How can I help?"

"You already have," I smile. "Thank you for coming to help Presley."

"'S no trouble," Jamie murmurs, failing to hide his blush. "What's family for, right?"

"Right."

I nod. Jamie nods. He stands and stares at me while I bustle about, pulling ingredients from the cabinets.

"You sure you don't need help?"

"James Kazansky, sit your ass down with the girls."

"Yes Ma'am," He laughs.

My eyes quietly follow him, just to make sure he actually joins them in the living room and gets off his feet. He stops in the doorway, facing away from me, but there's someone perfectly tucked around the door frame. I see a hand jut out and catch Jamie by the crook of his arm. A sweetly soft laugh bubbles off his lips. It's a sound I haven't heard for a long time and Lord, does that make me feel old.

》 》 》

"Alright girls, lights out."

"Dad's still not back?" Violet yawns.

A pair of green eyes peep over the meticulously preserved Yankees duvet. The blue and white quilt would be falling apart at the seams by now had it belonged to any Mitchell but Violet. All our plants die, unless Violet feeds and waters them. I pull my hand back from the light switch and notch a shoulder against the door frame. Maverick called about thirty minutes ago to let me know he was finally coming home after being unexpectedly shipped off to Miramar. Boy did that name dust off memories. It stung too, but less so now as it did all those years ago. Violet's yawn is contagious. I promised Pete I'd wait up for him, but the door frame is barely holding me upright now and he's still twenty or so minutes out.

"It's a bit of a hike from Top Gun, sweetie...he'll come in to kiss you if you're asleep, or if you're awake."

"I'll be awake," Vesper huffs. "I haven't punched him yet."

"Vesper."

"Not in the face," She groans. "Just the shoulder, ya know, for stressing you out."

That scowl won't work on me. Vesper insists she's a mystery. Maybe to her friends and team-mates, but not to her mother, or her sister. One day she'll realize when you bury everything under anger, all you've done is broadcast your tell. If she's gonna be one of those Mrs. Smith type of girls like she always says, she's gonna have to work on her bluff, or all bets are off.

"You don't have to punch my husband for me," I smile. "I've got it covered. You can punch him for stressing you out, though, just not too hard, the crash already whopped his butt."

"He didn't stress me out."

"No?"

"No," Vesper insists. "It was pretty stupid, but he hit Mach 10."

"He could have died," Violet whispers.

Vesper turns her head and her entire demeanor softens as it only ever does for her twin. Humming, Vesper adjusts under her blankets. "But he didn't."

Violet disappears behind the covers.

I swallow hard, debating on whether I intervene or allow them this rare impasse. They've each got a brain of their own; how they use it, what conclusions they come to is their own business. I never expected my girls to have some hive-mind connection on every issue the world sent their way, but the bond between twins is stronger than I ever imagined. In the fourteen years they've been alive, they've only fallen out a handful of times. No disagreement has ever broken their friendship...even the ones when I stayed out of it. But pacifism vs. combat is nothing compared to 'was Dad risking his life worth it?'

Kids shouldn't have conversations like that.

Especially not before bed.

Before they've seen their Dad, safe and sound and home again.

I can't hold my peace.

When have I ever been able to?

"Your father is a wild-card. Sometimes that's the right card to play, sometimes it's a gamble. But he loves you more than he loves the risk, and he'd never jeopardize coming home to you unless it meant saving people he loves."

The girls say nothing in reply.

I can't see Violet's face.

Vesper's eyes are wide open and fixed on the lemon-shaped stain on the ceiling.

"Goodnight girls."

"Goodnight, Mama," They chorus.

I push off the doorway, flick off the lights, and leave their door cracked so it won't cause a raucous when Maverick pops in to kiss them goodnight. The hallway is a dim mass of shadow and amber-lamplight from the kitchen. I follow the light to the front door and slip into my wellingtons. At night, the horses are turned out, but I like to make sure their stalls are tidy and that they've got all the water they need in their trough before I turn in. If we had an emergency, the last thing I want is a shitty stall to deal with plus an endangered horse. As I grab a my aviator jacket off the rack, I notice a pair of boots are missing.

Presley.

She went out to finish up for me, didn't she?

Smiling, I hurry outside.

I might be able to catch her. Two hands will make the job go faster, and then she can go to bed. Jamie is probably asleep by now. He's always been a 'frustratingly early bird,' as Presley says. He gets it from both parents. No couple is as organized and driven as Ghost and Iceman. It's no surprised they pumped out a perfect gentleman like Jamie and the next up-and-coming Navy prodigy, Seamus Kazansky. I still haven't found a vice strong enough to distract him from studying. Iceman hates me for trying to corrupt his trophy-boy, but that's half the fun. The game's gone on so long, Seamus anticipates my next move. Seeing his broad smile is better than undermining his good-grades. He's got his father's mouth and his mother's eyes; they smile in harmony.

Jamie is less of Iceman, but Ronan is the one who really fell off mark.

And then there's Rory, a girl in a sea of brothers.

God, I love all those kids.

Almost as much as I love my own.

It'd be nice if I knew where my firstborn is.

The barn door is open, so she's definitely out here, but the aisle is empty and it isn't cleaned up. Where is she? The trough needs to be checked. Assuming Presley went out into the pasture first, I turn past the first stall to exit through the side-door. Someone left the door to the tack room open again. How many times do I have to tell her — Vesper is so determined until it comes to remembering assignments. I charge into the tack room to check for any rodents before turning off the light and locking up, but it's too late; something's already gotten in.

Someone.

Two of them.

It was Presley behind the doorway tonight.

Jamie smiled at her, laughed at her.

And now his hands are in the back pockets of her jeans as they kiss like they've had a lifetime of practice.

I...almost laugh.

The sound I make is some horrifying half-breed of a laugh and a Middle-Aged General clearing his throat.

Presley and Jamie spring apart.

I can't tell whose face is more red, but both of their lips are the reddest of all. How long have they been out here? I last saw them both before Maverick called. They were still in the living room, chatting after saying goodnight to the twins. That gave them ten, maybe twenty minutes to escape to the barn and start...whatever it is I've just walked in on. My heart is racing a mile a minute, and I'm not sure if I'm going to be sick or laugh hysterically. Jamie and Presley. I should have seen this coming. Did I not see it coming? They applied to the same college, they applied to the same paper, they found an apartment to share. That's over four years of close quarters. Maverick and I only lasted a couple of months before we were all over each other, and that was without sharing home and board.

"Aunt Remi—"

"How long has this been going on?"

"A little less than a year," Presley mutters.

So they lasted three years as only friends.

I'm impressed.

"You've been hiding for less than a year, from me, from your father, from your parents I'd assume...?"

Jamie looks like he's got a noose around his throat and he's waiting for the fatal tug. "Yeah," He chokes out. "I'm sorry, we should've said something — I should've —"

"We agreed not to," Presley argues.

"Why is that?"

"'Cause we're living together," Presley sighs. "It wasn't on purpose...we never thought it'd end up like this, I mean — we grew up together so it just seemed easier to split rent and we'd be working for the Union Tribune together..."

"It kinda...snuck up on us," Jamie admits as he scratches the blush creeping up his neck to his ears. Presley sways on her feet, twitching every time she dips too close to Jamie. I pretend to scratch above my lip while biting back a smile. They really think it matters if they aren't shoulder to shoulder after I caught them making out in the musty little tack room? "If I realized I had feelings for you before, I would've told our parents and I would've helped you find a different roommate—"

"It shouldn't matter!" Presley hisses. "We're not screwing around, we have separate rooms."

"That's why you kept it secret? So we wouldn't worry about you two sleeping together?"

Presley looks furious; Jamie looks like he could faint from embarrassment.

Both of them could've been sun-burnt by Hellfire.

"We're not," Jamie murmurs.

"Not what?"

"Not sleeping together," Jamie continues. "I'm sorry we've been sneaking around, and lying to you all, but I promise...I'd never go that far behind your backs. Presley is your daughter and she's my best friend. I couldn't disrespect her or you and Maverick like that, ever."

Jamie holds reverent eye contact. The intensity of his oath and his gaze weigh his head so that his chin nearly brushes his shirt collar. I fold both arms across my chest, glancing between my daughter, and the boy whose been all but a son to me. Maverick and I never had the mixed bag of kids we wanted. It didn't matter. We have Bradley. Bradley is my son — blood and biology be damned. But Ghost's boys are my nephews and if I were catholic, you better believe I'd be their godmother. All his life, Jamie was the golden child. While Bradley and Presley snuck out after dark, partied hard, and tested every boundary imposed on them, Jamie quietly persisted to do the smart thing before taking a thrilling risk. Jamie is gentle with the broken and firm with the reckless and with Presley, he's always been the ice to her fire. I consider Jamie's promise carefully, unable to fight off a smile any longer. Presley gnaws her lip, bleeding a smile of her own. Jamie couldn't be more puzzled. His cupid brows arch together as he waits for my response.

How on earth did I not see this coming?

Bradley and Presley are as good as brother and sister. Bradley was twelve when Presley was born.

Jamie was two.

I'm such an idiot.

"You're...laughing?"

I hang my head but nothing can stop the laughter now that it's started. Today has been a topsy-turvy, emotionally draining roller-coaster ride. I collapse into hysterics. What's next? Maverick nearly gets himself killed, Bradley asks to meet, then I find Presley and Jamie's tongues down each other's throats?

"Jamie," I cough out in a pathetic attempt to be serious. "I trust you more than I trust anyone. I trust you to do the right thing, to be good to Presley. But...you both broke a little of my trust, and everyone else's by hiding, you know that?"

"We didn't lie," Presley mutters. "No one asked."

"Oh?" I challenge. "We have to ask to hear about our kids lives? You send me every article you write, you text me photos of all your fun outings and your favorite new clothes and your tickets to concerts but you can't call and tell me you're dating by best friend's son?"

My voice is sharper than I expected.

Now I'm the rollercoaster they're riding.

Shocked, curious, amused, and...angry.

Slightly.

My hands shake under my armpits. What am I doing? How do I handle this? Questions fall into line. When I can't answer the first, I peel back a layer, hoping for a better hand. And I'm disappointed again and again. Maverick and I were never prepared for this. Neither of us thought our kids would have romantic feelings for Ghost and Ice's kids. Cousins. All this time, I only saw them as cousins. It's not their fault I'm stunned. What was it Jamie said? "It kinda...snuck up on us."

Well, it's slapping me in the face right now.

"Mom — we thought you'd react badly."

"And how am I reacting now?"

"Not as badly as I thought," Presley admits.

Well, that's good to hear, seeing as I don't know what I'm doing.

If only Maverick were here.

Then again, if Maverick were here, I'm sure he'd have torn Jamie's head off by now, and Presley would be getting about as much lip as she's giving. God, if I was unprepared for this, Maverick's about ten laps behind me. He's the one that's always joked that any boy who wanted one of his girls, he'd strap to a rocket and if they couldn't take the G's, he'd haul their ass of his property. The girls were apalled. Presley was pissed, but there weren't any boys asking her out then, just some boys melting into puddles when she ran by in her bell-bottom jeans and floral crop tops.

None of those boys deserved her.

Jamie does.

Does Presley deserve him?

"I hate to say it, Presley, but I'm less worried about him."

She stiffens. "Mom—"

"You're stubborn. You talk back. You push people's buttons. You rebel against rules and then decide if you'll follow them or not. Sometimes that's good and sometimes it's disrespectful to people who've got real wisdom they're trying to protect you with." I draw a deep sigh in the middle of my list. She's twenty-four years old. She was my test subject for motherhood, and still is. I've spent all twenty-four years of her life watching her do stupid things, brave things, kind things, beautiful things. I know when she's thinking something opposite to what's showing on her face, and I know when Presley's made a choice that's deserved a standing ovation. And right now, I'm more than a little worried that she'll make choices that'll hurt Jamie. "I've got more than you to think of. I've got Ghost to think about. You're going to have to tell them too. And Jamie, you need to talk to Maverick yourself, like you should have done when this started."

"Aunt Remi...Presley is stubborn and reckless and sometimes takes the long route to doing the smart thing but she's kind and she's generous and she stands up for the little guy every chance she gets. Presley isn't afraid to challenge me, and even though we fight sometimes, she lets me challenge her, correct her when I know she's wrong, and I hope when I do the wrong thing she'll tell me straight. Maybe I wasn't the one you all had to punish the most, but I'm not nearly perfect...neither of us are. I don't think that's a good reason to stop us from being together 'cause I love her, and she loves me."

Jamie finally bridges the gap between him and Presley. The straw crunches and folds under their shoes as they press up against each other. Presley's eyes are swimming with tears. Jamie wraps an arm around her shoulder and she leans into him, biting her lip, shaking a little too.

Shit.

My eyes are warm and wet.

"I love him, Mama. I love you too, I'm sorry we went behind your backs."

I swallow thickly. "I know you are."

Presley gently detaches from Jamie.

"Forgive me?"

"Of course, c'mere—" I inch towards them but Presley leaps the three steps towards me, easily folding in my arms. My body sighs to have her close again. It isn't that Jamie's taking her away, though I'm sure Maverick's gonna see it that way at first. It's just foreign, to see the daughter that's relied on you for love and protection to discover it in someone else, someone you can't control. I hug Presley tight, burying my face in her wild blonde hair as I rock us back and forth. "You chose the best guy on the planet, you know that?"

"Oh yeah, Mama," Presley sniffles through a laugh. "I know."

"You two nearly gave me my second heart attack of the day."

"Sorry about that," Jamie chuckles shamefully.

"Don't be sorry. Just don't let me catch you making out in dark corners until you've told Maverick and Ghost and Iceman that you're going steady, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Will do."

"M'kay," I release Presley with a kiss to her head. As I back away, I gesture towards the rest of the barn. "While your here, take care of the horses."

They nod.

I turn to leave, but something Presley said earlier rings in my ear. Grinning, I pop back into the tack room. "Oh, and you don't have to be having sex to be 'sleeping together,' so I better not catch you two sharing a bed while you're here. Goodnight."

Presley and Jamie blush down their necks. I hold in a laugh as I exit the barn. I of all people know how that works. The amount of times Maverick snuck into my room at Charlie's would send my father into a coma. Maybe it wasn't the smartest move, spending half our time at Top Gun cuddling into the early morning, but we never crossed the lines we drew, and if Presley and Jamie have taken anything after us, neither will they.

》 》 》

The kitchen becomes my punching bag. Once Jamie and Presley finish up in the barn, they pass through the kitchen to say goodnight. Neither can properly look me in the eye, but that's to be expected. No matter how hard I scrub the pan I used for dinner, the image of my daughter caught in Jamie Kazansky's arms won't wash away. Jamie and Presley. Alright, they're cute. It could have been far worse, I tell myself. We know Jamie. He's already family; now he's got a second ticket in.

I only hope Maverick will see it like I do.

He's running late.

I've wiped down the microwave, the stovetop, and all the counters.

Where is h—

Tires maul our gravel driveway. A smile breaks out on my face. I hurry over to the sink and wring out the old rag. It's pockmarked with paint-stains from the last time the Kazanskys were in the States. Rory convinced the girls to paint with her, but she prefers a cloth towel to dry off her brushes and now the paint won't wash out. It hangs on to the cloth in lose flakes. Maverick's headlights strobe across the front of the house. I'm not sure which is louder — the gravel or his engine. When both of them fall silent, I ditch Rory's paint rag in the sink and run to the front door. God, Maverick is fast. The screen door swings within an inch of Maverick's nose. Gasping, I clamp a hand on the doorknob and pull it back. Maverick hardly reacted. Oh my gosh. I bet if I pushed him, he'd topple right over. He's like death on two legs.

"Get inside," I mutter.

I grab Maverick by the collar and practically drag him into the kitchen.

"Are the girls asleep?" He whispers.

"Yeah. Jamie too."

"Jamie's here?"

I scratch the back of my neck. "Uh, yeah. He came with Presley to watch the twins. Wasn't any use sending him back into the city this late."

"Yeah, yeah of course."

Maverick sways towards me. Should I tell him?

No, not now.

He's half-alive as it is. I'm not sure what kind of feral creature he'd morph into when he hears that his daughter's first serious boyfriend is our best friend's son. And that they've been hiding their relationship for almost a year. Besides...Jamie and Presley should come forward; they owe it to Maverick. And maybe I'm tired too. So much more tired than I felt a couple minutes ago, throwing my cleaning arsenal at our kitchen appliances. Maverick sways and buckles at the knees and I can barely hold him up. His hands find purchase on my waist, aligning our sagging bodies before pressing a lazy kiss to my lips. "'M really glad I didn't die today."

"Me too."

"Still mad?"

"I will be if you keep bringing it up."

Laughing, Maverick smacks me on the ass.

There isn't enough force in it to matter. I bite back a smile and lean into his arms.

"So, what'd they want you in Miramar for?"

Maverick laughs again, but it's hardly the same.

He raises a hand to the back of my head to play with my hair. It's one of my favorite feelings, but right now it's his distraction. He's tired and he's avoiding my question, which rolls my nerves into a tight knot. I lean back, trusting Maverick's arms to hold me upright. Dark circles under his eyes replace the streaks of char across his skin. All his cuts have been cleaned up and taped. He must have gotten a shower sometime between the conversation with Rear Admiral Cain and visiting Top Gun. Ash and soot no longer discolor his hair. Reaching up, I test it. My fingers slip through easily. His hair is soft, clean, and back to his natural chocolate brown. It's almost black when he's been in water long enough. Maverick's eyes flutter shut when my nails graze his scalp. He turns his mouth to the inside of my wrist.

"Pete Mitchell..."

"Remington Mitchell..." Maverick mimics.

"You're dodging my nosy wife questions." His smile fans across my skin. "C'mon, I'm not taking you to bed until you tell me what Top Gun wanted you for."

"They...want me for a mission."

My fingers catch in a tangle of his hair.

"Wait — they what?"

"They want me for a mission," Maverick repeats. He sighs and retrieves one hand from my waist to scratch the stubble forming on his jaw. "Rear Admiral Bates and Vice Admiral Simpson."

"What mission?"

"Training some kids."

I furrow my brow. "So...it's their mission?"

Maverick nods, but he opens his mouth to speak. Nothing comes out. It's like he's choking on what he's got to say. I rest my hands on his shoulders, watching and waiting and then, "It's his mission."

"Whose mission?"

"Bradley's."