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That's all she needed to say. It was like a guillotine falling. It ended the argument before it ever
really got started. Wentz wanted to kick the wall, knock things over, bellow out loud, but then he
realized why. Because he couldn't hack the truth; he was too selfish to admit it. Oh, yes, Joyce
had every right to treat him like pondscum...because that's what he was until he proved
otherwise.
And I will prove it, he swore to himself. Damn it, I WILL. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath,
pushed his selfish angst aside.
He looked at Joyce.
"I'll make it up to you " He raised a quick finger. "I know you've heard that one before, and I
know I've let you and Pete down a bunch of times in the past. Just the fact that you're giving me
one more chance makes me the luckiest man in the world. I won't screw it up this time I swear to
God. You gotta believe me."
"I know you mean it, Jack," she said, "but I also know you're a career pilot. You're addicted to
flying; you all are "
"No I'm not, for Christ's sake."
"Jack, I know a dozen other women whose husbands are all pilots and they're all divorced, it's all
the same."
Wentz nodded after thinking about it. "All right, I guess it is something like that, the adrenalin
and all, the rush. When you get to fly the most sophisticated aircraft in the world, it does
something to your ego, and, yeah, I guess I was addicted to the thrill. But that's behind me now."
"Is it really? You quit the Air Force tomorrow, and what happens next week? You start flying for
the airlines. Right back in the saddle."
Was she right about this too? There was no time left to fool around. This truly was his last
chance. "All right, you're justified in saying that. I'm just going from one plane to another. So "
Wentz walked to the walnut highboy where he kept his papers. He pulled open the top drawer,
withdrew his employment contract with United Airlines, and ripped it up.
"I don't give a shit about that job," he asserted. "It's just busy work, and now that you mention it,
it's gonna be pretty damn disappointing trading in a $50,000,000 mach-three-plus ATF for a
jumbo jet that won't get out of its own way." Wentz balled up the shredded contract and tossed it
in the trash.
"Do you really mean that?" she asked. "That's fine with me if you do. We don't need this big
house. We can move someplace smaller, tighten the budget, get cheaper cars "
"We don't have to do any of that," he told her. "I don't even need a job. When they promo'd me to
brig general, my retirement pay went up about twenty percent. Plus...when you're a classified test
pilot, you get this thing called SOM credit. It stands for special operating missions it's a hazard
pay bonus you get when you retire. Mine's been building up with interest for over twenty years."
Joyce peered at him.
"It's...a lot of money," Wentz admitted.
"So you're telling me you're never going to fly a plane again?"
"I'm not telling you, I'm promising you."
Her eyes looked as big as cue balls. "So...what will you do?"
"Give you a break, for one thing," he answered at once. "Drive Pete to and from school every day
like you've been doing since kindergarten. I'll do stuff around the house, mow the lawn, weed the
beds, shovel the driveway in the winter. I'll be a house husband you think I give a shit? I look
good in an apron. You've busted your tail for the last ten years, now I'll take up the slack. I'm not
kidding about this, Joyce. You quit school to put me through college, now it's my turn. You can
go back and get your degree. I'll wash the damn dishes. You can open a crafts store like you
always wanted. It doesn't matter. Whatever you want, I'll do whatever it takes to see that you get
it."
Joyce looked nearly shocked. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Damn fuckin' straight."
"Don't cuss. Pete might hear you."
"Hey, Dad!" Pete called out from the kitchen. "The water's boiling!"
"I'll be right there," Wentz said. He put his arm around his wife, pulled her close. "You'll see," he
whispered. "No more broken promises. And by the way...you're fuckin' beautiful."
Joyce blushed. "Don't cuss..."
He kissed her and went back into the kitchen.
"Yeah, that's boiling," Wentz observed of the pot. "Now I'll show you another of your old man's
trick's." He opened the refrigerator, pulled out a large bottle of beer. "Once the water's boiling,
you pour in about eight ounces of a good German marzen, or something with a lot of malt. It
makes the crabmeat come out of the shell easier."
Pete watched as his father poured in some of the beer.
"What are you gonna do with the rest?" Joyce coyly asked.
"Drink it. What else? When you're in an SOM wing, you can't drink. They even polygraph you to
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