The Top Gun's Return

brother, Jimmy Joe, barely out of school himself, had stepped in to take over the trucking business. Jessie's momma, Betty, had gone back to teaching part-time, and the family had made it through the hard times, somehow.

And they'd all stayed close, except for Joy Lynn, who'd gone off to New York City to live after her second divorce, and Roy, who was on a fishing boat somewhere down in Florida, doing who-knew-what. Jessie's oldest sister, Tracy, also a teacher, lived over in Augusta with her policeman husband, Al, and their three kids. The baby of the family, Calvin, or C.J., as he'd decided he wanted to be called, had gotten married last fall. He and his wife, Caitlyn, and the little girl they were adopting, were living temporarily a mile up the road while C.J. decided on where he wanted to hang out his shingle and start practicing law.

Troy, Jessie's oldest brother, had been a SEAL before he retired from the Navy and married Charly, a lawyer who'd grown up practically next door in Alabama before she ran away from home and wound up in California. Troy and Charly had met each other when Charly came back south to be maid of honor at her best friend Mirabella's wedding to Jimmy Joe. Those two had met when Jimmy Joe delivered Mirabella's baby in the sleeper cab of his rig during a Christmas Eve blizzard in the Texas Panhandle. Now, Charly and Troy lived in Atlanta, where Charly practiced law and Troy had his own P.I. firm. Jimmy Joe had built his daddy's trucking business into Blue Starr Transport, which ran both long-and short-haul drivers all over the country. He and Mirabella lived nearby in a modest brick house with a big yard for their three kids to play in. Their oldest son, J.J., from Jimmy Joe's first brief marriage when he was still a kid, had pretty much grown up in his gramma Betty's house with Sammi June and was a year behind her in school. He'd be graduating from high school in a couple of weeks.

Nobody, of course, could top Jessie when it came to sticking close to home. She and Sammi June had moved in with Jessie's mother when Tristan was deployed to the Gulf that last time, thinking it was going to be maybe for six months, no more. Instead it turned out to be almost nine years.

It had been a good arrangement, though, for all concerned, and Jessie knew how lucky she and Sammi June had been, to have had the kind of security and stability the old home place provided. Even after the news had come that Tris had been shot down, their lives had gone on pretty much as before, surrounded by family and familiar things, brothers and sisters and cousins and lots of laughter and love. They hadn't had much of a chance to be lonely. Well, hardly ever. There'd always been weddings and new babies, work and school, and family get-togethers at any excuse whatsoever, with barbecues and homemade peach ice cream and watermelon in the summertime and pumpkin pie in the winter and kids rambling off in the woods and the older ones playing touch football or baseball in the fallow field next door, and the menfolk with their heads stuck under the hood of somebody's car.

Like a lot of Starr family gatherings, this one hadn't really been planned. It had sort of grown out of everyone's natural desire to drop in and welcome Tristan back from the dead in classic Southern style, with gifts of-what else?-food.

It was Saturday; that morning Troy and Charly had driven over from Atlanta with a trunkful of sweet corn and watermelons, apologizing about the fact that they'd had to buy them at the supermarket, since nobody's gardens were producing so early in the season. Tracy and Al showed up around noon, bringing strawberries and homemade short-cake, and C.J. and Caitlyn hauled over a vat of potato salad big enough to feed the Seventh Fleet. Jimmy Joe had picked up baby back ribs at the supermarket and got the old, rusty half-barrel barbecue set up, while Mirabella, always the practical organizer, remembered to get paper plates, napkins, plastic cups and dinnerware, and all the other odds and ends vital for family picnics. To top it off, Mirabella's sister Summer and her husband, Riley, had showed up a little while ago, having driven all the way from Charleston with a huge cooler full of fresh shrimp- shucked-on ice. Now an enormous pot of water was simmering on the kitchen stove, ready to receive the shrimp, and the air outside was thick with charcoal smoke and the scent of lighter fluid.

Meanwhile, small children rolled and tumbled on the lawn, ignoring their mothers' warnings about chiggers, while the older ones were off in the woods somewhere, getting as filthy as they possibly could in the shortest possible time. The women visited and tended the food and the occasional child-related crisis, while the men…did what they usually did at such gatherings.

Except, at the moment it wasn't a car that had the undivided attention of every male member of the family, and a few of the others, besides. It was a motorcycle-a modest Honda, gleaming black and daffodil yellow-and its proud owner was Jessie's nephew and Mirabella's stepson, J.J., the soon-to-be high school graduate.

'We made the mistake of telling him he could have the transportation of his choice if he got straight As all senior year,' Mirabella said mournfully. 'I never thought he'd ask for a motorcycle.' She'd left her rocking chair and was leaning against a porch post, gazing at the knot of interested males out in the lane, and the way she said the word it might as well have been missile launcher.

'Well,' Jessie said, 'at least it's not a Harley.'

Mirabella shot her a look. 'Oh, he wanted a Harley. Thank God, his dad drew the line at that. At least…well, I guess you could say they compromised. If J.J. proves he's responsible enough to handle this one safely, Jimmy Joe told him he could have a Harley for his college graduation present.'

Jessie burst out with a cackle of laughter. Mirabella bristled and said, 'What?'

'Nothing-except you reminded me so much of Momma just then.' She paused, then added, 'You do, you know-you're a lot like Momma-in more ways than one. I've always thought so.'

Mirabella considered, then smiled. 'I used to wonder what Jimmy Joe could possibly see in me. The first time he brought me here-remember?-and I saw you and Sammi June and J.J., all of you tall, blond and thin types-you could have been clones of my sisters-and my heart sank because here I am, you know, built just like a fireplug- short, round, and redheaded. And then your mother walked out. And I remember thinking, Okay, yes, now I understand. I think it was actually at that moment I began to believe it could work between us.' Her voice was the purr of a contented woman, and Jessie felt unexpected twinges of envy.

She studied her sister-in-law, realizing, not for the first time, that at nearly fifty, Mirabella was still an uncommonly beautiful woman. 'And…it doesn't bother you that your husband picked you because you remind him of his momma?'

Typically emphatic, Mirabella snorted. 'Why should it? It always seems to me, if a man has a reasonably healthy respect and admiration for his mother, it only makes good sense for him to use her as a role model when he goes to choose a mate for himself. Doesn't it? Ha-if only more men were that smart.'

Jessie smiled; Mirabella was famous for being forceful in her opinions. Then she shook her head and had to look away, because her smile was fading fast. She took a breath and let it out, and when it did nothing to ease the knot of fear and sadness that had come into her throat, said softly, 'Well, I sure don't think I'm anything like Tris's mother.'

'How do you know? I thought she died before you met him.'

'I've seen pictures-she was dark, like Tris-but that's not what I mean. From what he's told me about her, she must have been tough as nails. Typical German woman-the boss of the house, if not the household, if you know what I mean.' She sighed as she watched the knot of menfolk and adolescents of both genders gathered out in the lane. With arms crossed she absently rubbed her upper arms with her hands, though it wasn't chilly. 'With Tris and me it was different-maybe because I was young when he met me. Or…maybe I'm too easygoing, I don't know. Anyway, he was the boss, and that was that. About pretty much everything. I guess I just…wanted to please him. So I always-'

She broke off with a gasp as a metallic scream ripped the soft air. The black-and-yellow motorcycle had just shot out of the knot of spectators and was tearing off down the lane, a long, lean figure hunched low over the handlebars.

'Oh…God, that's Tris. What is he-' She stopped herself with fingertips touched to her lips, and cleared her throat.

'He'll be fine,' said Mirabella dismissively, following her gaze. Then her eyes came back to Jessie, and she made a sound that was half sympathy, half exasperation. 'Honey, don't worry. He's a big boy. I imagine he's got some catch-up living to do.'

'It's not that,' Jessie muttered with a sniff, impatient and appalled at the tears that seemed to flow so easily these days. She scrubbed them away with her wrist and, because she knew Mirabella wasn't going to rest until she'd gotten to the bottom of the reason for them, she went on bluntly, almost angrily, 'Sometimes I think…maybe I was too damn agreeable. Back then. Too accommodating. I mean-if it's true men want a woman like their mommas, and I sure as hell wasn't…I can't help but think…you know…'