TRWD12

My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
12

It was an uneventful flight, until we reached Cape Cod. News of our arrival had preceded us and the marina we landed at to pick Mrs. C. up at was crowded. At least she appeared to be standing with some friends helping to keep the press at bay.
I was surprised by the outpouring of applause I received as I stepped off the aft hatch of the Flying Sub with Sharkey and Kowalski, who collected Mrs. C.’s luggage.
“…Admiral? Admiral?” the press began. “Why bother to go back to the Seaview when Captain Nelson-Crane made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t give a damn about you?”
I was torn between telling the reporter to ‘go to hell’, or honoring Lee’s request that he still be despicable in the public eye. Well, there was one way to avoid either.
“…No comment.”
“…Oh c’mon,” another person shouted, “you have to be upset with him. And why are you going to Scotland anyway, when you think there’s no such thing as his mer-horse?”
“…I’m going because I know the value of any scientific expedition to prove or disprove the kelpie.”
“…Mrs. Crane? What about you? Do you believe in the sea monster?”
“…Harriman,” Jiggs interrupted from the open hatch as Ski finished loading the luggage, “we’re waiting.”
“….Sorry, we have to go,” I said, beginning to assist Mrs. C. from to dock into the Flying Sub’s aft hatch, which was scraping the dock.
“…Are you going to wear a kilt, Admiral?”
“...Undecided.”
With that, I stepped inside the Flying Sub and closed the hatch, relieved to get back inside

“You okay, Mrs. Crane?” Ski was asking her as she was seated in my former chair, next to Emmie. “We know you’re claustrophobic and we’re kind of squashed in here, so the skipper made sure we have something to help you out if you like.”
“I don’t want a shot!” she exclaimed.
“Oh, I think you’ll like this kind,” Will said as he pulled out a box from under one of the jump seats that had been pulled out from around the bulkheads. Inside were mini travel sized bottles of booze.
“There’s Vodka, Gin, Scotch, pre-made Margaritas, Martinis…”
“I think she gets the idea, Will,” I interrupted as I took my jump seat next to Jiggs’.
“Heavens, Lee wants to get her drunk? Jiggs asked.
“Well,” Mrs. C. said, “He knows I might be a little distracted by them. I’ll start with the Vodka, Doctor.”
He twisted the cap off the little bottle and handed it to her. After a few grateful swallows she said, “You know, Vodka’s Lee’s favorite.”
Before I could ask, she’d swallowed about half of the little bottle.
“Oh, yes,” she continued, trying to ignore our move away from the dock, and held Emmie’s hand as we launched, “he was still a boy, and snuck some out from under the liquor cabinet. He was sick all night and felt so miserable the next day I kept him home from school. He swore he’d never drink again, but,” she sighed, and finished the bottle, “the promises one makes at the ripe old age of eight, well, they’re soon forgotten. While he was in the White House he often had a few more drinks than he should have. But on those nights he couldn’t sleep, well, they helped. Sometimes poor Edwards or Joseph would actually have to take the drinks out of Lee’s hands and help put him to bed. It’s not an easy job, the presidency. I’m so glad he’s out of it. I’m sorry if you two have been squabbling about this little expedition of his, but I’m glad you’re staying aboard with him. He, well, even if you’re at odds with each other and he should have aborted the damn thing, he draws a lot of strength from you, you know.”
“Mrs. C.,” I said, “there’s something I need to tell you. This is hush, hush. Will, pass me a Scotch…it’s a long story and my throat is already parched just thinking about it.”
Of course, my throat wasn’t parched, nor did I believe it would be. I simply needed a little false courage. And so I began to unburden myself. Perhaps with a bit more information that wasn’t strictly necessary, but the Scotch had certainly helped me to salve my conscious.
By the time we docked with Seaview, Mrs. Crane was not the only passenger who had imbibed too much. In fact, the box of booze empty.
Mrs. C. had some difficulty climbing up the Flying Sub’s ladder into the Observation Nose, but Jiggs, slightly less tipsy, was able to give her a helping hand. I had to make due with Will, who, as a medical man, had remained sober and helped steady me. Emmie, was steady enough to climb up without assistance, but had had a bit much too. Ski and Sharkey, as our designated drivers, so to speak, were as dry as Will.
Lee was waiting for us and Mrs. C. embraced him. “Oh, my baby, my baby.”
The fact that her tears were laced with hiccups and she smelled like a cheap bar, didn’t make his response to her affections any less endearing.
“Love you too, Mom. I’m glad you came after all.”
“The claustrophobia ‘cure’ worked fine, Skipper,” Will whispered to him with a wink, “but she’ll have a few lingering side effects.”
“Apparently...O’Brien? Please accompany my mother to her cabin. I’ll be down shortly, Mom.”
“Okay, sweetie,” she said, looking at him adoringly, taking O’Brien’s arm and wobbled aft through the Control Room to the aft hatch.
“What a pleasant flight, Lee,” Emmie hiccupped, “but Sharkey wouldn’t let us use the microwave to heat up the pizzas while we were in flight.”
“Standard procedure,” Chip said. “We’ll break out a few from the crate you brought and have Cookie nuke it for you.”
Soon, Will, Jiggs, Emmie, and I headed aft through the Control Room as O’Brien and Mrs. C. had.
Suddenly I stopped as if I’d bumped into a wall.
“What’s wrong?” Lee asked as he and Chip rushed over.
“I…forgot something. I can’t seem to remember…”
“Never mind, it’ll come back,” Lee said.
“Wait, now I remember!” With that I gave him a kiss on the forehead, which wasn’t easy as I had to get up on my tiptoes. Then I promptly lost my balance, falling backwards and hurting my ankle.
Will checked me out and summoned a stretcher. Rather unceremoniously I was carted away, but not before Lee had taken my hand.
“Love you too, Harry. I take it I’m forgiven?”
All I could do was hiccup, then moan from the pain in my ankle and tailbone.
Then he nodded for the corpsmen and Will to take me away.
I could see some of the crewmen giving us soppy grins and I suddenly realized I’d botched Lee’s plans for the appearance of ill will between us.

The X-rays of my ankle and yes, even my tailbone, didn’t take long, and within minutes Will had confirmed that I’d sprained my ankle and bruised my coccyx.
It wasn’t long before I was released to two corpsman for delivery to my cabin via a wheelchair, the extra corpsman to assist for getting the chair over the knee knockers on the way. That wasn’t too embarrassing. But having to sit on a medical doughnut was.
“I’m fine,” I told Emmie, already in our cabin.
But she, fully clothed, was sound asleep on the bunk. In minutes, I was helped to it as well just as I thought I heard Lee page Chip over the PA to come to his cabin...
But I was too spaced out to think about it. I don’t know what Will gave me that wasn’t contraindicated with booze, but whatever it was, worked. Released from the pain, I could have done cartwheels. Well, not really, never have been able to do them, but you get the idea. Did I say ‘you’? Since no one’s reading this but me, I guess that literary faux paus is allowed.