The Feathery Read Free

been combed in place. Her attractive face with high cheekbones held a bronze tennis court tan. Dianne’s robe covered the hint of a well formed five-foot-nine inch body developed lithe and slender by spending most of her leisure time on that same court. Those features made her true age of thirty-eight seem years below that number. Her large blue eyes widened and then quickly narrowed to a squint before she spoke.
    "Golf again, Zachary?" She angrily confronted her husband. "We’re supposed to play a tennis match at ten with the Swansons. He’s a large developer," she said, her voice reaching a high pitch, "and I need him."
     
    "Sorry, Diane, but Scott has his heart set on golf with me today."
    Diane turned in a white silk flourish and stormed out of the kitchen. Zachary told Scott to wait in the car then followed Diane upstairs toward their bedroom. He opened the same door that was slammed shut a few minutes before, and entered the large master bedroom with a four post bed and oriental rugs scattered in places to cover the polished oak flooring.
     
    "No excuses or apologies, Zack. It’s always golf, golf, golf. Damn golf. I hate it! And you spend all your spare time with Scott…none with me." Her voice was shrill, on the edge of a scream.
     
    Zachary Beckman was only an inch taller than his wife at five-ten. His hair was black with a slight sprinkle of gray flecks hinting of more to come after his age of thirty-five. His face was not a classic handsome one, but was made rugged good looking by a broken nose not set properly after a rugby match. His body was toned, not only by golf and tennis, but by daily work-outs. His steel gray eyes expressed a marine pilot’s intensity when he said, "there’s a good excuse this time, Diane."
     
    She looked at him through some tearing . "What might that be?"
     
    "I was going to wait and tell you tonight when we were at the restaurant. But here goes." Zack took a deep breath. "I’ve volunteered to go to Iraq and I wanted to play golf once more with Scott before I left."
     "Are you crazy? Iraq? Why?
    "The Marine Reserve trained me to fly helicopters in combat, and I’ve got to go."

Diane glared at her husband in disbelief. "You volunteered for this? When do you leave, and for how long?"

"This coming Tuesday, for a year, unless I’m extended."

She glowered at him in disbelief for ten seconds before she decided to take two steps forward toward the arms waiting to encircle her. "Oh, Zach, I don’t like this one bit. Please be careful. Don’t make me a real widow instead of a golf widow."

Zachary Beckman laughed. "I’ll make sure of that."
     
     
     
     
    Later, when he was with his son on the 15th hole at Balboa, Zack told Scott about his going to Iraq.

Scott’s eyes filled with tears. "How long, dad?"

"Should be home in a year."

Zachary stared at his son for a long time. Scott had the same silver blond hair and blue eyes as his mother. But growing fast at twelve he’d
be taller than her. His hair had started to meander down below the neck line…not Marine Corps length, but Zachary wouldn’t rebuke Scott about
his hair style, instead he took a digital camera out of his golf bag and said, "I’d like to take a picture with me of you swinging a golf club…"

Scott took his stance on the tee and swung a driver from his junior golf set while his dad clicked the camera several times.

When Zack finished taking the pictures, he looked into Scott’s golf bag. "At the rate you’re growing, you’ll need an adult set of clubs next
year. I’ll buy you some when I get back."
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CAMP VICTORY, IRAQ
     
     
     
    E leven months into his tour in Iraq, marine Captain Zachary Beckman was in the backseat, pilot’s position, of an AH-1W Cobra attack-helicopter starting out on what he hoped would be one of his last missions before returning stateside. After the pre-flight activities, he looked at the snap-shot of his son, Scott, taped in