Previously: Before heading to the Villages version of a western town,  Jeff sits us down for a video interview. Making movies of their travels is a hobby. In the course of our conversation, I noted he had changed, become more subdued. Nichole took credit: "I’m working on that." Our son-in-law reveals that living with my daughter is turning him into an introvert.

Chapter 108 ends:

This reunion was turning out to be spectacular. Nichole had come to grips with her husband’s shortcomings and instead of saying "It is what it is," she had thought "It is what you make it."

Five minutes later, I brought up the first time we met Jeff. Big mistake. Nichole still can’t forgive Frank and me for something we did over twenty years ago.

To go back in time, Nichole left for California a year after graduating from college. Once settled in San Fernando Valley as a welcome guest in my sister Anne’s large house, she sought out a job as a waitress. This kind of work gave flexible hours and tips to take home. But after several months of constant rejection for a movie role, she was miserable and homesick. Audition after audition, directors dismissed her. Since she had taken the Barbizon modeling course, she tried her luck there.

"You’re too short for runway work, but if you invested in breast implants, you could do magazine ads perhaps." The company told her.

No way. Nichole was terrified of hospitals, even though she had never undergone surgery.

While she broke down on the phone on our monthly call, I encouraged her not to give up. After all, she had free room and board plus four male college age cousins who spoiled her—the only female blood relative.

I hoped she would find a boyfriend, someone who loved her as much as I did. That would give her self-confidence as well as a shoulder to lean on. Three years passed before she met Jeff, a wannabe actor who worked as a waiter too. He lived in L.A. with his grandmother rather than move to Florida where his mom and stepdad relocated. It thrilled me to hear happiness in her voice. Two years passed. She wanted to bring him home to meet us.

"We’re flying into Tampa and will spend three days with you guys. Then we’re hoping you’ll loan us a car so we can drive to Miami to see his parents."

This was definitely serious. But it didn’t set too well to let a stranger drive either one of our cars across the state. "Let Jeff take a bus. You stay with us," I wanted to say. We hadn’t seen our daughter for five years. I wanted ‘alone’ time with her.

My first impression of Jeff as the two walked hand in hand toward us after disembarking: He’s too old for her! I’m talking a ten-year difference. Imagine my shock when she told me he was a year and a half younger.

The size of his head shocked me too. Jeff had to special order hats. Since he’s a Leo, my aunt, the astrologer, said a large head often marked this sign. Not true of my son or grandson, both born in late July. But then, men have two heads, so who knows where size comes into the picture. Maybe, my daughter had a double whammy.

One thing we told our daughter beforehand: "While staying with us, you’ll sleep in separate rooms." She didn’t argue.

Alone time? Forget it. She clung to Jeff like Saran Wrap. And vice versa.

"He doesn’t look like what I pictured for you," I told her in private.

"I know," Nichole answered flippantly. "I wouldn’t bring home a looker because I know you would flirt with him." I admit it. She was right.

During their short stay, Nichole kept niggling us to let them use Frank’s two-year-old Ford. "Your Toyota is eight years old, Mom," she whined.

"And I’ve never had a problem with it, Nichole. It’s good for another three years, I should think."

The exact details escape me, but my ‘ancient’ car broke down on Alligator Alley, a long (over two hundred miles) two-lane highway (back then) through the Everglades that connected the east and west coast. Poorly constructed, the Alley didn’t get much traffic. "We waited over two hours before someone drove by and offered to stop at the first place he could find a garage with a tow truck," Nichole yelled at me when they returned home. "We waited another hour for the truck to pick us up and then an hour and a half for them to fix it." 

Thank goodness, we have cell phones now.

Now, as we finished up the interview, Nichole brought up the incident. "I know you gave us that old car on purpose." She shut off the camera and glared at me, bitterness clear in her voice. "You knew what could happen."

Horrified and stunned by her accusation, I could only say the first thing that came to mind. "You really think that?" Later, I remembered she phoned after getting back to California, still angry. "Thanks to you, Mom, Jeff almost broke up with me. On the flight back home, he got so sick; we went straight to the hospital for three days. When he stresses out, his allergies get so bad, he can’t breathe." That explained why the incident locked into her mind.

My spiritual studies, begun in earnest the past two years, have taught me that getting rid of baggage that angers is part of the journey, a lesson she has yet to learn. Now, she answered, "I don’t think it, I know it."

Throughout this, Frank and Jeff stayed quiet.

"Well, it’s not true," I said. "I’m sorry it happened."

"Interview’s over," Jeff interjected with a laugh. "I’m getting hungry. Let’s go to the ranch and get some chow."

"Sounds good." Nichole packed the camera away as if nothing had happened. "Are you sure you can’t go, Dad?"

"Sorry, honey, I’m too tired. Yesterday did me in. How long do you think you’ll be gone?"

"We should be back by four to say goodbyes. Our luggage is in the car. We have reservations for a hotel near the airport since our flight leaves early in the morning."

Nichole’s sudden outburst preyed on my mind but not for long. Maybe having expressed her feelings would help my daughter deal with them and mend the gap that had grown between us. Had I argued old issues, the gap might have widened further.

To be continued.