But Harvey was grinning the afternoon he picked Kris up from school late. ''Your dad's invited your Great-grampa Trouble to dinner tonight. General Tordon is on Wardhaven for meetings,'' Harvey added before she asked. Kris spent the drive home wondering what she'd say to someone straight out of her history books.
Mother was in a snit, overseeing dinner preparations herself and mumbling that legends should stay in the books where they belonged. Kris was sent upstairs to do homework, but she staked out the balcony, reading with one eye and watching the front door with the other.
Kris wasn't sure what to expect. Probably someone ancient, like old Ms. Bracket who taught history and seemed dry and wrinkled enough to have lived it. All of it!
Then Grampa Trouble walked through the front door. Tall and trim, gleaming in undress greens, he looked like he could destroy an Iteeche fleet just by scowling at them. Only he wasn't scowling. The grin on his face was infectious; Mother was right, he was totally inappropriate for a ''proper legend.'' And at dinner, the stories he told.
After dinner, Kris couldn't remember a single one of them, at least not completely. But during supper they were all funny, even those that should have been horrifying. Somehow, no matter how bad the odds were or how impossible the situation had been, Grampa Trouble made it sound terribly funny. Even Mother laughed, despite herself.
And when supper was over, Kris managed to dodge Mother until she excused herself for her whist club.
Kris wanted to hang around this wondrous apparition forever. And when they were alone and he turned his full attention to Kris, she knew why kittens curled up in the sun.
''Your dad tells me you like soccer?'' he said, settling into a chair.
''Yeah, pretty much,'' Kris answered seating herself ladylike across from her grampa and feeling very grown-up.
''Your mom says you're very good at ballet.''
''Yeah, pretty much.'' Even at twelve, Kris knew she was not holding up her end of the conversation. But what could she say to someone like her grampa?
''I like orbital skiff racing. Ever do any racing?''
''Naw. Some kids at school do.'' Kris tasted excitement. Then she remembered herself. ''But Mother says it is much too dangerous. And nothing for a proper young lady.''
''That's interesting,'' Grampa Trouble said, leaning back in his chair and stretching his hands upward. ''A girl won the junior championship for Savannah last year. She wasn't much older than you.''
''She wasn't!'' Kris stared, wide-eyed. Even from Grampa, she couldn't believe that.
''I've rented a skiff tomorrow. Want to take a few drops with me?'' Kris fidgeted in her chair. ''Mother would never let me.''
Grampa brought his hands to rest on the table, only inches away from Kris's. ''Harvey tells me your mom usually sleeps in on Saturday. I could pick you up at six.''
Later, Kris would realize that Grampa Trouble and the family chauffeur were in cahoots on this. But Kris had been too excited by the offer just then to put two and two together.
''Could you?'' Kris yelped. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been up early on her own. She also couldn't remember the last time she'd done something that wasn't on Mother or Father's To-Do List. She couldn't remember because to do that would be to remember what life was like with Eddy. ''I'd love to,'' she said.
''One thing,'' Grampa Trouble said, reaching across the table to take her small, soft hands in his tanned, calloused ones. His touch was almost electric in its shock. His eyes looked into hers, stripping away the little girl that faked it for so many. Kris sat there, with nothing but herself to hang on to. ''Your mother is right. Skiff racing can be dangerous. I only take people riding with me who are stone cold sober. That won't be a problem for you, will it?''
Kris swallowed hard. She'd been laughing so hard at Grampa Trouble's stories that she hadn't stolen a drink at supper. She hadn't had one since lunch at school. Could she go through the night? ''It won't be a problem,'' Kris assured him.
And somehow she made it. It wasn't easy; she woke up twice crying for Eddy. But she thought about Grampa and all the stories she had overheard from the school kids about how fun it was to see the stars above you and ride a falling star to Earth, and somehow Kris didn't tiptoe downstairs to Father's bar.
Kris made it through that night to stand at the top of the stairs and look down at Grampa Trouble so magnificent in his green uniform, waiting patiently for her on the black and white tiles of the foyer. Balanced careful as ever she did in ballet class, Kris went down the stairs, showing Grampa just how sober she was. His smile was a small, tight thing, not at all the open-faced one Father flashed all his political friends. Grampa's tight little smile meant more to Kris than all she'd gotten from her father or mother.
Three hours later, Kris was suited up and strapped into the front seat of a skiff when Grampa Trouble hit the release and they dropped away from the space station. Oh, what a ride! Kris saw stars so close she could almost touch them. The temptation came to pop her belt, to drift away into the dark, to fall like a shooting star and make whatever amends she could to dead little Eddy. But she couldn't do that to Grampa Trouble after all the trouble he'd gone through to get her here. And the beauty of the unblinking stars grabbed Kris, enveloping her in their cold, silent hug. The pure, lean curves of skiffs on reentry were mathematics in motion. She'd lost her heart…and maybe some of her survivor's self-loathing.
Mother was actually pacing the foyer when they came in late that evening. ''Where have you been?'' was more an accusation than a question.
''Skiff racing,'' Grampa Trouble answered as evenly as he told jokes.
''Skiff racing!'' Mother shrieked.
''Honey,'' Grampa Trouble said softly to Kris, ''I think you better go to your room.''
''Grampa?'' Kris started, but Harvey was taking Kris's elbow.
''And don't you come down before I send for you.'' Mother enforced Grampa's suggestion. ''And what did you think you were doing with my daughter, General Tordon?'' Mother said coldly, turning on Grampa.
But Grampa Trouble was already heading toward the great library. ''I think it best we finish this conversation out of earshot of little pitchers with big ears,'' he said with all the calm Mother lacked.
''Harvey, I don't want to go to my room,'' Kris argued as she and the chauffeur went up the stairs.
''It's best you do, little friend,'' he said. ''Your mother's been stretched quite a ways today. There's nothing to be gained by you pushing her any further.'' Kris never saw Grampa Trouble again.