She learned more about Oscar in the first week of their romance than she had eked out of him in the three years of their friendship. Whether it was the secrecy fused into him through his work or the belief that no one would be interested - or some combination of the two, he had rarely spoken of his personal life.
"Intimate relationship means intimacy, you know. Tell me stuff." Jaime insisted.
And so he complied. She remembered those first days together with great fondness - they were usually reclining, draped over each other - on her couch or his, at the base of a tree in the park, in his bed or hers - and they talked and talked and talked. She drew from him tales of the deep miseries and giddy joys of youth, broken limbs, a broken heart or two, of college antics, old friends and enemies, stories of intrigue from the days in Naval Intelligence, trips to the remotest spots in the world, the steady progression through the halls of power - but nothing surprised her more than the revelation that came late one night. The location was her favorite overstuffed armchair. She was snuggled on his lap and he was leaving town the next day for a week. Neither wanted the evening to end, for it would bring with it the chill of morning and the inevitable goodbye, and then absence...that aching absence. He was telling her something about year seven of his forty-nine on earth, the time he lit a fire in his bedroom closet, and then - just in passing - he made an extraordinary divulgence. "So my sister finds me..."
"Wait a minute." she interrupted. "You have a sister?"
"Yeah." he said, as though it should be patently obvious that he would have a sister. "Anyway..."
No, wait wait wait...a sister?" When he tried to continue with the story, she waved a hand in front of his face, stopping him mid-sentence. This sister - why had she never met her and who was she and where did she live and why hadn't he mentioned her, for heaven's sake?
She was Judy Moore. She lived in Portland with her husband Bruce, and their two children - Sam, sixteen...
"You have a nephew named Sam!" Her amazement only just trumped her irritation that he had never mentioned these people before.
... and Katie aged nine. Katie had come along late. Judy was an archaeologist - an "Africanist" - and Bruce was a carpenter.
Come to think of it, they had never gotten back to that closet fire story.
Soon Jaime understood that this was not a forgotten or distant sister. They spoke on the phone almost every week. Judy was an integral part of the landscape of his life - a given, likely taken for granted. Sometimes their phone calls irritated him for reasons she didn't entirely understand, but mostly there seemed to be a grudging admiration, a gruff rapport between them - as far as she could tell from Oscar's side of the conversation anyway. Jaime was both intrigued and puzzled - sibling relationships were mysterious to an only child.
Four months later Jaime met the Moores at the rehearsal dinner. So much of the wedding was a happy blur in her memory - she really only remembered an enthused introduction from Oscar, a reserved greeting from a tall dark woman who was unmistakably his sister, and a few friendly words with the rest of the family. Judy had just returned from Africa, Oscar later explained, and had a migraine and possibly a few parasites that needed to be cleared up before she would be likely to charm anyone. His excuses were earnest, his need for Jaime's approval obvious.
It was red-headed Katie who made an indelible impression - the little girl had fallen hard for Jaime and followed her around during the reception, in a state of high worship. Twice Oscar picked her up to dance with them, and though she was a little big for such a gesture, Katie was delighted, grinning and beaming, her coppery hair glinting in the evening light, arms slung around the necks of the bride and groom. Later they discovered she was in eighty percent of the informal wedding photos.
Finally Jaime and the Moores were to meet properly. For three years in a row, Judy and Oscar had hoped to get together to mark an important anniversary - December seventh. Every year they planned it, and every time Oscar had to cancel, held in Washington by one national crisis or another. This time he was determined to make it and Jaime was determined to help him.
On that day in 1941, Pearl Harbor was attacked by the Japanese. Sam Goldman was there, and like so many others, he had gone missing. What made Sam more than a normal casualty of war was that he was on a mission for Naval Intelligence, couriering an enormous amount of money. In the aftermath there were backroom murmurings in the Navy that he used the attack as a cover to steal the cash and disappear. Oscar, certain his brother would do no such thing, had tried and failed for years to uncover what had happened to him.
It was Jaime, working undercover, who finally found out - he had died that day in the attack. With that sad truth established, Sam could finally be laid to rest. When he was buried at sea Judy was unable to attend - she and the family were in Africa at the time on a year long sabbatical, and as a result, they had never since had the opportunity to mark the occasion in any way – until now.
xxxxxxx
As the automatic doors slid open to reveal the arrivals area, it was Katie they spotted first - leaping up and down like a grasshopper, ponytails bobbing, apparently uncontainable in anticipation of their arrival. Her father, standing quietly behind her, broke into a grin. Katie peeled over and flung her arms first around Jaime and then around Oscar.
As Bruce greeted them, Jaime felt like she was getting her first true look at him. At the wedding he had been trussed up in a new suit, his hair tamed, his beard trimmed. This, she could tell, was the real man. Clad in denim shirt and jeans, he was lightly coated in sawdust, his hands dark and rough from woodworking. Wiry red roan hair sprang off his head in a slightly comical way, while the beard, almost white, did the same in the opposite direction. His glasses, also dusty, framed humorous green eyes. He was strong and compact, bearing the beginnings of a paunch.
Katie begged to ride home in the back with Jaime, and was allowed to do so, on condition that she not be too much of a pest.
"Welcome to winter in the Pacific Northwest." Bruce said, flicking his windshield wipers to their fastest setting. Rain dropped from the thick black sky, obscuring all but the bright red taillights in front of them, doubling in reflection on the inky pavement. "Still, it's supposed to be nice tomorrow."
For Jaime, it was soggy but downright balmy. The California girl always found the Washington winters arduous.
While the adults chatted pleasantries about the weather and the trip, Katie admired Jaime, her small, curious hands roving over her, examining her earrings and hair and hands and wedding ring.
"Are you a spy?" she asked breathlessly.
"Katie!" Bruce warned.
"It's okay." Jaime said, taking the warm little hand in hers. "No, I'm not a spy. I work with your Uncle Oscar, but I'm not a spy."
"Well, what do you do then?"
"Sometimes he needs help with ...things...and that's what I do. I help out."
"What kind of things? Are you a secretary?"
"No..." Jaime managed to chuckle, even as she bristled slightly.
"Katie, enough." Bruce said, more firmly this time. "Too many questions. You know you're not supposed to do that."
"Sorry, Katie." Oscar said, turning in his seat. "It really is best if we don't talk about it too much. You can think of it as a service to your country. Sometimes your country has secrets that it needs to keep."
Frowning uncertainly, Katie lapsed into silence.
They pulled off the main road and into a residential neighborhood, heavily treed, warm light emanating from the houses that lined the street. "Oh - just so you know," Bruce said, "Judy's picked up a couple more strays."
"Brenda's not a stray!" Katie protested, having forgotten her discomfort of a moment earlier.
"You know what I mean, Peanut."
"My sister loves a hard luck case." Oscar added, turning to face Jaime.
"Right now we've got Carl - one of her grad students, and Brenda – Brenda doesn't stay with us but she spends a lot of time here. She's Sammy's girlfriend. They won't get in your way too much."
"Sammy has a girlfriend?" Oscar asked incredulously. "Last time I checked he was ten."
"I'm nine!" Katie chimed in. "Sam is sixteen."
"You just saw him three months ago, Bup." Jaime said with a chuckle.
"Takes a lot more than that to pull a fixed idea from my head, Babe."
"Brenda's mom and dad are getting a divorce!" Katie added to Jaime, her eyes wide.
They pulled up in front of a clapboard cottage, unloaded the car, and trotted to the house, hunching through the pouring rain. When Bruce opened the door for them they were immediately greeted by two large hairy mutts, introduced as Fred and Ginger. In true dog fashion they made themselves complete and charming nuisances, winding around, tails wagging, impeding all movement.
Judy appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel. She was wearing jeans and a long loose blouse. "Hello you two." she said quietly, hugging both guests. Jaime, accustomed to being the tallest woman in any room, figured she was inch shorter than her new sister in law. That had to make Judy substantially taller than Bruce - and Jaime decided that spoke well for him. She noted again what a striking woman Judy was - thick silvery hair framing strong, regal features.
Ascending the basement stairs two by two came Sam - a tall, pimply teenager, all skinny arms and legs, dark lank hair covering his eyes, hands stuffed in his pockets. He grunted self consciously in greeting. There would be a good looking kid in there, Jaime decided, once he emerged from the hair and the shyness and the growth spurts. Her heart went out to him.
Jaime noted the comfy, unkempt living room as they walked by. How unlike Oscar - and how like her own parents. They too had been college professors, and it seemed that order of mammal felt most comfortable surrounded by piles of books and magazines and old newspapers. Shining through the disorder was a beautiful room - glowing mission style furniture (made by Bruce, she presumed) and decorations that were almost entirely African - pots and masks and wall hangings. There were two cats in residence - one snoozing on the arm of the couch, the other luxuriant in an armchair.
Bruce showed them to their room, which normally served as Judy's office. If Jaime had paused to wonder if Bruce might be the messy one, this room cleared up all doubt. The desk was buried, the shelves laden with academic journals. The single clear spot in the room was the bed, freshly folded out from the couch, another a cat curled up in the middle.
"Great." Oscar smiled, dropping their suitcases.
"Just come on out when you're ready. Dinner is on." Bruce said, closing the door behind him as he left.
"God almighty." Oscar grumbled as he surveyed the room for a spot to store his suitcase. "My sister is a pig."
Jaime set hers comfortably on twin stacks of Scientific American and made a noise of mock sympathy. "It must pain your poor anal-retentive soul, huh Bup?"
"It does." he replied, shooting her a dirty look.
"I kinda like it." she said. "It reminds me of my parents' house."
"Really?" he said, with interest. "Well that explains a thing or two. You probably can't get enough of Rudy's office either."
"I do like Rudy's office." she said, noting it for the first time.
"She says there's method to her madness, and I guess I believe her." He gingerly placed his bag on top of the piles on Judy's desk. "So..." he added, moving to her and slipping his arms around her waist, "so far, okay? Do you like Bruce? He's a nice guy isn't he?"
"He's a very nice guy." Jaime agreed. "Are you worried? Don't worry. I'm going to get along with everyone just fine. It'll be fun."
In fact she was not being completely truthful. There was something bothering her - just a small something, but whatever it was, she couldn't isolate it. Then again it was probably normal to feel anxious when meeting new family members.