4.
Boxes were still scattered all around the house when Sanderson got home. Some weren't even open, others were empty, some were being used as makeshift furniture till the second truck with the furniture arrived.
The house was in a state of chaos.
Dodging boxes, Sanderson made sure he didn't set his cover down anywhere. There was a good chance he would never see it again.
On his way through the large house, which was showing signs of becoming a home he passed Hoot's youngest daughter, Rachael, and her pet chicken Harry. Without looking up she continued to paint the animals toenails, "Tomorrow is 4H and Harry is going. There's going to be a hen and we're gonna see if we can breed them."
For just a moment Sanderson considered the comment.
He looked down at the head of thick and wavy dark hair pulled up in a braid. Down at the head of a young girl he considered his as much as the other four kids in the house.
Gently he swatted at the back of her head.
She glanced up at him with her fathers brown eyes.
"You do realize that Harry's a boy chicken."
She nodded.
"Where's everyone else? It's quiet in here."
Rachael looked back to her task. "Robin and Alex are over interning at that gallery for another hour. Daniel's napping. Jordan is bugging Mom and Mom is getting ready for that big shindig. She's been putting makeup on trying to cover where the U-Haul mirror nailed her."
Oblivious to the chicken, Sanderson walked to the counter and grabbed a big red apple from the fruit bowl. He rubbed it on his uniform, "Any luck."
Concentrating, Rachael snorted and looked up, "Kinda. Last I saw it looks like she's trying to cover a bruise with makeup. You should have been there, it was hysterical. She was swearing like a sailor once she was sure her cheek wasn't broken."
He bit into the apple and headed towards the master bedroom, on the first floor. Unsure whether he was glad or mad about missing that colorful event that occurred during the cross-country move. He walked down an empty hall, past three cans of paint on the floor, and into the master bedroom where he could hear his oldest son and Diana.
The two were in the master bathroom.
"Oh come on D. All the other kids get help with this project."
"I am helping you and no…you are not getting hold of my passports. All your getting is that one."
A fresh uniform ironed and starched hung from the fan. Briefly Sanderson walked to it, casually inspecting it. It was clean, wrinkle free and perfect.
"D! Come one! I know you were in Rwanda during the Genocide. I know you were in Russia after the Chechnya Conflict and I also know you were down in Columbia right before that dude was killed."
The smell of perfume filled the air.
The smell had grown on Sanderson. It was bold and fresh, he could find her in a room by smell alone when she wore that. He strolled across the large room and peeked in the equally large bathroom where his son was perched on the counter, flipping through a passport.
"Noriega was the dude, son."
At that Jordan looked to Diana, who expertly applied liquid eyeliner, "Yeah, him! I could get an A on this project if you would be forthcoming about the places you have worked."
Managing to talk without smearing the black liquid, Diana told the teenager, "Prove I was there and you can have access to my passports. Why don't you do this project on your father?"
Jordan looked to his father. His father lifted his eyebrows and tried not to look too obvious while he watched his new wife apply makeup with ease. Something about it had always fascinated him.
"Oh yeah! That'd go over real well…I'd probably be breaking some sort of law by writing about my father's career in Delta Force! Come on D, be reasonable here, work with me."
Almost immediately Sanderson looked at his son, "And how do you know that?"
In the way of teenagers.
Jordan rolled his eyes, sighed, and answered his father all at once, "Dad, come on. How many kids do you know that have Dad's in the Army who came speak four languages fluently? Almost never get deployed, and only get sent away after a page for weeks? How many dads do you know work behind a chain link fence guarded by men with automatic weapons? How many Army Dad's do you know can grow a beard and hairstyle resembling a member of ZZ Top? Plus you get to customize all your weapons and wear whatever gear you want. Seriously dad, I'm not eight anymore." Jordan then turned to Diana, "Now, about this passport issue…how many do you have? Seriously."
Almost amused, Diana chased him off the counter with her eyelash curlers, "One in this house. Now scat, I have to change."
Jordan stomped past Sanderson, then turned and pointed, "Fine! I'll be online if you need me!" At that he stomped out of the bedroom and down the hall.
Once Sanderson was sure his son was out of ear range he looked back to a disrobing Diana.
Briefly, he was distracted by the lingerie.
"So ummm…how long has he know?"
He moved as Diana reached behind him for a bag hanging from the back of the door. He took a seat on the toilet seat to watch.
While she pulled the bag off she answered his question, "He figured it out on the drive here. He was reading "Inside Delta Force" and a couple other military books. I already spoke with him about it."
