The Price is Right

Chapter Ten ~ Mr. Bear?

a Zoë and Ranger interlude while Ranger plans the fate of the kidnappers….

.

.

.

"So tell me about this Mr. Bear," I said.

I had returned home from, well, I returned home last night too late to tuck Zoë in at bedtime. But tonight when I slipped into her bedroom she was wide awake and waiting for me. I kissed her forehead and she held her arms up for a hug so I picked her up and we sat down on the big white rocking chair by the window. And I asked her about the bear.

"Daddy. There IS no Mr. Cuddles Bear. I said that so mommy would know something was weird with those men."

"Uh huh." I stretched out my hand and clicked on the reading lamp so I could see her face more clearly. For some unknown reason Zoë was dressed in a long frilly white nightgown; she looked just like Wendy in Peter Pan…but with wild curly hair and café au lait skin, heavy on the cream. She is adorable, I thought, my heart twisting at the thought of someone hurting her. I added, "That was very smart of you, baby."

Tiny shrug. I added, "And smart that mommy understood."

Zoe nodded. "I knew mommy would know I don't have a Mr. Cuddles Bear. It was a hint. A - a - clue."

I said carefully, "But, baby, I'm not sure I'd know you don't have a Mr. Bear."

"Mr.Cuddles Bear, daddy, you have to get the details right so they believe the con." We stared at each other in silence for awhile. "And you wouldn't need a clue, daddy, you'd know for sure the guys were bad."

"What if I wasn't right there, sweetheart?"

"Daddy. You'd still know." Her wide eyes dared me to contradict her.

I said, "I hope I would but maybe we can make that our password, so your mom and I know when there's a problem. How does that sound?"

"Okay, daddy." Her eyes flicked away.

I asked, "What?"

"It will sound silly when I'm a little bigger."

"We can change it when you're older or you could say something like, Oh mom, remember my old Cuddles Bear, whatever happened to...?"

She nodded, looking a bit sleepy. We rocked gently for a couple minutes, both lost in our thoughts. Steph had told me not to question too deeply. She has a great spidey sense, what else? Steph said last night. But I couldn't just let it go.

I said, "Zoë?"

"Yes, daddy?" Teeny tiny voice.

"How did you know the men were lying?"

She sat up and looked at me hard. I said, "Well?"

And I watched as her eyes did the famous Manoso thousand-yard stare, seeing through me, past me, her face a total blank. I learned to do that through the school of hard knocks, she had it down pat at age 4. It was scary. I gave her a gentle squeeze and her eyes tracked past my ear and up to the ceiling, ended up focused on my nose. She looked slightly cross-eyed. She was distracting me on purpose.

A year or so ago I had told her that I did not want her doing the Burg eye roll at me, or any adults. She said, Mommy rolls her eyes at you. And I said if someday she wants to roll her eyes at her boyfriend or husband, fine. But for now, I said, it was rude and disrespectful. I'm no strict disciplinarian-type where my kids are concerned, I want them to cooperate because they want to, not because they have to or they're scared of me - so when she looked at me with her wide brown eyes, I had added, It hurts peoples' feelings. It makes them feel bad.

Does it make you feel bad, daddy?

Yes.

Then I won't.

Thank you, baby.

Now though I smiled at her and said, "If you can't tell me without rolling your eyes at me, it's okay. Just this once."

Silence except in my mind a tiny voice saying, You know why. You know how. Why are you asking me this?

Finally she said, "They said you were at the shore, at Mr. Alexander's big pink house. Not mommy's Mr. Alexander who does her hair, the other one. You know."

"Did they mention Mr. Ramos by name?"

"No, but that's what they meant."

"Okay. And?"

"And in my mind I could see you, it was sandy like the beach but it was nighttime and you had on your black soldier clothes. And, um - dirt -," she ran her fingers under her eyes miming the black cammo paint we use on our faces, on our cheekbones, to reduce glare. "And the other people were dressed like in Aladdin." She paused then whispered, "You were wearing real armor, not like on TV, and you had your rifle with you, I think."

Holy shit.

"So I knew you were working and not waiting for me and mommy at the beach," she summed up proudly.

"What else did you see? Dream?"

"Daddy." Now she did roll her eyes. "It was not a dream. I was at the pizza parlor. It was after ballet. You know it was not a dream."

I waited, noncommittal. Oh, okay, clueless. Because in the predawn hours of the day of the kidnapping attempt, I had been somewhere dark and sandy. Dressed in a heavy-weight flak vest, all in black, rifle in hand. And yeah, the tangos were dressed like in Aladdin. But still….

"I only do it to make sure you are okay, I don't watch or listen."

Okay, my child has a great imagination. Or my child is an alien. But she's my alien, my beautiful baby alien.

The now-sleepy little voice mumbled into my chest, "I asked Uncle Anthony once and he said it was okay unless it was scary and then don't look. Julie said the same thing, just close the curtain in my mind."

I said nothing. Deny, deny.

Suddenly she sat up again and her eyes got big. "Are you mad at me, daddy?"

"No."

"It's not a fib! I never tell you a fib, I promise."

"I know, sweetie. I know."

We rocked some more then she said, "You could read me a story til I go to sleep."

"Okay, what are we reading?"

"Wrinkle in Time."

"Zoë, you're 4 years old."

"I read everything else."

"Oh okay."

…. …. ….

A few weeks later I came in from work and told Stephanie I had to go out of town for a few days.

"Fine, have a safe trip."

She didn't ask but I added, "I have to go to DC for a day or two, then on to Rangeman Atlanta."

Big skeptical blue eyes examined me closely.

I said, "What?"

"Nothing. It's just the last time you told me you were going to Atlanta after a few days' stop in DC, you were all over CNN. In some unknown 'stan place. With the president. The last one, I mean."*

"This trip is entirely in-country, babe. At least to the best of my knowledge at this time."

She nodded. "Don't get shot." Don't kill anyone unless you have to….

"Don't get crazy." Please don't blow up my new Porsche….

And we kissed.

tbc

*Mercenaries R Us