CHAPTER 36: TO A FAR AWAY LAND
Jared wanted nothing more than to leave.
He hated thinking that. It made him sound like a terrible son.
But one glance across the table at his father sent his insides tumbling into a black hole.
He'd lost too much weight. Stubble covered his face, as if shaving every day had become too much of an effort. Even the house itself reflected Dad's physical state. Dust had settled on every surface and piece of furniture. The windows all looked smudged. Unwashed, encrusted plates filled the sink.
Jared dared another look at his father. The man stared blankly at his plate, picking at his food.
He's given up. Jared's jaw quivered. He couldn't believe he actually thought that. Quitting just wasn't in Dad's nature.
At least it hadn't been when Mom was alive. Or when he still led SMACRAT.
What did he have worth living for now?
Jared gripped his fork. He aimed his narrow eyes at the wall, imagining the house just beyond this one. The house where Aunt Adelaide and Uncle Cesario lived.
This is all your fault.
He ground his teeth, thinking of all the times he'd stayed over their house, how they'd become another set of parents to him.
Now he never wanted to see them again.
"You know we had a meeting last week with Miss Freen," Oriana said, breaking the silence around the table. "She runs that primary school in Shannock. It looks like she's going to accept Rodolfo there for next fall. Tell Grandpa how excited you are."
"Yeah," the five-year-old blurted. "They had all these pictures there of wizards and witches and animals, and they even had a ferret in there, and I got to pet it."
"That's nice." Dad didn't even look at his grandson.
Oriana's jaw visibly tightened. Jared sighed to himself. This had become a common occurrence. His sister-in-law would try to get some conversation going with Dad, usually involving something Rodolfo did. Rarely did his replies go beyond four or five words, if he even replied at all.
To be honest, it started to annoy Jared. Dad seemed determined to shut out everyone, and Oriana didn't seem to get it through her head that talking about stuff like Rodolfo starting primary school didn't mean anything to a man who'd lost his wife and his job in less than a year.
Oriana cleared the table once everyone finished eating. She then looked around the house and grimaced.
"Um, Dad? Would you like me to come over sometime this weekend and clean up here?"
"Don't trouble yourself," Dad muttered as he pushed himself away from the table and slowly stood.
"Please, it would be no trouble. In fact," Oriana made another scan of the house. "Maybe we can get some things to brighten up the place. Some new curtains, plants. That one chair in the living room looks on its last legs. Why don't you come with us to Milmothryn Market this weekend? I can help you pick out some stuff."
Dad's hands clamped down on the back of the chair. His face stiffened. "You think that'll really help?"
Oriana canted her head. "What?"
Dad snapped his head toward his daughter-in-law. "Getting new curtains. Cleaning the house. Coming over here once a week to make sure I don't starve to death. Do you think that really helps?"
Jared held his breath. Dread swelled within him. Please, Dad. Don't –
"It doesn't help one damn bit!" Dad swung around toward Oriana, his right foot pounding on the floor. She gasped and jumped back. Esteban hurried around the table and clasped a hand on Dad's shoulder.
"Dad, calm down."
He looked over his shoulder at Esteban. "What the hell is wrong with your wife?"
Esteban's face reddened. Jared couldn't move, couldn't even breathe. Would his brother go off on Dad?
Somehow, Esteban held back his anger. "Oriana is just trying to help."
"How? How is making me dinner or picking out curtains going to help? How is any of that going to make up for the fact my wife, and your mother, is dead!"
No one spoke. Jared cast his gaze to the floor, biting down on the inside of his cheek.
He's right. None of these family dinners helped Dad any. Hell, it seemed every time they came over, he looked worse than the previous week.
"I don't need your food or your pity." Dad scowled at Esteban and Oriana. "What I need is . . . is . . ."
His face contorted, as if he strained to keep his head from exploding. With a final look at everyone, he snorted and stalked out of the kitchen. No one spoke as they heard Dad stomp upstairs, followed by the slamming of a door.
Oriana's hand went to her mouth. A brief sob escaped her throat as Esteban walked over to her and wrapped her in his arms.
Tension crushed every muscle in Jared's body. He backed up until he found himself pressed against the wall. His eyes swept back and forth over the floor as Dad's outburst replayed in his mind. He'd seen Dad angry plenty of times, but this? "What the hell is wrong with your wife?" His stomach lurched at those words. They didn't seem real. How could he say something like that? Mom and Dad had always adored Oriana.
Maybe if she wasn't trying to overdo it with the helpfulness . . .
"Mommy? Daddy?"
All heads turned toward Rodolfo. The boy sat in his chair, tears in his eyes.
"Does Grandpop not like us anymore?"
Oriana sobbed and hurried over to her son. "Oh sweetie, no, no, no." She hugged him and stroked his mop of dark hair. "Grandpop's just a little . . . upset. He still loves you. He . . . he really does."
She kissed the top of his head, straightened up, and wiped her eyes. "We have to go up and talk to him."
She headed for the twisting staircase. Esteban put a gentle hand on his wife to stop her. "Oriana, wait. Do you really think Dad's in any mood to hear from us?"
"We have to try."
"We've been trying for how many months now? Mom's been dead over a year. He's still not over it, and nothing we're doing is helping."
"Dammit, Esteban, he's your father! Are you just going to give up on him?"
"What the hell are we supposed to do?" Esteban flung his arms out to his sides. "He doesn't even want our help."
"Then what? We just let him deteriorate? Let him shut himself off from the entire world?"
Esteban bit his lip. "I don't know." He sighed. "Look. Maybe we should just let him be tonight. We'll . . . we'll think of something tomorrow."
"Esteban, we can't just leave him like this."
"I said we'll think of something tomorrow." This time Esteban spoke more forcefully.
Oriana's angular features contorted in fury. She released a long, loud breath from her nostrils. "Fine," she said through clenched teeth.
Esteban collected Rodolfo and followed his wife over to the fireplace. Oriana snatched some Floo Powder from an urn on the mantle and chucked it into the opening. Moments later green flames gushed out.
"Goodnight, Jared," she muttered before stomping into the flames.
Esteban looked at him for several silent seconds. "You gonna be okay?"
He grunted. "Yeah. Sure. I'll see you later."
Esteban nodded and slapped him on the shoulder.
"Bye, Uncle Jared." Rodolfo gave him a wave as weak as his voice.
"Bye." He frowned as he watched his brother and his nephew walk hand-in-hand into the flames, which receded as soon as the two vanished.
Shoulders slumped, Jared stared at the mouth of the fireplace. He then turned and eyed the staircase, thinking about Dad, probably in his room, doing . . . what? Sitting quietly, thinking about Mom? Crying? He never imagined his father crying over anything. But there had been some times when he'd walked by his room, and . . .
He thumped a fist against his leg. Somebody had to do something to help Dad.
Here's a thought. Why don't you do something about it?
Icy blades of fear stabbed his spine and went deep into his stomach. What kind of son would leave his father in a state like this? He had to do something. At least check on him. Say a few words before he Flooed home.
Like what? He thought back to those first weeks in the Appalachians, how depressed Artimus had been over the death of his brother. What had he done to help him? Slap him on the shoulder and smile a few times? That was the best he could do? If he couldn't comfort one of his best friends, how could he comfort his own father?
He clenched his teeth and shook his head in frustration. He turned around, his eyes shifting from the fireplace to the urn of Floo Powder. Should he leave, let his father wallow in misery, or should he take some initiative and actually try to help him?
A sardonic laugh burst from his mouth. Initiative. When had he ever exercised that? He'd spent his entire life taking cues from other people. First it was Rosa. Whatever adventure she came up with, be it exploring troll caves or sneaking out of bed at night to hunt for any number of nocturnal creatures, he went right along with her. Then at Salem, and for two years beyond, there had been Jimmy. No matter how bad the situation got, he always knew what to do. Jared had no problem taking direction from a guy like that.
Rosa and Jimmy would know what to do here.
The problem was, they weren't here. He was.
And as usual, he had no clue what to do.
"I'm sorry, Dad."
With a final sigh, Jared tossed some Floo Powder into the fireplace and went home.
XXXXX
Jared didn't sleep well. Mostly he laid in bed feeling guilty about leaving Dad, or feeling guilty he couldn't do anything to help him. Then when he did manage to fall asleep, nightmares plagued him. He dreamt of the night Mireet came to their camp and told him his mother had died. He dreamt about the setagotha attack, vividly recalling his fear that little Holly Juniper would die. He dreamt of the night the Death Eaters attacked their camp. How many times during that battle did he fear none of them would live through it?
Even three cups of coffee couldn't energize him. He shuffled into the Magical Museum of North America, grunting at co-workers who bid him, "Good morning" as they passed in the hallways, and ambled down to basement office. He groaned as he plopped into his chair. After rubbing his eyes, Jared glanced at the Indiana Jones poster on his wall. He took in Jones' heroic pose and the confidence radiating from his angular face.
At that moment, he considered taking down the Muggle movie poster. He felt unworthy to have it on his wall. After all, Indiana Jones was a hero who knew what to do in even the most impossible of situations.
The same couldn't be said for him.
Sighing, he leaned forward and scanned his desk, buried in a mass of parchment. He also noticed a sealed envelope addressed to him from the Office of the Investigation and Recovery of Magical Relics.
Jared grunted, pretty much guessing what this was about.
He ripped open the envelope and read the letter.
Dear Mr. Diaz,
I must inform you that your current liaison from our office, Bryant Balliwick, has requested a termination of your partnership. Citing your hostile and disrespectful attitude toward him, and given your past dealings with other members of this office, I have granted Mr. Balliwick's request.
Furthermore, I have written your superiors at the Magical Museum of North America asking for a review on whether you should be allowed to continue being part of the ongoing search for magical relics missing since the end of the war . . .
Jared crumpled up the parchment and tossed it high in the air. He whipped out his wand and blasted it to ashes.
"Whatever." He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk. So he'd been hostile and disrespectful toward Balliwick. So he'd been like that to the three other Office of the Investigation and Recovery of Magical Relics liaisons. Then maybe they should stop sticking him with people who were assholes, stark-raving bitches, or in Balliwick's case, completely incompetent.
He'd probably get another chewing out by his boss. Not the first time that's happened. He just prayed Jennings Hurst, the head of the museum, didn't spew that bullcrap about him not being a team player. He knew all about being a team player.
So long as he had the right team around him.
Jared closed his eyes. What he wouldn't give to be with Rosa, Jimmy and Artimus again. Sure they all had their flaws. Rosa was bossy and cocky, Jimmy got temperamental when things didn't go his way, and Artimus suffered from a lack of self-confidence. But put them all together, and they were invincible. Put them all together, and they'd track down the rest of those missing artifacts in no time.
Maybe I should suggest that.
Why not? What the four of them did during the war had been well publicized. Who wouldn't want four war heroes searching for missing magical relics?
But Jared quickly dismissed the idea. Neither Mr. Hurst nor the Office of the Investigation and Recovery of Magical Artifacts would listen to any idea he had.
He just sat at his desk for the next hour, sometimes dozing, sometimes thinking about how much his job here sucked, or how much life in general sucked.
A piece of parchment that somewhat resembled a bird fluttered into his office and landed on his lap. Jared snatched it and unfolded it.
Jared,
Come to my office now.
Jennings Hurst.
"Great," he muttered.
Moments later he got to his feet and headed out of his office, walking a little faster than expected. He just wanted to get this meeting with Hurst over with as soon as possible so he could go back to work . . . or not work. Whatever.
He figured Hurst would take him off the case. Or maybe he'd just fire him. It wasn't like he'd been a model employee.
The thought didn't fill him with any sort of dread. So what if Hurst fired him? Right now he was beyond caring.
When he reached Hurst's office, he found the door open. He didn't bother knocking and walked inside.
Jennings Hurst, a rotund wizard with a shiny forehead flanked by gray hair, sat behind a highly polished, neatly organized desk. The window behind him looked out on Muggle Washington, with motorists and pedestrians, who saw the museum as an abandoned office building, passing by. Several moving photos hung from the walls, all of them showing Hurst with famous political leaders and explorers from all over the Wizarding World.
Jared stood in front of Hurst's desk for a few seconds until the fat man looked up. He acknowledged him with a grunt. "Have a seat."
Jared fell into a curved leather chair as Hurst used his wand to shut the door.
"I understand another liaison from the Office of the Investigation and Recovery of Magical Relics has decided to quit on you."
"Uh-huh."
"That's what, the fourth one who's done that."
"Uh-huh."
Hurst shifted in his chair, grimacing at Jared. "It would appear you're not cut out for this sort of work."
He shrugged his shoulders. Let's just get this over with so I can get on with my life.
The skin around Hurst's eyebrows crinkled in annoyance. "Well then, perhaps I should give you a job you are cut out to do."
Jared's brow furrowed. Da'hell.
"There have been some recently unearthed ruins of a Khmer wizarding settlement in Thailand. It looks between one thousand and eleven hundred years old. Wizarding researchers from all over the world are headed for that site, and the Museum needs to have someone there as well. I want you to be our representative."
"Me?" Jared gaped at his boss. He couldn't believe this. He'd been nothing but a pain in the ass to this guy. And now he was sending off to what sounded like a primo assignment?
What gives?
"You're much better suited for this sort of field work," Hurst told him. "I have to tell you, the duration of this assignment will be rather long. A year, probably more. But, to turn down an opportunity like this would be . . . unwise."
Jared's mouth tightened. He studied Hurst's face and eyes. His expression said it all. Hurst wasn't sending him to Thailand because he thought he was a good field researcher. He was sending him to Thailand to get him out of his hair.
A year in exile, in Thailand. He worked his jaw back and forth. A whole year, maybe more, out of the country.
Isn't this what you wanted? To travel?
He then thought of his family. How could he leave them in the state they were in?
Jared suppressed a sardonic chuckle. Like he was doing any good for his family now. He couldn't stand his aunt and uncle. He barely saw Rosa because of her auror training. And Dad . . .
He had no idea how to help him, and he couldn't stand watching him turn into a weakened husk of a human being who existed more than he lived.
Taking a deep breath, he stared his boss right in the eye. "If that's the case, Mister Hurst, then Thailand here I come."
TO BE CONTINUED