Chapter 2 -- Starting Again
It would help me to know,
Do I stand in your way?
Or am I the best thing you've had?
Race Bannon straightened up and wiped his forehead. The sun beat down unmercifully and the
humidity was oppressive. The towering
buildings that were scattered throughout the clearing cast no shade in the
noonday sun. Even the jungle animals,
usually raucous and noisy, were quiet in the mid day heat. Here and there, he could see members of the
excavation team working on various projects. He knew that Estella was down in the one of the burial chambers working
on translating some reliefs. He shook
his head. That room would be hot, dark
and dirty and the air would be stale. She would come out of it filthy, coughing, sweat-soaked and
exhausted. And, as always, she would
look at him with that excited glow in her eyes and tell him all about it with
an enthusiasm he would never understand. Even after all these years of working with Benton Quest, he still
couldn't see why they got such a thrill from digging in crumbling old ruins.
He had spent the last several weeks watching all of the
members of the excavation team, trying to understand Estella's compulsive
fascination with the subject. To a
certain degree, the entire team had that excited glow, particularly when they
discovered something new or unique. But
no one ever showed it to the extent that Estella did. And, interestingly enough, the person who showed the least
interest in all of this was Estella's own daughter. Jessie worked as diligently as any of them and was as competent
as anyone except her mother, but somehow that spark just wasn't there. She worked hard, didn't flinch from the long
hours and hard conditions and celebrated with all of them at every
discovery. But somehow, Race always
sensed a reserve; the feeling that she would much prefer to be somewhere else. He had tried to point this out to Estella once,
but she had become angry and told him he was imagining things. He knew that she desperately wanted Jessie
to follow in her footsteps. But Race
was certain . . . Jessie's heart was not here in the jungles of Colombia, and
he had a fairly good idea of where she would rather be.
Race wondered what kind of state Jonny Quest was in. Ever since she had been hurt so badly in
Cairo, Jonny's moods could be tied directly to the state of his relationship
with Jessie. Both kids were only 17,
but sometimes he thought they were older than he was. Brought up largely among adults and traveling almost all the
time, they had matured much more quickly than most children their age. They had been given and accepted more
responsibility much earlier than their friends, and it showed. So it came as no surprise that emotionally
they were older as well. Race shook his
head slightly and sighed to himself. Not that it made it any easier to accept sometimes . . .
He looked at the scaffolding lying at his feet, trying to force
his mind back to the project at hand. It should be ready to erect. All
he needed were a few extra pairs of hands. He had spent the last several days putting together a portable canopy
that could be used to shield the researchers from the equatorial sun. All of them were suffering from varying
degrees of sunburn and they had two workers keel over from sunstroke
yesterday. The canopy would be used as
a sun shelter over the open excavations. It could be moved as needed, and he had even designed it to have drop
down sides so that it could be used to block the setting sun as well.
This was the niche he had forged for himself in Estella's
world . . . coordinator, facilitator, expeditor and all around handyman. He took care of transportation, location and
establishment of campsites, construction of special-needs items and general
logistics. It wasn't a bad arrangement,
and it at least made him feel useful. But more importantly, it gave him the opportunity to be with Estella.
Since the day Estella had walked out of his life, he had
never allowed himself to consider how he really felt about her. He had walled his feelings for her away and
pretended they weren't there. But when
she and Jessie had disappeared in Paris, his defenses had begun to fail. Initially, he had tried to tell himself that
it was Jessie he was concerned about, not Estella . . . that he was no more
concerned about her than he would be about any other acquaintance. But as the number of days they were missing
grew and his emotional walls crumbled, he was forced to face the truth. He still loved her . . . possibly more than
he had the day he married her. He had
never laid those feelings to rest. And
when she was threatened, they were all still there, waiting to pounce on
him. And pounce they did. He was stripped of all his defenses and his
soul laid bare. By the time they had
finished the canvas of the Champs-Elysées and had found nothing, he was more
depressed than he ever remembered being in his whole life.
What he had found the most horrifying was that he had ceased
to think about Jessie at all. He was so
sunk in misery over Estella he had lost his connection to his daughter. And in those days he had come to understand
Jonny Quest better than he ever had before. He remembered the look on the young man's face as he sat waiting in that
cold, impersonal Cairo hospital, while Jessie lay slowing dying in the next
room. He also remembered the crazed
light in his eyes as he stood there in that dingy antiquities shop, gun
leveled, preparing to blow Francesca Hamilton's head off for her part in what
had happened to Jessie. And he had come
to understand that he was absolutely no different than Jonny. He was equally lost.
It was like a gift from heaven when they found both of them
alive and relatively unharmed. He
remembered dancing with Estella in Paris. Nothing else seemed to exist for them in that instant . . . just as
everything had ceased to exist those many years before at the consulate in
Paris. He had lost his heart to her
then and he had never gotten it back. When it came time to return to Maine, he had asked her to come with him
. . . and she agreed. For appearance's
sake, they had tried to maintain some semblance of propriety once they arrived
back at the Compound, but that hadn't lasted more than a few days. The evening Jonny had caught them on the
family room couch necking like a couple of teenagers was the end . . . if he
had been five minutes later the situation would have been extremely
embarrassing. They had excused
themselves with as much dignity as they could muster and headed for the stairs. Jonny's laughter and call of "Have fun . . . " had followed them
as they left the room. Estella had
blushed until her face was almost the same color as her hair. As they reached the base of the stairs, she
had turned to say something scathing, but he hadn't given her the chance. He had caught her in his arms and kissed her
deeply, allowing his hands to rove hungrily over her body and up under her
clothes. And when he felt her respond,
he picked her up and carried her into his suite. They had made love over and over that night . . . like they were
kids again. The next morning, when he
woke to find her nestled up against him, sleeping peacefully, he swore to
himself he would never let her go again.
Race grinned suddenly. It was funny. He had remembered
the look of her . . . the line of her throat when her head dropped back, the
way her back would arch when he ran his hands down her spine, and the intensity
of her expression as she lay with her eyes closed, concentrating on what he was
doing to her. But it was what he had
forgotten that had been so enticing. She was a noisy lover . . . the more aroused she became, the more vocal
she was. She would moan, and gasp, and
speak to him in broken sentences in both Spanish and English. He never had to wonder if what he was doing
to her felt good, because she would tell him. And trying to keep her quiet only guaranteed that when she finally
couldn't hold back any longer, it would be even louder, cruder, and more
incoherent than it would have been otherwise. He hadn't cared. He had wanted
to hear her . . . had made every effort to keep her so aroused she couldn't
even try to be quiet. And her
incoherent cries of pleasure as she reached release gave him such a deep sense
of satisfaction that he couldn't even feel guilty. Benton told him later that he had just about decided to start
sleeping in the lighthouse. He said he
hadn't gotten a peaceful night's sleep since the two of them began sharing a
room again. Since coming to Colombia
she had become a bit more sedate . . . but not by much.
It had occurred to Race since then, that after all the
lectures both he and Benton had given to their kids about premarital sex,
perhaps he and Estella weren't setting the best example. However, neither Jessie nor Jonny had
questioned the new living arrangement. If anything, they seemed to expect it. It had been so easy for Race to let the police inspectors in Paris
assume that Estella was his wife . . . for that was how he still felt about
her. He supposed that Jonny and Jessie
felt the same way, so at this point he wasn't prepared to question it. His grin widened slightly. They were happy . . . that's really all that
mattered.
His grin dimmed slightly and his thoughts returned to an
idea that had occurred to him early this morning. He had been awake early . . . just shortly after dawn . . . and
had been lying there watching her sleep. She lay on her side, facing him, with one hand curled up under her
cheek. Her face was relaxed and she
smiled softly as she slept. He had been
thinking how beautiful she was and wondering if he ever remembered her as more
gorgeous than she was in that instant. And a stray thought had crossed his mind. Once, a soft voice in
his mind whispered. Once before she looked like this. And the image flashed across his memory like
lightning in the night sky. She had
been lying just like this, sleeping quietly. But there had been a difference. That time she had been pregnant with Jessie. And in that instant, he had stopped and wondered what they were
doing to prevent her from getting pregnant again.
He couldn't ever remember a time when he hadn't concerned
himself with the possibility of getting one of his female companions
pregnant. And he had always been
cautious, ensuring those bases were covered before things got out of hand. With Estella, it hadn't even crossed his
mind. And what was more, it hadn't
crossed his mind for better than a month. They could be in serious trouble here. He would never hear the end of it if, after all those lectures to both
Jessie and Jonny, he ended up getting Estella pregnant. He had better talk to her as soon as
possible. Surely she had taken
precautions . . .
"Mr. Bannon!"
Shaken out of his thoughts, Race looked up to see Ruben
Calderone approaching him. A
20-year-old college student from USC, Ruben was serving as Estella's primary
assistant on this dig. Race had
initially had his doubts about the young man. He came from one of the highly placed and influential families in Bogota
and they had pulled strings to get him on this dig. Race had been surprised that Estella wasn't upset about the
pressure that was exerted to have him as part of the excavation team. When he complained about it for the fourth
or fifth time, she patiently explained that she had worked with the young man
before and that he was as competent as anyone else they could find. She also explained that his family's
political connections would prove to be invaluable in getting supplies and
pressuring the government for the things they needed. And that was exactly how it worked out. A cheerful young man, Ruben had endeared himself to everyone in
camp. His easy charm and witty
conversation made him a favorite among the other students and workmen. His extensive knowledge of South American
archaeology and attention to detail had made him invaluable to Estella. And when they began to run into the
inevitable political maneuvering and stonewalling, a single call from Ruben to
his family in Bogota invariably got things "unstuck." Race was suitably impressed.
Ruben had also quickly become a close friend of Jessie's,
and Race was very grateful for that friendship. It so obvious to him that Jessie missed Jonny terribly, that he
couldn't believe no one else could see it. She was literally pining for the boy. She barely ate, and the few times he walked by her tent late at night,
he could hear her tossing and turning. Once, he even heard her call out to him. Alarmed, he had looked into her tent to find her dreaming. He was about to wake her when she
quieted. So he left her alone. The next morning she had looked
drained. When he mentioned it to
Estella, she had looked at her daughter for a while and then told him to leave
her alone. This was a situation she was
going to have to learn to deal with herself. And of course that started one of their fights.
"Is the canopy ready to erect now, Mr. Bannon?"
"Yes, Ruben, I think it is. We're going to need additional hands to get it up the first time,
though."
"That will not be a problem. I will go round up some of the workmen and we can get it set
up. This will help greatly in
protecting them from the sun, so I know they will be happy to assist. I will be right back."
As Ruben trotted off, Race thought about Estella again. One thing about their relationship hadn't
changed much over time. They still
fought. And they fought fairly
often. The strangest and most petty
things could start it. This morning,
they were arguing over whether or not the workmen liked oatmeal. He sighed and shook his head. It simply made no sense. He didn't want to fight with her. It wasn't even that they enjoyed the
arguments the way some couples seemed to. It was more like when an opening presented itself neither of them could
control themselves. They just jumped in
and went at it. At least none of the
fights they had gotten into since they had become involved again had that
lasting, bitter edge that was so evident back before they were divorced. And the worst part was that both of them
could see Jessie flinch every time it happened. She didn't even need to be present. In fact, both he and Estella tried very hard NOT to fight in
front of her. But she seemed to have
some kind of sixth sense that told her when they had been arguing. She would look at them and he would see the
knowledge come into her eyes. Then she
would turn away as though the awareness caused her physical pain. Neither he nor Estella knew what to do about
it. More than once, he had privately
wished she would go back to Maine. It
would be so much easier to try and work out this relationship without the
constant strain of having Jessie there watching them struggle.
Ruben reappeared with eight people in tow. Six were native workmen hired in Bogota or
from local villages to handle the heavy labor. The remaining two were interns who were getting school credit for the
dig, much as Ruben was. The first was
Nathan Hardesty, a 23-year-old graduate student in pre-Colombian archaeology
from some obscure mid-western university. Nathan was tall and gangly with a shock of sun-bleached white hair. He was a fountain of pre-Colombian archaeological
trivia and a specialist in artifact dating. The other intern was DeForrest Blain. Race couldn't figure out what the hell this 20-year-old, pudgy,
ill-tempered, lazy fop was doing on this expedition. He ducked work whenever possible, often disappearing for hours at
a time, only to come strolling back into camp at dinner time with a nonchalant
attitude and an "Oh, but darlings, I've been so BUSY . . . " He was also a photography buff and drove
everyone to distraction, snapping pictures of all of them when the least
expected it. Race would have been
willing to take odds that he would be gone by the end of next week. Estella wouldn't put up with it much longer.
Race stationed his assistants at various locations around
the scaffolding and, on his cue, they all lifted. The frame bowed slightly and then snapped into place, forming a
large rectangle about eight feet tall by twelve feet long by ten feet
deep. Race moved up to the frame and
began threading ropes through the mounting grommets. Ruben moved to the other side and duplicated the activity. Once the ropes were in place at all four
corners, the men grabbed the vertical members and lifted the entire
structure. They carried it across the
open ground and placed it above the main open excavation in the center of the
clearing.
"Okay, fellas, come here and I'll show you how this
works. The various shade canvases are
attached to the hooks mounted on the ropes. Once joined, you pull the ropes
until the shade is in place, and then anchor the lines to stakes driven into
the ground. Staking the ropes to the
ground rather than tying them down to the frame will stabilize the entire
structure. There are three types of
shades. The heavy canvas fabric will
provide heavy shade and also serve to deflect rain from the main portion of the
excavation area. The light cotton
fabric will shade but provide much more light. And the screen fabric will provide the most light, but least shade. All fabrics can be mixed and matched on the
top and sides to achieve the best effect. The frame can be disassembled and stored, but doesn't need to be broken
down to move. We'll test it for awhile
and modify it, as needed. Once we have
it working exactly the way we want, it I'll finish the joint sealing and it
should be durable and easily mobile."
Race hung around for a while watching the workmen mount the
shade fabrics, and then he turned and strode across the clearing heading for
the tents. It was unlikely that Estella
was out of the burial chamber yet, but it wouldn't hurt to check.
***
Jessie Bannon crouched in a pit at the edge of the clearing,
working carefully on the exposed stone that formed one wall of her designated
work area. It was moving toward late
afternoon and the area where she was working was finally beginning to get into
the shade. She wore a large hat, a long
sleeved shirt and long pants all in an effort to avoid any more sun exposure
than absolutely necessary. She was
already suffering from moderate sunburn and she had no desire to get any
worse. But it was something of a tossup
because she was so hot she felt lightheaded.
This stone was part of the foundation row of stones that
formed the base of one of the secondary pyramids that ringed the old central
plaza. It had been intricately
carved. The mosaic reminded her a great
deal of the carvings on the Malenque temples her mother had been studying
several years ago. Jessie worked with a
hand-held brush, clearing the clinging dirt from the carvings. Once she had it all cleaned, she would do
rubbings of the carvings before moving on to the next section. It was painstaking, tedious work and she had
been at it for almost three weeks. She
never complained, even though she found it boring and frustrating work. At least it gave her time to think, which
was both a blessing and a curse.
Ever since Paris, all she had been able to think about was
Jonny. The conversation she had with
her mother about him still echoed in her head. She loved him so much; sometimes it was like a physical pain. And she was pretty sure he loved her. But something her mother had said kept coming
back to her . . . haunting her like a ghost. They had been talking about the fact that her father had never told her
mother he loved her. Estella had noted
how much alike Race and Jonny were and had said . . . "Be patient with him,
Jessie. And try to decide if you can
live without ever hearing those words. Because maybe you never will." Could I do that, she wondered. Could
I spend the rest of my life with him and be satisfied, even if he never tells
me he loves me? She didn't know.
But, then again, the alternative was absolutely
unthinkable. She couldn't imagine her
life without him. And she also knew
that friendship was no longer enough. Her feelings for him had gone way beyond that. Once, she thought. If he
would say it just once it would be enough. As much as both of her parents assured her he loved her, there were
times . . .
Unbidden, the image of Francesca Hamilton appeared in her
mind. Angelic, exquisite and tiny, she
haunted Jessie's dreams. She embodied
everything Jessie knew she lacked . . . poise, beauty, grace . . . she could go
on forever.
Francesca had walked into their lives and turned Jonny's
head without even trying. He had been
completely smitten. And he had been
devastated when he realized she was only using him to get her hands on a new
invention of his father's. He had been
bitter and angry, and in the aftermath of Francesca's betrayal, he had turned
to Jessie. At first she had told herself
she was too proud to win him that way, and she had run away. But she had come to realize that she loved
him too much to be proud. She would
take him any way she could get him. But
she was also sure that if Francesca ever reappeared he would return to her in
an instant, no matter what she had done. One of the girls at school had said it best. Francesca knew how to be a girl
. . . something Jessica Bannon wasn't particularly good at. She was good in a science or field lab,
could hold her own in a fight, and was very good with computers. But in a war of feminine wiles, she was an
abject failure.
Everyone in her family had steadfastly refused to tell her
what happened in Cairo while she was unconscious in the hospital. She knew only that Francesca and her father
had been arrested and put in jail, and that her father had been instrumental in
making that happen. But everyone's
refusal to tell her what happened told her all she needed to know. They were protecting Jonny. And that meant Jonny had tried to save
Francesca . . . probably in some manner the authorities would have frowned on .
. . and everyone was staying quiet so he didn't get into trouble. In fact, she knew that must be the case
because they had told her that he had gotten in trouble. It had been clear, too, that whatever it had
been, it was serious. And it couldn't
have been anything to do with her since she was safely in the hospital, so it
had to have been Francesca. And the
knowledge that he cared for her enough to try to protect her made Jessie
physically ill. But even that didn't
really matter. She loved him . . . and
she didn't care about the rest.
She had received a lot of e-mail from Jonny in the last
several weeks. At first, she had tried
very hard to answer it all. But being
separated from him was starting to tell on her. And having to deal with his mail every day was starting to get
her down.
Jessie stopped her work and stared at the wall,
unseeing. She wanted to go home to him
so badly. She hated it here. He haunted her dreams. Some nights they were actual nightmares,
imagining him gone or hurt or even dead and she would wake crying and
frightened. Other times the dreams
would be good ones and she would wake happy . . . until she remembered where
she was and that she was alone. And
some nights the dreams left her fevered and yearning. She HATED this! But she couldn't leave. Her parents needed her right now. They were trying so hard to resolve their
differences and make a go of their relationship. And the family atmosphere seemed to help. They still fought a lot. She could hear them arguing at night. Most times she couldn't tell what they were arguing about . . . only
that they were. But when she was around
it seemed like they got along better. She couldn't leave now . . . not when they needed her. So she guessed
she would have to live with this. She
would put on a cheerful face, work hard, and not let either of them know how
miserable she was.
She thought again of Jonny and suddenly, tears came to her
eyes. He seemed to attract girls. There wasn't a single one in school who
wouldn't give almost anything to say she had dated him. They sat in classes with group projects and
tried to figure out how to ensure they would be assigned to work with him. He always seemed oblivious to the veiled
suggestions, the "come hither" glances and the subtle innuendo. But what if one of them caught his eye . . .
like Francesca had? Jessie hadn't been
able to do anything to prevent it the last time, but at least she had been
there to try to protect him and to support him when everything crashed. If it happened while she was gone . . . She could feel the tears on her cheeks as
she cried. There was nothing she could
do . . . except pray that no one came along to show Jonny Quest that he wasn't
really getting any bargain with a girlfriend like Jessie Bannon.