"And
would you care to tell me again why the hell you didn't think Field Section
needed to be informed?"
The words were muffled, but there was no mistaking
their tone. Amanda paused briefly in front of the office, checking the 'lay of
the land' through the window. One brief
glance told her all she needed to know.
It had been almost a
year since his promotion to Chief of Field Section, but Scarecrow still looked
slightly ill at ease behind the mahogany desk that had served Billy Melrose so
well. Sitting stiffly in his chair, the
phone wedged awkwardly between his chin and shoulder, he drummed his pen in an
impatient rhythm on the papers scattered in front of him. Amanda pursed her
lips; she could almost feel his blood pressure rising as she watched him
through the window.
Sighing, she reached for
the door handle, balancing a coffee cup and a stack of files precariously
against her rounded stomach as she entered. Pregnancy had its advantages, but
this definitely wasn't one of them, she thought ruefully as she struggled to
hold onto the folder and the cup. The
papers spilled out, scattering haphazardly across the carpet.
"Never mind,"
Lee said, a smile invading the corners of his mouth. "Your status report
has just arrived."
Giving him a caustic
look, she set the steaming coffee on the edge of his desk. As he replaced the
phone in its cradle with a loud click, she bent down on hands and knees to
retrieve the scattered data from Central American Operations.
"A –man –da.
"
She heard him drawl her
name with that unmistakable inflection that somehow seemed to turn it into an
accusation. It was a tone he'd honed to perfection in the early days of their
'unofficial' partnership. Muttering under her breath, she stretched to reach the
upended file folder.
"Will you please
let me get that?" that irritating voice continued. "You shouldn't be
crawling around on the floor in your condition."
"Lee, I'm pregnant,
not incapacitated," she shot back in exasperation.
"I realize
that," he responded just as testily, grabbing the sheet of paper that had
drifted under the chair. "I was just trying to. . ."
"I know what you
were trying to do," she snapped, rolling her eyes as she pulled the last
few pages together. "But it's not
necessary."
She heard him exhale
loudly as he rose and, glancing up, she caught his eye. Guilt washed over her
as she recognized the hurt his annoyance couldn't quite manage to hide.
"Will it disturb
your sensibilities if I help you up?" he inquired as he ran his fingers
energetically through his hair. "Or is that crossing the line, too?"
"I'm sorry,"
she murmured as she accepted his outstretched hand. "It's just been one of
those days." She entwined her fingers with his, giving him a gentle
squeeze. "Am I being hormonal again?"
"Maybe a
little," he agreed, grinning at the ready acknowledgement of her snappish
mood. "Just around the
edges." He briefly checked out the
bullpen before bringing her fingers to his lips for a quick kiss. "But
they're very attractive edges."
Amanda raised an eyebrow
in response, her hand automatically massaging her expanding waistline. He gave
her his warmest smile in return, and she found the last vestiges of her
aggravation dissolving under her husband's appreciative scrutiny. Even in her current condition, Lee Stetson
could still make her feel like the sexiest woman alive.
If only he could stifle
his overprotective tendencies as easily. They had definitely slipped into
overdrive when her doctor had officially confirmed their impending
parenthood. Most days, she understood
his predilection to treat her like spun glass, but there were times lately when
it wore a little thin.
"Hey, you know how
much I appreciate your concern," she said, her softer tone attempting to
mitigate her earlier sharpness. "But it really is okay for me to clean up after myself." Smiling, she leaned in a little closer.
"Besides, I think it was crawling around on the floor that landed me in
this condition in the first place."
"Yeah," he
agreed, his wicked grin highlighting his dimples as the memory rekindled.
"Best birthday I ever had."
"Well, if it's all
the same to you, I think next year I really will get you that watch."
His deep, rumbling laugh
relaxed her, breaking the tension for both of them.
"About before," he
began, glancing sheepishly in her direction as he gathered the last of the
papers. "I'm sorry if I sounded like. .
."
"That old
'Scarecrow' I used to know?" she asked sweetly.
"Uh, okay," he
grinned, helping her settle into the chair. "Sorry. I guess I've had a bad
day, too. I really wanted to take you to your doctor's appointment this
morning."
"I know you did,
but it's pretty routine at this stage. You can catch the next one if you want to."
"You know I want to."
Amanda smiled softly;
she knew that all too well. Lee refused
to believe that she was fine unless he heard it straight from the doctor's
mouth. She caught his eye, nodding her
approval as he walked to the window to close the privacy blinds.
"So," he said,
crossing the room and leaning down to touch his lips to hers. "Maybe we
can begin this again. How is the most beautiful expectant mother in D.C. doing
today?"
"Just fine,"
she whispered, her fingers tracing his five o'clock shadow. She hesitated for a
fraction of a second before adding, "My blood pressure is a little
elevated."
His eyes narrowed.
"How 'little'?"
"A little higher
than normal, that's all," she replied, rubbing his arm lightly. "But
Elaine doesn't anticipate any problems."
"And our son?"
Amanda smiled.
"He's just fine, too. Right on schedule."
"Four more
months," he sighed, kissing her lightly again. "I can't wait, Mrs.
Stetson."
"That makes two of
us."
"I'll just be
relieved when this is over. When I think of everything you've been through
already. . ."
"Hey,
I love you, and I love our baby. I wouldn't change a thing, okay?"
"Okay," he
agreed, but she could tell from the way he sucked in his lower lip that he
didn't believe her. Even though the
doctor had assured them that everything appeared to be okay, she knew Lee had a
hard time accepting that the violent morning sickness she was still
experiencing on occasion was anything approaching normal. More than anything, her husband hated to
feel powerless. If that wasn't bad enough, in this situation, he felt
responsible as well.
It hadn't been an easy
pregnancy. Lee had been so focused on
what he'd jokingly termed 'Operation Baby' that he hadn't given much thought to
what might happen once the mission was successful. Only Scarecrow could turn
something as straightforward as conceiving a child into a maneuver worthy of
the most complex Agency scramble. His discomfiture when they failed to bring
home a permanent souvenir of their second honeymoon had been amusing at first,
but as their continued efforts proved fruitless, it had grown less so. Even though she suspected that they only
needed to give nature a fair chance to take its course, she'd agreed to see a
specialist in May to ease his mind. It had almost been worth the trip just to
see the expression on her husband's face when he realized what he had to do
with that cup.
"What's so funny,
Mrs. Stetson?"
"Oh,
I was just thinking about cups," she replied, chuckling softly to herself,
"and coffee. Here," she
added, handing him the mug she'd deposited on the edge of the desk. "I
brought you some. I thought you might need it to make it through dinner
tonight."
"It'll take
something stronger than coffee to get me through dinner tonight," he
mumbled, taking a large sip as he settled himself once more behind his desk.
"What time are we supposed to be at Joe and Carrie's?"
"Seven-thirty."
She shook her head, recognizing the look in his eyes. "Lee, it's Friday
night. Please don't tell me you're going to be late again?"
"Uh, not if I meet
you there?" he rejoined, raising an eyebrow in apology.
She tried to look stern,
but couldn't quite carry it off. Jamie had worn that same expression last week
when he'd confessed to eating the piece of chocolate cake she'd been craving
all day.
"Since I was
heading home now anyway," she began, finally giving in to the smile that
was tugging on her lips, "I suppose I can collect the boys. Of course, now
I'll have to hog-tie Phillip all by myself."
"Stop by
Leatherneck's supply office – I'm sure he can give you something more efficient
than rope."
"Lee Stetson, I'm
not going to use one of Leatherneck's contraptions on my son," she admonished
firmly, muttering under her breath, "even if the idea does have some appeal."
She shook her head, sighing as she rested her cheek wearily on her hand. "Sometimes I wonder what happened to that
little boy who used to tell me all about his day over cookies and milk."
"That's
simple," Lee laughed. "He became a teenager."
"You're right. But
I'm afraid there's nothing simple about it at all."
"Give him some
time. He'll sort himself out."
"I know he was
thrilled to make the football team this year, but maybe we were wrong to let
him play."
"I played football in
high school, Amanda, and actually managed to graduate in one piece."
"That's not what worries
me. Although, I have to admit, I'm not thrilled to see my little boy on the
bottom of a pile of bodies." She wrinkled her nose at the thought. "I like
soccer much better."
"I know you do. But you
have to let kids make their own choices."
"It's not the game I
really have a problem with," she said, wondering if her husband realized what
was really at the heart of Phillip's sudden interest in the sport. She had a
strong suspicion it had more to do with following in his stepfather's footsteps
than making new ones of his own. "It's
these older kids he's hanging around with now. They're so different from the
old crowd." She sighed, nibbling lightly on her lower lip. "Oh, I don't know.
Sometimes I think. . ."
"Think what?"
he prodded.
Amanda shook her head.
"I can't help wondering if all this stuff he's been going through lately
isn't some kind of delayed reaction," she began, trying to put her
scattered thoughts into some kind of order. "You know, to everything that
happened. The sudden move, the new house. . . we were so worried about Jamie after that business with Mason that maybe
Phillip kind of got lost in the shuffle. Maybe he could have benefited from
some counseling, too."
Lee shrugged. "I
guess we could always talk to Dr. Barr – he seemed to do Jamie a world of
good."
Amanda nodded. Jamie's
transformation this past year had been truly amazing. It was good to see him
finally making new friends and really enjoying school again. But sessions with
Dr. Barr aside, her younger son's new self-confidence seemed to spring from
that 'father-son' Junior Trailblazer outing he'd shared with his stepfather.
He'd come home with more than a trophy that weekend.
Phillip, on the other
hand, had grown increasingly more uncommunicative. Lately, his life revolved around the football team, partying with
his new friends and whichever girl happened to be monopolizing his attention at
the moment. He didn't have much time to
spare for Jamie, let alone the thought of a new sibling. He seemed to find that
prospect mildly boring at best, downright embarrassing at worst.
Amanda had been a little
hurt by his behavior, but had chalked it up to typical teenage moods. That is,
until they'd announced that the baby they were expecting was a boy. That's when
she noticed Phillip's attitude really begin to sour. He seemed actively jealous
of the new baby, almost as if he somehow resented Lee's biological connection
to his son. She'd tried to broach the subject with Lee a few times, but somehow
the timing never seemed right. Either he was tied up in another late night
meeting or she was otherwise occupied in the mornings.
"It's funny
sometimes how things turn out," she said, sighing wistfully. "Jamie
was the one we were so worried about, while Phillip. . ."
"I know. He seemed
to make such an easy adjustment," Lee said, finishing her thought. His brow furrowed as he considered the
situation from every angle, and Amanda couldn't help but smile as she observed
him. Who would have guessed, all those years ago, that Scarecrow would one day
take to parenting as completely as he had to the intelligence game? She trailed
her hand lovingly across her stomach. This was going to be one lucky little
boy.
"Phillip's
basically a good kid, you know that," he said at last, his voice soft and
reassuring. He's just testing his wings right now." Catching her eye, he
gave her a short laugh. "It's not easy to be a popular jock, you
know."
"Speaking from
personal experience here?" she teased.
"Maybe," he
grinned, shrugging off her look. He leaned forward on his desk, resting his
chin on his interlaced fingers. "I think Phillip just wants to be
accepted. Isn't that what most teenagers are looking for?"
"I guess you're
right. I just can't help wishing he didn't care about that quite so much. He
thinks he's so grown up, but. . ."
"He's gonna be
sixteen in March," Lee reminded her. "Your car has the dents to prove
it."
"Don't I know
it," she lamented. "One more thing to worry about."
She watched as her
husband left his seat, rounding the desk to squat beside her chair. "Hey,
Mrs. Stetson, what have we all been telling you about that?" He took her
hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Lee, mothers worry, and there's not a thing
you or anyone else can do about it." She reached out, tenderly brushing
her fingers along his cheek. "It's
part of the job description."
"Not for the next
sixteen weeks. I'm supposed to be doing your worrying for you." He rose,
flashing her a grin as he perched on the edge of his desk. "That's part of
my job description."
She gave him a wry grin
as she raised her eyebrows. "I'll try to remember that the next time you
miss dinner four nights in a row."
"It's gonna be five
night's in a row if you don't get out of here and let me get through that
status report you delivered so gracefully." He laughed as she playfully
swatted his knee. Reaching out to her, her offered his hand as he stood.
She accepted it,
allowing him to pull her up into a brief embrace. She could tell by the way he
held her that he needed the comfort of her touch, however fleeting. She smiled wryly; Lee's method of dealing
with job stress was eminently more enjoyable than Billy's bottle of Tums. She rubbed his back, resting her head on his
shoulder as she breathed in the blend of soap and aftershave that was uniquely
Lee.
He held her for a moment
longer, then reluctantly let go. "I'll see you at Joe and Carrie's,"
he promised, his hand gently massaging the small of her back as he guided her
to the door.
Hand on the knob, she
hesitated briefly, unconsciously biting her upper lip as she turned to
him. "You'll try talking to Joe
one more time?"
"Amanda, I don't
really think. . ." He sighed, running his hand through his hair with
unusual zeal. "I thought we agreed
last month when he made his announcement that we were going to stay out of
it?"
"I know. It's just
that the boys need him in their lives. They've gotten used to having him around
again. And I can't help wondering if Joe's decision to take this new assignment
with the EAO isn't partly responsible for Phillip's recent behavior. He still
remembers what it was like before, with his father coming and going all the
time." She paused, sucking in a breath. "Not to mention where Joe's going. . ." She nodded at the
report on his desk. "I glanced through that on my way to your
office."
Lee nodded solemnly.
"I'll grant you Santarilla isn't the most stable assignment, but then
neither was Estoccia." She caught his eye and heard his sigh of
acquiescence. "All right, you win. I'll give it a shot."
"Thank you."
She leaned forward, brushing his lips gently with her own. "I know it
probably won't do any good – Joe was always pretty stubborn when he made up his
mind."
She saw her husband's
raised eyebrow. "Okay, okay, I can be just as stubborn. But at least I'll
feel like we tried."
Laughing with her, he
leaned in to kiss her one last time before re-opening the privacy blinds.
"Hey," he called, giving her conspiratorial wink as she started
through the door. "Don't let Phillip talk you into letting him drive."
"Don't worry. My
blood pressure couldn't take it," she grinned, "let alone my
car."
She closed the door,
looking in through the window one last time. Lee had already retreated behind
his desk, pen in hand once again as he attacked the report from Central
American Operations. The look on his face sobered her. She fervently hoped Joe
would listen to him, but she had a feeling what little warning they could give
him would fall on deaf ears. Her ex-husband was always passionately committed
to his job.
Sighing, she headed for
home.
* * * * *
"Phillip. . ."
Jamie called, banging his fist on his brother's door. He shifted from foot to
foot as he waited for a reply. He knew Phillip was in there; he'd seen him
disappear upstairs shortly after he came home from school. Besides, the music
blasting from his stereo was a dead giveaway. His brother used to have much
better taste, he thought with a frown. This latest Van Halen tape must be courtesy of his new best friend,
Jeremy Wilson.
"Phillip," he
tried again, louder this time, "Come on, open up, will ya?"
The volume on the stereo
rose a few notches, and Jamie sighed. Talking to his brother when he was in one
of his moods was about as productive as talking to the wall. Of course, he
didn't need to actually see him, and it really was no skin off his nose if
Phillip got himself in hot water again.
"Mom called. She's
almost home," he shouted, delivering his message to the front of the
door. "She said to be ready to go
to Dad and Carrie's when she gets here."
His task completed, he
headed for the stairs. His foot was on
the second step when he heard his brother's door open.
"Cut the noise,
Worm Brain."
Jamie whipped around at
the sound of that nickname. It had been
the cause of more than a few wrestling matches over the years, the most notable
ones resulting in a recurring hole in the wall of the bedroom they'd shared in
the house on Maplewood Drive. His mother had muttered ominously each time she'd
plastered over it.
"Well, Worm
Brain?" Phillip repeated. "I thought I'd warned you about banging on
my door."
Glancing up, Jamie
encountered his brother's eye. He was leaning nonchalantly against the
doorframe, looking suitably bored, the remains of a ham sandwich in his
hand. Narrowing his eyes, he looked
appraisingly at Phillip's tall, athletic body. Even though his once slender
frame was beginning to fill out, his older brother could probably still wipe
the ground with him, Jamie thought with a sigh. But one of these days. . .
He glared back hostilely,
his anger seething as Phillip only grinned. "Mom's almost home," he
said through gritted teeth. "She said to be ready to go. . ."
"To Dad and
Carrie's," Phillip finished. "Yeah, I heard you."
"Then why did you
ask?" he demanded, shoving his clenched fists into his pockets.
Phillip shrugged,
silently turning back into his room. Jamie could still hear his stereo, but the
volume was lower and his door half-open in casual invitation. He frowned slightly, rubbing the spot where
his glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. Lately, Phillip always locked the
door when he was in his room. Curiosity winning out, he started back up the
stairs.
"Hey," he said
neutrally as he crossed the threshold, cautiously testing the water. When
Phillip didn't immediately order him out, he relaxed, knowing he'd made the
right choice.
Flopping on the bed, he
grabbed the nearest pillow, flinging it playfully at his brother. "Quit
calling me Worm Brain, would ya? I'm not ten any more."
"I'll try to
remember that," Phillip laughed, tossing the pillow back at him.
"Worm Brain."
Jamie made a face,
dodging the pillow as he watched Phillip cram the rest of his sandwich into his
mouth. "Why are you eating? We're
supposed to be having dinner at Dad's."
"Self
preservation," he smirked. "I'll lay odds that we don't eat until
late. Lee will get hung up at work, and we'll all end up waiting for him."
He looked down, absently picking the lint off his school sweatshirt. "If
he shows at all."
"Mom said he's
meeting us there."
"Uh-huh,"
Phillip said, exhaling loudly as he walked over to the window. "Well, even
if he does, I'm not sure I'd make it through another one of Carrie's gourmet
meals."
"Yeah," Jamie
agreed with a grimace. "What was it she made last time?"
"No clue,"
Phillip stated, wrinkling up his nose at the memory. "All I can say is, I
don't like to eat stuff I can't pronounce."
"Hey, maybe that's
why Dad's taking that new assignment," Jamie joked. "He's too polite
to tell her he doesn't want to eat her cooking."
"Yeah," Phillip
replied, his sarcasm unmistakable. "That must be it."
Propping himself up on
his elbow, Jamie looked at his brother. His folded arms were pressed against the windowpane, his body bent as he
studied the view.
"Remember that tree
house we used to have at the old house?" Phillip said in a low voice.
"The one Dad built for us?"
Jamie nodded. "All
the neighborhood kids liked to hang out there."
"We used to have to
chase that pest Bobby Kenwood out every day when we came home from school."
"Yeah. Then all of a
sudden, he stopped coming over. I wonder why."
"Grandma called his
mother," Phillip said with a short laugh. "He got grounded for two
weeks and never spoke to us again."
"That's right, I
remember now," Jamie grinned. "You know, he really drove me crazy,
saying he had squatter's rights and everything. But I kind of missed him when
he didn't come around any more." He took a deep breath, remembering.
"Do you ever miss the old house?"
Phillip shrugged, moving
away from the window. "What's to miss?" he asked, picking up his
football. "It's not there anymore, anyway. The people who bought the lot
built a brand new house." Sighing, he tossed the ball to his brother.
Jamie scrambled up,
efficiently catching it. "The tree house is still there, though," he
informed him, pitching the ball back to his brother with a grunt.
Phillip gripped the ball
tightly as he caught it. "How do
you know?" he asked, hesitating almost imperceptibly before forcefully
returning the pass.
"Lee and I drove by
there last month," Jamie answered, his voice slightly breathless as the
pointed end of the ball thudded against his chest. He clasped it tightly,
breathing in and out through his nose.
"Why?"
"I was
curious," Jamie told him, tossing the football in small circles. "The
people painted the new house yellow." He threw the ball back to his
brother, adding thoughtfully, "It was really ugly."
"I'll bet."
"It was good to see
it, though." Jamie sighed, his finger running along the seam of Phillip's
bedspread. "Good, but sad at the same time. It's hard to explain."
"Yeah, well, I
don't want to see it," Phillip said, his voice hardening as he spoke.
Frowning, he tossed the ball vigorously at the far wall. It hit with a bang,
bouncing a few times as it rolled back across the carpet. "There's no
point," he added, his eyes glued to the spot in the middle of the floor
where the ball had finally come to a stop. "Just like dinner
tonight."
Jamie sighed. "Are
you ticked at Dad for leaving again?"
"The only thing I'm
ticked about is missing that party at Jeremy's to go to his stupid goodbye
dinner," Phillip answered, opening his closet door with a bang.
"Christy Carlson is going to be there, and this was my big chance with
her."
"Phillip, it's okay
if you're mad," Jamie said knowingly. "I wish he wasn't leaving,
too."
"I couldn't care
less," his brother returned. "If he wants to go to Timbuktu for six
months, I guess that's his business. "
"He's going to
Santarilla."
"Whatever,"
Phillip grumbled, ducking his head into the closet. "It's all the same to me."
"I'm kind of mad,
too, you know."
"For the last time,
I'm not mad." Phillip's voice sounded oddly flat through his clenched
teeth. "Now get the hell out of here, I've got to change before Mom gets
home. I wouldn't want to be late for the command performance."
Sighing, Jamie pulled
himself up off the bed. His brother was bent over, his back bristling with
tension as he turned his closet inside out searching for his favorite jeans.
"Yeah, right, not mad at all," he muttered to himself, shaking his
head as he headed for the door.
* * * * *
Lee set his folded
napkin on the table, smiling warmly as Amanda caught his eye.
"Carrie," his
wife stated pleasantly as she returned his look. "Thank you so much for
dinner. It was just delicious."
"There's plenty
more if you'd like some," Carrie King returned in kind. "I'll just
hop into the kitchen. . ."
"Oh, no thank you,
I couldn't eat another bite," Amanda sighed, her hand brushing over her
protruding belly. "Not as much room these days."
Lee quickly turned away,
not trusting himself to look at Amanda any longer. He could tell by the slight
inflection in her voice that he'd definitely be making a Marvelous Marvin's run
later on tonight.
"But it really was
wonderful," he heard her add, an almost imperceptible crack in her
voice. "Whatever did you do to the
vegetables to get that flavor?"
"It's a new recipe
from my cooking club," Carrie replied enthusiastically. "The
seasoning gives it a very unique taste."
"Yeah, real
unique," Jamie whispered under his breath, his foot knocking his brother
under the table.
"Ouch,"
Phillip announced loudly, glaring smugly at Jamie's hapless expression.
Lee cleared his throat
as Amanda shot them both a warning glance. He listened in quiet admiration as
his wife effortlessly diffused the situation, distracting the group with small
talk as she gathered up Phillip and Jamie's plates. She could certainly teach his new freshmen a thing or two. Carrie
hadn't even noticed the boys' practically untouched dinners. He made a mental note to make that take-out
for three.
"Lee?" Carrie
asked expectantly. "How about you? Seconds?"
"Ah. . .I, uh. .
." Lee sputtered, watching his youngest stepson choke on his water as he
tried to stifle his laugh. "No, I'm fine, too. But thanks." Before
Jamie could recover enough to make a suitable remark, he slid his chair back
from the table. "I'd better check on Amanda," he said quickly,
watching her disappear into the kitchen. "You know, if she, uh, drops anything, it's hard for her to bend
over to pick it up."
Rising, he beat a hasty
retreat, Carrie's offer of dessert falling on seemingly deaf ears.
"'It's hard for her
to bend over?'" Amanda mimicked in a low stage whisper as he came through
the swinging door. "That's the best you could come up with, Stetson?"
"I was under
duress," he grinned, carefully extricating the dishes from her
gesticulating hands and placing them in the sink.
"Would seconds have
been so bad?" he heard her chuckle. "After all, she is family."
"Family or not,
that's above and beyond the call of duty," he stated emphatically, shaking
his head as he turned to face her. "Nowhere in either of our wedding
ceremonies did I ever promise to love, honor and consume pseudo 'haute
cuisine'."
"Oh, come on,"
she teased, "give it a whirl, Scarecrow." She placed her arms around
his, guiding him as close as her expanding waistline would allow. "I
thought a high level operative was trained to withstand every form of exotic
torture."
"I must have slept
through that part of the course," he laughed, leaning forward to brush his
lips tantalizingly across hers. "Honestly, I don't know how she does it.
I've had better food in a Turkish prison."
"Shhh, she'll hear
you," Amanda cautioned. "You're worse than Phillip and Jamie."
"Okay, okay,"
he laughed. "I'll eat her dessert, will that satisfy you?"
"For
starters." She gave him a low, throaty laugh as she trailed one finger
seductively down his chest. Her touch was light, but her intention
unmistakable. Lee felt himself shiver. He'd never realized pregnancy could make
a woman so. . .erotic.
"Okay, Mrs.
Stetson," he said, stopping her hand before she evoked a stronger
response. "But you have to promise me one thing."
"What's that?"
she asked, one eyebrow elevated in mock apprehension.
"Next time, they
come to our house. I've all but
exhausted Billy's hidden stash of 'Tums'."
"Okay," she
laughed, leaning in to kiss him. "I promise."
"Oh, sorry,"
Carrie apologized as she breezed into the room, a smile tugging at her lips.
"Didn't mean to interrupt. . ."
"Don't be
silly," Amanda laughed. "After all, it is your kitchen."
"I was just going
to get a few of these dishes out of the way. . ."
"I'll be happy to
help you."
"Oh, no, Amanda,
you don't have to do that. You guys
both go on and relax. The boys took their dessert downstairs to the game room,
and Joe's in the living room."
"It's no trouble at
all," Amanda assured her. "Two can finish the job easier than
one."
Lee watched his wife
join Carrie at the sink. He didn't need to see that slight nod of her head to
know what she wanted him to do. He let
out a breath, shrugging almost imperceptibly. Amanda raised an eyebrow in
return, and he silently acquiesced. He sincerely hoped that she wasn't counting
on him to change Joe's mind, he thought with a frown as he made his way into
the other room. He and her ex might have arrived at a friendly plateau, but
they were far from friends. Lee doubted that they'd ever breach that summit.
He found Joe comfortably
sprawled in a corner of the sofa, one hand rubbing his eyes, a few plates of
Carrie's latest concoction spread out in front of him on the coffee table. Looking up, Lee saw his fleeting smile.
"Everything okay in
the kitchen?"
"Yeah," Lee
sighed as he settled into a large, overstuffed armchair, hoping for his
stomach's sake that Joe wouldn't offer him dessert. "Amanda gets annoyed if I'm too helpful these days, so I
considered it the better part of valor to get out of there."
"I understand
that," Joe laughed in response.
Lee grinned too,
smoothing back his hair as he considered how best to broach the sensitive
subject of the EAO. Maybe dessert was
the more attractive option after all. If this were Billy or Francine, he'd
intuitively know exactly how to begin, but he couldn't help but feel this
conversation had two strikes against it from the start. He and Joe King had
been coerced into friendship by circumstance, not choice. And the common ground they did share seemed
fraught with too many minefields for comfort.
He exhaled again,
absently fingering the nubby fabric of the chair. "So," he began
hesitantly, carefully following the upholstery's intricate pattern with his
eye.
"So," Joe
echoed, equally fascinated by the seascape hanging on the far wall.
They looked up at the
same moment, both finding temporary camaraderie in nervous laughter. While Joe hid it well, he could see that he
was equally ill at ease. He'd spent too many years in the intelligence game not
to recognize the overwhelming desire to flee when he saw it.
To his credit, Joe broke
the tenuous silence first. "Lee, I need to ask you a favor."
"I guess so,"
Lee responded tentatively, noting the concern in Joe's eyes. "What do you
need?"
"Take care of the
boys while I'm gone?"
Lee watched as Joe
slowly rubbed the wrinkling lines on his forehead. "You don't have to ask
that," he assured him, guessing how much that particular request had cost
him. They were still hammering out the fragile definition of father and
stepfather. "You know how much I care about Phillip and Jamie."
"I'm worried about
Phillip. He seems awfully closed off these days."
Lee nodded, feeling a
sudden kinship with Joe in their mutual concern. Despite his statements to the
contrary this afternoon, Phillip's behavior patterns were beginning to bother
him, too. He knew that arrogant air of false bravado only too well. He'd
employed it himself every time his uncle dragged him to yet another air base,
and he found his world changing too fast.
"It's a short-term
assignment," Joe continued, "six months at the outside. And when it's
over, I intend to stay put for a while." He looked down, his eyes focused
on the peaks of whipped cream adorning his wife's highly decorated chocolate
cake. "As it is, my traveling has
already cost me too much time with Phillip and Jamie. Sometimes I think I
hardly know them anymore."
"Then why take the
assignment at all?"
"Because John
Stevenson, the head of the EAO, asked me to as a special favor." Joe rose,
pacing back and forth across the small room with restless energy. "This
project is very dear to his heart. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that
Santarilla is key to our position in Central America."
"Granted, but with
all due respect to Stevenson, I think he's been woefully misinformed about the
situation there."
Joe frowned, pausing as
he turned to face Lee. "How so? Our own government has just inked an aid
agreement with President Sanchez. And if you ask me, it's long overdue. I've
seen the films," he continued, his voice rising as he warmed to his
subject. "The suffering of those poor people. . . if the EAO can bring
some relief, we need. . . no, more than that, we have a duty to be there."
Lee shrugged.
"Maybe so. But we've been picking up some disturbing rumors regarding
Sanchez's security forces."
"He's promised our
teams full protection," Joe stated, a note of hesitation creeping into his
voice.
"I just hope he can
deliver."
Joe sighed. "Unfortunately, this is something
I have to do. Stevenson's been very good to me over the years. After that
disaster in Estoccia, he found a position for me with the EAO here in the
States so I could spend more time with Phillip and Jamie. I owe him."
Falling wearily back down on the sofa, he added, "So now you can tell
Amanda you've done your duty, too."
Lee shifted
uncomfortably in his chair. "Joe, it's not a question of duty. Amanda just
feels. . ."
"You don't have to
tell me her feelings on the EAO - I'm well aware of them," Joe returned
sharply. "I always have been."
Lee drew in a deep
breath, exhaling loudly as he looked away. He was beginning to feel a little
annoyed with his wife for pushing him into the middle like this. He had no
desire to trudge down the dusty back roads of the past with Amanda's ex. Still,
he had promised.
"Her present concerns
aren't without foundation," he tried again, his voice adopting the neutral
tone of a briefing session. "Maybe if you waited a month or so, gave the
new government a chance to settle in. . ."
"The sooner I go,
the sooner I get back. Carrie's taking a sabbatical next semester to join me
down there, and I want to be back in time for her to teach the summer session.
Besides, I trust Stevenson. He wouldn't send me down there if it was
dangerous."
Lee bit his lip.
"His hands may be tied. I've heard Senator Rattigan is pushing pretty
hard. Ever since the mess a few years ago with Ambassador Harcourt, formalized
aid to Santarilla has been on the top of his priority list. He's made certain
promises; and in this case I suspect that means sending in the EAO." He
took another deep breath, struggling to navigate the narrow tightrope of 'need
to know'. "But the FMNL forces. . ."
"Are fighting in El
Salvador, not Santarilla," Joe broke in.
"Maybe, maybe
not." He took a deep breath as he continued. "Joe, it's certainly
your decision. . ." He heard the muffled sounds of a scuffle from the
stairway and immediately lowered his voice. This conversation didn't need any
additional ears. "Amanda and I just wanted you to have a clearer picture
of what you might be in for down there."
"I appreciate the
word of warning, I really do. But I've seen my share of tricky assignments over
the years." He smiled resignedly, his hand rubbing his eyes again. "I
can take care of myself."
"Then I'd watch my
back on this one if I were you."
"I will." He
let out a long breath. "Don't worry. I'm not looking to win a medal here.
If things look iffy when I get over there, I can always take the next plane
out."
"Hey," Carrie
interrupted rather abruptly as she hurried into the room with Amanda on her
heels. "Could I interest you two in some more dessert?"
"Uh, no
thanks," Lee said guiltily. His little discussion with Joe seemed to have
brought in reinforcements.
"Yeah," Joe
agreed, equally chagrinned. "We're just fine."
Lee caught Amanda's eye,
shaking his head slightly in response to her questioning look. She tried to
cover her exasperated sigh with a yawn, putting in hastily, "I hate to be
a spoilsport, but I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes open."
"Then I guess we
should hit the road," Lee added, rising as he caught her unspoken signal.
He was rewarded with a grateful smile as she called the boys to bid their
goodbyes. As he watched Amanda bestow a parting kiss on her ex, he found
himself wishing that Joe hadn't dismissed their concerns so lightly. The past
had a way of rearing its ugly head when it was least expected, he thought with
a sigh. It had colored any warning of Amanda's before it was ever spoken. Where
the EAO was concerned, Joe King only heard the housewife she had been, not the
agent she'd become.
Offering his hand, he
politely wished Joe luck with his new assignment. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Phillip slouched
sullenly across the arm of the sofa. "Hey, Chief," he called, tossing
the car keys in his direction. "You can drive me home."
"Seriously?"
Phillip replied, his eyes a mixture of excitement, disbelief, and awe.
He smiled at his
stepson. Phillip knew very well that he seldom, if ever, parted with the keys
to his Corvette. "Yeah, well, just
watch your heavy foot," he grinned.
Lee said goodnight,
Amanda eliciting a promise that they would, indeed, buckle their seatbelts.
They were just rounding the corner when he realized Phillip had never actually
told his father goodbye.