Lee yawned wearily as he
quietly closed the back door. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was almost
midnight. He hadn't realized it was so late. After his meeting had ended a few
hours ago, he'd gone for a drive, needing to clear his head before facing
Amanda. Bad news always took the long way home.
Exhaling loudly, he
dropped his jacket over the back of the chair, and, in answer to his stomach's
rumbling, opened the refrigerator. He
vaguely remembered eating something appropriately unappetizing earlier, but it
couldn't be called dinner by any stretch of the imagination. Although, at the
moment, his tired brain couldn't make heads or tails of what was passing for
food in his refrigerator, either.
The sound of muffled
breathing behind him immediately put him on guard. He whirled around suddenly,
his left hand reaching reflexively behind his back.
"Sorry," his
stepson muttered quickly, his eyes darting nervously to the floor. "I
didn't mean to sneak up on you."
"You usually
can't." Relaxing his stance, he casually returned his hand to the
refrigerator door, hoping Jamie hadn't picked up on his defensive posture. Even
though he no longer routinely carried a gun, the habits of his previous life
were still deeply ingrained. He gave
the boy a reassuring smile, adding with a yawn, "I must be more tired than
I thought."
"Mom left you some
dinner," Jamie said, pulling out a chair. "In the green
container."
"Ah, what was
it?" Lee asked, tilting his head slightly as he lifted the lid.
"Some kind of
chicken casserole, I think."
Placing the container on
the counter, he stole a quick glance at his stepson as he rifled through the
drawer for a serving spoon. Hunched over the table, he had rested his chin
somewhat plaintively on his hands as his foot rhythmically knocked against the
leg of his chair. In the low kitchen light, the boy looked considerably younger
than his fourteen years. Lee was suddenly reminded of the times he'd sneaked
into old Barney's kitchen at the Air Force Base looking for someone to talk to.
"So," he asked
kindly, indicating the well-filled dish on the counter. "Do you want some?"
"Sure, I could
eat," Jamie agreed readily. Looking at Lee to gauge his reaction, he added
in a low voice, "I guess I didn't have too much dinner."
Lee nodded his
understanding, dividing the food into two portions. Out of the corner of his
eye, he saw Jamie retrieve two Mountain Dews from their hiding place at the
back of the refrigerator. Raising his eyebrow, he caught Jamie's gaze.
"I won't tell Mom
if you won't," the boy grinned.
"That's a
deal," Lee laughed. Amanda had given him the appropriate lecture on the
evils of caffeine when she discovered he'd introduced Jamie to this particular
brand of soda on their camping trip last year.
Reheating the leftovers
quickly in the microwave, he joined Jamie at the table, setting the plates in
front of them. Opening the can of soda, he raised his hand in a quick toast
before taking a long drink. Smiling, he watched Jamie do the same.
"So, Sport,"
he began as he reached for some silverware, "what's keeping you up so
late?"
"I don't
know," Jamie shrugged, picking lightly at his food with his fork.
"Just stuff, I guess."
"Stuff about your
dad?"
"Maybe." The
boy took a deep breath. "I watched the news tonight at eleven; they didn't
say anything new."
Lee bit his lip.
"Maybe there wasn't anything new to say."
"Or maybe they just
can't say anything more."
Shaking his head, he met
his stepson's challenging look. He started to speak, then stopped himself,
putting his fork down slowly and deliberately. Resting his arms on the table,
he leaned forward. "How did you know that?"
"I didn't know for
sure," Jamie said in a small voice as he slumped back against his chair.
"It was just a guess. Mom was acting weird at dinner, so I had a pretty
good idea something was wrong."
"Weird, huh?"
Lee smiled ironically; his wife could pull the wool over a gaggle of Soviet
agents, but this bespectacled fourteen-year-old could see right through her.
"Yeah," Jamie
said solemnly. "She was talking all the time, and she kept giving everyone
seconds on green beans." He paused, looking directly at his stepfather.
"The last time she acted like that was the night she told us you guys had
gotten married."
"I see." Lee drew
a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He
retrieved his fork, silently returning to his dinner. He could feel the boy's
eyes on him as he ate, patiently waiting for him to finish. Jamie seemed to
understand instinctively that he would tell him what he needed to know in his
own time. One more trait that had been passed from mother to son, Lee noted
with a sigh.
Clearing his plate and
Jamie's, he retreated to the sink, rising them quickly before placing them in
the dishwasher. Amanda had commented a few times on his predisposition to use
the sink as a catchall, and, in view of his stepson's persistent gaze, this
suddenly seemed like the prefect time to heed her admonitions. He even took a
few extra minutes to make certain that Dotty would find the counter spotless in
the morning.
"Lee. . ."
Exhaling loudly, he
turned back to Jamie, folding his arms across his chest and he leaned back
against the sink. "There's really
not too much I can tell you at this point," he began, watching as Jamie
lifted his glasses slightly to rub the bridge of his nose. "We don't have
any official word on your Dad. That could be very good news. . ."
"But it could
be…" the boy paused, and Lee watched him set his glasses on the table,
carefully rubbing his eyes. "Lee," he said slowly, putting his
glasses back on as he looked him squarely in the eye. "Do you think my dad
is. . ."
"The only thing we
know for sure, son, is that he's missing," Lee explained carefully,
softening the truth as best he could. The situation from the Regional Section
Chief down there had been less than promising. "He could be a hostage, or
he could be. . ."
"Dead," Jamie
finished in a low voice.
"I was going to
say, he could be hiding, and just can't get word to anyone," Lee said
firmly. "The point is," he reiterated, coming over to put a
comforting hand on Jamie's shoulder, "We just don't know yet." That
much was true. Officially, they knew nothing. Unofficially. . . Lee sighed. Joe
King could very likely be dead, and it would be weeks or months before they
knew it - if ever.
Jamie nodded, his eyes
bright with tears as he examined the tabletop. "Why do you think he went
down there?" he asked suddenly. "I know you tried to talk him out of
it. Phillip and I heard you guys at Dad's house that night," he added
quickly as Lee started to protest. "If he knew it could be dangerous, why
did he go ahead and do it anyway?"
"I can't answer
that, Jamie," Lee said quietly. "I think that's something your dad's gonna
have to explain."
"I think maybe. . .
maybe it was my fault."
Lee looked at the boy
strangely. "Your fault? How so?"
"Remember last
year, when he couldn't take me on the Junior Trailblazer campout and you went
with me instead?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, I was
kidding Phillip that we won first place and he and Dad only won third,"
Jamie said, his finger working back and forth across the wood the same way his
mother did when she wrestled with a problem. "I think maybe Dad overheard
us and thought I didn't want to go with him."
Lee sighed, shaking his
head as he put a comforting arm around Jamie's slim form. Jealousy really was a
complicated monster. He and Joe should have worked harder to overcome their
personal issues instead of putting Jamie in the middle of them.
"Your dad knows you
love him, Jamie," Lee told him with all the assurance he could muster.
"He didn't go to Santarilla because of anything you did or didn't
do."
"Then why did he. .
."
Lee shook his head,
looking down at Jamie thoughtfully. He still saw things in black-and-white,
right-and-wrong terms. He hadn't lived long enough to know that sometimes
things were at best only a murky shade of gray.
"It's hard to
explain," he tried again. "Sometimes, even though people tell you not
to do something, you just can't stop yourself. Even if doing it hurts the
people you care about the most. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," he
said in a low voice. "Kind of like Phillip, huh?"
"Yeah," Lee
stated, patting the boy on the back again. "A lot like Phillip,
actually." He shook his head
sadly. "Come on, it's late. Time we hit the sack."
"Okay," Jamie
agreed with a long sigh. Rising, he followed his stepfather as he started
towards the stairs. Pausing in the hall entryway, he rested his hand on the
wall, absently fingering the polished woodwork. "Lee," he asked
haltingly. "Will you promise me something?"
"Sure, if I
can."
"If it turns out
that Dad is. . ." His finger trailed down, picking at a small sliver of
wood. "If something happens to him, just tell me, okay?" He took a
shaky breath, struggling to control the tremor in his voice. "I can take
it if I know you'll tell me the truth."
"Jamie, your mom
and I will always tell you the truth," he promised, walking over to where
his young stepson was standing. His eyes softened as he stared down at the boy.
"Tell you what," he began, silently observing the trace of a tear in
Jamie's eyes. "I'll go you one better. If you promise me to forget all the
nonsense about this being your fault, I'll promise you to do everything I can
to make sure your dad gets back here safely. Deal?" He raised his eyebrow,
extending his hand.
Jamie gave him a solemn
smile. "Deal," he replied, gripping his outstretched hand firmly.
"Okay, then,"
he returned, flashing Jamie a smile of his own. "Go on, get some sleep."
Nodding, the boy headed
for the stairs, while Lee turned off the lights and quickly followed. Jamie
paused for a moment, one foot on the bottom step, and looked tentatively over
his shoulder. Turning quickly, he threw his arms around his stepfather's
midsection, giving him a violent hug. Then, just as swiftly, he bolted for his
room.
Blinking to clear his
own eyes, Lee slowly mounted the stairs.