"I think that's the
last one." Dotty groaned in relief, passing the small crystal dessert
plate to her daughter. "It's about time. You know, dear," she
continued, stretching out her back in an exaggerated motion. "We do have a
perfectly good dishwasher. Tell me again why we can't use it?"
"Because these
dishes belonged to Grandmother West and she always washed them by hand."
"Darling, your
Grandmother West washed everything by hand, including her unmentionables on an
antique washboard. I hate to disillusion you about a blood relation, Amanda,
but the woman was certifiable."
"Mother."
"When your forty
year old son believes he's Merlin the Magician, then the apple doesn't fall
very far from the tree, if. . ."
". . .You know what
I mean," they finished in unison.
"Your father had
the strangest relatives," her mother declared with an exasperated laugh.
Amanda smiled wryly.
"You're forgetting about Uncle Iggy."
"That's not the
same thing at all," Dotty retorted, hands on her hips in mock
consternation.
"Yes, Mother."
"Besides, he may
have been a nut," she laughed, returning her attention to the dishes,
"but he was my nut. I always had a soft spot for the man. I
remember one Thanksgiving. . ."
Amanda replied with an
absent nod, her gaze fixed on the window while Dotty rambled on about turkey
legs and wishbones. The night seemed darker than usual, her imagination
painting the shadows in the yard blacker and more sinister. Nights like these,
she half expected something to pop up out of the shrubbery. Or someone.
"Darling?" Her
mother's voice drifted over her. "Have you heard one word I've said?"
"Something about,
um, a drumstick recipe for Uncle Iggy?"
"Not exactly."
Dotty eyed her daughter suspiciously. "Amanda, dear, is everything
okay?" she demanded with sudden concern. "Did Mr. Melrose tell you
something when you went outside after dinner? That's it, isn't it? He's heard
from Lee. I knew it; something's wrong, something you can't tell me."
"No, Mother,"
Amanda assured her. "Lee made his check-ins. That means everything's
okay."
"I don't know how
you do it," her mother confided, the catch in her voice unmistakable. Amanda watched as she leaned against the
sink, aimlessly tossing the wrung-out dishrag from one hand to the other.
"How do you manage to stay so calm?"
"Some days are
easier than others." She sucked on her lower lip, nervously chewing the
edge. "This is the first time, isn't it?"
"The first
time?"
"That you've known
about the danger before it was all over." She let her iron control slip
just a little as regret softened her features. "The first time you've
needed to know. I'm sorry."
Dotty folded her arms
across her chest as she discarded the dishrag carelessly into the sink.
"Maybe I'm finally getting a first hand glimpse of why you kept your job a
secret for so long. I know this can't be easy for you."
"You know me,"
Amanda intoned. "Great in a
crisis, fall apart afterwards."
"That's not true at
all. I don't think I've ever seen you fall apart, Amanda. Not when Daddy died, not after the divorce.
. . the closest you ever came was that day in the kitchen, when we thought Lee
was de. . . well, you know. I think I'd feel better if you did just let it all
out. You keep everything locked up inside. Just like Phillip."
Frowning, Amanda shrugged, picking up the rag to
give the clean countertop another swipe. "That's because if I 'let
everything out', I just might start screaming." She clutched the edge of
the counter with her left hand, while her right scrubbed ruthlessly at an
imaginary spot. "Part of me is worried to death about Joe, down there all
alone facing God-knows-what. If something happens to him. . . well, I don't
know how the boys will deal with it. Me either, for that matter. But then there's
that other part – the one that wants to personally throttle him for going down
there in the first place and putting us all through this."
"Darling, what happened to Joe. . ."
". . .Is not his fault. I know that. He
didn't ask to be taken hostage, but the result is the same. Now Lee's down
there alone, without me to watch his back." She drew a deep breath.
"That's been my job for the last five years, and it's kind of hard to let
go. I should be there with him, instead of sitting here, out of my mind with
worry. If it wasn't for the ba. . . my condition. . ."
"Then I'd be at my wits' end about the both
of you," Dotty stated in a low voice. "Instead of just Lee."
"He'll
be okay, Mother." She sighed again, tossing the worn-out rag into the
trash. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her back, turning to catch her
mother's eye. "And he'll get Joe out of there. I have to believe
that." Her right hand absently massaged her stomach. "For everyone's
sake."
Dotty put an arm around her shoulder. "I'm glad
you invited Carrie today. The poor dear looked like a lost soul."
"The boys are part of her family now. I think it
did her good to spend some time with them. And it was good for the boys,
too." She smiled, remembering the
hopeful camaraderie of their holiday table. Patting her mother's hand, she
added, "Thanks for being so nice to Billy today."
"His winning personality must be growing on me."
Amanda leaned back against the sink, kneading her
stiff neck muscles with her right hand. "Mother, he's been a very good friend
to Lee – and to me. Billy and Jeannie both."
"He does have a
very nice wife," her mother answered wryly.
Amanda sighed. "You
won't give an inch, will you? I'm sure it's as much my fault as his that you
two started off on the wrong foot."
"Amanda, I don't
dislike Mr. Melrose. I just associate him with some unpleasant things I've
tried to forget and I. . .. hey," she called as Phillip thundered through
the kitchen. "Where's the fire?"
"I'm in a hurry,
Grandma. Have you seen my football jacket?"
"Where do you think
you're going?" Amanda inquired.
"Jeremy invited
some of the guys over," he said quickly. "I told you about it."
"That
was tonight?" She shook her head slowly. "I didn't think you meant
tonight, Phillip. It's Thanksgiving."
"Jeremy has people
over every year, Mom. His parents think it's fine."
"Well, that's
great, but I happen to think today is a family day."
"You told me I
could go," Phillip declared defensively. "You can't just take it
back."
"Phillip, I'm not.
. ."
"Please, Mom. You
promised. . . all the guys will be there."
"You mean Christy
Carlson will be there," Jamie said, wrinkling his nose as he came into the
room. "If it was just the guys, you wouldn't even care. They're a hot
item," he informed his mother and grandmother with a grin.
"Shut up, Worm
Brain," his brother threatened.
"Why don't you make
me?" Jamie shot back. "Besides, I thought you weren't supposed to go
to Jeremy's any more."
"What
are you talking about?" Amanda asked as Phillip finished the argument by
giving his brother a shove. "Boys, I've had enough of this," she
remonstrated as Jamie showed every sign of returning the favor. "Now
what's this about Jeremy?"
Jamie squirmed
uncomfortably as his brother fixed him in a lethal stare. "Lee told me I
couldn't hang out with him for a while," Phillip mumbled through clenched
teeth. "The night I got grounded."
"Why? Come on
Phillip," she prodded as he refused to meet her eye. "Lee must have
given you a reason."
Phillip shrugged,
suddenly inordinately interested in his shoelaces. Glancing at her mother who
seemed equally in the dark, Amanda pursed her lips.
"Jamie, would you
excuse us for a minute?" she said as she caught Dotty's eye. "I need
to talk to your brother alone."
"Come on,
Jamie," Dotty said, putting an arm around his shoulder. "Let's go pick out a movie to
watch."
Jamie nodded, shooting
Phillip an apologetic glance as he allowed his grandmother to steer him to the
family room.
"So," she
began in a quiet voice when the others were safely out of earshot. "Do you
want to tell me what's going on with you?"
Eyeing the floor,
Phillip traced a small square with the toe of his sneaker. "Nothing."
Ignoring his surly tone
and equally sullen expression, Amanda took a step towards him. "You know,
it's all right to be scared about your dad," she began, folding her arms
around him and pulling him into a hug. "Things will be okay."
He squirmed in her
embrace, but he didn't back away. "I wish you'd talk to me, Phillip,"
she urged, her voice low and soothing. "We used to be able to talk."
"I, um. . ."
She gave him a hopeful
glance, patting his back lightly, the way she used to do when he was small. He
seemed different somehow, his resolve softening, as if he was finally on the
verge of opening up. "Phillip," she murmured again, "tell me
what's wrong." She leaned closer, the baby shifting with her motion to
kick emphatically under her ribs. She felt Phillip stiffen in her arms and pull
away.
"Nothing's
wrong. I just wanted to go to hang out
with the guys at Jeremy's; it was no big deal."
Amanda straightened up,
a pain in her back causing her to flinch. She placed her fist solidly against
it, her knuckles pressing against the soreness. "I'm sorry, but until you
want to talk to me, you aren't allowed to go to Jeremy's."
"That's so unfair.
They're expecting me. . . what am I supposed to do tonight?"
She grimaced again as
the pain spread down and across her lower back. "You're welcome to watch the TV with us like we do every
Thanksgiving."
"I'll just go to my
room," he mumbled, pointedly looking away.
"If that's what you
want." As she watched her son
shuffle from the room, she couldn't help but remember last year's holiday
celebration. Her guys' unbridled enthusiasm over the Dirty Harry film they'd
elected to watch, her mother's pretended horror. It was their first
Thanksgiving in the Rockville house; after all the false starts, she'd felt
they were finally becoming a family.
Rubbing her back, she
headed into the family room, wishing for the hundredth time that day that her
husband was waiting for her on the sofa.
* * * * *
Lee's eyes followed the
swirling pattern on the dingy apartment wall. Stirring his food again, he
quickly jammed a bite into his mouth, grimacing slightly as the spicy sauce
burned his pallet.
"What's
the matter, Scarecrow?" Houdini laughed loudly. "Dinner not to your
liking?"
He hesitated as he
brought another bite to his mouth, eyeing it suspiciously as it hovered in
front of him. Wrinkling his nose, he tossed the fork on his plate in disgust.
"I really hate beans."
Houdini's laugh
punctuated the air.
"That's it. Laugh.
But a guy could starve to death eating this swill," he grumbled, rocking
his chair back and forth. "I don't know how you've survived here this
long."
"What were you
expecting, a home cooked meal? You know the field as well as I do."
"I guess my memory
has gotten a little hazy."
"You've just been
spoiled, sitting behind that desk of yours, eating 'three squares a day'."
"Maybe. It's odd,
you know, the things you miss." Lee chuckled softly. "The next time
my mother-in-law nags me to eat breakfast, I think I'm gonna do just
that."
"Breakfast - you are
getting soft, Scarecrow." Lee watched in disgust as Houdini popped the
last bite of roll into his mouth. "Best Thanksgiving dinner I've had in
years."
Lee smiled; looking at
John Piece was like viewing a distorted version of himself. He'd spent
countless holiday dinners just like this over the years, burying himself in a
case so he wouldn't have time to think about what he was missing.
Things were very
different now. Rising, he walked to the window, looking down at the scene
below. The dusty roads of the capital city of San Miguel were quite a contrast
to the well-paved highways of home, this year's meager dinner fare starkly
different from last year's feast in Rockville. A turkey big enough to feed an
army, the muted lights of the candles in their dining room, and his wife
smiling back at him across their table. He turned away with a sigh, catching his friend's curious eye.
"You know, maybe I
am soft at that," he told him with a knowing grin. "But I think I
like it."
Houdini shook his head,
placing a hand over his heart in mock agony. "Never thought I'd live long
enough to hear you say that. I remember back in - what was it – '81? We were in. . ."
"Germany."
"Frankfurt,"
Houdini reminded him with a sly smile. "There was that cute little blonde
and her sister, the one with the poodle – you couldn't have forgotten?"
"How could I?"
Lee grinned, crossing back over to the rickety dining table. "That damned
dog of hers ate the key to the safe deposit box and we had to sift through all
that. . ."
"Yeah. And you
couldn't find any rubber gloves." Houdini let out a rumbling laugh.
"Not exactly the memory I was talking about though."
Lee raised an eyebrow.
"Funny, that's all that comes to mind."
"Selective amnesia. . .
in some cases a good thing. When we get back to the States, I've got to meet
the woman who caused it."
Lee grinned, rolling his
shoulders helplessly.
"Well, Scarecrow,
look on the bright side – with any luck this should all be over in a few days,
and we'll get you home where you belong."
"Can't be soon
enough to suit me. I don't think I'll complain about riding a desk
anymore."
"I'll
believe it when I see it." Houdini began to clear the table, tossing the
dishes carelessly into the sink.
"Believe
it, my friend, believe it," Lee said with a grin, helping him remove the
last of the plates. They were old and chipped, just like everything else in
this town. Opening the small refrigerator, he grabbed a couple of beers.
"I've
done some checking," Houdini said gruffly, accepting the beer Lee offered
him. "Your friend, Carlos, seems to have the right connections. It's
possible he can do what he promised."
Lee
leaned forward, running a hand through his hair as he studied the wrinkled map
Houdini had spread out on the table. "Then everything's a go."
"Yeah.
He takes the supplies to the rebel army camp every week. Somewhere in
here." He pointed to a small speck. "This time he'll bring a few
bottles of wine."
Lee
grinned. "A very special vintage."
"Special
enough to keep the guards neatly distracted. You pick up the package and I'll
meet you. . . here."
Lee
felt Houdini's eye on him. "What?" he said cautiously. "You have
a problem with the plan, tell me now."
"Not
really. You're sure about using La Gaviota?"
"It's
not without its risks, but they got a friend of mine out of here a few years
ago when everyone thought he was dead."
"Something
about this Carlos still bothers me," Houdini said, scratching his head
with his index finger. "It all seems too neat somehow. These FMNL guys
would love to get their hands on an American agent, you know."
"Houdini. . . if
you're having second thoughts about this, you can cut out now. I'd
understand."
"And miss all the
fun?" he exclaimed, absently brushing his vest. "Besides, I promised
Billy I'd keep an eye on you. Make sure you don't pull some foolhardy stunt
you'll regret."
Lee gave a short laugh.
"That's usually Amanda's job. She's damn good at it, too.""
His friend smiled.
"That's what I hear.
Lee's reply was cut off
by the sound of distant gunshots. "Must be a few stragglers from the FMNL army," Houdini put in
quietly. "There's still sporadic fighting in places around the city."
"I
know. This forged truce is tentative at best. We need to get in and out of here
as quickly as possible. I know Carlos seemed a little skittish the other day
when we met him," he added, more to himself than his friend, "but
he's still our best shot. If there's a chance we can get Joe out, I've got to
take it."
"Why
don't you let me take it, Scarecrow? This could get sticky," he added
before Lee could protest, "and you're the one who has more to lose
here."
Lee
gave his partner a long look. "I appreciate the offer, but it has to be
me."
"Why?"
"Joe
knows me," he said, smoothing his hair again. "He'll trust me."
Houdini
let out a long breath. "Okay. But let's go over the contingency plans again, so
there aren't any surprises."
"Surprises
are part of our business, Houdini," he reassured him. "Besides," he added
sarcastically as he raised his beer bottle in a mock toast. "What could
possibly go wrong?"