"Mom."
Amanda watched him back
away in stunned surprise, the package of cheese in his right hand dropping to
the floor with a loud plop. "I've been waiting for you to come downstairs
all afternoon," she continued in a low voice, ignoring his startled look.
"Get something to eat if you want, then sit down."
He bent over to retrieve
the package, shrugging as he resealed the airtight container. "I'm not
that hungry, I guess." Eyes glued to the floor, he cautiously bit his lip.
"I thought you'd still be at work."
"Then who were you
avoiding?"
"Grandma and
Jamie," he admitted reluctantly. "I just didn't want to. . . you
know. . ."
"I know," she
sighed. "Come on, let's go into the family room, it's more comfortable.
This straight chair is hard on my back."
"Do we have
to?" His foot tapped rhythmically against the floor as he folded his arms
across his chest. "I really just want to be alone right now."
"Yes, we have
to," she stated firmly. "It's time."
"Mom, please. .
."
"No, Phillip. I
left you alone when we came home from the police station Saturday night. I left
you alone all day Sunday. I left you alone after we met with your principal
this morning. But that's it. Come
on," she reiterated, putting an arm around his shoulder and guiding him to
the other room. "We're going to talk."
They sat in silence as
they both sought a comfortable position, Amanda drumming her fingers on the
sofa's sweeping arm, Phillip absently kicking the leg of the coffee table with
his foot.
"Where is
everybody?" he asked at last in a small voice.
"Grandma picked
Jamie up from basketball practice and took him for pizza and a movie."
"On a school night?"
Phillip squinted, slowly rubbing his forehead. "You must want to talk pretty bad."
"Yeah," she
smiled. "I guess so."
He looked down, picking
at the tweed design with his finger.
"Phillip,"
she continued, ignoring his reticence. "We have things to discuss, even if
it's only the logistics of your suspension." She shifted uneasily as the
nagging pain she'd been experiencing with some regularity for the last half
hour intensified. Refusing to acknowledge it, she forced her attention to the
problem at hand.
"Do you know how
lucky you are that your school is part of the new pilot program with the police
department?"
"It sure doesn't
seem lucky. A three-day suspension, probation and community service. . ."
"Is a lucky break,
trust me."
"But what am I gonna
do? I can't participate in extra-curricular activities for three months. .
."
"You could try
doing your homework, for starters."
"Yeah, right."
She struggled to hold
onto her temper as he leaned back against the couch, rolling his eyes in
typical teenage fashion. "Look, I
know this is about more than just one bad decision at a party," she tried
again with as much patience as she could muster. "This latest issue is
just a symptom. You've been upset for the past few months. I've given you some
space, hoping you'd come to me or Lee or your Dad about it. But I can't do that
any more."
Eyes fixed steadily on
his lap, he mumbled something, his fingers twisting the folds of his t-shirt.
"I couldn't hear
you."
"I don't know what
else you want me to say," he repeated, his voice still barely above a
whisper. "I already told you I was sorry."
"Well, you could
try explaining why it happened."
"I don't know. .
." He leaned away, chin on his hands as he rested his elbows on the arm of
the couch. "I didn't mean to. . .
it just. . . happened."
Amanda reached out,
laying a gentle hand on her son's shoulder. She felt him stiffen, but she
ignored it, instead giving him a reassuring squeeze. "How long has this
been going on? The drinking, I mean. Please, Phillip, tell me the truth,"
she added, her other hand rubbing the hardening knot in her stomach. Willing it
away, she patted Phillip's shoulder again.
He shifted suddenly,
meeting her eye, and said in a rush, "I haven't been drinking, Mom,
honest. Just this one time."
"Okay," she
said, letting out a deep breath. "I believe you. But you've been at other
parties where this stuff was going on."
Phillip nodded.
"Yeah. That night I missed my curfew. . . that's why Lee said I couldn't,
you know, hang out there any more. He was pretty mad."
"I see," she
said, things suddenly falling into place. The uncomfortable silences, her
husband's uncharacteristic reserve where Phillip was concerned. . . "He
should have told me," she murmured under her breath.
"I think maybe he
didn't want you to worry," Phillip muttered, glancing tentatively at his
mother before quickly looking away.
"Yes, I see that,
too." In spite of her distress, she found herself smiling, heartened by
Phillip's telling need to jump so quickly to Lee's defense.
"I didn't go there
to drink, Mom," her son continued with a sincerity she hadn't heard in a
long time. "I was meeting Christy and we. . . she. . . "
His hesitancy triggered
a new set of alarm bells. "You
what, Phillip?" she asked, not sure she was ready to hear the answer.
"She dumped
me," he said disconsolately.
"Dumped you?"
she echoed incredulously, trying to disguise her joy as she sighed with relief.
"Yeah. . . for a
senior. I thought we were. . . I mean, I was. . . I thought she really liked
me, the way I liked her. And there she was with this other guy. . . I was
really upset and, well, I had a few beers. I thought it would make me feel
better."
"Did it?"
"Not really. I was
just getting ready to leave, when all of a sudden the police were there. I
guess the neighbors called them."
"Must have been
some party," Amanda said softly, gently kneading her back.
"Yeah. Then things
got really crazy. A lot of the guys just took off," he confessed, catching
her eye before he looked away. "They got away. Some girls started crying,
and I. . . I didn't know what to do. When the officer asked me if I'd been
drinking, I was so scared, I just told him the truth. Jeremy said that was
stupid, I should have lied about it and then nothing would have happened. .
."
"Well, Jeremy was
wrong," she said, slowly shaking her head. "It's always better to
tell the truth. I'm proud of you for that." She reached out, gently
cupping his face, forcing him to look at her. "But not for the rest. You
told me you were going to Tommy's, but you went to Jeremy's instead, after both
Lee and I had told you it was off limits. You broke the trust between us. You
lied to me."
"I know,"
Phillip said softly. "But so did you, Mom. . . for a long time."
Amanda sucked in a
breath, chewing unconsciously on her lower lip. "There were reasons for
that, Phillip, reasons I've explained to you at length."
"But I don't
understand. If you say it's always better to tell the truth. . ."
"It's not the same
thing." She paused, fumbling over her words as she tried to explain again.
"You see. . . I took an oath, an oath of secrecy. . . at work. There were things I couldn't tell
you about."
"Yeah, but then you
and Lee got married and didn't tell us that, either," he muttered darkly.
"That didn't have anything to do with work."
"I've tried to tell
you why. . ." she began, then broke off, turning her head away. Through misty eyes she could just make out
the family photo on the mantle, the one taken on their first anniversary, almost
one year ago. They all looked so happy. It had seemed so right, their friends
and family gathered to bear witness to the promises they'd given voice to again
that day. She could almost forget that other solitary picture safely tucked
away upstairs in her dresser drawer.
As if not displaying it
could somehow undo the damage. Their elopement would always be a treasured
memory, but the very secrecy that had made that first ceremony so intensely
personal had just as effectively shut her family out of an important part of
their lives. Oh, it had seemed feasible at the time; she could still recite
every justification with unerring logic. But somehow, in the clarity of
hindsight, those same reasons sounded hollow. No matter how she looked at it,
the price of their mystery marriage had been too high. Two years later, they were still paying the
bill.
"You're right,
Phillip," she said suddenly, looking her firstborn directly in the eye.
"It was wrong. More than wrong, it was inexcusable. We should have told
you the truth. I'm sorry." She took a deep breath. "But that doesn't
give you license to do the same. Lying is wrong, no matter what. Can you
understand what I'm trying to say?"
"Yeah, I
guess," he mumbled. "But. . ."
"But what?"
"You guys lied
about the baby, too."
"Lied? Phillip, I
don't know what you mean. We never lied. . ."
"You didn't tell us
first," he blurted out. "Just like before. You never asked. . ."
"The decision to
have a baby is a personal one, between a husband and a wife," she said in
a low voice, frowning slightly as she drummed her fingers against the sofa
cushion again. "I'm sorry, Phillip, you just don't have anything to say
about it."
"But that's so
unfair."
"Maybe, but that's
the way life is sometimes. I'm sorry if you think that 'stinks'," she said
quickly before he could protest again. "I kinda think what you did this weekend 'stinks', too. But that
doesn't mean I don't love you, because I do." Leaning over, she gave him a
hug, adding in a quiet voice, "Very much."
"I love you, too,
Mom," Phillip whispered, returning her embrace. "And I'm sorry, I
really am."
Pulling back, she looked
at him closely. Smiling, she tousled his hair, the way she used to do when he
was small. She felt they'd at least made a small dent in their problems today.
Still, they had a long way to go. Phillip had issues about his place in their
family, feelings that he hadn't acknowledged yet, even to himself.
"Come on," she
urged, bestowing one last hug. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving.
Let's get something to eat. Life always looks better on a full stomach."
He nodded, smiling at
her almost shyly. "That's what Grandma always says."
"Well,
your grandmother's a wise woman." She smiled softly in return, nodding
towards the kitchen. "Let's go."
The familiar pain hit
her as she rose, beginning in her back and radiating around to the front.
Breathing roughly, she sat back down again, her hand automatically massaging
her belly.
"Mom, are you
okay?"
She closed her eyes,
blowing out shallowly through her mouth. There was no denying it this time. "I don't know."
"Mom," Phillip
cried again.
Hearing the panic in his
voice, she struggled to stay calm, but it was a losing battle. This couldn't be
happening now; it was way too soon. She felt the pressure of Phillip's hand
gently rubbing across her arm.
"It's okay,"
she intoned automatically, trying to think. "But. . . I think I need to go
to the hospital." She took a deep
breath, willing them both to relax as she exhaled slowly through her mouth
again. "Call an ambulance,
okay?"
"I'll take
you."
"Your grandmother
has the Wagoneer," she said doubtfully. "I don't think. . ."
"We can take the
'Vette, I can handle it. I know how to drive it - Lee lets me sometimes. I'll
be careful. Please, Mom, it'll be faster."
Amanda nodded slowly,
gritting her teeth as another pain seized her. "Okay, let's go."
Phillip helped her to
her feet, and she gave him a weak smile in return. He suddenly looked so grown
up, so confident; like his father. . . like Lee.
Lee. . . who'd been out
of contact for four days now.
Pushing those thoughts
away, she took another deep breath, leaning on her son as he helped her into
the low sitting car. The engine roared
to life, and Phillip quickly stepped on the brake, carefully easing down the
driveway. Her thoughts turned once again to the baby and to Lee. Shutting her
eyes tightly, she mouthed a silent prayer.
* * * * *
"No luck yet?"
"No," Lee
replied, clipping the walkie-talkie back into place. Frowning, his eyes swept the perimeter again. Everything seemed
quiet. Too quiet, he thought grimly; the uncomfortable lull before the storm.
He'd been feeling the
warning signs since daybreak. Something was off, something he couldn't quite
put his finger on. Of course, the nagging fact that Houdini was more than eight
hours overdue certainly wasn't helping matters.
"Okay," he
told Joe, "time to head out of here." Pausing, he reached into his
backpack, retrieving a spare gun. Snapping the ammo clip efficiently into place, he caught Joe's eye. "Here," he said gruffly, pressing
the weapon into the startled man's hands. "Do you know how to use
it?"
"I. . . I think
so."
Lee took the gun back.
"Safety off," he demonstrated matter-of-factly, "finger on
trigger. . .fire. Try to hit your target." Engaging the safety one more,
he thrust the weapon back at Joe. "Let's go."
"Go where?"
Joe asked again, clutching the gun with awkward fingers.
"South," Lee
replied curtly, reacting to the thinly disguised panic in Joe's tone. "Try
to work our way back towards the coast. It's our only shot. If we stay here
much longer. . ."
The bullets whizzed past
his head and he ducked reflexively, pushing Joe to the ground as a second burst
filled the air.
"What. . .who. .
." Joe began, trying to twist out from under Lee's weight.
"Shh," he
replied, putting a finger to his lips as he listened carefully. The thick
foliage distorted the sound of the gunfire, making it impossible to pinpoint. Ignoring
the sweat trickling down his spine, he pushed aside the tangled branches,
automatically scanning the trail. Eyes narrowing, he sucked
in a breath and reached again for the walkie-talkie hanging from his belt.
"Houdini, do you
read me?" His words were as clipped and harsh as the short staccato bursts that
had broken the tenuous silence moments ago. He glanced at his companion, grimly
shaking his head as he tried one last time. "Houdini, this is Scarecrow, come
in."
"You think they
got him, too?"
He shrugged,
frowning until a deep line formed between his eyes. "Don't count him out yet."
"You shouldn't
have come. If it wasn't for me, you'd be home with. . ." The words trailed off,
smothered in another explosion of gunfire. The bullets cut the air over their
heads, closer this time than before. He leaned in, instinctively covering his
companion like a human shield.
A stifled groan
came from somewhere beneath him.
"Are you. . ."
Static exploded
from the walkie-talkie, cutting short his question. "Houdini to Scarecrow,
Houdini to Scarecrow. Come in, Scarecrow."
Smiling in relief,
he quickly depressed the transmit button. "Houdini, we were beginning to think
this was one rabbit you weren't going to pull out of your hat."
"Just had a
slight difference of opinion with the locals, Scarecrow, but I'm ready and able
to take delivery on the package."
"We'll be right
there. Ten-four." He replaced the walkie-talkie on his belt clip, exhaling
softly as the rhythmic sound of the rotors announced the helicopter's imminent
arrival. "Come on," he urged, pulling
his companion from the protective cover of the underbrush. "If we can hear it, so can they."
Leaning heavily
on each other, they started down the trail. Another explosion filled the air as
the bullets pierced the ground in front of them, cutting off their escape.
"Damn,"
Scarecrow muttered, firing a volley of his own as he pushed them both behind a
fallen tree branch. He took a deep breath, speaking his decision before his
mind had fully registered it. "Go on ahead. I'll hold them off as long as I
can, then follow."
"No, Lee. You should
be the one to go. This is my fault; let me stay."
"There's no time
to argue about this," he shot back, returning fire as a fresh round of bullets
riddled the bushes beside them. "Head down the trail, Houdini should be just
over the hill. The code is Firefly. I'll be right behind you. Get going," he
ordered, his tone brooking no refusal as he broke fire to reload. He deftly
snapped the new clip firmly into place, right hand automatically steadying his
left. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught the look in his compatriot's eyes,
his younger stepson's face unwillingly taking shape in his mind.
"Get out of
here," he urged, a bit more gently this time. "Let me keep my promise."
His comrade
nodded. From his vantage point behind
the bush, Scarecrow watched him disappear, buying him time with a few
well-placed shots. Patting his back pocket, his fingers located the last ammo
clip. Enough to allow his injured companion time to reach the safety of the
copter, but not enough for him to follow. He snapped it in place with a
resigned sigh; nothing to do now but make a run for it.
He took off down
the dusty mountain trail, running blindly as he fired over his shoulder. He
heard the ever-increasing volume of footsteps behind him, the sturdy boots of
the rebel army pounding the ground. His inner voice spurred him on - only a
little further, down the hill and up over the next. Then home, his family, and.
. .
Gunfire sounded
again, and he felt the bullet graze the tip of his left ear. He automatically
tucked and rolled, sharp rocks jabbing him as he slammed into the ground.
Gravity took over, completing the painful slide down the small hill. "I'm sorry, Amanda," he thought sadly as the
blackness claimed him.