"Tell me that's over," Francie said. He noticed her pinch herself. "Oh, yeah, not a dream." She grinned as she leaned back in the seat.
Jack carefully merged onto the freeway as he said, "It wasn't that bad."
Laughter filled the car. "No, it wasn't that bad," she said when she recovered her breath. "You and Dad never drew pistols, and Mom stopped looking at you like she wished she could fire lasers from her eyes sometime after dinner last night."
He almost grinned; it had been a tension-filled long weekend. "At least I didn't have to take you to get stitches in your tongue."
She groaned. "Not for lack of trying on my part. I love my parents, Jack. A lot. However, more than twenty-four hours in the same house leaves me feeling like I want to strangle them or scream or both."
Laying a hand on his arm, she explained, "It's not just how they acted towards you that drove me nuts. Anytime I come home, they start acting like I'm their little girl again. Mom said she thought this shirt was too short--" Jack looked over to where just a hint of Francie's ab muscles peaked out beneath her top. "And Dad started asking me if I needed money in the midst of a 'Don't run a big debt' lecture. If they come to LA, they seem to remember that I'm an adult, but anytime I come back home--" She stopped and shook her head.
"You consider it home?"
Francie thought for a second and then nodded. "Yeah, I do. I mean Bobby and I both just lived in that house during college breaks, but it's where Mom and Dad are, so it's home."
Home. Family. Words, ideas, that were important to her. He'd always been aware of it, but the holiday had reinforced his awareness. It had also made him more aware of how important he was in her life. . .
Jack's wine glass was still sitting where he'd left it before following Francie out of the room. Chris looked older than he had just a few minutes before. Maybe it was the slump in his posture that made him look older.
"Jack," he said, "you're the only man besides Charlie that Francie's brought home. She never brought home any of her college boyfriends, no matter how many times we told her to invite them. When she brought Charlie home, she told me that brought him home to show that she was committed. When she was excited about Angie's offer for you to join us for Christmas, I knew she was committed."
Jack said nothing, letting Chris talk. What could he say? That he knew Francie's heart was committed? That he'd never meant to go so far with her, had never even meant to have a relationship of any kind with her? And could he honestly say that he was committed, too? He'd finished his drink and tried to ignore the voice inside that was screaming "Yes!"
"My daughter's committed to you, Jack. I don't know why. I don't like it. And I can't say what I'll do to you if you hurt her."
"I understand."*
"Hey," Francie said, rubbing her hand up and down his arm, obviously aware that his mind had been elsewhere. "It's over for at least another year."
"You don't think we'll be invited back until next Christmas?" he teased her.
"Nope," Francie said, shaking her head. "It'll take that long for Mom and Dad to recover. Besides, I doubt Bobby will be able to make it back before then."
"Their backup."
"Oh, yeah," she answered. "I'm waiting for the long letter from him to arrive any day now telling me why dating you is a bad idea."
He took her hand in his. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," she answered. "You're not the only one in the relationship, Jack. You don't make all the decisions. I chose to be with you."
He noticed a car in the rearview mirror and realized it had been following them for the last four miles. The style of driving told him that it was probably Security Section. "Jack?"
"Sorry," he said. "I'm watching the tailgater in the back." Fortunately, the car behind was driving on his bumper.
Later, he noticed Security Section taking a few photographs as he unloaded the trunk and helped her carry her luggage inside. As he watched her unpack, he thought about the man and woman sitting in the car across the street waiting for him to leave. They'd expect him to go home and unpack, and he knew he should.
But watching the lovely woman in front of him move across the room as she gently hummed to herself, Jack knew he couldn't. He was tired of it all. He remembered how it was with Laura--he wouldn't think of her as Irina. He'd shared far more than he should, and he doubted he could ever be that open with anyone again.
"Francie deserves to be with someone who can be honest with her."
"I knew she was committed."
"I chose to be with you."
But would she choose to be with him if she knew what she was sacrificing? Would she be happy even if she knew that people sometimes watched her movements because she was dating him? Could she be as committed to a man she knew was a spy instead of a banker?
He could never be the man he was in his first marriage. He could never share that much intel again about his movements and his choices, but he didn't want to be with Francie and have her not understand the dangers he faced or the possible threats to herself that dating him brought to her life.
"Let's go," he said.
Francie, in the middle of hanging a skirt that Jack knew her mother had also considered too short, looked over at him. "Go where?"
"For a drive."
"Jack, we just spent six hours in the car, and I'm really tired--"
"Francie," he said, taking a step forward. "I need to talk to you. But I don't want to do it here."
She turned away and finished hanging the skirt. "Okay," she said with a voice that was full of doubt and worry.
It didn't take him long to lose the Security Section detail--he often asked himself who was training these kids today--and as soon as he was out of the city, he picked up speed and made his way to a deserted hilltop. He'd met Sydney here a few times to discuss mission specs.
Francie looked around at the dry grass and electrical towers. "This is a little out of the way, isn't it, Jack? We could've just had coffee somewhere." He walked around the car and stood in front of her. She looked up at him. "What's wrong, Jack?"
"I'm not a banker, Francie. I don't work for a bank."
She stared at him for a minute and then laughed. "Of course you do; Sydney works with you."
He forced himself to look at her. It'd be so much easier not to look in her eyes, not to face the fact he was about to hurt her. "Yes, Sydney works with me, but she doesn't work for a bank."
Francie's eyebrows drew up in confusion. "I don't--"
"And Will's never been a heroin addict either."
****
She felt numb. It was the only word to describe what she was feeling. She knew she should be feeling more, but she couldn't. Jack's revelation on that hill had been outside anything she'd expected to ever hear in her life.
He'd been lying to her, which shouldn't have been a surprise. She seemed to attract the kind of men that lied. That wasn't a fair thought. Jack was nothing like Charlie, but right now she couldn't really see any difference.
Sydney had been lying to her, too. Lying for almost ten years. She'd smiled and told her story after story about bank meetings and interest workshops and poor little old ladies who had to file bankruptcies. And she'd believed her.
And Will. In some ways that hurt the most. His lie had made her doubt herself as a friend. She'd started examining everything he had said to her, everything he'd done, looking for an addiction that had only been an act. It'd saved his life, but it hurt like hell to know he'd lied to her about it.
"Francie," Jack finally spoke from the seat beside her. As usual, he was driving the car with magnificent control. She usually envied his ability to become one with the car. He'd never stopped too hard, never accelerated too fast. Perfect control.
Now she knew where he'd learned to drive so perfectly. Instead of driving school, he'd gone to Spy School. Sydney had gone there, too.
"You can't tell anyone what I said up there. You can't discuss it; you can't even hint that you suspect I'm not an ordinary banker. Do you understand me?"
"I understand, Jack," she snapped. It felt good to feel a little anger burning inside. Unfortunately it died too quickly. She didn't have the strength to maintain it.
"Do you? Danny simply made a phone call and left a message on Sydney's answering machine," Jack said with an unfamiliar urgency.
"Danny?" she whispered. "Oh, my God. Will's story. I'd forgotten that he'd mentioned Danny. They killed him?"
"Yes. Because he knew." She noticed how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel. "Do you understand, Francie? No one. You don't know who could be spying on you."
He stopped in front of her house, and she felt the seat belt press into her. Jack was nervous. He opened the door and offered his hand. Her knees were shaking but she managed to stand up and get out of the car. "Sydney should be home later tonight," he said as if they'd only gone for a Sunday afternoon drive in the country.
She noticed him glance across the street, and she knew they were being watched. How many times had someone sat over there watching her? Taking pictures of her. Jack escorted her to the door and leaned down to kiss her. She didn't even have the strength to return it.
Jack whispered in her ear. "I know you have a lot to think about, Francie, but whatever decision you make, I want to say 'thank you' for loving me."
He turned around and walked away, leaving her alone. She managed to open the door--Jack had already taken the key from her hand and unlocked it. Walking into the apartment she'd been living in for two years, she felt like a stranger.
She stumbled into her bedroom and sank down onto the bed. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. Sitting there thinking about everything Jack said, she cried.
Later, lying on the bed, she heard someone walking into the apartment. It took a minute to realize it was dark. She may have been asleep; she wasn't sure. She just knew that she hurt. Sitting up, blinking, trying to strain and see into the darkness, she heard Will and Sydney's voices. They were walking down the hallway towards Sydney's room.
"I guess they decided to stay another night. Francie said they might before they left," Sydney was saying.
"I can't believe Francie took Jack home to meet the parents," Will said in a jovial tone. "You know that means she's serious."
Francie heard a suitcase drop on Sydney's bed. She stood up and started walking towards the noise and the light. Maybe a few hours spent with friends--even if they were liars--would help her feel better.
"You did what?"
"You heard me," Sydney said. "I would've talked about it sooner, but you've been so busy with everything."
"Yeah, school's been murder this semester," Will said. "And trying to work out everything with Amanda's also been hard."
"I know," Sydney said. Francie heard the bedsprings squeak as Sydney sat down. "She had to have been furious to find out that your drug addiction was a lie." Francie gasped, shocked that they were talking so openly about the lies. "That was one reason why I tried to set Francie up with Lance. I thought she deserved better than all the lies."
"That's a little hypocritical, don't you think, Syd?"
"Yeah, it is," she answered. "Maybe it was my own guilt that was at work, too."
"How can you all talk about it?" Francie whispered from the doorway. She was angry that they were being so open. Hadn't Sydney learned anything when Danny died? What if Security Section was sitting outside now listening? "Someone could be listening!" she reminded them.
Will seemed to understand what she was meaning faster than Sydney. His smile was one of understanding and encouragement when he pointed at the lamp. "Bug killers in all the lamps in the apartment," he told her. "I asked the same question."
Sydney looked back and forth at them as if not wanting to believe her ears. "He told you?"
Francie nodded. "After we got home this afternoon. I've been in my room thinking all evening."
Sydney stood up and Francie noticed that her hands were clenched. "He told you."
"Sydney--"
"He told you." Sydney slid past her and out the door. In a few seconds, Francie heard the main door of the apartment slam shut behind her.