Empire, pt.1
Category: Drama Time: after Lineage and before Prodigal Rating: PG-13 for some mild language and violence Disclaimer: all characters property of DC Comics, the WB, etc. Please don't sue the starving grad student. (
Art Sandoval carefully looked around the spacious lobby of the building in downtown Metropolis. At midday it was empty except for a bored- looking security guard sitting behind his desk, so Sandoval went ahead and rang for the elevator. Once inside, he pushed the button for the thirty- second floor, the very top of the expensive and exclusive Armory Building.
It was only the third time he'd been here, but every time he was awed anew at the kind of money it took to live in a building like this. The carpets were so thick you couldn't hear your own footsteps. The elevators glided soundlessly past floors of luxury apartments. In twenty years on the force he'd earned barely enough money to pay off his small house on the east side and keep food on the table. Now that he was retired, the private detective gig helped supplement his meager pension, but things were still tight. He doubted anyone in this building had ever had to choose between paying the mortgage and sending their kids to college. Hell, these people probably had other people to handle their bills (and their kids) for them.
The elevator doors slid open on the top floor. There was only one apartment up here, the penthouse. Art crossed the small private lobby to the double doors. A security camera followed his every move. Rich people were always hyper-conscious about security, but he didn't mind-if they weren't he'd be out of a job.
He knocked on the mahogany doors and after a moment they opened.
"Sandoval. You're late."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Luthor. Traffic was a bear."
He followed his client into the gigantic apartment. The glass walls on two sides on the living room showed a panoramic view of the city of Metropolis, bright and shiny in the sun. Amazing how clean everything looked from up here, Art mused. You'd almost think Metropolis was as nice as it looked on those picture postcards. But as a retired cop, he knew different.
"Don't let it happen again. I'm a busy man."
Sandoval knew the importance of humoring his clients, so he just smiled at the younger man. "It won't."
Lex Luthor crossed the room and gestured to Sandoval to follow him into the study. The wood-paneled room looked like it had been lifted right out of an English manor house and installed in this modern skyscraper. Which, knowing the kind of money the Luthors had to throw around, it probably had been.
"Bourbon, right?" The younger Luthor was pouring out drinks from a set of crystal decanters.
Art licked his lips. Everything around here was top of the line, even the alcohol. He happily accepted the glass and the chair Luthor offered him.
Luthor himself sat down behind the heavy desk and smiled.
"I take it you have something to report?"
"I do. You'll remember that the last time we spoke I told you that I'd put out some feelers but that it might take some time for anything to develop. In cases like this it's often a matter of the right person stumbling across the right bit of information at just the right time."
Lex shrugged. "You're the expert on locating people, not me."
Sandoval nodded-he'd worked Missing Persons for almost ten years. "I started with the possibility that Lucas Luthor did indeed die in early childhood."
Leaning back in his chair, Luthor put his feet up on the desk.
"But there's no death certificate. Right?"
"Right. No child with that name has died in Metropolis, or any other city, in the last twenty years."
"So my father lied. Hardly surprising."
Art didn't respond. Whatever problems Luthor had with his old man were none of his business. Still, seeing the young man's grim expression, Art was glad he'd only had daughters.
"It's possible the child may have died after being adopted, and is buried under a different name," Sandoval suggested. "But that would still be traceable in the public records, if you know how to look. And I do. So now I'm operating under the assumption that Lucas Luthor is alive but living under the name of his adoptive parents. And with the funds you so generously provided I was able to make some inquiries."
"And?"
"And last week one of my sources forwarded this." Sandoval reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper. He slid it across the desk to his client.
Luthor unfolded it and read it over carefully.
"What's 'Helping Hands, Inc.'?"
Sandoval took another swig of his bourbon. "It's kind of a clearing house for adoptees and biological parents trying to find each other. You send in your information on an application like this one, and they see if they can make a match with someone else."
Lex frowned. "I thought information on adoptions were sealed by the courts."
Art nodded. He knew the other man had made some inquiries on his own, but had gotten nowhere, even with all his money and influence. But he knew a few tricks Luthor didn't.
"They are. That is, you just can't walk in and find out who your birth parents are, and birth parents just can't walk in and find out what happened to their kid. However, if both parent and child agree to search for each other services like this can help them contact each other. Rachel Dunlevy wrote to nearly every one in the country, and posted all over the Internet, looking for her son."
"But she never got this?" Lex held up the single sheet of paper.
"Look at the date--this only came in about two months ago. After Ms. Dunlevy had been committed."
Lex re-read the paper, frowning. "And you think this might be him?" "The date of birth he gives matches the one Ms. Dunlevy posted in her searches. And he claims to have been born in Metropolis. I suppose his adoptive parents could have told him that much."
Luthor was silent for a long moment, rubbing the paper between forefinger and thumb. Sandoval couldn't tell what he was thinking, so he continued.
"If this is your half-brother, he was adopted by a family name Carter up in Central City. They named him Andrew Jacob, and he's going on seventeen years old. Old enough to start wondering about his birth parents, I guess."
"I suppose." Lex still looked thoughtful. "I want you to find out everything else you can about him. What sort of people adopted him, when, what he looks like." He reached into the top drawer and withdrew his checkbook. Luthor wrote out a check and handed it across to Art.
The ex-policeman took one look at all the zeros and nearly fell out of his chair.
Lex smiled. "See that part of it gets back to your source; we might need his or her help again if this lead doesn't pan out. Use the rest of it for your trip to Central City."
Sandoval sat back in his chair with a satisfied smile.
"I don't have to go to Central City."
Luthor regarded him with raised eyebrows. Art could tell he was mildly surprised. And more than a little annoyed.
"Oh, really? Enlighten me."
Art grinned. It was nice to have the upper hand with a Luthor, even if just for a moment. It wasn't something he ever expected to have again and he wanted to savor the moment.
"I don't have to go to Central City because the boy's living here in Metropolis." **************************************
"Clark? Did you get the pie on the counter?"
"Yeah, Mom." Clark let the screen door close behind him with a thump. He carefully balanced one of his mom's apple pies as he went down the porch steps.
His parents were already in the truck, and Clark squeezed into the front seat with them.
Jonathan Kent sniffed appreciatively.
"Wow, that smell good," he said hopefully.
Between her husband and son Martha Kent laughed. "Don't worry-I made an extra one for us. I just hid it until dinner so you two wouldn't demolish it.
Clark grinned. Now that she had a job his mom hadn't had much time for baking, and he and his father both sorely missed her muffins and pies. So did the Talon: Lana Lang had told him food sales were down now that they no longer featured organic apple pie on the menu. But his mom seemed happy, and Clark didn't want to ruin things by making her feel guilty.
"I'm sure the Winters will really appreciate it," he offered as they pulled out of the driveway and onto the country road. Instead of heading east toward town they turned west and passed through acres of cornfields. Finally they came to a dirt road and pulled into a newly cleared lot.
Standing on the porch of his half-built house, Jim Winters waved at them.
"Martha, Jonathan, glad you could come! And you brought Clark, too!"
"Place looks good, Jim," Clark's father nodded as his jumped out of the truck. The two men shook hands.
Mr. Winters glanced over his shoulder at the long, low structure. "I got the roof on before the snow flies, that's what counts," he chucked. "I figure I can work on the interior once the weather gets bad."
"I brought some dessert for you and Molly," Martha held out the pie with a smile.
"I'd say you shouldn't have, but I love your baking too much. Come inside and we'll have it with some coffee."
The Kents followed Mr. Winters into the house. Half unpacked boxes shared space with stacks of wood and rolls of insulation.
Molly Winters rose from her chair and smiled.
"Welcome, welcome! Come into the kitchen-I made Jim finish that room first so we could at least have someplace to cook dinner."
The new kitchen was spacious and sunny, with an east-facing window. Clark's parents oohed and ahhed appropriately over everything. Mr. Winters drew water from an urn on the countertop, explaining the house hadn't yet been hooked up to the city's water supply and they were still drinking well water. That wasn't unusual this far out of town; Clark's house had a well in the backyard. Jonathan had carefully boarded it up when Clark was little so he and Pete could play outside safely. Mr. Winters set the coffee brewing as Mrs. Winters served the pie. The five of them sat down around the table.
"Well, Jim, you said you'd build the house of your dreams and by god if you didn't do it," Jonathan laughed around a forkful of apples.
"And it only took me twenty years," the other man grinned. "But I figured if we waited any longer there wouldn't be any point in building. We got a fair deal on our old place, and we got the lot for a song because with the down slope it's too hard to farm."
"I helped put in the windows," Molly said proudly. "And my dad's out here nearly every weekend, too."
Martha patted her friend's hand. "I hope you're not overdoing it, Molly."
"I feel fit as anything, Martha, really I do. The dialysis is only once a week now, and Dr. Sims says I'm doing just fine."
"Her pop and I are looking out for her health, don't you worry," Jim grinned. "Diabetes hasn't slowed my Molly down one bit."
"Good thing, too, what with the extra hours Jim's putting in at Luthor-I mean, LexCorp." Molly laughed. "Can't get used to that new name."
"The young Luthor's got big plans," Jim explained. "Wants to expand, and I figure if I put in a little overtime now the bills won't stack up quite as high this year."
"Amen to that," Jonathan nodded. Clark knew his dad was thinking of his own stack of bills at home. His mom's salary was only now starting to make a dent in them, but it would be years before they were in the black again.
"Has Brody seen the new house yet?" Clark asked politely. Brody Winters had been a few years ahead of him in school, and was now down at Kansas State.
"Not yet, but he's excited about it, too. Wanted to come and help for a few weeks but I told him to focus on his studies," Molly smiled. "He still needs to keep his grades high so he won't loose his scholarship."
Like most local families, Jim Winters' job as a forklift driver and mechanic out at the plant didn't leave the family with a lot of extra income. Fortunately his only child had been smart enough to earn a scholarship to college. Clark crossed his fingers that when the time came he'd be able to do the same. He couldn't bear it if he made things more difficult for his folks then they already were. He owed them so much already--he'd only recently begun to realize how much.
His mother must have sensed his thoughts, because she patted his arm.
"If there's anything we can do to help, let us know, Molly. Clark and Jonathan and I would be glad to help."
"Oh, no, Martha, you must have your hands full working for Mr. Luthor. How's that going, by the way?"
"Just fine."
Jonathan frowned a bit as the Winters smiled politely. No one in town liked Lionel Luthor, and a lot of people were surprised Jonathan Kent had let his wife work for him. Of course, those people really didn't know Martha very well. Once she made up her mind about something she was unmovable.
Having recently learned why his father disliked Lionel Luthor so much, Clark knew why Martha's job bothered Jonathan so much. It had nothing to do with a lack of apple pies or even what other people thought. His dad didn't trust Lionel Luthor, for good reason. Clark was relieved that so far things were going smoothly enough. He couldn't stand it when his parents fought.
"Clark, would you like another piece? I forgot how you young men eat!"
At Molly's laughing exclamation Clark looked down at his now empty plate. He smiled, his face turning a little red as the adults around him laughed. He hadn't even realized he'd finished eating. But he was never one to look a gift horse (or extra dessert) in the mouth, so he held out his plate.
"Yes, please," he smiled.
************************************************
"A.J.! Get up-we're late!"
Catherine Carter pounded on the door to her younger brother's room until he stuck his head out the door. The kid blinked at her.
"Wha?"
"You must have hit the snooze button again-it's 7:45. And you've got a serious case of bed head."
"Oh, man!" A.J. groaned and disappeared back into his room; she could hear him frantically tossing clothes around in the search for something to wear. She hoped he at least found something clean.
In the kitchen she hastily filled two tall travel mugs with hot coffee. When her brother emerged, in rumpled clothes and with his backpack slug over one shoulder, she gave him one.
"Breakfast of champions. I'll drop you at school before I go to the hospital. You should just make homeroom."
Taking a long draw from the mug, A.J. nodded. "Thanks." He grimaced. "Mornings like this I sure miss Annie."
His sister laughed at the mention of their parents' housekeeper and cook. "Yeah, well, I'm sure she doesn't miss kicking us both out of bed every morning. Maybe she can finally sleep in." She grabbed her keys from the bowl on the table and her own bags and followed A.J. out into the hall and down the stairs. She unlocked her car at the curb and tossed her things in the backseat.
A.J. was still waxing rhapsodic. "Remember when Annie would make waffles? Or those little crescent roll things with all the melted butter?"
"Yeah, cholesterol is not in that woman's vocabulary."
"Spoken like a newly-minted doctor, Cate. Hey, can I drive?"
"No way." Catherine went around to the driver's side while her brother reluctantly climbed in the passenger seat.
"You never let me drive," he grumbled.
"Because I don't want to die."
A.J. opened his blue eyes widely. "Excuse me, who was it who taught me how to drive?"
"Yeah, yeah, shut up about that already. You sure you got everything?"
The boy patted his backpack. "Packed last night, right after Mom called. She made me promise to make things easier for you now you're a, and I quote, 'single mother.'"
"Did Amber really call me that?" Catherine laughed. "Just think-I got the responsibility of a kid without any of the fun part first."
"Gross." A.J. made a face. "Anyway, I probably saved us, like, a whole five minutes."
"I'm impressed," his sister grinned, turning the key in the ignition. "Now let's see if I can live up to my temporary parental responsibilities and get you to school."
As the car engine roared to life in the cold air they pulled away from the curb. In the morning rush neither of them had noticed the car parked across the street, or the telephoto lens that had captured their every move.
Category: Drama Time: after Lineage and before Prodigal Rating: PG-13 for some mild language and violence Disclaimer: all characters property of DC Comics, the WB, etc. Please don't sue the starving grad student. (
Art Sandoval carefully looked around the spacious lobby of the building in downtown Metropolis. At midday it was empty except for a bored- looking security guard sitting behind his desk, so Sandoval went ahead and rang for the elevator. Once inside, he pushed the button for the thirty- second floor, the very top of the expensive and exclusive Armory Building.
It was only the third time he'd been here, but every time he was awed anew at the kind of money it took to live in a building like this. The carpets were so thick you couldn't hear your own footsteps. The elevators glided soundlessly past floors of luxury apartments. In twenty years on the force he'd earned barely enough money to pay off his small house on the east side and keep food on the table. Now that he was retired, the private detective gig helped supplement his meager pension, but things were still tight. He doubted anyone in this building had ever had to choose between paying the mortgage and sending their kids to college. Hell, these people probably had other people to handle their bills (and their kids) for them.
The elevator doors slid open on the top floor. There was only one apartment up here, the penthouse. Art crossed the small private lobby to the double doors. A security camera followed his every move. Rich people were always hyper-conscious about security, but he didn't mind-if they weren't he'd be out of a job.
He knocked on the mahogany doors and after a moment they opened.
"Sandoval. You're late."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Luthor. Traffic was a bear."
He followed his client into the gigantic apartment. The glass walls on two sides on the living room showed a panoramic view of the city of Metropolis, bright and shiny in the sun. Amazing how clean everything looked from up here, Art mused. You'd almost think Metropolis was as nice as it looked on those picture postcards. But as a retired cop, he knew different.
"Don't let it happen again. I'm a busy man."
Sandoval knew the importance of humoring his clients, so he just smiled at the younger man. "It won't."
Lex Luthor crossed the room and gestured to Sandoval to follow him into the study. The wood-paneled room looked like it had been lifted right out of an English manor house and installed in this modern skyscraper. Which, knowing the kind of money the Luthors had to throw around, it probably had been.
"Bourbon, right?" The younger Luthor was pouring out drinks from a set of crystal decanters.
Art licked his lips. Everything around here was top of the line, even the alcohol. He happily accepted the glass and the chair Luthor offered him.
Luthor himself sat down behind the heavy desk and smiled.
"I take it you have something to report?"
"I do. You'll remember that the last time we spoke I told you that I'd put out some feelers but that it might take some time for anything to develop. In cases like this it's often a matter of the right person stumbling across the right bit of information at just the right time."
Lex shrugged. "You're the expert on locating people, not me."
Sandoval nodded-he'd worked Missing Persons for almost ten years. "I started with the possibility that Lucas Luthor did indeed die in early childhood."
Leaning back in his chair, Luthor put his feet up on the desk.
"But there's no death certificate. Right?"
"Right. No child with that name has died in Metropolis, or any other city, in the last twenty years."
"So my father lied. Hardly surprising."
Art didn't respond. Whatever problems Luthor had with his old man were none of his business. Still, seeing the young man's grim expression, Art was glad he'd only had daughters.
"It's possible the child may have died after being adopted, and is buried under a different name," Sandoval suggested. "But that would still be traceable in the public records, if you know how to look. And I do. So now I'm operating under the assumption that Lucas Luthor is alive but living under the name of his adoptive parents. And with the funds you so generously provided I was able to make some inquiries."
"And?"
"And last week one of my sources forwarded this." Sandoval reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper. He slid it across the desk to his client.
Luthor unfolded it and read it over carefully.
"What's 'Helping Hands, Inc.'?"
Sandoval took another swig of his bourbon. "It's kind of a clearing house for adoptees and biological parents trying to find each other. You send in your information on an application like this one, and they see if they can make a match with someone else."
Lex frowned. "I thought information on adoptions were sealed by the courts."
Art nodded. He knew the other man had made some inquiries on his own, but had gotten nowhere, even with all his money and influence. But he knew a few tricks Luthor didn't.
"They are. That is, you just can't walk in and find out who your birth parents are, and birth parents just can't walk in and find out what happened to their kid. However, if both parent and child agree to search for each other services like this can help them contact each other. Rachel Dunlevy wrote to nearly every one in the country, and posted all over the Internet, looking for her son."
"But she never got this?" Lex held up the single sheet of paper.
"Look at the date--this only came in about two months ago. After Ms. Dunlevy had been committed."
Lex re-read the paper, frowning. "And you think this might be him?" "The date of birth he gives matches the one Ms. Dunlevy posted in her searches. And he claims to have been born in Metropolis. I suppose his adoptive parents could have told him that much."
Luthor was silent for a long moment, rubbing the paper between forefinger and thumb. Sandoval couldn't tell what he was thinking, so he continued.
"If this is your half-brother, he was adopted by a family name Carter up in Central City. They named him Andrew Jacob, and he's going on seventeen years old. Old enough to start wondering about his birth parents, I guess."
"I suppose." Lex still looked thoughtful. "I want you to find out everything else you can about him. What sort of people adopted him, when, what he looks like." He reached into the top drawer and withdrew his checkbook. Luthor wrote out a check and handed it across to Art.
The ex-policeman took one look at all the zeros and nearly fell out of his chair.
Lex smiled. "See that part of it gets back to your source; we might need his or her help again if this lead doesn't pan out. Use the rest of it for your trip to Central City."
Sandoval sat back in his chair with a satisfied smile.
"I don't have to go to Central City."
Luthor regarded him with raised eyebrows. Art could tell he was mildly surprised. And more than a little annoyed.
"Oh, really? Enlighten me."
Art grinned. It was nice to have the upper hand with a Luthor, even if just for a moment. It wasn't something he ever expected to have again and he wanted to savor the moment.
"I don't have to go to Central City because the boy's living here in Metropolis." **************************************
"Clark? Did you get the pie on the counter?"
"Yeah, Mom." Clark let the screen door close behind him with a thump. He carefully balanced one of his mom's apple pies as he went down the porch steps.
His parents were already in the truck, and Clark squeezed into the front seat with them.
Jonathan Kent sniffed appreciatively.
"Wow, that smell good," he said hopefully.
Between her husband and son Martha Kent laughed. "Don't worry-I made an extra one for us. I just hid it until dinner so you two wouldn't demolish it.
Clark grinned. Now that she had a job his mom hadn't had much time for baking, and he and his father both sorely missed her muffins and pies. So did the Talon: Lana Lang had told him food sales were down now that they no longer featured organic apple pie on the menu. But his mom seemed happy, and Clark didn't want to ruin things by making her feel guilty.
"I'm sure the Winters will really appreciate it," he offered as they pulled out of the driveway and onto the country road. Instead of heading east toward town they turned west and passed through acres of cornfields. Finally they came to a dirt road and pulled into a newly cleared lot.
Standing on the porch of his half-built house, Jim Winters waved at them.
"Martha, Jonathan, glad you could come! And you brought Clark, too!"
"Place looks good, Jim," Clark's father nodded as his jumped out of the truck. The two men shook hands.
Mr. Winters glanced over his shoulder at the long, low structure. "I got the roof on before the snow flies, that's what counts," he chucked. "I figure I can work on the interior once the weather gets bad."
"I brought some dessert for you and Molly," Martha held out the pie with a smile.
"I'd say you shouldn't have, but I love your baking too much. Come inside and we'll have it with some coffee."
The Kents followed Mr. Winters into the house. Half unpacked boxes shared space with stacks of wood and rolls of insulation.
Molly Winters rose from her chair and smiled.
"Welcome, welcome! Come into the kitchen-I made Jim finish that room first so we could at least have someplace to cook dinner."
The new kitchen was spacious and sunny, with an east-facing window. Clark's parents oohed and ahhed appropriately over everything. Mr. Winters drew water from an urn on the countertop, explaining the house hadn't yet been hooked up to the city's water supply and they were still drinking well water. That wasn't unusual this far out of town; Clark's house had a well in the backyard. Jonathan had carefully boarded it up when Clark was little so he and Pete could play outside safely. Mr. Winters set the coffee brewing as Mrs. Winters served the pie. The five of them sat down around the table.
"Well, Jim, you said you'd build the house of your dreams and by god if you didn't do it," Jonathan laughed around a forkful of apples.
"And it only took me twenty years," the other man grinned. "But I figured if we waited any longer there wouldn't be any point in building. We got a fair deal on our old place, and we got the lot for a song because with the down slope it's too hard to farm."
"I helped put in the windows," Molly said proudly. "And my dad's out here nearly every weekend, too."
Martha patted her friend's hand. "I hope you're not overdoing it, Molly."
"I feel fit as anything, Martha, really I do. The dialysis is only once a week now, and Dr. Sims says I'm doing just fine."
"Her pop and I are looking out for her health, don't you worry," Jim grinned. "Diabetes hasn't slowed my Molly down one bit."
"Good thing, too, what with the extra hours Jim's putting in at Luthor-I mean, LexCorp." Molly laughed. "Can't get used to that new name."
"The young Luthor's got big plans," Jim explained. "Wants to expand, and I figure if I put in a little overtime now the bills won't stack up quite as high this year."
"Amen to that," Jonathan nodded. Clark knew his dad was thinking of his own stack of bills at home. His mom's salary was only now starting to make a dent in them, but it would be years before they were in the black again.
"Has Brody seen the new house yet?" Clark asked politely. Brody Winters had been a few years ahead of him in school, and was now down at Kansas State.
"Not yet, but he's excited about it, too. Wanted to come and help for a few weeks but I told him to focus on his studies," Molly smiled. "He still needs to keep his grades high so he won't loose his scholarship."
Like most local families, Jim Winters' job as a forklift driver and mechanic out at the plant didn't leave the family with a lot of extra income. Fortunately his only child had been smart enough to earn a scholarship to college. Clark crossed his fingers that when the time came he'd be able to do the same. He couldn't bear it if he made things more difficult for his folks then they already were. He owed them so much already--he'd only recently begun to realize how much.
His mother must have sensed his thoughts, because she patted his arm.
"If there's anything we can do to help, let us know, Molly. Clark and Jonathan and I would be glad to help."
"Oh, no, Martha, you must have your hands full working for Mr. Luthor. How's that going, by the way?"
"Just fine."
Jonathan frowned a bit as the Winters smiled politely. No one in town liked Lionel Luthor, and a lot of people were surprised Jonathan Kent had let his wife work for him. Of course, those people really didn't know Martha very well. Once she made up her mind about something she was unmovable.
Having recently learned why his father disliked Lionel Luthor so much, Clark knew why Martha's job bothered Jonathan so much. It had nothing to do with a lack of apple pies or even what other people thought. His dad didn't trust Lionel Luthor, for good reason. Clark was relieved that so far things were going smoothly enough. He couldn't stand it when his parents fought.
"Clark, would you like another piece? I forgot how you young men eat!"
At Molly's laughing exclamation Clark looked down at his now empty plate. He smiled, his face turning a little red as the adults around him laughed. He hadn't even realized he'd finished eating. But he was never one to look a gift horse (or extra dessert) in the mouth, so he held out his plate.
"Yes, please," he smiled.
************************************************
"A.J.! Get up-we're late!"
Catherine Carter pounded on the door to her younger brother's room until he stuck his head out the door. The kid blinked at her.
"Wha?"
"You must have hit the snooze button again-it's 7:45. And you've got a serious case of bed head."
"Oh, man!" A.J. groaned and disappeared back into his room; she could hear him frantically tossing clothes around in the search for something to wear. She hoped he at least found something clean.
In the kitchen she hastily filled two tall travel mugs with hot coffee. When her brother emerged, in rumpled clothes and with his backpack slug over one shoulder, she gave him one.
"Breakfast of champions. I'll drop you at school before I go to the hospital. You should just make homeroom."
Taking a long draw from the mug, A.J. nodded. "Thanks." He grimaced. "Mornings like this I sure miss Annie."
His sister laughed at the mention of their parents' housekeeper and cook. "Yeah, well, I'm sure she doesn't miss kicking us both out of bed every morning. Maybe she can finally sleep in." She grabbed her keys from the bowl on the table and her own bags and followed A.J. out into the hall and down the stairs. She unlocked her car at the curb and tossed her things in the backseat.
A.J. was still waxing rhapsodic. "Remember when Annie would make waffles? Or those little crescent roll things with all the melted butter?"
"Yeah, cholesterol is not in that woman's vocabulary."
"Spoken like a newly-minted doctor, Cate. Hey, can I drive?"
"No way." Catherine went around to the driver's side while her brother reluctantly climbed in the passenger seat.
"You never let me drive," he grumbled.
"Because I don't want to die."
A.J. opened his blue eyes widely. "Excuse me, who was it who taught me how to drive?"
"Yeah, yeah, shut up about that already. You sure you got everything?"
The boy patted his backpack. "Packed last night, right after Mom called. She made me promise to make things easier for you now you're a, and I quote, 'single mother.'"
"Did Amber really call me that?" Catherine laughed. "Just think-I got the responsibility of a kid without any of the fun part first."
"Gross." A.J. made a face. "Anyway, I probably saved us, like, a whole five minutes."
"I'm impressed," his sister grinned, turning the key in the ignition. "Now let's see if I can live up to my temporary parental responsibilities and get you to school."
As the car engine roared to life in the cold air they pulled away from the curb. In the morning rush neither of them had noticed the car parked across the street, or the telephoto lens that had captured their every move.