III

"oh my tender dreams i

gave them such fragile wings and i

sent them up to heaven

but heaven was just too high

and i watched them falter against the sky . . ."

Saturday, August 22, 1987

7:52p.m.

It hit me just as I reached the base of the stairs. Putting my hand on the railing, I closed my eyes and waited for the nausea to pass. This week, I promised myself. I'd make another appointment with the doctor this week. And this time I'd keep it.

Breathing deeply to settle my rebellious stomach, I glanced down at my watch. No wonder the house was so quiet; it was almost eight o'clock. Mother must be off to her bridge game with Mr. Johanssen by now.

I hadn't really intended to nap so long, but I couldn't seem to help myself. Lately, I was always exhausted, emotionally as well as physically. When I wasn't worrying about Lee, I was staying late at the Agency, using the back door I'd created into the computer to probe into the mysterious Arbaalk.

So far my efforts hadn't turned up anything concrete. When resources within our own agency had drawn a blank, I'd even attempted a global search on our outside servers, but to no avail. I was beginning to suspect that the name "Arbaalk" was nothing but a red herring. Some sort of code, most likely, used to cover the tracks of another organization.

That would definitely complicate matters. If I couldn't break the code, I'd have no alternative but to confront my section chief and demand that information he seemed to think I had a right to know. So far, only the knowledge that I'd most certainly be asking Billy to compromise his national security oath had held me in check. No, I couldn't in good conscience ask him to do that. Better to discover the information on my own and give him no choice but to confirm it.

I did feel more than a little guilty about "borrowing" Francine's access codes, though, especially since she was making an effort to treat me as a real partner. Our conversation that day in the ladies' lounge had marked a new beginning for us. At one time I'd even flirted with the idea of enlisting her help, but had ultimately decided against it. It was one thing to risk my own career, quite another to ask my partner to put hers in jeopardy as well.

My brief attack of "evening sickness," as I'd come to call it, finally passed, and I made my way into the den. The boys had left the room in disarray, their shoes on the floor, the Scrabble game they'd been playing strewn over the coffee table. I frowned as I started to pick up; I distinctly remembered asking them to clean up their mess before they left to spend the evening with their dad.

"You're finally up, I see. I thought maybe you were going to sleep the night away."

"Mother!" I exclaimed as I caught my breath. "I didn't realize you were home."

"Yes, well, I just didn't feel up to bridge tonight. Mr. Johanssen is a nice man, but he can be a trying partner. He can't seem to keep track of the cards." She studied me more closely. "You look pale, Amanda."

"I'm fine, Mother," I responded automatically.

"Mmm-hmm," she murmured, clearly not buying any of it. "Leave that mess and sit down. I'm going to get you a cup of tea."

Too tired to argue, I dropped down on the couch. "Joe came for the boys an hour earlier than scheduled," Mother explained from the kitchen. "Something about a change in the dinner reservations, I think."

I let out a small groan as I suddenly remembered. Joe's future in-laws were in town for the weekend, and he'd wanted the boys to meet them. "That's my fault, not his," I told her. "He called yesterday about the change in plans, and it totally slipped my mind."

"Yes, I've noticed how absent-minded you've been lately." Mother reappeared at my side. Pushing the Scrabble board aside, she placed a cup of tea and a small plate of soda crackers on the coffee table. Raising an eyebrow, she looked at me. "I thought they might help that queasy stomach of yours."

"Thanks," I croaked, then quickly turned away. I couldn't meet her eyes; they knew too much.

I felt the slight depression in the couch cushions as she sat down beside me. Resting her hand on my shoulder, she gave me a reassuring squeeze. "Amanda, you know how much I love you, don't you?" she began, her voice soothing and low. "You're my only child. I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

"I know, Mother." My voice shook as tears filled my eyes. "You've really been wonderful. I know I don't tell you often enough, but I couldn't have made it without you these past few years. Moving in here, helping me with the boys—"

"That helped me as much as it did you. After your father died, well, those boys gave me a new lease on life."

"Yeah, but they're older now," I murmured, almost to myself. "They don't tie you down as much as they did when they were little."

Mother laughed. "Trust me, darling, that was the easy part. Pretty soon we're going to have two full-fledged teenagers on our hands, and the fun will really start. Asking for the car keys, breaking curfew, hiding their best friends in our attic—"

"I was only eleven when I did that."

Mother's lips curved into a smile. "Yes, well, you always were a precocious child."

The room grew silent as our brief laughter died away. Shifting in my seat, I looked up at the ceiling, but there weren't any answers there, either. "You've given up so much of your independence to help me, Mother," I said at last. "You've earned the right to relax a little . . . travel, maybe . . . have some fun."

"Traveling isn't all it's cracked up to be." Mother smiled wryly. "Remember what happened to poor Edna Gilstrap when she took that Caribbean cruise? Let me tell you, Amanda, 'Montezuma's Revenge' is not a pretty sight."

I smiled in spite of myself. "No, I guess not."

"Sweetheart." Mother's expression grew serious, and she reached for my hand. "I've loved having the privilege of helping my grandchildren grow up. Every minute I've spent with them has been a treasure, and," she cast a significant glance in my direction, "if I was lucky enough to get the chance, I'd do it all over again."

I looked up into her eyes. There was no judgment in them, no reproach, just the same steady love that had supported me all my life. How strange that, in the end, that was my undoing. I'd held myself together through everything else—the hurtful recriminations Lee had thrown in my face, the cold emptiness I'd felt that morning when I realized he'd walked out, the awful uncertainty of the past few months. But the unconditional acceptance I found in my mother's eyes was simply too much.

I cried. Really cried, for the first time since Lee left. I couldn't seem to stop. The harsh sobs, torn from a place deep inside me, kept coming like unstoppable waves. I felt my mother's arms slip around me, holding me against her. "It's okay, baby, it'll be okay," she murmured over and over, all the while rocking me, just as she'd done when I was a child. I felt like a child again, crawling into that comfortable embrace, trusting that the woman who held me could make everything okay.

But I wasn't a child. And she couldn't make this right; only Lee could do that.

But, of course, he wasn't here. He'd left me. Oh, I had no doubt it was on Agency orders, but the end result was the same. I couldn't believe the irony of it. Once again, I had a husband who had put his career before his marriage. And this one hadn't even had the courtesy to discuss it with me beforehand, hadn't seen fit to give me the basic trust a husband owed his wife.

As I stiffened in my mother's arms, she let out a harsh sigh. "Oh, if I could get my hands on Lee Stetson right now, I'd wring his neck!"

We were in perfect agreement. "I'm afraid you'll have to stand in line," I told her, wiping the tears from my face as I pulled away.

Mother looked as if she wanted to say something, but somehow managed to restrain herself. She reached into her pocket, instead, and handed me a tissue.

"Thanks." I blew my nose and tried to pull myself together. "I'll be fine in a minute." Oddly enough, that was true. I was beginning to feel better already. Letting go like that was cathartic.

"Does he have any idea?" she asked, in a low voice.

I shook my head. "I don't even know for sure. I haven't actually seen a doctor yet."

"You know, Amanda, they do sell those home kits at the drugstore."

"I guess I'm too much of a coward to buy one. It could just be stress . . ."

Mother's eyebrows shot up as she fixed me in her gaze. I could see she didn't buy that line of reasoning any more than I did.

"This is my fault, not Lee's," I said, though why I suddenly needed to defend him, I had no idea.

Mother wasn't buying that, either. "I see," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "You did this all by yourself. That must be one for the record books."

I sucked in a harsh breath. "It's . . . complicated."

"Yes, it usually is. I take it that means you still haven't heard from him."

"No. I've been trying to locate him on my own, but every lead turns into a dead end."

I felt the gentle pressure of her hand on my knee. "Maybe it's time you asked for help then, from one of your government friends. That Mr. Melrose, maybe?"

"Yeah," I said, with a quick nod. "I think maybe you're right, Mother."

Though her words seemed to imply she knew the truth, I realized she was just whistling in the dark. The time for secrecy was clearly over, but I still couldn't find the words to tell her about my other life. I'd have to do it sooner or later, I told myself. She deserved to know the truth—just not tonight. I was simply too worn out to bare my soul any further.

Somehow Mother sensed my fragile emotional state. "I made a fresh pot of vegetable soup this afternoon." She tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear. "How about I get you a bowl?"

"Thanks." I was grateful she'd remembered. When I was pregnant with Jamie, her special vegetable soup was the only thing I was able to keep down, at first.

She headed into the kitchen, and I lay back against the couch. I'd have more to discuss with Billy than Lee's secret assignment, I thought as I rubbed my hand across my stomach in gentle circles. I'd have to come clean at work, too. There was too much at stake to keep up the charade. I'd just never imagined I'd have to do it without Lee by my side.

I heard my mother humming as she busied herself in the kitchen. As much as I dreaded the coming conversation, just the thought that she would soon know the truth filled me with enormous relief. To finally be free to talk about my husband without weighing my every word seemed a luxury beyond imagination. To actually be able to show her our wedding photo. . .

"Would you like orange juice or milk?" Mother called out, interrupting my thoughts.

"Orange juice, I think." For once food actually sounded appealing. "We could watch a movie if you want." It would be nice to spend a quiet evening relaxing with my mother.

Smiling, I started to pick up the mess the boys had left. Some people say they get their best ideas when they exercise, others while reading a book, or even pacing a room. Mine came as I was cleaning the coffee table, sweeping those damnable Scrabble pieces into the box. Selecting the tiles, I quickly spelled out the letters A-R-B-A-A-L-K.

My eyes widened. No, I told myself as the small squares glared back at me accusingly. No, it can't be. There had to be some other explanation.

But there wasn't. Without hesitation, I quickly switched the letters, my breathing quickening as everything fell into place. I did it once, twice, then one more time, just to make sure. But the answer was always the same. "ARBAALK," rearranged, spelled only one word, and that word filled me with terror.

The nightmare had started all over again.