Thursday, November 26, 1987

8:36 p.m.

The noisy television made a welcome racket in the den, where the men had gathered to watch the football game. From my vantage point in the doorway, I listened to their enthusiastic cheering as the favorite team scored. As Jamie's voice rose excitedly above the others, I was overcome by the strangest feeling of jealousy. It had been a long time since the walls of this house had reverberated with so much joy.

A soft hand touched my arm, and Carrie Reynolds, soon-to-be King, smiled. "I can't thank you enough for having us all over today," she said.

"You don't have to thank me," I murmured, springing into action again. "I was happy to do it."

Carrie followed me into the dining room. "You know, Amanda, you really do look wonderful. If I didn't know differently, at first glance, I'd never guess that you were . . . well . . . you know . . ."

"Pregnant?" I said, with a tense laugh. We'd managed to avoid the subject of the baby for most of the afternoon, but it was obviously on the tip of everyone's minds. "I guess big, bulky sweaters really do come in handy."

"I'm sure your height doesn't hurt, either." She blushed, focusing on the window, the cluttered table, the kitchen door—anywhere but my stomach. She was obviously embarrassed over my "situation," as her mother had so kindly put it earlier. I found myself silently screaming. Dr. Smyth's sacrosanct "need to know" didn't extend to Carrie's family, and the Agency's Director had strictly prohibited Joe from informing even his bride-to-be. I sometimes wondered if the man was taking some kind of perverse pleasure in keeping people in the dark.

Sighing, I offered Carrie a way out of the awkwardness that had sprung up between us. "My mother always told me being tall was an advantage. I never believed her back in junior high, though, when none of the boys would dance with me."

Carrie smiled. "My mother always told me that I was lucky to be so 'petite,' but I hated it when all the boys towered over me. Joe is just the right height. I suppose that's one of the reasons I was attracted to him."

I nodded. The two of them did look good standing side-by-side, as if they fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Carrie wore her light blonde hair very short, but it framed her pixie face perfectly, and her blue eyes fairly sparkled whenever she looked at Joe. I supposed there was some significance in the fact that he'd chosen a bride who was my physical opposite, but, after spending the better part of an hour on my feet, I was too tired to ponder life's complexities at the moment.

"You know, Amanda," Carrie confided pleasantly, "Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. I'm afraid when Joe and I set our wedding date, neither one of us gave much thought to today's dinner. It was so kind of you to include the whole family in your invitation."

"It wasn't kindness, it was a pleasure." I wished she'd stop thanking me; all this gratitude was giving me a headache. "The boys certainly enjoyed playing with your nephews," I said, changing the subject.

"I'm just sorry the twins had to leave so early. All this traveling has their schedules a little out of whack and my sister a little crazy."

"I remember the feeling. I had Phillip and Jamie so close together that there were times they seemed a little like twins. In some ways it was an advantage—they played on the same little league team, they were in the same Junior Trailblazer unit. Now . . . well, since Phillip started high school, things are different."

"I was the same way with my younger sister. But now we're best friends. And I'm just nuts about those boys of hers. I really do love children."

If this admission was supposed to reassure me somehow, it had the opposite effect. Acknowledging her with a short nod, I began to clear the table.

"I think my nephews will make adorable ring bearers," she went on, her words just a little too rushed. "At first I worried that they might be too young, but I really wanted them to be a part of my special day. It's wonderful to be able to share your wedding day with family."

"Yes, it is."

Carrie's face reddened. "I'm sorry, Amanda. I guess I can't stop putting my foot in my mouth, can I?"

I managed to smile. "It's perfectly okay. You're entitled to your happiness. Joe really is a great guy. I'm happy for you both."

I set about collecting the water goblets before she could launch into another descriptive of the wedding. This little party had been my bright idea, I reminded myself; I could hardly blame Carrie if the strain of maintaining my cover was getting to me.

Mother didn't seem to be faring much better in the kitchen with Mrs. Reynolds. She'd really done an admirable job of dodging the woman's questions all afternoon, but I could tell by the prickly tone of her voice that her patience was spent.

"You have such an interesting house," Carrie's mother said as I backed through the door, my hands full. "Your dining room is so unusual. I would have never thought to paint it gray."

"Yes." Mother managed to glare at me out of the corner of her eye. "I have to give Amanda credit for that. It was all her idea."

"Decorating class," I murmured as I placed the glasses on the counter. "The teacher was British."

Mother rolled her eyes and reached for a goblet. "You don't use your dishwasher?" Mrs. Reynolds inquired as we began the tag-team wash and dry we'd just about perfected.

I felt Mother's hackles rise. "No, we don't," I put in quickly. "Not for the good crystal."

"These place settings belonged to my grandmother," Mother elaborated in a pained voice. "The gold rims are hand painted."

"They're just beautiful, Mrs. West," Carrie said from somewhere behind me. "In fact, the whole dinner was perfect. Your homemade stuffing was delicious."

Mother nodded her thanks. "It's an old family recipe, dear. The trick is to add just a touch of ground sausage. And the correct mix of seasonings, of course."

Mrs. Reynolds sniffed. "We always put oysters in the dressing. My grandmother swore by it."

"Yes, I've heard that's very good, too." Mother glanced in my direction again. As I sent her a silent plea, she raised an eyebrow and curled her lips into a plastic smile. "Would you mind taking the pie out of the oven, Mrs. Reynolds? It should be warm enough by now."

I shuddered; my mother's tone was decidedly saccharine. "I'll do it," I began, but Mrs. Reynolds wouldn't hear of it.

"Nonsense, dear," she commanded, in a tone that implied she was used to being obeyed. "Sit down and rest. You must be worn out."

Mother nodded her approval, and I gratefully took the seat Mrs. Reynolds had vacated. "I guess I am a little tired," I said, fighting a yawn.

"All this must be hard on you." Mrs. Reynolds placed the pie on the counter to cool. "Especially with your . . . boyfriend . . . away. What is it he's doing, exactly? Phillip and Jamie didn't seem able to tell me."

Her manner clearly implied her skepticism that my boyfriend existed at all. Mother appeared on the verge of telling her exactly where she could go, pointed comments and all, so I informed her as glibly as I could, "He's making a documentary film for the government. He's on location at the moment, but we expect him home soon."

Mother cleared her throat and nodded at the refrigerator. "Mrs. Reynolds, would you mind getting the whipped cream? I'm afraid my hands are full at the moment."

I let out a relieved sigh as the woman dropped the subject. Though Mother and the boys had been thoroughly briefed on what to say to Carrie's family, it was obvious that they were still on somewhat shaky ground where our cover was concerned. I couldn't help but remember Phillip's point about lying, and I wondered what kind of message I was sending my sons.

Setting those thoughts aside, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the smell of roasted turkey and pumpkin pie. It reminded me of holidays long past, and my father's deep laugh ringing through the house as he carved the big Thanksgiving bird. I could hear its echo so clearly in the sweet voices of my sons . . .

"Cut it out, worm brain, or I'm telling!"

Their bickering startled me back to reality. As the boys burst into the kitchen, Philip declared, "I'm starving. Is it time for dessert yet?"

"In a few minutes." Mother caught his hand before he could swipe some whipped cream from the bowl.

Phillip grinned and glanced in my direction, his expression boyishly hopeful. "Then can I call Linda? I have to talk to her tonight. I promised."

"You guys have been on the phone all day," Jamie said before I could answer. "It's my turn now."

"As if anyone cares if you call." Phillip stuck out his tongue as they both made a dash for the phone. "Come on, worm brain, give it to me."

"No!" Jamie hugged the earpiece to his chest. "I told Jimmy I'd call him after dinner. He wants me to come over and see his new Nintendo game. His dad got him the 'Legend of Zelda.'"

I was about to tell him that Zelda would still be a legend tomorrow when Joe intervened. "That's enough, fellas." He pried the phone from Jamie's hands. "Besides, no one is going anywhere until after dinner. We still have your grandmother's famous pumpkin pie to finish off."

Phillip shot his brother a triumphant glance, but Jamie just smiled and shrugged. "Sure, Dad," he said, with a smirk of his own. "The phone's not working anyway. Phillip must have forgotten to hang up this morning."

"Phillip King," I admonished, "how many times have I told you make sure you put the phone back on the hook when you're finished?"

"Sorry, Mom."

"Well, you can be sorry for the rest of the weekend. You just lost your phone privileges until Monday."

"Thanks a lot, worm—"

Joe's stern look silenced him. "Phillip, why don't you go hang up the extension," he suggested, calmly ending the discussion. "And Jamie, why don't you help your grandmother with the dessert plates."

"Okay."

Phillip gave his brother a parting shove as he hurried from the room. Too exhausted to reprimand him again, I rested my cheek on my palm.

Joe approached the table. "You look tired, Amanda. Those two are certainly more than enough to wear a person out."

"At times," I agreed coolly, girding myself for battle. Ever since Joe had suggested that the boys might want to live with him, even polite conversation seemed suspect.

He cleared his throat then said in a low voice, "Don't you think you were a little hard on Phillip? Leaving the phone off the hook is hardly a federal offense."

I pursed my lips and counted to ten. "Maybe I overreacted a bit, but Phillip is perfectly aware of the telephone rules in this house and the reasons for them." I let out a sigh as Joe's friendly smile turned into a frown. "I'll talk to him about reinstating his phone privileges tomorrow when I get home from work," I conceded, not wanting the conversation to turn into a debate.

Unfortunately, Joe didn't take the hint. "The boys told me you've been putting in a lot of hours lately. Do you think that's wise?"

"My health is just fine, Joe, if that's what you're asking. It's better for me right now if I keep busy." I dropped my voice. "I just feel more in touch with Lee when I'm at work."

Joe leaned closer. "I still can't believe you told Phillip and Jamie that Lee is missing. It's obviously put them under a strain. They've been sniping at each other all afternoon."

"I said I wouldn't keep things from them anymore, and I intend to keep that promise." I fought to keep a conversational tone to my voice. "As for their behavior, it's pretty par for the course these days. They must police themselves when they're with you."

Joe looked as if he wanted to argue the point, but dropped the subject as Carrie sidled over to us. Drawing his fiancée to his side, he sniffed the pumpkin pie. "Everything looks absolutely delicious, Dotty."

"It really does," I agreed, thankful for the reprieve. "Mother's pie won first place at the Junior Trailblazer bake-off last year. The boys love it."

"I can't believe Phillip and Jamie still have room for pie after everything they ate at dinner." Carrie shook her head in disbelief.

"Oh, it's a perpetual state with those two," Mother said. "I'm starting to think they both have bottomless pits instead of stomachs."

Joe laughed. "You're just not used to having men around the house, Dotty."

As Mother shot him a warning look, he suddenly realized what he'd said. "I meant that Phillip and Jamie are both growing like weeds . . . their appetites are bound to follow suit."

I'd suddenly had more family than I could stand for one day. "Excuse me," I choked out as I pushed away from the table and headed for the back door.

"Amanda—"

"I'm fine, Mother," I shouted over my shoulder. "It's just a little stuffy in here, that's all."

Stepping out onto the patio, I slumped against the side of the house. "I'm so sorry, Dotty," Joe said, his voice tight. "I didn't mean to upset her."

"You should go talk to her, Joe." Carrie's tone was filled with concern. "You might be able to help."

"Maybe she needs some time alone." Mrs. Reynolds spoke so fast, her words overlapped. "All this talk of weddings must be upsetting, given her situation."

Mother's reply was lost as I moved away from the house. It was a good thing my service revolver was safely locked away in my bedroom; if I was forced to hear much more of this, I wouldn't be responsible for my actions.

Breathing slowly and deeply, I closed my eyes and let the comforting darkness envelop me. There was a nip in the air, and my arms soon turned to gooseflesh beneath my sweater. I hoped that Lee was someplace warm; nights in the desert could be cold this time of year. That is, if he was any place at all . . .

"Oh, Lee." The words escaped my lips before I could stop them. "Where are you?"

"Right here, Amanda."

I whirled, peering into the shadows. Something or someone stepped out of the mist, a phantom shape taking solid form right in front of me. "Lee," I whispered, half-afraid I was hallucinating. "Is that really you?"

"Yeah, it's really me." He certainly felt solid enough as he closed his arms around me. "I'm home, Amanda." He cradled my head, tangling his fingers in my hair. "I'm finally home."

All I could manage was a strangled "oh-my-gosh" before his lips closed possessively on mine.