Capt-Jacks-Bonnie-Lass & Midnightmuse: Thank you, both, SOOO MUCH for your wonderfully kind words! Midnightmuse, I completely understand the "pre-caffeine" state of mind – and, as I told my husband, it is truly the highest compliment I've ever been paid to have my chapters come before someone's coffee! (Professional accolades might be nice some day – although the stalling on my so-called professional career is another matter… however, truly no compliment could be higher than yours. Thank you.)
That last chapter was – difficult and wonderful all at the same time for me too. This one was mostly just a lot of fun. ;)
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Chapter Twenty:
The Joys of Parenthood…
At this point, I would love to be able to tell you that it was smooth sailing from there on out… however, over the course of the next couple of days, Emma and I had several lively discussions about what is (and is not) an acceptable volume for certain music. It seems that horrible screeching thing – something my darling little girl tells me is called "Diamonda Galas" – is a thing she actually enjoys. And here I thought that something so vile could surly only be reserved for annoying relatives, but no, no my little muffin likes it… Lucky me. I finally have to warn her that if I have to warn her one more time, I will to shoot the stereo – I'm not sure if she believes me or not… but at any rate, I manage to secure a bit of peace. It is, I assure you, temporary.
I discover, much to my chagrin, that Emma can't cook to save her life – come to think of it, Holly couldn't cook either… and try as I might… well, it's the blind leading the blind… the teacher isn't patient and the pupil isn't willing. What fun. It is only compounded by the fact that my dearest, darling little muffin just cannot grasp why it is I keep insisting that Pop Tarts are not a meal, I don't care what the box says about essential vitamins and minerals. Pop tarts – it doesn't even sound like food.
On Saturday, Emma and I head over to a local firing range – and – let's just call it an unmitigated disaster and leave it there, because the best I can say about the experience is that she doesn't shoot anyone – and neither do I.
Our trip to the grocery store goes about as swimmingly – see my previous comments regarding what is – and is not – real food. I'm the bachelor – she should be on my case about what goes in the fridge, not the other way around. I have to assure her that a bag frozen, microwaveable pizza rolls is just not an acceptable dinner, even if she promises to have a salad with it… especially when her idea of a salad turns out to be a wedge of ice burg lettuce with some dressing.
Which is when I start to really remember the – er – less sordid – details of that summer I spent with her mother (because I've tried to hang on to the pleasant memories as much as possible and just forget all the rest.) I know I've mentioned that Holly was a vegetarian – something I'm very glad Emma is not – well, Holly's idea of vegetarian cuisine was a packet of oriental flavour ramen noodles with some tofu hacked into it. Or a wedge of ice burg lettuce and some dressing… I think that by the time Emma and I leave the grocery store, I am ready to go back to the shooting range, although I at least part of my ire is focused on the smart-assed check out clerk who didn't card me for the wine, because he "never cards old guys." I honestly believe that may be Emma's only moment of true panic as she nearly breaks both our necks getting me out of the store.
So by the time Sunday rolls around and Em asks if she can take herself to a movie I more than cheerfully hand over a little dough and tell her to go have fun… and then I spend the next four and a half hours worrying myself into a new ulcer because I shouldn't have let her go alone. What if guys in ski masks storm the theatre – what if Suarez somehow figures out where I am and that I have a daughter and where she is – what if the Mexican government tries to nab her in order to force me to come back… ok, not likely. They're morons. De Jesus' people, however, are not. Hell – what if some garden variety psycho nabs her off the street? Of course, the later it gets, the more intense my fears become – I even start having visions of a certain Mariachi tracking her down… to do what I don't know. Maybe serenade her to death? (I mean, I know I'm not on El's Christmas card list or anything, but I honestly don't think he's the sort of guy to get to a person through their child… even if that person happens to be me.) And I suppose greeting Emma with a surly "Where the Hell have you been?" isn't the best way to welcome her in the door…
"I stopped by the mall – and got something for you!" She snaps back at me.
I only just barely catch the bag before it smacks me in the head… fortunately, it doesn't feel like anything hard… she's probably regretting not getting me a book… not that I can even begin to fathom why she's gotten me anything at all, not after the weekend we've been having… Emma huffs up the stairs just as my cell starts to ring.
"Yeah, what."
"And a cheerful hello to you too," Milo responds to my brusque greeting in entirely too chipper a tone. If he were here, I might be hard pressed not to at least threaten to shoot him. However, he is not here…
"Sorry. It's been another one of those days," I park my ass back on the sofa.
"This makes three in a row."
"I can count."
I hear him struggling to stifle his laughter – which doesn't do much to improve my mood.
"How's Mexico?" I inquire – mostly because I don't really want to talk about my day. (Yes, a part of my brain realizes I was over-reacting… by… there are just too many people out there who wouldn't hesitate to use Emma against me.)
"I believe that Suarez has finally gotten comfortable," Milo tells me.
"Oh?" Good news? Christ, I hope so.
"She had dinner with de Jesus last night – and breakfast with him this morning. I got it on film."
Oh hot damn, this is more like it… and of course I'm missing all the fun… not that I'd be much use on a steak out anyway… "Cool beans," I force myself to focus on the good part of the news – not on the fact that… that everything I've ever known really is over… "What about Collins?"
"He's laying low, going about his business – they tossed your apartment in Mexico City – carted all your stuff out in boxes."
Swell. Not that there was anything there I can't replace (number one rule, never take anything irreplaceable with you out on the job.) And, theoretically, I should be able to get it back, seeing as I'm still alive and kicking… I fish out my pack of cigarettes – empty. Of course, all that worrying I was doing earlier… and I'm just too lazy to get up and find another one. "And rumours of my death?"
"The clean-out suggests they've written you off – the boxes are marked to be sent back to the States – but I've got a guy inside who tells me Collins has been a little edgy seeing as there's no body to confirm the theory that you're pushing up daisies somewhere."
That image almost makes me smile (and what I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall when Collins hears of tomorrow's meeting…) but… "What guy inside?" Because I've been burned a few times too many lately…
"Someone I trust – and I know what you're going to say, Jeff. Ian's been on my team for a little over two years – and as far as the Company knows, he's just a computer tech who was transferred into Mexico a couple of weeks ago."
"You can make that happen?"
"With a little help."
"And you trust this guy? I mean really trust him with your balls kind of trust."
"Yes."
All right. I'll have to live with it – because really this is his operation – his operation to save my sorry ass. Life as I know it is over – because bravado aside, a blind man is not an effective field op. I really don't know what I'm going to do when this is over – Hell, maybe Eddas will decide that pain in the ass though I am (and damn proud of it, thank you, thank you very much – insert bad Elvis impression here, kiddies), she can use me in her office. Being some kind of investigator for the DOJ has got to be better than retirement (the irony alone will keep amused on those long cold nights when I'm wondering why I agreed to it.)
I know, I said I was saving for retirement and I have quite a tidy little nest egg, too… but retirement just sounds so… dull. I mean, really, can you see me on the golf course? Or God forbid, fishing? (Hey, you guys remember that opening scene to Crocodile Dundee 2… heh! Fishing with dynamite… ok, I could dig that – I'm just not sure what the DNR would have to say…probably nothing good. Yeah, like I'd care.)
"All right." I say to Milo after a substantial pause. Well at least with this new information on Collins and Suarez, I now know exactly how I'm going to play tomorrow's debrief... and oh to be a fly on the wall when word reaches Collins… that is truly enough to cheer me right out of the near-melancholy brought on by thoughts of a long dull retirement… (although I have to admit, with Em around, dull might be a wee bit of a subjective word…)
"So how's it going – really?" Milo wants to know.
What a good question… "Well, really – if she weren't my kid, I would have shot her – oh probably just about seventy one hours ago." That was just about the time I was settling into the pure bliss of the boys' Jacuzzi tub in the master bath… three feet deep, six feet long and a good three feet wide, with a sloped back and twelve jets… it was me, Mozart and a really big glass of exquisite shiraz…
Then the screeching started… Diamanda Galas. My Christ. And other people dig her too, not just my demented little muffin – I just cannot get over that.
Milo laughs at me (I have mentioned that if he was here, I might shoot him too, just on principal at this point – nothing fatal, honest – small caliber round in the thigh maybe. His boy won't be home until after the New Year – he'd be good to go long before then…)
"I'll check in with you late tomorrow," Milo tells me.
We both know I'll be at Langley all damned day… and Emma will be here… and I have to find some way to spend my whole day not worrying about her… Right.
"And hey – try to take it easy on the boys 'back home'," he adds.
"Like Hell."
I'm quite sure Milo is shaking his head at me, on the other end. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, Jeff."
"Ten-four, that, good buddy," (yup, trucker 'accent'); I hang up. And get a fresh pack of smokes. I take a few minutes to collect myself – and examine the gift Emma brought home for me – then I head up to her room.
The door is shut – and since she's let the cats roam free, I know it's closed against me (ask me if I care). There's music coming from inside – it is, however, at a tolerable decibel level (and identifiable as music – hmm… hard – thumpy – lots of bass. Pissed-off music? Yeah, I used to gauge Holly's mood this way too.) "Emma?" I raise my voice just loud enough to be heard over the thumping.
"Go away."
"Sorry, kiddo – I'm going to exorcise some of those parental rights and stay right here until you let me in."
And – I wait. About thirty seconds later, she yanks the door open. "Fine. Come in – stop –"
I hear her shove something out of my way… so at least she's not pissed off enough to want me to trip and break my neck (I've stopped using the cane in the house.)
"What do you want?" Emma inquires in a charming, soft, sweet little tone… and if you believe that, I've got a bridge I could sell you…
"I was worried about you," I tell her.
"I was only gone – what, four hours?"
"Four and a half hours."
"Thirty extra minutes. Sue me." (At moments like this, she really reminds me of her mother… Holly had absolutely no sense of time – if I said to meet me at six, she'd show up at seven and wonder why I was pissed – what's an hour? Christ on a crutch.)
"Your movie couldn't have lasted more than two hours," I snap right back. Although I am not raising my voice much above a civil tone – I am very sure that the extent of my displeasure is clearly audible.
"Hello – holiday weekend in DC and the public transit system? That tacks on over an hour right there."
Well, it's nice to know by her tone that she's lost her fear of me, even if I kinda wish I could get just a little bit of it back…
"You could have taken a cab."
"Oh please – that would have been worse. Besides, I'm a big girl, I can navigate the bus system. I did it in Philly – and in Boston – even in New York."
"You're fifteen –"
"Right – fifteen. Not five. I can figure out the buses without getting lost."
"It wasn't you getting lost that I was worried about."
"Look – I'm home – I'm fine. Quit worrying about me, ok? I can handle myself."
"You should have called if you were stopping off somewhere on your way back – then I wouldn't have worried." Liar.
"I don't have your number – and I don't have the number to the house – and even if I did, pay phones are going the way of the dinosaurs."
I'm swinging on the end of my rope… and this is clearly a no-win situation. Time for a new tactic: "Fine. I apologize. I'm going to be out most of the day tomorrow anyway – go get yourself a cell phone. And then pretend it's a part of your body – " I hear her begin to protest but cut her off, "Your phone is never to leave your person, savvy? And don't think I won't make random check-ins, just to make sure you've really got it on you," I warn her.
"Shelly – don't you think you're taking this whole parent thing just a little too seriously? Four days ago you barely knew I existed – "
My jaw clenches.
"Sorry."
She sounds sincere enough – but that still stung. Deep. But – I keep my mouth shut because nothing I say now will be contusive to anything.
I listen as Emma takes a breath – she continues in a much gentler tone, "The point is – four days ago I was just someone you thought about once in a while. I'm not a little kid, I know how to take care of myself. There were times – when Mom was – just too sick – so - I just – I don't need to be smothered to death. It's not personal. I'm just asking you to off a little – don't get all freaky and parenty on me, ok?"
"No. I will not lay off a little. This isn't some 'parent thing,' Emma – this is a 'your old man is a fucking spy' thing – there are a lot of people in this ol' world who would like very much to see me dead. Not one of them would hesitate to hurt you to get to me." Well, with the possible exception of a certain Mariachi… but he's in Mexico…
"We're not in some God-forsaken Third World Country. This is Washington D.C.! What could happen here?"
I find that my jaw and my fists clench up at that ludicrous statement; it is seriously taking every ounce of self control I have not to completely lose my temper. Washington Fucking D.C. – what could happen here? Who does she think she's talking to? Some fuckmook who doesn't know their ass from a hole in the ground…? "Emma. I have snuck in and out of the homes of Heads of State – both with and without – collateral damage," probably a better turn of phrase than 'blood bath' or 'body trail', although either would be far more accurate. "I've pretty much never been caught – and I'm not really the best in the field. So – with that in mind, just how hard do you really think it would be for some guy to get to you in a building as unsecured as a movie theatre? How about a whole slew of guys in ski masks with automatic weapons? Or even a – a guy with a guitar case full of guns."
"A guitar case full of guns?" She's probably questioning my sanity on that one…
"Never mind, my point is –"
"My point is that no one like that could possibly have known who I am or what I was going to see. You're the one with the t-shirt that has CIA written in big bold letters. I just look like any other bored teenager escaping from 'holiday frivolities' by going to a movie."
I doubt very much that she looks like any other bored teenager… but I have to concede the point that it's highly unlikely anyone has connected her to me… ok, I have to concede it to myself. I do not have to concede it to her. "Emma – just – humour me, ok? Get a phone. Keep it on you. Keep in touch. Then, I won't worry." Sands, you lie like a rug…
"Fine. I'll get a cell phone. Maybe you'd like me to get an electronic tether while I'm at it?"
"Don't tempt me." Yes, it is so good that my child doesn't fear me… really… I'm glad… honest…
She hmphs at me. Then, "So where are you going tomorrow?"
"I have an appointment at Langley – I have to debrief – which will probably take all frigging day. Don't expect me to be in any kind of good mood when I get back, either."
"And just how am I supposed to know the difference?"
I – almost – say something – but – no, she's smiling. Apparently my wit seems to have been passed along to her as well… isn't that just lovely, too?
"So did you even check out what I got you?" She asks – the edge has completely vanished from her tone.
"It's a t-shirt – but what does it say?" Because I could feel the letters – I just couldn't figure them out.
By Emma's giggling, I'm not real sure I want to know…
"'Never mind the Dog – Beware the Owner.'"
Ok – you know I'm smiling, "So – um – what's the occasion?"
"No occasion."
"Em – you didn't have to – go out of your way," I park my butt on the bed next to her.
"Yeah – but I wanted to. And – I kinda wanted to check out the mall anyway. But when I saw it – it just screamed your name. Oh – it's red with black lettering. Not that I think you ever cared how much your cloths matched, did you?"
"Very funny. How about we go out for dinner tonight?" I suggest – because mostly I've been cooking – or we've ordered in – all weekend.
"You sure you want to be seen in public with me?"
I just chuckle – usually that's my line. "Yes – I want to be seen in public with you. Although – if you ever get the urge to ditch the purple and blue," I tug at one of her longer locks, gently, "I know a real swell barber."
Emma laughs and gets up – sounds like she's rummaging around her closet. "I've been thinking about shaving it," she tells me over her shoulder.
"Shaving it? As in – bald?" Christ… is that any better?
"Not quite bald – but pretty short. You said I could get back into dance, right?"
"Yeah – sure – absolutely, if that's what you want. Just don't expect me to be real thrilled about broken toes, there Muffin."
She laughs at me – why is everyone laughing at me today?
"I've already had all but two break on me – it really wasn't that bad. Anyway – I don't think the purple and blue will land me the lead in anything – but if I shave it close, that'll be fine – and I won't have to worry about bunning it up or anything."
"What about the holes – Emma – what are you doing?" Because I'm hearing fabric move against skin…
"Changing my shirt – "
"Christ – Emma!" I'm up – tripping my way out the door… whatever she moved out of my way earlier, I apparently find it on my way out.
"What the –?" It sounds like she's got at least her head sticking out the door. "You ok?"
"I'm fine, but what's the matter with you?"
"What –?"
"You don't just change your shirt in front of a man! Especially when that man is – me!"
"Oh for crying out loud – Shelly – you can't even see me." (She sounds truly perplexed by my reaction.)
"I don't care! Are you dressed?"
"Almost."
"Jesus Fucking Christ – get back in there and don't come out until you've got some cloths on!" I turn my back on her and find my cigarettes. Christ on a crutch. "I'm your father! You don't just strip down naked in front of your father! Or any other man!"
"For all it's worth, I'm wearing a bra," Emma yells out the door… clearly she finds my reaction to her nudity quite amusing.
"As long as it's an ugly, frumpy, sport bra that covers half your body."
By her giggle, I doubt it… no, I just do not need to think about it… didn't her mother instill any sense of modesty… oh wait, Holly… the tree-hugger. She never thought it was at all weird to walk around the house in nothing at all… which wasn't a bad thing because she was my girlfriend. Out of my kid I expect a little more of a sense of propriety.
"I wouldn't have thought you were the modest type," Emma tells me, exiting her room.
"You're my kid!"
"Exactly."
"Emma –"
"Besides – it really isn't as if you can see me – what's the big deal?"
"It's the principle of the thing."
She just sighs – I'm quite sure she's shaking her head at me, too.
"Did your mother ever have boyfriends?" I ask her then.
"What?" she takes my hand and puts it on her elbow as we head down the stairs.
"Just – answer the question."
"A couple. Why?"
"And did you run around naked in front of them?" Because if she says yes…
"Well – Jim was a nudist – "
"Oh Christ. Forget I asked."
"Next thing you'll want to know if I'm a virgin." And I can tell by her tone she said that on purpose, because she knew what my reaction was likely to be… I'm surprised she didn't wait until I had a mouth full of wine or food – just to watch it spray all over the table. However, I'm sure my expression is sufficient…
"Yes, Shelly. Virgin territory. Fell better?"
Christ on a crutch – yes – but – I didn't really want to know either – I would have just assumed she was, because assuming is better for the health of any young man she ever presents to me… "Would you just call for a cab while I get Spencer's harness on – or are you trying to put me into an early grave?"
At the very least, we manage to get through dinner without incident…
………………………………………..
I wake from the icy grip of a nightmare with the sure knowledge that I'm not alone in the room… Spencer… no. He's here – but – there's someone else. My hand curls around the gun under my pillow… and I wait and listen…
"Shelly?"
Emma. At the door. Good girl.
"Yeah." I pull myself into a sitting position, raking my fingers carefully through my hair (so as not to disturb the mask). I feel like I've been run over by a Mack truck. "What time is it?"
"Five."
I reach for my cigarettes – and listen as Emma creeps closer. "You – should go back to bed –" I tell her; just because I don't think I'm going to be getting any more sleep tonight doesn't mean she shouldn't try to get some. I know it's more than the nightmares that have me feeling wound up tighter than a toy top. Today is the day… Eddas will be here at nine to pick me up and haul me out to Langley… although I have honestly (finally) convinced myself that it really isn't going to be in chains.
I feel her sit on the bed – and reach over to give Spencer a good morning pet – he's become as fond of her as I think she is of him. But – so far Emma hasn't said much to me… hmmm….
"You ok?" I ask – because I really cannot imagine the impact my nightly ravings must be having on her (and I haven't had the guts to ask). I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to get the Day of the Dead out of my head.
"I'm ok," she tells me in a soft voice.
I set the lighter back on the nightstand – and let my hand rest just a moment on that book… just feeling it under my hand elicits pleasant memories… painful comfort.
"Can I ask?"
"Hmm?"
"Peter and Wendy doesn't quiet seem your style."
I smile – we've had a couple of conversation about my reading habits (she saw those Braille books I bought when Milo took me shopping. Emma doesn't consider my reading 'light' either.) "It was a gift." I answer her as simply as I can.
"That's some gift."
"What do you mean?" I ask – it's not what she says, but the way she said it that has me perplexed.
"I could be wrong but – may I?"
I hand the book across to her; I can't help but remember Cicily's parting words to me, which is, I think, the only reason I don't mind letting Em have the book. Funny the things we become attached to.
"Um – there's a light on the nightstand – would you mind?"
"Right." Duh… unlike me, she has eyes… ergo, she must have light…
I listen as she flips the cover open – and – I swear, I hear the breath she lets out, a soft whew. It's several more moments before she speaks. "You've never seen this, have you, Shelly?"
"No – it was – given to me after –" I finish with a shrug.
"This is a first U.K. edition – Hodder and Stoughton, 1911."
Ok, this is one of those if-I-had-eye-lids-I-would-blink moments, here, kiddies… "I knew it wasn't a movie re-hash," I say. And of course I knew it was an older book – old books just have a certain feel – a certain smell about them. I just figured Beth had picked it up at a used bookstore – she seems the used bookstore type… what I told her is true, in a lot of ways she reminds me of Emma's mother.
"I thought it was old the first time I saw it – but – " I think Em finishes with a shrug, too – because she obviously respected my privacy enough not to go looking without permission, and that makes me smile. "Remember I mentioned Jim the nudist," she says, then, "He owns a used and rare book store in New York, that's how he and Mom met – and – I'd have to talk to him to find out for sure – but this – is probably worth a lot of money. It's in nearly perfect condition."
"There are things in this world more – valuable – than money," I tell her softly. Things like a little girl's hug… or angel's wings holding me in the dark… yeah, I miss them. But – but I can't go back. I'd rather have Beth hate for breaking a promise than to hurt her by keeping it. (I am doing the right thing, right?)
"There's – an inscription in the front cover – I can't read the first part of it – it's not in English – or anything I can even guess at. But it's dated 1922 – there's a second inscription under it – same language – 1941. Then 'to my Fanny, there is nothing sweeter than a daughter's love – 1960.' Then it looks like Fanny gave it to Elsbeth in 77. Then – last year, Elsbeth gave it to –"
"Cicily," I cut her off.
"Is that who you got it from?"
I just nod – I know what that language is that she can't read… I speak three languages… Cicily once said to me. At the time, I didn't want to ask her what the third was because I just wanted her to go away… now I would give almost anything to hear the sound of her voice again. My Christ, it seems like so long ago and it's barely been a month… I can almost smell Beth's garden – hear the tinkling water of her fountain… but – it seems as if bits of the memory are fading… how many steps was it again, from the bedroom to the kitchen? Was the pot wrack to the left or the right…?
"So who is she?"
"Hmmm?"
"Cicily."
Are you coming back soon? – I hope so – Me too… me too. Except – I've decided to break that promise…. No, you only decided to break your promise to Beth, the sneakier part of my mind reminds me…
"She's – just a kid," I tell Em, because saying out loud that she's a little angel – my little angel – that would just hurt way too much. "Her mother patched me up after the – after the Day of the Dead," that memory still makes me feel cold inside. "Cicily was reading to me – when we didn't get to finish, she wanted me to have it – " I had no idea it was some sort of family heirloom… but why do I believe Cicily knew exactly what she was doing… she's a very precocious seven, even if multiplying by big numbers messes her up…
"Where did you leave off, do you remember?" Emma asks me.
She can't be serious…
"Come on – I love this story," she coaxes, "And – I have never read it in the original – and this is really – a nearly perfect copy."
Sounds like my little muffin is a bit of a book nut too… ah well, it was one of the few things Holly and I had in common – even if our taste in books was far from similar. "What's your favourite part?" I ask Em.
"The Pirates, of course."
And – I really can't help but laugh…
Emma settles in next to me – it doesn't take us long to find where Cicily left off. I don't even realize I've got my arm draped across my daughter's shoulders until I'm quite certain we've been sitting this way for quite some while…
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Notes from real life: the check out clerk not carding old guys thing really happened to my husband and I – and while my guy isn't quite as well preserved as Johnny Depp – it did come as horrible a blow to his poor ego (and is something I continue to tease him about!)
Likewise with the salad conversation – my hubby and his brother insist that all you need for a salad is a wedge of ice burg lettuce and some dressing… Both myself and his brother's partner look at them in utter disgust as we start breaking out the field greens, vegetables, sunflower seeds, crutons, etc… although I should fess up – I spent six years as a vegetarian – in my "impoverished youth" (you know, I was a college kid) – and ramen and tofu was it most days...
Lastly, it'll theoretically be a little while before the next chapter – because theoretically we're painting this weekend! We had to put it off last weekend when the 'plague' hit the house… plague, common cold, same thing when you have a nine year old… ; )