The Untruth Told

(2/5)

Evil is whatever distracts.

Franz Kafka

- Palo Alto, California

Jenn looked up to see Sam walking across the coffee shop with their tray full of goodies and smiled. There was a part of her that was a little worried about him, but she hesitated to mention it. She knew that he was just as euphoric about their up-coming wedding as she was, but something inside of her – something that watched too many romantic comedies for her own good – was starting to believe that he was unconsciously sabotaging their preparations.

When she first confided her fears to her best friend and soon-to-be Maid of Honor, Regina, she tried to laugh it off but ended up sobbing. After a half-gallon of rocky road ice cream (and promises to start spending an extra hour or two at the gym each week until the big event), Regina had convinced her that Sam's behavior was that of a typical male.

"Basically," Regina had said, "men just don't know how to multi-task the way we do. It's nothing personal, Jenn. Sam is trying – he really is. But, men often need someone to remind them of the details and timetables and things. Sure, he can keep it all straight at work, but most men only have a one-track mind. And unfortunately, wedding plans are in a whole different station!

"I mean, just look at Jack (Regina's brother and Sam's fellow class-mate). When he got married, I think he would have forgotten his own name and Elizabeth's if the priest hadn't announced them during the vows."

It made her feel better at the time, but looking down at the mock-up of their wedding program, Jenn felt her confidence waning. This was the third time – the first being their invitations and the second their save-this-date cards – that she had the correct the same mistake. She couldn't understand why Sam kept leaving out letters in Marilyn's name. Why did he keep writing his mother's name as 'Mary'?

Since Sam's family lived halfway across the country, Jenn had only met James and Marilyn a few times. But, she and her future mother-in-law hit it off well and they took to e-mailing one another like high school girl friends.

As an only child with a mother who frequently traveled and a father who put work above all else, Jenn found comfort in the conversations she had with Marilyn Winthrop. And, she had a feeling Marilyn felt the same. Why, Marilyn had even become her most valuable wedding consultant, next to Regina.

Sam only had one sibling, an older brother, who uncharacteristically ran off and married his girlfriend in Las Vegas. Jenn knew that Marilyn counted on Sam's marriage as her last chance to be Mother of the Groom in a big family wedding. And, as her own mother was practically estranged, the two women latched on to one another with ease. Maybe that was part of the reason Jenn found the mistake so upsetting.

"OK," Sam said as he sat down with the tray on his lap and began emptying its contents to the small open spaces scattered around the table, "What did I do now?"

"What?" Jenn asked and looked up at him, grinning despite her inner turmoil when she saw the look on Sam's face. He was looking at her with his honest-to-goodness, puppy dog eyes that never failed to make her slightly home-sick for the basset hound she had while growing up. It continued to amaze her how quickly Sam could discern when he was in trouble, or 'in the doghouse' as it were.

"I know that look," he said, "and I know I've been getting it a lot lately. Are you still upset that I spaced out before?"

"No, it's just…" I'm not going to chicken out, I'm not going to chicken out…

"That I forgot the napkins," Sam finished for her, incorrectly thinking that she had been looking at the tray still in his hand and not merely unable to meet his eyes. "I'll be right back," he said with a smile and was out of his chair before she could respond.

I chickened out.

Sam walked back toward the counter, replaced his tray, and began taking some napkins from the basket amid the sugars and creamers. One of the coffee shop workers started to hand him a drink over the counter.

"Here you go," she told him, "half-caff double vanilla latte."

"Huh? Oh, I'm just getting napkins; that's not mine," he told her. She apologized and called out the drink order louder than before to gain the correct patron's attention.

"Half-caff double vanilla latte! Francis, your latte is ready!"

Sam couldn't quite figure out why but he was suddenly struck with an odd sense of déjà vu.

-----

- Lawrence, Kansas

"Well," Maria said, "if you boys don't need anything else, your waitress is officially off for the night and I'm going up to get ready for bed."

"Thanks honey/Mom," came from the three men sitting around the table, playing poker. She had to agree with her husband; it warmed her heart when her boys were home. And, although Drew and his wife had already returned to their own home across town, their two college boys were staying with them for the long weekend.

She couldn't help but smile to herself as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. The evening had gone off perfectly, as evidenced by John nearly tossing the bowl of salad to the floor. Had it not been for Mark's quick reflexes… well, lettuce is just not the easiest thing to vacuum out of carpet and Maria was grateful that it did not become an issue.

Her nighttime routine had been the same nearly all of her life – change to her nightgown, wash her face, brush her teeth – and it was easy to let her mind wander. She began replaying the every detail of the evening in her head, from the moment John came home and called out to her, to stealthily keeping him from entering the dining room too soon, to the look on his face when she knew he had been completely surprised. She laughed to herself as the video in her mind rewound and played, rewound and played, rewound and played.

John's face had lit up when he looked around the table.

"You didn't think that we would miss an opportunity to celebrate your birthday, did you?" Drew, their oldest, smiled while holding Cassidy's hand. John couldn't help but look at his daughter-in-law's other hand resting on her belly. From the looks of it, it would not be long before two more Winchester men arrived.

"Yeah, Dad, all Mom had to do was mention cake…" Shane, their middle child, was the first to leave their family. Yes, Drew had gone to a small local community college, but Shane took things a giant leap further and got into the law school at the University of Missouri-Kansas City. His studies kept him very busy and it had become increasing common to get a call or e-mail from him rather than see him face to face.

"And don't think I didn't hear that comment about not seeing me in the high school hallway. I only graduated last year. I think you might be getting a little sentimental in your old age."

Wait a minute, Maria thought to herself. She replayed the scene in her head – John used to joke that she her memory wasn't photographic, but more like a video. And, it was true; she could replay, rewind, and fast-forward her mind to retrieve events in almost perfect detail.

For no more than a second – something she did not register as she was too caught up in the moment – John had looked at their youngest son as if he was a stranger. And then, as quick as the look appeared, it was gone. Replaced with knowledge and familiarity.

A bit bewildered, Maria continued on with her internal-movie. The conversation had been lively and full of laughter. Drew and Cassidy told everyone how close they were to completing the nursery for the twins, and how much more they needed to finish before they felt their home was 'baby friendly'. Shane had talked about the classes he was taking and how he met a girl, Tess, who he had gone out a few times. Mark…

There it was again. That anonymous stare given to over-friendly visitors or outsiders, but not to sons. She couldn't figure out what had gotten into her husband. His smile came so quick and easy when talking with Drew and Shane, but each glance to Mark began with hesitation before dissolving into a grin.

All through dinner and dessert – every time it was the same. John would turn to Mark as if surprised by his presence and then a mere second or two later he would break into a grin, or a smile, or a laugh.

Maria frowned, then closed her eyes and fell into an uneasy sleep filled with dreams of her husband forgetting their third son completely.

-----

- Cape Girardeau, Missouri

"All right, everyone," Carrie made the general announcement to the newspaper staff, all of whom seemed to have finished their portion of the Dean Winston special and were now leaning back in their chairs lazily, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we have to get back to work… reporting the bad news."

There was a collective groan from the workers, though whether it was because their break was now over or because of her bad joke, she wasn't sure. Man, she thought, Dean's humor is rubbing off on me – and that's not necessarily a good thing.

She looked over at her husband, watched as he cleaned up the remains of the meal, boxed up some of the left-overs, and chatted with Rena, Tom, and a few reporters. He may not have been the most 'Hallmark cards and a dozen red roses' romantic guy, but he made up for it with his practical but thoughtful gifts and strange schemes – like today's smorgasbord lunch even after she forgot to pick up their daughter from school.

And, just as her smile was starting to falter with the thought, Dean looked over and gave her a wink and a grin. There were just some days when she felt she didn't deserve him. And many more days when she felt she didn't deserve such an amazing daughter. But of course, she also didn't feel that she could be given much credit for the way Abby was turning out. There were only two things that Abby inherited from her mother: a head full of thick, dark curly hair and a propensity for being a complete daddy's-girl.

Carrie Robins was born into the newspaper business. Her father, the paper's founder and original editor-in-chief, used to bring her to work with him at least once a week for as long as she could remember. She began working at the paper when she was fourteen, started editing columns at sixteen, and had her own column by eighteen. She continued working long hours and moving up the ranks until her father retired a few years back – of course, he still writes an occasional story and comes in to check on his two babies.

It had been a long-standing 'joke' with the town gossips that Carrie would never meet anyone, let alone have a relationship, because she lived and breathed the newspaper. They would often giggle in the diner across the street and comment loud enough for her to 'overhear' that the paper would eventually fall into non-Robins hands because she would never have an heir to leave it to.

It was on a particularly terrible afternoon, one where nothing went as it should have, that Carrie unwisely took a break and went across the street for a coffee and some fresh air. Unfortunately, gossip must have been in short-supply because, from the moment she stepped through the doors, the loud whispers that all began with 'that Robins girl' filled the otherwise quiet room.

It didn't take long for Carrie to become infuriated. She had just turned around to face the old women and had taken a deep breath to begin ranting and raving when he walked in. Even with the dirt and oil that painted his clothes and skin, he was strikingly attractive – and perhaps his grimy appearance added to his working-man, calendar pin-up appeal. All eyes were on him the moment he was through the door, and he took it in stride, almost as if he expected nothing less. His scan of the room ended with Carrie, who was suddenly completely embarrassed at what she must look like, and he walked up to her.

"Hi there," he said with a warm smile on his lip and in his eyes, "I don't suppose you could point me in the direction of a good mechanic around here?"

And the rest, as they say, was history. She had, indeed, been able to tell him the very best mechanic in town (an old friend of her father's) and, not only pointed him in the direction, but walked with him as she didn't trust herself back at the diner with all of the gossips.

Dean Winston had only planned on passing through, but his stay went from a day to a week to a month… and all the while, he made sure to see Carrie almost daily. They dated; he eventually asked her to marry him, and a year after their nuptials, all of the town gossips had to put an end to the 'jokes' about a Robins heir.

In fact it was Dean himself who put those jokes to rest. At their one year anniversary party, after they made the announcement that Carrie was expecting, one of her fellow reporters brought up the question of Carrie's name. Why, even after a year of marriage, did her nameplate and bi-line still read 'Carrie Robins'?

"Because she will always be Carrie Robins," Dean said without a moment's pause. "I may have been lucky enough to talk her into marrying me, but I'm not going to be responsible for taking away the last Robins in town. That's a name that means something around here; and I have been told, in no uncertain terms, that this newspaper is to remain in Robins hands."

And, nine months later, Abigail Winston Robins was born.

"Abby?" Carrie shook herself from her reverie at the sound of her husband's voice. "Abby?"

She looked over to see him scanning the room for their wayward child, whose latest obsession was hide-and-seek. A smile started to form on her lips until she noticed that several members of the staff were also looking around with worried expressions.

"Dean?" Carrie made her way over to where he was crouching near a desk. "What's going on?"

Instead of answering, Dean looked up at Carrie and she could read the slight panic in his eyes. Whether it started out as a game or not, he was obviously no longer playing.

"I've checked all her usual hiding places," Rena told them as she moved closer, "but she isn't…"

The rest of her explanation was cut off by a crash and a scream from the back room where the printing press was located. All eyes went to the door, which had lately been kept propped open because the lock was damaged and would catch from the inside without provocation.

Kevin, the young intern who was closest to the door, tried to open it but the handle wouldn't turn.

"Abby," he called through the door calmly and soothingly, "can you unlock the door? All you have to do turn that little thing under the knob so it goes up and down instead of side to side. OK?"

"I can't," came the muffled, crying little voice, "the shelf fell and it's in the way. And it hit my arm and it hurts!"

Dean sprung into action. He ran to the printing room door, grabbed something from a nearby desk, and then slid on his knees to land at eye-level with the keyhole. Carrie caught up with him in time to see him straightening out two paper clips.

"Dean, what are you…" but she trailed off as he jammed them into the keyhole and, after shifting them around a couple of times, she heard the tell-tale click of the door unlocking.

"How did you…" again, she trailed off because she could see that her husband was not listening. Instead, he was throwing himself into the door, left shoulder-first, to try and move both it and the fallen shelf away.

When there was a gap large enough to fit through, Dean slid through the opening and climbed over the shelf to get to his daughter.

"Daddy!" she cried and sniffled.

"It's OK baby," he told her softly as he picked her up in his arms. She wrapped herself around him as he held her up with one strong arm and used the other hand to caress the back of her neck, murmuring comfort and swaying back and forth to calm her.

Carrie, a bit shocked by all that had happened so quickly, looked at the keyhole where one of the straightened paperclips still stuck out. Where on earth did he learn how to do that?