NORBAC Chapter 7

by Simahoyo

A/N Sorry. My typing has always been a challenge, and it has been worse lately. Mea Culpa.

I have worried coming back to my old workplace, that I might not fit in anymore. I half expected new faces—people I didn't know, and having to face the one who wouldn't be there—Frost. If I say so myself, I can act. I pretended not to be hit as hard as the others—but I had been hanging on to my emotions with both hands. I was, after all, Queen of the Dead.

I walked in with Jane and was greeted by people I knew nearly every step. Korsak hugged me and so did Frankie. Even Crowe said, "hello." I caught up with Korsak and Frankie, went to lunch with Jane, then down to the morgue. Suzie nearly tackled me in a hug, then passed me on to Yoshima and Louise. When I saw my replacement, Dr. Vijay, I did remember him from a funny presentation on entomology, and why he bore the nickname, "Bug."

"Oh, I remember you. You taught me why insects are so important in dating crime scenes. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'm enjoying the work and the people, but confidentially, my back is counting the days until you return permanently."

I must have showed my confusion because Suzie murmured, 'It's a joke.', and I nodded, thought about it and smiled. Between Mom's Franglish moments and Dad's oddball sense of humor I was still working to understand jokes.

The time passed quickly and I hadn't even gotten out the door before my parents and drove me to their house on Beacon Hill.

"That was quite an accomplishment with all those countries allowing medical students to count time fighting Ebola..."

"Even the US. I was so proud of..."

"She even told the mailman."

Ugh, I hate when they tag team me.

"Daddy, how did you get that news conference?" I managed to wedge in.

"I got Peter Mansbridge to do it and split the credit with CBC. You should have seen that little turd Congressman Riddlemeyer..."

"He turned positively purple...more of a burgundy, actually."

"Jack came over to watch it with us. It was great fun."

"Yes, Darling, you may have a winner there." At this point Mom crossed her fingers.

'He didn't even get mad when I had him investigated."

"Oh Daddy, did you have to tell him?"

"Apparently, you told him your dating history, and your mother and I have a proven record of making bad choices for you...so..."

I hadn't realized I had slapped my forehead until I did it. Too much time with Jane, obviously.

"And he's all right with it?"

"Oh yes. We have become fairly good friends. He comes over quite often."

This is not something I like to hear from my parents. They are good people, but even for me they can be too much. Inwardly, I'm afraid I shuddered.

"Oh, and Darling, we played all of our, 'Jack Armstrong, All American Boy' tapes for him. He likes them."

"Good. Uh, you haven't hit him with, 'Chicken Man' yet, have you?"

Dad squirmed. "Not yet kiddo, I'm easing him into it with, 'Burns and Allen.'"

Dad parked in the garage, And I gave a fond look at his car collection. As we were walking into the house, I could smell something delicious.

"Something smells wonderful. Did Cook make it or..."

"I made dinner.", said Mom.

I was so shocked I didn't move.

"She's been taking private lessons to surprise you."

"You succeeded, Mom. What did you make?"

She positively beamed. "Pork medallions with grapes in pomegranate sauce, mushroom soup and apple galette. And Benny—no garlic in the entire meal."

Dad laughed. Then Mom added, "and no hot stuff for you two either."

I'll admit that Dad and I looked at each other, envisioning a trip to a Thai restaurant sometime tomorrow. As it turned out, Mom's private lessons had paid off. My mother made a lovely dinner with her own hands. I was so proud of her. Dad and I did the cleanup. My parents had developed a habit of letting the servants go home early to spend time with their families after Mom's accident made them so much less servant dependent with no formal dinner parties. A sudden fear gripped me. Were they getting old? I'm thirty-eight, which put them in their sixties. Normal people retire in their late sixties—I looked at them again—There is nothing average about those two.

Mom disappeared for a minute and came back with a pad of drawing paper and a box of pencils. She was bringing back a part of my childhood. We sat at the table, while she handed me a sheet of paper, and got out her own.

"Now, you draw me, and I'll draw you."

"I remember my feet didn't reach the floor for a few years doing this together."

"I started it as a ploy to get you to sit still and stay out of—everywhere. Then you seemed to enjoy it."

"I did. The drawing lessons really helped with anatomy classes and so forth. I even drew a sketch of a criminal I saw for the police."

We started drawing, glancing at each other to get things just right. It was quiet, the scratching of the pencils the only sound until Dad's camera broke the spell.

"Daddy! I can't concentrate with the flash going off—please..."

Mom chuckled. "It isn't Christmas until one of us chides him about that camera."

"Hey, I can't draw a straight line. And I want to remember my two favorite girls like this."

"We know." I gave him a special smile so he knew he was forgiven.