She woke at sunrise the next morning, nudged into consciousness by the dull throb in the back of her mouth. She felt every bit like someone who had slept in her clothes and failed to brush her teeth the night before. Oscar was lying against her back, his arm around her, his breath soft on her neck, the slight burr of a snore in his throat. The air was cool and fresh, and squares of pure gold light blazed on the opposite wall from the multipaned windows. The lake was hushed but present in the distance. It almost sounded like it was breathing too, gently and quietly, as though it hadn't woken yet either. He had chosen his escape well, she realized. It felt like the first morning of summer holidays, the best day of the year.
Still in that quiet state of early wakefulness, it all seemed to make sense. Oscar had found himself the perfect antidote to the OSI. Here, there would be no four a.m. phone calls. No longer did he run an organization employing hundreds of people whom he dispatched all over the globe in the dangerous business of trying to keep the country (and even the entire world) safe. Now he had a boss. Instead of being responsible for the security and wellbeing of the entire United States, he was only responsible for fiberglass patches, spar varnish and two stroke engines - and one man to answer to. He was nobody's daddy anymore.
She ran her arm up his, securing him close to her, thinking how unlikely it was for her to be lying here on a saggy daybed, next to her former boss, in a cabin in Montana.
A short time later, they got up together, quiet and slightly ill at ease with one another. Oscar gulped down coffee, but Jaime declined, having developed a fear of hot substances. They each took a shower and at 7:40 headed to town, the atmosphere in the truck tense and a little mournful.
In the waiting room, Oscar resisted the receptionist's attempts at pleasantries. Jaime's presence had stirred up all manner of doubts in his mind, as he knew it would. The real reason he had left Washington without a word to anyone was that he feared he could be talked out of it, and Jaime held that power over him more than anyone. Now, with her here, he was reminded of all that he had left behind and all the people he had let down when he walked out. The guilt made him sweaty and twitchy. He had been crushed down to the bone by his job and had needed to get away for his sanity - maybe even for his life - but there was nothing more foreign to him than walking away. Did he think he would turn into someone else - someone who was not fettered by that over developed sense of responsibility? This was a rock and hard place, because at the same time he could not bear the thought of going back - it made him physically ill. There seemed to be no in between - he either had to remain a fugitive, or go back and throw himself into the machinery again.
Then, looming larger still in his mind, was her. Once she was gone, he might never see her again. He thought he had accepted that idea when he decamped from Washington, but seeing her here, holding her close to him - the thought of letting her go filled him with a sickening dread. He picked up one of the tattered three year old Good Housekeeping magazines and flipped through it agitatedly.
An hour later, Jaime was released from the chair, having only required a rather large filling. On the drive back from town she pinched at her rubbery cheek and glanced at Oscar.
"Do you really think I'm incapable of living a normal life?" she asked timidly.
He took her hand, looking apologetic. "Look, Babe, you can go on being just exactly as you are. You are a perfectly wonderful human being - but I want you make sure that you really know yourself, and know what makes you happy, before you commit to anything. I think you're feeling relieved to be out of the OSI right now, and that the routine feels good, but ultimately I'm not sure that's going to be enough."
She nodded, and he squeezed her hand.
"That's good advice. You ought to listen to it too." she said, after a minute.
He smiled at her and turned his attention back to the road. The next time he looked at her his expression was clouded and serious.
"I think you should leave." he said.
"I know." she whispered.
"Hanging around here with me is not going to help you figure out your own life. So I want you to go, okay?"
She nodded, a hollow sadness dropping into her heart.
They were silent for the rest of the drive, and through breakfast - eggs again. She ate slowly and cautiously - her new worry was that, still numbed, she would bite herself. She ate slowly for another reason too - she didn't want to leave.
"Thanks for coming after me." he said as they walked out to her car.
"You're welcome." she replied quietly, turning to face him.
She was surprised when he gathered her into his arms, lifting her to him, lifting her mouth to his. What surprised her even more was the strength of her own response. His lips were warm and supple, his kiss sensual - sweet and passionate all at once. She had no strength or desire to resist, so she wrapped her arms around his neck, and gave herself into the moment fully, pressing herself to him, until, breathless and shaky, she pulled away and hugged him to her tightly, steadying herself against him.
"I've wanted to do that for a long time." he whispered.
It took her a moment to find her voice, and then she didn't know what to say. "I have to tell Rudy and Russ that you're okay." she breathed finally.
"What will you say?" he asked, nuzzling her cheek.
"I'm going to tell them... you're adjusting nicely to Thailand and that I have some hope you might come back someday."
"Tell them I have a twenty two year old Thai girlfriend." he said.
"I will do no such thing!" she replied indignantly, and felt him laugh.
"They wouldn't believe you anyway." he replied, pulling back to look at her.
"That beard is awful." she said.
"I know." he grinned. This time she kissed him - despite the fact she knew she shouldn't. What would Chris think? But she wanted to kiss him again so very badly, and if she never saw him again at least they would have that. She kissed him whole heartedly, her love for him melting into powerful sexual desire. Suddenly she pulled back, sure that if she didn't, she would be in bed with him in about three minutes flat.
Oscar rested his forehead against hers, his breath uneven. "I'm sorry I called Roger...or Chris...or whatever the hell his name is... a cold cut."
Jaime smiled sadly.
"You've got to go, Babe." he said, suddenly brusque, taking her by the shoulders and pushing himself away from her.
"When am I going to see you again?" she asked, taking his hands from her shoulders and holding them tight.
"I don't know." he replied, his eyes haunted. "You know where I am."
"Bye." she said. Tears rose to her eyes.
His lips formed the words, but there was no sound."Bye."
They kissed once more, this time a kiss of parting - firm, adamant, and they released each other. She walked to the car feeling like she was walking straight off a precipice. As she sat down behind the wheel she felt as though she were falling, spinning in air, the world blurred and confused.
Oscar watched her start the car, put it into reverse and maneuver until she faced uphill. She paused and smiled at him wistfully. Just as she was about to take her foot off the brake and head up the hill, the truth hit him so hard it knocked the air out of him. Jaime, you belong with me. We belong together. "Jaime!" he blurted, rushing forward. Looking concerned - or what was that expression-? - she rolled down the window. Sometimes the human brain works too fast, for immediately following that flash of truth, another series of thoughts followed in quick succession. Just because it was so clearly true for him didn't mean it was true for her. She had a boyfriend, she had a life. She wanted to be normal. He was a fugitive with nothing to offer - except love, and love was not enough.
He hesitated, bent down to the car window, then he smiled. "Take care of yourself. Floss nightly."
She looked at him searchingly, as though she knew he had meant to say something else. Oscar had thought he would wave goodbye, standing in the lane to watch her car disappear over the hill, but now he felt that he couldn't stand it. He gave her another quick and mirthless smile, and turned and walked straight into the cabin, closed the door behind him, and sat on the kitchen floor, his arms folded tightly around him, staring unseeingly at the patterns in the ancient linoleum until the sound of the car had been out of earshot for five minutes. Then, as though he were a puppet, his movements mechanical and disengaged, he got in his truck and drove to Lyle's Boat Repair shop.
Though she had the strong impulse to drag her feet, to at least get herself sorted herself out so that she could leave with some sense of resolution, the highway was free of cars and the miles slipped by, the big lake her companion on the right. She needed to get home, she told herself. She needed stability and predictability and safety - the safety of a life that held some surprises, but small ones, and not too many of them. Her whole life had been nothing but huge and terrifying surprises, and she didn't want any more. As she drove past Somers she glanced the water for the last time behind her in the rear view mirror, and whispered a goodbye. Before she knew it she was back in Kalispell, at the airport. Still, she found herself hoping that there might be a shortage of flights going out for the next couple of days so she could go back - would she go back? No! She wanted to go home. There was a seat available on a flight to Minneapolis, and she took it. A friendly business man sitting next to her tried to engage her in light conversation, but she couldn't bring herself to make any sort of chitchat with him. Confused and dispirited, she stared out the airplane window and pondered Oscar, and the anger he expressed and the beard he wore and those kisses they shared ... and everything he had said the night before.
Their conversation roiled ceaselessly around in her head - and all of it was hard to sort out. Did he know her as well as he seemed to? She felt bruised and raw, yet loved and protected. She felt utterly and embarrassingly transparent - and perfectly understood. The one thing rankling her was his assertion that she was a compulsive rescuer - it didn't seem fair. She just liked to do the right thing, that was all. The rebellious teenager jab was true, and she could see that. There was nothing more pleasurable than occasionally telling the US government to stuff it. They all did it - Oscar included. But was it true that she was some sort of crazed Florence Nightingale? And could a trait like that actually dictate her the way she lived?
The memory that kept forcing itself unbidden into her thoughts was of her parents' car accident. How many times had that morning played back in her mind? Thousands, easily. For years she had imagined herself intervening in some small way, creating a tiny delay that would cause them to leave the house an instant later than they did, and then by the magic of time and sequences of events, they would have avoided the accident by a split second. Having just learned to drive herself, what if she had borrowed the car the night before and lost the keys? Or asked for some last minute help with homework? What if she had given them each a long hug before they left and told them she loved them? Would that have been enough? These were the thoughts that had haunted her for years - the rescue she could not perform. Now, of course she knew they still would have died - they were targeted, and nothing she could have done would have saved them. But still, life taught her early on that sometimes you didn't get second chances, so you never, ever let an opportunity to help slip by.
She thought of the way the Principal had protested when she wanted to go look for Kevin Melnyck that afternoon a couple of weeks ago. "Isn't that the parent's job?" he had suggested. But Jaime was having none of it. She had to find him, and nobody else would do. Was it true then - was she a compulsive rescuer?
She rolled into her own driveway at ten that evening, relieved to be home. Of course there was the usual pile of bills and a layer of dust all over everything. and the carriage house felt a little strange to her, as it always did after she had been away. She unpacked, throwing most everything into the wash, built a fire, and got into a fresh nightie. She cooked herself an uninspired dinner of spaghetti with butter and dried parsley and ate it, at least comfortable in the knowledge that her tooth would not scream in protest. She felt pathetically alone.
Her place and her life felt all the emptier at this moment knowing Oscar was not in Washington. It was like the Lincoln Memorial not being in Washington, except worse, because the Lincoln Memorial couldn't talk you out of a fit of pique, or reassure you when you were feeling insecure. It hadn't occurred to her for an instant that she had propped him up just as much as he propped her up. Now she imagined them both as wooden chairs who each suddenly found they now had to make do with three legs instead of four. In the safety and quiet of her own house, feeling calmer and possibly a little clearer, she ventured to ask herself how she felt about Oscar, knowing how he felt about her - but then she stopped herself short. There was no point in even asking the question. No point.
She reported in to Russ after she'd done the dishes, and told him that she'd found Oscar and that he was safe. Russ didn't even ask where he was - almost as though he didn't want the burden of that knowledge. He did ask her if she thought he was gone for good, and Jaime could only answer that she didn't know. Somehow she felt even sadder when she hung up the phone.
Though it was one in the morning, she decided to call Chris. Even if she woke him and he was grumpy, she needed a voice ringing in her head that wasn't Oscar's. She needed support and comfort from a man who wasn't Oscar. Little did Chris know it, but his burden was doubling now that the most reliable man in Jaime's life had resigned the position. Chris wasn't asleep in fact, and he sounded delighted to hear from her. He told her that he thought he would be able to make it to Ojai for the weekend, and then he spoke excitedly for some minutes about the amazing project he was working on, a tracking system that used satellite technology. They exchanged a few words about the mysterious disappearance of the boss, and then he asked her how she was doing, and what she had been up to. She murmured a few false words about guarding a prince in Qatar, and fell silent. There was a quiet chewing noise on the other end of the line, so she asked him what he was eating. She couldn't help but cringe when he told her it was a baloney sandwich.