Chapter 2 – Stuck

I brushed my hair back out of my face, leaned on the handle of the old cotton-cord mop that I'd been wielding for the last half hour, and looked with no small amount of satisfaction on the kitchen floor – the whole kitchen, for that matter. The counters were free of dust, the glass canister set in the corner sparkled, and the stove now looked closer to what it must have when it was fresh from the showroom.

Not bad for two hours' concentrated labor – two hours being the time that Jarod had been gone to Dover to get me the groceries I had listed for him. Inasmuch as, to me, the kitchen was the heart of a home, it had been important for me to put it right straight away. I leaned the mop in the bucket against the end of the counter and drew myself a tall glass of tap water to drink, then sat down at my table to enjoy it. I'd take a break for a bit, and then head for the bathroom. It hadn't looked bad to me this morning, when I was fresh out of bed and barely awake; but like the rest of the house, it had seen too many weeks and months go by with no attention whatsoever.

I glanced up and out of the window over the sink and frowned. It was snowing again – at this rate, my "safe" house would be buried and virtually invisible from the road. The furnace, however, was in good shape – the house was now toasty-warm and quite cozy. I suppose for a hidey-hole, it wasn't half bad. It would be the isolation that would bother me more than anything else. The deeper the snow got, the more signs of habitation would be evident if or when someone needed to come out. Which meant…

This was ridiculous. Jarod knew what he was doing – I had to remind myself of this or else I'd pack my little bag and find SOME way to slip away from this nest out in the middle of frozen nowhere and get to where there was at least a little humanity around me. I hated being alone – it had been the necessary element of my life for all too long, and I'd had just about enough of it. Even when I was in a huge city, I was alone – alone and constantly watching over my shoulder. Now, in this cabin nestled right into the back pocket of the very same unwitting monsters that had dogged my every step "out there", I was alone in more ways than just the psychological one.

Dan was dead – there would never, ever be a hope of one day putting a fractured family back together. Emily was safe in a high-profile job in Philadelphia that protected only her. Kyle was dead too – that simple thought was incredibly painful. Jarod had told me that his brother had died saving him – and that his heart still beat in the chest of a fine young sheriff's son somewhere – but that did little to comfort me. I'd barely had a chance to hold my infant son before he'd been stolen from his crib too – by a Centre hoping to score another Pretender. The day Kyle had been stolen was the day that Dan and I began our life on the run. We were together long enough to have Emily – and then discover to our dismay that we could no longer safely travel together or raise our daughter within a complete family unit. I'd been living alone ever since – first as a single mother with a little girl to care for, and only later as a woman alone when Emily had gotten her job and started to live her own life. By then, I'd lost track of Dan completely by nearly two decades.

I didn't know the other two boys – the ones who should never have been. I didn't resent them for existing, but I deeply resented the need that kept us separated. They were pieces of Dan that were still being denied me after a lifetime being denied Dan completely. Jarod told me both of them had been held by the Centre in one way or another – that they'd each been victimized, tortured, twisted. From what little he did say, I could only imagine the life that had been Kyle's before it had been cut short – Jarod would tell me only very little about the few hours he'd been with his little brother. He did tell me, though, that in some ways, each of the other boys was worse off than he had ever been.

Jarod said that it was Sydney that had made the difference in HIS life – that without Sydney as a role model and ethical barometer, he would have been a monster too, with all his heart and soul beaten, tortured and SIMmed out of him. Sydney – just the mention of that man's name was enough to rile me. He was the man who had had the gift of my son's youth and had overseen it be stolen bit by bit and squandered to serve the bottom line of the Centre. I didn't dare contemplate the kind of ethics Jarod might have learned from a man who had been a willing part of the evil that was the Centre – that kind of thinking only made me wonder whether it was a good idea to trust my son too far. And still… Damn it! Jarod should have known how I would feel knowing that my fate while in this snowbound cage at the gates of Hell itself lay in the hands of the usurper of my son's life.

Enough! Enough musing – and enough railing at whatever force had so turned my plans for a simple, normal life as wife and mother inside-out, up-side down and backwards. I had a bathroom to clean before Jarod got back.

I'd decided somewhere between polishing the glass canisters and mopping the kitchen floor to ask my son for my own computer and some way of contacting the world outside my snow drifts in the days and weeks I'd be stuck here. As I put my used water glass in the sink, I reminded myself to speak to Jarod about it when he came home. It was Saturday – hopefully Jarod could go back to Dover to get me what I wanted before he had to leave for Baltimore tomorrow. I'd used the Internet in my job at the school – and I was no slouch at it either.

The cleaning supplies under the sink in the bathroom were old, but they sufficed – and I was just finishing up mopping the small area behind the toilet when I hear the sound of a vehicle engine close by. Despite myself, I found myself vacillating between an urge to stand at the side of the kitchen door with the mop ready to take on whoever came through the door and an equally strong urge to make a bee-line upstairs and into that storage room to find a small, dark corner to hide in. Before I could do more than position myself with my back to the wall next to the back door, I heard Jarod sing out, "Open the door, Mom – it's food."

I sagged against the wall in real relief – when had I become desperately fearful? It took a long moment for me to gather my wits, lean the mop against the wall and open the door to a very overburdened son, who nearly filled the kitchen table with brown paper grocery sacks. He rushed over and then dropped them a little less than gently on the Formica than was really safe. "You OK?" I heard him ask, and then looked up at him. I suppose I must have been the color of the snow outside.

"I heard the car and panicked, I guess," I said casually, trying to brush off my pallor. "I guess yesterday upset me more than I thought it did." He continued to look at me, his gaze intense and concerned. "I was cleaning the bathroom – and I wasn't expecting to hear you arrive," I tried to explain again, my hands flopping in a useless way. "I couldn't help it. I thought it was…"

"It WAS a close call yesterday," he commented quietly, his acknowledgement of the validity of my feelings almost as comforting as a hug. "And I know you're not happy being this close to them here."

"Is there more in the car?" I asked him, pushing through the potential for a full-blown panic attack to gesture at the sacks of groceries.

"Yeah – groceries and other stuff." He visibly pushed past his concern to answer at me. "While I was in town, I thought of a few more things you might need that we hadn't discussed."

"I'll unpack and put things away then," I told him, turning to the table and peeking in the first bag I came too. "You go get the rest of it."

A gentle hand landed on my shoulder. "You sure you're OK, Mom?"

I turned and smiled at him. "I am now," I told him in as encouraging voice as I could manage. "Really."

"I think we'll have to discuss a way to let you know that it's me driving up to the house next time, so you don't freak out again."

"Get the stuff from the car, Jarod," I directed him. "I'll make us both some hot chocolate after its all put away – and THEN we can talk about that."

The hand on my shoulder tightened briefly, and then Jarod was out the door again, leaving me to disembowel the paper bags into the pantry shelves and sort the soups from the sauces and broths and spices and juice. I swear he must have bought me every last fresh vegetable available, because my refrigerator crisper was soon stuffed to the max with lettuce, carrots, green onions, mushrooms, bell pepper and cabbage. By the time all the grocery sacks were in and stowed, I had my canisters filled with new flour and sugar, several meat roasts and several more sacks of frozen vegetables nesting in that cabinet freezer on the porch, a pot roast in the fridge waiting for a good time to start baking for supper tonight, and onions and potatoes on the floor of the pantry cabinet in the dark, where they'd stay as fresh as possible for the longest.

Unbelievably, Jarod must have read my mind while in Dover. After he'd hauled all the groceries in from the car and helped me put them away, he went back out one more time while I started the water boiling for hot chocolate. When he came back in, he was carrying several boxes that opened to reveal a brand-new laptop, portable printer and a carrying case capable of handling both. My mouth gaped – and all he said when he saw my face was, "I told you, I thought of a few more things…"

"I had just thought of something like that while I was cleaning…" I began, shaking my head in disbelief as I tore open one of the hot chocolate packets and dumped the powder into a mug.

Jarod snickered as he carefully unpacked the laptop and put it on the kitchen table. "Like minds, Mom. I was thinking that you're going to be feeling pretty isolated – and having the Internet might help with that. I've set up a remote IP server for just us, so we can email back and forth without too much worry – and I can give you Emily's and Ethan's and JD's email addresses too."

"And Sydney's?" I asked – curious as to just how close he was going to want me to come to his old life.

As it was, my question did manage to surprise him. "I suppose I could," he answered slowly at last, "although I have to warn you - Sydney isn't much of a fan of technology. He uses the computer at the Centre only because the Centre requires his reports be filed electronically now. Frankly, he prefers a simple phone call to the sterility of email."

Well, that answered THAT, because I could live with the relative anonymity of email and words on a computer screen much better than actually hearing the sound of the man's voice in my ear.

Then: "I didn't think you were all that happy with having Sydney know you were here in the first place. I didn't think you'd want to contact him except in case of emergency – if even then."

Oh! Jarod HAD been paying attention after all this morning when I reacted to his announcing the identity of his backup for me in case of trouble. "I'm not – I didn't... I just wondered…" I attempted to explain lamely as I stirred the hot water into the first mug. I didn't understand my own question – why on earth would I want even the option of contact with THAT man voluntarily anyway? I hated him – I begrudged him his apparent continued closeness to Jarod despite everything that he'd done or allowed to happen…

Jarod was quiet for long enough that I finally felt the need to glance over at him at the table. He was working at the laptop – doing whatever start-up tasks were needed to make it operational. He glanced up into my face as I put his mug of hot chocolate down next to his left hand and then sat down next to him with my own in front of me. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah." I'd had a chance to get myself back on an even keel again. I no longer felt as if my heart were ready to bust loose of my chest.

"Then you need to decide if you want a phone call from the end of the driveway as warning when someone is coming to the house that should know you're here – or if there's something else you want as a way of telling friend from foe." He concentrated on the computer again for a quick moment, and then turned to me and his mug of chocolate.

"Calling from the end of the drive sounds like a good idea," I agreed with him. "At least then I'll know it's you…"

He nodded as he sipped at the hot drink and gave me a wide smile. "I LOVE hot chocolate, Mom. Every time I have it, I used to imagine that you'd made it for me. I really didn't understand the meaning of "comfort food" until I'd tasted it."

And this time, I actually HAD made it for him – and I smiled back at him. "It's been a dream to be in a place where I COULD make it for you, Jarod," I replied. "I've missed not having you around."

He actually had the grace to look embarrassed. "I wish we could be together more," he admitted, pushing the computer back on the table. "One day…"

I shook my head. "Don't promise things you can't keep," I warned him gently.

Jarod's dark eyes landed and held mine. "Sydney taught me NEVER to make a promise I don't intend to keep," he informed me soberly. "And I promise you that one day, we WILL be able to be together as a family – if it's the last thing I do."

At least he taught you that much, I thought as I accepted his fervent statement. "I hope you're right," I said aloud and then nodded at the computer. "So… What all can this thing do?"

oOoOo

"OK – the furnace should work just fine now," Jarod puffed at me as he climbed back out of the black hole that was the basement and closed the door behind him. "There's a washer and dryer are down there, for when you want to do laundry; and also your backup gasoline-powered generator, in case the electricity goes off in a storm. I made sure you had plenty of extra gas, just in case."

"Are there any candles or flashlights?" I asked him with raised brows. "I didn't see any while putting stuff away…"

Jarod made a wry face. "I think there are some under the kitchen sink – way in the back. I saw them once, a long time ago."

"Candles?"

"Yeah." He gave an appreciative sniff of the air. "That smells awfully good…"

"You've got enough time to shower," I told him, giving his grunge-covered face and soot-darkened hands a disparaging look. "I still have to do potatoes and carrots to go with the meal yet, and then make the gravy."

"I have one more thing to check before I wash up – so I'd better get to it." He bent and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before heading toward the front of the house and, from the sounds of it, a quick trip upstairs.

It was amazing – that simple kiss on the cheek had warmed my heart more than almost anything else he'd done for me that day. Dan used to do that – get ready to head off to do some task or chore and stop to give me a quick kiss on the way. It was the first sign that Jarod did, indeed, resemble and mimic the actions of his father – the first sign that there was more than just his father's dark hair and eyes in common between them.

I walked back to the sink and the potatoes and carrots awaiting their appointment with the peeler with my feet hardly touching the floor. For a little time, anyway, I could pretend I WAS home – and my son was, really, my son and not a stranger that I happened to have given birth to.

The potatoes and carrots were each boiling in their pots and I had a saucepan filled with the drippings from the roast to make gravy by the time I saw Jarod again. He'd obviously spent some time in the bathroom as well as shed the dusty, grimy overalls that had seen the inside of the furnace and wherever else he'd gone. "My stomach's starting to growl, it smells so good in here," he announced as he plopped down into a chair.

"Be patient," I chuckled at him, "or, better still, you can set the table while I finish this."

"Slave-driver," he teased as he pushed himself out of the chair again and headed to the cupboard.

The next couple of hours seemed to fly by. It was heaven to sit down to a meal I'd cooked myself and see a man dig into my offering with gusto. Jarod was at his most engaging ever, entertaining me with funny stories from his many adventures since he'd broken free of the Centre. One character that came up several times in the conversation was a man named Argyle – and his misadventures had me laughing so hard my sides hurt. I was able to tell a few tales of my own – stories about Dan and me in the carefree days before the Centre had crossed our paths. It was amazing - I had feared, less than a day before, that Jarod and I would have little to talk about; but sitting down at a table with him and sharing a relaxing meal cured me of that misapprehension.

Then, once the left-over food was put away and the dishes washed and dried, Jarod sat me down and taught me how to use the email program that he'd installed for me. "It's designed to work only with my IP, Mom," he told me seriously, "and there's a lot of security built into it."

It was a well-designed and easy to operate program. "Where's the address book?" I wanted to know eventually– and then I blinked when he clicked on the icon and I could see whose names he'd entered for me. "I thought you weren't going to give me his…" I pointed to the last person in the list.

"You never know – you may decide you need to reach him this way," Jarod shrugged. "I at least gave you the option."

"I'm not going to need to reach him," I declared firmly. "The next three or four weeks are going to go as smoothly as silk, and you'll be here after that to set me up somewhere new a long way away from Blue Cove – right?" I looked at him, my expression not quite a glare.

"That's the plan," he hedged. "But better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it, right?"

Now it was my turn to shrug. "Suit yourself." I closed the address book and then sat back in the chair to look at my son.

He was thin – but it was a muscular thin that belied a great deal of strength. He had his father's dark hair and eyes – and my nose and lips. He looked back at me expectantly. "What?" he asked when I didn't say anything for a long and silent moment of study.

"What time do you leave tomorrow?" It was the question I'd been putting off all evening.

Jarod looked away with a guilty look. "Probably right after breakfast," he answered quickly, as if getting the shock out quickly would help at all. "I have to drive to Baltimore, find a place to rent and get set up, so that when things get started, I don't have too much left unsettled."

"And when will you be back?" I knew I sounded needy. I FELT needy – not entirely ready to face several days in a row with only myself for company.

Jarod was toying with the computer – doing something that I didn't want to understand at the moment. "With any luck – and if my plans go as scheduled – I should be back a week from now. I'll shop for your next week's groceries in Dover on the way through – so be sure to email me the shopping list no later than Friday, OK?"

"Jarod…" At last he looked at me again. "What if something goes wrong… here…"

"Nothing's gonna go wrong, Mom…"

"But…" I insisted. I'd been on my own long enough that I knew better. "What if it DOES? What if you're in the middle of whatever it is you have going there, and something happens…"

"Like what?" He sounded curious – certainly not as if he were taking me seriously.

"You're the Pretender," I snapped at him. "Can't you SIM out the possibilities?" It was as if I'd slapped him, and I was immediately sorry. "I didn't mean…"

"It's all right, Mom," he told me in a much cooler tone than I'd heard from him in a long time. "You have a valid concern – but I already answered this morning. If I can't get back to you for whatever reason – or if you have an emergency – Sydney's phone number is under the phone there on the counter. He gave me his word he'd see to your safety." He gestured at the computer. "Now, do you have any more questions about this?"

"Jarod…" The feeling of intimacy – of family, however small it was, was definitely gone.

It was as if my pronouncing his name was enough to spur him to action. He turned his wrist over to glance at his watch, and then rose after shutting down the computer and closing the top down so that it was like nothing more than a smallish silver placemat. "It's going to be a long day for me tomorrow," he announced firmly. "I think I'm going to call it a day."

"I'm sorry." I was – sorrier than I'd been in a long time. "I was cruel and thoughtless. Forgive me, please?"

"It's OK, Mom – I'm just tired." He bent over me and dropped another kiss on my cheek – but not as warm or loving as the one he'd given me earlier, in the afternoon. This was the dutiful peck of an obedient but frustrated son who was more a stranger than family. "Good night." He walked from the kitchen without a backward glance. The stairs squeaked under his tread, and then came the sound of a door closing gently but firmly.

I was devastated. For a few, short, magical hours, I'd had a loving son – and with only a few, thoughtless words, I'd exchanged him for the mysterious and incomprehensible stranger that wore my son's name and face. I'd always managed to anger Dan with my tendency to speak before thinking – and it seemed that his son was no more tolerant of my lapses than my husband had been all those years ago.

Feeling as if I'd just been kicked in the teeth, I carried Jarod's only half-empty mug of chocolate to the sink and dumped it, then rinsed the rest away and set it aside for washing in the morning – and followed by doing the same to my own. Some comfort food.

oOoOo

To say that I didn't sleep well that night would be a masterpiece of understatement. I tossed and turned, throwing my harsh words up in my own face like a blanket condemnation. Why had it never occurred to me that Jarod wasn't necessarily proud of what the Centre had made him? He continued to do exactly as they had taught him to do – with the only real difference being his serving his own agenda rather than theirs. Did he think THAT made him a monster?

The past two days had been the longest time I'd spent with him since his father had died – and I didn't know my son any better now than I had when he'd ripped me out of my comfortable but precarious position in Oakridge. And if I continued to make the same kind of mistakes with him that I'd made a little while ago, I seriously doubted I would ever get to know him better. There had to be a way to make things right again – to regain the loving son, even if only for a few minutes before he drove away and left me to my own devices for a whole week.

I rose and put on my bathrobe and slippers. It was ridiculous to try to sleep when insomnia struck this hard. I slipped down the stairs as quietly as I could, avoiding that spot on the second step down that creaked loudly every time it was depressed, and headed back to the kitchen. I filled the inside of the coffee percolator basket with filter and fresh grounds – and then filled the percolator itself with fresh water in preparation for a more reasonable hour to make coffee for the new day.

That done, I pulled out the left-over pot roast and sliced some decent slices from it – and then made several sandwiches that I carefully wrapped and put back in the fridge. At least Jarod would have some healthy food to nibble on while driving. I then took out the remains of the boiled potatoes and cut them into much smaller pieces that would be ideal for making hash browns to go with eggs for breakfast. He could have a tasty, substantial breakfast to maintain him while he drove.

I tried not to think too hard. It was too easy to drag myself into a depression if I thought too much while in this kind of mood. I just let my hands find small tasks to busy themselves with while my body refused to succumb to its need for sleep – and only allowed myself to concentrate on the task at hand.

"What are you doing up?"

I turned with a startled squeak. I hadn't heard him come down the stairs or walk from the front of the house. "What are YOU doing up?" I countered Jarod's question with one of my own, my tone of voice more one of bravado in the face of being startled than of parental chiding. "I thought you said you needed your rest – that tomorrow would be a big day…"

His face folded in disgust – at me or at himself, I couldn't be certain. "I don't sleep well, Mom – ever. I'm often up at this hour."

"Do you want some coffee then?" I asked, my hands automatically reaching for the percolator basket and stem assembly. "I can start this now…"

He moved and took the items out of my hands. "No – at least, not yet. Mom – go to bed. You look exhausted."

I looked up into his face and felt something snap inside. "I'm sorry Jarod. I really don't know what made me say what I did. I…" My emotions were too strong, and they carried my mouth away again even as the tears I'd worked so hard to deny filled my eyes. "I sometimes wonder if I'll ever get to know you – wonder if I'll ever not have a part of you that is a complete stranger to me, someone I… I…"

In response, Jarod did the one thing I hadn't expected. He put his arms around me and pulled me close. "It's OK, Mom," he soothed gently. "I just…" He sighed. "I'm sorry too. You just startled me, that's all."

"Oh honey!" My heart went out to him. "You know that I'm proud of you, no matter what, don't you?"

"I hear those words like a memory," he replied, his voice sounding as if it were coming from a very far way away. "I think I know you were proud of me when I was small, but… now…"

"It hasn't changed, Jarod." I clung to him tightly, wishing I could touch the spirit of that small boy that had been ripped away from me that lived inside the wounded and often prickly man who had eventually taken his place. "Listen to me. I'm still very proud of you. You help people that have no other recourse – even when they don't seem to deserve your time. You're a GOOD man, Jarod."

"I love you, Mom," Jarod whispered brokenly, his hug growing tighter. "I'm sorry I… walked away. That was no less cruel and thoughtless of me."

I felt as if a weight had dropped away. I had my son back. As if my body felt the tension seep away and realized it could let me know that it had more than had enough, I yawned widely. "You really do need to get some sleep," Jarod told me gently and set me away from him again. "But I'm glad we talked things out."

"I am too." I stretched up and gave HIM a kiss on the cheek – a kiss as full of a mother's love and pride as I could manage on my tiptoes – and cradled his cheeks between my hands. "You need your sleep too, you know. You have a big day coming tomorrow…"

"Yeah – well…" He put an arm around my shoulder and steered me toward the kitchen doorway. "I promise I'll try to get a few more Z's if you will."

My arm naturally found its place around his waist. "You're on!"

oOoOo

Jarod let me cook breakfast for him, and we talked of little things – our likes and dislikes. In many ways, I could tell, we were both making an effort to get to know the other in the brief amount of time left to us. I think Jarod was as pleased as I was to discover that we both loved and appreciated classical music – although I was a little nonplussed to find out that his passion for Mozart was another sign of Sydney's influence on him. Still, I couldn't complain much when it gave us just that iota more common ground between us – and also gave me some listening opportunities for later, when I dived into the massive selection of CD's stored in a case near the entertainment center.

He also finally broke down and told me a little about the job he was walking into – how an investment broker had been found shot to death in his office with few, if any, leads to who had killed him or why. Shyly he brought out a red notebook in which he'd cut and pasted the newspaper clipping that had caught his eye originally. When, in reading the article, I saw that the man had left behind a wife and two small children, I looked up at him. "You're doing it for the children, aren't you?" I asked, certain of my conclusion.

"Nobody should grow up in that kind of shadow," he said, taking the notebook back from me before I could really focus on the handwritten notations on the next few pages. "I've seen this kind of thing before."

"All I ask is that you be very, very careful," I told him firmly. "I want my chance to see you keep your promise to me."

"I do my best," he told me with that mischievous quirk to his lips that made him look positively impish. "I've been told I'm pretty good at it too."

"Oh hush!" I aimed a fake swat at his upper arm. "You know what I mean!"

"Yeah, I do." Oddly, he was suddenly quite serious. "And do you know how good it feels to know that there's actually someone who cares about me "just because"? Not because I'm a trained pet – or not because I do better at earning money when I do my job properly, but simply…"

"I've cared about you like that all along, honey," I said simply. "That's part of what a Mom does, you know."

"I know." His smile was shy and cautious. "But feeling it for real is different from just having it be words in a psychology book about family interactions, you know?"

"What about…" I caught myself before I stuck my foot in my mouth again – amazing myself that I'd had the foresight to manage it. Instead: "Can I ask you a question without your getting angry?"

His brown eyes looked into mine deeply – and I could feel him turning over the possibilities. "You want to know if Sydney ever cared like that."

His ability was eerie. "Yes." I wanted to know that he'd grown up knowing that at least one other human cared whether he lived or died "just because". I needed to know. It was important.

"I think…" he started, and then paused to consider again. "I think that had the circumstances been different, I wouldn't have to keep asking myself the same question." His gaze had grown sad and a little wistful. "I want to think so – sometimes, when we're talking… he sounds…" Jarod's voice ground to a halt on a painful note. He sighed and then continued, "But he's never said anything to confirm or deny…"

"Not even since you've been out?"

He shook his head. "I don't know whether what he does or doesn't feel now is a matter of finally being freer to express what was already there – or just a matter of guilt painting itself in camouflage colors."

"But you care about him." It wasn't a question.

"He raised me," Jarod stated flatly. "He did what he could to protect me from the real monsters inside the Centre – and, as I've discovered since I got out, paid a very high price for it." His heavy lids closed his eyes down to slits. "So yes, as much as sometimes I wish I didn't, I do care about him."

For some reason I couldn't explain to myself at the moment, I was glad. "Good."

That surprised him. "Good?"

I nodded. "Good. I'm glad. That speaks well for you."

He stared at me for a moment and then shook his head. "I'm afraid your reasoning on that one escapes me."

I chuckled. "Don't worry about it. Sometimes emotions are just there without a good reason – and trying to quantify them doesn't accomplish anything. The love between a parent and child is one of those instances."

"But Sydney wasn't…"

"No, he wasn't," I agreed, "but with your father and me out of the picture, he became the closest thing – to you. No matter what I think or feel about him, I can't ignore his presence in your life. I'm glad you still have it in you to care about him – regardless."

"I thought you…"

I put up a hand. "Don't get me wrong. I resent the hell out of the fact that HE watched you grow up and I didn't. I doubt I'll ever NOT resent him. But if what you say is true, and he really tried to protect you and teach you right from wrong, then he deserves your regard – despite whatever I might feel. I wasn't there – he was."

Jarod's dark eyes were glued to my face. "I wish I could stay with you longer," he breathed softly. "I want to understand you. I have so many questions – so much I don't know…" He sighed again. "Being here, having you around… it isn't as easy as I thought it would be. I'm thinking that I'm not exactly sure that I'm what you expected or wanted – and I want a chance to know you better…

I reached out and touched the closed cover of the red notebook. "But you need to help these people find some peace and closure – and bring a guilty man to justice – first," I told him gently. "When that's over – and before you find your next job – we can spend time together and I'll answer any question you put to me. I promise."

He nodded. "Fair enough!" Then he rose, and so did I. The moment I'd been dreading was upon me.

"Are you all packed?"

"Yeah – that was one of the things I did before falling back into bed after our little talk last night," he admitted. "And I need to get moving if I want to have everything done by bedtime tonight."

I gazed at him, trying to engrave his face and countenance into my mind and heart. "I'm going to miss you. Next Saturday seems such a long way away."

I don't think I will ever get tired of having my son give me a hug. While I'm close to him, I can almost convince myself that we're strong enough to bear whatever comes our way. "I love you, Mom," he told me very softly – and I felt him lay his cheek on the top of my head. "I'll call you when I leave Baltimore next weekend, so you know I'm coming."

"Let me know you got there safely today too, OK?" I asked with my face pressed into the soft, warm, black leather of the jacket he'd worn down to the breakfast table.

I could hear his chuckle start all the way down practically at the soles of his feet. "I didn't have you pegged as a worry-wart, Mom…"

"Gimme a break…" I guffawed along with him.

"OK – I'll call when I'm settled in to the new place. Fair?"

I nodded and then pushed myself away from him. "I love you, Jarod." I pushed myself up on tiptoe again so I could kiss his cheek. "I love you, and I'm proud of you – and I just want you to be happy." I stepped away. "Go on now – go help that Baltimore family."

He bent and kissed my cheek – and I felt that swell of warmth again. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised, and then he was heading to the front of the house. A few moments later, he was back – duffel bag, computer case and a strange silver briefcase in hand. "Behave yourself and stay out of trouble while I'm gone."

"I promise," I told him with an impish grin of my own. I got one more quick, tight, warm hug – and then he was out the back door. Moments later, I heard the sound of his SUV's engine warming up; and a minute or so after that, the engine purr diminished as he drove down the long drive to the narrow lane that would lead him back to the highway.

I wrapped my arms around myself and headed back towards the kitchen table and the dirty dishes that waited there to be collected and rinsed. I was alone again – and destined to hear no other living voice than my own for the next week. Slowly I picked up all the dishes except my own coffee mug and cleared away the meal. Rinsed and stacked, the dishes could wait until after I'd had lunch and supper.

I had a house to clean from top to bottom, a computer to give me Internet access, a stereo for music, plenty of DVD movies to watch if I got totally bored, and a room full of books to explore. And, if I really couldn't get excited about any of the rest, there was a room at the top of the stairs – a room chock full of another family's traditions and memories.

But I didn't look forward to any of it.

oOoOo

I worked hard and got the living room dusted and vacuumed that first day – although I took my time while dusting the books in the bookcase. I'd been right that Jarod's library was eclectic. There were a number of highly technical manuals and complex dissertations on psychology and logic – mixed in with an encyclopedia of How Things Work, a number of books dealing with several of the world's major religions, books of fairy tales from different parts of the world AND, surprisingly enough, a good number of Agatha Christy's mysteries. It was a temptation to stand there and open the books as I dusted their tops and spines.

The same temptation loomed as I dusted the CD and DVD collections. Already I'd found a selection of good work music to fill the emptiness of the house with coherent sound, but Jarod's taste in music was far-ranging even by my standards. There were a number of albums by popular rock and country music artists mixed in with the orchestral classics. The movies covered just about every possible genre from comedy to horror – and included some collections of real classic television series like The Three Stooges and Father Knows Best in with powerful whodunits and thrillers and parodies.

I wasn't hungry for lunch – but I was ready for a roast sandwich and green salad by the time the sunlight began to fade. I carried my plate into the living room and put on a movie – hungry for the sound of a voice in my ear. It was a favorite of mine – an old Alfred Hitchcock thriller named The Birds – one that I'd seen a million times and could watch over and over again. After the movie, I cleaned the day's dishes and headed to the computer to play a game or two of solitaire.

The sound of the telephone ringing made me jump. Only after I stood for a second, trying to catch my breath, did I realize the probable identity of the caller. I picked up the receiver. "Hello - Jarod?"

"Hi Mom." I was right – it was Jarod, and he was OK. "Just calling to let you know that I've got my place, and everything is fine and ready to get started in the morning."

I felt a little piece of tension I'd carried with me all through the day slide away. "How was the drive?" I asked, reaching for the first thing I could think of to keep him on the line.

"Long," he said in a voice that told me clearly how fatigued he was. "How was your day?"

"I got a lot accomplished," I related, settling into a kitchen chair. "AND I got a chance to sort through your library and music and movies…"

"Find anything you liked?"

I laughed then. "You have interesting tastes. Some of those music groups I've never heard of before, you know…"

"Give them a try," he suggested, and I could almost see that mischievous quirk of his lips. "You never know – you might just like them."

Then there was a pause – as if neither of us knew exactly what to say to the other now that the obligatory niceties had been exchanged. I closed my eyes, wishing as hard as I knew how that these lapses could begin to grow fewer as briefer in the days and weeks ahead. "I suppose I should let you rest, then," I told him finally. "You'll probably be having another big day tomorrow."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I'll give you a call in a day or so – let you know how things are going."

The idea that he actually WANTED to keep in closer touch was encouraging. "That would be nice," I nodded. "Sleep well, and be careful now."

"I will, Mom. You rest up too. Enjoy your vacation."

I blinked when I realized that Jarod had cut the connection between us without saying goodbye. The sudden separation felt like the slash of a knife – and drove home the point that I was once more alone.

Alone and out in the middle of blessed nowhere snuggled up against the backside of the one place on Earth that I did NOT want to be close to. I moved through the house to the living room and tweaked the curtains aside. Already the sun had set, and there was a dim blue glow to the snow from the moon floating in the sky above the treetops. It was a cold scene and a very lonely one.

Disheartened, I turned away, allowing the curtain to fall once more. I made my way slowly up the stairs and into my bedroom, whereupon I changed into my nightgown and climbed into bed. I pulled the covers – light-weight fleece blankets and crisp linen sheets – over my shoulders as I settled against my pillow, as if that would protect me from the chill that had settled into my mind, reflecting the cold scene playing outside the clapboard walls.

And yet, for all that I tried, I once more couldn't get to sleep. It wasn't storming, but the wind through the branches of the trees and bushes that surrounded the cabin made for a mournful sound that kept breaking through my attempts to doze. Several times I could have sworn that I could hear someone walking about downstairs – even though I knew that both doors had been locked. I even peeked out the windows – to find the snow that surrounded the house undisturbed by any tracks leading either to or from the house itself.

Get a hold of yourself, Peg Charles, I thought the second time that I got up and forced myself to do a walk-through of the house to reassure myself that I was indeed alone and quite safe. These are just the jitters that come when you first settle into a new place. You're fine – Jarod wouldn't leave you out here if you weren't safe…

But when the morning came, I needed almost a full pot of coffee to regain any kind of incentive to continue the job of cleaning. I was alone, and without anybody else in the place for whom to work, I was having trouble finding a reason to do anything.

I couldn't call Jarod – he had his plate full with this Pretend to contend with. He didn't need to know that his mother had a deep-seated fear of isolation, born of years forced to hide and eschew any kind of relationships that could bring the Centre's fury down on an innocent. He had no idea how much I had depended on the ability to reach out and absorb my emotional stability just from the superficial contact with acquaintances I would make along the way – or how difficult for me depriving me of that casual contact would be. I hadn't realized it myself either, in fact, until just now.

That day I continued to clean as if the work had any meaning other than just being something to do to waste the time between getting up in the morning and going to bed again at night. What had at first looked like fun had become a chore – and finding music that would nourish a better mood while inspiring effort didn't happen. I tackled the upstairs bedrooms – my own first – and later dragged the linens from Jarod's bed down to the basement and the washing machine. Once more, I was barely hungry for the entire day – this time I ate the rest of the left-over roast and more salad for lunch and then simply made some toast to go with hot chocolate for supper. And once more I watched a movie while I ate in the evening in order to remember what adult conversation could sound like – this time, choosing Cactus Flower for its broad humor and gentle lesson in human relationships over anything more intense.

It didn't help.

The walls were starting to close in on me. I was all too eager to climb into bed – only to discover that I couldn't fall asleep again. I don't know exactly how long I lay in bed, fighting the darkness and the desolate whine of the wind outside my window - getting up more than once to walk the house to make sure I'd remembered to lock up – before I finally fell asleep. It was fully daylight, however, when I finally did awaken again – and by then, I'd had it.

Something had to give – and that something damned well wasn't going to be my sanity.