I'd like to apologise in advance for this chapter. It's the muse's fault. It was definitely not my decision to end it where it ends... I've been sick and exhausted, please forgive me.

Chapter 24

Carlos returned to the kitchen after seeing his wife safely to the top of the stairs to find his father-in-law deep in conversation with Lesley, apparently discussing her schooling, goals and everyday life. Brodie appeared to be monitoring his daughter's words rather closely, making sure she didn't say anything she shouldn't. A smart move. Having Frank find out about his wife's past transgression from a strange, foreign, fourteen year old girl did not sound like a good idea.

Actually, now that he took the current situation in fully having Brodie and Lesley here, talking to Frank before Helen had a chance to explain things seemed a bit thoughtless. Perhaps they should have spoken to Helen first before bringing them around, but then they weren't to know that Helen would be indisposed when they arrived.

As a lull began to stretch through the current topic, Frank turned his attention to Brodie. Carlos reclaimed his seat, his attention divided between listening out for Stephanie and ensuring that Brodie didn't accidentally drop a bombshell.

"Carlos said you're carrying out the last wishes of your father," Frank mentioned, taking another donut from the box. "My condolences."

Brodie inclined his head slightly. "Thank ye."

"What wishes does a Scotsman have that brings his son and granddaughter all the way to Trenton?"

"He wanted me to meet me mother," Brodie stated honestly, casting a quick, nervous glance in Carlos's direction as if making sure he was saying the right thing. Carlos made no comment, nor did he form a facial expression to either approve or disapprove of Brodie's words. He was withholding judgement for the time being.

"And have you?"

"Not yet," Brodie said solemnly.

"What's the hold up?" Frank asked.

Brodie glanced once again toward Carlos, and once again received neither encouragement nor a signal to shut his trap. He was on his own. "She took a bit of effort to track down," Brodie admitted.

True enough. It's hard to track someone down when you're not even aware of the fact that that is what you're supposed to be doing. It wasn't exactly made clear to any of them, given the cryptic clues they had to work off.

Carlos took a sip of his coffee, tilting his head toward the hallway when muffled exclamations reached his ears. Stephanie and Helen had engaged in one of their Burg Famous Arguments, it appeared. He just hoped that it wouldn't hinder the situation. They needed to find out why Helen had done what she did so that everyone could get back to living their normal lives.

Neither Brodie nor Frank seemed to have noticed the faint shouts, so he tuned back into the conversation. If the shouts continued, or if they escalated, he would go diffuse the situation. Until then, he had to trust that his wife had enough experience dealing with her own mother and could handle it on her own.

"I suppose that's where you and Stephanie come in then, Carlos?" Frank was saying around a bite of his donut. "I wasn't aware you were in on the family tracking side of things as well."

"No sir," Carlos said respectfully, earning himself an approving smile.

Even after seven years of being an official family member, Carlos felt it necessary to allow his father-in-law to believe he was in charge. There's nothing worse than a disrespectful son-in-law trying to lord over everyone. They had an unspoken agreement: Carlos showed respect at every turn and if the situation ever arose where Carlos had to take charge with his special skill set, Frank would step back and let him do his job to keep everyone safe.

"We don't do family location as a general rule, except in extra special circumstances."

"So this is an extra special circumstance?"

Carlos nodded, not willing to give up any more details and end up with his foot in his mouth. It was probably safer to change the subject. Sports and children were the best bet to get Frank distracted enough to forget about the current topic.

*o*

I leaned into my mother's embrace, absently acknowledging how foreign it felt. As a rule, we weren't a huggy, affectionate family, though I'm fairly certain that hadn't always been the case. I used to get constant hugs and kisses from my parents when I was little, but they started dying off when I got to high school and it became abundantly apparent that I was not going to do exactly as my mother wanted me to do. I defied her at nearly every turn by not following in my sister's footsteps.

And now here we were, sat on her bed just like when I was seven.

Mom was stroking my hair, and playing with my curls. She'd once admitted that part of the reason she was so attracted to Dad was his big mop of curls when they first met. She had loved running her fingers through it and curling the locks around her fingers. Dad had, in turn, kept his hair longer than was strictly acceptable for many years to accommodate her obsession with it, until Valerie came along and had a tendency to get her tiny hand caught in the masses of hair and he decided it was time to conform and cut it off. Mom had been devastated by the decision, but admitted it was for the best, since she no longer had to spend long minutes retrieving her young daughter's hand from her husband's locks as she cried and struggled.

"You have the right to know," Mom murmured, and I wasn't sure if she was trying to reassure me that I wasn't overstepping a line, despite her original reaction, or if she was trying to convince herself to start the story. Either way, I felt I should probably remind her of a thing or two.

"Is this going to be a quick story?" I asked, turning my head so I could see her face. "I only ask because Carlos, Brodie and Lesley are currently downstairs in the kitchen being entertained by Dad. It may be better if we go down and you tell us all at once, rather than keeping them waiting for ages and having to tell the story twice."

As I spoke, a multitude of emotions raced across Mom's face. Grief, apprehension, and horror were al there, comingling with other less discernible expressions. She was having trouble keeping a grip on her composure, I realised, and I had a feeling that had we not been in her bedroom, she would have downed at least one glass of whisky by now. God only knows what level of hell would break out once we got down to the kitchen where there was easier access to booze.

Her next words surprised me, partly because I doubted she had really heard me, and partly because the only other times I'd heard her even slightly rable like this were when she was admonishing me about my job and felt the need to reference my peers into the lecture. "Who's Lesley? Oh God, how am I going to tell your father? I'm still not ready for this! Why me? Mother was right. I should have listened to her when she said to let Frank know. Why me?!"

Wow. Just wow. All I could do was sit and stare at my mother as she descended into a spiral of despair. I never thought I'd see her like this. For all her stern disregard for my life's decisions, she was a strong woman and I admired her for that if nothing else, but right now she was so close to a break down it wasn't funny. Then I spotted the tears welling in her eyes, threatening to flow over and run down her cheeks. That was the last straw.

I pushed off the headboard and made my way to the side of the bed where I forced myself to stand.

"Get up, Mom," I commanded in my best imitation of Tank's drill sergeant voice. "You're stronger than this. You're going to wash your face, do your hair, get dressed and go downstairs to face the music."

She just gaped at me a second, blinking slowly, and I realised this was probably the firmest I'd ever been with my mother without screaming at her. I think we were both in a bit of shock, maybe even awe, until I heard footsteps on the stairs and the spell was broken. They were soft, so I knew it couldn't have been Dad. And there was only one set, so I had to assume it wasn't Brodie or Lesley seeking the bathroom. That left Carlos, and chances were he was coming to check on me, even if he wasn't intending on intruding.

"You go make yourself presentable, and try get your thoughts in order," I said to Mom. "I'll see what Carlos wants."

To my surprised, Mom hopped off the bed the same side as me – the side furthest from the en suite bathroom. As I gawked with a furrowed brow of confusion, she held out her arm in my direction. It took me several seconds to realise that she was offering me a leaning post to get to the door. I looped my arm in hers gratefully and allowed her to guide me around the bottom of the bed to the door just as a light knock sounded. Mom ensured that I had a hand braced against the wall for balance before scurrying back to the bathroom.

I cracked the door open and stuck my head out. "What's up?" I asked my husband where he stood in the hall.

"I couldn't hear anything," he stated flatly, not even a hint of emotion in his face or voice. "I was worried you might have strangled each other and were lying passed out side by side on the bed."

"No strangling," I assured him, opening the door a little wider and taking two small steps out into the hall. I couldn't blame Carlos for worrying. You could always tell when my mother and I were in the same room because there were always raised voices involved. It have that and suddenly must have been a heart stopping moment for him.

"I just got Mom to agree to come downstairs," I explained. "We were actually kinda having a moment."

Carlos gave me a look that clearly said he didn't believe me.

"I'm serious," I said, taking another step away from the doorway. "I could hear mom talking to herself in the bathroom. "She even helped over to the door."

"Invasion of the body snatchers?" Carlos whispered, pulling me into his embrace.

I rolled my eyes at his chest. "You jest, but I was genuinely fearing for my life back there."

He nodded like he understood, and squeezed me a little tighter, as if reassuring himself that I was alright. "Are you ready to come back down? I'm not sure how long it's safe to leave Lesley down there with your father unsupervised."

"Just let me check on Mom." Leaning back a little, I called into the room, "Mom? Take your time getting ready. We'll meet you in the kitchen. Everything will be alright."

I'm not sure if she replied or not because the moment I was finished speaking I was scooped up into the air on a startled squeal. Apparently my husband had made the executive decision that I would not be attempting to walk back down the stairs today. He didn't bother setting me on my feet again until we were beside the kitchen table once more.

"Everything alright, Pumpkin?" Dad asked as I plopped down in the chair beside him.

"Fine," I assured him. "Mom will be down in a minute."

It was, in fact, another seven minutes before my mother appeared in the open doorway to the kitchen. She wore freshly laundered and precisely creased grey slacks, coupled with a soft pink button through blouse. Her hair was perfectly in check and probably sprayed and threatened to stay there. All traces of the scared, vulnerable, insecure woman I had encountered upstairs was gone. In her place was my formidable, opinionated, often scathing mother, the woman who looked down her nose at my very existence if it made hers even slightly less bearable.

As she took a couple of halting steps into the room, I noted that Brodie was staring at her with gritted teeth and a less than pleasant expression. I could only imagine the utter chaos that would break loose id Dad caught him staring like that.

Dad may not show affection in the usual ways, but he loved his wife and was fiercely protective of his family. Recalling this face sent a new stab of apprehension through my chest. We probably should have planned this meeting out a little more. Should have ensured Mom was ready for it; made sure Dad wasn't present. He wasn't a violent man by nature, but there was no telling how he would react to what was about to be revealed.

Hell, I wasn't sure how I was going to react, and I knew half of the story already.

"Frank," Mom said, a slight tremor in her voice as she wiped her hands nervously on her thighs. "Can I speak to you in the hall a moment?"

Dutifully, Dad rose from his seat and excused himself to follow his wife into the hall. They didn't go far; I could still see them from where I sat. Part of me actually wished that they moved out of sight so that I didn't have to witness the agonising conversation.

Mom said something that took a full minute for her to get through before promptly squinching her eyes shut as if waiting for a physical blow of some kind. Dad made a short statement that left Mom with a stunned expression, her eyes wide as saucers, her mouth hanging open, all the colour drained from her face.

My mind was whirling out of control with the possibilities of what he could have said when he stepped forward, encircled her with his arms, pressed a kissed to her forehead and said something else that brought tears to Mom's eyes. Next thing I knew, Dad was out of sight. The front door opened and closed and I heard a car start up and pull away from the house.

All I could think was, "Are my parents splitting up? Is this the straw that breaks the camel's back?" Surely things weren't that bad between them. Maybe Dad just needs some time to come to terms with what Mom just told him. It is a big piece of information to take in.

Looking quite dazed, Mom returned to the room and I was beginning to wish my legs worked properly so I could have run to her and hugged her. She stood beside the table for a long moment before finally turning glazed eyes to me.

"He knew," she whispered, as if she were afraid to speak the words. "He knew all these years and never said anything."

"What?" I exclaimed. "How? When?"

"I don't know," she said forlornly. "He said we'd talk about it later."

Surely this was a dream. Everything was going too smoothly. Apart from our brief conflict upstairs no one had butted heads with anyone else. Where was the screaming? Where was the anger and hate I'd been expecting? Maybe my family really had been body snatched.

Slowly, I met my husband's guarded gaze, wondering if he was as confused as I was, but before we could communicate anything the silence that had fallen in the moments since Mom had made her announcement was broken by a shrill, female voice.

"Can someone please start explaining?" Lesley demanded, tapping her glass on the table. "And also, now that old man Frank is gone, can I have a coffee?"

Brodie's head snapped around to glare at his daughter. "Lesley," he admonished. "Pipe down." Returning his attention to Mom he said, "Sorry, she's still jet lagged."

I know, I know, You didn't get any information. Next chapter, I promise.