What He Offered

Chapter 10: Christmas Past

Bones placed the page she had just finished on the face-down pile, and hefted the remaining sheets of paper in her hand suspiciously. Something did not jibe; there were too few pages remaining. It had taken Booth some thirty odd pages to reach this point in his tale, and there appeared to be only twenty or so left, with, she calculated, more than half the story still untold. How was he ever going to wrap it up so quickly when his narrative pace so far had been leisurely in the extreme? Or, had he given her an unfinished version? He had better not have done that! She was sorely tempted to flip to the last page, just to confirm that the story was indeed complete, but she thought of her own novels, and stayed her hand. She didn't approve of readers who, impatient with her careful plotting, skipped to the end in order to discover the bare-boned answers to who'd done it and why. If she wanted her readers to respect the integrity of her work, she would have to extend the same courtesy to Booth (and his co-author) as well. That being said, she didn't have to like it. She continued reading.

The Tale of Twin Booths, cont'd

J. R. had caught him flat-footed. What could he say? He remembered Brennan's reaction to being told Vic wanted more from her at the very outset of their acquaintance. Likely, her twin would be no different: she would cut and run. As he couldn't risk admitting that he thought the two of them might have something special, some great love, in the future, he fell back on, "I'm a psychologist. It's my job to help people."

She did not appear to find this reply entirely satisfactory. "You're not being kind to me because of… her ?"

"Brennan? You think all this is about your sister?" Tim snorted. "Talk about preposterous! Brennan and I are like oil and water… milk and vinegar… magnetic north and south…"

J. R. giggled. "Okay! You can stop. I get the picture." As quickly as it had bubbled up, her mirth drained away. "It's like that with me and Temper, too."

"Temper?" Tim was almost sure he had misheard.

"That's was my nickname for her when we were teenagers. She called me 'Joyless' or 'Ruthless,' depending on her mood." J. R. rolled her eyes. "Temper never liked me much, and I hardly ever understood her, but we 'co-existed peacefully' as our Dad used to put it. Until…"

"Your parents disappeared."

"Yes. She blamed me; not me and Russ, just me. You may know our parents vanished shortly before Christmas. They went out shopping one day, just a few more presents to buy, they said. Christmas rolled around, and Russ, trying to keep our spirits up, put up a tree, decorated it beautifully, and on Christmas Eve, he placed the gifts he'd found hidden around the house under it. In his hurry to set the stage, he didn't check the gift tags on the presents, so it wasn't until the morning that we found that, though there were three each for Russ and Temper, there were no presents for me."

"Oh, J. R.!" Tim's heart bled for her. "How awful."

"Yes, but that's not the point of the story, don't you see? Our parents had gone out that day to buy my presents. If I'd never been born, if Temper had never had a twin, Mom and Dad wouldn't have had to go shopping that day, they wouldn't have blundered into whatever nastiness wound up killing them. They'd still be alive."

"But… that's ludicrous!"

"I agree, but that's Temper: hyper-rational about some things, totally irrational about others. You see, now, why I had to conceal my identity."

Tim had the opening he needed to tell her that the new light shed on the Keenan disappearance had to exonerate her completely in Brennan's eyes, but he anticipated J. R. wouldn't be in quite so calm a state of mind after hearing the truth, and he still had a few questions to ask her. "I can see why you thought a disguise was necessary to work here at the Jeffersonian, but you changed your name legally in your early twenties."

"Remember, Tim: Temper is a prodigy. She was already making her mark in the journals, and being talked about in academic circles when I was still in college. At the time, I was majoring in anthropology, and didn't want anyone making the connection."

"Too much pressure?" Tim guessed.

She nodded. "It was always like that in school. Our teachers didn't mean to be hurtful, but they would look at me and my work, shake their heads, and say, 'I can't believe you and Temperance are twins'. "

"Maybe they were stunned you weren't disrupting class, or being uncooperative."

She rewarded him with a small smile. "There was some of that, I grant you. But, mostly, it was 'poor, little Joy Ruth: not a patch on her sister'."

Tim didn't want her dwelling on this sad history, so he moved on quickly. "J. R., I'm curious: how did you happen to choose 'Keenan' as your new last name?"

"Oh! Well, I didn't put a lot of thought into it, if that's what you mean. There was a store in the town where I lived with my foster family, the Chases, named 'Keenan's Jewelry.' I used to dawdle outside their display windows, looking over all those sparkly solitaire diamond rings and dreaming of being offered one myself someday. Silly girl stuff, I know. And then, when I had to pick a name, 'Keenan' just popped into my mind, I guess because of the happy association, and since it had nearly the same shape and mostly the same letters as my original name, it seemed… right. I don't know how else to explain it."

The moment had come; Tim couldn't postpone it any longer. "There is another reason, J. R., that the name 'Keenan' appealed to you."

She looked at him blankly. "I'm sorry. I don't follow you."

"J. R., when you were a child, little more than a toddler really, 'Keenan' was your last name. Your parents were known as 'Max' and 'Ruth Keenan' back then."

"No," she said, with a vigorous shake of the head. "No. You've made a mistake, Tim, or you've been misinformed. My parents were Matthew and Christine Brennan."

"From the time you could remember, yes, but before that, they ran cons to rob safe deposit boxes. They used charm and cunning to gain access to bank vaults, J. R., not violence. Unfortunately, the gang they associated with did, and when your mother gave evidence against them, they sent their hit man to take them out. Your parents did leave you of their own free will that December day, not because they wanted to, but in order to draw McVickers away from you. It was your safety and survival they were trying to insure."

J. R. had listened without interruption, unless repeatedly shaking her head could be interpreted as such. When he finished, she said firmly, "No, it's not true. Not my parents. I don't believe it." She pushed away from the table, stood, and hurriedly began to collect her handbag and light cloth coat from the back of her chair. "Thank you for the coffee, Tim, and for being so kind, but I… I do have plans, and…"

She began to walk off at so brisk a clip, Tim was obliged to chase after her. "J. R., wait! Please! You're understandably upset. You shouldn't be alone… J. R., stop!"

She paused, turning only her head to the side, as if lending him an ear.

"Will you believe Russ? I can take you to him. Tonight, if you want. He's working at a carnival not far from here." She did not move, so he allowed himself to approach, cautiously. "You would like to see Russ, wouldn't you?"

When he had come up beside her, she searched his face anxiously, then gave a small nod. "All right, then." He gestured for her to precede him. "Let's go."