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The Energy of Sun Rays

Carrie: Mis à Nu

With a satisfied sigh, Carrie closed the folder of student worksheets and slid it back into her tote bag. She'd finished the last of her marking tonight, after putting the chicken in to marinate and starting the beans and corn to soaking. Tomorrow, she'd finish preparing and then serve some traditional Haitian dishes as their Thanksgiving dinner, and she'd do so knowing that she didn't have this particular job lurking, undone, as a source of worry over the rest of the long weekend.

Stowing the tote in its usual place by the garage door, she headed upstairs. Jamie was asleep in the front bedroom; she could hear soft snores from the hallway but cracked the door open anyway. He was sprawled face-down across the bottom bunk, the one originally been meant as Phillip's, with a foot hanging off the side of the mattress. With a smile, she tiptoed over to tuck a blanket around the errant limb, careful not to wake him up. As she straightened up, she could hear the sound of Joe's voice coming from their bedroom at the rear of the townhouse. He was keeping the volume down, but this wasn't a particularly large townhouse so complete quiet wasn't possible.

His words became clearer as she finished coming down the hall. "Y a-t-il quelque chose en particulier auquel nous devrions prêter attention?"

Her attention focused. Why would he be asking about watching out for things, and why was he doing so in French? She closed their bedroom door behind her.

"Eh bien," said Joe into the phone. "C'est bien que nous soyons en vacances scolaires alors. Serez-vous de retour avant la fin?"

"Qui est-ce?" she asked softly, wondering whose school holidays were significant.

He acknowledged her with a gesture, but kept speaking to the person on the other end of the line. Shaking her head, she continued through the bedroom into their bathroom, turning on the shower as she shucked her clothing. Just as she'd decided the water was warm enough, she felt his arms come around her waist and his breath against her ear. He continued speaking in French, pitching his voice underneath the sound of the shower. "Sorry about that, love. That was my ex-wife's husband."

Carrie turned toward him enough to let him see the confusion on her face. Why not just use Lee's name? "I didn't know he spoke French."

"Neither did I, until just now, although he wasn't using it himself. His wife was there," he continued as he stepped back and began taking his own clothes off. "She doesn't speak it. But that was the first thing he told me to do when I picked up, so that our son wouldn't understand anything he might overhear me say."

She felt her frown deepening as she fastened her shower cap. "Why? What's so secret as to make you go to all this trouble?"

Joe brushed his lips against hers briefly, but then he came back a second time to linger. She leaned in happily, letting herself revel in his touch, his nearness, his presence. One of his hands slipped under the edge of the shower cap to tug at a braid, making her chuckle. "I really am in here for a shower," she told him in English. "What about you?"

"Cleanliness is a virtue," he informed her, letting her go long enough to hold the shower curtain for her. Once they were both inside the enclosure, he turned her around, away from him, and began washing her back as he switched back to French. "International Federal Film does more than make documentaries."

"I had wondered," she answered in kind. "I had requested a list of their films from the school library, and it seemed too short for the number of staff they seem to have. What of it?" Then everything fell into place. "Wait a minute. Are you saying that they're a front for some kind of covert governmental activity? And that L —" she cut herself off just in time. "they're involved in something clandestine themselves? I thought you said that she had minored in photojournalism."

"She did. But she always has had an altruistic streak as well," he told her. "Just like the two of us. It's why we connected, at first. She just…" he trailed off. "I've already told you most of it, that I needed to go overseas as badly as she needed to stay here and make a home." He paused to rinse her off, and then turned her back to face him. "Do mine, now?"

"Of course," she replied, retrieving the washcloth and soap while he turned around. "But that doesn't answer my question."

He sighed. "Yes," he told her. "Officially, they don't exist. They're a kind of backup to the three-letter agencies, filling in whatever gaps are needed. I first met him when I was charged with murdering the Prime Minister. At the time, I'd thought she was just a character witness, but I later found out they were actually working together. From what I can tell, she's either an apprentice or a junior operative herself. Maybe an analyst." He paused. "I've tried to avoid asking too many questions. I'm not sure I want to know all the answers. But I did hear the word 'treason' when they disappeared a little over a year ago. You remember that."

"I do." He'd meant to introduce her to his sons around then, but they'd had to put it off when he'd had to go care for the boys at their mother's home. "What was going on?"

"Something got leaked, something big, and they got blamed for it. I don't know any more than that." He ducked his head under the water and scrubbed shampoo into his hair. "Just that it got worked out."

Carrie began to wash her face and torso. "What does that have to do with what's going on right now?" Oh, it was getting irritating to have to keep using all these pronouns and circumlocutions. "Is something else going on?"

"Yes," he answered. He rinsed the shampoo out of his hair before turning back to face her. "He called to warn me. That wasn't a car accident."

"What do you mean, that wasn't a car accident?"

"It was intentional."

"It was what? You mean they were…" she trailed off, not able to say the word out loud.

"Yeah," he said. "They were murdered." Ils ont été assassinés. The sentence came out in a bitter tone. "They just uncovered the conclusive evidence this week. And there's a good a chance we're in danger too."

With shaking hands, Carrie reached around him to shut the water off. "I think," she said, "you'd better start from the beginning. It sounds like there's a lot to explain."

It was past midnight, but she knew she needed time to think before she would be able to sleep. Switching on the light over the kitchen window, Carrie retrieved a saucepan, placed it on the stove, and poured in some milk. While it heated, she reached into the spice rack for nutmeg.

Lee and Amanda Stetson were intelligence operatives. Spies. The kind that made enemies who'd be ruthless enough to carry out an attack against their family. The car crash that had killed Dotty and Phillip was their worst fear come to life, the exact kind of event they'd hoped to prevent by hiding their marriage. That tactic hadn't even slowed their enemies down, although Lee had told Joe that they already had some idea who might have been behind the strike.

She sighed. No wonder the three of them had been so on edge lately. They'd done an admirable job of managing to hide the details from Jamie, and for good reason; he was still having nightmares about the scenes in the emergency room. There was no need to give him any further stress, at least not until his therapist said he was ready to handle more. But that doesn't explain why they hid it from me, she thought. She'd flung those words at Joe once the full impact had hit her, and he'd at least had the good grace to look guilty and apologize.

They'd find a way to get through this, she knew, but that was part of why she'd needed some time by herself. Pouring the now-warmed milk into a glass, Carrie stared at the window, dark and opaque in contrast to the kitchen light, and found herself wondering if anyone was looking back in toward her. Shuddering, she turned out the light, plunging the kitchen into shadow and silhouette. Her eyes adjusted quickly, and the streetlights outside let her see that there wasn't anyone immediately visible. Still, she was uneasy, and suspected she always would be now.

Perhaps that was why Joe had hidden the nature of Lee's and Amanda's work from her, although he'd claimed it simply hadn't seemed important enough to mention before now. After all, it really didn't affect the two of them, or his children — child, she corrected herself with a pang of sorrow — most of the time. The main problem was that when and if it did, the results wouldn't be as simple as scheduling conflicts and hurt feelings.

Speaking of Joe's child…

Perhaps, she thought, Jamie really was better off living with them instead of with his mother and stepfather. He very likely was safer, at least. But she shook her head to dismiss the thought almost as soon as it occurred to her. When they'd married, it had been with an eye toward eventually getting back into working with foreign aid agencies, providing direct assistance to those less fortunate than themselves. Amanda had been right about that being no life for raising children; but having grown up as the second-oldest of seven children, Carrie was more than content to be a teacher, favorite aunt, and part-time stepmother. It was one of the ways she and Joe were compatible, despite their twelve-year age difference.

Is spying really any better for raising children, though? She knew that CIA and FBI Agents often married each other, since it was rare for civilians to truly understand the demands of that sort of job. They weren't the only ones, either; the trend was prevalent all across emergency services and law enforcement in general. Surely at least some of those couples had found a way to balance family life with the demands of intelligence work. On further thought, she decided it probably wasn't much harder than a two-career military family. They found ways; no doubt Lee and Amanda could too.

For now, though, it might be better if she and Joe waited a while before accepting one of the assignments they'd recently been offered. The things that Jamie needed the most were safety and stability, and four adults could do a much better job than two when it came to creating that sort of environment.

Author's Note: French translations were obtained using Google Translate. I back-translated to try and get them as accurate as possible, but since I don't speak French myself there may still be errors. If you spot any, please let me know!