SMK – In Due Time: Chapter 1

Journal Entry:

Monday, April 27, 1981

I'm in Bulgaria with my team for a location scout for IFF. The geography is really beautiful here in Sofia – the capital. We're surrounded by mountains, and I've enjoyed spending time at the thermal springs in the area. I picked up on some unsettling information while attending Mass yesterday at St. Sofia. I should probably report it to the IFF headquarters, but it seems too outlandish to be for real. I'm headed out tonight with my nightlight to see if I can verify the information.

Monday, December 21, 1987 (Day 1)

Lee and Amanda's Home

Amanda stretched as consciousness began to dawn. The frigid air from outside had seeped into the bedroom despite the central heat being set on sixty-five degrees during the night. Turning onto her side, she snuggled back into her pillow, reached out to lay her hand on her husband's shoulder...and met the mattress instead. Her eyes popped open, and she looked around the room. It was highly unusual for Lee to get up before she did.

Amanda turned over to her other side to roll out of the bed and moaned. At basically eight months pregnant, she was beginning to feel like a beached whale; she'd forgotten how uncomfortable everything was by this point in pregnancy. Reaching for the thick, fuzzy, blue robe lying on the chair beside the bed, she spied a light coming from under the new door they'd added leading from their bedroom into the nursery. Hmm.

Using her hand to push against the mattress, she scooted to the edge of the bed and awkwardly stood to don her robe. The baby kicked and rolled, seemingly happy to feel movement again. "Alright, Little Bit." Smiling, Amanda caressed what she thought was most likely the baby's back. "Let's go see what's up with your daddy." Thanking God for the lovely, plush new carpet in their recently redone room, Amanda tip-toed to the door and slowly turned the handle.

The door opened soundlessly, and Amanda poked her head around it to check for Lee. Her heart swelled with affection at the scene before her eyes, causing a smile to spread softly across her face. Gently rocking forward and back, Lee sat in the new glider-rocker, head leaned against the back of the chair, eyes closed, and slippered feet propped on the matching ottoman. She padded across blue carpet soft enough in color to work for a boy or a girl, stood beside him, and combed her fingers gently through his hair.

Without opening his eyes, Lee turned his head toward her, wrapped his arm around her waist, and smiled. "Good morning, Darling."

"Hey, Big Fella." Amanda leaned down to plant a soft kiss on the top of his head. "Whatcha doin' up so early?"

Lee sighed, opened his eyes, and gazed up at his precious wife – the woman he loved more than life itself. He wasn't quite ready to talk about why he was awake. "Oh, I just woke up and couldn't go back to sleep, so I thought I'd come in here and think." He glanced around the room. "It's peaceful."

Amanda snickered. "Yeah, for about another five to six weeks." She rested her hand on his shoulder. "Then peaceful may not be the word you associate with it."

"Have I told you recently how much I love you, Mrs. Stetson?" He took hold of her other hand, brought it to his lips, and dropped a tender kiss on the backs of her fingers.

"Well..." She feathered her fingers back through his hair. "...not today."

"Then, I'm slacking." He leaned to the side to deposit a soft kiss on her belly and smiled up at her. "Well, I love you."

Standing so he could give her a full-on hug, he wrapped his arms around her back and planted a kiss on her forehead. "You know, I was just thinking about the time right before we met, and I remember feeling like I didn't have a whole lot to live for..." Amanda pulled away just far enough to be able to gaze into his face. "Then you came into my life and showed me what living really looked like." His eyes collided with hers. "And now I have you, a real home, Dotty, the boys, and Little Bit." Dropping his eyes down to the chair he'd just vacated, he grinned. "And this rocker; I especially love this rocker." His gaze softened as he smiled back into her eyes and winked. "I may fight for feeding times just to be able to sit in it."

"Awww." Amanda lifted her lips to his for a tender, slightly lingering kiss. "I love you, too, Mr. Stetson." She gave him one last peck and moved away. "S'it okay if I jump in the shower?"

Lee smiled at the comical picture that formed in his head as he sat back down. "Sure. I'll just sit here for a few more quiet moments before everyone gets up and life gets crazy."

She squeezed his waist. "Sounds good. I'll just be a couple of minutes."

"Uh-huh." One side of Lee's mouth quirked up in a crocked grin, clearly reflecting his skepticism.

Scowling playfully, Amanda walked through the door only to stick her head right back into the room. "Oh, by the way, are you still planning on taking the boys to go cut down a Christmas tree after school?"

Relaxed and eyes closed again, Lee answered her question with a nod. "Yup. That's the plan."

"Great." She smiled and left the room.

The smile he'd pasted on for Amanda's sake slipped from his face. He'd had the dream again. He'd thought he'd gotten over them, but last year, when Billy'd had Thornton's Repression and Dr. Joyce had mentioned Max Bateman, they'd started occasionally haunting his subconscious again. Well, at least Amanda hadn't been losing sleep because of nightmares over the last couple of weeks.

Rubbing a hand vigorously up and down his face, he couldn't help but wonder what exactly had triggered the dream last night. Maybe it was because today was Jim's birthday – his fiftieth. Or, it would have been, anyway. Maybe it was because he'd gotten a card from Jim's widow last Friday – a card with a hand-written note talking about Jim's birthday, how much Jim had cared for Lee, how she hoped he'd finally been able to move on and find some happiness. That part made him smile; if only she knew.

Lee looked up toward the ceiling and wondered if Jim knew. Did God let people in heaven know things like that? He wasn't sure, but he'd like to think so. Jim would have patted him on the back and said, "See, Scarecrow? What did I tell you? The love of a good woman, a home of your own, and kids to drive you insane...that's what turns you into a real man, Son. Not all this cloak and dagger stuff." Jim would have been proud of him.

Lee chuckled. Jim hadn't really been old enough to call him "son." He was only thirteen years older, but maturity wise – in knowing what was important in life – he'd been light-years ahead. Ah, well. Everything happened for a reason. Yes, he had a lot of regrets, but if he'd wizened up sooner, he might not have Amanda and all the amazing things that came with her. She'd come into his life at just the right time.

Then, of course, there was the other card...

"All yours, Sweetheart," Amanda's voice drifted in from their bedroom. "You might want to get a move-on. I have an appointment with both Dr. Pfaf and Dr. Kelford this morning."

Right. A hot shower called. And just maybe, while Amanda was busy, he'd pay a visit to Dr. Claudia Joyce.

"How're you feeling this morning, Sweetheart?" Amanda was sitting at the kitchen island when Dotty came into the kitchen, laid her purse on the counter, and planted a kiss on Amanda's cheek.

"Not too bad, Mother." Amanda looked up from her recipe book. "I slept well; that helps."

"Little Bit didn't keep you awake last night, huh?" Dotty smiled as Amanda stood from the stool and waddled over to the cupboard where she kept all the baking items. "Are you thinking about Christmas cookies for your office party on Thursday?"

"Yeah..." She reached up to turn the spice labels so she could see them. "I thought I'd start them tomorrow to kinda stretch out the process, you know?" She pushed several containers out of the way. "I think we're out of cream of tartar."

"Oh." Dotty reached for the coffee carafe and poured the hot beverage into her mug. "I finished that on Friday when I made Snickerdoodles for Bridge night."

"Did someone say, Snickerdoodles?" Lee trotted down the last stair and stepped into the room. "I don't think I've had Snickerdoodles since my mother made them when I was a boy." He took the mug of coffee Dotty handed him and thanked her with a kiss on the cheek. "Please tell me someone is making Snickerdoodles." He leaned against the sink and took a careful sip.

"Snickerdoodles! Philip! Mom's making Snickerdoodles!" Jamie came in, dropped his backpack on the floor, and reached for the refrigerator door.

Turning away from the cupboard, Amanda gave Dotty a glare. "Great. See what you started, Mother?"

Dotty's eyes went wide. "What I started? You're the one looking for the cream of tartar."

Amanda glanced at her husband just in time to see him wipe the grin off his face then turned to Jamie. "Why don't I put you in charge of making Snickerdoodles...after I buy more cream of tartar."

"You should have Philip do it; he's the one who took cooking in school last year." He poured orange juice into a glass then turned back to return the carton to the refrigerator.

Philip came in and, snatching the glass of orange juice Jamie had just poured and placed on the counter, drank it in two big swigs and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "I already know how to cook, Meathead." He handed the empty glass to Jamie. "That means you should do it."

"Did you seriously just drink my orange juice?"

Philip smacked his lips and grinned. "It tastes better when you pour it." Ignoring Jamie shaking his head and mumbling, Philip turned toward Amanda. "Are you really making Snickerdoodles?" Without waiting for her answer, he looked more closely at her. "How are you feeling, Ma? You look like you're about to pop."

"Thank you very much, Sweetheart." Slightly amused, Amanda leaned against the kitchen counter and pinned Philip with a look. "Just for that, you get to make the Snickerdoodles."

"Way to go, Einstein." Jamie flicked the back of Philip's head. "Not only did you manage to make Mom feel fat, you've doomed us to burned Snickerdoodles." Not missing a beat, Jamie turned to Lee. "We still going to the Christmas Tree farm tonight?"

"That's the plan." Lee took another sip of his coffee.

"Alright!" Orange juice theft forgotten already, Jamie and Philip slapped each other a high-five. Amanda's and Dotty's eyes met across the room, both obviously remembering the conversation they'd had four years ago while decorating the Christmas tree about the boys missing out on making Christmas family tradition memories. Amanda tried to imagine what it would have been like if she'd married Dean instead of Lee.

"Well, that couldn't have been a pleasant thought."

"Hmm?" Looking up at Lee, she realized the room had gone quiet because her mother and the boys had left for school.

Lee drained his coffee mug, rinsed it out, and set it in the sink. "You shivered like you'd gotten the heebie-jeebies or something."

Amanda chuckled and shook her head. "Did you just say, 'heebie-jeebies'?"

Grimacing, Lee scratched the side of his head. "Uh, yeah. I think I did."

Amanda nodded her head sagely. "Perfect word."

Dylan sat on the tired, blue sofa in his mother's tiny house and looked around. The ravages of his mother's last year of life were apparent everywhere he looked. The faded blue and white floral wallpaper in the dining room was torn in several places and stained in others. In front of her Lazy-Boy chair – a gift from his father – the green, shag carpet was worn down to the backing, and there were gummy spots in it from spills that hadn't been properly cleaned up. The place felt empty – dead. It had never been full of life since he and his mom were the only two people who'd ever lived here. Oh, his dad had been around, but he hadn't lived with them. In fact, he'd rarely graced the house with his presence. But since his father's death six years ago, his mom's worsening alcohol addiction had robbed the place of what little life had remained in it.

He hadn't lived here in a long time, but 6 months ago when they'd learned her liver was failing, he'd moved back in. He wasn't the best son in the world, by far...but he loved his mom. Despite the alcohol, she'd really done the best she could for him under the circumstances. Besides, he hadn't been out of prison for long and really needed a place to stay.

Now, after nearly three months of probate, the house was finally his. It was the only thing of value she'd had remaining, and she'd left it to him in her will. Thankfully, her alcohol addiction hadn't led her into debt. Well, actually, it had. But though his father had never married her, he had taken his financial responsibility for them seriously. He'd never watched any of Dylan's school sporting events – had never come to his birthday parties or even taken him to any ball games. But he had kept them out of debt, bought them this house, and even "fixed" several of Dylan's run-ins with the law...though Dylan had no idea how he'd done that.

If he were speaking honestly, Dylan had sort of a love/hate relationship with his dad. The older he'd gotten, the more hate had pushed love out of the way until the only use he'd had for his dad was what he could get out of him – namely, his connections with law enforcement. His mom, on the other hand, had thought his dad walked on water. How she could think that about a man who'd gotten her pregnant as a teenager and yet was never willing to claim either of them as his family was beyond his comprehension. She certainly saw something in him Dylan had never been able to see. He guessed it made a little sense. His father, after all, had shown up occasionally. He'd never taken her out to dinner, but he would bring flowers, money, food, pay bills...and spend the night. Never did he see his mom happier or more put together than when his dad decided to grace her with his presence.

But all that had changed about about four months before his death. His dad had been absent for an unusually long stint of time; Mother had said he was on a location scout for the film company he worked for. When he had returned, he'd been...different. Distant. Distracted. Even a bit paranoid. Of course, Dylan only knew this from what his mother had told him; he'd been in prison at the time and hadn't seen him. He had, however, called his dad at work to see if he could "fix" his problem with the law, but his dad had actually told him to stop calling – that it was going to get him fired. He never did understand why in the world helping his son out of a jam would get him fired from a film company. He'd figured it was part of the paranoia his mom had talked about.

His mother grew bitter and dove even deeper into her alcohol addiction following his father's death. After Dylan had moved in with her at the beginning of the year, he'd hear her say strange things in her sleep...things about nightlights, timber wolves, sea dragons, and a scarecrow feeding his father to a pit viper. It never made sense, and he'd figured it just was his grieving mother's version of pink elephants. Then, in September, just three months ago, she'd handed him a stack of letters and a journal. She'd said they were his father's, and that they were the only things of his dad's she had to give him. The next morning when he went to wake her for breakfast, she'd been lifeless.

There wasn't much to do for the funeral; the only person of significance in his mother's life was himself. Cremation had seemed like the best option, and so she'd left this world with as little fanfare as she'd had when she lived in it. A week later, purely out of boredom...and a little curiosity, he'd started reading the letters and the journal. What he'd thought he was reading between the lines shocked him. He'd spent the last three months verifying what he thought his father had written, and now someone needed to pay.