Unbroken Threads
Page 20
The discomfort of discovery swelled within Jessica, obviating any response.
“Jesus Christ, Jess. The cut? The bruise? Your head? Was that all really from the trunk?”
“The cut and the bruise were. I hit my head on the wall of the building. They pushed me. But that was it. It wasn’t a big deal.” Her voice sounded unfamiliar in its meekness. She couldn’t convince even herself anymore about the triviality of that night’s events.
“It was a big deal. It is a big deal. You lied about it. You lied to me, so clearly you thought it was a big deal. How in the world could you think it’s okay to bring her to our house?”
Dark walls closed in on his raised voice. Jessica glanced up the stairs, where the kids were hopefully behind doors and plugged in. “How could I think it’s not okay?”
“You’ve already been through enough because of her. And continuing to represent her should be more than enough of a sacrifice for a stranger. Do you want our family to be targets now?” He’d finished with the sidewalk incident.
She found her voice again. “You’ve got to be kidding me, right? I hardly think that having her over for dinner will result in bands of roaming Islamophobes descending on our house.”
The condescension on his face, so rare, so damning, made Jessica waver between feeling as if maybe she were the worst person in the world and maybe he was being a complete jerk.
He barreled forward. “We don’t even know if she’s someone we should worry about. You do know Binnacle creates products to defend us against enemies from her part of the world, right? You are unbelievable.”
Jessica pulled Danny into the parlor and lowered her voice to a forceful whisper. “I’ve spent enough time with her. I know her story. We faced... a bad situation together. I would know if we needed to be concerned with her.”
“Why?” Danny didn’t feel the need to lower his own voice. “Because you have extensive training in psyops? Because she tells you a story, and it must be true? Just because you’ve Googled Syria and ISIS doesn’t mean you can spot a terrorist. And you definitely can’t spot a terrorist’s sister or daughter or cousin. Who knows if she’s a sleeper agent or if her family here is. Look at what happened in Paris. Canada. Australia. Nobody knew. Because you just can’t. You have to take responsibility and stay safe. And you definitely have to keep our family safe.”
“God, Danny. I’m no bleeding heart. You know that. And I’m not blind to the politics or the dangers. But you’re right. I do have a responsibility, both to our family and to Amina. I’m not going to show the kids that it’s okay to take on something as important as helping someone escape persecution and then just give up because it’s uncomfortable or scary. What kind of message does that send? What would that make me?”
Danny took a breath, poised to challenge Jessica’s declaration. Instead, he forced air out with a huff and narrowed his eyes. “Just keep her away from the house. And the kids. I don’t want them involved. I was not a fan of Cricket showing her around the house, and I’m definitely not happy with whatever the hell she and Conor were off doing.”
She met his challenging stare. “Good God, Danny, he was copying some family photos for her.”
Danny dismissed her explanation with a shake of his head. “I was okay with you doing this.”
“Okay with me doing this? What’s that supposed to mean? I didn’t ask your permission.”
“No,” he said. “You didn’t.”
Jessica’s jaw dropped. “I’m sorry. I think I missed the memo that I need to get your permission to do volunteer work.” The temperature in her core rose, making its way up toward her face. “Are you kidding me?”
“God, Jessica. I wasn’t talking about permission to do volunteer work in general. This has to do with our family’s safety. And your safety. You have no idea who you’re dealing with. I don’t care how many times you’ve talked to her or what she has told you. It is my business if you are exposing us to a risk.”
“Because she’s from Syria.”
“Of course.”
“Oh my God.” Jessica threw her head back. “Danny, I have never questioned whether what Binnacle is doing is exposing us to danger. You hire foreigners—”
“Who are fully vetted and pass background checks. We’d never get our security clearances otherwise.”
“And Amina has been fingerprinted and has had background checks. But what I was getting ready to say before you cut me off was that you are involved in dark areas of the Internet, encryption, government stuff. All of that, by definition, presumes bad guys—bad guys who would probably love to get access to the inner workings of your code. I don’t know what your government contracts cover. I trust you are looking out for us. For all I know, this new contract with Defense is providing encryption technology for military bases, and Binnacle will be a target for espionage and its principals targets for kidnappings.”
“You are grasping. And anyway, you don’t need to worry about that. We didn’t get the contract.”
Jessica had just been ready to fire back with a challenge on who was grasping, but her emotions took a left turn on seeing the veiled but clear defeat in Danny’s eyes. “What? When did you hear that? I thought you had an inside track and things looked good?”
“I did, and they did. Defense hasn’t issued the award yet, but my contact let me know yesterday we are out.” Danny suddenly stood up a little straighter and cocked his head.
Jessica didn’t like the way his mouth twisted. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“No, really, what? Why the look?”
“Nothing.”
The sudden passive-aggressiveness contradicted the heat in his eyes.
He continued. “I’m just still wondering why Defense went with someone else. It was an airtight bid. No one can compete with us on product or price. It must have been something else from their due diligence.” He arched his eyebrows. “They find things.”
He thought it was Amina. She knew it. But she wouldn’t give him the chance to feign personal offense and deny it. She recalled Amina’s concerns about government surveillance of her Internet use. They find things. “Well, she’s still my client, and I’m committed to getting her through the process.”
“Is there anything else you haven’t told me?” The comment was offhanded but biting.
The whole “permission” thing still rang in Jessica’s ears. It was her turn to sound offhanded. “I guess maybe I didn’t mention that I’m going to apply to enter a program to go back to work at H&C. Or do I need to ask permission for that, too?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
It had been quiet around the house since Thanksgiving the prior week. Emptiness hung in every room, even when people were home. Mikey and Cricket were tied up in winter sports, and final exams loomed for all three kids. Even Conor seemed to be paying attention to his books up in his room, though the glimmer of normalcy she had seen from him on Thanksgiving hadn’t reappeared since.
Book club tonight would be a welcome distraction. Jessica stoked her newly lit fire, watching the flames lick the cured wood. It was the perfect night for a fire, and she looked forward to the arrival of the girls, to the laughing and the clinking of glasses, and to the thoughtful arguments over plot points and character flaws. She didn’t even care if they didn’t talk about the book. She just wanted her people here, people who would support what she was doing.
Danny’s out-of-character fury from Thanksgiving had vanished. In its place was a coldness that even the old fireplace couldn’t thaw. She’d been tiptoeing around despite the fact that she had every right to volunteer with the IAP and every right to invite Amina to the house.
Little splinters of guilt fought to work their way into her head, but her anger at his treatment of her, as if she were a naïve child, wasn’t going to let them have their effect. Neither had broached the toxic subject, though it clung to the edge of Jessica’s mind. But she wouldn’t press, because that anger from Danny had scraped her
soul. She would make it through this case and focus on repairing things when it was over.
The clock was closing in on 7:00 p.m., with her guests due to arrive at 7:30. The kids had rushed up to their rooms the moment Jessica brought out the party set of wine goblets. Based on the bounty of snacks and drinks they’d smuggled upstairs, none of them would be back down tonight. As for Danny, now that the Defense contract wasn’t on the table, his late nights should have been over. But he’d already told the kids he wouldn’t be home until after they went to sleep tonight.
She would have to explain away his absence to the girls. Danny was the exception to the “Avoid book club at all costs” mindset among the book-club husbands. He actually seemed to enjoy the gatherings, finding that if he silently refilled everyone’s wine glasses, he could avoid getting put on the spot with uncomfortable questions. And the ladies loved him for it.
Jessica would be refilling the wine glasses tonight.
A light crackle from the fireplace accentuated the quiet. The stack of wood looked a little small, though, and hopefully the girls would linger.
The floodlights flicked on automatically when Jessica walked out the back door. The wood pile was hidden in the shadow of the light directed toward the yard.
An unanticipated chill ran up Jessica’s spine. A nor’easter had pushed the temperature below freezing, but that wasn’t what caused the chill. Jessica glanced up at the dark rectangles of glass of the master bedroom then picked up a couple of choice logs and hustled back into the warmth.
“Aren’t you worried about having her around your kids?” Manicured fingers held an empty wine goblet aloft. Ever-loyal Mary Anne, never one to hold back her opinions, started to go off track with her loyalty to Jessica after learning of her association with a Syrian.
Jessica carried a bottle of merlot over to rescue the empty glass. “No, I’m not. Why would I be?” She filled the glass, already rethinking her decision to tell the group about her latest volunteer efforts.
“Well, I mean, you don’t really know her. She’s from Syria, and they all hate us over there. How do you talk to her, anyway? Do you have an interpreter?”
Jessica set the half-full merlot bottle on a coaster on the trunk. “To be fair, they don’t all hate us over there. Most of them just want to be somewhere safe. And no, no interpreter. She speaks English like a lot of Syrians. She went to college. She’s an accountant. She’s a normal person.” She hoped she didn’t sound preachy, but really, her friends should have been taking her side on this.
Addie piped up from the couch. “But I’ve read about how these Muslim women are recruiting kids to join militant groups. The teens are buying tickets to, like, Turkey then walking over the border to Syria or wherever to become fighters or jihadist brides.”
“Yes! I’ve seen that on the news.” Mary Anne was getting riled up, her already weak filter failing. “They target kids who have no social ties and somehow convince them the West is evil and they can be warriors and martyrs. Can you imagine waking up and finding a note? ‘Mom and Dad, I left to fight for the caliphate.’” She shivered ominously and took another sip of wine, as if a good merlot would solve the worldwide terrorism crisis.
Jessica hadn’t mentioned to the girls how Conor and Amina had been huddling in the dark, scrolling through photos from Syria. And she wouldn’t.
“I’m not worried about that with the Donnellys!” Finally, someone was on her side.
“Thanks, Kai.” Jessica smiled in appreciation of the rescue.
Kai continued. “I’m worried about something happening here in America.” She sipped her chardonnay. “I won’t let the kids go hang out at the mall anymore or even go to the movies without me, and they hate me for it, but”—she shrugged—“they’re bringing in thousands of refugees, you know, and we don’t know anything about them. Add that to the gun violence we already have, and it’s scary.”
Some rescue. Jessica hadn’t mentioned Danny’s response yet, but all signs pointed to her friends siding with him. She couldn’t bear that.
“Hey, Jess,” Denise said. “Is this trunk new? I mean, not new, of course—it’s old. But have you always had it? Has my move to Bethesda completely disrupted my brain?”
God bless. This was a better line of questioning. “Yes!” Jessica said. “It was my great-great-great-grandmother’s. Came over on the boat. It had been in an attic for years. I can’t even tell you how filthy it was.” Jessica reflexively rubbed the tips of her fingers together. She could still feel the dirt on her hands.
“Well, I love it. I’m so envious. You always do such great work with these old things. I don’t know how you have the time. Of course, now that I don’t have the kids half the time, I guess I need to find a hobby, too. I’m going crazy.”
She hated any implication, even if unintended, that she must have all the time in the world to be able to take on frivolous pursuits. It was more than that. “It does take time, but it’s pretty Zen in my workshop, like time doesn’t even matter.” God, that sounded cheesy. “But I agree. Find a hobby that you love.” Jessica flipped her hand up to change both the tone and the focus of attention. “And come back to Annapolis more often, for God’s sake. We’ll keep you busy!”
The group chimed in with offers of yoga classes and lunches. A stray suggestion to try an Internet dating site was met with quick and universal condemnation but then a small reconsidered chorus of “well, maybe...”
The sound of metal hitting a wine glass brought the rising volume of chatter to a halt. Eight women turned to the fireplace, where Dina, the month’s researcher, stood holding a wine glass in her right hand and a fire poker in her left.
“Quit your gabbing and grab a seat, girls!” The group’s book researchers had to be authoritarians, or the girls would never get to the book. The wine and the gossip were always too good.
The rest of the women squeezed in on the couch or pulled in a chair from the kitchen while Jessica weaved through the room with a bottle of red and a bottle of white to top everyone off.
Jessica finally took a seat herself, but her attention drifted away from the discussion as she replayed the earlier conversation. Her friends’ words about Amina and about Syrians in general—tinged with prejudice as they might be—needled her. She hadn’t really paid attention to Conor’s social life lately, but he had holed up in his room a lot. And he certainly had issues with his parents. Then there was that unexpected connection Conor seemed to have made with Amina at Thanksgiving. Jessica had thought that was a good thing.
The girls weren’t always right about plot points and character flaws. Even surrounded by her good friends, Jessica couldn’t help but feel even more isolated. She needed someone to be on her side.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The flank steak was marinating. Conor liked it medium rare. A huge bowl of blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries, in just the right proportions to meet Cricket’s exacting specifications, was chilling in the fridge, ready for the freshly whipped cream Jessica had made as a special treat.
It would just be her and the kids again tonight. Not thinking about Amina and Thanksgiving was easier when Danny wasn’t home, and his work schedule seemed to respect that. She needed to wrap up some open questions with Amina next week but should be able to keep things low-key and prove Danny wrong.
Cricket rushed into the room, her jacket on and backpack buckled. “Hey, Mom!”
“What’s up? Dinner will be ready in about forty-five minutes.” Jessica set the just-scrubbed potatoes on the counter. Silver on Cricket’s chest caught her eye. “Your grandmother’s necklace brings out your Irish. I’m glad I surrendered it to you.”
“Thanks!” Cricket rubbed the pendant and smiled. “I’ll grab some dinner if I’m still hungry when I get home.” She seemed to recognize confusion on Jessica’s face and cocked her head. “Lit project. Remember?”
“Oh, right, of course.” She didn’t remember. “Do you have to go? Can’t you do it all online?”
Jessica wiped her hands on her pants and opened the fridge door. “Very funny. Let me get you a bowl of berries to go.” She took the bowl out then went searching for a plastic container.
“I’m good. Thanks, though!”
Conor poked his head in the room. “Let’s go.” His head vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
“Where are you going?” Jessica asked, her question tinged with a sense of abandonment.
Conor’s voice came from the hallway. “A friend’s.”
“He’s dropping me off at Caitlyn’s, and he’s going to some friend’s house.”
But I made dinner. But friends are good. Deep breath. “Okay. Have fun on the project.” She set the empty plastic container on the counter. “Drive safely, Conor.” The door shut just as the words left her mouth.
The kitchen seemed bigger than usual. Mikey. The potatoes were for Mikey. She could still salvage the night, but she needed the fry cutter.
She pulled open the drawer full of kitchen tools, but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t in the utensil drawer, either. Nor was it in the kitchen crock with the serving spoons or the container cabinet. Jessica stood with her hands on her hips, channeling her memory and mentally combing through each bag she’d ever taken to Goodwill. Where the hell was it?
Soon, every drawer and door was open, and she was on her knees, digging in the back of the corner cabinet.
Relief overtook irrational panic just as Mikey came in and asked why the kitchen looked like Conor’s bedroom. There it was, among an avocado slicer, a strawberry huller, and assorted kitchen accessories that had migrated to the very back of the cabinet.