by Jeremy Pack
As long as Chris lived, he would never forget the look of hopeless loss in the other man's eyes.
Epilogue
THE sunny August afternoon was filled with the delicious fragrance of late-summer blooms and the salty tang of the sea.
Chris laughed as Brianna frolicked in the yard with a clumsy chocolate-colored long-haired dachshund puppy she'd creatively named Brownie.
He patted the dirt around the dahlia he'd just planted, and his heart swelled at the sounds of her laughter as she rolled in the grass with her sweet, floppy companion.
He withdrew another plant from its plastic container and dropped it into the fresh hole he had dug. Ten more to go. He glanced over the herd of flowers waiting for their spot in the rich soil.
Before returning to the task, he sat back on his heels and watched Brianna play. As he had often been over the past year, he found himself amazed at the child's resilience. He still awoke with nightmares from time to time, and even though they were fading, he knew he would always bear the scars of those terrible events.
She, on the other hand, seemed not to have been affected at all.
Sighing heavily, he turned his attention back to the plants. Just as he was preparing to dig the next hole, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and he looked up in surprise. A timid-looking middle-aged woman lingered ten paces back. Her expression, shadowed by the wide brim of a straw hat, was hesitant as she stood clutching a purse and eying him warily. She wore a white crocheted blouse and a cotton skirt that swirled about her legs in the soft afternoon breeze. She was pretty and... somehow familiar.
He stood, brushing the dirt from his hands, and greeted her with a wave. "Can I help you?" he asked cordially.
She peered at him from beneath the brim of her hat and smiled shyly, then, seeming to decide it would be rude to continue to lurk, approached. "Are you...," she began. "Are you Chris James?"
"Yes," he said, curious.
She seemed to appraise him for a moment. For some strange reason, he felt like she was taking his measure. "I'm... my name is Angelica Kingsley. I'm Jason's mother." The words tumbled out as if through the wall of a broken dam.
Chris was stunned into speechlessness. He stood rooted to the spot, silent, unsure of what to say. He'd thought so often of Jason over the past year. Though he had known the man for only a handful of days, since they had parted, nearly all of his dreams and secret fantasies were filled with memories of that sexy smile, those mysterious hazel eyes, the long, lithe planes of his body.
"I'm sure this must be a surprise," she said, seeing the color that rose in Chris's cheeks. "I have to admit, when I ended up in your yard, I was a little surprised myself. I wasn't sure it was right for me to come."
Chris found his voice. "Of course, you're welcome. I... that is... I am a little taken aback. I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, it's just that...."
Her eyes were kind as she looked at him. It was clear from her posture that she was drawn to him. "No need to explain. I know all that happened must have been difficult for you."
Difficult was an understatement, but he just smiled, feeling unsure and out of place.
"Jason...," she said, still hesitant. "It was a rough time for him too."
Chris blushed again. He knew what part he had played in that, and from the look in her eyes, he suspected Angelica did too. "I'm sorry. I know I hurt him," he said softly, not sure why he would make such an admission to this woman, who was, after all, a complete stranger.
"Please, don't apologize. He understands. I understand," she soothed. "Anyone would need time to heal after such an ordeal."
Chris nodded in agreement.
"Your daughter is beautiful," Angelica said, her kindly eyes crinkling at the corners as she watched Brianna playing with Brownie.
"Thank you." He followed her gaze, and he smiled too, overcome with love for the little girl. They stood together in silence for a time, enjoying Brianna's delight with the puppy's clumsy antics. Finally, Angelica placed a timid hand upon his shoulder.
"Chris," she said, the hesitation back in full force, "about Jason---"
"Is he hurt?" Chris's heart leapt as he looked into the woman's hazel eyes---a perfect match for her son's.
"No, no. He's fine. But, he's going through a rough time right now, and... I thought... I hoped you might consider being there to support him."
"What's wrong? What's happened?"
She took a deep, shuddering breath. He could tell she was struggling with this, but she was committed nonetheless. "After everything was resolved with George MacQuery and you, he rejoined the FBI. They put him immediately back on the Don Gerry case."
Chris stiffened. He remembered all too well how Jason had been affected the first time he'd investigated that monster.
"They caught him," Angelica continued. "This time, it looks like they've got him, but there's always a chance."
Just then, Chris knew exactly what kind of anxiety Jason must be going through.
"I know it would mean an awful lot to him if... if you were there when they hand down the verdict. He's in Quantico, Virginia, in federal court."
"When?" Chris asked, the matter already decided.
"In two days."
He thought for a moment and, meeting her eyes, gave her the answer she had come for without saying a word. She nodded, understanding.
"Would you like some lemonade?" he asked, hitching his arm through hers as though they were old acquaintances. "Because I spent all morning squeezing lemons, and I'd hate to drink it alone."
She giggled quietly and followed him into the house.
JASON and Frank strode happily down the wide marble stairs fronting the federal courthouse. Reporters thronged them. Jason and Frank didn't need to say a word. Their victory was clear in the expressions on their faces.
Gerry had been convicted. The judge had just sentenced him to die by lethal injection, and he had been hauled from the courtroom, kicking and screaming and wailing. It was a fitting end for that sick, demented monster.
A microphone was thrust into Jason's face, and a reporter shouted, "Mr. Kingsley, how does it feel?"
He gazed up into the bright afternoon sun and said, "Like a...." His eyes widened in surprise. Just beyond the crowd, bathed in the golden glow of the waning day, a solitary figure stood quietly, holding firmly to the hand of a little girl with bright red curls. She fidgeted impatiently, clearly anxious to be doing something other than just standing there.
Disbelieving, squinting to be sure the vision was not some kind of mirage, he felt tears of joy swelling in his eyes. "Like a dream," he finished, almost breathlessly.
Heedless of the reporters, heedless of the questions pursuing him down the marble stairs, he ran and swept Chris into his arms, laughing and crying all at once.
Chris reached up, clasped the back of his head, and drew him close, tears of his own flowing liberally down his cheeks. Their lips met in a passionate, hungry embrace.
When they finally separated, Jason didn't trust himself to speak as he held Chris at a distance, drinking in the sight of him. How he had longed for this moment. The months and distance had been an agony.
"I thought on it," Chris finally whispered. "I kept it." His eyes were serious as he said, "Some things are just too precious to throw away."
Jason's heart soared as the meaning in those words struck him. He had said the same thing to Chris the last time he had seen him. Does he really mean it? "Are you sure?"
Chris stared back, his own eyes reflecting the aching emptiness he'd endured for far, far too long. "More than I've ever been," he answered.
Frank imposed his bulk between them. "Knock it off, now, none of that fluffy shit." He made a sound of disgust. "I'm starving, and you two are killing my appetite."
They all laughed as Brianna tugged on Jason's pant leg. "Hey, I'm hungry too."
Jason swept her into the air and spun her around, eliciting a peal of childish giggles. At a withering look from Chris, w
ho obviously knew what was coming, he chuckled and said, "I'm hungry three." His smile was radiant, overflowing with love and supreme happiness.
Chris groaned. "You people and your food. I swear."
"Can I have ice cream?" Brianna asked hopefully, sensing an opportunity.
Frank took her from Jason and started walking away. "I know a place where they serve some ice cream that'll put hair on your chest, little red," he promised her as they went.
She looked at him solemnly, noticing the tufts of hair peeking out from his unbuttoned shirt collar. "I think you been there a lot," she replied.
"A time or two."
"I don't want hair on my chest," she said seriously, her little nose wrinkling in distaste. Frank chuckled.
Jason grabbed Chris's hand and started dragging him after the retreating pair. "Come on. We'd better keep up, or he's bound to corrupt your daughter."
Chris flashed a beatific smile at him, and together, laughing, filled with hope and promise, they hurried to catch up.
About the Author
JEREMY PACK is a bundle of contradictions; pragmatic but given to flights of romanticism, liberal mindset with old-fashioned sensibilities, intellectual but often bumbling. Raised in the exotic wilds of southeastern Idaho, he narrowly escaped the potatoes and religious majority intent on a stake-burning and set off for adventure in the wide world---living the high-life in such far-flung ports as Maui, Las Vegas, New York, and the Oregon coast.
Jeremy now resides in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with his partner, Jason, and their precocious (but weak-in-the-knees cute) daughter, Elise.
He works in the video game industry by day, bows to the demands of his dictator-offspring by night, and spends free time building things, writing things, and fixing things that "don't work".
You can find him on the web at http://www.jeremy-pack.com
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