Duty With Honor Book Five: An Unexpected Pause

by Jordan Bollinger

  Andrew changed into his pajamas quickly, readied the bed for Beth, and then popped downstairs. By the time Elizabeth emerged from the bathroom, he'd returned, with two cups of tea -- one on each of the bedside tables, and was propped up on a pile of pillows, holding the Agatha Christie book.

  "I guess I lollygagged in the bathroom, huh?" Beth said, as she walked over to her side of the bed. She plumped her pillows against the massive, rosewood headboard, and was soon sitting up, tea in hand, waiting for Andrew to finish bolting down his scalding tea, and begin reading.

  Then, as Beth sipped on her tea, Drew continued reading the book. Every time he stole a look at her, she appeared peaceful and content. And that, he supposed, was another step on the road to normality.

  The next morning dawned hot and muggy, even for April in New Orleans, and the pair decided to take another trip up the River Road, this time to San Francisco Plantation. Although the car ride was pleasant, it was no cooler or more comfortable as they toured the house and then strolled the grounds.

  They returned to the city to discover a light rain had passed through and cooled things down a bit. The sun was now piercing through the clouds, so that star-bursts of light shone over the square. And Beth headed straight for her bench.

  "So, you want to people watch some more, do you?" Drew asked. But he was grinning.

  "Do you mind?"

  "No, of course not," Andrew insisted. "You enjoy yourself. I'm going to finish exploring the cathedral." He'd started to walk across the closed off street, when he paused, swung around and said, "But you stay there, all right, Sweetheart?"

  "I will, Andrew."

  Half an hour later, Andrew exited the darkened church and out into the sunlit square, squinting until his eyes adjusted. He was halfway to Beth's bench, when he stopped, rubbed his eyes, and forced himself to breathe. Elizabeth was not alone on the bench. A young woman and her toddler -- a little girl -- were there.

  And Beth sat beside them, holding an infant.

  Andrew fought to control his voice, his breath, his heart rate. Then, he continued across to the women, smiled and said in a harsh, controlled voice, "Well, I see you've made some friends."

  "Drew," Beth said, beaming up at him, "this is Murielle and her daughter, Tara." Then she held out the baby, adding, "And this is Kenneth. He's not quite three months old -- just about the same age as James."

  He didn't know what to do. How to react. His heart was pounding inside his ribcage. A lump blocked his throat, and the sun had become so bright, his eyes were watering.

  For one horrible moment, he feared Beth was going to hold the baby out -- for him to take. And, he didn't think he'd be able to do that. He was astounded that she was so...calm...serene. How could she possibly act like that, when all he wanted to do was run away and hide somewhere?

  Somewhere he could curl up into a ball and die.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Beth handed the infant back to his mother, smiled at the little girl, and said, "Thank you. Thank you so very much. I wish only good things for you and your family." She stood up, walked over to Andrew, and slipped her hand into his. Then she led him back up Chartres Street and towards the little door into the patio.

  "It's all right, Drew," she said to him. "Everything's all right."

  He was still unable to speak. He'd had trouble weaving and dodging tourists moving towards the square. So he allowed Beth to navigate him to the sanctuary of the apartment.

  Once safely inside the hidden courtyard, he collapsed on stairs. He was clammy, shaking, and still unable to talk to her. He actually felt faint -- as if he'd lost a large amount of blood.

  And, he didn't understand why.

  *****

  Elizabeth was gob-smacked. She'd expected herself to start bawling when she accepted the child from his mother's arms. But, she'd been amazed to find how much comfort she took from that tiny bundle of life.

  This is what James would have felt like in her arms, she'd thought. This is what she would have experienced each time she held him, she imagined. And then suddenly, a peace had descended over her.

  James was still dead. But, somehow holding that child had allowed her to pass through that dark place she'd been locked in since waking up from her coma, and walk out into the light.

  What perplexed her was Andrew's reaction. She knew in his career he'd looked down the barrel of guns, he fought off knife attacks and even defused a bomb -- at least once. Yet, seeing her holding that infant had terrified him. The sight had absolutely stricken him.

  Beth didn't let Drew remain on the steps long. "Come on, Andrew. Let's go upstairs and have some tea, or coffee, or scotch, or whatever. Just, come on," she said, as she tugged on Drew's arm.

  He didn't answer. He just followed her up the stairs and back into the kitchen.

  She set the kettle on to boil, found a tea pot and the tea, and set the table with cups and saucers, sugar and milk, talking, all the while. "Do you want Earl Grey or Scottish Breakfast? Would you like a sandwich, or something?"

  She hoped he didn't, because she didn't remember until afterward she'd made the offer that there really wasn't any food.

  "I don't care Beth. I'm not sure I even want any tea."

  "Well, you're going to drink some," she told him, firmly. "No arguing," she insisted. After she poured the boiling water into the tea pot, and carried it to the table, she dragged her chair close to him, and said, "Talk to me, Sweetheart."

  Tears rolled down his tanned cheek, as he looked away from her. But she took his chin gently and turned him back. An awful sob caught in the back of his throat, before he bit his bottom lip.

  "Don't do this, Drew. Don't shut me out. Tell me what happened out there."

  "I saw you," he sobbed, "holding that baby, and I saw what we'd stolen from you."

  Then he turned away again, and took several deep breaths. After a moment, he seemed to have gotten control of himself again, and looked over at her and said, "I shouldn't have allowed them to bury James. I shouldn't have let them take him away from you. I should have protected him for you. So you could see him. Hold him."

  "Andrew," she said in a soft voice, "you didn't do anything wrong. No one knew when I'd wake up. They didn't know for sure if I would wake up." She swallowed hard and added, "Andrew, they wouldn't have let me hold him. They wouldn't even have let me see him."

  "But--"

  "No, Drew. Don't you see, the miracle that was James was gone? He was no longer in his little body. My mom was right to insist he be buried -- that he be put him to rest. She took the responsibility away from you, and Richard and Father -- because she knew that you all couldn't do what needed to be done."

  "I don't understand," he said.

  "It was the right thing to bury James. And, I hadn't realized you had not allowed yourself to grieve. I thought you'd just worked through it while I was in the coma."

  "But--"

  "No, Andrew. I'm telling you it's all right."

  "But, I should never have let myself to become so emotional. I'm sorry for that. I shouldn't have broken down like that."

  "Why ever not?" she asked. "He was your son too. Why shouldn't you feel emotions?"

  "I'm all right, now," he insisted. "I'm sorry I allowed that to happen. Forgive me."

  "Andrew, why are you doing this? Why are you apologizing for showing grief?"

  "Because I'm supposed to take care of you. I'm supposed to help you deal with your grief. I'm supposed to stay strong for you."

  It was then she remembered something Jack had said -- about Andrew's behavior after James' death, when she'd failed to regain consciousness.

  She fixed her tea, and sipped on it for a second, as she went over some things in her head. After another minute, she asked, "Does this have something to do with the talk you had with Father in the hospital?"

  "How did you know about that?" Drew asked.

  "Jack told me," she answered. "Now, does this have something to do with what my father said to you?"


  "Yes," he managed in a low, hoarse voice.

  "Drink your tea, Andrew. I think you need it." She took another sip of her own tea, set the cup down in the saucer hard, and asked, "Andrew...Sweetheart...I want you to answer some questions, all right?"

  "Yes..."

  "And I want the truth."

  He stared over at her, wearing a wounded, hang-dog look. "I always tell you the truth."

  "I know, Sweetheart. But," she told him in a soothing tone, "this time you might consider not telling me the complete truth, because you're trying to protect me."

  "I'll tell you the truth, Beth."

  "All right, Sweetheart," she said. "Now, I need you to think back to the first night I was home from the hospital."

  "All right."

  "You found me crying in the shower, and got in and held me as I cried. Do you remember?"

  "Yes. Of course, I remember. How could I forget?"

  "Did you cry with me?"

  "What?"

  "Andrew...you heard my question."

  "I...don't rem--"

  "Andrew!"

  "All right then. Yes, I did. I wasn't supposed to -- but I did. I hoped you wouldn't notice, because of the running of the water. The sound of your crying just about ripped my heart out, and I thought you wouldn't know."

  "Then what happened?"

  "I don't understand. I got you out of the shower and ready for bed. Then I took my wet clothes off and joined you."

  "Sweetheart, why wouldn't you let me see you cry?"

  "Because, I'm the man. I needed to stay strong for you. I needed to take care of you. I needed to help you grieve."

  "And what about you? What about your grief?"

  "I don't understand."

  "What about your grief?" she repeated. "What about your pain? Why aren't you allowed to mourn?"

  He just blinked at her a few times, as if he was trying to think of a reasonable answer.

  "Oh, Drew!" she cried out. "Don't you see? That's what it was! That's what I didn't understand -- because it was so subtle, I couldn't put my finger on it."

  "What?"

  "You were being Father. You didn't act like you. I didn't know if you were relieved James had died. Or that perhaps, you'd decided you didn't want to be married to me anymore.

  "Do you remember what you told me that night in New York? When I discovered what you were? I told you you were just like my father?"

  "I said I wasn't. That my father was like yours."

  "And what else?"

  "I don't know. I can't remember."

  "Then I'll tell you, shall I? You said that we -- you and I -- were the perfect blend of both of our parents. You said we were a matched set -- the perfect pair."

  "Yes, maybe. But--"

  "Well, you were right. And once I realized you weren't Father -- all stern and business-like -- that you had feelings and emotions -- that's when I fell in love you. Because you weren't so stern, like Father."

  "But..."

  "Just tell me what Father said, Drew." Then after a moment, she softened her voice, and added, "Please, Sweetheart."

  After a tentative silence, he finally answered, "He said I had to stay strong for you. I had to be your rock. I was to comfort you."

  "And what about you?"

  "I'm the man. I'm supposed to take care of you."

  "Edmund Andrew Oliver!" she cried out. "You lost a son too. You had every reason to mourn."

  "But--"

  "Don't you understand, Sweetheart? I needed a chance to comfort you. Sharing our grief is important. It's the only way we both can heal."

  Andrew just sat, drinking his tea, and staring at her, as if he was thinking about what she'd said to him.

  Beth jumped up, and said, "Give me some money, Drew. And, I'll go out and pick up something for us to eat for dinner."

  He stood up, took out his wallet, and handed it to her. But he didn't sit back down. Instead, he carried the cups over to the sink. Then he turned to her and said, "I'll go with you."

  "I'm not going to run again, Drew."

  "I know that. I just want to go with you." He had a sad expression on his face, and added, "I need to be with you."

  "Why?"

  "Because I love you, and I take comfort from being with you," he said in almost a whisper.

  She held out her hand, and said, "Then let's get going." But she was touched by his words.

  In the end, they walked back to K-Paul's. It was still early, and they didn't have to wait to get a table. About half way through their appetizers, Andrew -- normal Andrew -- seemed to emerge completely. And Beth stopped worrying. She'd found her husband again. In doing that, she'd found her way back to herself.

  The thing was she still wasn't feeling particularly sexy or desirable. And, with the exception of his admission the night before, she'd seen no sign of him wanting her. So, she wasn't at all sure if that part of their life had fallen along the wayside.

  But, she didn't even care about that...very much.

  Elizabeth looked over at her husband and smiled. Somehow, they could get through this. She knew that now. She'd discovered why Andrew hadn't acted like himself. And, she'd somehow healed herself by holding that baby.

  God had answered her prayers -- at least part of them. So, she was sure that he would answer the rest very soon.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Sometime during dinner, Andrew realized that everything Beth had said before they'd walked to the restaurant was true. He'd suppressed his grief, as he did his best to take care of her.

  They were partners, after all. Partners in all things. Which meant he was going to have to find a way to tell her that someone had followed her from London -- hell-bent on killing her. And once he'd told her, they'd need to figure out why.

  But, for now, all he wanted was to reconnect with her. They were in this magical city -- a city she adored. And he intended to take full advantage of her love of New Orleans to repair their marriage.

  He'd hoped they would have this time together -- alone and unfettered. Time to reconnect.

  The thing was, he wasn't at all sure that Jack was right -- about whoever had been after Beth believing they'd succeeded in killing her. But, so far he hadn't noticed anyone following them, or even watching them.

  *****

  They returned to the apartment, after dinner, but they didn't go upstairs. They sat on the patio, breathed in the rich, sweet scent of the gardenias, and talked -- about James.

  Andrew admitted his initial fear of being a parent. And then spoke of his joy at the idea. He even told her that he'd thought about what he would do if something had gone wrong -- and the doctor came to him and said that they could only save one of them.

  Beth had eyed him, and waited, until he finally confessed, "I would have said for them to save James -- because that's what you would have wanted."

  "You know Richard would have fought you, don't you?"

  "Yes. I realized he'd probably never speak to me again. But, that didn't matter, because it's what you would have chosen for yourself -- for James."

  "Yes, it is."

  Somewhere in the distance, there was the remote sound of jazz. And Andrew asked, "Beth, I didn't think about it before, but would you like to go somewhere to listen to some music?"

  "Not really. There are some great places. But, they're usually so very crowded and noisy -- aside from the jazz."

  "But isn't jazz part of the magic of this place?" Drew asked.

  "Yes, but it's too crowded and noisy, at least for me. Of course, I'll go if you want to. Or, we can just look for some records or CDs. Do you like jazz?"

  "It's all right," Drew said, in a very unconvincing way. He looked over at her, grinned, and said, "Don't tell Richard, but I like his stuff."

  "Oh, I won't," she said, giggling, "because he'd never give you a moment's rest."

  *****

  "I can't believe you've killed seven people and still have not managed to kill the one woman you were after
."

  "Me! What about you? If you hadn't bungled things in the first place, I would never have been called in to clean up your mess."

  "Then how is it I'm here to identify the woman -- correctly -- for you? I mean, if you're so infallible and I'm so incompetent."

  "Well, she should have been dead weeks ago, back in London. She is the first on the list, therefore she is supposed to die first. You didn't manage that. What you did manage was to lose the list of those to be disposed of, and the means of disposing them."

  "Why don't you just kill her, so we can retrieve the list and get on with things?"

  "I will as soon as you positively identify her for me. You better hope that the list is with her, or we'll both end up dead."

  *****

  They spent the next day wandering through the French Quarter, poking into shops and doing all the tourist things. Of course, at some point, Beth insisted on sitting on her window to the world, while Andrew procured some sodas for them.

  Once again she thought she saw someone she knew. Well, perhaps not know -- more recognized. But, as soon as she went to take a closer look, the man was gone.

  That night Elizabeth navigated, as Drew drove to Lake Pontchartrain for some casual seafood restaurant.

  She'd known he'd be surprised by the ambiance -- or lack thereof -- after all the fancy restaurants. But she was pleasantly surprised to see him adapt. He drank beer from the bottle, mixed his own cocktail sauce from the horseradish, ketchup, and lemons they brought to the table, and peeled the shells off the boiled shrimp piled high on a metal tray -- just like a native.

  "I've enjoyed all the food we've had here," he said, enthusiastically, "This was fun -- in a bohemian kind of way."

  "Yes," she agreed, "But, you wouldn't want to do this too often, would you?"

  "Well..."

  "I know you. You're much happier wearing an Armani dinner jacket and sipping on aged, single-malt scotch."

  "Well...yes. But I really did enjoy tonight."

  "I'm glad," she said, smiling, "Because I did too."