The Housewife Assassin's Killer App

by Josie Brown

  Not for long. A fist to the kidney has Jack backing off. Carl lets loose with a side kick, which puts Jack on the floor, doubled up on his side.

  Before Carl delivers a kick to Jack’s stomach, I grab a pot holding carrots and green beans from the stove, and fling it at Carl. When it hits his head, he stumbles to his knees.

  Now it’s my turn to give a little pain. I kick him in the gut—

  But as he falls forward, he grabs me below the knees, taking me down with him.

  The next thing I know, Carl, still on his knees, is pulled backward.

  Apparently, Jack had crawled to the counter and, reaching up, he found the carving knife, which he now holds to Carl’s throat. He has shoved Carl’s head straight back, so that all it would take is a flick of his wrist.

  Carl’s eyes meet his. “Go ahead, do it,” Carl taunts him.

  Jack tightens his grip on the knife handle and moves it next to Carl’s jugular—

  “Dad…Don’t!”

  Hearing Mary’s shout, Jack, Carl, and I freeze. Slowly, we turn to the back door.

  She is standing there with Jeff, Trisha, and Aunt Phyllis. Seeing the horror in their eyes, Jack lowers the knife.

  Slowly and painfully, Carl and I rise to our feet.

  No one says anything for the longest time.

  Finally, Aunt Phyllis sighs. “Ah, hell! So, he’s back, like a bad penny.”

  I stare at her, stunned. “You knew?”

  She shrugs. “At first I blamed it on my lousy eyesight. But then the new guy was so sweet that I figured it had to be a different man.”

  That’s putting it mildly.

  “While you entertain your company, why don’t I check on the pot roast and the potatoes?” she suggests. “Oh, and should I set the table for six, or seven?”

  My stare says it all: That is the stupidest question in the world.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she conceded. “Besides, we’ll need knives.” She pauses, in thought. “They can’t subpoena a spouse for a murder. Does that go for kids too?”

  Good question.

  If so, something tells me we’d get away with it.

  The children sit together on the divan in the living room—Mary on the right, Jeff in the middle and Trisha on his other side.

  My youngest has slipped her tiny hand into her brother’s, whereas Mary has wrapped her arms around her waist, as if bracing herself for the worst.

  Good instincts.

  Jack and I are sitting side by side, on the small settee facing the divan. Carl sits in the white linen wingback chair, placed between the sofas and facing the fireplace.

  No one smiles.

  No one speaks.

  The children stare at Carl.

  I do, too, but only because he’s got cuts and bruises from his fall. If he gets blood on my chair, I don’t think there’s a female jurist alive who would convict me for killing him.

  Thank goodness Carl knows to keep his mouth shut and let me explain.

  Good old Donna is always there to pick up the pieces.

  I clear my throat. All eyes turn to me. “Mary, I believe you’ve met this man before.”

  Her eyes shift toward Carl, if only for a second. “He came to Hilldale with the Russian president, two years ago, when I was in the eighth grade.”

  I nod. “That’s right. At the time, you commented on the fact that he had a name similar to…” I point to Jack.

  “To Dad’s,” Mary says warily.

  Carl winces at the nonchalance in which she acknowledges another man—a man he hates with a passion—to be her father.

  “Is he related to us?” Trisha asks innocently.

  “You could say that,” Carl says with a smirk.

  Jeff’s brow furrows at this new bit of information. “Are you Dad’s brother?”

  Hearing this, Carl frowns. But before he can answer, I say, “I was once married to this man.”

  My children’s eyes grow big.

  Jeff’s gaze shifts from Carl to Jack and back again. “You were married to a man with the same name as Dad’s?”

  For some reason, Carl finds this funny. Gasping through a chuckle, he murmurs, “Donna, dearest, are you going to tell them, or do I have to?”

  “Don’t you dare.” Jack’s tone may be pleasant enough, but his words sober Carl up, and fast. The faces of the two men are bland, almost congenial, but I know their bodies too well to miss the tension crackling between them. I hold my breath, praying that they know better than to go at each other again.

  “He’s Carl Stone.” Mary says flatly. “He’s our father.”

  Hearing their sister’s declaration, the breath escaping from Jeff and Trisha’s bodies seems to deflate them, like rubber dolls.

  No one says anything. Finally, Jeff looks at Jack. “Is she right?”

  Jack nods. “It wasn’t a deliberate lie.” He turns to Carl. “This man—”

  “You can call me Dad,” Carl says pointedly to Jeff.

  Hearing this, Trisha slumps even deeper into the divan.

  “What I’m trying to say is that this man left your mother on the day of Trisha’s birth,” Jack explains.

  “For a very good reason,” Carl adds.

  That does it. I can’t take it anymore. “Faking your death? You call that a good reason?”

  Carl glowers at me. “I was trying to save you and our children from harm. Our children—no matter what you’ve told them about…him.” He waves a dismissive hand at Jack.

  I lay my hand on Jack’s arm to keep him from rising to the bait. “Carl, I told my children what I was asked to tell them, for national security reasons—which, by the way, now that all of this is out in the open, means that they’ll learn about your terr—”

  “Wait!” Jeff interrupts me. “Are you a spy? Is Dad one too—I mean…I mean…” He stares at Jack. “If he’s our Dad, then who are you?”

  Jack looks him in the eye. “My name is Jack Craig. And…I’m—I’m the man who loves your mother.”

  “I love her too,” Carl growls.

  “If you ever did love me, you certainly had a funny way of showing it,” I say under my breath.

  Mary glowers at Carl. “Mom is right. If you truly loved us, you would have never left us.”

  Thank you for that, God.

  “But, Mother,” she continues, “If you loved us, you would have never played such a mean trick on us—pretending that anyone else was our father—even”—she blushes when she looks at Jack—“Mr. Craig.”

  Mary only calls me “Mother” when she’s angry at me.

  Jack’s head reels back, as if she’s slapped him in the face. I can only imagine what he’s thinking:

  Mr. Craig?

  Still, she can’t be angrier at me than I am at myself—

  For letting Carl put me in this position.

  “But—but, Mary…” My protest goes unheard. Mary has already run upstairs to her room.

  Trisha looks confused. “Does this mean we have two daddies?”

  Her question has both men turning and glowering at each other.

  Jeff grabs her arm, nudging her toward the stairs. Trisha looks back at me, to see if it’s okay if she goes.

  Reluctantly, I nod.

  She wrenches her hand from Jeff’s in order to go over to Jack. “You’ll always be my real Daddy,” she says as she hugs him.

  Jack holds her in his arms and pats her head. However, his gaze is high over her head—at Jeff.

  Jeff’s shock and awe subsides just enough to acknowledge it. I know his face well enough to read it. I don’t see anger, but sharp glimmers of pain, sadness, and curiosity.

  And determination.

  My son is smart. He never sees black and white, but the clarity beyond shadows and smoke.

  Jack has always been there for him. Can Jeff be there for Jack too?

  I don’t think I’ll get the answer to that tonight. The only thing I’m getting is a whole lot of heartache.

  Thanks to
Carl.

  I wait until Jeff and Trisha are upstairs and out of earshot before standing to face Carl. “Congratulations, you’ve accomplished your goal. Our children hate us all.”

  “My ‘goal,’ as you put it, was to tell them the truth.”

  “Your half-truths don’t count,” I argue. I’m bracing myself for another. “What were you doing at Wonder-Con, anyway?”

  “I was looking for you. I felt it wise I tell you I was in town before popping in. Seeing you were preoccupied, I decided it was best I meet you here instead.”

  “You saw how well that went over,” I mutter. “If what you say is true, then why did Roger make you his avatar—other than to throw me off my game?”

  “I have that effect on women. It can be a curse.” His smile is anything but modest. “Hey, can I help it that he chose to look like the handsomest guy in the room?”

  “You’re delusional.” I shudder. “To be expected.”

  “Carl, I guess you never took into account that, by doing so, Roger also implicated you as a suspect in Acme’s investigation,” Jack points out.

  This realization wipes the smile off Carl’s face.

  I slap his arm. “Now that the party is over, I think it’s time you left.”

  He holds tight to my hand and pulls me close. “Sure, little wifey, whatever you say.”

  That’s it for Jack.

  He jerks Carl out of the wingback by his collar. It takes both my hands around his wrist to keep him from pummeling Carl’s face.

  “You don’t deserve them,” Jack mutters. “And they certainly don’t deserve you.”

  I pull Carl away from him toward the foyer. As I swing open the front door and push him beyond the threshold, Carl says, “If this is going to work, he’s going to have to get over his jealousy.”

  “Him…jealous?” I don’t know whether to laugh or to shoot. I’m leaning toward the latter.

  But now that the kids have seen him, the last thing I need is for them to be called as witnesses in a murder trial.

  I hiss, “You blew it—again,” and slam the door in Carl’s face.

  The three people I love most have questions that only I can answer.

  I climb the steps with a heavy heart.

  Upstairs, I find Jack standing in the middle of the hallway. Like me, he doesn’t like what he hears: Mary sobbing.

  “Jeff’s door is locked,” he says sadly. “So is Trisha’s.”

  As I start for Mary’s door, Jack moves in behind me—but I hold up my hand to him. “Let me face her alone. She’s mad at me, not you. If I make any headway, I’ll call you in.”

  He frowns, but nods.

  I enter into a darkened room. Mary must feel my presence, because she says, “Go away.”

  “Please, Mary, give me an opportunity to explain.”

  She sits upright. “Why? Do you think I’ll believe what you tell me ever again?”

  I sit down beside her. “Do you want to know the truth about him—about us?”

  “I know what I see. He left us. You hate him for that. You love…Mr. Craig. And all of you lied to us.”

  I lay my hand over hers. “You’re right. About all of it. Even the lying. I’d always hoped I’d have a chance to tell you before…before he came back into your lives.”

  She shrugs. “I think I always knew on some level that…that Mr. Craig wasn’t really my father.”

  “Wasn’t he, though? From the day he came into your life—our lives—wasn’t he always there for you?”

  “Yes…I guess.” She stares down at our hands. “We went to a funeral for Jack Craig, didn’t we? A couple of years ago, right around Christmas time.”

  I nod. “We thought he’d died in an accident.”

  “My father tried to kill him.” It’s not a question, but a declaration.

  Again, I nod. “Your father—he’s not a nice man.”

  Finally, her eyes meet mine. “Why? What has he done?”

  “He worked for our government. He went on long trips, overseas to—to spy on some really bad men.”

  Mary lets this sink in. “Was that when…when Mr. Craig moved in with us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Clancy,” Mary says.

  “Yes. Mr. Clancy asked me to pretend that Jack was your father, in the hope that the bad guys would come looking for him.”

  “Did they?” Mary’s eyes grow big.

  “Your father came. You see, he was the bad guy.”

  Mary eases back into the stack of pillows behind her. I can imagine it’s not easy hearing that about your father.

  Then again, what divorced mother hasn’t spoken ill about her ex to her child?

  Granted, not all exes are known terrorists.

  “On one of his missions, he made the decision that he was on the wrong side,” I explain. “Maybe he was right in leaving us then. Maybe it was his hope that I—and that you—would never find out the truth. But…when Jack moved in with us, it forced his hand.”

  “He hates Jack.” Mary frowns at this realization.

  “Jack can handle it. It’s why he’ll never leave us.” I lean back into the cloud of pillows with her. “That is, as long as you still accept him.”

  A slow tear makes its way down Mary’s cheek. “I…I don’t know yet how I feel about him. I feel deceived by both of you. And I feel…I feel disloyal to my real father.” The pillow we share sags when she turns to face me, placing us almost nose to nose. “I wanted to believe so much that he was my dad. You’d never admit that he was gone, and we had no pictures of him, so I had to think very hard about what he looked like. But I know now I was only pretending to remember him. I lied to myself too.” She’s choking on her sobs. “Then, when—when Jack appeared and when you didn’t say anything about it, the few things I remembered didn’t seem real to me anymore.” She turns her back to me. “I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself for that, Mom.”

  She’s blaming herself.

  I start to point that out, but Mary shushes me. “Yes, I know what he did was wrong. But, at the time, he must have felt it was the right thing to do, out of love. And he loves us enough to come back to us, despite how you feel about him—and about Jack. So, I guess I feel I owe him an honest attempt to try to love him again.”

  She’s right. She owes Carl that much.

  But what if Carl breaks her heart yet again?

  I’ll make sure he won’t.

  I rise from the bed. “Would you mind if Jack came in to see you?”

  She doesn’t turn around. “I…I don’t think it’s a good idea. Please tell him that I’m very tired and that I’ll see him tomorrow.”

  She feels so guilty that she is distancing herself from him.

  I want to say something, but at this stage, nothing will change her mind.

  Her childhood memories of Carl are weak. With Jack, the memories are strong. Strong enough, I hope, that despite anything Carl may say about him, she will realize the depth of Jack’s love and adoration of her.

  Only time will tell.

  Chapter 13

  Virus

  For the most part, we use the term “virus” to describe a microscopic infectious agent that self-replicates within the cells of its host. Viruses cause illnesses like colds, flus, warts and some sexually transmitted diseases.

  In Computerese, “virus” has a similar definition, as it describes self-replicating code, planted illegally in a computer that can shut down the machine, or for that matter, any connected networks.

  In any regard, viruses are not fun.

  To avoid computer viruses, don’t open emails from strangers, let alone file attachments from anyone you don’t know.

  To avoid viruses that can affect your body, wash your hands often, and stay out of large crowds, elevators, leper colonies and orgies.

  In other words, avoid all unnecessary contact, human or digital.

  To play it safe, stay in bed with your head under the covers.

  I wake up to find Tri
sha in my bed. She is crouched over Jack, staring down at his face as he sleeps.

  When she realizes that I see her, she whispers, “Daddy won’t go away, will he?”

  I sit up and pull her into my lap. “No. Never,” I promise her with a whisper. “He will always be here with us. He will always love us. He will always love you.”

  “Some kids at school have two dads—an old one and a new one,” she tells me. “I know a girl with two dads and no mom, too.” She reaches over to stroke Jack’s cheek. “I only want one daddy—this Daddy. Is that okay?”

  “Yes, of course.” Joy fills my heart, inflating it to near-bursting.

  Trisha frowns. “If the other daddy moves in, will it make us Mormons?”

  I shake my head, confused. “Why would you think that?”

  Trisha shrugs. “If a husband has two wives, can’t a wife have two husbands?”

  There it is—my situation in a nutshell.

  I snort so loudly that Trisha can’t help but giggle, which makes me chuckle too. “Honey, Mormons don’t live that way anymore,” I gasp, but I don’t know if she hears me.

  In fact, we’re laughing so hard that we fall off the bed.

  Jack bolts straight up. He stares at us through one eye. “What the heck?”

  Trisha crawls back into bed in order to give him a hug. “It’s okay for Mommy to have two husbands, but I only want one father—you.”

  Jack holds her tight. He is smiling, but there is a dark sadness in his eyes.

  I know what he’s thinking:

  One down and two to go.

  “So, like, this Carl Stone guy is the head of the U.S. Intelligence community,” Jeff declares the next morning, as he plops down at the kitchen banquette.

  Aunt Phyllis looks up from her pancakes. “Well, what do you know, he’s not just some bum on the lam! Still, I’m surprised the guy can hold down a job at all, what with the way he disappears on people.”

  Jack chokes on his coffee, but he doesn’t say a word.

  “Yeah, well, he got this cushy spy job despite being suspected of terrorism.” Jeff turns to me. “Did you know about that?”

  Boy oh boy, did I. “Yep. It’s one of the reasons I felt it best that he stay away from you.”