Once Quiet (Jack Widow Book 5)

by Scott Blade

  Crispin’s face turned a little shocked or confused or angry or all three. Widow couldn’t tell for sure.

  She said, “That’s cool. But don’t be hounding him about his past.”

  Casey said, “I’m not.”

  Crispin asked, “Mr. Widow, did Casey show you to your room?”

  Widow said, “Not yet.”

  “Casey, take him to his room. He might be tired.”

  “I’m not tired, but I could use a shower. If you don’t mind?”

  Crispin said, “Of course. There’s a shower in the bathroom across the hall from the guest room.”

  “Perfect.”

  Miranda said, “There are towels in there. And a bar of soap.”

  Widow nodded, took one last pull from his coffee and stood up. He said, “Okay, then I’m all set.”

  “Casey, show him up.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Casey stood up and signaled for Widow to follow. They walked out of the kitchen, down the hall, back to the living room and then up the stairs.

  The second floor was almost as impressive as the bottom floor. There were long, modern metal railings that added to the house’s style in an eclectic way. They passed a couple of open doors, the kids’ bedrooms, for sure. They were both neat and the bedding was all made and perfectly free of streaks and folds. Widow’s first thought was that this was the doing of the housekeeper, but after seeing Crispin in action with her sons, he figured that both kids probably had to make their own beds. The extra polish of the furniture and the pristine state of the bathroom that came after the kids’ rooms had to be the work of Miranda.

  Widow’s room was big, bigger than the kids’ rooms. It was a corner room with good-sized windows, overlooking part of the river and the western plains. The bed was good, a king and made to look welcoming. Everything looked cared for, but unused.

  The vanity looked like it had never been opened. The bed looked like it had never been slept in. Even the windows had no fingerprints on the glass, like no one had ever opened them. The same went for a wall-length mirror on the south wall, behind the door. There were no fingerprints and no dust, either.

  “This is your room. Mine is the last one, by the stairs, next to Carson’s. Mom’s below you. And Dad is…” Casey said, but trailed off at the end like he had given away a secret.

  Widow asked, “Where’s your dad?”

  “I shouldn’t talk about him. I’m sorry,” Casey said. His face changed in a single breath to one of anxiety. Obviously, Widow had brought up a sensitive subject.

  He said, “Your mom told me that I could use the phone. Do you have a house phone here?”

  Casey said, “Oh, yeah. There’s one downstairs in the kitchen. Just use it whenever you need to.”

  “Great.”

  “I better go and start my chores. My mom’s got me doing extra since I tried to run away. Or maybe it’s because Mr. King fired all the other help.”

  Widow said, “Mind if I ask how you guys will support the ranch without the help?”

  “We’ve got money. But I think that her and Mr. King plan to sell the good cows off.”

  “How much can you get for a cow?”

  “They are worth a lot. Mr. King sold one last year for five grand.”

  “Really? Five?” Widow said with pretend enthusiasm, a tactic to raise a kid’s spirits used by parents all over the world in order to get them excited about something they weren’t that excited about in the first place.

  Casey said, “Yeah.”

  “I guess you guys will be just fine then.”

  “We will. We always get by. Although this is the worst year that I remember.”

  Widow said nothing to that.

  Crispin called from down the stairs. A stern voice. A motherly tone. But there was still the Eastern European accent speaking English, which naturally made Widow want to follow.

  She called Casey to get down there. That made him jump to attention and he took off with a quick nod and was gone.

  CHAPTER 29

  WIDOW SHOWERED and dried off with a thread-heavy white towel that felt more like a live sheep’s coat than a towel made from cloth. It was at least thirty-six hours since Widow had taken a shower, but it had been more than a month, maybe two since he had a hot shower with the kind of pressure that he found in the shower at Sossaman’s home.

  He stared at himself in the mirror with nothing but the towel wrapped around his waist. He had to wrap it tight to keep it from falling off. The reason that he made a mental note of this was that he looked thinner than he was used to. Not in a scrawny way. Widow had natural washboard abs cut from beef. His upper muscles were slabs of stone. And all was natural. Not that he knocked guys who hacked themselves out from gym work and calorie counting and measuring supplements to take with more supplements and all at different times of the day. He could remember guys in his units that all they did was talk about their after-workout protein shake and their pre-workout shake and their amino acids and their vitamins and weighing their chicken on a scale. He had known plenty of gym rats in his days in the SEALs.

  The military was full of guys who follow that strict regime of working out. It wasn’t something Widow wanted. He was one of those guys who got in his workouts by doing things that required muscle, like training with his teammates or sparring in the ring or practicing swimming and running and climbing and scrambling up mountains with a hundred-pound rucksack on his back.

  These days, he walked—a lot. And he ate a lot too, but his metabolism was firing on all cylinders without stopping. His body was burning more calories than he was taking in. Which meant that his muscles were getting the brunt of the calories. And his body fat was virtually gone.

  He figured that staying with the Sossaman family for a couple of days might be a good thing. They would be eating big hearty meals, which he could use.

  Widow’s hair was still short, but long enough to slick back. At first, he searched the sink’s countertop for a comb or a brush, then the cabinet underneath. He didn’t find one, but he did find an old can of shaving cream and a plastic bag with disposable blue razors. He figured they wouldn’t mind if he snatched one. He shaved and towel dried his face afterward. He looked and felt clean, like a civilized man.

  Widow popped open the door and entered the hallway. No one was around. He walked back to the guest room and found Crispin standing there over his bed.

  He cleared his throat. She spun around, fast and said, “Oh, so sorry to intrude.”

  Her eyes washed over Widow in what was intended to be a glance, but she seemed to get lost staring at his chest. Maybe she was staring at his torso and arms of tattoos. Maybe she was staring at his muscles. Or maybe she was just staring.

  She moved her eyes to the floor and said, “I was just laying out some clean clothes for you. I think they’ll fit.”

  Widow walked past her, close and studied the clothes. He said, “Thanks. Whose are they?”

  She stepped away, moved closer to the door and turned back to him. She looked at his face and said, “They are my husband’s.”

  Then she paused a breath and said, “They were my husband’s.”

  Widow stayed quiet.

  “I think they’ll fit you. He was a big guy, like you. The pants might be a little bigger in the waist, but there’s a belt.”

  Widow said, “Thank you.”

  He turned to look at the clothes on the bed. There was a button down blue flannel shirt and a leather belt and blue jeans. No underwear, which he was glad for.

  Widow hadn’t noticed it, but Crispin stood in the doorway, staring at his back. She stared at the three bullet shaped scars on his back. They were shaped like dots meant to connect and form a triangle.

  He realized that she had been staring at them. He turned and they locked eyes.

  She said, “We’ll have dinner around seven at the kitchen table. I’ve got a lot to do before Mr. King returns. Make yourself at home. You can use the phone downstairs when you wa
nt.”

  Widow nodded and said, “Thanks again.”

  Crispin turned and walked out into the hall, turned left, and was lost to sight.

  CHAPTER 30

  WIDOW HEARD A VEHICLE approaching the house from the long driveway.

  He had dressed and hung out in his room for the rest of the afternoon. They had told him that he could make himself at home, but he had decided to stay in the guest bedroom and take a nap. He ended up staring at the ceiling most of the time. Which wasn’t all that bad. Widow didn’t mind the solitude.

  He left the guestroom and walked the hallway until he came out to the staircase. He thought about going down the stairs, but then he heard soft jazz music coming from one of the bedrooms. He walked over to it and peeked in.

  Carson was sitting on his bed, staring at an iPod, plugged into one of those charger speaker things that Widow had seen in a SkyMall once.

  The kid didn’t notice him. He walked into sight and rapped on the door. The kid didn’t look, didn’t know he was there.

  Widow said, “Hey, kid.”

  Carson looked up at him in shock, like he didn’t hear him come in.

  Widow liked kids, but he felt out of place around them. They weren’t a group of humans that he ever knew how to act around.

  Carson smiled and looked at the iPod. He pointed at it and said nothing.

  Widow invited himself in and strolled past the iPod, over to the window. He took a peek out and saw the black Jeep Wrangler driving up the drive, kicking up dust and dirt, and circling the horseshoe and stopping.

  He saw the guy named King in the driver’s seat. No passengers.

  King parked and killed the engine. He got out. He was a big guy. Bigger than Widow, but older. He got out and stood up tall, stretched like he’d been driving all day. He walked up to the front porch and tipped his hat. Widow assumed he was tipping it to Crispin, but he couldn’t see her. The porch was below his line of sight.

  Widow turned back to Carson and said, “You like music, huh?”

  That’s when Carson looked up at him and started moving his hands in gestures that Widow realized were sign language.

  Carson was deaf.

  Widow nodded, for no reason and said, “Sorry, kid. I didn’t know.”

  Carson just shrugged.

  Widow asked, “I can’t understand sign language.”

  Carson shrugged again.

  Widow said, “You can understand me, right?”

  The kid nodded and grinned.

  Widow asked, “Do you read lips?”

  Carson nodded.

  “You listen to music for the vibrations?”

  Carson nodded and grinned a big happy grin. Widow was always amazed at the incredible outlook on life that most disabled people had, especially children. In his career, Widow had known a lot of sailors and marines, tough men, who had their limbs blown off and ear drums busted and eye sockets blown out. At first, they always hit a low point, but eventually they became tougher than anyone he’d ever known.

  Widow had spent several tours in the Middle East. On one of them he had to escort some diplomat that he didn’t really care for through a children’s hospital. The diplomat thought that his presence would inspire hope among the locals. Widow remembered CNN coming along. He remembered trying to keep his face wrapped up in a bandana, in order to keep his face off camera. He remembered the diplomat constantly getting mad that he couldn’t get a proper photo op because instead of finding misery, he found happy children. No one cared that he was there. They were already happy just to be alive. The resilience of children growing up in war-torn places was remarkable.

  Widow remembered seeing that diplomat years later. He was a congressmen somewhere, but his term lasted only six months. He was destroyed by some sort of scandal involving prostitutes and dirty money. All the usual stuff.

  Widow reached his hand out like he wanted a high five from Carson and he said, “Good music!”

  Carson grinned even bigger, all white teeth. Half were crooked and half were straight street lines. Carson leaned forward and lifted his hand as high as he could reach and high-fived Widow.

  CHAPTER 31

  KING DIDN’T JOIN THEM FOR DINNER. It turned out that there were two dinner tables. One was the official table. It was long and rectangular and decorated with fine linens. The places were set like they were waiting for a big family dinner. It struck Widow that at one time in the past, this had been a place for big family gatherings. Now it was just for show.

  The real place that they had dinner was a round table tucked into what Widow assumed was a breakfast nook.

  Widow sat stuffed closest to a window. His back was to it, which always made him a little wary. He liked to sit with his back to the wall or corner, so he could see everyone around him. It was an old SEAL habit. The problem with a window is you never know who’s watching you through it. In his long past, the guys watching through the windows were usually also looking through sniper scopes.

  Crispin was the last person to join the group for dinner. Miranda didn’t join. She served them as Widow imagined she must’ve done every night. His natural Southern manners were to invite her to join them, but this wasn’t his house or his family. He was the guest here. Their traditions were their own. He stayed quiet about it.

  Casey had sat next to him and on the other side was Carson. Carson was a little more relaxed than he had been when they first met. He was still well mannered and sat straight up, shoulders perfectly postured. Casey was more slouched and lounging around, like any normal teenager would do.

  Crispin entered the kitchen later and saw that they already had plates down and iced glasses of water and food on the table, waiting to be served.

  Crispin said, “Oh sorry, guys. You didn’t have to wait for me.”

  Casey said, “We’ve been waiting.”

  Crispin ignored it and smiled at Miranda. Then she sat across from Widow. She said, “Okay. Let’s eat.”

  Miranda served the family a roast, which was so good, Widow ate seconds faster than anyone else finished the first plate. There were potatoes too. He also had seconds of those. He skipped a second helping of the other vegetables.

  After dinner, Widow saw that the trash bin in the kitchen was full and a little smelly. He took it upon himself to lift the bag out of the can and tie it off.

  He asked the whole group, “Where’s does this go?”

  Miranda said, “I can take that, Señor Widow.”

  “No, ma’am. I’ll get it. Just point me in the right direction.”

  Miranda pointed down the hall leading to the backdoor. Widow nodded, which reminded him of saluting female officers, back in the day. He wasn’t sure why. Then he turned and walked to the hall. He stopped himself from tripping over the step down and then headed out the backdoor. He found the trash cans near the southwest corner on the deck. He popped the lid, tossed the trash in and dropped the lid.

  As he headed back the way he came, he wondered who hauled the trash off from the house. He seriously doubted that the local government had garbage men who came all the way out here in trucks that were too big to fit down the driveway in the first place.

  Widow walked back into the kitchen to find everyone still and quiet like they had been waiting for him to return, like an audience just before a play begins.

  He said, “Better get to the dishes.” And he helped clear the table.

  Crispin ordered Casey to join him, just before she left the room holding hands with Carson. Miranda sat back on one of the barstools and supervised them. She spun around once or twice and said, “Señor Casey, I can see this as my new life. From now on I will watch you clear the table and do the dishes and I will sit and watch.”

  Casey smirked and said, “Don’t get used to it.”

  Before they finished the dishes, Crispin returned and stood near the doorway.

  She said, “Mr. Widow, will you join me?”

  Widow said, “Of course.”

  Casey tried t
o follow, but his mother shot him a look and he knew he wasn’t getting out of cleaning the rest of the dishes.

  Widow followed Crispin out into the living room and saw that she had started a fire in the fireplace and it was roaring. The heat coming off it was high, but not overwhelming. Widow looked at it and guessed that it was a gas or electric fireplace. The logs in the center of the fire didn’t chip or splinter. They stayed the same even though they were immersed in intense heat. Not only that, but Widow couldn’t remember there being a stack of logs outside against the house.

  Crispin said, “Mr. Widow, I want to talk to you.”

  Widow said nothing.

  She said, “I want to tell you that you are welcome here as long as you need.”

  She had already said that to him earlier. He figured that wasn’t what she wanted to say. She seemed like a woman with a lot of things to say.

  Widow walked a little closer. He felt a strong urge to grab her, to spin her around. Maybe kiss her. It came from some primal place deep down. He felt himself fighting it.

  He said, “Crispin, you can say whatever it is that you gotta say. No judgments here.”

  She turned and smiled. She looked up at him, her eyes on his, like they had known each other for years. She said, “We’ve got a lot going on around here. I know you helped me with Casey. I really appreciate that.”

  “But?”

  “But, we’ve got a lot going on around here,” she said again.

  He stared at her.

  She said, “I want you to feel comfortable. You really are welcome here for the night.”

  He stayed quiet.

  “I’d like to ask you to stay the night. Get a good night’s sleep and then tomorrow call whomever you need to call. And then I’d like for you to move on.”

  Widow felt his shoulders slump down. He nodded and said, “I see. Sure. It’s no problem.”

  She said, “I don’t mean it like I want you out because of you. It’s just that right now there are things going on here for us that you don’t know about.”

  Widow nodded and said, “Hey, no problem. I appreciate the room and board. I’m sure my bank will have answers for me in the morning. And then I’ll be off.”