by Taylor Smith
Whatever the reason, when she’d lugged the box of toys over to the solarium, he’d set aside the newspaper, settled himself on the floor under the windows, and started helping Jonah construct a Lego pirate ship. Before long, the two of them had tipped over one of the oak chairs to serve as a poop deck and rigged up a set of sails from paper napkins, tape and twine that Carrie had found for them in the kitchen junk drawer. They’d been at it for nearly an hour now, their sandy heads, one reddish, one dark blond, bent together as they taped a handmade Jolly Roger to one of the upended chair legs.
Jonah, who’d spent half of his short life living in London under the care of a Cockney housekeeper, seemed completely unfazed by the brawny Brit’s thick accent, Carrie noted. He certainly seemed delighted to have found a willing if oversize playmate after being cooped up all week with nothing but grumps for company.
“Be thankful for small mercies,” Tracy said.
“Oh, believe me, I am. At this point, I’ll take what I can get.” Carrie stacked a few of the warm cookies on a plate and headed for the solarium.
Huxley looked up, scrunching one eye as she approached. “Har! Avast, me hearty,” he cackled out of the side of his mouth. “Here’s a wench bringing treasure. All hands on deck.”
“Har!” Jonah cried, brandishing his toy Spider-Man like a sword. “Hand ’em over, wench.”
“You don’t call your poor old mom a wench,” Carrie protested.
“Better hand ’em over or you’ll have to walk the plank!” Jonah said, giving her his gap-toothed grin.
“Well, as long as you put it like that…” Carrie set the plate between them on the underside of the oak chair poop deck. Jonah dove for a warm cookie which he proceeded to share with his Spider-Man figurine. “Would you pirates like a little milk to go with those? Or coffee,” she added to Huxley, a little self-consciously. It was a pretty absurd scenario, all things considered.
“Aye, I’ll thank-ee for that,” he growled, staying in character. On the other hand, Carrie thought, maybe he was just a couple of sandwiches shy of a picnic. “Milk for me mate here and a little of the black brew for me, neat. Eh, me hearty, what do you say?”
“Aye, matey!” Jonah sputtered through chocolate-smeared, cookie-crumbed lips.
“You’re a messy bunch, you pirates,” Carrie said.
She went back and got them their milk and coffee, then returned to the kitchen to put together a breakfast tray for Althea.
“At least you don’t have to worry about Drum sneaking back and carrying him off,” Tracy murmured, watching the two over in the solarium. Jonah was grinning as Huxley’s broad fingers struggled to fold a paper napkin into a makeshift pirate kerchief and tie it around Spider-Man’s small plastic head.
“No,” Carrie agreed, “not with all these heavy hitters swarming the place. On the other hand, Drum did manage to give them the slip once, so it’s not beyond the realm of the possible that he could do it again.”
She sliced an English muffin and dropped it in the toaster, then pulled a serving tray out under the island. Lifting a banana and some grapes out of the three-tiered wire fruit basket hanging over the island, she set them on a blue flowered plate and folded a napkin alongside. When the toaster popped a few moments later, she put the English muffins and some marmalade next to the fruit.
“I can’t tell you how it froze my blood to see Jonah’s picture on that fake passport Drum dropped at the mall,” she said quietly. “Who knows? Maybe the only reason he hasn’t shown up yet is that he’s getting another one done up as we speak. He’s got the connections to get as much phony documentation as he needs, and these guys know it, too. Not only that, he used to brag about how the technical support guys at the Agency could teach you how to make yourself unrecognizable. A little hair dye, a pair of glasses, a prosthetic nose, some body padding. He said he’d been on jobs where his own mother wouldn’t know him. Creeps me out, thinking he could be out there, just waiting for the chance to make his move. Makes me want to take Jonah down in the basement and hide out for the next decade.”
“Has Jonah asked where he is?” Tracy asked.
Carrie picked up a knife. It glinted under the overhead pot lights as she sliced the muffin halves down the center. “Not until last night when I was tucking him into bed, funnily enough.” She wiped her hands on the front of her green bib apron and walked over to one of the glass-fronted cabinets, withdrew a small tumbler that she filled with orange juice from the fridge. “The thing is, Drum was gone so much of the time anyway, that Jonah thinks nothing of the fact that he’s not around now.”
“So, what did you tell him last night?”
“That Daddy was away on a business trip. The only thing to recommend those deadpan FBI guys,” Carrie added quietly, cocking a thumb at the kitchen door, beyond which they could hear hammers and crowbars at work as a team of federal agents pried apart the wood paneling in Drum’s study, looking for hidey-holes, “is that they’re so closemouthed they haven’t let slip that his dad’s done a bunk. Jonah thinks they’re here because Drum lost some important papers and they’re trying to help him find them.”
“Did you ever find out why Drum really showed up at Jonah’s camp that day?”
“Oh, yes, I meant to tell you. Jonah finally told me last night. He asked me if Drum was going to be home today because they were supposed to be going to go out to look at boats.”
“Boats?”
“Yeah. Big hero. Promises his son a boat the very day he’s planning to fly the coop. They were supposed to be going out shopping for one today, Jonah remembered, but I had to tell him it wasn’t on. That’s when he decided it was his fault.”
“What was his fault?”
“That Drum had canceled out on him. Jonah said his dad had come by camp that morning to say he had some free time, so they could do the boat shopping right away. Jonah was reluctant to leave, though, because they were making these working volcanoes at camp.” Carrie smiled. “And also, just between you and me, because he’s got a big crush on his camp counselor, although he’d die of embarrassment if you ever suggested it. Anyway, Drum told me he was there to see Jonah swim, but Jonah now says that wasn’t it at all.”
“Jesus. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Carrie said grimly. “Drum was planning to take him with him into hiding that morning. If I hadn’t happened to show up when I did, he might have pulled it off, too. They could have been anywhere in the world by now. Makes me realize how sharp your partner is. Heather had just finished telling me she was worried about the possibility of Drum kidnapping Jonah. I break into a cold sweat just thinking about what almost happened. That’s why I can’t help worrying he might be back.”
“You should just try to relax, kiddo, take this one step at a time.”
“Relax? Ha!” Carrie reached back for one of the mugs hanging under the kitchen cabinets and lifted the coffee thermos, pouring out a cupful. “Do you want a refill? I’m going to run this tray up to Althea and see how she’s doing this morning.”
“No, you go ahead, I’m fine,” Tracy said. “I’ll go watch the pirates. Maybe they’ll let me swab the deck.”
Her mother-in-law’s door was closed when Carrie went up the stairs with the breakfast tray, but when she knocked softly and got a mumbled response, she entered to find Althea out of bed, dressed in a sleeveless yellow linen shift, sitting at her skirted dressing table and trying to fasten a string of Mallorca pearls around her neck. The flesh under her pale, stout arms jiggled as she struggled with the catch. The room, done up in dark blue floral motif, smelled as flowery as it looked. Althea’s hair had been teased and sprayed into the white helmet she usually presented to the world, and a shaky line of pink lipstick ran across and beyond the line of her thin, disapproving lips.
“You look nice this morning,” Carrie said, setting the tray on a padded settee at the end of the narrow four-poster bed. “Here, can I help you with that?”
Althea tried to h
ook the catch once more, then gave up with an exasperated sigh. “Oh, all right. I’m all thumbs. I just can’t seem to get the blessed thing done up.”
Carrie took the two ends of the pearls from her arthritic hands. When she slipped them together and locked the catch on the first try, Althea shot an irritated look at her daughter-in-law’s reflection in the mirror.
“I always find those things hard to do up on myself, too,” Carrie said.
“They make them too small.”
“Yes, they do. How’s your migraine this morning?”
“Better. Still there, but not so bad.”
“I’m glad. That dress is a good color on you. And you’ve got your nice pearls on, too. Were you planning to go out this morning? It’s raining, you know.”
“I know. No, I’m not going anywhere. It doesn’t do to look dowdy when there are strangers in the house. These people need to keep in mind who they’re dealing with.”
Althea glanced up once more, frowning at their reflections. Carrie checked herself out in the mirror—sandy red hair pulled back in a quick ponytail, flour-dusted green apron tied over an orange tank top and white clam diggers, old leather clogs on her feet. Definitely dowdy, especially next to linen and pearls—and, Carrie noted, looking down, tan pumps on her mother-in-law’s feet. She’d even put on panty hose this morning.
“What are they doing down there, anyway?” Althea grumbled. “Surely they should have finished by now? Why don’t they just leave? When Naughton was alive, they wouldn’t have dared barge in here like this, throwing around these wild accusations.”
“They seem pretty intent on finding something down there,” Carrie said, “and the warrant seems to give them the authority to take as much time as they need to do it.”
“It’s not right. I feel like a prisoner in my own home.”
“I don’t think we’re required to stay put. I haven’t been out for the past few days because of Jonah’s cold, but it’s not like we’re under house arrest or anything. You and I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Oh, and Drummond has? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No. I don’t know that for sure—although it would be nice to have some idea what he’s up to. You’re sure he didn’t mention anything to you that might shed some light on why he’s run off like this?”
“I don’t believe he’s run off. They’re just saying that. Drummond wouldn’t do anything illegal. He’s just…I don’t know…gone away for a while, I suppose, to think things over.”
“What things?”
Althea turned on her. “Well, I should think you’d be the one to say, Carrie. I certainly don’t know what was going on between the two of you. I know about the lawyer, though. And that friend of yours—Tracy. She’s here again, isn’t she? Why is she always here? And that was her partner you had an appointment with the day Drummond went away. I’m not totally senile, you know.”
“I never said you were.”
“Oh, no, but you think it.”
“No, I don’t think it at all. Look, I brought you some coffee and a light breakfast. Shall I put it here on the dressing table?”
“Eat? At a time like this? I couldn’t possibly.”
“Well…” Carrie hesitated. “I’ll just leave it, then, in case you change your mind.”
Althea watched her in the mirror, her gnarled hands shredding a tissue. “I don’t understand,” she fretted. “I don’t understand any of it. Why is this happening? And why on earth did he marry you?”
Carrie had started for the door, but she stopped and pivoted. “Excuse me?”
“Why did he marry you? Did you tell him you were pregnant and then proceed to have a convenient eleven-month pregnancy?”
“That’s a rude question, don’t you think? Especially after all this time, and with your grandson right downstairs?”
“I’m just curious. You weren’t the right woman for Drummond, anyone could see that. He had such poor judgment. First Theresa, who, Lord knows, was as neurotic as they come—although she, at least, was the daughter of an ambassador, so she might have been expected to know things required of someone in her position. She was a sulker, though. Spoiled. Always in a snit about something until finally—well, she did it to punish him, you know.”
“Drum said they ruled her drowning an accident.”
Althea gave an irritable wave. “An accident—well, in a manner of speaking, maybe. She’d been drinking, but there was nothing new in that. She’d taken pills with booze once before—tranquilizers—but Drummond found her in time and got her to hospital. Had to have her stomach pumped, but, oh, didn’t she love all the attention? Poor, sad, misunderstood Theresa. She probably thought he’d rescue her again that night, but he was working late. Then that storm blew up and she got caught out on the river. Stupid girl. Stupid, selfish girl.” Althea sighed heavily. “And then, you. I could tell as soon as he brought you home from Africa that he wished he hadn’t gotten himself tied down. But by then, of course, there was the baby, so what could he do? He looked dreadful when he came back home, I thought. I’d told him not to rush into another marriage, but what could I do?”
“Oh, Althea,” Carrie sighed wearily. “We got married because we fell in love, improbable as that may seem to you. Not because I seduced him or tricked him or anything else. I loved him. I thought he loved me. And if he was stressed when we came back to the States that time, he had good reason to be. The embassy in Tanzania had been bombed. You know that. You know Drum and I were both in the building the morning it happened. It was a horrible day. And afterward, he felt he had to answer for the security lapses that allowed the bombing to happen in the first place.”
“It wasn’t his fault.”
“No, of course it wasn’t. It was a string of bad luck and lack of foresight right across the board, here and overseas. But that didn’t change the fact that Drum felt, rightly or wrongly, that he was being put on the hot seat. He was under a lot of strain, but it’s hardly fair to blame me for everything, don’t you think?”
And yet, Carrie thought, it was almost as if Drum, too, had blamed her—not for the bombing, of course, but for having had the bad taste to see him panic afterward. He’d hardly been able to look her in the eye for months, and the resentment seemed to have festered in him ever since.
“A better helpmate would have supported him through it,” Althea said. “His father went through crises, too. Korea, Vietnam. And we had other problems, as well, over the years. Despite appearances to the contrary, things weren’t always perfect with Naughton and me, you know. But I always stood behind him, kept the home fires burning. That was my job. That’s what a wife is supposed to do, and I’m not a complainer. Never have been.”
“I did what I could, too, Althea. I really did. Maybe it wasn’t enough. I don’t know.”
“Ha. You were going to leave him, weren’t you?”
Carrie hesitated again and considered denying it, but what would be the point? “I was thinking about it,” she said, nodding. “I wanted us to go for marriage counseling, but Drum refused. At this point, I was out of ideas, so yes, I thought it might be better if we separated.”
“And so now, if anything has happened to him, you think you’re home free, do you?”
Carrie felt the blood drain from her face. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response. I know you’re worried about Drum and upset about everything that’s going on—all these people barging into your home, tearing things apart—so I won’t—”
“You think you’ll get the house. Get Drummond’s money. Put me out in the street, too, I suppose.”
“Nobody’s putting you out on the street. For God’s sake, Althea, lower your voice and get a grip. Jonah’s downstairs in the kitchen. I don’t want him hearing nonsense like this from his Nana. Look, you’re obviously upset, so I’ll leave you alone. If you need anything, just call. If you want to get out of here for a while, visit friends or do some shopping, that’s probably a good idea. I’m sure n
obody would object and you’d feel better for it. We’ve all been cooped up too long and we’re under a lot of stress. Just try to relax, all right?”
Her mother-in-law only glared at her in the mirror. Carrie hesitated for a moment, then gave up, turned and walked out. She was halfway down the stairs when a flash of yellow linen appeared at the railing overhead.
“You wanted to leave?” the older woman screamed, her voice quavering with rage. “So leave! Nobody’s stopping you! Just don’t think you’re fooling anyone, Carrie, because you don’t fool me for one minute!”
Carrie’s face was burning when she slipped past the cotton-gloved federal agents who’d come out into the hall, hammers and crowbars in hand, their work interrupted by the commotion. They stared at her curiously, then up the stairs. Carrie gave them an irritable wave and headed down the short passage to the kitchen.
Tracy met her at the door. “Well, that sounds like it went well,” she murmured.
“No kidding.” Carrie glanced over to the solarium across the room, where Jonah, oblivious, was swinging his pirate Spider-Man across the net of twine that he and Huxley had strung between the chairs and the latches on the windows. The Brit, however, was nowhere to be seen. She turned back to her friend. “Dammit, Trace, she’s under a lot of strain and I’m sorry for that, but so am I. I’m not sure I can handle being around her anymore.”
“You don’t have to. I told you, my parents said you’re more than welcome to use their house in Georgetown.”
“I’m really tempted to take you up on the offer, too, but the feds are telling me to stay put. I can’t do it, though. It’s not fair—to me, to Jonah. Not even to Althea. If we can’t help each other get through this, then there’s no point in my being here. School starts in a couple of weeks. If Jonah’s not going to do first grade in McLean, then I need to get him registered somewhere else. I’m out of time. This has to be taken care of now.”
