Show Me the Danger: The Past Life - Book 2

by Utt, Kelly

  Show Me the Danger

  The Past Life - Book 2

  Kelly Utt

  Show Me the Danger is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  2019 Standards of Starlight E-book Edition. Originally published as Subject to Danger in the George Hartmann Series.

  Copyright © 2019 by Kelly Utt-Grubb, writing as Kelly Utt

  All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.standardsofstarlight.com

  Cover art by Elizabeth Mackey

  Contents

  I. Things That Remain

  1. Center

  2. Same Stars

  3. Life Expands

  4. Plenty

  II. A Proper Adventure

  5. Leaving the Nest

  6. The Flesh

  7. The Protectors

  8. Creative Liberties

  III. My Whole World

  9. Missing

  10. Conservation of Energies

  11. Shaky Ground

  12. Old Sunshine

  Enjoy this book?

  Also by Kelly Utt

  About the Author

  Part I

  Things That Remain

  1

  Center

  It’s been six months since the week that turned my life upside down. July is here and the days are warm and long. Sailboats ease by on the lake behind our house. They look positively enchanted, their silver and gold parts sparkling in the summer sun. Colorful flowers bloom cheerfully in the seemingly endless pots and planters my wife has placed around the property. My days are filled with summer delights like trips to the farmer’s market for fresh fruits and vegetables, the smell of sunscreen on my kiddos, and lazy afternoons relaxing with Ali on the back deck while our little ones nap. I still can’t get over how beautiful it all is. To have that wife. Those kids. This house. It’s more than I probably deserve, but I’m doing my best to take it all in. I wish I could say everything is perfect and we’re living happily ever after. We’re happy, for sure. But it isn’t that simple.

  I’m on a path of sorts. On my way through a spiritual awakening. Or something like that. Do people in the middle of a spiritual awakening declare themselves as such? I called Cornell not long after I said I might and told them I was no longer interested in the position I had accepted in their Engineering Department. I felt terrible about it because it was a very good job with a fantastic group of people. In fact, it was what brought me back to Ithaca in the first place. We’d still be in D.C. right now if Cornell hadn’t extended the offer. It seemed like the right thing at the time. And I still think it was the right thing. I was ready to retire from the Air Force and use my aerospace expertise in another setting to spend more time with Ali and the boys. I had to turn the job down though because something bigger is happening. I’d be a fool if I didn’t pay attention.

  Liam’s coming back into town today and he’s planning to stay with us for six whole weeks. I’m really excited. Would you believe I haven’t seen him since John Wendell’s memorial service in early February? I think that’s the longest I’ve ever gone without seeing my uncle. It just so happened he got orders to go TDY on a temporary duty assignment as soon as he returned from the winter leave he spent up here. He’s been in Egypt for months now. I suspect I know exactly what he’s been doing because we used to do it together.

  I miss the Air Force. The sense of making a real difference is a gaping hole for me now. But I wouldn’t go back. I’m enjoying this time with my family. Little Will turns six-months-old next week. It’s been a privilege to watch him grow day by day. I’ve decided to take as much time off as I want and to enjoy every moment with my family. I’m even letting my hair grow a little longer than my usual short cut. Besides, Liam and I are working on plans for our own business which will potentially make a much larger impact than I ever could in the military.

  Roddy and Marjorie are coming back into town today, too. We’ve seen my in-laws quite a bit since moving to Ithaca. If my count is accurate, they’ve been here something like twelve weekends since little Will arrived, which is great as far as we’re concerned. We love those two. We’ll welcome them just as often as they want to come visit. We have plenty of room and the more, the merrier. They tell us they have a big announcement to make and they’ve asked us to get the gang together to hear it, so we’re hosting a party at the house tonight complete with live music and catering.

  Ali’s brother, Nicky, his husband, Luis, and their daughter, Sara, are coming in from New York City as well. They were here for John Wendell’s memorial service, but they stayed in a hotel that visit. They said it was because we had a newborn in the house, but I’m pretty sure it was actually because Sara was scared to stay with us after the traumatic break-in she experienced at our place. Nicky tells me they’ll stay at our house this time, so hopefully, we can make new memories for Sara to help her get over her fear. I completely understand it. No question about that. Ali and I were scared to stay in our own house for at least the first few days after the break-in happened. I can only imagine what that feeling must have been like for a nine-year-old girl. A nine-year-old girl who lost her mother suddenly, no less. Sara is a sweet spirit. I want her to feel okay about it all. I want our house to be a place she associates with love and fun.

  Speaking of the house, it looks amazing now. Although not formally trained in interior decorating or design, Ali has quite an eye for it. Her sense of style is impressive. Magazine worthy, I’d go as far as to say. She’s been working on furnishings and decor for our place with the help of a local designer, although I think the designer is primarily sourcing the items Ali decides she wants. I’m sure it’s my wife setting the design direction and coming up with specific plans. She could probably have a new career if she ever wanted to leave immigration law. Who knows? She’s taking time off to be with the boys now, too. She plans to open her own law practice when she’s ready, but I could just as easily see her opening an interior decorating firm. She’s very talented. It’s interesting that one person can be so good at two very different kinds of work. I doubt there’s much creativity involved in immigration law. Maybe the creativity piece is connected to her cello playing. My wife is a fabulous cello player, same as her mom is a fabulous viola player. Marjorie made a career out of it and enjoys playing professionally with the New York Philharmonic. Ali double majored in college at University of Virginia-- pre-law and music performance-- but ultimately decided to pursue law school and let music be a hobby. I like trying to understand people’s motivations. Human psychology fascinates me.

  Ali and I are happy to be putting down roots in a city where we have history. There’s something significant about walking around on the same ground I did in high school. The same ground Mom did growing up and then again since she moved back after Dad died. The same ground my grandparents walked around on for their entire lives. It makes me feel like a part of the physical place. I look at the hills and Cayuga Lake and I feel like I’m a part of them. Or maybe they’re a part of me. It feels like I belong here, in a know-it-in-my-bones kind of way.

  I remember the first time I brought Ali home to Ithaca to meet Mom, John Wendell, and Grandma. We stayed in the spare bedroom at Mom’s little stone cottage downtown, the same room that was m
ine during high school and the one John Wendell spent the last years of his life in. Ali and I had met just a couple of weeks prior in the food court of a D.C. area mall, but already, we knew we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. I had plans in place to take leave from the Air Force and make a trip home to Ithaca for the holidays. Ali was on winter break from law school and also had plans to head home to New York to spend the holiday with her parents and brother in New York City. Not wanting to be away from Ali for a single day I didn’t have to, I asked her to join me for a joint Empire State road trip where we’d visit both Ithaca and New York City to meet each other’s families. It was presumptuous to ask, probably, but Ali immediately said yes without hesitation. I can feel the elation now just thinking about it. We were young and so in love. It was as if we’d known each other forever and had reunited after a long time apart. Now that I remember having been with Ali in Ancient Greece, I realize we sort of had known each other forever. With that hindsight, our immediate knowing when we met in this life makes complete and total sense.

  We took Ali’s black Jeep Grand Cherokee on the trip. The vehicle was new and loaded, provided the year prior as a gift from her parents at college graduation. I wasn’t using any of the money Dad left me back then, so I was driving a base-model, beaten up Pontiac Sunfire manufactured in the mid-nineties. Even though the headroom in the Cherokee left much to be desired for someone my height, it was the obvious choice for the journey. Besides, it was a four-by-four, and we knew we’d be driving through a significant amount of snow. I’ll never forget the day we packed up that SUV together and pulled out of D.C. on what we intuitively knew would be the first of countless road trips as a couple. I could almost see our future babies in the back seats if I looked hard enough. The feeling of rightness was overwhelming and all-encompassing. It didn’t matter that I was a young guy still in my twenties or that many other young guys my age would bolt at the thought of marriage and babies. Hell, many would bolt at the thought of a road trip out of state to meet a girl’s family. Not me. I was smitten. I was falling hard and didn’t want to stop. I’m still falling hard for Alessandra Davies. Every single day.

  We left on a Friday evening around supper time. I remember how the D.C. traffic turned into a snarl when we were less than five miles away from Ali’s apartment. We couldn’t have cared less. We sat in that traffic jam smiling, holding hands, and singing along to the radio. We were as happy as two people could be, simply spending time together. I know now that we weren’t allowed to be together in Greece, which surely made our young love feelings in this life that much more intense.

  We made it a few hours up the road to Hershey, Pennsylvania on day one. We stayed at the first hotel we found, which turned out to be a charming bed-and-breakfast inn. It was snowing when we arrived and the twinkling holiday lights at the front entrance made us even more excited about our trip. Not only were we traveling together, but it was a holiday excursion. Ali has always liked Christmas time, and she was over the moon about the decorations at the little inn. I loved seeing her happy. I remember walking into the lobby where a wood fire was burning in a stone fireplace surrounded by inviting leather furniture. There were chocolates on the end tables and glasses of wine. Christmas music was playing, just like at the mall the day we met. I remember walking up to the front desk of the inn with Ali by my side and asking for one room, together. We had already made love to each other in her apartment more than once, but the thought of spending the night together like a real couple while traveling at Christmas time carried an entirely different appeal.

  Our room was all we could have wished for. It had a wood-burning fireplace of its own, complete with a settee sofa positioned nearby and a big jacuzzi soaker tub across from the king-size bed. Two large windows allowed us to watch the snow falling outside while we stayed warm and cozy indoors. Suffice to say, we made good use of the space. Our lovemaking was beyond anything I could have imagined. We had a connection that defied all logical reason. We still do. That night will forever hold a place amongst my most cherished memories. I’m sure Ali would say the same.

  Come to think of it, our current bedroom in our new house bears a lot of similarity to the one we enjoyed that winter night in Hershey, Pennsylvania. It’s much bigger, but I wonder if we somehow subliminally recalled that room at the inn as we were choosing our current home. I wouldn’t be surprised if we did.

  After a delicious from-scratch breakfast of bacon, scrambled eggs, and cherry pastry at the inn, we made a stop at the Hershey’s Chocolate World museum before getting back on the road to Ithaca. The museum was decorated for Christmas, too, and Ali was bubbling with excitement. We toured the factory where they made the chocolates and sampled warm candy in between warm kisses. The sun seemed brighter that day. The world seemed more alive.

  Hershey, Pennsylvania is a couple of hours away from Bannersville, Pennsylvania where Dad and Liam grew up. It felt good to be that close. I proudly told Ali about my Pennsylvania roots as we followed a tour guide and learned the history of chocolate making in the region. She smiled as I explained how Dad had come to Hershey on school field trips when he was a kid. I’m sure my face was lit up like a Christmas tree that day. And I’m sure my goofy grin was on display. Ali teases me about it, but she knows my goofy grin exists because she makes me so deliriously happy.

  I continued to report on family history as we drove the four hours to Ithaca, stopping for a late lunch along the way in a little town called Mountain Top, Pennsylvania at the edge of Mount Penobscot. I told Ali all about Mom, Dad, Grandma, and John Wendell. I told her stories about my childhood and some of the good times my family and I have enjoyed together. She listened intently and seemed to be cataloging the information. I’ve always been impressed by her intelligence. More than a display of brain power though, she was learning about my family because she cared about me. I got that and appreciate it immensely. I felt seen by Ali in a way I’d never experienced before. I’d dated a couple of nice girls while in high school and I’d had flings here and there as an adult, but I’d never experienced a connection like I felt with Ali. It was sudden and extraordinary. I didn’t know I needed it until it was right in front of me. Luckily, she felt the same way.

  We arrived in town and pulled into Mom’s driveway just as the sun was beginning to set and pink light from the horizon glistened on the snow-covered ground. I’ll never forget watching Ali’s face as she fell in love with my hometown and my family. That’s the day I knew without a doubt that I was completely and totally in love with Alessandra Davies and that there was no thought of being with anyone else ever again. I was hers and she was mine. Our fate was sealed. I fell in love with her hometown and her family, too, when we traveled to Manhattan to visit them a few days later. But neither of us ever envisioned living in Manhattan together. Ithaca is so very different from the City. We enjoy the slower pace and the gorgeous natural scenery the Finger Lakes region has to offer. From the very beginning, we knew we’d make our home in Ithaca one day. We waited fourteen years for me to retire from the military so we could move here. I’ve always thought it was kind of neat how Ali and I were both New Yorkers living in Washington, D.C. when we met. Our New York ties seemed serendipitous. Or maybe they were part of a larger connection and purpose.

  I sometimes think about the first time Mom brought Dad home to Ithaca to meet John Wendell and Grandma. I wonder if he was nervous as they made the trip west from Brooklyn. And I wonder if they stopped overnight like Ali and me. Grandma and John Wendell were two of the nicest people ever, so I imagine that if Dad had been nervous, his mind was eased once he arrived in Ithaca and saw their smiling faces. Maybe that was the day Mom fell completely and totally in love with him. I also think about the first time John Wendell and Grandma met each other’s families. Or maybe they already knew each other’s families since they both grew up in the area. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that story, but I’d like to. Maybe Mom knows it and can tell it to me some time. I enjoy contempla
ting our roots here. I hope that one day, the boys will bring their loves home to meet Ali and me. We’ll still be here, older and gray and eager to share our beloved Ithaca with the newest members of our tribe.

  It may sound strange, but now that I remember having lived in Ancient Greece, I’m aware of new layers of subtleties surrounding the human condition and our relationships with each other. Having lived before means we have exponentially more history, which both makes us who we are and binds us tightly to one another. We have hurts and grudges that need to be healed. There’s much for me to learn, sort out, and solve related to the intruders who tried to kidnap Ethan in January because I suspect what happened to my boy in Greece is directly related to what happened right here at home in New York. But the more I ponder the whole thing, I think it’s evident that the successes and happy endings in life are more triumphant than most of us realize, given everything we’ve been through. After all, we’re here now, safe and happy and together. I wonder who else belongs in our group that hasn’t yet arrived.

  I haven’t told anyone about my Greece memories yet. Not Ethan, who remembered us having been there even before I did. Not Marjorie, who remembers past lives of her own and knows of resources which can help me figure it all out. Not even Ali. I expected to tell them. I planned to tell them. The days just sort of went by, though. I guess I needed a break from the heaviness of it all. There was so much to absorb after that life-altering week. I needed time to process. Then, each day that passed without me mentioning Greece seemed to make it harder to bring up. There would, no doubt, be the inevitable questions about why I waited so long to tell them. I figure they’d believe me, but I suppose I don’t know that for sure. They might want to see some kind of proof. Really though, I’m not trying to hide it from my family. I just don’t want to let them down. Maybe I want to figure out more on my own before I tell them so I don’t sound like a floundering mess. I want Ali and the boys to know, without a doubt, they can count on me. I want to protect them. I want to do a better job of protecting them than I did in Greece, that’s for damn sure.