Calm Act Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Ginger Booth

  “Yeah.” Say something, dammit! I exhorted myself. But, “Good-night, Emmett,” was all I managed.

  “Dee! Good to hear from you!” Pam Niedermeyer greeted me over the phone, a couple days later. “What’s up?”

  “I need advice,” I said. “Army wife advice. You have a minute?”

  “Sure! I’m not an Army wife, though.”

  “Yeah, but you know how this armed, service – how all this works,” I said. “And I don’t have a clue. This long-distance relationship thing.”

  “Well, yes and no,” Pam said. “I mean, John is Coast Guard. His schedule is screwy, and he travels for work. But usually he’s home at least a couple nights a week. He was away at school for six months a while back. That was tough. But he wasn’t like overseas getting shot at, or coming home with PTSD, or anything.” She sighed. “Though, he does get pretty upset sometimes about duty here. Enforcing the New York borders had the whole Coast Guard near mutiny.”

  “John didn’t take it out on you, did he?” I asked.

  “Like he’d dare. Hell, no,” said Pam. “Dee? Is Emmett taking stuff out on you?”

  “No! No, that’s not it,” I said hastily.

  “You can’t put up with that, not for one minute, Dee,” Pam insisted. “If it happens, it is not you. Especially in the Army, those guys go through living hell. If he’s having trouble with what he’s seen, what he’s done, he needs to talk to other guys who’ve been to that same hell and found the path out. You can be supportive. But you can’t be a punching bag.”

  “No, really, Pam!” I cried. “Thank you, but Emmett would never, ever, hit a woman. I don’t think so, anyway. It’s not that. It’s…I just…”

  “Lonely?” Pam suggested.

  “Yeah. I mean, I wanted a partner. And I got one. He even moved in with me. For a week.”

  Pam sighed. “And now he’s living in New York Harbor. And you’re wondering if it’ll ever be any better.”

  “Something like that,” I admitted.

  “Well, good news and bad news,” said Pam. “The bad news is, probably not. I mean, I’ve met Emmett, and John talks about him. Project Reunion, New York, that’ll probably end. Maybe not as soon as you expect. But then there’ll be the next campaign. And the one after that. It’s what he does, and he’s good at it.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You saw the special Sunday night, of him investing Staten Island?”

  “Dee, the whole world saw that special. That was a triumph!”

  “Yeah. Yeah, it was. And he looked so alive, so happy, you know?”

  “Don’t get maudlin, Dee,” Pam said firmly. “He looked pretty damn happy with you on his lap, to me. He’s having the time of his life, sure. And the good news is – so can you.”

  “What?” I missed the turn on that one.

  “That’s the good news,” Pam said. “You – like me – are a smart, capable, tough, independent woman. So what if I can’t rely on John to pick up the kids at soccer practice. I can do it myself. Single mothers do it all the time. Unlike them, I’ve got his full income and support. With John, I have a best friend with benefits. We can do couple stuff. But my social life doesn’t revolve around him. I live my own life. So do you.”

  “That’s true.”

  “So were you a recent divorcée or something, Dee?” Pam inquired.

  “Me? No! No, until this past year, I never really had anything, um, serious,” I admitted.

  “Then the world went to hell, and you started clinging?” Pam suggested.

  I scowled. “I do not cling.”

  “You cling.”

  “I do not cling!”

  “That’s my girl.”

  I groaned. “I can’t believe I clinged. Clung.”

  “I can,” said Pam. “I tried it on John myself. He was like, ‘who are you, and what did you do with Pam?’ Around the same time you and Adam went to Montreal.”

  “Adam told you about me?”

  “Oh, yeah!” Pam assured me. “Adam likes you! He’s still stuck on you. I probably shouldn’t tell you that. You’d have to be blind not to see it yourself, though.”

  “Maybe so,” I said. “Well, no, yeah. I still like him too.”

  “Is that the problem?” Pam asked. “You’re tempted to give Adam a try again?”

  “No! Well, I don’t think so. I just… Maybe it’s what you said. I’m scared of the world and want my teddy bear.”

  “Your big, strong, tough, protective teddy bear,” Pam clarified. “Who can defend you from anything the world throws at you. Even Homeland Security and a near-death sentence.”

  “I do really like that about Emmett,” I had to admit.

  “And who wouldn’t? Nice bod, too,” said Pam. “Face not as pretty as Adam’s. But Adam’s over the top, anyway. Everyone thinks he’s gay, he’s so gorgeous. Really ticks him off, too. Well, much as anything ever ticks Adam off. Thing is, Dee – Emmett is protecting you, whether he’s here or not. They have a brotherhood. I heard you were just out on Long Island, with Cam. Emmett thought you were in danger, but he was busy. So he passed you to Cam, knowing that Cam would protect you with his life. I’m sure there’s someone else watching you at home.”

  I sighed. “Yup. I got people.”

  “Well, do you really need sex every night? Got toys?” Pam prodded. “We tried phone sex and cybersex while John was in…school. Your relationship might still be a little young yet to get a good laugh out of that, though.”

  I laughed out loud. “I can’t believe you said that!”

  “Sure you can,” said Pam. “Dee, that’s just obvious. So I give. What else is bothering you?”

  “What if he doesn’t come back?”

  “He looked pretty set on you, to me,” Pam opined. “I think he wants to keep you.”

  “Yeah, no, not that. What if he doesn’t come back here?”

  “You don’t want to follow?” Pam asked.

  I gulped. “New York is a nightmare.”

  “Hm,” Pam said, suddenly thoughtful instead of joking. “Well, could I make a suggestion?”

  “That’s what I was hoping you would do,” I said. “Am I being shallow and selfish and –”

  “Suggestion one,” Pam cut in firmly. “Don’t call my friend Dee names. Suggestion two. Not wanting to live in the Apple Core right now, means you’re not insane. I think Emmett is the last person who’d want you there, if it isn’t safe.”

  “That’s true,” I murmured, then chuckled. “He almost sent me straight home when I showed up for Thanksgiving without his permission.”

  “Well done!” Pam said. “Suggestion three is the main one, Dee. Stop letting the future gang up on you. Do you remember, just one year ago, what we expected? Two years ago? We really don’t know what to expect next. I think that’s what makes us clingy. It’s just…unnerving. But if you like him, and he certainly likes you, couldn’t you just wait and see what happens? Enjoy what you can?”

  “I have a farm.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The West Totoket civic association gave me a farm this weekend. I’m a farmer now.”

  Pam cracked up laughing. “Oh! I’m sorry, Dee. Um, congratulations!” She kept laughing.

  “Thank you,” I gritted out.

  “Oh, while I’ve got you on the phone, Dee,” Pam added, “I thought it would be nice to have you and Emmett over for a Christmas party. We can do it whenever he’s free. I hope you’ll come!”

  That actually stopped my breath a moment. I’d just been thinking that. That one of the problems with Emmett being away was that we could never do normal things like attend a Christmas party together. “Please,” I breathed. “That would be really nice, Pam. Thank you.”

  “Good! I look forward to it. Any time!” Pam said. “And best of luck with that…farm thing. Talk to you soon, Dee.”

  “It does make sense,” I told myself defensively, after we’d hung up. “I liked having a partner to farm with. And planting crops is a long-
term commitment. What if Emmett won’t come home to my farm?”

  Yeah, after Pam laughed at me, I had trouble buying it, too.

  Emmett was vastly relieved that night when we spoke. He told me he’d been going nuts because I wasn’t telling him what was wrong. He was sure I was about to dump him. He’d even called Cam that day at lunchtime and grilled him about everything I’d said or done on Long Island. (I was gratified to hear that Cam told Emmett to ask me, not him.) If I hadn’t opened up to him tonight, Emmett was about to beg General Cullen for emergency leave to come home.

  I finally admitted I was overwhelmed at the idea of farming the whole block by myself.

  “Dee, darlin’?” he asked. “You can give it back. Just keep the three houses worth of garden, and give back the rest. Keep some chickens for the eggs.”

  I blew out a long breath. “Wow. I was really bent out of shape, huh.”

  “Uh-huh,” he confirmed. “Although. It’s still not that much land. Too much for intensive vegetables like you’ve been doing, sure. Too much work. But you could keep the whole other side of the street in hay for Cow and the goats. Grow simple cash crops in the rest. Corn. Beans. Squash. Just take your time, Dee. Think it through. Nobody needs to plant in December. Figure out how much work you can handle, divide by two, work from there.”

  “They only gave me the land because I got high yields,” I worried.

  “So? If you can’t produce, you give back half the block next year. More likely, half the gardeners take on more than they can handle. Bugs, disease, drought in July, flood in August. Next October, they’re begging to cut their land in half. And there you are, still producing eggs and milk like clockwork, plenty of food for yourself, and two out of three cash crops survived.”

  I laughed softly. “I was thinking this was too much to do, without you here to help. And then you helped from there.”

  “Darlin’… You take too much on. I think gardening is just a hobby for you. Could be wrong, but I think you’re too smart. Too curious. Too… I dunno. I could have been a farmer. I love the land, the livestock. But it wasn’t enough for me. Full time? I’d be bored out of my mind. You know?”

  “I like working on Amenac, the PR interviews, the meshnet project,” I agreed. “I think you’re right. You know, I still feel guilty telling you my stupid problems.”

  “Don’t. Ever,” Emmett said. “That’s the only way I can be home with you now. Escape the Apple Core’s problems for a few minutes. Be with you. I want to do what I’m doing. I’m having the time of my life. But God I miss you, darlin’.”

  I snickered. “Pam Niedermeyer suggested phone sex. Actually she said we probably hadn’t been together long enough.”

  “Uh-huh. Pam Niedermeyer is a troublemaker.”

  “She invited us over for a Christmas party, whenever you’re free,” I said wistfully.

  “What a great idea!” Emmett cried with enthusiasm. “Let’s do that! We could invite Cam and Dwayne too.”

  “Invite them to Pam’s house? That’s a bit pushy even for you, Emmett.”

  He just laughed.

  I sighed. “Can you make it home before Christmas?”

  “I’ll make time. Somehow.”

  25

  Interesting fact: Amiri Baz won his second Pulitzer Prize for his reporting on Project Reunion.

  “How do you feel, Colonel MacLaren?” the reporter Amiri Baz asked, on one of New Haven’s half dozen train platforms.

  It was a brilliant sunny day out, 63 degrees with a strong breeze off the Sound. Probably set a new record high temperature for the day, but that was common.

  The day of the mid-December Christmas trains had finally arrived. Small releases over the past couple of weeks had worked out the kinks. The Camp Jersey and Camp Upstate quarantines were intentionally kept one week behind, Camp Yankee taking the lead. The first mass release – over 80,000 refugees – was already barreling toward us from Port Chester New York, 50 miles west down the railway. Emmett and Amiri had arrived an hour ago on a smaller train, carrying the volunteers from Camp Yankee to run the transfer circus about to explode into New Haven Station.

  Emmett snugged me to him around the waist. He said, “Uh… Come on, Amiri. You know I hate that question.” We laughed.

  “That’s why I asked it first,” Amiri said. “Saves time editing.”

  “How do I feel. Scared, terrified, nervous,” Emmett said, casting around. I believed him. His emotions were probably all over the map today. Mine, too.

  “Proud,” he finally stumbled upon. “Honored. I’m just…overwhelmingly grateful to be here. Thankful to everyone who’s contributed to Project Reunion. The outpouring of love and generosity. In the armed forces. Throughout the Northeast and beyond. Today…is really Christmas for me.” He teared up. Well, I did too. He kissed my forehead and hugged me tighter.

  “See? You survived the question,” Amiri teased him. “So what happens here today in New Haven?”

  They took their time back-and-forth to get good video clips explaining that. Trains from New York couldn’t simply turn left at New Haven to head north to Massachusetts, Vermont, and New Hampshire. Most refugees would exit their first train and transfer at New Haven. The refugees actually bound for New Haven would arrive here last, after the traffic for points east and north cleared out. Likewise, refugees headed for Fairfield County and the New Canaan branch train line west of us, the ones with the least distance to travel, would leave Port Chester later still.

  Emmett’s face lit up, and he said, “We have two very special groups on the first trains today.”

  Santa and his elves thundered up the stairs and out onto the platform, jogging into position to meet the front cars. An empty train and more elves waited on another platform, accessible from here by taking the stairs down to an underground concourse below, that linked all the platforms. Santa was in full padded red suit. Most of the elves had to make do with a pointy red or green hat over combat fatigues.

  “Christmas train from Port Chester arriving on track 10,” blared the loudspeakers. “Front half of the train to exit first, and transfer to North Pole on track 14. Repeat, North Pole Express on track 14.”

  The Christmas train was immense. Every year on the New Haven line from New York, they used to run these monster trains, that overflowed the train platforms by several cars on either end, to handle the overflow holiday traffic. Beefy soldiers in camouflage blocked the train doors from inside, no doubt praying that the conductor kept their train doors closed until their cars were called to exit.

  “Christmas train from Port Chester arriving on track 6,” blared the loudspeakers again, before the first train even came to a halt. “Front 10 cars to exit first on track 6, and transfer to Union Station main hall for ground transportation.”

  Emmett grinned and led us to stand by the forward glassed-in stairwell on our platform, out of the traffic pattern but with a good view. The doors slid open for the front cars that fit on the platform. Emmett traded a relieved thumbs-up with the Marine guarding the closed train door a few feet away from us.

  “Ho, ho, ho!” yelled Santa. “Who’s coming with me to the North Pole?”

  Skinny kids, but no longer emaciated, began pouring out of the front train cars, accompanied by their volunteer chaperones. All ages, two through twelve. Each wore a winter coat, good shoes, hat and mittens in the springlike weather. They might have been horribly intimidated by all this, but not with the familiar Santa hamming it up and guiding their way.

  “Where exactly is the North Pole?” asked Amiri Baz. “For our adult viewers.”

  “Burlington, Vermont,” supplied Emmett. “The North Pole Express is an orphan train. Some of the more damaged children will continue on to Quebec. Most of these children came to us from Brooklyn. We announced the day we’d be accepting refugees. When we showed up, first responders in Brooklyn had rounded up all of the orphans, all the homeless children they could find. Told us to take them first. Passed them to us,” Emmett choked
up. “Hand to hand, like a bucket brigade. They’ll be getting new families for Christmas.”

  Emmett and I didn’t even try not to cry, as a river of children scampered down the stairs next to us. A couple elves stood in front of us, to firmly direct traffic down these stairs, instead of skipping around to the next stairwell. These kids had grown up with train and subway platforms, after all. We grinned and waved to them. The refugees still bottled up on the train waved beside us.

  North Pole traffic slowed for the children who needed carrying or crutches or wheelchairs. Emmett jerked his head back to indicate the stairs behind us. “We need to move before the floodgates open.”

  We headed down the still-empty opposite stairs. Below, burly elves sat on orange traffic-blocking sawhorses in the concourse, to defend the track 10 to 14 reserved North Pole transit zone. We turned the other way and rushed up the concourse for the escalators to the big Union Station hall.

  Rushed as much as we could, that is, and politely. Beyond track 6, the concourse was full of mostly elderly, frail refugees moving the same direction we were. Lacking the magical resilience of childhood, the seniors were still emaciated after a month at Camp Yankee, open sores on their faces still struggling to heal.

  When the escalators deposited us up and out, into the big hall, my eyes lit up. My old friend Jean-Claude Alarie stood on top of one of the station’s beautiful solid oak bench-islands, above the sea of confused elderly humanity.

  I tugged on Emmett’s elbow and pointed, with a grin.

  “What’s this?” Amiri asked. He and his camera crew were ever vigilant, hungry for the spontaneous shot.

  “That’s our other special group,” Emmett explained. “Jean-Claude Alarie is with Doctors Without Borders. He travels with a gran caravan. The gran caravans have full amnesty today, to pick up new members. Elderly refugees only.”

  “You actually know these outlaws?” Amiri asked.

  Emmett tilted his head to yield the question to me. “Jean-Claude is a friend of mine,” I agreed. “Actually, Emmett met him the same night he met me,” I said sweetly.