Discovering Normal (7 page)

“Proceed. I will send specific directions to those in need.”

Dara-Dawn looked genuinely confused. The long thick braid that she’d fashioned her hair in swung behind her. “But, your excellency--”

He tilted his head and she stopped. “Dare you question me, Dara-Dawn?”

She curtsied for the third time. “Why no, Most Masterful, but certainly the results will vary given this new set of circumstances.”

He raised his hand with a flourish. “But all is intended, Dara-Dawn. Nothing at all is random. This is the way the Evil Stoddard needs to be taken. This is the way it shall be.”

“As you wish,” she said and backed from the room, never raising her eyes from the floor.

“Now where were we, my darling?” The Most Masterful asked as he pried the sheet from Chanta-Clara’s hands and climbed in beside her.

Ch
apter 7

“You are so lovely,” George almost whispered. He reached to cover Beth’s hand and she allowed him this time.

“Thank you,” she said softly and adjusted the linen napkin on her lap. A waitress appeared and refilled their glasses of Merlot without being asked.

The Manhattan
was Beth’s parents’ favorite dining establishment. The Williams family had come for brunch every Sunday of Beth’s life until she left for college. In fact, she and Chris had brought her parents here to announce their engagement. Her father cleared his throat, sipped his rye and managed to shake Chris’ hand. Her mother, though not surprised, was less than pleased. Recalling that now, Beth found it odd that her mother had suggested
The Manhattan
for her dinner with George.

Exorcising past demons she supposed.

George lifted his hand when their salads arrived. He waited patiently for Beth to be served and then picked up his small fork. “This looks good.” He glanced around the posh dining room and then back. “This place reminds me of
The Derby
in Albany.”

Beth speared a bit of romaine. “I don’t believe I’ve ever spent much time in Albany.” Beth took a nibble and speared another. Until recently her dinner conversation with Chris--like everything else in their lives--had always been passionate. They’d talked of the Bureau, the Phillies versus the Red Sox, which of
U2’s
albums w
as
better:
The Joshua Tree
or
Achatung Baby
--she liked the former, he the later. They talked about cars and farms, politics and religion, their kids and the families they’d been raised in which now were evident in their offspring.

But George, God bless him, was undeterred. “The architecture in Albany is exquisite. We’ll have to make sure you see it.”

Beth poured a bit of dressing from the tiny tureen on her plate. “I’d like that.”

George dabbed the side of his mouth with his napkin. “I believe that Albany has somewhere in the neighborhood of two hundred homes on the National Register of Historic Sites.” He stabbed a mandarin orange wedge.

Beth took a sip of ice water. George kept talking--something about art and literature. Beth had to remind herself that he was a Bureau Agent and a good one. Though he’d never had Chris’ physical prowess or gut wrenchingly accurate instincts, George was an excellent profiler who now mostly just taught the craft. But he’d always stuck out a bit among the rough and tumble agents who felt at home with a brew and a recent issue of
Playboy
.

Maybe that’s why Beth found herself drawn to him now. He was the kind of man she’d been raised to gravitate to, though she’d messed up and followed the wrong path when it’d really counted.

“Have you?” George asked.

Beth suspended her fork near her mouth. “Excuse me?”

“Have you?”

Beth set the fork down and lifted her napkin to her lips. “I’m sorry, George. My mind was wandering a bit. What was it you asked?”

He tilted his head, but the sandy waves of his short hair didn’t move at all. “I was asking if you’d looked into citizenship for the children.
I know with American-born parents they should automatically have it, but it’s too important of an issue to leave to chance. I’d recommend you look into it immediately.”

“Oh, George.” Beth exhaled and folded her hands in her lap. Her light blue linen suit was going to wrinkle. “Please slow down. I know what you’re feeling, what you want, but please don’t crowd me. It’s all so new.”

He met her eyes in the candlelight. “But I thought you were certain that it
’s
over with Chris.”

Beth reached for his hand and squeezed. “I am certain. But I was in love with Chris for a very long time. I need some time and some space to just heal. The kids do too. If I had to venture a guess, I’d guess that we
will
remain here--or very nearby--and the children
will
eventually
have to have everything in order, b
ut that’s still a long way down the road. I haven’t even unpacked yet.”

George reached for his wine with his free hand. “I just assumed--”

“I know what you assumed, but I have to think about my children and what will be easiest and ultimately the best for them. I have to decide what I’m going to do. I’ve considered teaching and I would like your input on that. I’ve also been tossing around the idea of writing a book about the Jaelyn experience.”
             
George hitched a brow. “I’ve never heard you speak of it.”

“I haven’t, but I’m thinking maybe it’s time that I did.” She gave his hand another gentle squeeze. “What I really need from you is for you to be my friend.”

He was hurt, that was evident, but he stayed cool as he sipped. He lowered the glass. “Can I be so bold as to ask if I can be
come
a friend with benefits?”

Beth smiled and lifted her own wine. “I think that when the time comes, that may be a very welcome distraction.”

***

Chris killed the engine and laid his head on the wheel. He could hear the thumping of the mediocre bass from inside the rowdy bar, silhouetted now in darkness and smoke from the cigarettes of patrons assembled outside for momentary relief from the crowd.

He’d spent the day working and working and working still more. He tended to stuff he hadn’t done since he’d hired the staff.

He even fixed the banging screen door.

When night had finally fallen and the cows had all been milked, he’d ambled inside to fry a hamburger patty to black char and ate it with what was left in an open bag of chips.

He showered, called his mother back, called the kids to say goodnight then immediately wished he hadn’t. The sound of Noah’s voice and Audrey asking where he was, was enough to carve his heart out with a plastic knife. He attempted to watch TV, but all he could manage to focus on was the quiet--the quiet house, the quiet night, the realization that even though he and Beth hadn’t been doing much talking lately, he was now utterly and completely alone.

Some raw need forced him to take the stairs two at a time, rip the sheets off of his bed and stuff them into the washer. He had no idea how to work the thing, but he’d brought down drug consortiums for crissakes--he could run a damn Maytag.

He stood over the machine as it quivered and shook and wondered briefly if he should’ve added the fabric softener that stared back at him with a damn smiling bear on the bottle. It didn’t matter though. He just had to get them clean, get himself clean. Rid them of Anita Borden, but even more, of Beth.

Chris wrenched the dripping mound from the washer into the dryer and turned it on with a slap of his palm. That was when he decided to leave, decided that the night was too long to start at 10:30 when he just knew he’d still be wide awake at 3:15.

But now that he was here at Flaherty’s, he didn’t want to go inside. Whether Beth believed him or not, he’d always preferred drinking at home with a cold Heineken and the Phillies or
Eagles
on TV. It wasn’t until the nagging had begun that he’d taken to leaving and drinking in peace at the bar with Jackson or one of the other locals at his side instead of an unsatisfied wife.

Chris stuffed his keys into his pocket and climbed out of the truck. Jackson’s car was here. Jack was always good for a bit of distraction. “Hey, Chris!” he heard as he wandered throug
h the door. Just as he’d feared
Anita was working, pouring shots in her revealing, skintight tee shirt and doing her best to catch his eye.

Jackson stood up and made a place for Chris at the bar. “Hey,” he smacked Chris’ back and motioned for Anita to give him what he himself had been having. “How are you holding up?”
             
Chris adjusted the cocktail napkin that Anita set down and tried everything he could think of not to look at her. The fingernail marks down his back that stung like hell were evidence enough that they’d screwed. “I’m okay. The house is just so damned quiet. I thought I’d like it, you know? I always thought it would be welcome, but I sat there and all I heard was Sundance’s tail thumping against the floor. It was weird.”

Jackson upended his drink. “You’ll get used to it I’m sure, and if you don’t there’s enough noise at my house to go around a couple of times. Stop over.”

Chris crossed his arms over the smooth bar top. “I doubt I’m Ramona’s favorite person.”

“You’re our friend, Chris. That’s not changing.”

“Thanks,” he said and really felt grateful.

Anita returned with the bourbon, slamming it down in front of Chris. It splashed onto the bar and Jack didn’t miss it.

“What the hell is up with her?”

Chris shrugged and took a swig.

Jackson leaned back and watched Anita punch the buttons of the cash register, fling the money he’d left her in and then hurl the drawer closed.

“What the--” Jack asked
, wide-eyed.

Chris took another swig. “I slept with her last night.”

Jack turned to face him, his eyebrows hoisted on his doughy face. “You’re shitting me?”

Chris shook his head and polished off the drink.

“Man, you work fast.”

Chris knocked the glass away with his fingers. “It wasn’t all that tough.”

“Well?” Jack asked with another raise of his brow.

Chris met his eyes.

“Well?” Jack asked again, this time with a shove of his shoulder into Chris’.

Chris glanced at Anita, holding a bottle of scotch high and swinging the liquid over three different glasses. “The doing it part was okay, but then--”

“Then?”

Chris leaned back against the rungs of the rotating seat. “Then I just wanted her gone.”

Jack rubbed an affectionate circle over Chris’ back. “Understandable, buddy. This is all pretty new.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it.”

“You will. It’s that or swear off sex until you find another bride.”

Anita appeared then and sweetly asked Jack if he’d like a refill. She didn’t bother to ask Chris.

“There’s no other bride for me,” Chris said as he watched her stomp away.

***

“Last call!” Anita yelled.

“You up to it?” Jack asked, looking a little woozy.

Chris yawned.
“Nah. I think I’m officially tired. I’m gonna head home.”
             
“Can you drive?” Jack asked with a hiccup.

Chris dug his keys from his pocket. “Can you?”

“I rode with Van Davis. We could drop you.”
             
“I’m fine. Really. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay, but take ‘er easy. Wouldn’t look good if a government agent was busted for DWI.”

“I suppose not.” Chris smacked Jack’s shoulder and ambled to the door. He doubted that Jack noticed he’d only had two drinks here and one beer at home hours ago now. He’d still been feeling the remnants of last night’s hangover and he was a cautious man. “See ya,” he said and pushed through.

Chris squinted and adjusted the rearview mirror. The car behind him had been following too close since he’d left the bar. He sped up; it did too. He slowed down and the car made no attempt to pass, just fell into a steady pace behind him.

“Shit,” Chris muttered, too tired to deal. He pulled over to the side of the road near Dennison’s field
only a mile or so from the turnoff for his farm. Let the goddamn guy pass already.

He waited, but the car pulled over and killed its lights. What the hell?

Chris tried to focus, but couldn’t see much in the thick darkness of 2 a.m. Instinct made him rummage the empty seat for a gun though he was well aware that there wasn’t one. He never left them in the truck or the house. He’d heard the stories, seen the pictures, of too many kids stumbling over their dad’s shotgun and finding out all too quickly that it wasn’t a toy. He kept his Remington rifle and his Glock that had been leftover from his other life securely in a safe in the barn.