Second Chances

Pt. 10

by G. Lawrence

Jack and Jenny seek their future

This romantic adventure novel has been a sequel to Diminished Capacity. All characters are over 18 years old.

Recap: Suffering from a ruptured spleen, Jack persisted in convincing several Middle Eastern nations to attend a peace conference. Now, nearly three years after leaving the United States on a United Nations peace keeping mission and subsequent kidnapping, he is finally on his way home though stricken with a deadly infection. Jenny and Alex are with him. This is the final installment of Second Chances.

* * * * * *

Mrs. Patricia Blair

Blair House

New Haven, Connecticut

Dear Mrs. Blair,

Our analysis indicates that Jack has been experiencing a mental deterioration due to lingering post-traumatic stress. His years of inadequate medication were not helpful, and this illness may have manifested in his Quixotic quest to found the Kronoss Conference, where he was successful at a steep cost. We believe his best chance of recovery is to be placed in a supportive environment rather than an institution. Sincerely yours, Dr. Sandra Livingston

Chapter Ten

GHOSTS OF BLAIR HOUSE

"He's awake," a nurse said.

She made it sound like a miracle. There was a wrap around my chest. Had I been operated on?

A doctor wearing a long white coat strolled in, looking tired, and checked the monitors. There must have been six screens. The room felt like an army hospital, orderly and professional.

"Did you chop anything off?" I wanted to say, but only my lips moved. There was no sound. I noticed Jenny lying on a cot in the corner, dead asleep.

The nurse went outside, returning with Alex a moment later. She looked like she'd been sleeping, too, wearing pajamas and a yellow cotton robe. Her carefully styled hair was a mess.

"Morning, Jack," Alex whispered as she pulled up a stool. "How do you feel? Any pain?"

"Don't know," I said, barely.

Alex realized my throat was dry and gave me water through a straw. I hadn't felt thirsty, or hungry. I hardly felt anything at all. Probably a morphine drip.

"It got pretty bad, but you've been there before," Alex said, sounding cautious. "Fowler says he's never seen anyone so hard to kill."

"Tell him... screw himself," I replied.

"He said worse about you, and his language was more colorful," Alex smiled, looking at me with expectation.

"I would have called. It was complicated," I apologized.

"You can explain that later. But it had better be good."

"What's wrong with Jenny?" I asked.

"Really? What's wrong? From the moment she heard you were still alive, she was waiting for your call," Alex said, rebuking me. "She left Yale to stay at my apartment, hoping you'd call me. I've never seen a woman cry so much. She hasn't been eating or sleeping. How could you treat her like that?"

"I was missing for two years. I thought she would have found someone else by now."

"Don't you love her anymore?"

"That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

"Missy, I'm not the same man I was in New York. Excited. Looking forward to the future. Being in love. That world slipped away from me. I don't know if I care anymore."

"You cared enough to start a peace movement."

"Not enough to see its conclusion."

"Did you have your medication?"

"Not exactly," I confessed.

"Sandra can help you through this. She has before."

"Maybe. But I'm afraid of giving Jenny false hope."

"False or not, you need to give her something."

"How long am I going to be...? Wherever I am?" I asked.

"Germany. Landstuhl Regional Hospital. And we don't know how long you'll be here. The doctors are trying to figure that out."

I watched Jenny continue to sleep. She must have been exhausted.

"I want to speak with the doctor. The straight story, no bullshitting," I demanded.

"We warned him," Alex said, waving to a nurse.

The doctor was already waiting, a grave gray-haired professional with a no-nonsense demeanor. I gave Alex a look to chase her away, though I suspect she already knew what the diagnosis would be.

"We've stabilized the splenic rupture, but the infection damaged your heart, liver, and just about everything else," the doctor lectured. "We need to operate again, but afterward, it will be weeks before you can be moved. We can do it here or try to take you stateside."

"New York Presbyterian," I decided, thinking it would be close to Jenny and Alex. "What are my chances?"

"Fair. Better if we induce coma and let your body heal," he suggested cautiously, for we both knew the risks.

"Thank you, sir. I'm ready when you are," I agreed, trying to shake his hand. I was barely able to raise my fingers a few inches.

"It's my honor, Captain," the doctor said.

The doctor went to the door, motioned to the nurses, and everyone started running around. Alex came back.

"Tough decision?" she asked.

"Siding with the best odds. But if I don't make it--"

"No, we aren't going there," Alex interrupted. "You're through the worst part, and Father James is tired of giving you Last Rites."

"Can you wake Jenny for me? Have her wash her face and get a cup of coffee before we talk."

"You're not going to break her heart again, are you?"

"I hope not," I said.

It took Jenny twenty minutes to clean herself up. She returned in a clean dark blue dress, probably loaned to her by Alex, and sat next to my bed, sipping her coffee and dreading what I might say. I loved her so much at that moment.

"Your behavior is unacceptable," I said. "How am I supposed to get well while worrying about you? Is that fair?"

"Fair? What's fair about...?"

"Be quiet, Red. You've been bossing me around for years. Now it's my turn," I insisted. "You're going back to school. You're going to exercise and sleep properly. When I'm finally out of this situation, we'll see where we stand. But you better put on some weight. You need to look like a woman, not a starving boy. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Jack," she sheepishly said.

"Do I need to send Sandra Livingston after you?"

"No, I'll be good," she promised, kissing me on the cheek.

"So, what are you thinking?" I asked.

"I'm thinking you wouldn't yell at me unless you expected to get better," she answered, smiling with relief.

The doctor and nurses returned, ready for action. They tossed me on the gurney, rolled me to an ambulance, and raced to the airfield where the Palmer Media jet was waiting. The doctor soon had me back on the IVs. It made me wonder how much I would owe Daniel if I lived through this. Having been declared dead, I assumed my assets were gone, and the Army was being cagey about my backpay. And the way I figured it, they owed me a lot of money. $7500 a month times 28 months. I could pay off Taylor Place if I still owned it.

The jet was a two-engine Gulfstream large enough for eighteen passengers, but half the seats had been removed for my bed and medical equipment. The nurses wasted no time strapping me down. I took a look out the window. I'd had surgery in Germany following Sirputa, when they rebuilt my collar bone, but never had a chance to see the country. A month later I was sent back to Afghanistan for medics were badly needed.

I slept most of the way to New York until we landed at LaGuardia. There was quite a fuss at the terminal, with cops keeping people back behind a rope line. I hoped they weren't expecting me to give a speech.

The transfer to the ambulance went smoothly and we pulled out. I hadn't expected a police escort. There were no sirens or anything like that, which was good. I have no fondness for sirens. From time to time, I would notice clumps of people on sidewalks or near the highway. Many held signs though I couldn't read them.

"You could run for mayor," Jenny said, looking out the window.

"I may need a job," I replied.

Before long, they were unloading me at the emergency entrance of Columbia Presbyterian. There was a huge crowd of media and spectators. The reporters were shouting questions, but I wasn't able to make them out. And wasn't in any shape to answer them, the world around me being somewhat hazy. Alex, Jenny, and several security personnel surrounded my gurney, hurrying but not running.

The Palmer family met me in the admittance center. Debbie was twenty years old now, a confident young woman. I heard she was studying medicine. Amanda was looking good, too, and Daniel appeared prosperous. Probably a little heavier than he should be.

"We're so glad you're home," Debbie said, taking my hand.

"Don't worry about a thing," Daniel assured me. "I've got the best doctors in the country scrubbing up."

"You've been very generous, sir," I said.

"And you're wondering what I want in return?" he asked.

"It crossed my mind."

"Just make it through this, son. We'll talk later," Daniel answered.

I had a few minutes with Jenny and Alex but didn't offer any big goodbyes. It would just worry them. And then I was off to surgery. I didn't know if the doctors would find an induced coma necessary or not. It was four weeks before I found out.

_________

I drifted out of my long sleep slowly, finding myself in a shadowed room hooked up to tubes. I didn't feel sick, or dead, only tired. It wasn't a hospital room. More like a bedroom converted for medical use, like I'd used at the dead congressman's house in Alexandria while in FBI custody. I noticed the room was filled with oak bookshelves, old furniture, and lots of medical gadgets.

A head poked in the door and disappeared. Was that Martha? My next visitor was no illusion.

"Dr. Jenkins said you'd wake up today," Patricia Blair said, taking a seat next to my bed. She wore a pink outfit similar to a nurse's uniform. Her graying hair was in a bun.

"Where am I? What day is it?" I asked.

"It's October 25th, and you're at Blair House. You've been here since late September," she explained. "Much more comfortable than that hospital."

"Is this appropriate? The press--"

"Jack, you need to stop worrying so much about what the press thinks," Patricia interrupted. "You are staying here until you're better, and that's going to take time. You had better set your mind to that right now."

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

"You've got lots of questions. You always do. I'll answer them when Dr. Jenkins says you're ready, and not before."

I nodded my head, beginning to fall asleep again.

For the next two days, I mostly slept. But was very curious when awake, wondering what my prognosis was. I was visited by a doctor in the mornings and had a nurse nearby at all times. Whenever I asked questions, about anything, I was told to be patient. Even Pat tended to stay mum.

They finally got me out of bed, dressed me in blue-striped pajamas, and rolled me in a wheelchair to a bedroom filled with physical therapy equipment. Every muscle in my body needed reconditioning. The initial exercise was walking on parallel bars. My breath was the first to go, the legs quick to follow. Pat absented herself so I wouldn't be embarrassed.

"Good start," the physical therapist said, a big blond-haired Swede named Floyd who looked like a wrestling coach. He even had a whistle on a cord around his neck.

"Thank you, sir," I said, huffing and puffing. "Let's do this twice a day."

"Once a day, Captain Lawrence. For now," he replied.

The following afternoon, after a big conference involving everyone but me, I was walked down the long hall to the living room and allowed to sit on the couch. Like a normal person. Even the short walk left me without much wind, and I knew it meant the operation had been difficult. But the scar on my side was healing. That was one good thing about sleeping through weeks of post-surgery.

Martha brought a tray of soup, wheat bread and orange juice. She didn't frown at me like she always had before. I hoped she wasn't in poor health. Patricia sat on the couch, feeding me, and looking deeply into my eyes.

"This is the first day I think you're really here," she remarked.

"Where?"

"You've been in a daze. Dr. Jenkins says it's to be expected. You want to know how much this all cost, don't you?"

"How did you guess?"

"Because you always worry about my finances. You have since I almost lost Blair House and gave me your life savings. Well, don't worry. This is all paid for, and we didn't even have to touch my money. Or yours."

"What money do I have? Did the Army finally come through with my back pay?"

"My lawyers never distributed your estate. I was going to wait until Bobby and Jenny got married and then share it between them. And Diminished Capacity was number three on the New York Times Best Seller List for weeks. When you came back from the dead, it went to number one. Rafael Martín is very jealous. Daniel sold the movie rights."

"That should be your money. I was declared dead," I mentioned.

"Well, you aren't dead. As for all this medical equipment, Jenny set up some sort of 'Save Jack' internet fundraiser. We'll have enough left over to help others. Like the National Children's Rescue Fund."

"Do I have any secrets left?"

"Probably, but not as many as you think. What else would you like to know?"

"Who's playing me in the movie?"

_________

The doctors were right about a slow recovery. For the first week, Blair House was like a tomb, everything devoted to my rest. For short periods, I would exercise and gradually began to eat real food. How the hell had I gotten so sick? Everything after Damascus was a haze. It didn't stop me from reading the sports section of the newspaper. My beloved Eagles were doing great. I avoided current events, especially the peace conference. If it had crashed and burned, I wasn't ready to know. It was strange to be reading English again.

I did have one early visitor that Patricia wasn't happy about, but he had the power of the U.S. Army behind him.

"Captain Lawrence, you're looking damn good," General Fowler said, sneaking into my darkened room at naptime. He wasn't wearing his eyepatch.

"Compared to what, sir?" I sleepily asked.

"Compared to the last time I saw you, with a fucking priest hovering over your half-dead carcass mumbling that Latin crap," he replied.

"Is there something you need, sir?" I inquired.

"I have a mission for you," he said. "Important. Top secret. Probably dangerous."

"You have got to be goddamn kidding me!" I said, trying to sit up.

"Well, yeah kid. Having a little fun with you," Fowler confessed, pushing me back down. "But I do have a proposition. Even though you were declared dead, you can still come back in. I'll make you a lieutenant colonel. Give you an elite brigade. Humanitarian missions. Disaster relief. Whatever pansy shit you want."

"It's a tempting offer, but I have no idea what my health prospects are. A colonel needs to inspire confidence."

"Confidence? What the goddamn fuck are you talking about?"

He reached into a briefcase to take out a book. It was America's Lost Hero by Rafael Martín. It had a colorful cover by an artist trying to imitate Picasso. Unlike Rafael's first effort to exploit me, An American Hero, this updated version included my childhood, Thanksgiving Eve, the Tabrit mission, and my fall from grace before leaving for Syria. I immediately decided not to read it.

"Martín had to write a postscript once you came alive again, but every kid in the country is reading this crap. And everyone knows how kids hate reading. Hell, I read this trash myself. It's great. Recruiting thinks you'll double our new enlistments. What young soldier doesn't want to serve with Colonel Jack Lawrence?"

"I think you exaggerate, sir. Three years ago, I crawled out of America with my tail between my legs."

"You're on your meds again, right?"

"Yes, fully medicated," I confirmed.

"We'll talk about this again after Turkey Day," Fowler decided, getting ready to leave. "You'll be up and running by then."

"I appreciate your confidence," I replied.

"Jack, nothing has ever held you back for long. It's time you stopped following and started leading. By the way, you've got a surprise coming. A big surprise."

"I don't much care for surprises, sir," I warned.

"Sorry, not my secret to tell," Fowler replied, grinning like the devil.

Patricia rushed in the moment Fowler was gone, fluffing my pillow and taking my pulse.

"I was afraid Collin would upset you," she said.

"Collin?"

"Jack, General Fowler may have had no love for my husband, but he's been your champion. He's supported Bobby in his writing, and Jenny in her international relations. He may be rude, crude, and inappropriate, but he's part of our family. We love him warts and all."

"He got me thinking," I admitted.

I started moving around on my own more often, going to the gym or sitting in the kitchenette where I could see Long Island Sound. It allowed the house to get back to normal. Sometimes I would visit with Joseph and Charlotte, Patricia's Secret Service detail, or discuss the New England Patriots with Samuel the Butler. I still preferred my beloved Philadelphia Eagles. Martha was frowning at me again, which made me feel better.

"How is Jenny doing?" I dared to ask one morning over breakfast, for Patricia never mentioned anyone outside the household. Apparently to save me unnecessary stress.

"Jenny is doing marvelously. Yale allowed her to make up the classes she missed, and she'll be graduating in June with a master's degree in media studies. Then you can get married and start giving me grandchildren."

I spit up my orange juice.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"You are the love of her life. I think she is the love of yours. What's the problem?" she asked.

"You know that better than anyone."

"Jack, you are like a son to me, so let me be clear. Because you grew up on the streets, you think Jenny is above you. She's finishing her graduate degree where you barely finished high school. She grew up with money and you grew up poor. Sandra Livingston calls this a false inferiority complex. And that's all it is. Words. The things you fret over aren't important to a woman's heart."

"I want the best for her," I pleaded.

Patricia leaned over, whispering. "Jack, you are the best."

"What about all that other stuff? Jenny was fired. Attacked by the press."

"I think you'll find the mood of America has changed since you left for Syria."

"The facts haven't," I answered.

"You may not know as many facts as you think, but that's for another time," Patricia replied. "We're going to have a small party on Friday. It's time your friends see how well you're doing."

Wearing new gray sweats, I got out on the beach that morning for the first time since leaving Bethlehem. I wasn't able to go far, but each day got better, gradually expanding my walks to a mile or more. There was something soothing about the broad sands of Long Island Sound. The blue skies. The rolling surf. I started thinking it was time to leave Blair House, I had imposed long enough, but where would I go?

The neighbors had a spaniel named Rags who came out when I walked by, and he soon became the perfect beach companion. He barked but never talked. Sometimes I would visit with old men fishing in the surf.

On a gray Thursday, I walked a little too far, finding it hard to get back. I sat on a weather-beaten bench, waiting for my legs to stop aching. A middle-aged man in a blue windbreaker came down from Blair House, walked along the surf, and took a seat next to me. He looked familiar.

"You are in bad shape not to remember me," he said.

"Thomas Blair?" I asked.

"Governor Thomas Blair now."

"What crime have I committed this time?"

"Other than refusing to marry my niece?"

"One, that's none of your damn business, and two, you're the last person I'd expect to hear that from. When did I graduate from persona non grata to potential family member?"

"When I finally realized what an ass I've been."

"I confessed to shooting your brother. That doesn't..."

"You can stop right there," Thomas interrupted, waving a finger at me. "Pat told me exactly where you'd go with this, and to not let you get away with it. If you don't want to marry Jennifer, that's your decision. But don't hide behind Edward. Not with me."

"Is there something I can do for you, sir?" I asked.

"You can forgive my behavior at the Thanksgiving dinner three years ago, and for allowing your arrest," he said sincerely. "And you can give me a chance to be your friend. Pat, Bobby and Jennifer all say you're absurdly forgiving, so I expect you to give me a fair shot." He offered his hand.

"Well, since you put it so nicely," I agreed, accepting the gesture.

"I've got a VIP box for the Minuteman's homecoming game. You like football, don't you?"

"Yes, sir. I like football a lot," I replied.

"Good, it's a date," he said, getting ready to go back to the house.

"Governor Blair, there is something you can do for me," I requested.

"Of course, son. What's that?"

"Help me get off this bench."

________

On Friday morning I shaved, gave my shaggy hair a good brushing, and let Samuel tie the laces on my new tennis shoes. My clothes were loose and casual. Patricia and I had breakfast on the patio where she told me not to get excited.

"I take your doctor's advice seriously, even if you don't," she warned.

"The surgery was six weeks ago. I'm fine now. All I need is exercise to get back in shape. If you and Floyd will let me."

"We're sticking to the schedule," Patricia said. "After that, you can chop open a nuclear bomb, climb into a burning airplane, establish world peace, or do whatever else you get into that crazy head of yours."

"I'm not really crazy, you know. Not when I have my meds," I replied.

"You're not your old self either," she insisted.

There was commotion at the front door. Jenny had arrived carrying a cake for the party. I went indoors just as Jenny rushed to hug me.

"Wow, on your feet," Jenny said, looking me over. But it was Jenny who needed to be looked over.

"Red, you look great," I praised. And she really did, having filled out in all the right places.

"Just following your orders, Captain," she answered in a sexy voice.

She pulled me close for a deep kiss. I was reluctant to encourage her, not knowing what future to expect, but she seemed not to notice.

"Bobby and Alex are coming tonight," Jenny said. "The Palmers, too. More wanted to come, but Mom said no."

"Be sure to lock the door if Fowler shows up," I remarked.

I chatted with Jenny about her studies for half an hour, pleased to find her so excited. The dance in her blue eyes reminded me of how much I'd missed her, but I needed to suppress my feelings for her sake. When Patricia made me take a nap, Jenny wanted to crawl into bed with me, just to cuddle, but I put her off. Later, I found Jenny and Pat deep in conversation. I wondered if her mother was expressing my doubts to her.

The other guests arrived in the late afternoon. I greeted them with polite small talk, thanked them for their good wishes, and discovered I had nothing else to say. Alex was looking sharp as ever, having fun tracking a counterfeiting syndicate in New York. Bob was writing a new article that he was reluctant to discuss. Debbie Palmer was now a sophomore at Harvard. Daniel and Amanda just returned from a second honeymoon in Spain.

"You should come on board as an editor," Daniel told me over drinks in the library with Amanda and Bob. "Until you write your next memoir."

"Another? Didn't I embarrass myself enough the last time?" I lamented.

"That's what the readers loved. It was open. Raw," Daniel approved.

"It was supposed to be published after my death."

"Jack, it was published after your death. And now everyone is getting a second chance. Don't waste it," Daniel urged.

"Maybe that's what you should call your next book. Second Chances," Amanda suggested. "You gave one to Debbie. And to me and Daniel."

"Have you heard the word from Knossos?" Bob asked. "They've signed the agreement. Border security. Expanded trade. Intelligence exchanges. They are establishing a permanent council to resolve regional issues. Professor Lofoya has been amazing."

"Maybe they'll give him another Peace Prize?" I suggested.

"They say that--" Bob started.

"That the Professor has a good chance," Amanda interrupted, giving him a poke in the ribs.

"Want another drink?" Daniel asked.

"Are you guys trying to get me drunk? Patricia only allows me a small glass of wine a day," I complained.

"Mom really has you caged, doesn't she?" Bob remarked.

"Yes," I sadly agreed.

We adjourned for dinner in the formal dining room. Roast beef, one of my favorites. I sat in the middle of the table with Patricia and Daniel at the far ends. Jenny, Alex and Amanda were across from me, with Bob and Debbie on my elbows. Daniel said Grace. I reached for a biscuit.

"Well, Jack, we've caught you up on our adventures. How about telling us of your time in Iraq?" Daniel requested.

"Not much to say, sir. I lived in a small mountain village. The people were nice. I tended crops, took care of goats and sheep, and tried to stay out of trouble. After they shot Abari, I headed for home."

"And you had met Abari before the kidnapping?" Bob asked, as if he knew something.

"No, I had never met Abari. Why would you think that?" I asked.

"Because Hydar Alwan and his sister said so in their interview with Margaret Evans," Daniel replied. "They say you met Abari while rescuing them from a cave in the Blue Mountains. And that you refused to shoot him when you had the chance."

"What does the Pentagon say?" I inquired.

"The Army has no official comment," Daniel replied, leaning forward.

"Then I have no comment, either," I answered. "The last I heard that mission was classified. Besides, I heard the children were saved by Navy SEALs. But if I did see someone in a cave that looked like Abari, it doesn't mean I met him, only that I should have shot the son of a bitch like Hydar wanted."

"Maybe Fowler will release the files on Operation Kindergarten in time for my article," Bob said. "But I have plenty of material without them."

"What was life in the village like?" Jenny asked.

I gave her a discerning look, glanced down at Daniel, and then turned to Patricia.

"Okay, what's going on here?" I grouched. "Are you each taking turns asking these questions? Is there a list? Is this something that Sandra Livingston thought up?"

"Yes!" Alex shouted, jumping from her chair with arms raised in victory. "That's twenty bucks, Bobby. I told you he'd figure it out by the third question."

Bob reached in his wallet and handed a twenty-dollar bill across the table. Everyone was laughing.

"Sandra says you need to talk about what happened. With people you trust," Patricia said. "So here we are."

"So here you are," I replied, finishing my wine and holding out the glass for a refill. Bob reached over to oblige me. Patricia frowned.

"The first time Abari executed me, I thought it was a sick prank," I recalled. "Then he told me the world thought I was dead. And one day, to prove his power, he was going to shoot me again. I lived with that for two years. Regardless of how kind the villagers at Sar'ret were, I stopped breathing every time a truck came up the road, thinking Abari was coming back. My medication was gone. I couldn't sleep. And then when Abari did come back, he was seconds away from shooting me again. Getting past that has been hard."

"So you went on a peace crusade?" Debbie asked, holding my hand.

"It wasn't just about peace. Abari's dream was to spark violence throughout the Middle East," I replied. "I wanted to take his dream away."

"Abari was dead," Daniel said.

"General Fowler pointed that out," I replied.

"But what about your own dreams? What about me?" Jenny asked.

"That needed to be put aside. I put you out of my mind," I lied.

"So, all that time you were in Iraq, you stopped loving me?" she pressed.

"Jennifer, that's unfair," Patricia interceded.

"I deserve an answer," Jenny disagreed.

The table was quiet, waiting for what I might say. It would have been nice to say something clever. Or reassuring.

"I had been killed. I was going to be killed again. Part of me is still a ghost, up on that mountain waiting for a grave," I tried to explain.

The silence was uncomfortable until Daniel broke it.

"Since you're not dead, are you interested in making money?" he asked. "I can book some great speaking engagements."

"Music, too," Alex said, rushing into the hall and coming back with my Jack Wood guitar.

"Whatever happened to my old band? The 144th?" I asked.

"Back in Central Park playing for pocket change, I guess," Bob said. "They weren't getting many bookings after you left, and after you were kidnapped, they disappeared."

"If you're interested in teaching again, Skylla Falls wants you back," Debbie urged. "You'd be a short train ride from Harvard."

"I'm going on a book tour to San Diego, Portland, and Seattle. You're welcome to come along," Bob offered.

"That's all very generous, but I'm not sure what I'll do," I replied. "Now that the Army has declared me undead, they might recall me to service. Fowler offered me a promotion."

Jenny was mad, staring down with hands folded in her lap. Alex was mad, too, shaking her head at me. Was I making a mistake?

"Amanda and I have something everyone will want to see," Daniel suddenly announced.

With dinner over, we went into the living room. Daniel uploaded a program into the large television.

"This is a documentary showing on the Palmer Channel over the Thanksgiving holiday. Not even advertised yet," Daniel said, very pleased.

"We wanted it to be a surprise," Amanda added.

They snuggled on the couch like newlyweds. Patricia parked me on an overstuffed couch, Jenny sitting on one side and Debbie on the other.

"Just a little background," Daniel said, holding up his hands for attention. "After Jack returned to the States, Margaret Evans decided to backtrack his journey from Damascus all the way to the village where he'd been held prisoner. That Farouk fellow drew a map for her. That's how she got the interview with the Alwan children, and it's how she found Sar'ret. Amanda and I are the sponsors."

I knew how persistent Margaret could be, and this was no exception. The documentary started where we first met, in Marjah Square when I had miraculously returned from the dead. She followed the road back to the Syrian border, driving with Major Salmo, then on to Baghdad, getting full cooperation from the Iraqi government, courtesy of Prime Minister Alwan.

From there, the film moved up the Tigris River and east into the mountains, finding Sar'ret in a high valley near a long lake. I leaned forward with anticipation as they stopped in the village marketplace. The villagers came forward.

"There's Lilia. And Ma'amet," I said with excitement. "And that's Khillan. We spent time hunting together. That is Dr. Askari's infirmary. He tried to teach surgery to me. It looks like they've had good crops."

I was on the edge of my seat, eagerly trying to take in the details. I noticed new tools, more colorful clothing, and a relaxed mood that hadn't existed under Tashad's tyranny.

"Aren't those the same people who held you captive?" Bob asked.

"They had no choice, Bobby. Abari would have retaliated if they refused," I replied. "Tashad burned villages. Innocent people were murdered. It was brave of Ma'amet to let me roam around at liberty, knowing what would happen if I escaped."

Margaret seemed intrigued by this question as well, using an interpreter to cross-examine her subjects. They were sad to hear I was in poor health, but happy to report my foibles, many of which they found amusing. Ramood recalled the story of us nearly being buried in the irrigation ditch. Khillan mentioned the time I couldn't shoot the wild goat. Everyone was proud of Ishan.

"The Foreign Legion did not shoot Abari's bandits, we did," Khillan boasted through the interpreter, showing his shotgun. "They came to get Jack, but Jack is our friend."

"He saved my daughter," Marjia's father said, pointing to Marjia in the background. "We owed a blood debt."

"That's Farouk's brother," I said. "Farouk put a knife to my throat the first time we met. He's in Crete now with Professor Lofoya."

"Can you tell us about the day Abari came for Jack?" Margaret asked.

"We can do better than tell you. We can show you," Ma'amet said, waving her into his house.

Ma'amet had a nice television now, probably a gift from a grateful government official. There was a satellite dish on his roof.

The film crew followed him inside, but I could tell the event was staged. The equipment was already hooked up for Ma'amet's demonstration.

"When Abari returned, he wanted to film my son's murder," Ma'amet said as a video began to play. The quality was good. I noticed Daniel and Amanda sitting upright at full attention, knowing what to expect. I only had a vague idea, until I became the star.

"Jack was bound, taken to await his death, while Abari forced the villages to assemble," Ma'amet reported, the interpreter imitating his voice well. "Abari did not know my Lalia had alerted our neighbors, and many friends came to our aid. Abari made a speech. His last."

The video showed me being led out of the storage room, hands tied behind my back, doing my best not to look afraid.

"My God, Jack. We didn't know," Debbie said, squeezing my hand.

As the villagers looked on, I was tied to the tree, and Abari began his rant. I didn't remember everything he said, so it was interesting to hear it again from a different perspective. An angle view briefly focused on Ishan, Khillan and Farouk with bulky objects under their cloaks. Abari's bandits had no clue how heavily armed their audience was.

Weary of Abari's ramblings, I insulted him. He struck me with the book. Abari finished his speech and stepped aside. I was struggling, unable to fight the ropes. Fear was evident in my eyes but not panic. I was not disgracing myself. I defended the villagers as Abari raised his hand to give the signal. His men aimed their rifles, ready to fire.

"Did you see that?" Jenny suddenly said, jumping toward the screen. "Play it back! Play it back, please."

Amanda smiled. She was going to play it back even if Jenny hadn't asked. It was clear on the replay. As Abari was ordering his men to fire, I whispered Jenny's name.

"You love me!" Jenny shouted, spinning around to face me. "My name was your last words. You've always loved me."

"Yes," I admitted, for there was no point in denying it.

Jenny launched herself at me, pinning me on the couch, kissing me with both hands clutching my face. I was finding it hard to breathe.

"Jennifer, sweetheart, you need to get off Jack's chest," Patricia warned.

"I'll be on more than his chest before this night is over," Jenny swore.

I was embarrassed, but everyone else was grinning. The hesitant mood of the evening dissipated. Even I felt as if a burden had been lifted. After gently prying Jenny off my lap, I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air.

"You finally found your girl," Alex said, following me through the door.

"You've been working on it long enough," I said, for Alex had been fixing me up for years. "Now when are we going to find you a guy? Or a girl?"

"I've got someone in mind," Alex said, appearing content.

She took my arm, walking me down to the beach. The weather was cooling but not yet cold. Stars twinkled over the water.

"You still have challenges," Alex remarked. "You need to decide what you want out of life. You're not a street kid living day to day anymore. You've got to learn how to deal with the press, because they aren't going to leave you alone. What makes you happy, Jack?"

"I liked teaching. I like small towns, like Skylla Falls. Or Sar'ret. I liked helping people in Syria. When no one was shooting at me or putting a hood over my head. What about you? The press follows you around, too."

"Federal agent. If they follow me around, I arrest them for obstruction. And I'm very happy just doing my job and having special friends."

Alex took my arm and we sat quietly for a few minutes.

"We've come a long way since that day in Baltimore when you and Dragon confronted the murderer of President Blair," I remarked.

"We were just kids. It's hard to believe that was ten years ago."

"I wouldn't have made it this far if not for you."

"And I might be fetching coffee for some fat old politician if not for you, so we'll call it even," Alex said with a grin.

The rest of the evening passed quickly. I played guitar with Debbie accompanying me on piano while everyone sang songs. Martha served chocolate cake for dessert.

"Thank you, Daniel. And Amanda. And you, Little Doctor," I said as the Palmers prepared to leave. "Once again you've been here for me, even when I didn't ask for your help."

"You'll never need to ask," Amanda said, kissing me on the cheek.

"Daniel, let's work on those speaking engagements," I said. "And arrange an exclusive interview for me with one of your journalists. A live broadcast. No holds barred. Your viewers should like that."

"Are you sure? You've always said no to interviews before," Daniel replied, though I could tell he was eager for the opportunity.

"It's time I branch out, sir," I assured him.

As the Palmers were walking down the driveway, I noticed Alex and Bob in earnest conversation on the porch and decided to butt in.

"What's up guys? Why all the cloak and dagger?" I asked.

"Alex is coming to the football game tomorrow," Bob said. "It's a shame for her to drive to New York tonight and then turn around and drive all the way to Boston tomorrow. I was offering her my hotel room."

"Why do you have a hotel room?" I asked. "And why didn't you and Alex drive out together? You only live a few blocks apart."

"I... that is..." he failed to explain.

"We wanted to keep your intervention small, so Bob left his fiancée at the hotel," Alex explained. "Now he's thinking they can stay here, since you didn't go nuts."

"This was an intervention?" I said. "Bob is engaged? And you were afraid to let her meet me? What else aren't you telling me?"

"Help! Sis, help!" Bob called out, waving an arm.

Jenny came running.

"Did he find out?" Jenny asked.

"No, but he's asking lots of questions," Bob said. "Mom's going to kick my ass for screwing this up."

"Jack seems pretty calm to me," Jenny remarked, taking my hand.

The four of us snuck into the library and closed the door. Bob made Manhattans for everyone, though mine was watered down.

"Okay, Bobby, you can tell him," Jenny permitted. "But go slow."

I sat on a tall bar stool sipping my drink, watching them organize themselves. They seemed very nervous.

"Is my behavior really so bad that you can't talk to me?" I asked.

"No, you've been great. Better than anyone expected. Mom was afraid of telling you too much too soon," Jenny explained.

"Bob and I didn't drive out together because he doesn't live in New York anymore," Alex said. "He lives in Skylla Falls. At Zachery House. With his fiancée. Who you've already met."

"You're marrying Theresa?" I asked.

"Fuck! How did you figure that out?" Bob said, his jaw dropping.

"Easy guess. So, while I was dead, you stole my house and my favorite cousin?"

"I didn't... we didn't..." Bob stalled again.

"Give me your drink," I demanded.

Bob handed me his Manhattan, still hardly touched. I wasted no time finishing it, then gave the empty glass back to him.

"You should have brought her, Bob," I admonished. "Why don't you call her a cab before the night gets any later?"

It was a big house, there was no reason Alex couldn't stay, too. While they went with Jenny to prepare rooms, I tracked Patricia down in the kitchenette.

"It was an intervention? You and Sandra cooked this up?" I asked.

"We didn't know what to expect. After your release, you didn't call. You went on a quixotic peace crusade. You nearly died. Sandra knew your spirits must be low, so she had everything mapped out for me. All I had to do was follow the script."

"Looking forward to grandchildren now?" I asked.

"I know you and Jenny still have issues. But yes, I'm looking forward to grandchildren. From both Jenny and Bob," she confirmed.

I got up to go to bed. It had been an especially long day.

"You'll be more comfortable tonight in Jenny's room," Patricia suggested. "It has thick walls."

I gathered my toothbrush and pajamas, going upstairs to Jenny's bedroom in the back. She was waiting for me in the hall. In a sheer negligee. I could see everything a red-blooded man would want to see.

"Have you got my mother's permission this time?" she asked.

"It's been two years. I might not remember how everything works," I replied.

"We'll figure it out," she said, leading me to her bed. It turned out my memory was pretty good. 

President Leonard Wagner

The White House

Washington, D.C.

Dear Mr. President,

On the advice of Daniel Palmer, Jack will not be making a final decision on Governor Robertson's offer until we meet in Washington at the end of November. Thank you so very much. This will be good for Jack and it will be good for our country. My best to Addie. Your grateful friend, Jennifer Blair

Epilogue

FINAL OFFERINGS

I had been freed from the house. After another month of doctors, therapists, psychologists, and military debriefing, I was ruled to be in sufficient health to act like a normal person. Interestingly, the nightmares had stopped. I was a little anxious at times but without any deep stress. Sandra Livingston reduced my medication and hinted the day would come when it was no longer needed.

"It's only two hours to Foxborough," Bob said as we drove east. "The Minutemen are playing Boston College, so it should be great. Who are you cheering for?"

"Notre Dame," I answered.

Bob drove with Alex in the front. I rode with Theresa in the back. It gave Theresa and me a chance to catch up. Jenny was riding with her mother in the Secret Service limo a few miles ahead of us. They had things to discuss.

"Master's Degree from Yale in June?" I asked.

My cousin was still the trim young woman with long reddish-brown hair that I remembered. Now twenty-three, she and Bob seemed very excited about their engagement.

"Media Studies," Theresa confirmed. "Jenny and I have been taking the same classes. Thanks to you guys, I've gotten well-schooled in paparazzi."

"How are you going to make a living in Skylla Falls? Are you going to teach at the college?" I asked.

"Hell no. I don't want to be poor," Theresa replied. "I already have my own business. Skylla Media Inc. Our office is on 2nd Street next to the post office. And since Bob is a writer, it doesn't matter where he lives."

"Have you guys set a date?" I inquired.

"We thought in June, after the girls graduate," Bob said from the front. "But now that you're back, we can change that."

"Why would you change your wedding plans for me?" I asked.

"Because we want you to be there. I want you to be my best man," Bob replied.

"That's quite an honor, Mr. Blair. And I accept," I answered.

"Really? You accept? It was that easy?" Alex said, twisting around from the front seat with scrunched eyebrows. "No lecture about how the press will make life hell for them if you're there?"

"Missy, I don't feel a need to make everything difficult," I responded. "But there is an old adage about Theodore Roosevelt that Bob and Theresa might wish to consider."

"I know that one," Bob said. "It was said that when Teddy Roosevelt attended a wedding, he'd attract more attention than the bride."

"We're not worried about that," Theresa said. "I'm just glad you aren't mad about me and Bobby. He's been so worried."

"Why would I be mad?" I asked.

"Everyone knows my mom isn't your favorite person, but she would like to make amends," Theresa explained.

"That has nothing to do with you," I answered. "Or your brother. Or even Marigold."

"Goldie feels bad, too. My whole family does," Theresa said.

"We'll arrange to get together one of these days," I suggested. "Now that your Mom has served her sentence, maybe we can talk."

"Really? Jack, that would be so good," she replied. "Are you and Jenny back on?"

"Yes, Jack, are you and Jenny back on?" Alex pressed, glancing at me again.

"Now that Maggie Evans is telling the whole world, denying I love her would be pointless. But I don't know what that means. It didn't work out so well the first time."

"Jenny's not just my best friend. After Bobby and I get married, she'll be my sister-in-law," Theresa said. "We're going to be business partners. You're never going to find a better woman. She's warm, and smart, and generous. And funny, when her heart's not broken."

"Let me guess. Skylla Media is a lobbying company?" I replied.

"We do public relations, too," Theresa confessed.

We took our time, arriving in Foxborough by mid-afternoon. With Gillette Stadium right next to Patriot Place, Alex had reserved a hotel suite for us at the Colonial Towers.

"This is a party town. I thought we could enjoy the night life after the game," Alex explained. "It's not Damascus, but we might still have fun."

"Damascus?" I inquired.

"The web showed you going to nightclubs with Ishan and Farouk," Bob explained.

"You brought my guitar, didn't you?" I suspected.

"And the clothes you left in my apartment, all fresh and pressed. You have no excuses," Alex replied.

"Theresa and I are staying over, too," Bob said. "I've been practicing my piano."

It wasn't the penthouse, but our suite was luxurious, with several rooms, a bar and a private hot tub. Quite a contrast from the desert towns and mountain village I'd lived in most of the last two years.

"Don't worry, the rooms are comped. Every hotel in town wanted you," Alex said. "Go take your nap. It's going to be a late night."

"I'm fine now," I protested.

"You will be soon. Now sleep," Alex ordered.

It was dark when I woke up. Jenny was sitting on the bed next to me, quietly working on her laptop. She had a paper due in two weeks.

"You're sleeping good these days," Jenny observed.

"It's the drugs," I replied, getting up and stretching.

We took a shower, and if I wasn't awake before, I was afterwards. Circumstances had made me put aside some aspects of life through necessity and conviction. Being with Jenny again was like rediscovering a different world and I tried very hard to make sure she wasn't disappointed. From the look of contentment on her beautiful face, I considered it a successful mission.

"This is going to be so much fun," Jenny said, putting her make-up on in the dressing room.

I wasn't so convinced. Remembering how it had been before I'd left for Syria, it was hard to imagine much had changed. And it was Jenny I worried about most. I might not care what other people thought, but she needed to live in the real world. All I saw were difficulties.

The stadium was filling fast when we arrived. I remembered there had been a quasi-religious fervor walking through the streets of Palestine, especially after the shooting in Ramallah, but it was nothing like American football fans on their way to a big game. I enjoyed the noise and excitement. Not so much the mad dash after a little boy shouted, "Look Dad, it's the Sarge!"

Our deluxe box overlooked the fifty-yard line. Big enough for a dozen, there was food, booze, heaters against the cold, and a row of outdoor seats on a balcony. The view was amazing, nothing like the nose-bleed section I shared at Eagles games with Father Sebastian when I was a teenager.

Patricia was already there, along with Cecily Blair Forrest and her tall white-haired husband, Bill. Bob and Theresa said hello and took seats at the private bar. Pat's Secret Service detail was guarding the door.

"Looks like you made it into the family after all," Bill said, giving me a hardy handshake.

"It only took three years," I replied.

"If you think Pat is tough, you had better watch out," Bill warned.

I soon learned what he meant. Cecily marched up, arms crossed, staring at me like I'd stolen cookies from her kitchen in the middle of the night. She was still the short, buxom woman I remembered, with curly gray hair and a harsh blue-eyed stare.

"Tommy spoke out of turn at that Thanksgiving dinner, and I laid into him," Cecily announced. "But you lost your temper and marched out on me. That wasn't fair. I want an apology."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. It will never happen again," I answered, for offering an excuse would have been futile.

"That's fine. Pat says you're smarter than you look," Cecily said. "I heard you and Tommy buried the hatchet."

"Yes, ma'am," I confirmed, though I couldn't be sure if it was true.

"Very good. Thanksgiving is at my house this year. You will be there," Cecily demanded in no uncertain terms.

"Yes, ma'am, if Jenny says it's okay," I agreed, glancing over at her. Jenny smiled.

"You're a brave young man, we've all seen that, but being famous isn't a license to be rude," Cecily continued. "Jenny loves you, and Pat loves you. You need to straighten up and take responsibility. Am I understood?"

I nodded, unable to speak. Cecily gave me a hug, turned me toward Jenny, and swatted me on the butt to send me on my way. I gratefully took Jenny in my arms.

"Are you okay?" Jenny whispered.

"Kassan Abari doesn't seem so scary now," I whispered back.

With a beer and plate of crab cakes, I took a seat on the balcony as the pregame ceremonies began. Jenny sat to my right. I expected Patricia to sit on my left, but the seat remained vacant while she sat behind me with her in-laws. Alex had disappeared.

Marching bands played patriotic songs as 50,000 fans packed the stadium, and then the teams stormed onto the field. Flags were waved as the Star-Spangled Banner was performed. I was the first to stand, hand over my heart. The national anthem was followed by several dignitaries gathering on a platform next to the Marine Corps Honor Guard.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the University of Massachusetts Minutemen and the Boston College Eagles are proud to welcome Governor Thomas Blair," the loudspeaker said.

There were cheers and a few boos. I sensed Uncle Tommy was mildly popular but controversial. I wondered if that was why he wanted to make amends with me. Did he have higher ambitions? After all, his older brother had been President of the United States.

"Thank you, thank you," Thomas said, stepping up on the platform. "This is a special time of year. In a few weeks, we will celebrate the tenth anniversary of Thanksgiving Eve, when a handful of brave patriots risked their lives to save our beloved Boston from Tashad terrorism. Tonight, it is my honor, my privilege, to introduce one of these great heroes. Let's extend a warm welcome to Special Agent Alex McGuire."

In an overwhelming burst of excitement, the entire stadium was on their feet, clapping, screaming and waving. I knew Alex was a national hero but had never seen her honored in public before. She stepped up on the platform next to the governor, acknowledging the applause like an old pro.

"Thank you, Governor. I am honored," Alex said into the microphone, motioning for the crowd to settle down. "Ten years ago, a second-rate bandit thought to ignite a war by attacking our country. His scheme was foiled. The team I served with are proud to have been instrumental in his defeat. But tonight, for the first time, we have the chance to honor the true hero of Thanksgiving Eve. A man who has risked his life to serve our nation and has never sought the limelight. America, let's show him how we feel. I give you my friend, my brother, Captain John Henry Lawrence."

Alex suddenly pointed to our box seats where I was minding my own business, spotlights finding me in the glare. The introduction took me off-guard. The spectators turned in my direction, cheering so loud I couldn't hear, and then someone held up a light wand, waving it back and forth. And another. A dozen, and then hundreds, and then thousands. Some were white, others red, blue, yellow or green. The stadium lights were turned down so that the demonstration might shine more brightly. It looked like a sea of twinkling stars.

"They've been planning all week," Jenny said, holding my hand.

"Stand up, Jack. Let them see you," Cecily urged, poking me in the back.

I reluctantly stood, clueless about what to do. My face turned red with embarrassment. The crowd continued to cheer.

"They love you, Jack. Do you finally understand?" Patricia said.

"But do they love both of us?" I asked, drawing Jenny out of her seat.

As the crowd applauded, I took Jenny in my arms, kissing her deeply. She looked breathless when I released her. The stadium seemed to approve, yelling and stomping their feet. No doubt suggestive remarks were made.

Fortunately, I was not required to give a speech. I waved, bowed, and sat down, wondering what had happened to my beer. As the ovation continued, Cecily poked me and I took a curtain call, but that was it. I gave a final wave and sat, holding Jenny's hand. The spotlight returned to Alex, who acknowledged the cheers and left the platform. There was a football game to play.

"Wow, that was amazing," Jenny said, her eyes glistening.

"So are you," I replied, giving her another kiss.

A moment later, the empty seat next to me was suddenly occupied.

"Good work, Jack. Sorry I missed the intervention," Harold Rasmussen said, reaching to shake my hand. "I hear you really surprised everyone."

"What surprise? Why does everyone think I'm so pathetic?"

"No one thinks you're pathetic, just overly sensitive," Harold said. "Sandra got the report from Patricia about how well you did. She still can't figure it out."

"I'm glad to hear that," I said with satisfaction.

But it wasn't a secret to me. During my time in Sar'ret with Ma'amet and Lalia, I'd learned patience. Listened to the elders. Played with the children. The slow pace of village life had allowed me to study and reflect. Now all I needed was to apply the lessons.

"Okay, now I need you to get a grip. This isn't a social visit," Harold said. "The Attorney General is making an announcement in the morning. Thought you should see it first."

He handed me an envelope. Inside was an official letter from the United States District Court in Maryland.

"I don't understand," I said, seeing a maze of rulings in extra fine print.

"Your conviction for shooting President Blair has been vacated by the court," Rasmussen explained.

"Vacated?"

"Provided with new evidence, the court ruled you are not guilty of shooting President Edward Blair. Your conviction has been overturned."

"Is this one of Fowler's schemes? His big surprise? Where is it coming from?" I asked.

"Well, it turns out that not all of the conspiracy books were nonsense. It appears you really were set up."

"I find that unlikely, sir," I disagreed.

"Have you ever heard of Jared René Kirkland? Former intelligence operative with the NIC?"

"Not that I recall," I responded.

"He was seen with you at the rally, standing at your elbow. And he was seen outside your apartment building the night before with Dr. Camille la Motte, another former agent. And someone from the NIC was researching your records in the weeks prior to the assassination."

"That does sound a little strange. What does Kirkland say?"

"Kirkland is dead."

"That's convenient."

"The current theory is that you were drugged by la Motte, herded to the park by two operatives, and stood next to Kirkland when he fired the shot. He was a marksman. He then slipped the gun into your hand, where it fell to the ground. He disappeared and you were arrested."

"That's encouraging, sir, but it doesn't sound like proof," I questioned.

"Vacating your conviction was the court's decision, we only presented the evidence. But a lot of your advocates have been pressing the case pretty hard. Don't say anything to embarrass them."

"Yes, I understand," I acknowledged, reluctantly nodding my head.

"That's it? You're not mad?" he said in surprise.

"Goddamn it, everyone is acting in good faith. It's not something to get mad about."

"What happened to you in Iraq?" Harold asked, staring at me under scrunched eyebrows. "Are you really Jack Lawrence, or did they substitute someone else in your place?"

"Maybe I finally grew up," I suggested. "So, what's the plan? Has the FBI reopened the investigation?"

"We're deciphering Kirkland's journal for new leads. There's nothing promising yet, but don't worry. Wagner is issuing you a pardon in case the court's finding doesn't go far enough."

"Would this be at the same time he's pardoning the Thanksgiving turkey?" I asked.

"Probably. Ironic, isn't it?" Harold speculated.

"Harold, I'd rather not--"

"Son, a lot of people feel bad they didn't pursue this case harder ten years ago. And some feel the investigation might have gone differently if you hadn't been so quick to plead guilty. Maybe it's best we don't rock the boat."

I had to think on that for a moment. I had pled guilty without knowing the facts, and though I still found the theory a bit farfetched, what I thought wasn't going to matter.

"Okay, sir. I won't cause any trouble," I agreed.

"Good lad," he said, slapping me on the knee. "You're scheduled to attend the Thanksgiving Eve ceremonies on the National Mall with McGuire and Ruiz. Now that you're alive, the President wants to present your Medal of Honor in person. We can discuss the case then, when there are fewer distractions."

"Jack is looking forward to seeing the President and First Lady again," Patricia interceded, leaning over our seats. "Send the schedule to Blair House. I'm going, too. Joseph will escort us to Washington."

"Thank you, Mrs. Blair," Harold said, giving me an annoying smile. "The First Lady would like to invite you to Thanksgiving dinner at the White House. It's black tie. I can get you a suit."

"Please tell Addie and the President thank you, but Captain Lawrence is spending Thanksgiving with his family in Worcester," Cecily said, giving Harold a severe look.

Harold glanced at Jenny, wondering if he'd missed an announcement. I shook my head, letting him know there was nothing official.

"I've got to go, but there is one last thing," Harold said, handing me another envelope. "A job offer."

"The FBI?" I asked.

"Don't be absurd," he said. "Vivian Latimer wants you at the Red Cross. She needs a new director for their international relief division. Says you'd be good for recruitment."

After Rasmussen left, I turned toward Pat, wondering what she thought of it all. But it was Cecily who had something to say.

"Did I hear what I think I heard?" Cecily asked.

"Mr. Rasmussen said Jack did not shoot my father," Jenny answered. "Apparently it was a spy named Kirkland. The court has overturned Jack's conviction."

"So, after all these years, it turns out you're not even guilty," Cecily said with a frown. "Patricia, I take it all back. This boy is just as dumb as he looks."

Alex and Governor Blair returned to the box for the game. I ate small hot dogs on toothpicks, but limited myself to one beer, not wanting to overdo it. The game was exciting, tied 14 to 14 at the end of the first half. I heard there was going to be a fireworks show.

"Having fun, Jack?" Thomas Blair asked.

"Yes, sir. Thank you for inviting me," I replied.

"One good thing about politics, my boy. We always get the best seats," he confided with a wink, heading for the salad bar.

I was helping myself to a shrimp cocktail when Bob ran up seeking my attention.

"Jack, there's an old family friend down the hall. You need to speak with her," he announced.

"Invite her in," I encouraged, wondering if I should have another beer.

"No, she has her own box. She needs to see you in private," Bob replied.

I followed Bob into the stadium corridor. Jenny quickly caught up.

The corridor was crowded. Being on the luxury box level, most of the traffic was businesspeople and their guests, food vendors, and stadium employees. Everyone wanted to stop and chat, shake hands, and a few asked for autographs. Bob waited impatiently while I obliged them.

As we approached the door to a box well down from the fifty-yard line, I saw a man in a gray suit wave to someone inside. I guessed him to be a plainclothes security guard. Bob took the lead as we went inside, finding eight people getting ready to leave. Which struck me as odd, the game being only half over.

"We'll be back in a few minutes," an older gentleman said, reading my expression.

"Thanks, Marv," Bob said, shaking the big man's hand.

"I didn't know the Robertsons were here," Jenny said, giving the fellow a hug.

"Good to see you, Jennifer," Marv said, taking several men, women, and children with him into the hall. They were well dressed, but not in the fashions customary to Boston or New York. More down-to-earth.

Only two women remained. One was lithe and middle-aged with short yellow hair and a politician's smile. With her was a much younger woman, about Jenny's height, her long dark hair tied back and conservatively dressed. An executive assistant by appearance, holding a notepad.

"Here he is, Athena, as promised," Bob announced. "Jack, this is Athena Robertson, an old family friend. Mrs. Robertson is the Governor of New Hampshire. Athena, this is John Lawrence."

"As if anyone in the free world doesn't know," Athena said, reaching to shake my hand. "Can I interest anyone in a glass of Old Tavern Ale?"

Athena gave Jenny and Bob hugs before sitting everyone down at a table filled with food. She poured each of us a frosted mug of the traditional beverage.

"The Blairs and Robertsons have been close for years," Bob explained. "Athena's father and my grandfather served in President Powell's cabinet, and Marv Robertson and my father served in congress together."

"It's nice to meet you, ma'am," I said.

"Please call me Athena. Bobby and Jenny do," she replied. "A toast. To your amazing return, Jack. And to your friendship with these special young people."

"Thank you, Athena," Jenny said. "Are we here to introduce Jack, or is it something special?"

"Something very special, maybe," Bob interjected. He seemed well informed.

"There is a problem I'm hoping Jack can help me with," Athena replied. "I know you own property in Skylla Falls. Is Taylor Place your official address? Are you planning to live in New Hampshire?"

"Yes. I'm hoping to start teaching at the college again in the spring," I said, though it was more of a vague hope than a plan.

"We see you are registered to vote as an independent," the secretary said, referring to her notes.

"Excuse me, this is my chief of staff, Regina Atwater," Athena said. "She's here to help us keep the facts straight. She's very discreet."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Atwater. It's true. I registered, but I didn't have a chance to vote before being called away," I confirmed. "I'm probably not registered anymore after being declared dead."

"You might be surprised about that," Regina said, making a note. "But since you're not dead, that won't be a problem."

"What problem are we talking about?" I asked.

"As you know, President Wagner has offered Congressman Kevin Kim an ambassadorship," Athena said. "He is resigning his seat in January, which will leave a vacancy. Our state needs someone who is honest, respected, and capable."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Governor, but I don't know many people in New Hampshire. I don't have any recommendations for you," I replied.

"Jack, she's talking about you," Jenny said.

"Talking about me what?" I asked.

"To accept an appointment to congress," Athena clarified.

"Me? I'm a convicted felon," I responded.

"That's not really an issue with this congress," Regina advised.

"And from what I understand, your status may be changing soon," Athena knowingly said.

"I'm flattered, really," I calmly objected. "But I've already spent enough years in Federal institutions."

"Don't be too hasty, sweetheart," Jenny said, snuggling next to me.

"Jenny is right," Athena agreed. "The Kronoss Conference is going to cause big changes. There will be new voices in the Middle East. New strategic alignments. The President needs all the help he can get. This appointment is his idea."

"You are the perfect choice," Bob urged.

"Lamar Davies, the Speaker of the House, has authorized me to offer you a seat on the Foreign Affairs Committee, and you can sit on the Veteran's Affairs committee, too. A cause close to your heart. Daniel Palmer says to call him before making any rash decisions," Athena added.

"This is a lot to think about," I said.

"Our deadline is December 5th. Can you let me know in the next few weeks?" Athena asked.

"Yes, ma'am," I agreed. "But please, let's keep this quiet. When I attend the Thanksgiving Eve ceremony in Washington, I don't want to go as a politician."

With the third quarter starting, we excused ourselves and returned to Thomas Blair's VIP box. I ordered a Vodka Sunrise and sat down to watch the game, declining to speak about the unexpected proposal. It wasn't something I wanted to do. If anything, it should be Jenny who went to Congress. Her father had served there, and her grandfather. I'd speak with Pat about it.

That night, the younger people and I visited the nightclubs in Patriot Place. We sang songs and I played guitar with several of the bands. The dancing continued until 2 am. The paparazzi followed us everywhere. When Jenny and I finally returned to our room, we didn't get to sleep until dawn.

_________

We got up very late the next morning, Jenny lying next to me. I hadn't gotten drunk, but I had consumed enough to have a really good time.

"I have a stop to make before returning to New Haven," I said over bacon and scrambled eggs in the hotel restaurant. "Alex, if you could come with me, I'd really appreciate it."

"Where to?" Alex asked.

"Skylla Falls. I'd like to see my old homestead," I answered. "We can drive with Bob and Theresa, then take the train back."

"You aren't leaving me behind," Jenny insisted.

After breakfast, Patricia took me aside.

"Be back at Blair House by Monday morning," she said. "You're doing well, but you'll need to rest up for Washington."

"Yes, ma'am," I agreed, for it was wise advice.

"Now that you've seen how people react to you and Jenny, what are your thoughts?" Pat wondered.

"Still lobbying for grandchildren?" I mischievously asked.

"I'm lobbying for the happiness of my daughter," Pat answered.

This special lady looked up at me with great hope, her eyes begging for an answer. I sincerely loved her like the mother I never had, giving her a gentle hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Don't worry, Pat, everything is going to be okay. I promise."

We stopped at the Grace Church for Sunday services on the way, reaching Skylla Falls in the late afternoon. We stopped at the Green Mountain Bakery for donuts and said hello to Jeff at the Sheriff's Station.

"That's my office there," Theresa pointed out. "I already have two part-time employees. You know one of them. Michael Carmody. I have an office set aside for Jenny when she's ready. We're going to make a great team."

It was a small brick storefront with a red, white and blue banner in the window. Though my name wasn't mentioned, it could not be a secret that we were cousins.

"Do you book speaking engagements?" I asked.

"We can learn how," Theresa eagerly answered.

"Send me a proposal, Miss Houser," I suggested. "Maybe a few dates to coincide with Bobby's book tour."

Theresa grabbed Bobby's arm for an excited hug. Nothing promotes a new business like a celebrity client.

We didn't spend much time in town, but it was good to see old friends, shake a few hands, and hear how they'd been. Except for a new hotel on Rose Avenue, not much had changed. My former cottage was something of a tourist attraction. Mrs. Walters had turned it into a bed & breakfast.

"What's it like? To be back here after all this time?" Jenny asked as we walked down Main Street. Several reporters followed us at a distance.

"It's surreal," I admitted.

"But does it feel like home?" she persisted.

"I don't know yet," I answered. "Maybe we should buy a few sheep and a goat?"

We were dressed against the frosty weather. I was wearing the brown suit from the night before, with a heavy wool coat and a blue tie. Jenny wore a red cotton jumpsuit with a thick jacket and high boots made of fake white fur. She looked great.

"You haven't said anything about the Attorney General's announcement this morning," Jenny casually mentioned. Alex, Bob and Theresa edged closer to hear.

"There isn't much to say," I answered.

"There is a lot to say. Now everybody knows you didn't shoot my father," Jenny protested.

"Sweetheart, I can't say how relieved I am to finally learn it wasn't me. I've doubted it for a long time, but I still don't know what really happened."

"Because you don't believe in conspiracy theories?" Alex asked.

"That's right," I confirmed.

"But you think General Fowler, the FBI, the Justice Department, and even Mr. Rasmussen are conspiring to clear your name with cleverly manufactured evidence?" Bob said. "Wouldn't that be an even bigger conspiracy?"

"Now you are just trying to confuse me," I complained.

"It's not hard," Alex laughed.

When our walk down Main Street was finished, we went on to Taylor Place, where the tall ivy-covered brick wall gave us privacy. Bobby parked his car just inside the massive gate atop a gentle slope.

"Just like I remembered," I said, admiring the broad green lawns, the stately colonial mansion to my right, and rambling Zachery House down near the lake.

"Guess you'll want it back now," Bob hesitantly said as we walked along a stone path.

As young Zachery had designed it, the sprawling house was ideal for entertaining, with large patios, private courtyards, and a grand dining room. With six bedrooms, and six more in the mansion up the hill, there was no lack of guest space.

"I hadn't realized writing books pays so well," I said, admiring the fresh exterior paint and freshly planted gardens.

"It had been neglected for a year before we moved in," Theresa said. "Mr. Taylor hasn't been in good health, but he was helpful."

"Who is living in my bedroom?" I asked.

"Jenny wouldn't let us touch it. We have the lakeside room off the west terrace," Bob said.

"Well, it's a big house. I don't mind sharing if you don't," I decided.

Theresa and Bob burst into smiles and embraced. I could tell they loved their new home and didn't blame them. Between the green forest, the blue lake, and nearby mountains, few places could be as beautiful.

I took Jenny's hand as we went inside. Not much had changed, for Zachery had excellent taste in classic New England furniture. While Theresa and Jenny prepared an early dinner in the kitchen, I motioned to Alex. She followed me into my old bedroom. It was dusty. The bedcover needed washing.

"It's a mausoleum," I complained, opening the curtains.

"Jenny didn't have the heart to come in here, and she wouldn't let anyone else in either. It hasn't been touched in two years."

"Maybe it's for the best," I said, going to the fireplace in the corner.

Behind a loose brick, I found a small wooden box. The ring was still there.

"What do you think?" I asked, showing Alex a platinum band with a respectable diamond.

"You were going to propose? When?" she asked.

"At Christmas, before things went bad in New York," I said. "So, what do you think?"

"You already know what I think," Alex replied.

"You're my best friend, Alex. You'll have to be my best woman at the wedding," I warned.

"I've had tougher assignments," Alex said, pulling me close for a hug.

"You're not making time with my boyfriend, are you?" Jenny asked from the door.

"No, Jen. I'm making time with your fiancé," Alex replied.

"My what?" Jenny said, her thin eyebrows going up.

I took a deep breath. Having only proposed once before, it wasn't something I'd much practice with.

"Let's go for a walk," I said, taking Jenny by the hand.

We strolled down to the lake, going out on my private pier, and parked ourselves on a bench. There were several small rowboats on the water.

"I need to explain something," I began. "You've seen the docks where I grew up. Read about what happened during the war. Four years ago, when you came to visit me at Northfield, you brought me back from the edge, but I was living in a violent world. And since then, there's been nothing but chaos. I've never wanted you dragged into that darkness.

"Three years ago, when I saw the press, and people on the street, and even your own family turn against you, I decided to leave. I hoped you'd find someone else, but that doesn't mean I ever stopped loving you. Because I never did. I have always loved you."

"I know that. I've always known that," Jenny said. "You should have trusted me to make my own decision."

"You're right. I made a mistake, and I'm sorry," I apologized. "It will never happen again."

"So where does that leave us?" she asked.

"I've been giving it some thought. Fowler wants me back in the Army, and Vivian wants me at the Red Cross, but I'd like to try something different. I'd like to live here, in Skylla Falls. Maybe teach at the college part-time or go on the speaking circuit to share what I've learned. Maybe Professor Lofoya can help me start a foundation."

"What about Athena's offer?"

"Do you want me to accept it?"

"Yes, but not for me. Or the country. Do it for the brothers at St. Mary's, and your buddies in the 104th, and everyone else who has believed in you when you haven't believed in yourself."

"If I accept, I'm not going to spend my days asking for campaign donations or worrying about reelection," I warned. "I'll show up, do my job, and if anyone doesn't like that it will be too bad. I don't need the money. What do you want? For you?"

"I want to finish my degree. But after that, I can live anywhere. I'd like to be living with you. Here, or in Washington. Wherever life takes us."

She clutched my hands tighter, staring at me with those big blue eyes filled with youthful hopes and dreams. I slid off the bench, kneeling at her side, and reached into my pocket.

"In that case, Jennifer Allison Blair, who I love more than anything in this world, would you marry me?"

Jenny was still jumping up and down when we reentered Zachery House, showing her ring to Alex and Theresa.

"Mom already suspected. She's going to be very happy," Bob said, shaking my hand. "Have you set the big day?"

"Let's get married today. Sheriff Walters will help us find a justice of the peace," Jenny said, grabbing my arm.

"I'm thinking late summer, after the excitement of Theresa's wedding has died down," I suggested. "And it shouldn't be a small ceremony. We should get married in New Haven, with five hundred guests. We'll invite the press, give them the worse seats, make them eat the worse food, and tell them to buy their own drinks."

"Sweet revenge," Alex approved. "And by summer, spring classes at Skylla College will be over. You can have an extended honeymoon."

"Our whole life is a honeymoon from now on," I replied, pulling Jenny close.

I gazed out the window at my new home and sighed. I hadn't been joking about bringing in sheep and a goat.

"What are you thinking," Jenny asked, holding my hand.

"I'm thinking of building a cottage near the mulberry trees," I answered. "Lalia and Ma'amet can stay there during their visits. You'll really like them. They are wise and gentle. Farouk wants his daughters to see America. Ishan will be excited to visit a house where George Washington stayed."

"We have so much to do," Jenny warned. "The Thanksgiving Eve ceremony in Washington. Dinner with my family in Worcester. It will be so much better this time. School starting again. Your speaking engagements. Planning the wedding. And Athena's proposal. Where should we start?"

"Sweetheart," I answered, taking her into my arms. "Let's take a moment to catch our breath before looking for more trouble."

The End