ONE SMALL VICTORY (29 page)

She wanted to laugh. “I don’t even know what
okay is anymore.”

“It’ll come.”

Yeah. Right.

He reached over and touched her hand and she
started to pull away.

“Don’t,” he said.

So she didn’t. He curled his fingers around
hers and cradled them in warmth. She looked out the side window so
he wouldn’t see her cry.

They rode the rest of the way in silence. A
silence that was neither comforting nor discomforting. Just
was.

Then Steve pulled to a stop next to her car.
She slipped her hand out of his and grabbed the door handle. Steve
looked over at her. “Want me to come with you?”

She considered for a moment, then shook her
head and opened her door. His voice stopped her from stepping out.
“You know you had to do it.”

She sighed without looking at him. “Yeah. I
know.”

“Do you?”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.

Steve reached over and touched her shoulder.
“Please let me help you.”

She turned, tears ravaging her face. He
started to pull her close and she held him off with a hand to his
chest. “No, Steve. Not now.”

“When? When can I help you?”

She looked at his face, almost as ravaged as
hers. What would it hurt to just lean into his offer and let
whatever happens happen? But that impulse was so clichéd.
So...revolting at this moment.

“I need to get home, Steve. Scott is waiting.
Worrying. I need to go home.”

“Sure.” He released her and wiped a hand
across his chin. “We’ll give you some time. A few days. Then we
need to debrief.”

“Okay. Just let me know when.”

He nodded and she slid out of his car and
walked over to hers. He stayed until she buckled herself in before
flicking his lights once and pulling out.

If not for Scott waiting at home, Jenny would
have considered just staying there for however long it took for the
fog to leave her mind and the weight to leave her heart. But she
couldn’t leave him hanging and anxious.

She put the key in the ignition and brought
the engine to life. She drove home slowly, using every mental trick
she could think of to banish the horrid events from her mind lest
Scott look into her eyes and see the images.

As soon as Jenny pulled into the driveway
Scott ran down the front walk, a blur of motion in the shadows. Did
he sit out on the porch the whole time?

He was at the car in a flash. “Mom? God... I
was so worried.”

She got out and slammed her door closed.
“It’s okay. I’m here now.”

Before she could take a step, he grabbed her
into an embrace so intense it was like he would never let her go
again.

“What happened?” He took a step back and
faced her. “Tell me everything.”

“Can we go in first?”

“Sure.”

Inside, Jenny tried to focus on all the
things that were normal. Her muddy gardening shoes by the back
door. A sale flyer from Brookshire’s on the kitchen table. Crumbs
on the counter. Hadn’t she wiped it after making dinner
earlier?

God. That seemed like a lifetime ago. She
couldn’t even remember what she’d made. How could she have
forgotten something so simple and not be able to forget what she
wanted to?

“Want some tea?”

Scott’s question pulled her out of the
confusion. She faced him. “You’re going to make tea?”

“I’m capable, you know.”

She wanted to say something funny back. Then
maybe they could both laugh and dispel this terrible tension, but a
sudden weakness hit her knees. If she didn’t sit down, she was
going to fall. She pulled a chair away from the table. “Tea would
be good.”

He put the kettle on the stove and pulled two
mugs out of a cabinet. Then he stood for a moment, as if lost. “Uh,
where are the tea bags?”

Again, she wished she had enough strength to
laugh. She pointed to the squared-off metal containers on the
counter. “In the canister marked ‘tea’.”

While Scott putzed at the stove, Jenny sifted
through the details of the past few hours, deciding which ones to
share with him. There was no question about what she wasn’t going
to talk about. She waited until he brought the mugs of steaming tea
over and sat down. “So,” he said. “Was it like TV?”

If only. On TV people don’t really die.

Jenny ignored his question and took a sip of
the amber liquid, letting the warmth slide down her throat and melt
that cold spot deep inside.

“Come on, Mom. You promised.”

“Okay.” She set her cup down.“But what I’m
going say has to stay here.”

“I can’t tell Caitlin?”

She shook her head. “We can’t risk it. If
anyone connects me to what happened tonight, it could be dangerous
for anyone associated with us.”

“You said it would be over.” He slumped back
in his chair. “How could you lie to me?”

“I didn’t lie, Scott,” Jenny reached across
to touch his arm, but he jerked it away. “My work with the police
is over. It ended tonight.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, then gave
her a quick glance. “What exactly did you do?”

And so she told him, from beginning to end,
only omitting the facts about George, the guns, and that
unspeakable action she’d taken tonight. She noticed that as she
talked, he relaxed and leaned his elbows on the table.

When she finished, he looked at her for a
long moment, then said. “That is like, totally sweet.”

“I take it that’s good?”

“Well, cha.”

Jenny took another swallow of tea, which was
now tepid. Scott fiddled with a spoon, turning it over and over.
“One thing I don’t understand,” he said. “If you got the bad guys,
what’s the danger?”

“These local drug rings are connected. Clear
back to cartels in other countries.” She paused to make sure she
chose words that wouldn’t alarm him. “They don’t take kindly to
having their business disrupted.”

Scott’s eyes widened. “You mean they could
come after us?”

“Only if they know who us is.” Jenny leaned
forward. “Which is why you can’t talk about it. Everyone who knows
has the potential to pass the information to the wrong person.”

“Does Dad know?”

Jenny nodded. “He threatened to take you
away.”

“On the trip?”

“I mean forever.”

Scott shook his head, then stood abruptly. “I
need cookies.”

He went to a cabinet and pulled out a package
of Oreo’s. “Now I need milk.”

Jenny watched him get a glass, then juggle
the milk carton, the cookie bag, and the glass to the table. It was
so reminiscent of a ten-year-old Scott turning to food when
emotions got high, she smiled.

“Want one?” He pushed the package toward her
and she took a cookie out. He twisted his open and licked the
frosting. Again she was transported back to another time when
Michael and Scott had held contests to see who could separate the
cookie pieces the fastest without smearing the white stuff. Now
they’re doing commercials about that.

Scott ate three more cookies, downed a glass
of milk, then leaned back and looked at her. “My mom, the drug
buster. It’s so...”

“What? Hard to believe?”

He shrugged and she leaned over to touch his
arm. “That’s okay. There were plenty of times I wasn’t believing it
myself.”

He laughed at that, the sound so ordinary
that the heaviness in her chest shifted.

“Are you going to do it again?”

“God, no.”

“That’s good.” He closed the bag of cookies
with a series of intricate folds. “I’d like to have my regular mom
back.”

Jenny’s impulse was to hug him. Touch him.
Say something that would mark this moment, but she sensed he didn’t
want that.

He stood. “Better put these up.”

“Yeah. We should both get to bed.” Jenny
rose, grabbed the cups, and took them to the sink.

When he brought his glass over, he stood
close enough that their arms touched. She leaned into him for a
moment and he didn’t move away. It wasn’t an embrace, but it was
good enough.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Saturday was a blur. Jenny tried some of the
normal things; starting with going in to the shop for a few hours,
but she couldn’t concentrate on the anniversary bouquet she was
trying to arrange. After she’d cut three roses too short and had to
scrap them, Mitchell suggested he finish before she destroyed the
entire inventory.

“Thanks. I don’t know what’s wrong with me
today.”

He gave her a look that suggested he didn’t
believe her, and she longed to tell him the truth. But she
couldn’t. She knew that. Ditto for her mother. She’d downplayed the
issue last night with Scott, but the danger was real. If she was
ever connected to the raid out at the ranch... She shuddered, not
able to complete the thought.

She watched Mitchell finish off the
arrangement with sprigs of baby’s breath and fronds of ferns. The
pink miniature roses nestled against the greenery like children
leaning into the strength of a mother. “It’s lovely,” she said.

He smiled. “Thanks. Now why don’t you go home
and let me finish up here?”

She thought about arguing. Even thought about
trying to make a joke of it. Was he trying to take over the store?
But she was too tired for either. Making a silent promise that she
would give him the biggest raise she could afford in January, she
grabbed her purse and jacket and left.

The house was empty when she got home and she
had a moment of panic before she remembered Scott had gone to
soccer practice. It’s over now. Stop imagining the worst.

She spent a few minutes putting away the
groceries she’d stopped for and realized if she didn’t find a bed
soon, she’d collapse. She could sleep for an hour or so and still
have time to fix a decent dinner.

~*~

“Mom?”

Jenny pulled out of the depths of sleep and
saw Scott standing in the doorway of her bedroom. The light from
the hall slanted through the opening; otherwise it was dark as
pitch in her room. “What time is it?”

“Seven.”

“Oh, my gosh. I didn’t mean to sleep so
long.” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I bought stuff
to make enchiladas for dinner.”

“That’s okay, Mom. I fixed scrambled eggs.
There’s some left if you want.”

What she wanted was to go back to sleep, but
she made herself stand up and walk to the kitchen. The eggs were
decent and Scott had even made a pot of coffee. “You’re getting
downright domestic,” she said.

He smiled and sat with her while she ate.
After she wiped the last of the eggs with a piece of toast, he
stood to clear the plates. “Can I go to Caitlin’s after I do the
dishes?”

“What’s gotten into you? I’m not complaining,
mind you. But you haven’t been this nice to me since that Christmas
you wanted the mountain bike.”

“Mom! Can I go?

Jenny nodded. “Just remember what I said last
night.”

“I know. I know. I won’t say a word.”

A little edge of teenage defiance had crept
into his voice and Jenny laughed. “Now, that’s the Scott I know and
love so well.”

After Scott left, Jenny took a cup of coffee
and tried to settle on the couch to watch TV, but nothing
interested her. Restlessness pushed her to her feet and she went to
the front window. A light rain dotted the glass like tears.

She turned away, contemplated the idea of
doing some heavy-duty cleaning to work off the tension, then
decided it would be more productive to go talk to her friend. If
she put if off for long she’d chicken out and never tell Carol. And
she couldn’t do that. The woman deserved to know what had been
going on. And she especially needed to know about George.
If
only I can find a way to tell her that doesn’t destroy us
forever.

~*~

Jenny made her way through the fine drizzle
and took refuge on Carol’s front porch. Porch was hardly a fitting
word to describe the sweeping veranda that went across the front
and down one side of the old house. It harkened back to another era
when the porch was an extension of the living area, and Jenny was
always a little jealous every time she came over.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the
door, hoping her friend was home – alone. She could’ve called.
Probably should have. But they hadn’t exactly been on speaking
terms of late, and she couldn’t be sure that Carol wouldn’t just
hang up.

Seconds ticked by and became minutes before
the front light flicked on, almost blinding Jenny. After a few more
long seconds, the door opened and Carol stood there, wearing
burgundy warm-ups and a white turtleneck. The picture of suburban
domestic bliss.

“It’s freezing out here.” Jenny said.

“You can always go home.”

“Please, Carol. We need to talk.”

“Ah. Now she has time to talk.”

The sarcastic tone almost drove Jenny off the
porch. Screw it. She’s acting like a child. But Jenny’s heart had
never let her turn away from a hurt child; even if that child lived
in the body of a forty-something woman.

She pulled the door wider and brushed past
Carol, then headed toward the kitchen. “Since you won’t play
hostess, I will. Want some coffee?”

Not waiting for an answer, Jenny shrugged out
of her quilted jacket and slung it across the back of a chair. Then
she filled the kettle with water and fired up the stove.

“I’ve got cognac.”

Jenny turned to see Carol in the doorway.
“Sounds good.”

Carol went to a cabinet and pulled out a
bottle. Jenny grabbed a couple of mugs and the jar of instant.
Okay, two sentences without rancor. Maybe we can do this without
any collateral damage. Except for the part about George. That may
be a deal breaker.

Jenny heard the faint rumble of the water
starting to boil just a moment before the kettle whistled. She
turned off the burner and poured the steaming water over the brown
crystals in the mugs. Then she carried the cups to the table. Carol
joined her, topping off each mug with a generous shot of amber
liquid.