Commitment (10 page)

Cassidy watched as Alex fidgeted with the glass in front of her. “Alex,” Cassidy whispered. “Relax, honey.” Alex gave her wife an uncomfortable smile and Cassidy sighed quietly. She was not looking forward to seeing her ex-husband either, but she hoped this meeting would bring them a step closer to moving forward with their lives. Still, nothing that Christopher O’Brien might say or do would surprise her, and she shared Alex’s apprehension. The door opened slowly, and Cassidy lifted her gaze to see her ex-husband making his way into the room. She sensed the tension rise in Alex and gently rubbed her wife’s back to calm her.

“Cassidy,” Christopher O’Brien greeted his ex-wife cordially.

“Chris,” she responded evenly.

“Hey there, buddy,” he called as he made his way to Dylan. Dylan had been sitting quietly next to Alex drawing a picture. At the sound of his father’s voice, he positioned himself closer to Alex and placed his head against her shoulder.

Alex could feel the anxiety pouring off Dylan. She carefully, but deliberately put an arm around his shoulder and kissed the top of his head, taking the opportunity to whisper assurances to him. “It’s okay, Speed. Mom and I are right here.”

“Well,” a woman’s voice broke through the evident tension. “Now that everyone is here, I’d like to get started.”

Cassidy kept a close watch on Alex and Dylan. It was strange; she thought. Alex typically took on the role of protector, but she could see a vulnerability in Alex’s eyes that both moved her and incited a fierce need to protect her family. Cassidy listened as the counselor and lawyers spoke calmly, answering unemotionally to the questions they posed to her. When she heard her ex-husband finally speak, she instantly felt a red-hot anger well up within her.

“Of course, I want to see my son. I simply don’t want to cause more friction for him,” O’Brien said. “This situation,” he paused and Cassidy could see the smug expression in his eyes. “This situation is less than ideal. I may not have been a perfect husband or father, but Dylan’s best interest has always been my primary concern. I love my son.”

It took every ounce of self-control that Cassidy could muster not to respond violently to her ex-husband’s words. He was a master. While she could taste the insincerity dripping from him; she was not convinced the counselor would be as perceptive. Alex felt Cassidy’s grip on her hand tighten and instinctively squeezed Cassidy’s hand gently in reassurance. As always, their relationship was a dance. They moved in time with the needs of the other. Cassidy bit the inside of her cheek to restrain the words that clamored for escape.

“Dylan,” the counselor’s voice softly called. “How do you feel? Do you want to see your father?”

All eyes turned to Dylan except Cassidy’s. Her steely gaze remained fixed on the man who once shared their lives. Dylan looked at the table and toyed with the picture he had been drawing. “It’s okay, Speed,” Alex said gently. “You just be
honest. No matter what,” she told him. Dylan pressed harder into his hero and shook his head ‘no’ softly.

“Is that how you really feel, Dylan?” the counselor gently asked. He nodded.

“You’ve done a marvelous job of turning my son against me,” O’Brien shot. Neither Alex nor Cassidy responded. “Dylan,” he called with as much concern as his voice could portray, making his way toward the boy. “I am sorry.” Dylan looked up at the man who was now squarely in front of him. His small eyes held the hint of a tear, but his face gave away his anger as the congressman continued. “I am still your father.”

Dylan considered him for a moment. He felt Alex’s lips brush against the top of his head, and he looked up to her. Alex flashed him a reassuring smile. He looked back at his father and shook his head. “You hate Alex.”

“Dylan,” the congressman began to reprimand his son.

“Mom and I love Alex.”

“Dylan,” he repeated.

Again the counselor interrupted. “Dylan, you don’t have to choose between Alex and your father,” she said. Dylan felt his father reach for him and took the opportunity to climb into Alex’s lap. “Is there anything you want to say to your parents?” the counselor asked him. He looked at Alex and Cassidy and then at the gentle woman who was asking him the question and nodded. “Go ahead. You can say anything you need to,” she encouraged.

Cassidy held her breath. Alex tightened her grip on the boy in her lap slightly. Dylan looked back at Alex and then to his mother. He stopped and touched the necklace that hung around Alex’s neck and turned to the man he knew as his father. “You said Alex is not my mom. She calls me every day when she has to be away. She takes care of me and Mom and Grandma and YaYa.”

“Dylan,” he said firmly.

“Go on, Dylan,” the counselor encouraged as she shoot a stern look of warning to the congressman. “It’s your turn to talk.”

“You never call me. You didn’t come to my party.”

“Dylan, I had to work….”

“Mr. O’Brien,” the counselor warned again.

Dylan snuggled into Alex and felt his mother’s hand tenderly rub his back in encouragement. Cassidy’s heart was breaking. She was acutely aware of the pain and disappointment her ex-husband had caused in Dylan, but he had never articulated that to her fully. The anger, disappointment and frustration radiating from her son was palpable. Alex pulled him to her protectively. Dylan was unsure of what to say. “It’s all right, sweetie,” Cassidy’s voice cracked slightly.

“Dylan?” the counselor called to him. “Do you want to spend time with your father?”

“No,” his hushed reply came.

O’Brien seethed. He swallowed his anger and painted on the winning smile of a polished politician. He gestured to his lawyer, who handed him a small box, wrapped with a bow. “Well,” he said. “I am sorry that you feel that way, Dylan.” He gave his son the box under the scrutinizing gaze of one extremely protective agent. “I know this doesn’t make up for me being away, but I hope you will accept it,” he said. O’Brien reached out to ruffle his son’s hair, and Dylan jerked back. “I see,” O’Brien said as he rose back to his feet. “You certainly are persuasive,” he shot at his ex-wife. Cassidy shook her head in disgust and reached for Dylan, who gratefully climbed into his mother’s lap. “It’s not over,” O’Brien bent over and spoke into Alex’s ear.

Alex fought her desire to lay him out flat with one punch. She took a deep breath and smiled at him. Silence had suddenly enveloped the room as Dylan’s frustrated tears fell on his mother’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Dylan,” Cassidy comforted him.

“I don’t want to go with him,” Dylan cried louder than anyone would have expected.

Cassidy felt her body begin to tremble. She could feel Dylan’s fear and the contempt it bred in her for the man a few feet away made her sick inside. “Shh,” she whispered, kissing his head and whispering comforting assurances to him.

O’Brien headed for the door and looked at the counselor. “You see how they have corrupted him?” he asked harshly. “She’s not his mother,” he said.

“Yes she is!” Dylan exploded.

“Dylan, honey,” Cassidy pulled him closer. His body was shaking violently, and Cassidy suddenly felt helpless. It was extremely uncharacteristic of Dylan to have an outburst.

“You can’t take her away!” he yelled again.

“No one’s taking anyone away,” the counselor promised.

“He said so. He said so,” Dylan cried.

Alex looked across to the congressman. She was tempted to address him directly. It was clear to her that at some point, Dylan had come to believe his father would take Alex away from him. She closed her eyes to calm her temper and leaned into Dylan and kissed him. “It’s okay, Speed.” Alex found her feet and calmly walked across the room. She looked at the counselor and stepped directly in front of the congressman. “No one will ever take me away from my family,” she said calmly. “No one. Now, you have upset my son enough for a lifetime.”

“Your son?” O’Brien began.

Alex made no reaction and placed her hand on the door to the small conference room. She opened it slowly and gestured to him. “Yes, Congressman.”

He stared at her coldly and then looked back at Cassidy. “Cassie…Dylan and…”

“Just go,” Cassidy implored, continually rubbing her son’s back in small circles.

O’Brien began to walk through the door and leaned into Alex. “You’re not as smart as you think,” he chuckled.

Alex shook her head and shut the door behind him. She looked at the counselor, immediately seeing the sincerity in the woman’s apologetic eyes. Alex smiled sadly and headed for her family. She bent over and looked at the box on the floor. She wanted to kick it, but she thought that a more mature approach was called for and picked it up, handing it to Cassidy as she gently extracted Dylan from his mother’s protective hold. Dylan clasped onto Alex. “If you don’t mind; I’d like to take my family home now,” Alex said pointedly.

“Of course,” the counselor said, opening the door for the agent. She placed her hand on Cassidy’s shoulder and stopped her momentarily. “We’ll figure it out. I promise,” she said. Cassidy nodded and accepted Alex’s hand. Dylan had barely spoken of his father in months. Now, she understood that he had overheard many things; things he had not shared with her or Alex. She grasped Alex’s hand tighter as her tears threatened to escape.

Dylan laid his head on Alex’s shoulder, and Alex could feel him beginning to succumb to sleep. “I love you, Speed,” she said. He mumbled something and tightened his hold on her neck. “I promise, no one will ever take me away.” Cassidy heard the declaration and sighed. Her thoughts were suddenly traveling to the letter Alex’s father had written, and for the first time her heart was genuinely torn.

Wednesday, December 10th

Jonathan Krause sat quietly sipping the scotch Edmond Callier had poured him. They had spent the last hour in casual conversation, discussing business deals and associates in a benign and amicable manner. Krause studied his mentor carefully. There was a sense of tension emanating from the older man that was not customary. It was Krause’s intention to leave this visit with a clearer picture of who Nicolaus Toles was,
and who exactly was pulling the strings in what was left of The Collaborative. “So, Jonathan. A nice dinner calls for a pleasant wine; don’t you think?” Krause nodded his agreement. “I’ve never shown you my wine cellar; have I?”

“I don’t believe so, no.”

“Excellent. Why don’t we take a walk? I promise you, if you cannot find an appropriate wine there; one does not exist,” Callier bragged with enthusiasm. Krause tipped his head in acknowledgement and followed his host dutifully through the expansive mansion until they reached a door. A narrow stairway led them to a cool, dry basement. The historic stone walls and the soft lighting made Krause grin instinctively. Callier continued making casual remarks about the home, its history, and of course, wine. The Frenchman had always impressed Jonathan Krause. It was clear that he was being led to a safe haven of sorts; a place without ears or eyes. Callier smiled and pressed a button on the wall. A door slid gently open and, Krause could not hide the bemused gleam in his eye when he heard a recording begin to play behind them. He shook his head. Most people thought these types of things the imagination of novelists and filmmakers. They were, in fact, Jonathan Krause’s reality. It was a reality he could not deny he found exhilarating. “So Jonathan; I’m certain you did not follow me here to discuss my expertise in fine wine.”

“No.”

Callier sighed and sat on a short wooden table. “First, tell me what has you so concerned for your family.” Krause’s hand reached the back of his neck, displaying his discomfort with the question. “Oh, come now, Jonathan. Your curiosity about Nicolaus Toles is not simply about financial transactions,” the older man keenly observed.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Mm. Your concern is for your family. I’ve known you a long time, Jonathan.”

“They are not my family, Edmond,” Krause said. Edmond Callier stroked his chin in thought. He nodded and slowly made his way to a cabinet on the far wall. He pulled it open and retrieved a small photo, placing it in Krause’s hands. “What is this?”

Callier smiled and resumed his seated position. He pointed to the picture. “Look at it.” Krause studied it closely. “Your father never wanted his children in this business, Jonathan.” Krause lifted his gaze from the photo in confusion. “That surprises you?” Callier asked.

“My father groomed me for this my entire life. I still remember the disappointment in his eyes when West Point rejected me.”

Callier smiled. “You haven’t really looked at that picture.”

Krause returned his gaze to the small black and white photo in his hand. “It’s my mother. I don’t recognize…”

“Look closely,” Callier instructed. The older man took a deep breath. “Jonathan…In my life, I have had two best friends. One, I lost long ago. The other,” his thoughts trailed. “We did not all share the same vision for our children.” He laughed and shook his head. “And, our children often did not share the vision we had.” Krause felt his mouth suddenly go dry and looked at the man before him, a sense of foreboding of what was to come. “Your father engineered your rejection to West Point. He paved the way for your education at Stanford. He devised the organization that would ensure you were put in a suit quickly rather than left in the field. All of it to keep you removed. To keep you somehow, safe.”