ONE SMALL VICTORY (15 page)

Home was where she had found comfort and
support. And today, she wished for a little bit of that solace.

If her mother harbored any resentment because
of Jenny’s neglect, it wasn’t apparent in the warm greeting. They
went into the kitchen, and the older woman opened the freezer. She
pulled out two Dove ice-cream bars. “I was just looking for a good
excuse to indulge.”

“Mother. It’s practically freezing
outside.”

“Then we’ll go in by the fire.”

Jenny shed her coat, draping it across the
back of the wooden chair that matched the deep cherry-wood of the
kitchen table. In an ordinary house, the table would be too big for
a kitchen, but this was no ordinary house. It had started as a
four-room bungalow almost fifty years ago and, as time and money
permitted, Jenny’s father had added on. The kitchen and dining area
pushed out on the west side of the house, with a bath and laundry
room tacked on at the end. Three bedrooms and another bath had been
added on the east, leaving the original structure to serve as one
great living area, open and spacious.

Technically, the house wouldn’t win any
awards for design, but Jenny had always suspected that design meant
less to her mother than function and comfort.

Following Helen into the Great room, Jenny
could smell the mellow aroma of mesquite burning. As promised, a
fire danced in the stone fireplace.

She took the ice-cream from her mother, tore
the wrapper off, and settled on the large brocade sofa that faced
the fireplace. Helen sat on the end of the sofa, taking much more
care in opening her ice-cream, then faced her daughter. “Have you
made any plans for Thanksgiving?”

Jenny almost choked on a piece of the sweet
chocolate coating. “Thanksgiving?”

“It’s less than two weeks away.”

“Oh, my God.” For a moment, Jenny was seized
with an overwhelming sense of guilt that was replaced quickly with
dread. Am I really expected to celebrate this holiday so soon
after—

“I’m sure you probably just blanked it out,”
Helen said, interrupting the thought as if she’d somehow
anticipated it. She took a careful bite of ice-cream, then
continued. “I desperately wanted to ignore every holiday that first
year after your father died.

“Sometimes I still do.” She offered a smile
that eased Jenny’s discomfort. “But I think Scott and Alicia would
benefit from something close to normalcy.”

Normal? There could be nothing normal about
Thanksgiving without Michael. Who would carve the turkey? Michael
had taken great pride in assuming that traditional male—

“Though it might be better to do something
different.” Again her mother’s voice intruded as if she was reading
Jenny’s mind. “Totally break from tradition?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Maybe drive into downtown Dallas. Go to a
restaurant.”

“Are you serious?” Jenny licked at the white
stream of ice cream that was sliding down her hand.

“Yes. I think it would be perfect. No
cooking. No cleanup. No—”

“Leftovers? That’s practically the best part
of the dinner.”

“Then we’ll ask for a doggie bag.”

Jenny watched her mother maneuver her ice
cream with much more decorum than she had displayed. No sticky mess
down the side of her arm. How does she do that?

That’s when it hit her. Her mother handled
everything in life with more decorum than Jenny could ever hope to
have. Helen hadn’t blubbered and wailed when she buried her
husband, or her grandson. She hadn’t alienated friends and family
by being an absolute pain in the ass. And she hadn’t gone off to
play cops and robbers. Or gotten a gun. Or—

Whoa, girl. You’re not your mother. And you
don’t need to be beating yourself up again.

Taking a minute to settle her emotions, Jenny
ate a couple of bites of ice-cream, then faced her mother. “You
thinking just family, or your usual entourage?”

“Maybe it’s time someone else from church
opens their home. I’ve done it for twenty-five years straight.”

Jenny gulped. Put like that it seemed like
such a lengthy time. But where had the years gone? It didn’t seem
that long ago that her mother had brought the first immigrant
family to dinner on Thanksgiving. Those annual guests always ended
up being people who didn’t know English; some of them from Central
America and others from Third World countries. All of them without
a clue to what the holiday commemorated. Somehow, despite the
language and culture barriers, they’d managed to have great fun and
cement relationships that were strong even today between her mother
and some of the families.

The government could sure take a few hints
from Helen Garrett when it comes to foreign policy and peace
talks.

“You think we can get reservations this late
in the game?” Jenny tossed her wooden stick into the fire, where it
created a small eruption of embers.

“It’s not like everybody and their brother
will eat out that day. I don’t think we have to worry.”

“Okay. You make arrangements. I’ll start
working on the kids.”

Driving home later, Jenny wondered if
changing the holiday plans would be as easy as it had sounded.
Maybe she should have talked to the kids before agreeing to her
mother’s idea. Scott would certainly have something to say about
that one. But then he doesn’t really need an excuse, does he?

The harsh scrap of rubber across glass drew
her attention, and she flicked the lever to turn off her windshield
wipers. She hadn’t even noticed that the rain had quit. She also
hadn’t noticed that daylight was quickly turning to dusk, the
headlights of oncoming cars looming out of the grayish darkness
like searchlights on wheels.

You better get a grip, girl, before you
become a statistic
.

~*~

“You did what?”

“What was I supposed to do? He ripped me off.
He stalled me on the next step. I had to push a little.”

“I said ‘no guns.’ What part of that wasn’t
clear?” Steve picked up a rock and threw it into a stand of brush
about ten feet from where they sat. Jenny could hear it crackle as
it broke through.

She figured the better part of discretion
would be to keep her mouth shut until he wasn’t quite so angry. She
watched the remnants of sun catchers tied to the limbs of a nearby
tree dance in the cool afternoon breeze, and tried to convince
herself she hadn’t done anything terribly wrong in ignoring the
orders.

Of all the odd places they’d met. This was
the weirdest. She’d never even heard of Connemara Conservancy, and
she was surprised that Steve had. It was a huge meadow that had
been turned into a unique art park where exhibits became one with
nature. He didn’t seem the type to appreciate art in any form in
any place. But he’d assured her that he picked it for privacy. The
drug czars might launder some of their profits through fine art,
but connoisseurs they were not.

So here they sat in the middle of a stand of
trees where the stained glass pieces decorated the limbs like
Christmas ornaments. Steve had told her that the display had been
exquisite in the spring when it had first been put up. The summer
winds and autumn rains had not been kind to it.

“Do I even want to know where you got the
gun?”

“I don’t think so.” Jenny watched him dig
another rock out of the ground and wondered if this was going to be
the end of it, after all. Had she passed Chico’s weird test only to
be shut down by the good guys?

With hindsight, she could see that telling
Steve how she’d regained Chico’s respect had been a big mistake.
But he’d asked, and she just wasn’t a good enough liar to adlib a
plausible story. For the hundredth time since this conversation
started, she wished she’d anticipated the question so she could’ve
scripted a scenario that didn’t include the gun.

“Maybe if you tell me you don’t have it any
more, I wouldn’t have to report anything.” Steve said, hefting the
rock but not throwing it.

The calm tone of his comment brought a wave
of relief, and Jenny wanted to smile at his obvious avoidance of
the word, ‘gun.’ What did he think? If he didn’t say it, it didn’t
exist? She leaned back on her elbows and regarded him, stifling the
urge to smile. “You know that backing down is not an option.”

Still he didn’t look at her. “I don’t want
you to back down. I want you to stop breaking the rules.”

“So I should tell you I don’t have the gun
anymore?”

He transferred the rock to his other hand.
“Yes.”

“Okay. I don’t have it anymore.”

He turned to her, a flash of emotion
darkening his eyes. “I’m serious, Jenny. This isn’t a part you’re
playing for some fuckin’ TV drama.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind, Lieutenant.”
She stood and brushed the dead grass from her jeans.

“Wait.”

Jenny sighed, but stood rigid.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to be
responsible for you?”

A cloud passed over the sun, and Jenny wasn’t
sure if her shudder was from the sudden cool shadow or the impact
of the question. How was she supposed to answer? She didn’t know
what it was like for him. Hell. She still wasn’t always sure what
it was like for her. Only that it still seemed like the right thing
to do.

If she was a deeply religious person, she’d
believe that God had ordained her to take up this cause. Otherwise
Gonzales would have laughed her out of his office when she’d first
made her request. And wasn’t it within the scope of that mission to
use her instincts? They’d always been true to her before.

“Please sit down.” Steve tapped her on the
leg.

She turned to look at him. “So you can tell
me again how much trouble I am?”

“No.” The hint of a smile touched his face.
“So we can get this operation back on course.”

Relief washed through her as she realized
that meant he wasn’t pulling the plug on the whole deal. She sat
down, crossing her legs at the ankles and leaning on her knees.

“Okay,” Steve said. “The rip-off was probably
some kind of test. And even though I don’t approve of your method,
I’d venture a guess that you passed. So they may be ready to move
to the next step.”

“I’m good for that. Then I’ll be that much
closer to the end of it all.”

“Just be careful.”

“I will.”

“No more gun.”

Jenny held up two fingers. “Scout’s
honor.”

“I mean it.”

“I do, too.”

With a sudden clarity, Jenny realized that
she did mean it. Despite the positive outcome, the whole episode
with Chico had scared the peewadin’ out of her. And all the
satisfaction in the world couldn’t dispel the feeling of horror at
the thought of having to carry that threat to completion.

Steve broke eye-contact, digging the heel of
his boot into the dirt. Looking for another rock? Jenny sensed a
slight edge of tension in him and wondered what had shifted his
mood. Maybe she should just go. Leave him to whatever private
thoughts he was having. But she hated to head back to the hassles
of town and traffic just yet. It was so peaceful out here,
especially since the sun had escaped from behind the cloud, casting
yellow streaks down to the horizon. The rays warmed her face,
reminding her of carefree childhood days romping in a park.

“Katie used to love to come here.”

“Oh?”

His comment was from so far out in left
field, she had to stretch to grab it. The first thing that popped
into her mind was a realization that he hadn’t stumbled on this
place all by himself. But who was this ‘Katie?’ He’d said he never
had a family. But he could’ve had a wife without a family.

“A couple of times she helped the artists put
up their displays.”

“Was...is she your wife?”

“No.”

The one-word answer carried a wistful note,
and Jenny wondered if he wasn’t going to say anymore. Then he
turned and gave her a half-smile. “She was, to use the modern term,
my significant other.”

“Oh.”

“She loved that designation. Said that’s why
she didn’t want to get married. Then she wouldn’t be significant
anymore.”

He stopped, seeming to take an intense
interest in a hawk that was gliding in wide, lazy circles above
them. Jenny put her curiosity on hold and followed the bird’s
movements until it suddenly dove out of sight. She didn’t know if
she should be happy for the hawk who had found his dinner, or sorry
for whatever critter it had spotted.

When Steve started to speak again, it
startled her.

“It seemed to amaze her that she could mean
so much to someone that it made her significant,” he said, still
keeping his gaze averted.

“What happened?”

“She was an orphan. Spent most of her life
being kicked around foster...” He stopped and turned to her again.
“That isn’t what you meant, is it?”

Jenny sat up. “Listen. This is none of my
business. You don’t have to-”

“It’s okay. There’s really not much else to
say. She died three years ago.”

“Oh.”

Jenny felt like a verbal idiot. Was that all
she could say? ‘Oh?’

As the silence lengthened, she remembered
what he’d said about running scared. Loss was a good enough
motivation. She fully understood that.

Watching him scuff his boot in the dirt
again, she wished her wits hadn’t deserted her. It would be nice to
be able to offer some word of comfort; of understanding. But she
couldn’t think of anything but those horrible platitudes people had
tried to foist off on her.

Sometimes words were so totally
pointless.

Steve ceased the aimless action of his foot
and brushed a hand across his cheek. “Don’t know what made me say
all that.”

Sensing that he was as disconcerted as she
was, she went for the joke. “Some people say I’m easy.”

“No.” He turned and studied her for a long
moment. “You’re much too complicated to ever be considered
easy.”