Fatal, Family, Album

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  She stopped talking. We all sat there quietly, digesting what we’d learned. After what seemed like an unending silence, Brawny added, “Just so we are clear, I am not a pedophile. I love children, aye, but I have no sexual desire for them. In fact, I have very little sexual drive at all. ‘Tis to be expected, I guess.”

  Another crackle from the fireplace reminded me that the hour was late. Although I’d followed everything that Brawny had said, I was dog-tired. Concentrating was growing more difficult by the minute.

  “I’ll need a while to think this over, but in the meantime, who were those two goons in the matching trench coats?” I asked.

  Detweiler stared down into his empty glass. His overt silence suggested he was waiting for Brawny to answer.

  Instead, she sighed deeply. “As ye saw from their identification badges, they work for your government. They’re FBI agents.”

  “Okay, and? There has to be more to the story. Why did they show up here on our doorstep?”

  Detweiler still said nothing. This, more than anything, more than all the other problems we were facing, started to honk me off. I’d accepted the fact that as a cop’s wife there would be times – many times – when he couldn’t share details about what he was working on. Right. That came with the territory. But this was a new twist, an extra layer of irritation on top of an already stressful situation. Why had two government agents boldly knocked on my front door and demanded to speak to my husband and my nanny in private? Not only had they turned our lives upside down, but they hadn’t had the decency to include me in their conversation with not one, but two, members of my family. I’d been given no more consideration than they might have shown the check-in clerk at a Holiday Inn. Scratch that, less consideration because the clerk could have demanded a look at their drivers’ licenses.

  The silence was suspiciously pregnant with possibilities as I waited to hear what the two agents had wanted.

  “Detweiler? Brawny? I deserve an answer. Who were they and what did they want? Why did they come here? To my house? And why wasn’t Hadcho invited to hear what they said? If it was a crime they were investigating, wouldn’t he be privy to their information, too?”

  Detweiler swallowed. Slowly, he raised his eyes and stared at Brawny. She gave a tiny sigh of surrender. “Your husband canna tell you. Nor can I. Not yet. It was but an exploratory meeting. The goal was to discuss certain possibilities. But they are contingent.”

  “Contingent on what?”

  “On whether ye decide to keep me in your employ or not.”

  We hadn’t voiced our decision, but after she said it, I realized she was right. This wasn’t just about being shocked or disappointed. The question was, “Could we regain our trust in Brawny?” Its partner raised its ugly head, “Can you live with another person who’s not…normal?”

  Even as these fuzzy thoughts became clear, I felt sick. Who was I to judge another human being? I, who had been judged over and over and found wanting? But wasn’t this my responsibility? To make judgments about what was best for our children’s lives? Wasn’t that what adulthood, and more specifically parenthood, was all about?

  Detweiler reached for my hand. “Honey, it wouldn’t be fair to tell you why they visited. Not yet. First we need to talk about Brawny and this new, um, information. Otherwise, you might make a decision for the wrong reasons.”

  “That’s about as clear as mud. I really, really don’t like the fact the two of you are colluding to keep me in the dark.”

  “I promise you on my honor as a Scot that I will tell you everything just as soon as I’m at liberty to do so.”

  “On your honor as a Scot? Excuse me, but right now that lacks a certain amount of credibility, don’t you think? Given the circumstances?”

  “Aye,” she said with a sad shake of her head. “I can certainly see why you might think that way.”

  Detweiler was the first to get to his feet. I followed. Brawny stayed where she was.

  Looking up at us, she said in a husky voice. “One last thought before you go. Whatever you decide, I shall comply with it. These are your children, and you know what’s best for your family. As you consider what to do, please remember this: I love them. All three of them. Anya, Erik, and Ty. I would gladly give my life for any of them. Never doubt my love.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Later I snuggled up in my accustomed spot under my husband’s arm. Putting my head right against his chest, I listened to the soft lub-lub of his heart. We’d been awkward with each other while getting ready for bed. Not prickly or angry, but withdrawn and isolated. Detweiler usually fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. However, tonight he squirmed and struggled to get comfortable. I suspected that he was working everything through in his head, as I was trying to do in mine.

  I also suspected that he hadn’t come to a conclusion.

  I hadn’t either, and I also felt slighted because I still didn’t know why we’d been visited by two FBI agents.

  Mentally, I’d lined up arguments. On the con side, I wanted to fire Brawny because she hadn’t been honest with us from the start. I wanted to march over right now, at half past eleven, and bang on the door of the cottage that Lorraine Lauber shared with Leighton Gage, even though they weren’t home. They’d flown to Hawaii for a long vacation, taking Lorraine’s dog Paolo with them. But they were planning to come back, and when they did, I could imagine myself jabbing a finger into Lorraine’s chest while I gave her an earful for foisting Brawny on us. I wanted to scold Lorraine for not doing a thorough investigation of this essential part of our nanny’s background. At the very least, her brother had to know. From all I’d heard, Van and Lorraine were extremely close. Who would neglect to mention a detail like, “I just hired a person of indeterminate gender”?

  I burned with fury. Lorraine had tricked us into adding Brawny to our household. Tricked Detweiler, actually, by setting him up at the airport. She’d known that Erik would cry for his nanny. That was to be expected. But she’d also encouraged Brawny to pack her bags so she’d be ready to join Detweiler and Erik on their flight to St. Louis. Then she told Detweiler she was happy to pay Brawny’s wages. As a final salvo, she said, “Your wife will need all the help she can get with a new baby on the way, a child adjusting to the death of his mother, and a teen struggling to find her way. All that on top of her working full-time. Brawny will grant you both breathing space.”

  Later we had learned that Brawny’s presence was a necessity for other reasons. Reasons that Lorraine hadn’t shared with us at the start. Both she and Brawny had worried about Erik’s safety. As Van Lauber’s heir, the little boy stood between certain greedy people and a fortune they’d love to claim. Brawny and Lorraine knew these forces were desperate to see Erik smudged out.

  Okay, I needed to settle down or I’d never get any rest.

  I tried counting my blessings, a nightly ritual that has always sustained me. I was thankful that Lorraine had seen to the boy’s safety. True, we’d benefited enormously by having Brawny work for us on Lorraine’s tab. Honestly, I had no idea how I’d manage running a store while parenting three kids. Or how I’d manage to glue together our chopped and blended family. In fact, I wasn’t sure I could keep all those spinning plates in the air. But Lorraine had taken away my power of choice, and we all know that being able to choose is vitally important. Furthermore, she’d taken advantage of our trust.

  Or had she?

  My counting ceased and my fretting began. How would I explain Brawny’s gender to the kids? What should I call her? A he or a she? Our conversation hadn’t even taken us that far.

  Was she the boy she’d been designated as at birth?

  Or the girl she’d slowly become?

  I needed answers. Although I waited for them patiently, none came.

  ~*~

  Detweiler always woke up before I did but not this morning. I’d been awake most of the night. When the first rays of sun slipped between the slats of the blinds, I crawled ou
t of bed and padded downstairs. Along the way, I gripped the handrails firmly because I felt light-headed.

  Not surprisingly, Brawny was already up. She sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and writing in a journal. At least, I assumed it was a journal. I’d seen ones like it at Walmart.

  Hearing me approach, she closed the book on the pen. Her face turned to me with an expectant look and a coiled sort of energy that suggested she might run away at any minute. Her eyes were ringed in red, and her nose was pink as a peony.

  “Good morning,” I said, determined to be cheerful and civil. However, I could feel a headache waiting for the chance to take over. Wincing I put one hand to my head. Brawny saw the movement. She jumped out of her chair, grabbed a glass, and poured me eight ounces of water.

  “Good morning,” she answered. “You might be suffering a wee bit from the whisky. Water will help. May I make you a cuppa tea? Or a mug of decaf?”

  I hesitated. It seemed morally wrong to ask her to resume her responsibilities when we weren’t sure whether we wanted to keep her. I dithered before deciding the best course of action was to carry on as if nothing had changed.

  “Yes, please. Decaf. I think I’ll have a slice of spice bread, too.”

  “Aye, and there’s fruit salad I made fresh. I ran to the market earlier.”

  “You couldn’t sleep.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Not a wink. And you? Typically Detweiler is up before you.” It wasn’t an accusation, just an observation.

  “I couldn’t sleep.” I didn’t add that I felt a bit dizzy. I hoped that would pass.

  “Ah.”

  She set the mug down in front of me, before going back to the refrigerator for the spice bread and the fruit.

  “Tell me about your time in the service,” I asked. I was still trying to figuratively get my arms around the trajectory of how Bruce became Brawny.

  “I joined up early. I figured that if I was to be a man, I should do what all the men in my family had always done and serve the Crown. Surprisingly, I breezed through the physical, using the excuse that I’d been the victim of an accident on the farm. I said I’d been caught with my trousers down in front of an angry cow.”

  That almost caused me to laugh as I tried to visualize such a thing.

  “Aye, ‘tis funny what explanations are acceptable and what are not. I was determined to make myself into a man in every way that I could. The basic training was not very hard for me. That I went through without a hiccup because I was committed to not being sent home. Sure, I was teased, but by then, I was accustomed to having to fight for my life. After a while, the others let me be. Then I decided to really put myself to the test. I wanted to be a member of SAS. You might have read about your Navy SEALS? We’re the UK equivalent. It takes an inhuman amount of willpower. They try to break your spirit, to push you past your physical endurance, but it felt cleansing in an odd sort of way. I put all my hurts and fears into it. The program is designed to winnow down the masses and carve out the elite. But by then, I’d found solace in exercise. By the grace of God Almighty, I made it through. Soon I was stationed in Afghanistan.”

  I tried to imagine this strange person, hiding herself and subjecting herself to ridicule and pain, and for what? To prove she had a right to exist. I could relate to that. I thanked her as she slid a plate of spice bread and a bowl of fruit my way.

  “In Afghanistan I concluded that I couldn’t pretend any longer. I spent weeks watching other servicemen die and I promised to give their loved ones a last message. Hearing those final words…” She stopped and wiped her eyes with the back of one hand. “It forced me to accept reality. Life is short. Any deceptions I’d carefully nurtured fell by the wayside. Those sacrifices peeled away the false mask I’d taken such care to construct. Each and every person who died from our squad chipped away at my fake identity.”

  I shivered, thinking of my own struggles with post-partum depression. I understood what she had gone through. The food in front of me sat untouched. The lump in my throat was too raw to allow me to swallow.

  “My whole life was a lie. There was no one walking this earth who really knew me, who’d been allowed to get close. I’d kept them all away. I’d held them at arms’ length, and now if I died, I’d vanish because I’d never had the chance to just be myself. Just plain me. My mourners would regret the passing of a cardboard figure, a murky presence who kept to himself and never trusted enough to let anyone into his heart. Without that protective veneer, my emotions overwhelmed me. I suppose you could call it a breakdown. I crawled into a bed and turned my face to the wall and retreated inside myself. They tell me I quit eating, drinking, and waited for my body to shut down.”

  “Wow. Kind of a bad time and place to have a breakdown. I can’t imagine that your leaders had much sympathy for you.”

  A smile flickered and went out. One strong hand reached out to capture her journal and set it on her lap, under the table, almost as if she was worried it would tell her secrets. “Nay, they dinna. The last thing they needed was an emotional person handling a personal crisis in the midst of a war zone. My fellow officers whispered among themselves. They worried that I’d fall apart out on the battlefield. They sent me back to Edinburgh for a psychiatric evaluation.”

  “That was when I got lucky. I met a doctor with knowledge of my condition. Or more precisely, a doctor who had some experience with what others do when confronted with gender confusion.” With trembling hands, she scrubbed at her face. “What is worse? To die or to die knowing that no one had seen your real self? That you’d been a fake your entire life? With Dr. Carnegie’s help, I realized how stupid I’d been. How I’d focused on keeping a secret rather than living, because isn’t that the purpose? For us to battle our way past obstacles, to stumble, to fall, to persevere, all for the chance to find out who we really are? And as I realized all this, there was this keening, a wail that bubbled up inside, that screamed and demanded attention. How dare I die without living? As I thought about those other brave men and women, I thought, At least someone who knew them will hold them like a keepsake to their hearts. I faced the knowledge that when I died, I would leave no void, just a husk. An empty shell. They’d be left to bury a carcass as empty of humanity as it had been while I still drew breath.”

  CHAPTER 6

  I thanked Brawny for the decaf and the food. A glance at the kitchen clock told me I might be able to sneak in another thirty minutes of rest, if not sleep, before the children got up. She realized what I was thinking. “Go on back to bed. I’ll take care of the children as normal while you…”

  “Yes,” I said, cutting her short. I didn’t want her to say, “Decide whether to kick me out of your house.” That’s exactly what we had to decide.

  I climbed the stairs and crawled back under the covers. Somehow I slept until Detweiler woke up. Through half-opened eyes, I watched Detweiler lace up his gym shoes.

  “Are you still going to exercise with her? Given what you know now? Even though we haven’t come to a concrete decision?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Is that a problem for you?”

  “No. I think we should go on as usual until we come to a decision, don’t you?”

  “I think so, too. Otherwise, we are making a decision by ostracizing her.”

  “That wouldn’t be fair. She deserves better.”

  “I agree.” He stood up, went into the bathroom, and shut the door behind him.

  The routine they’d invented had saved his life. Thanks to Brawny’s tutelage, my husband was stronger, faster, and more agile than ever. She’d been the best personal coach we could have asked for. In addition to monitoring his exercise routine, Brawny had taught Detweiler hand-to-hand combat moves she’d picked up from the SAS. At least once that I was aware of, this special training had helped him bring down a creep who’d been intent on doing Detweiler harm. I also knew she’d been teaching him how to throw a knife with deadly accuracy. Her skill at knife-tossing had brought down
a man who’d crashed our wedding for the purpose of…

  It didn’t bear thinking. Detweiler stepped out of the bathroom and planted a kiss on my forehead.

  “Good,” I said at last. “I’m glad you’re still exercising with her. It’s been beneficial for you, so I’m happy that you’re keeping it up.”

  “I’ve been thinking.” He stretched out on his side of the bed. His fingers sought one of my curls, and he twisted it the way a baby grabs a lock of her mother’s hair. “But I would like to know what you’re thinking first.”

  “Why? Whatever decision we come to, it has to be unanimous.”

  “Absolutely. That said, I don’t want my ideas to color yours.”

  “Chicken.” I punched his bicep lightly. “You’re willing to let me climb out there on a very shaky limb.”

  “Not alone. We’re in this together. Have you given more thought to Anya? And her reaction. I’m happy for us to let things go on as usual until we decide, but she was pretty hacked off. I’m wondering how she’s going to deal with this news about Brawny.”

  “I woke up twice during the night, thinking about what she’d said.” I didn’t add that I’d pushed those concerns aside as I grappled with my own worries.

  “She was pretty angry. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her like that. I tell myself it was her first reaction, right? A knee-jerk response.”

  I blew out a long sigh. “Yeah, but you are right. She was really upset. I mean she was livid. I think I know why, too. I have reason to believe that Anya had shared her deep, dark secrets with our nanny. And she’d disrobed in front of Brawny.”

  “Got it.” Detweiler had grown up with two sisters. He knew the depth of a young woman’s insecurities. He’d seen firsthand how embarrassing it could be when your period suddenly started and you weren’t prepared. These were all life events that Anya was navigating for the first time.