by Holly Kerr
“I did?” Now that he mentions it, the sensation of hot, yeasty bread spread thickly with butter fills my mouth.
“Never cookies, which is what I went for. But the bread.”
“I think it was good bread,” I say wistfully. Then I give myself a visible shake. “I have to remind Perry to bring the buns. Annaliese is making them.”
“I’m sure she’ll remember. Everything will be great. Thank you for including Raylene and me,” he says formally.
I brush away his thanks. “I couldn’t let you hang out at Head Office by yourself.” I turn to head back to my preparations in the kitchen.
“If you ever want to know anything else about how we used to hang out, you only have to ask.”
I stop in my tracks, afraid to glance over my shoulder to see his brown eyes searching mine. “I think I’m okay now,” I say in a stiff voice.
“Are you sure? You have an entire life that you’ve forgotten. You have to wonder. Let me help you remember, Charlie.”
I turn to face him. “Did you talk to Ham?”
“He wants you to remember, too,” Bryton says with a rueful smile. “Did you know when you were off-duty, I used to sneak out to go to the movies with you? Paramaribo’s cinema never ran the most recent, so we sat through Mamma Mia three times.”
“Raylene told me a bit about that.” I’m drawn in, both eager and afraid to fill the dark pit inside me where memories of my life should be. “Is that the reason I can’t seem to listen to ABBA?”
“Maybe.”
“I still like movies.”
Another rueful smile. “I rarely have time these days, but when I do, I always think of you.”
He holds my gaze and an image slips in, the two of us sharing popcorn and candy, laughing in a dark theatre. “What else?” I ask hesitantly.
“The first time you tried bakbana, you almost made yourself sick because you ate so much of it. And Raylene couldn’t be around you for the rest of the day because she’s allergic to peanuts. And you had to escort both her and my mother to the theatre that night.” Bryton laughs, his thoughts clearly in the past. “It was a bit of a mess.”
“What else?” This time I’m eager, excited to hear more. I like these memories. So many lost had been difficult to remember, bringing me pain when they finally came back. My time in Suriname sounds like fun; not work, not another mission.
It sounds like me.
“The food. You loved the food from my country. You’d try everything. Pom, tabers, bojo cake…My mother would tease you that you would need another wardrobe before you went home. She loved seeing you eat. She was always worried that you were so tiny.”
“Bojo cake! That’s what it was; we’d get that from the bakery beside the theatre.” I laugh with delight at the memories clicking into place. Bryton’s voice brings back images and sensations; this time fully formed and not skipping like an old record.
“You remember!”
“Bits and pieces…in bits and pieces. But at least I know they’re still there, somewhere. I thought I lost everything.” The wetness in my eyes alarms me and I change the topic quickly. “I liked your mother, didn’t I?”
“You did. She would tease you mercilessly and you would laugh. We’d never had a bodyguard who laughed.”
“And your father.”
Bryton shrugs. “He was a bit more standoffish; not just to you, but everyone. He had a lot on his shoulders.”
“Like with you. Now, and then.”
“You remember me?” The hope in his voice speaks volumes, but I turn it down. This is my life now, my life with Ham. I may have wondered what things would have been like, had things been different, but it doesn’t change the fact that I love Ham with everything I am.
“I did love you,” I say quietly. “Once.” He deserves to know that much.
“I know,” Bryton says ruefully. “And I know it was a long time ago, and we can never go back. It would have never worked out with the two of us. We had different paths to walk. You had Ham, waiting in the wings, and I had my country.”
“A country you almost died for.”
“But I didn’t, thanks to you. And now I can go home and take my rightful place and lead my people into the future.”
“You’ll be a great president.”
“And you are an amazing agent. As I said, it would have never worked out between us.” He takes a step closer. “But it doesn’t mean I never wished it would.”
There’s a moment when everything fades away and it’s just a boy standing in front of a girl.
Until the door bursts open and a rattle of gunfire blasts into the apartment.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“I don’t need a power-up to kick your ass, slimeball. I got some moves.”
Captain Marvel
“Get down!” I push over one of the tables and pull Bryton down beside me as I hear Mister scamper into the bedroom.
A quick glance shows two armed men, big and burly with thick necks and leathery complexions, like they’ve been out in the sun too long.
“I’m in the middle of cooking dinner,” I cry from behind the table. “Get out, or you’re going to be on dish duty.”
“Give us Raak, and we’ll leave you alone,” one of the men calls.
I look at Bryton and jerk my head. The island in the middle of the kitchen would give him better cover then the table. Go, I mouth.
I give him cover by standing to throw the salt and pepper shakers and one of the candlesticks at the men. Thanks to Caleb’s pitching instructions, I got one of them between the eyes with the salt. Then I slide into the kitchen.
“Do you recognize them?” I gasp. Bryton crouches behind the island with a paring knife in his hand. He holds it out straight with both hands, and for a moment I have a flash of teaching him a few self-defence moves.
I blink and the flash is gone. Now is not the time for that.
“No, but my money is on Evangelist’s men.” Bryton half stands and I pull him down.
“Not now. You need to get to my bedroom, in the nightstand drawer. Wait for my signal.”
“Charlie…”
“This is what I do,” I say firmly.
Footsteps come closer. They aren’t here to kill, but to contain, or else the apartment would be blown to bits right now.
Two steps…three…
I jump up and with a heavy fist, I hit the handle of the frying pan on the stove, still dirty from the shallots I’d sautéed earlier. It cartwheels through the air straight into the face of the first attacker. With both hands, I snatch the heavy pot of potatoes waiting to be boiled on the stove and swing it into his head.
He crumples to the floor. Water and potatoes rain down on him. Before I can do it again, the second attacker kicks me in the stomach and I stumble back into the stove.
The heat of the oven with the turkey cooking is hot against my back. As he stomps over the other guy to get to me, my hand scrabbles on the counter to find a weapon.
My hand closes on the pepper grinder and I throw it. He ducks as my finger brushes the fancy bamboo spatula I brought back from Indonesia for Ham. “If this gets broken, I’m going to kick your ass,” I mutter, jumping to my feet.
“Leave it alone, little girl,” he says as I dance towards him, spatula held like a sword.
“You’re going to be sorry you said that,” I promise, feigning to the right.
“You want to play?” he taunts. Two steps forward and I reach and hook my spatula in the handle of the refrigerator door, flipping it open just as he lunges at me, crashing into the stainless steel.
“That’s going to leave a dent,” I say, bottles of wine cooling in the fridge shaking from the impact. I do it again and he stumbles back into the wall.
“Bottom drawer nightstand. Go,” I hiss to Bryton. Then I grab hold of the cookie sheet on the counter and bash the attacker over the head with it as well.
“You’re denting everything,” I say as Bryton runs out of the room. “You’
re lucky I don’t have all the good kitchen toys. I’d be really mad then.”
By this time, the first goon has made it back to his feet. A stamp on the handle of the frying pan flips it up and into my hand, and I give him another smack in the head.
“That might have hurt,” I say, dancing out of the kitchen. “But I’m not sorry.”
A hand catches my ankle and I stumble. “We don’t want you,” he growls. “Give us Raak.”
“You’re not getting anything, not even an invite to dinner.” I kick off his hand but before I can get to my feet, I’m being lifted up.
Up and overhead—he throws me down onto the folding table, which collapses with a crash, leaving me tangled in the tablecloth. I grab a candlestick, slashing wildly as he reaches for me. A quick kick catches him in the midsection and sends him back into the wall. “Stop it. You’re ruining everything.”
A framed picture of Ham and me falls from the wall, breaking the glass. “Now you’ve done it.” I’m up and at him with fists and feet. My sidekick hits the mark and sends him toppling into the ruins of the table.
The second one rises, clearly unsteady from the frying pan to the head.
He stalks towards me, just as the other one manages to get to his feet and grab my arms behind my back. As soon as he’s close enough, I kick out and use him as a brace to flip myself up and over the other one’s head. Landing lightly behind him, I put all my weight behind my kick and catch him in the back, sending him pinwheeling into the other, straight into my perfectly decorated tree. All ten feet of it, plus the decorations, crash slow-motion like onto the men. “My tree!”
“Charlie!” I look up as Bryton throws my bar and catch it with one hand. “Ham’s sending help.”
“This will be over before they get here.” Muttering curses, I shove the tree away, sending balls and ornaments skittering across the floor and jam my bar into the sternum of the first one. A jolt of electricity sizzles through him and he jitters into unconsciousness. “Get the cable ties,” I call to Bryton, repeating the move on the second. “Ham’s going to want to talk to these guys.”
~
I have both men trussed up like the turkey by the time Lance and Pippa burst through the door with Declan right behind them. Bryton stands guard over them with my bar at the ready as I baste the turkey.
Pippa skids to a stop at the destruction of the apartment. “Maybe I should have made dinner.”
“I’ve got this. But I’m going to need more potatoes,” I say, gesturing at the mess on the floor. “I can’t do dinner without mashed potatoes.”
“Dinner is still on?” Lance asks in astonishment.
I wave my turkey baster at him. “I have a twenty-five-pound turkey cooking and I’m going to need people to eat it.”
“Smells good.” Pippa grins. “Wish I was here to see that.”
“You’ve seen me kick an ass or two before.”
“No, see you wrestle that turkey. Tenley is going to be so proud of you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Today was good.
Today was fun.
Tomorrow is another one.
Dr. Seuss
“How did it go?” Tenley asks as Seamus helps her into the apartment a few hours later with Lucy following wide-eyed behind her.
Tenley casts a critical gaze around the apartment, which had been restored with help from Lance, Bryton, and Ham, when he returned from Head Office two hours ago. “The food,” she adds impatiently. “How’s the food?”
“You’ll have to find out for yourself.” I sweep a welcoming arm towards the coffee table, the only surface that survived the fight intact. It now holds a variety of cheese and crackers artfully arranged on plates, thanks to Bryton. My other guests hover around the cheese plates, lounging on the couch or chairs, or in Minka’s case, sitting on the floor between Lance’s legs. Each has a glass of punch in their hand, again, thanks to Bryton.
Raylene takes responsibility for the punch being spiked. I make a note to tell Tenley to keep Lucy away from it.
“Merry Christmas,” Ham says, wiping his hands on a towel, like he’s come from doing something culinary in the kitchen. He wasn’t—he kicked over Mister’s water dish as he was getting out of the way of me pulling the turkey out of the oven.
The cat has been relegated to the bedroom, and I can hear his anguished cries as the scent of the turkey slowly drives him into a frenzy.
“It looks wonderful,” Tenley says, with a surprised smile, resting her weight heavily on her crutches.
“Thanks to your little list. Did you really need to break it down to that many details? Have you ever thought that maybe you’re a bit too—”
“How’s the leg?” Ham interrupts quickly.
“I got to sign her cast,” Lucy cries. “I used purple marker and sparkling stickers.”
“I’m sure it looks beautiful,” Ham says with a smile at the little girl. “Almost as beautiful as those presents over there.” He gestures to the tree, which has been propped up and redecorated by Bryton as I cleaned up the potato mess. “Why don’t you take off your coat and boots and head over to see if there’s something for you?”
Lucy sheds her jacket and kicks off her boots in record time before skidding across the hardwood floor to where presents for our guests are piled under the tree.
Tenley’s smile transforms into a scowl as Lucy runs off. “I’m already tired of being broken.”
“It’s not going to get better any faster if you keep hopping up and down on it. The doctor said rest,” Seamus chides as he helps with her coat. Ham heaps them over his arm to store in the guest room.
“Have you ever broken a bone before?” she demands irritably.
“Yes.” Seamus laughs.
“Arm, ankle, collarbone,” I add.
“I almost broke my back falling off the uneven bars,” Pippa calls cheerfully as she listens to our conversation.
Tenley looks at us in turn. “So I shouldn’t complain.”
“Complain all you want,” Pippa says, getting to her feet. “But we’re not listening. Now, where’s that punch? It’s got a good kick. That’ll fix you up.”
After Tenley is settled in a chair by the tree, we open presents.
“I didn’t know I’d get presents for me and for having dinner,” I say with delight as I pile my unwrapped gifts back under the tree. “I like presents.”
“I’m taking mine back if you don’t go and do something with that turkey,” Declan threatens. “I’m starving.”
“You should have had some cheese,” Caleb says, popping the last cracker in his mouth.
“I would have if you hadn’t eaten it all,” Declan grouses.
Bryton mashes the potatoes, and Perry, Ham, and Seamus wear a path from the kitchen to the table carrying dishes. I order Tenley to stay put and supervise it all, as I try to get the others to take their seats. It takes some time and Pippa threatening everyone with a jolt from my metal bar, but finally, everyone is seated around the table.
All of my family, all of my friends. Everyone I care about is here with me.
“Merry Christmas,” I say as I take my seat with a nervous glance at the table. “Dig in.”
As finely organized as the preparations were, the actual meal is anything but.
Voices rise above the laughter as food is passed from hand to hand. Ham mediates the fight for dark meat as he carves the turkey. The bowl of mashed potatoes quickly empties, and as I start to panic, Bryton runs to the kitchen for the backup bowl, kept warm in the oven. My broccoli casserole is praised and no one mentions the Band-Aids still on my fingers.
I don’t remember the last time my brothers and I shared a table. They’re close enough for me to threaten to lob balls of mashed potato at them, and Perry pulls Annaliese in front of him as a shield. Lance and Minka seem to be in a world of their own as Minka feeds her Lancelot with a bit of warm bun dipped in gravy. Colin Darcy sits beside Pippa, his British accent mingling with her Irish as he leans
across the table to talk to Tenley and Lucy, with Seamus gazing suspiciously at him.
Ham is at the other end of the table from me, with his second glass of wine and his tie already loosened. Raylene and Bryton are on either side of him, safer for me since close contact with them still gives flashes of memory. I’m ready to remember everything I’ve lost, but I know it will take time. Too much too soon will only give me a headache.
Even Mister joins us, perched on my lap with his paw dabbing suggestively at my plate.
Plates are emptied, filled, and emptied again. One by one, my guests push back their chairs and admit defeat, except Declan, who demands dessert.
Ham stands at the head of the table, tapping his wine glass with his fork until the table quiets. “Thank you all for coming tonight. It means a lot to me and to Charlotte to have you share our first Christmas together.”
I glance over at the Our First Christmas ornament that magically survived the tree fall. I swept up too many broken balls and ornaments to count, and while the tree looks a little naked, Bryton spread out the remainder so it at least looks presentable.
“I want to thank Charlotte for everything she did to get this dinner on the table today,” he says. “There was a lot of help, but Charlotte did most of this herself. Her first big kitchen mission.”
Amid the cheers and claps, I raise my glass. “And my last. Tenley, you’re on for next year.”
“Gladly,” she says. “Even though you did a great job.”
“I also want to take this opportunity to welcome Bryton,” Ham continues. “He’s going to have to cut his trip short since he has a flight back to Paramaribo later tonight. Your business has been resolved, and they need you back home.”
Pippa raises her glass. “I’m bloody glad to hear that.”
Ham smiles around the table. “Good job, everyone.”