by A Rosendale
“Good boy,” Dirk muttered as he climbed the front steps.
By the time he’d retrieved a two-thirds empty bag of dog food and Bailey’s leash, Alma had packed a duffel bag with clothes for the two of them. He hefted the bag without thinking and the broken bones in his side twisted painfully, causing him to fall to his knee with a cry of pain. She dropped the luggage and hurried to his side. Her presence was shrouded in red fog as Dirk fought the urge to vomit. Bailey glanced between Alma and Dirk, then gave his face a tentative lick. The cool, wet touch somehow eased the pain.
“I’m okay,” he groaned. As his vision cleared, he found Alma’s hand curled around his as it pressed against the hardwood floor, contracted in a tight fist.
“What did he do to you?” she whispered.
He shook his head and grunted with the effort of sitting up, then used the wall to struggle to his feet.
“You smell like…like you’ve been drinking,” she said in confusion. His behavior had been odd, but she knew he wasn’t drunk.
“Courtesy of Johnson. He served cocktails all around.”
Alma had to smile at his characteristic sarcasm.
She responded with equal zeal. “I’ll get Bailey’s food. You two just get in the car. Seems like a tall enough order.” The roll of his eyes warmed her heart. ‘Everything will be okay,’ she thought. ‘We’ve been through so much. We can take Johnson as long as we’re together.’
* * *
“What if we make it look like we’ve split up?” Alma suggested suddenly on the highway.
It had been quiet for so long, interrupted only by Bailey’s panting in the back seat, that Dirk flinched at the sudden words. He was lost in thought, plotting for any way to elude the madman on their heels.
He shook his head and placed a hand on her knee as she drove. “The moment I placed that ring on your finger I sealed your fate, Alma. I never dreamt it would come to this, but…but we knew it wouldn’t be easy.”
She bit her lip and nodded without looking at him. “You’re right.”
They were silent for another long stretch of road. “Damn it!” he exclaimed suddenly.
The outburst made Alma jump at the same time it made Dirk wince.
“I’m so dense! I should have grabbed our passports and my gun! What an idiot! You’d think I’d never-”
He was interrupted by her hand on his thigh. There were no words exchanged, but her touch eased his panic.
* * *
Apprehension never eased in Alma’s chest. But watching Dirk work with the dog, running Bailey through his typical training routine, feeding him, playing lightly in the hotel parking lot…those easy, commonplace tasks made her love for him grow, as if it hadn’t already reached sky-high.
When he finally shed his clothes to step in the shower, she gasped. “My God, Dirk!”
He put a hand up to stop her from inspecting the ugly, multicolored bruise on his side. The yellowish blemishes across the rest of his abdomen paled in comparison. Bailey stayed at Alma’s side while Dirk stepped into the shower.
“Hmm,” she hummed when he returned. “You smell much more pleasant.”
Dirk shot her a grin and lowered himself onto the bed gingerly.
She cast a concerned stare over him before pecking his cheek. Then she retreated to the bathroom. The massage of steaming water made her zone out, thinking about the events that had brought them here and dreading the events to come. When her tired mind allowed her imagination to start dragging her into a spiral of terrifying what-ifs, she shut off the water and toweled dry.
Dirk was under the covers with his back to the headboard, writing in the black notebook. Alma frowned at the sight. She gave Bailey a passing pet and crawled in next to him.
“Aren’t you exhausted?”
He scoffed and subsequently winced. “Unbelievably. But I just want-”
“Get some sleep,” she insisted.
With a shake of his head, he set the pen down and flipped to the front of the book. “I want to explain this to you.” Her expression made him add, “Just in case.”
Sighing, she scooted closer. The pages of the book were covered in elegant black penmanship. ‘How can I appreciate his handwriting when he’s trying to tell me what to do if he dies?’ she chastised herself.
“This first section is my observations of Johnson and any characteristics that I thought might be handy to know. I just added here,” he pointed at shiny, wet ink, “that I don’t think he knows about Cooper. That will work in your favor.”
“Our,” Alma corrected.
Dirk flexed his jaw and nodded to appease her. “Our favor. This next section is what you should do if something happens to me.”
“Is it different than if you were with us?”
“A bit. For instance, my plan is to run back to Portland this weekend to collect my sidearm and our passports, then get Cooper and get off the grid.”
“’Off the grid’?”
“Find a place Johnson can’t track us.”
“Out of the country?”
“Potentially. I’m going to try somewhere in the States. We might have to move a lot, at least until I can figure out how to neutralize his efforts.”
Alma knew what ‘neutralize’ meant. She swallowed and nodded in understanding.
“But if I’m not with you,” he tapped the book, “I want you to find FBI Agent Wyatt Ramsey.”
“The man you met in D.C. years ago?”
“Yes. He owes me a favor. He knows about Johnson and he offered to help us if we ever need it. I think you can trust him and his wife. On that note…” Here, he turned to face her while the book lay in his lap. “Don’t trust anyone else. And keep your wits about you with Ramsey. If something doesn’t feel right, get away. You’re strong and smart, Alma. Trust yourself more than anyone else.”
She swallowed and nodded again. “Where is Ramsey?”
Dirk frowned. “I’m not entirely sure. He wasn’t at the hearing this week. I’ll try to find more information.” He turned pages in the book. “This is a list of your assets and some resources. You remember how to shoot?”
“Of course.” After the events in Venice all those years ago, he’d started taking her to the shooting range in Boston. She hadn’t held a gun since before Cooper was born, but hours and hours of practice with Dirk had deeply ingrained the necessary skills.
“Good. It…” He hesitated as if it hurt to voice his thoughts. “It might be a good idea to teach Cooper.”
She nodded. “I agree. Maybe once we’re on the road, you can show him.”
“Yeah,” he replied vaguely. A yawn escaped him as he turned to the next section in the book.
“You need to sleep,” Alma insisted.
“But…” He couldn’t deny the heaviness of his eyelids and how it became increasingly difficult to lift his fingers to the pages.
“Sleep, Dirk. We can talk more about this tomorrow.” With that, she took the book from his hands and set it on the bedside table.
Reluctantly, he agreed and scooted so his head was on the pillow. When he closed his eyes, images of Johnson’s face floated before him and sleep seemed like it would never come with the anxiety firing in all his neurons. Then Alma turned off the light and curled herself around his side. Her fingers wound gently through his damp hair. As he sighed, anxiety faded to be replaced by calm.
After he was in a deep sleep, Alma sat up and turned the light back on. She knew she’d never sleep tonight. The black book beckoned her and she retrieved her glasses and cracked the cover. As she read Dirk’s impressions of Johnson and his detailed description of the man’s crimes and personality, she realized just how much Dirk had shielded her from his life. He’d told her briefly about Johnson’s threats and his terrorist actions, but she could have never guessed at the depth of cruelty Dirk described in his graceful hand. A paragraph starting with the name ‘Van Baron’ caught her eye and she scanned the information. A note was scribbled in the margin in blue pen. S
he shot a glance at the pen perched on Dirk’s side of the bed. It was blue ink compared to the black he’d obviously utilized for the remainder of the book. Squinting, she read the small letters and gasped, covering her mouth in shock. ‘Murdered by E.J. in D.C. Date unknown. Lured by lies of my invitation.’
Alma snapped the book shut. She stared at Dirk. He was lying on his back, his chest rising with deep, even breaths. The lines in his face cast dark shadows over his skin. Alma tried to convince herself it was just the lighting, but they looked deeper than she remembered, especially at the corners of his eyes. He looked old and tired. The idea surprised her. He was so full of life, so active and healthy that thinking of him as ‘old’ caught her off guard.
She reached over and touched his cheek gently, then moved her fingers to the corner of his right eye. She smoothed out the wrinkles there and smiled. He looked younger like this. Still smiling, she cupped his cheek and kissed his lips. A soft hum escaped him as he slept.
Finally content, she turned off the light again, snuggled up to his side, and fell asleep.
Chapter 54
“Workin’ at the game?” Josh Armstrong jibed. He was Cooper’s best friend’s dad and an adamant baseball fan. He sported the team’s logo on his cap and shirt and a mitt was curled up on the bleachers next to him.
Dirk shrugged. “Something like that.” He glanced at the field. Cooper was next up to bat. Bailey’s tail swept the ground when he saw the boy through the fence, but he stayed seated at Dirk’s side.
“Quite the dog you’ve got there,” another dad commented. “You’ve done a good job with him, Dirk.”
“Thanks, Nelson.” He rubbed Bailey’s head and the dog panted in appreciation.
Alma sat on the next bleacher over with the team moms. It was hard to focus on the conversation around her when she was constantly distracted by yesterday’s events and revelations. She found her gaze drawn to Dirk more than normal. He scribbled away in that book like it was overdue for publication.
“You’ve got this, Coop,” Dirk called through the fence. The book was forgotten for the moment while he encouraged his son.
Cooper shot him a grin as he stepped into the batter’s box. The first pitch was far to the right and he didn’t bother swinging. The next ball hurled at him at sixty miles per hour. He tried to jump out of the way, but it struck him with a thwack on the leg. He collapsed to one knee at the unexpected pain.
Alma jumped to her feet, but Dirk was already at the dugout. Bailey sat by the abandoned seat, lost at why his boy was on the ground and his master had ordered him to stay and not help. He trembled with the urge to break the command and follow Dirk.
“You’re okay,” Dirk was saying as the coach helped Cooper limp to the dugout. A designated runner was shooed out to take first base in Cooper’s place. The coach passed him over to Dirk who helped him to the far end of the dugout where the boy’s tears would go unnoticed by his teammates. Dirk placed his hand on the back of Cooper’s neck. “It’s okay to cry.”
With permission given, the twelve-year-old let a torrent of pain-filled tears fall. Dirk squatted in front of him, a comforting hand on his knee. Another player passed him an icepack and retreated quickly to afford his friend the dignity to cry alone with his father.
“Where’s it hurt?”
Cooper touched the outside of his left knee and Dirk pressed the icepack over the injury. As the pain eased, so did his tears. He wiped his cheeks and nose furiously, embarrassed he’d cried in front of his team.
“Hey,” his father said quietly, but firmly and Cooper met his eye. “It is okay to cry when something hurts,” he repeated.
“But-”
“It means you’re human. And it means you’re alive. Those are two good things to be, right?” He smiled and Cooper noticed the cut on his face for the first time.
He nodded slowly and sniffled.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Dirk assured him. “How’s it feel now?”
“Better.”
“Good. Think you can take the field?”
He nodded and retrieved his glove. The third out had just been called and his team was racing to their positions. “Thanks, Dad,” Cooper muttered.
“No problem. Good luck.” He clapped his son on the shoulder and Cooper ran with a slight limp to third base. Dirk snuck out of the dugout and back to his seat. He exchanged a reassuring smile with Alma and patted the dog as he sat down.
“Dirk is a great dad,” Elsa Armstrong noted.
Alma nodded as a lump of emotion gathered in her throat. “Yeah, he is.”
* * *
“We’re not going home?” Cooper asked after the game. He thought it was odd his mom was driving north instead of south back to Oregon.
Alma looked to Dirk for his answer.
“No.” He absently tapped the hardcover in his lap. “We’re going to stay in Washington awhile.”
“But I have school,” Cooper objected.
“I know.” He wished he could turn in his seat to meet his son’s eye, but twisting around would cause blinding pain in his side. “We have a lot to talk about,” he settled on saying.
The solemn tone made Cooper uncomfortable and he ran his fingers through Bailey’s coat, twisting them anxiously.
While Alma checked into the hotel, Dirk and Cooper took Bailey for a short walk. Cooper was too nervous to start the conversation and Dirk was lost in thought as they walked.
They entered the hotel suite and sat down at the dining table.
“Coop, something…happened this week.” This was proving harder than Dirk imagined. He’d rehearsed his speech to Alma, but never to Cooper. He suddenly realized he was wrenching away everything the boy had ever known. It didn’t seem fair.
“What?” His mind leapt to the handful of other occasions that had caused his father this much solemnity, but couldn’t think of any more family members that could have died.
“Someone I once worked with was released from prison. And he doesn’t like your mom and me. I’m worried he’ll try to hurt you or Mom. So we’re…we’re not going home.”
“Ever?” he exclaimed.
“Possibly.”
“But…my friends! My school! My stuff!”
“I know. I’m sorry. We’ll homeschool. And we’ll get new stuff.”
“But my friends!” he repeated. “I…I can’t believe this! This sucks!”
‘You have no idea,’ Dirk thought grimly.
“Why do I have to be punished because some guy is pissed at you?!” Without waiting for an explanation, he growled in aggravation, threw his hands in the air, and stomped to one of the bedrooms. He paused only long enough for Bailey to follow him before slamming the door.
Dirk sighed heavily and buried his face in his hands. Alma touched his arm gently. “He’ll be okay,” she comforted.
“I hope you’re right,” he muttered. “When I go back to the house tomorrow, I’ll try to get some of his things.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Why can’t we just apply for new passports? You can buy a new gun.”
Before Cooper’s outburst, Dirk would have agreed with her. But now he was set on retrieving something of Cooper’s to ease the difficulties ahead and maybe smooth over what was sure to be a lifetime of resentment towards his father for uprooting them so suddenly. “No. I have to fix this with Cooper. I have to go back. I’ll be fine. It’ll be quick and I don’t think Johnson will have traced me that far yet.”
Alma opened her mouth to argue, but realized it wouldn’t do any good. He would do anything for their son and she couldn’t imagine how much it hurt to have Cooper so mad at him. They had such a strong bond. Cooper reminded her of Dirk more every day; his eyes were the same hue, his voice was deepening to match pitch, his mannerisms were identical. Dirk wouldn’t be able to stand himself until he’d made some effort to mend this fight.
“None of this is fair.” Dirk’s hands were steepled in front of him on the table and his chin r
ested on his fingers. His eyes had a far-off glaze. “This isn’t the life I wanted for you, Alma. I…”
She waited impatiently for him to go on.
“I should have never-”
“Stop!” she ordered suddenly. “If you’re about to say you should have never gotten involved with me, you’re wrong.”
“I have given you nothing but grief,” he argued.
Alma placed a firm hand on his knee. “No. You’ve given me everything. Love, humor, travels, and, best of all, a son.”
“A son,” he muttered. “A son who will never forgive me for ruining his life. A wife I’ve put in harm’s way constantly. No, Alma. I haven’t given you a fair life at all.” He removed her hand from his leg, picked up the notebook, and retreated to the other bedroom.
* * *
It was still dark out when Alma woke. She reached across the bed, but Dirk’s side was empty. Panic blossomed in her chest and she sat up. The bedroom door was open and the living area was dark. Cooper’s door was open, too, and she inched inside. Dirk was sitting on the floor at the side of the bed, his back against the mattress and Bailey stretched out at his side. He idly petted the dog in the dark.
Alma tiptoed to them and sat down next to the retriever. Dirk gave her a small smile that didn’t reach his bright eyes. She shot a meaningful glance at the boy sleeping behind them.
“I thought I’d apologize. Since he won’t talk to me, I figured I’d do it while he slept and couldn’t argue.”
She gave a soft laugh at his tactics. “Want to go back to bed?”
He shrugged and gave Bailey a final pat. Then he put a hand to his ribs and stood with a subdued groan. He kissed Cooper’s forehead and followed Alma back to bed.
* * *
At sunrise, Dirk extracted himself from Alma and the sheets to dress in jeans and a T-shirt. He was tucking his wallet in his back pocket when Alma woke up.
“Stay,” she whispered. An outstretched hand beckoned him back to bed.
He took her hand and leaned down to kiss her. “I’ll be back.”
She frowned and whispered, “I love you.”