by Kathryn Shay
“Why?” Connor asked.
A sideways look from Calla. “Because the trees lining the roads are hickory, walnut, sycamore and others.”
“You can distinguish all those varieties?”
“Of course.”
“Smarty pants,” he quipped.
“Up ahead is a chapel.” Connor and she were both Catholic. “Do you still pray, Connor?”
“No. You?”
“No, not after...”
He didn’t ask her to elaborate. Rape, pillage, and sarin gas attacks had been part of life in Syria. Keeping your faith had been too hard, apparently for both of them.
The car made a left turn where they encountered fields and courts for a variety of sports: tennis, skeet shooting, basketball and archery. “Wow. This would be so much fun, in other circumstances.”
“We hardly know each other in so many ways. Which sports do we like? What books do we read? How do we exercise and what do we normally eat?”
Another deep sigh. “None of that seemed relevant in Syria.”
After ten more minutes of sightseeing, the agent asked, “Ready to go back? “You can get settled before lunch.”
They agreed.
On the way to Aspen Lodge, Calla leaned forward. “I’m sorry, agents. We never asked your names.”
“Agents Duncan and Lewis, ma’am.”
Connor smiled. “No first names, here?”
“Bill Duncan and Sara Lewis. You can use our given names, Agent, or Duncan and Lewis.”
“You can call us by our first names,” Calla said.
“No, ma’am. That’s not protocol.”
They drove up to the lodge. Now they could see the dwelling perched on top of a hill in a clearing, spread out over two different wings and sided with weathered wood. The structure was couched in lush landscaping.
Lewis got out of the car and opened one door for Calla and Duncan did the same on his side. They exited, and the agents escorted them to the front door. Duncan was very tall and muscular, wearing the expected attire of the Secret Service. Lewis was smaller but muscular as well, with pretty, reddish hair pulled back into a knot. Her suit resembled his. The agent stepped in front of both Calla and Connor. “Wait here with Duncan. I’ll clear the inside.” She ducked into the house.
Calla’s heart beat fast. “I thought this place was a fortress. Why all the precautions?”
Duncan said, “Protocol again. No one has ever gotten on the grounds.”
“All clear,” Lewis announced when she came back out. “I’ll get the bags.”
The living/dining area was off to the right of the foyer. Large windows provided a spectacular view of the front grounds and across the width of the house, the same kind of windows revealed the backyard. On closer inspection, they saw a huge stone terrace covered most of the length of the house. A sun porch provided a view that was just as gorgeous. “Four bedrooms are off to the left,” Duncan told them. “Each with a full bath.”
“Let her have the biggest one,” Connor told him.
The agents led them down a corridor. Lewis stopped at the first. “Doctor Gentileschi, this is yours.” She brought her bag inside.
Calla followed her. “Thank you, Sara.”
Connor and Duncan continued to the end of the hallway. “You’ll stay here. It’s the next largest,” Duncan said, opening the door. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“We’ll be leaving the house now.”
“How is the protection of us organized?”
“Agent Lewis and I will be patrolling the grounds inside the fence. You’ll see us around. But each of you is to wear one of these.” He handed Connor something that resembled a key fob on a long chain. “We’ll know where you are at all times. Press the button and we can get to you in minutes.”
“Calla has one too?”
“Yes sir.”
“Great. Thanks. I’ll get unpacked.”
But when he was alone, Connor walked to the windows and looked out of doors. He wondered if it would warm up enough to swim today. He wondered how long they’d be here. He wondered how on earth they were going to survive in such close proximity without taking their relationship where it shouldn’t go.
They’d been so close, had experienced so much together. Now, this self-imposed, hands-off sequestration didn’t seem fair. Hell, he’d learned in Syria that nothing was fair.
o0o
Calla hung the last of her clothes in the closet. She’d brought all casual pants, shorts, tops and a couple of sweaters Brie had lent her. After her tour in the Middle East, she cared little about what she wore. She slid the suitcase on the top shelf and then studied the space. The same cedar graced these walls as in the living room, with matching beams in the high ceiling. Calla dropped down in the chair in front of more big windows that overlooked the terrace. Leaves were filling out the trees, the grass was growing again, and a profusion of flowers had already bloomed: roses, irises and ones she didn’t recognize. Several steps down were the pool and hot tub.
Her gaze caught on a movement to the right. Connor came out to the terrace, dressed in the same sweater and jeans he’d worn on the drive up. He stared out at the grounds, hands jammed in his pockets. His beautiful dark hair blew back in the wind and she imagined his cheeks would be ruddy.
A sudden slice of desire shot through her. She wanted to go out there, sneak up behind him and wrap her arms around his waist. She’d plaster herself up against him, their bodies in total connection. Sometimes, during the worst events overseas, the only solace they could find was in holding each other. But that was a long time ago. Rising, she shut the blinds and lay down on the bed. She’d rest and try to forget what it was like being with Connor through even the most horrific events.
o0o
Syria fourteen months ago
The attack came from the sky. A missile appeared out of nowhere and landed nearby. Calla and Connor were tending to some children on the outskirts of the small village closest to Aleppo and saw the weapon drop. A burst of fire lit up the sky when the bomb detonated. Since they were nearby, they hurried to the town to find it in shambles. Immediately they knew something was different.
Rescue personnel were out in force in the time it took Connor and Calla to arrive. A man in a decontamination suit approached them. “Are you hurt?” he asked through his mask.
“No, we’re doctors and were treating patients a ways from here. We saw the blast.”
“Thank God. You’ll need to suit up. Come with me.”
After they donned protective clothing in a makeshift tent, they headed into the destroyed streets. Concrete and wood lay in shambles around them. The devastation was almost impossible to comprehend. But amidst a cacophony of shouts, cries and horrific moans, they were stunned.
Calla asked, “What was in the bomb?”
“Sarin gas.” The man who brought them in yelled out through the noise of human suffering.
Sarin? The deadly, deadly gas, most closely resembling a pesticide. This was a chemical weapon attack, used by the regime to hurt and kill. It was also illegal, though the notion of anything being legal in war floored him. “What do we do?”
“Get each child stripped and hosed down to get rid of the sarin.” The man gestured to the entire area. “There are plenty to tend to.” He touched Calla’s arm when she started away. “You’ll find the dead among them.”
Stifling their grief, they headed to the aid workers who couldn’t keep up with the flow. Calla and Connor approached a boy, wrangled off his clothes and doused him with water all in under a minute. The gas evaporated at about the same rate as water, so speed was crucial. They both knew if the seizures and the paralysis were to come, it would be within hours.
“Here, take this.” Someone handed them a packet. “You know what to do, right?”
These were gas kits. Connor said, “Jesus, they were prepared for this.”
Calla gave the boy a shot of atropine, which would help him
breathe by drying secretions and opening airways to take in air more freely.
“No sign of vomiting or diarrhea,” she commented.
Two more workers approached them. “We’ll take him to the tent. Keep going.”
They went to the next boy.
And the next.
And the next.
By day’s end, eighty-three people had died and two hundred and fifty were injured. They had no way of knowing how many they’d saved or lost.
In the Jeep, on their way back to their village, Connor and Calla held hands and cried.
o0o
Calla awoke to darkness and sat up abruptly. Seven o’clock? Dear Lord, she’d slept for hours. After using the bathroom, and fixing her somewhat disheveled braid, she went out to the living room where she was met by heavenly scents. And Connor at the stove stirring something in a big pot. A glass of red wine sat on the counter next to him.
“It smells wonderful. Your mother’s marinara sauce?”
He turned and for a moment, his expression was soft, loving, as if he forgot he was so angry with her. Then he closed down. “Yes.”
“Not worried about making that for someone who’s Italian born?”
“Of course not.”
She’d never seen him cook before. Their food, such as it was, was prepared by a local. “Remember Bashar?”
“The woman who made our meals.”
“She tried, didn’t she?” Using the standard fare of Syria, she made hummus and cheese from goat’s milk and eggs when they could get them.
When he didn’t go on, she said, “You always had Razim tell her how good the meal was.”
“Yeah. I felt sorry for her. Wearing all that black clothing in eighty degree weather.”
He was silent for a bit as he dumped thin spaghetti into a pot of boiling water with the steam swirling out of it. “You slept?”
“I did. You?”
“No, I got a lot of rest in the hospital. You were there every time I woke up, so you must have been exhausted.” He picked up his wine. “Want some?”
“Yes. But don’t drink any more till I take your vitals.” He was recovered enough to be released from the hospital and he’d always healed fast so he had the stitches taken out of his head before he was discharged, but she intended to keep examining him. She got the small medical bag she’d brought, returned and made him sit. After wrapping the blood pressure cuff on his arm, she pumped it. “Hmm. A little high, but not by much.”
“I run high.”
His scalp was healed, with little redness left.
She put her hand on his forehead. “Warm.”
“Because of the stove.” His voice was hoarse.
“Pupils okay. I guess you’re fine.”
He put his hands on her arms, and Calla remembered so many times when he’d touched her. This time, he pushed her away. “I have to tend to the meal.”
She stepped back and he got up quickly.
After pouring a red ruby liquid into a stemmed glass, he handed it to her, then lifted his glass. “Sláinte!”
They could be an ordinary couple, anywhere, toasting before dinner. That they weren’t, would never be, saddened her. “Salute .”
To distract herself, she crossed to the back windows and stared out. Lights illuminated the terrace and the pool, glistening off its surface. The palace had a pool, of course, and suddenly she missed her family.
“Dinner’s ready.”
“I’m famished.”
“Sit, I’ll serve.”
When he placed the steaming plate in front of her, her stomach growled. He chuckled, then joined her with his own food. She started with the salad. “Hmm, dressing’s super.”
“Mama’s recipe, too.”
“She taught you all to cook?”
“Of course. Whitney could never get into it, but us boys did.” His expression was faraway. “Whitney still doesn’t like the task, but Max does.”
“You talked about her a lot when we were in Syria. I didn’t get the reference to pregnancy. Are they married now?”
“No, they’re going to be. They’ve had a rocky road.”
“Tell me.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think we should have these kinds of conversations while we’re here.”
“Connor, if we’re not going to talk to each other, we’ll go crazy in a day.”
“I don’t think so. Let’s eat.”
The spicy, cheesy dish was exquisite, the oil and vinegar dressing tart. They’d even been provided Italian bread, which he’d cut and they both devoured. She’d eaten half her meal before he began to talk about people from Doctors Without Borders. “Did you know Lucius got married?” His mentor.
“No, I never saw him after my ill-fated visit to you at the conference.”
“His ex-wife. They went their separate ways for a long time but when he came home from Syria, he met up with her again.” He stared down at his plate. He’d eaten a good portion, too. “They found they didn’t want to live without each other and their absence only brought them closer.”
“I guess some people can overcome their differences.”
His head snapped up. “Ours is a bit more than differences, Calla.”
“I wasn’t referring to us.”
“Weren’t you?”
“No, but since you brought us up, let’s tackle the elephant in the room.”
“Why? There’s no chance for us. You destroyed whatever we had when you went back to Casarina.”
“And you won’t forgive me?”
“No, I could forgive what you did. But I don’t trust you to stick around and I never will.”
“What do you think I’d do?”
“Let your father manipulate you into going home again. Staying home. And if we were together, and had kids, you could take them away from me.”
“You mentioned that before. I would never, ever deprive you of your children.” Anger rose within her. “I’ve sought asylum, Con. The next step is getting a divorce or an annulment.”
“After which you’d be free to go back to Casarina. I can’t afford to get my hopes up and have them dashed, Calla. What happened after you left the first time is still with me.”
“The soldier who died? We haven’t talked about him.”
His eyes clouded. “I can barely live with the guilt. I can’t discuss him, either.”
“All right. I understand.”
They ate the rest of the meal in silence. She said, “I’ll clean up.”
“Fine by me.” He poured himself another glass of wine and stood. “I’m taking this to my room. I’m tired now and I’d like to turn in.”
She brought the plates over to the sink and turned. “Connor?”
He pivoted.
“Sleep well.”
He didn’t tell her the same. Probably because they both knew neither of them would rest well after all the emotion swirling inside them.
Chapter 7
* * *
Connor awoke early. He’d spent a restless night, ashamed of himself for his unkind words to Calla at dinner the evening before. He dragged himself into the kitchen to make coffee and noted on the way that her door was closed. He’d heard her prowling around during the early hours of the morning. As he sat on the porch, sipping the dark brew, he regretted his attitude toward her. He wasn’t trying hard enough to be nice to her because he didn’t want to succumb to her...charms. And every time he felt drawn to her, he struck out. He watched a bird fly from one branch to the next, listened to the sound of the land waking up, and tried to be happy about the beautiful setting. But he couldn’t. Because his integrity had been dented by his behavior.
After two cups of the strong brew, he was fully awake. He glanced out at the walking trails. A couple of squirrels scampered down one. Hmm. Some light exercise would be the best for him right now.
He dressed, put on sneakers and went outside. Brisk air surrounded him, refreshed him. The sun was peeking out, too, and the juxtaposition
was pleasant. Cognizant that he’d had a concussion a little over a week ago, he went at a slow pace. He didn’t see any agents but that didn’t mean they weren’t around. A variety of wildlife peeked at him through trees: a doe and her fawn rustling in the trees, a fleeting image of something that could be a cat.
No bears or vultures, though.
God, he wished his brothers or Whitney were here with him. He thought about when they were little, playing outside in the backyard, enjoying television in the family room. As teens, they confided in each other about most everything. Their bond had gotten him through a lot of hard times. He remembered one specific event when they’d taken care of him...
He and Whitney were freshmen in college and had come home for Thanksgiving. Declan was back, too, though he was out with Lila. Gabe was already in the Secret Service in D.C. and Nick had joined up only months after. But they’d made it to Lakeville for the holiday. They were at the table in the dining room, playing cards when the phone rang.
“I’ll get it,” Mama called from the kitchen. They still had a landline. She answered, but when his mother said, “Oh, my God, what happened?” the four of them raced out of the room.
“Yes, yes, I am...how is he? All right. I will.” She hung up and turned to them. “Your father was in a car accident. That was the police. They asked us to come to the scene to get him.”
“How is he?” Nick asked.
“I-I don’t know. He wasn’t able to talk to me.”
Gabe fished his keys out of his pocket. “I’ll take you to him.”
“I’m coming.” This from Whitney.
But suddenly she grasped her stomach and then bolted out of the room. Connor followed her, knowing what was happening. She made it to the downstairs john and dropped down in front of the toilet. “Aw, Whit,” he said and held back her hair. She vomited violently.
As he helped her to her feet, Nick came to the doorway. “You okay, agra?”
“Yes. I’m so sorry. Take Mama to Pa.”
“Gabe and she already left. I stayed for you two.”
Always the protectors, Connor thought.
“I want to go, too.”
“No, not now, Whit. We’ll wait here.”