Fonduing Fathers

by Julie Hyzy

  She held her hands out, grinning. “Don’t mess with success.”

  Yablonski turned to me. “Let’s talk about your visits to Harold Linka and Michael Fitch again.”

  “I told you about those already,” I said.

  “Yes, you did. And we will go over them again. And again, if necessary. Sarah and I need you and Leonard to remember every detail, every nuance, whether you believe it important or not.”

  I glanced over at Gav. He looked as unsure as I did. “What are you looking for?” I asked Yablonski.

  “If I told you, that would influence your responses, wouldn’t it?” he said. “Now, let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”

  Three hours later, I was spent from talking, from answering the same questions more times than I could count. Gav seemed to be holding up much better than I was and I realized he’d probably been trained in handling interrogations, which is what this had turned out to be. Sarah and Yablonski came at us with questions about Fitch’s and Linka’s homes, their wives, their demeanors, and their reactions to my showing up on their doorsteps. Twice during the interrogation Yablonski called the fatigue-clad woman in to refresh our water when we ran dry.

  By the time we called it quits, my throat was parched, my tongue was numb, and I urgently needed to use the washroom. I couldn’t leave yet, though. I needed an answer to a question of my own. “What about my dad?” I asked when Yablonski dismissed us.

  His lids were heavy over bloodshot eyes, making me realize our grilling had taken a lot out of him, too. “Ms. Paras, when you and I first met, you agreed to cease your investigation on my command.”

  “If you had good reason,” I reminded him.

  “Bringing you in this way, introducing you to Agent Byrne, and providing you with the knowledge that we are in the middle of a difficult investigation isn’t enough for you?” The words were sharp, but his attitude had changed. He was weary.

  “I can’t give up on my dad. Not yet.”

  “I can’t stop you from looking into your father’s life, but only where it does not overlap with Pluto, Harold Linka, or Michael Fitch. I’m sorry, but I have to order you to let this matter drop.”

  I hesitated.

  “Ms. Paras, this is a matter of national security. Your cooperation is essential.”

  I sucked in a deep breath. “Then you have it,” I said.

  THURSDAY MORNING, I WAS BACK IN THE White House kitchen, bright and early. I’d scrubbed potatoes, chopped onions, and started a chicken marinade before anyone else made it in. It was busywork, but keeping my hands occupied while my heart was in turmoil was the only way I could work through this.

  Much as I wanted to, I couldn’t hate Yablonski. He was doing his job. He’d promised that he wouldn’t ask me to back off my investigation unless it was necessary. I believed him. I had no choice. The fact that Gav trusted him went a long way to mitigate my vengeful feelings toward the man. Yesterday I’d sensed, however briefly, that he sympathized with my plight and that he wouldn’t have asked me to sacrifice my quest if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.

  I dug handfuls of asparagus out from our chilled storage and set to work trimming the stalks for later use. The mound of fresh greenery would keep me engaged for an hour, at least.

  Virgil, the first to arrive after me, was immediately suspicious. “What are you doing in so early?”

  “Keeping busy,” I said.

  Perhaps it was the tone of my voice that quelled his curiosity. He left me alone after that. When Bucky and Cyan arrived and greeted me a few minutes later, I smiled, said hello, and went back to work. Preparing meals in the White House kitchen was one of the true joys of my life, but today I had to force myself to push through tasks that normally had me humming.

  “Everything okay?” Bucky asked quietly when Virgil stepped out. “You get things sorted out yesterday?”

  How to answer? “It’s not that,” I said. “It’s personal.”

  “I’m sorry, kid,” he said with kindness in his eyes. “You let me know if there’s anything we can do for you.”

  “Thanks, Buckster,” I said with forced cheer. “I’ll survive.”

  “Whoever he is,” he continued, “he doesn’t deserve you.”

  I decided to let Bucky believe my sadness had to do with a broken heart. In a way, it was true, except that the “he” in question was my dad, and Bucky was wrong. My dad deserved far better than I’d been able to give him.

  A few hours later, I was pulled from my musings by the sound of Josh calling my name. “Ollie!”

  He stood in the doorway. “Hey, Josh,” I said as he made his way in accompanied by his sister, Abby. A contingent of Secret Service escorts accompanied the duo. “What’s up?”

  “I told Abby about how much I’ve been working down here with you.”

  His sister had lingered in the doorway a moment, finishing a conversation with one of the other staffers.

  “Hi, Abby,” I said as she stepped in. “How’s your summer going?”

  “Really well, thanks.” She then greeted everyone else in the room. “My mom asked me to bring Josh down this morning. He wants to ask a favor.”

  “Could we throw a party?” he asked. “A small one, I mean? Abby says we could invite her friend Jillian and Jillian’s little brothers. They’re twins,” he added with delighted emphasis. “Almost my age, she says. Mom says we can invite them over, but if I want to have a party, I have to check with you first.”

  “Of course,” I said, feeling a buoyancy in my heart that had been missing all day. “When do you want to do this?”

  Josh had already given this serious thought. “I wanted to have it on Saturday, but some diplomat who’s too important to change is coming, so I think Sunday. Would that be okay?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “This will give me a fun thing to look forward to.”

  “Really?” he asked so earnestly I wanted to hug him close and kiss him on the top of the head.

  “Yeah, really. What sort of party did you have in mind?”

  “A cooking one,” he said without hesitation. He tried to tamp it down but I could see the puff of pride in his chest. “We could all work together on making snacks and then play games while we eat them. Is that okay?”

  “Fine with me,” I said, catching Abby’s tight smile over Josh’s head. In that instant, I read that she was going along for her little brother’s sake. “We’ll see what sorts of ideas we can come up with. I’d like to work with you on this beforehand.” I shot another glance up at Abby. “Both of you. Do you have time now?”

  “Yeah!” Josh said.

  Abby shook her head. “We have to go with Mom to that library opening in an hour, remember?”

  He sighed his disappointment. “Can we plan it together tomorrow?”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” I said, consulting the calendar. “Wait, it looks like you two are out all day tomorrow.”

  “That’s right,” Abby said. “We’re helping clean up at a children’s rehabilitation center. Sorry, Josh, but we won’t be back until late.”

  His face fell.

  Tomorrow was a scheduled day off for me, but I wouldn’t have any hesitation coming in for these kids. Desperate for positive goals right now, I said, “I can be here tomorrow anytime you want. Do you know what time you’ll be back?” I took a look at the calendar again. “It seems as though you’ll be here for dinner.”

  “I think Mom said we’d be back by three o’clock.”

  “Three o’clock it is then,” I said. “I’ll be here, Josh. You feel free to join in the planning, too, Abby.”

  “No,” Josh said, “I want to plan for some surprises.”

  Abby looked relieved.

  I laughed. “I’ll call upstairs for you tomorrow at three and we’ll get started on our plans.”

  “You sure this is okay?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  When he and his sister left, good cheer went with them.
I took a breath and started back to work, hoping the overwhelming feeling of loss would soon pass, knowing deep down it would haunt me forever.

  CHAPTER 24

  I FINALLY MADE IT THROUGH THE DAY, SELFISHLY pushing my staff out the door early so that I could keep some of the evening quiet to myself. There were people who found peace in meditation. I found it in working alone.

  Snapping off the kitchen lights after an hour of cleaning and busywork, I headed to the MacPherson Square Metro station to go home. Gav had been in training all day today and would return for another full day tomorrow. We’d known about these two days of intense physical and mental stress for a while now and we’d agreed to limit our contact to a phone conversation or two until the weekend hit and he could relax again.

  “I’ll be in no shape for decent conversation after training,” he’d told me. “Plus, I imagine I won’t smell so great, either.”

  At the time, I’d laughed. Now, I wished I was seeing him tonight, no matter what. I needed him.

  The thought stopped me short.

  I needed him.

  I hadn’t ever felt as though I’d needed anyone before. Not since I was a kid at least and required my mom to guide me through life. This was different, though. I didn’t need Gav because I couldn’t make it in the world alone. That, I could do. We both knew it.

  I needed Gav—my heart ached when I thought about it—because I could no longer imagine life without him.

  I swallowed the emotion that threatened to overpower me as I continued on my way. I made it through the ticket turnstile and to the loading platform that would whisk me home to Crystal City. I didn’t know what the evening would hold for me, but I couldn’t wait to get there.

  I meandered through the crowd of commuters to take a spot near where the train’s midsection would hit. I stared at the concrete walls as I waited.

  I zoned out apparently, because when a male voice next to me whispered, “Take this train often?” I gave a little yelp of surprise. A moment later, I reached out to him. “Gav,” I said, feeling emotion bubble up again. “You’re here.”

  He’d followed me from the White House and chastised me all the way home about how I needed to be better aware of my surroundings. “You should have caught me, Ollie,” he said.

  I didn’t argue, both because he was right and because this very normal conversation would help us find a way back to our safe haven where there were no clandestine meetings, suspicious supplement companies, or shadowy corners where people handed us mysterious boxes.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be too tired to be out and about tonight?” I asked.

  He kept an arm around me the entire ride. “Being with you today is more important than sleep.” He tugged me a little closer and added, “I even showered first.”

  THE NEXT MORNING, I ROLLED OUT OF BED AT nine in the morning, late for me. Gav’s training had started at five A.M. and he’d left my apartment late last night, still needing to pack a fresh duffel before he reported in. I knew he was in for a grueling day. After rigorous exercises and hours of emergency drills, he’d then be required to face an evening of review with his superiors and peers. I didn’t expect to hear from him until at least nine o’clock tonight.

  I puttered around my kitchen for about an hour, drinking coffee as I attempted to read the newspaper. Nothing stuck with me from any of the headline stories, and after blindly turning yet another page, I gave up.

  Coffee cup in hand, I wandered out onto my apartment’s terrace. Though small, it afforded me a birds-eye view of the neighborhood below. Nothing out of order, nothing wrong. I sipped and stared, replaying every word of our conversation with Yablonski in my head.

  Meeting undercover agent Sarah Byrne proved to me, once again, that there were forces at work of which I was unaware. Situations I didn’t understand. I might not particularly care for Yablonski, but I respected him and his authority.

  I kept coming back to one statement, however. He’d said that he wasn’t asking me to stop looking into my dad’s history; he was ordering me to steer clear of Pluto and all its employees, present and past. I’d agreed and I wouldn’t go back on my word.

  A little voice in my head piped up to remind me, “You could talk with Eugene Vaughn again.”

  “What good would that do?” I asked aloud.

  The only answer was the rush of the wind in the trees below and the soft sounds of traffic nearby.

  Gav and I had discussed this option last night. He’d offered to go with me if I decided to make the trip, but I’d told him, truthfully, that if I did go back, I preferred to do it alone. Eugene Vaughn had made it clear he wouldn’t talk in front of others, even people like his nurse, a person he obviously trusted. I’d gone back and forth on the idea. Gav thought it could be worth a shot. I did, too, but I worried about getting my hopes up once more only to see them dashed again.

  I reminded myself that Vaughn had been a dead end. He’d been either reluctant or unable to share information. Part of me believed that the aged man really was losing touch with reality; part of me wondered how much of his forgetfulness was an act.

  I took another sip of coffee, which had cooled. I stuck out my tongue at the stale bitterness, then considered my options: get fresh coffee, sit at my kitchen table all day feeling sorry for myself, or find a more productive endeavor.

  Vaughn had nothing to do with Pluto, so Yablonski couldn’t begrudge me another visit to the old man. Even Gav concurred on that score.

  “Watch out ‘Uncle Eugene,’” I said to the clouds, “I’m coming back.”

  AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, I WAS SHOWERED, dressed, and driving to Eugene Vaughn’s home. I had plenty of time to get back to the White House by three to work with Josh.

  I pulled up just past noon, took a deep breath to calm myself, and prepared to do my best to politely pry. Roberta was on duty again, answering the door with a smile of recognition. “Olivia,” she said, “how nice.”

  “I don’t mean to bother Eugene,” I began, “but—”

  “Don’t worry.” She opened the door wide to allow me in. “He’s been expecting you.”

  “He has?” I asked as she led me back into the living room.

  “Uh-huh,” she said.

  If it weren’t for the fact that he wore a different color shirt, I would have believed he hadn’t moved since I’d been here. He assessed me sharply with those elfin eyes. “Don’t stand there staring, young lady, come over here and talk to me.”

  When I moved closer, he asked Roberta to bring us sweet tea again. She returned a moment later with our teas and a tray on which she’d prepared his lunch. “I made enough for both of you. It’s important Eugene eats on schedule.”

  I desperately wanted Roberta to leave us alone, but she was required to hold Eugene’s plate for him in easy reach, so he could choose items, one at a time. Thus trapped until lunch was over, Eugene, Roberta, and I made small talk over tea, red grapes, a sliced apple, chicken noodle soup, and a small supply of crackers spread with peanut butter.

  The entire respite couldn’t have lasted more than twenty minutes but I was itching to ask my questions.

  When Roberta finally cleared everything away, she winked and said, “You two will want privacy.” She pointed over her shoulder. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

  Eugene watched her go. “Don’t be listening at doorways, now.”

  She was out of sight but her voice rang through the small house. “I’ll put on some music if that makes you feel better.”

  “It does.”

  Turning his attention to me, he asked, “What have you started?”

  My spirits took a decided turn upward. “You know what’s going on?”

  “I know that you came here asking about your father’s troubles at Pluto. A week later, one of his former co-workers storms the place with a loaded gun. That’s more than coincidence. How did that happen?”

  I shook my head. “I’d prefer you tell me.”

 
Keeping silent, he stared.

  “I’ve got all day,” I said. Not true, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Uh-uh. You know more than you’re letting on. Don’t try fooling me again with your feigned forgetfulness. You know precisely what went on at that company, and you probably even know what’s going on there now.” As I spouted off, he watched me, too patiently for my tastes. I wanted to get a rise out of him. Maybe then I’d learn something.

  “You are your father’s daughter. No doubt about that,” he said at last.

  I was through with the wistful reminiscing. “Don’t start,” I warned him. “I’ve talked to everyone I could think of. I’ve asked questions and now a man has been killed. Don’t you think I feel responsible for that?”

  “Don’t feel guilty about Fitch’s death.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “You prefer being called Ollie, don’t you?”

  I sucked back my impatience. “Yes.”

  He glanced past me as though to ensure Roberta wasn’t about to come creeping around the corner. “Ollie,” he said softly, “I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know.”

  “Why not?”

  He watched me, shrewdly. “It isn’t for me to tell.”

  “Listen,” I said, trying a different approach, “I understand that you don’t want to get anyone into trouble. I’m guessing there are still loose ends and people who could lose their jobs if your interference in the Arlington matter was discovered. I understand why you can’t—”

  In a flash, his bony hand had closed the space between us. He gripped my arm hard enough to hurt. “You do not understand.”

  I didn’t wince, even though I wanted to. “Then explain it to me.”

  Speaking slowly, he said, “You must let this matter drop.”

  When I opened my mouth to protest, he cut me off. “No argument. Not anymore. You are playing a game you don’t understand in a field laden with land mines.”

  I tugged my arm away. “Fine,” I said. “I know I can’t have all the answers. That’s been made abundantly clear to me of late.”