by Josie Brown
“But you cared about your captors. Even when they starved and tortured you, you didn’t hate them.”
He shrugs. “It’s hard to hate people who have so little, and yet believe so fiercely in something—especially when that something is to stop the rest of the world from decimating your land and stigmatizing your way of life.”
“The insurgents saw that you cared about them,” I say. “You proved it by saving their lives when they came back from battle. And you proved it when you took their religion. They became your brothers.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’re left for dead by your family and your country. In those two years after my capture, no one came looking for me—just like no one is coming for you.”
He lays towels at the foot of the gurney.
Stall…Stall…
“How did you convince your new brothers to send you back to the land of the living—the land of the rich and beautiful?”
He smirks, “Believe me, if I could, I’d be back there instead. But our leaders are right. The Infidels have to taste their own blood for our cause to matter to them. As an American and a physician, I was the perfect choice for the mission—the only choice: imploding a few vain inconsequential women. And Hot Housewives of Hilldale was the perfect showcase.” He chuckles. “No one mourns celebrity deaths like us Americans.”
“One of the women was a lost love. The other was your adoring wife.”
“Cassandra believes in causes—and she loved me greatly. Had she died for mine, she would have accepted it gladly.”
“You flatter yourself. She believes in helping those whose lives are shattered by you. As for Ariel?”
He smirks. “She’d served her purpose. As Franklin’s wife, she gave me the perfect cover. Had she died, the sympathy for me would have served as a great catalyst for donations to the foundation. Such irony!”
Oh, hell—he realizes my eyes have shifted toward the door.
He sighs and shakes his head. “Donna, I already told you. No one can save you now.”
“You’re wrong,” I declare. “They’re probably outside there now.”
He laughs. “I doubt it. While you were out cold, one of the IEDs I planted beside this warehouse went off.” He raises his hands together and then shoves them apart as if emulating an explosion. “It’s a shame. Jack was a nice guy.”
I fight back my tears. I can’t let shock and memories cloud my mind now.
I must focus on getting off this table—
So that I can kill this son of a bitch.
As if reading my mind, he replies, “You’re smarter than you look, Donna. Now, here’s the good news. When I’m done here, you’ll be a knockout! Unfortunately, you’ll also be unrecognizable—and a mute. Believe me; I’m doing you a favor! Where you’re going, men don’t like chatty women.”
He flicks the needle on the syringe. Satisfied with its flow, he moves in closer.
Too close, but perfectly positioned for me to stab the pilfered syringe into his groin.
When a man has a needle in his nuts, his scream could wake the dead.
Apparently, the Dead drive eighteen-wheelers.
The one that comes crashing through the metal door of my torture chamber doesn’t stop until it has crushed Phillip against the far wall.
Jack hops out. He ignores Phillip’s final gasps. Instead, he runs to me and unstraps me from the gurney.
I hug him. “He said a bomb went off—and that you were killed!”
“The bomb scanner picked it up first. When you disappeared, we thought setting it off would bring him out of his hiding place, but it didn’t. Finally, we noticed a ray of light through a window that wasn’t completely blacked out.”
A moment later the place is swarming with an NSA SWAT team. Abu comes in amongst them.
“Let’s get out of here,” I mutter.
I don’t have to ask twice.
We’re halfway home when Jack sighs. “Damn it! By now, our steaks must be burnt to a crisp.”
Chapter 21
The Good Wife
“I want a happy life, and I want to control my own fate.”
—Alicia Florrick, The Good Wife
The traits of a good wife are simply this:
She stands by her man. (Unless it’s in the pouring rain, and she’s wearing expensive heels. He will understand, since he knows how much it will cost to replace them.)
She shows her appreciation with random acts of love. Hint: Lingerie optional. As far as he’s concerned, naked is always your best look. (Sorry, honey, he’s just wired that way.)
She sings his praises in public. (Doing so in private is also appreciated, by the way.)
And, finally, she saves her disappointments for their private moments. (Jeering at him after locking him in a closet is perfectly acceptable since no one else will hear you.)
When we get home, our family is waiting up for us.
I don’t deny them what we all want: a group hug.
But when we finally disentangle our arms, if not our emotions, I turn to Mary and Evan: “We need to talk.”
Their nods acknowledge their shame.
“Time to make some hot cocoa,” Aunt Phyllis says briskly. Trisha and Jeff take that as their cue to leave.
Jack tries to sneak out too, but I grab him by the shirt to hold him back.
He groans.
Trisha’s mournful wave goodbye to Evan is her way of asking: Will I ever see you again?
Good question.
I wait until she shuts the door behind them before making my only request of my oldest daughter: “The truth.”
Mary and Evan’s gazes move to each other. They know what I’m asking.
Mary takes a deep breath. “Evan and I have feelings for each other.”
Ah.
I sink to the sofa. I never thought I’d learn that my daughter lost her virginity while sitting on the most formal piece of furniture in my house: the living room settee.
I look down at the settee: Oh, my God—what if she lost it here?
Quickly, I stand up again and mutter, “Go on.”
“Mom, I won’t lie.” Mary hesitates. “Yes, we—”
“You love each other. We know,” Jack interjects. “You’d have to be blind not to see it in the love and respect—and yes, the concerns you have about each other—”
“Jack, this isn’t a trial. And you aren’t their attorney.” I take a deep breath. “That being said, I second what Jack said. And, frankly, where you stand currently in your relationship is none of my business.”
“What?” Mary and Evan exclaim together.
“Don’t misunderstand me,” I warn them. “I have not given you my approval—or carte blanche—to do anything. I’m just saying I’m happy that your mutual attraction has a firm foundation in your shared admiration and respect. The physical act of making love is the icing on the cake—”
“Amen to that,” Jack murmurs.
His aside earns him a glare: “But it is not ‘the cake,’” I continue. “If what you share continues to feel right—years from now, I mean; like after college—”
“Wait…you’re saying you want us to wait until after college to—” Mary shakes her head, frustrated.
“You mean…you haven’t…already?” I feel my mouth widening into my deranged clown grin again.
Mary crosses her arms. Frowning, she declares, “Mom! Really? After our conversation, you still think—”
Yikes. Time to backpedal: “But Evan was with you while you were babysitting—and he said he had a date!”
“It was a date…sort of. But not with me. With Connor. He’d promised Mrs. Powell he’d give him private swimming lessons. She was all right with him swinging by while I babysat. We took Connor to the pool together.”
“Oh…kay.” I have to poke Jack; he’s laughing so hard.
Mary kisses me. “Yes, okay! Thank you!”
Hmmm. “For…what?”
She pulls Evan in for a hug.
He kisses her—on the lips.
Then he kisses me—not on the lips, thank goodness.
They are out the door before I find my voice. I stare at Jack. “What just happened here?”
He smiles. “I think you just gave your approval for them to do the dirty deed.”
“No! No—that isn’t what I said!”
He hushes me with a hug. And a kiss. And another.
Ah, young love.
We part when we hear a knock on the door. We set a bad enough example as is.
It’s Jeff. He’s upset. “Mom…we should talk.”
“I’ll say.” I point to one of the wingback chairs.
“I’ll let you two talk.” Jack kisses my forehead then takes his leave.
Jeff starts by clearing his throat. “I know we shouldn’t have snuck over to the Powells’ home to spy on Mary and Evan. I guess they told you they weren’t even there.”
“Yep.” I pause. The one rule about a suspect interrogation is to give them plenty of dead air. Usually, they say enough to hang themselves.
Jeff looks down at his feet. “Mom, I know what Cheever and I did was wrong. And stupid—and potentially dangerous. Please forgive me.” He looks up, beseechingly. “Please?”
That’s all I need to hear.
I pull him into my arms. His relief rolls out of him in a long sigh. “Thanks.” He ducks his head shyly. “Oh, and I’ve got a favor to ask. May I have an advance on my allowance?”
I laugh. “Why? Are you losing your shirt in fantasy football?”
He shakes his head. “No. But I did lose a bet—to Sami. I told him I thought his brother was the terrorist you were chasing. He insisted it was Dr. Powell, so I owe him ten bucks.”
“You know what we do is not for public consumption! Why would you have told Sami we were chasing terrorists?” I frown. “And why would you have guessed Adam?”
“Remember the night Adam got everyone drunk? I told you I saw something odd about one of the kids. A week later, I remembered what it was: Adam has a tattoo on his arm. It’s an Al Qaeda insignia.”
Oh, no.
“I didn’t tell him exactly what Dad and you do, but when I mentioned to Sami that I’d have to tell you because it was important, he got upset. He said Adam is angry because everyone already thinks he’s a badass, so he plays the part. It’s already cost his family a lot.”
I can’t even imagine.
“Why did he think Powell was the bad guy?” I ask.
“Because…well, he happened to be sitting next to his mother’s cell phone when she received a text from Dr. Powell.” He blushes. “He read it, and he didn’t like it. So he hacked the doctor’s computer.”
“I see.”
“It was before Dad warned us to stop unless we wanted to end up in jail,” he insists.
“I understand.” I try hard to smile. “Get some sleep. There’s still school tomorrow.”
I get a second hug from my son.
When I lean into him, I realize he’s now as tall as me.
They grow up too fast.
Ryan informs me that Penelope, Ariel, Cassandra, and Patty are being held at Hilldale Hospital for at least three days so that they can recuperate fully.
I’m bringing each of my former competitors—my neighbors—a bouquet of roses.
I stop at Patty’s room first. She already has guests. Her children surround her hospital bed. They are laughing and smiling. Jenna cradles her youngest brother, Joey, in her arms. Juliette and Jody’s arms are entwined. Jason and Jordan’s arms are around each other’s shoulders.
“Oh! I don’t mean to interrupt,” I insist.
“No, please, come in,” Patty’s tone is sincere. She holds something in her hands: a photo album. It is turned to a page holding an old picture.
The setting is a barren hilltop. James holds Patty in his arms. She is skinny except for a huge baby bump. He looks down on her with a broad smile. Their youngest daughter—Juliette, a toddler—is wearing only a diaper. Jenna can’t be more than ten. Like her younger siblings—Jason, Jordan, and Jody—she is all smiles as she looks up adoringly at her parents.
“We're remembering good times.” Patty points to the picture. “This was taken at Death Valley when Jimmy was first assigned to Creech Air Force Base. It was his assignment for his third tour of duty.” She sighs. “If he’d only stopped after the second.”
Her wistfulness wipes the smiles from her children’s faces. Realizing this, she shakes her head. “It’s okay. We all know it. We know he never really came back from Creech. We know he did something that changed him. He died there.” She stares at the photo.
Jody pats her mother’s arm. Jason kisses her forehead. Jenna wipes away a tear.
They are finding their redemption in the fondest memories they have of their father.
“I heard that Brin offered you a spinoff,” I say matter-of-factly.
Patty nods “She did, but the family took a vote. Unanimously, we elected to pass on the offer.” She shrugs. “If we’re frugal, we can get by on James’s military pension. When the time comes, I can use his GI benefits to send the children to college. I’m also getting my teaching certification. And we’ll be selling James’s gun collection.” She shrugs. “I never felt comfortable with so many guns in the house.”
I smile. “You only need one, right?”
“By the way, we’re selling the house and moving out of Hilldale. Don’t tell the Bings, but we’ll be using another realtor.” She shudders.
“Perfectly understandable,” I murmur. “I wish you all the best.”
Jenna walks me out the door. “Please thank Evan and Mary for me.”
I shake her hand. “I hope you stay in touch.”
“You don’t think Mary will mind?” Jenna asks hopefully.
“I think she’d welcome it.”
“Thank you…for everything.” Her hug is tight and quick.
Ariel’s room is two doors further down the hall. She looks away when I enter.
She already knows.
When she’s ready to face me, she holds her chin proudly. She doesn’t wait for me to ask: “I never knew.”
“Yes, he actually believed that,” I assure her.
She frowns. “But you don’t.”
“What I believe doesn’t matter, does it?”
“You’re right. It doesn’t,” Ariel declares. She takes the flowers from me. “Thank you. I guess I had you all wrong.”
I’m not cruel enough to point out that this seems to be a pattern with her: first Franklin, then Phillip–not to mention everyone else’s skewed opinions as to who is whom, or who’s doing what to whom in Hilldale.
She’ll soon find out how quickly others’ opinions will change about her too. Having married a known terrorist casts doubts on those who should have seen the signs.
In Ariel’s case, was it denial, or was Phillip just that good at leaving her in the dark?
At this point, it doesn’t matter. As his wife, she’ll always carry part of the blame.
Carl taught me that.
She doesn’t watch me go. Instead, she turns her head back toward the wall.
I’m relieved to find Cassandra alone. Gerald must be at work and the boys at school.
I’m sure that, like me, she’ll want to keep what I have to ask her in confidence.
I’m not at all surprised at Cassandra’s bluntness: “Is he dead?”
I nod.
Her mouth purses, but that doesn’t stop the tears from falling.
As I lay down the bouquet beside her, I say, “Sami helped us discover who he was.”
Hearing this, she practically jumps out of bed. “My son? But…how?”
“He happened to be standing by your cell phone when one of Phillip Powell’s emails to you lit up on the screen,” I explain. “Sami was curious as to who enthralled you enough to threaten your marriage, so he hacked into Phillip’s computer. What he saw scared him: he recognized some of the ISIS rhe
toric and leaders’ names from personal experience; and because Jeff had divulged to him that my security agency was searching for a possible terrorist cell. He wanted to alert us without giving you away.”
Cassandra blushes at the thought of her son’s concern.
“He wondered how we’d missed the man he now knew only as ‘Franklin,’ and tried to put us on the right track by leaving us digital breadcrumbs. One led us to Powell’s secret surgical bay in a Long Beach warehouse, but we ended up raiding a well-guarded meth lab instead. Unfortunately, Sami transposed the numbers in the address. We thought our elusive target did it to hoax us. Phillip was already masking his ISP address so that we couldn’t trace the texts being sent to him by his ISIS handlers.”
“Yes, well, when Sami doesn’t take his time, he types carelessly.” She wipes away a tear. “Still, I’m proud of him for trying.”
“You should be. If we’d raided the right place, we would have had Phillip. As it turns out, we never got around to scanning Dr. Powell’s cell phone.” I lower my eyes. “I blame myself for that. Like everyone else—that is, everyone but Sami—I wanted to believe he was above reproach because of his noble calling with Plastic Surgeons Without Borders. Little did we know it was a front to ship money and ammo to ISIS. We weren’t even aware that Franklin had an identical twin—Phillip—until last night.” I sit beside her on the bed. “Cassandra, how did he coax you into an affair?”
Cassandra sighs. “I’d known Phillip in a past life—five years ago, when I was a relief effort coordinator in Fallujah, Iraq. He was working for a UN medical team that was saving the lives of bombing victims—Sami’s included.” She shrugs. “We became lovers. At the time, Adam was almost twelve. The year before, I’d adopted him from a relief center in Chechnya. He adored Phillip! Then, when I thought Phillip had died in a bombing attack, to honor his memory I adopted Sami too. But I was too heartbroken to stay in Iraq. The boys and I moved to Dubai, where I met Gerald.” She grimaces. “He wasn’t Phillip, but he was good with the children.”