you won’t be getting any pie,” she added, on a firmer note, something Jordan knew that Gary would’ve said.
Jordan understood the boy’s discomfort. Having a strange man in their home, a man who seemed to know his mother on an intimate level, must seem like a betrayal to his father’s memory.
Graham wordlessly shoved back his chair and disappeared.
Jillian flinched and drew a sudden breath.
“Jillie?” Jordan called with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine.” Her sister forced a smile. “It was just a pang. Let’s have a toast,” she added, reaching for her glass of water.
Jordan and Rafael obliged. Agatha joined in eagerly.
“To the FBI and all its wonderful agents. God bless them all, especially Rafael.”
“To Rafael,” Jordan echoed, watching the subtle glow return to her sister’s face. The agent, on the other hand, appeared self-conscious of praise—or was it more than that? His black-as-night eyes seemed to harbor painful memories.
He tried to dismiss himself. “The meal was delicious,” he began, “and I’d love to stay for a second serving, but I have an early flight in the morning.”
“Oh,” said Jillian, sounding disappointed. “Where are you going?”
“Just to D.C. I’ll be back on Tuesday.”
“Please say you’ll have some dessert,” she begged him, looking crestfallen.
“It’s Grandma’s apple pie!” Agatha piped up. “I helped Mommy bake it and it took all day!”
The agent looked from mother to child, his mouth quirking ruefully. “Well, in that case, I’ll stay,” he decided.
Jillian’s smile lifted Jordan’s spirits. “You sit,” she said to her sister. “I’ll get it.” More than anything, she longed to see Jillian happy again. It seemed a miracle that Rafe Valentino did just that.
Chapter Five
Solomon drove toward Anniston, Alabama, in a daze. As the miles rolled beneath his tires, he cast sidelong glances at his son, drinking in every feature of the boy he’d lost and found again.
The pale, silent child huddled on the far side of the truck’s cab was as familiar as he was alien. Solomon didn’t know what to say to him. They were, for all intents and purposes, strangers. Solomon loved his son; but it didn’t follow that the boy felt the same way about him. If anything, he seemed terrified.
When a rivulet appeared on the upholstery, creeping out from under Silas’s legs, Silas’s fear was undeniable. The boy had just wet his pants.
Solomon groped behind the seat for a roll of paper towels. “Why didn’t you say you had to go?” he asked.
Silas didn’t answer.
Flexing his jaw, Solomon veered off the highway onto an exit ramp. Thank God, Ellie had sent a bag of clothes with them.
As he stood outside the stall in the men’s room at a roadside McDonald’s, Solomon felt uncomfortably out of his element.
He’d known what to do with an infant. Feed him; change him; croon lullabies. Silas was a little person, now, independent in some ways, helpless in others. Solomon didn’t know the first thing about caring for him.
His son pushed out of the stall in dry clothing. Solomon inspected him quickly, then scooped up the sodden pants lying on the floor and found a plastic sack in the garbage to stuff them in. Wouldn’t this add an interesting dimension to laundry day?
“Wash your hands,” he instructed. “You hungry?”
Together they washed their hands in the same sink, Silas’s fingers small and sturdy beneath Solomon’s touch.
Solomon tried again. “Look here, son,” he said, handing Silas a paper towel. “You’ve got to talk to me,” he urged. “I can’t read your mind to know what you need.”
To his dismay, Silas’s little chin trembled. His big eyes filled with tears.
Undone by the sight, Solomon hit his knees right there on the bathroom floor. He pulled the stiff little figure into his arms and held him tight. “I’m scared, too,” he rasped in his ear, grateful that his humiliation wasn’t being
Jordan understood the boy’s discomfort. Having a strange man in their home, a man who seemed to know his mother on an intimate level, must seem like a betrayal to his father’s memory.
Graham wordlessly shoved back his chair and disappeared.
Jillian flinched and drew a sudden breath.
“Jillie?” Jordan called with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine.” Her sister forced a smile. “It was just a pang. Let’s have a toast,” she added, reaching for her glass of water.
Jordan and Rafael obliged. Agatha joined in eagerly.
“To the FBI and all its wonderful agents. God bless them all, especially Rafael.”
“To Rafael,” Jordan echoed, watching the subtle glow return to her sister’s face. The agent, on the other hand, appeared self-conscious of praise—or was it more than that? His black-as-night eyes seemed to harbor painful memories.
He tried to dismiss himself. “The meal was delicious,” he began, “and I’d love to stay for a second serving, but I have an early flight in the morning.”
“Oh,” said Jillian, sounding disappointed. “Where are you going?”
“Just to D.C. I’ll be back on Tuesday.”
“Please say you’ll have some dessert,” she begged him, looking crestfallen.
“It’s Grandma’s apple pie!” Agatha piped up. “I helped Mommy bake it and it took all day!”
The agent looked from mother to child, his mouth quirking ruefully. “Well, in that case, I’ll stay,” he decided.
Jillian’s smile lifted Jordan’s spirits. “You sit,” she said to her sister. “I’ll get it.” More than anything, she longed to see Jillian happy again. It seemed a miracle that Rafe Valentino did just that.
Chapter Five
Solomon drove toward Anniston, Alabama, in a daze. As the miles rolled beneath his tires, he cast sidelong glances at his son, drinking in every feature of the boy he’d lost and found again.
The pale, silent child huddled on the far side of the truck’s cab was as familiar as he was alien. Solomon didn’t know what to say to him. They were, for all intents and purposes, strangers. Solomon loved his son; but it didn’t follow that the boy felt the same way about him. If anything, he seemed terrified.
When a rivulet appeared on the upholstery, creeping out from under Silas’s legs, Silas’s fear was undeniable. The boy had just wet his pants.
Solomon groped behind the seat for a roll of paper towels. “Why didn’t you say you had to go?” he asked.
Silas didn’t answer.
Flexing his jaw, Solomon veered off the highway onto an exit ramp. Thank God, Ellie had sent a bag of clothes with them.
As he stood outside the stall in the men’s room at a roadside McDonald’s, Solomon felt uncomfortably out of his element.
He’d known what to do with an infant. Feed him; change him; croon lullabies. Silas was a little person, now, independent in some ways, helpless in others. Solomon didn’t know the first thing about caring for him.
His son pushed out of the stall in dry clothing. Solomon inspected him quickly, then scooped up the sodden pants lying on the floor and found a plastic sack in the garbage to stuff them in. Wouldn’t this add an interesting dimension to laundry day?
“Wash your hands,” he instructed. “You hungry?”
Together they washed their hands in the same sink, Silas’s fingers small and sturdy beneath Solomon’s touch.
Solomon tried again. “Look here, son,” he said, handing Silas a paper towel. “You’ve got to talk to me,” he urged. “I can’t read your mind to know what you need.”
To his dismay, Silas’s little chin trembled. His big eyes filled with tears.
Undone by the sight, Solomon hit his knees right there on the bathroom floor. He pulled the stiff little figure into his arms and held him tight. “I’m scared, too,” he rasped in his ear, grateful that his humiliation wasn’t being
Similar Books
