::  An Ironic Discovery ::

The trout, unaware that he should be peacefully drifting in the tangle of dead trees and undergrowth of the inlet, sprang free from the water as if trying to catch the bright orange setting sun. The ‘plop, splash’ of his return added to the ripples in the water, and to the symphony of crickets and other dusk insects.

The speedboat, racing home, was too far away to hear, but its wake still arrived to splash against the rocks and sand of the small beach before her.

Far across the inlet, in perfect contrast to her high-priced resort, there was a changing of the guard at Billy Bob’s Bait ‘n Booze. The last of the die-hard fishermen were pulling away from the docks heading for home, and the first of the serious drinkers were arriving in their Dodge and Ford pickups.

Sarah barely registered the incessant activity and its accompanying noise, including the, "Oh, my God, look how big he’s grown," and, "I’m so glad you could make it this year," of the Jackson family reunion. She sat on the milk-bottle resin Adirondack chair down the hill from her hotel room and wondered if she was ever going to pass this test that God had assigned her. «Surely, I didn’t come up with this insane plan on my own.» Why the hell would no one tell her where the damned crib notes were? "It’s MacKenzie, God, not Job." Well, if it was a test, then she was a real failure.

A beach ball tumbled past her into the water, and a squealing toddler barreled after it. She made no move to ‘rescue’ him. This was the third time in two hours, ten minutes that he’d done so. "Tommy! I swear to God I’m going to give you away to Gypsies." Sarah heard the resigned good nature in Tommy’s mother’s voice. She accepted yet another painful hit to her battered heart. Would she ever have a Tommy or a Susie of her own? Not if she couldn’t get her head together, and she didn’t see that this trip was really helping toward that end.

She’d wanted a month for deep, personal self-examination. She should’ve found a hole in a mountain somewhere to contemplate the darkest recesses of her soul. Instead, she’d decided that she needed to confront the people who’d so deeply affected her life. She’d planned it all out, even writing down questions she’d wanted to ask, accusations she’d wanted to make.

God must’ve laughed himself sick.

She’d started with a visit to Chris Ragle’s grave, only to find she had nothing to say to the already overgrown plaque at ground level. He’d been as much of a victim as she, only he’d had no Uncle Matt to pull his fat out of the fire at the critical moment between youthful stupidity and a lifetime of criminal pursuits.

Her visit to Leavenworth to visit Matt O’Hara had left her shaken and teary-eyed. "The Castle" was a formidable prison, and the men she’d seen there were hardened – she wasn’t sure if they’d been that way before they’d arrived. It’d been sweltering the day she’d arrived. After checking with Chegwidden to confirm her identity, the armed guards had led her to a small, private room and brought him to her. The guard stayed outside.

He’d looked, haggard, older than she knew him to be. He’d glared at her. "Now what’s wrong?"

"Wrong? I just wanted to see you."

"You haven’t wanted to see me much in the past eight years, Sarah. What do you want now?"

"Just to thank you," she’d whispered. Then she’d spoken more firmly. "You made it clear you didn’t want me here. But I…I needed to see you; to thank you for being there when I was in so much trouble."

"You’ve already done that." The rigid control had slipped just a little, and she’d seen the pain in his eyes. "Look, Sarah, honey. It’s just too hard to see you. I take it one day at a time. I don’t brood about yesterday, and I can’t bring myself to consider tomorrow."

She didn’t want to add to his pain. She couldn’t tell him that Clay, the man who’d been instrumental in his capture, was now so important to her. She’d settled for the inane. "What do they have you doing?"

He’d shaken his head, refusing to talk about it. "So? How’s the career going? When are you up for your full bird?"

She’d shrugged. She’d only been to visit him once in the past five years and that was to tell him about her father’s death. She’d never told him about being charged with Ragle’s murder. If he’d heard about it through the grapevine, he hadn’t brought it up. "The lists are out at the end of the year. I don’t know if I’ll make it this time or not." Frankly, she was surprised she ever made it past major.

He’d just nodded and she’d been at a loss for anything else to say. Finally, she’d taken a deep breath. "You know I’ll be there for you…when…" But his face had closed even tighter. She’d sighed and turned toward the door that would lead her back to freedom. "Goodbye, Uncle Matt."

"Sarah." She’d turned and waited. "You do understand why I did it, don’t you?"

A better person would’ve given him the validation he’d sought. After all, he’d been the one reason why she’d been standing there that day, wearing her uniform so proudly. But it’d allowed her the only opening to what she’d so desperately needed to say. "No. I’m sorry. But, no, I never did understand. Not really. It just wasn’t the ‘you’ that I’d looked up to. They used you, but you should’ve seen it. Now? Now, the one good influence in my life, the one man I thought I could always trust, is stuck inside this hell-hole. And you know, Uncle Matt? I could really use you right now."

He’d stared at her for a long time but had turned away. "Guard!" And he was gone.

She felt worse than she had before she’d arrived.

"Kids! It’s time for supper. Get your butts out of the water!" The sharp command of yet another Jackson family member jarred her out of her remembrance and kept her tears at bay. It would be another hour and a half before the dining room of the inn was safe from flying straw covers, shouts between tables and gamboling children careening off chairs, adults and each other.

The sun was just below the horizon now, and incredible streaks of gold, red and orange painted the sky prettier than her mood would ever be again. Certainly prettier than it had been that rainy day in North Carolina, where she’d found John Farrow. Well, she hadn’t found him. She’d wanted to do it all on her own, but Bud Roberts had cut days off her searches. He’d been the one to find out where John had finally settled, on the beach of Southport, off Cape Fear. The irony in her life was almost comic.

"Sarah!" He’d welcomed her with a hug and dragged her into the small, cluttered shack. "What brings you here?"

"Just wanted to see how you were doing." And from his relaxed look, he was doing well. In fact, almost in direct contrast to Uncle Matt, John Farrow looked younger than when she’d last seen him.

"Hey! I’m doing great. Can you believe it? A Marine with a charter fishing boat? Come on, have a seat." He’d quickly moved some files from one of the chairs. "You want a drink?"

"Water’s good." She’d looked around, noting the mementos from his career. The memories of their time together, the sexual fulfillment had faded as shame for dishonoring the rules had crashed down on her. Harm’s harsh words and condemnation had come flooding back, and she’d wondered if she could get through what she needed to say to him.

"What’s wrong, Sarah?" He’d settled down into the comfortable chair that was surrounded by magazines, a remote and a half empty bottle of Turbo Dog beer.

She’d heaved a sigh and met his concerned eyes. "Do you ever regret what happened?"

He’d looked confused and shocked. "Regret what? Haiti? Helping you with Ragle? What?"

"What we did – sleeping together back in Okinawa? You knew it was wrong. I knew it was wrong."

"Oh, come on, Mac! For God’s sakes! It was what, twelve years ago now?"

"Thirteen actually, but hey, who’s counting?" she’d snapped irritably.

"Get past it, Marine. We did what we did." He’d smirked. "And got away with that, at least."

"Really?" She’d glared at him. "You think because the statute ran out that I didn’t pay a heavy price for that?" She hadn’t bothered to mention the continued snide comments from Harm. She was pretty sure that others were thinking what Harm had the balls to rub in her face. "You think people will forget that and say, ‘Here, have your star’?"

"At least you stayed in. The Corps was my life. Look around you, Mac." He’d waved his hand around the messy room.

"So this is my fault? You quit because of Haiti?"

"Why the hell did you come, Mac? You finally join AA? What is this? Step Four? Confront the people in your life who done you wrong?"

Was it? She’d never even considered AA meetings. She’d always been too ashamed that people would find out. "I fought that demon on my own, John. But, sure, why not? Damn you! You were my CO! I was just coming off my first tour. You were my hero."

"So? I don’t remember putting drugs in your coffee, Mac. You wanted it as much as I did."

Sarah had remembered the Admiral’s bedroom and had seen the difference in the two men. What had the Admiral said? «You know what’s right…don’t you?» He certainly had. And John had, too. He’d just given in. And that made him… John.

She’d sighed and rose. "You’re right. I did, and you still should’ve known better."

Just then, the door had swung open and a young woman, barely out of her teens, long-legged, darkly exotic with dark brown hair and laughing, almond shaped brown eyes came in. "John! I brought…oh…"

Sarah had stood there and looked at a near duplicate of her younger self. She’d smiled and nodded. "Hello. I was just leaving."

The laughing eyes had darkened in anger, and Sarah had seen that the girl wasn’t stupid. Her eyes had darted between Sarah and John, but had finally rested on Sarah.

"Karen, honey, this is…"

"I know who the hell she is. Why is she here?"

"Just in the neighborhood," Sarah had said politely. "I served with John…"

"Is that what you call it?"

Sarah had cocked an eyebrow, wondering just why, and what, John had confessed, but hadn’t responded. "Goodbye, John. I wish I could say it was good seeing you again, but I’m glad I came and got it off my chest."

"Mac! Wait!" He’d pushed past his sputtering girlfriend to follow her out to her rental. "Stop. Damn it, Mac." She’d opened the door without speaking and climbed inside. As she’d been backing out of the driveway, she’d seen the young woman standing at the door, a scared look on her face. Even though she’d said what she’d come to say, she’d felt no relief, no blinding revelation.

The pounding bass of the jukebox reached across the water and tried to draw Sarah out of her funk. What the hell was she doing? Who did she think she was, stabbing at men who’d done nothing but scarred her life in vastly different fashions? She was a Marine, damn it. Why couldn’t she get a handle on her life?

Darkness was descending, and the sounds from the posh resort were muted by the vast expanse of green lawn leading down to the lake. Who would’ve thought that she’d be stuck at a vacation resort without a clue about what to do next?

Bless Bud and his computer. Three days ago, she’d been prepared to fly all the way to Australia, but, after leaving John and checking in with Bud, she’d learned her next target had moved to San Diego.

She’d found a flight with only one stop. She’d used the time to go over what she’d wanted to say to Mic. She’d thought that if John Farrow had been painful, facing Mic would be wretched.

What the hell did she know?

Had it just been yesterday morning? How could the same sun, at the same time of day, look so different? Of course, after the gloom of North Carolina, it’d been a welcomed relief. She’d lowered the top on the rental convertible and had driven up the coast into LaJolla to find Mic’s small but prosperous looking house overlooking the ocean. She’d chided herself for springing herself not only on Mic, but on John, too. She should’ve called first. She’d been selfish the entire trip, thinking only of her own needs. She’d sat in the driveway for a moment, then started the car again.

God had laughed and Mic had opened the door to stare at her. "Sarah?"

«Damn it!» She’d turned off the engine, but sat in the car. He’d looked good in old jeans and a tee shirt. He’d padded, bare-foot, out to the car and stared at her, obviously stunned. "Hello, Mic."

"Cor’. Well, you always said you were psychic. How’d you know I was getting ready to call you?" He’d opened the door for her. "Come on in. I was just stoking up the bar-b."

He’d led her through the house out to the patio. The view was breathtaking. "Tonic and lime, right?"

"Don’t go…yes, that would be great." She’d waited, her hands resting on the rail as she’d watched the golden sun hover over the blue gray water.

"Here you go." He’d placed the drink on the wide rail, and she’d watched out of the corner of her eye as he’d stood there staring at her. "Damn me. I can’t believe this. Why did you come out? Just visiting?"

She’d thought to take the lie and run with it, but instead said, "No, I wanted to talk to you. But you intrigued me out there. Why were you going to call me?"

"You first." She’d heard the hesitation in his voice as he, too, had turned to contemplate the sunset.

"Woman’s prerogative? Besides, it’s your home field."

"I’m getting married."

"Good for you." She’d meant it, but she just prayed that it wasn’t another clone. She was still shaken by the woman at Farrow’s house. "Who?"

He’d chuckled. "A stewardess. Met her on the Sydney to LA run." He’d reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. "Here."

Sarah’d swallowed her sigh of relief. "Dear Lord, Mic. She’s a beautiful woman."

"Yeah. Nothing like you. Not that you aren’t beautiful. You know you are." Sarah had known what he meant. The photo, taken somewhere bright and colorful, showed off the blond with a radiant smile, sparkling blue eyes and blinding white teeth. There wasn’t a hint of darkness troubling this woman, who was definitely no child.

"I understand. I’m really happy for you."

"You hurt me, Sarah."

His sudden change in demeanor had shaken her. "Excuse me?"

"After I left, I was really messed up. Went home and sulked. Ran through women like there was no tomorrow. Was on my way to drinking myself to death. Mum put her foot down. Got me to see a head doctor. Helped me see stuff. He said I needed to confront you."

"I see. And did you tell him everything?" She’d turned away from the sunset and glared at him, angry that she’d let him go first and beat her to the punch. "Did you tell him how you resigned your commission without even asking me?" «Just like Harm.» Mic had said nothing. "Did you?"

"I thought I was doing the right thing. You didn’t send me packing, did you? You took my ring in Sydney, didn’t you?"

She’d taken a deep breath, then nodded. "You’re right. I shouldn’t have. And you shouldn’t have pushed so hard, or made important decisions, without even asking me my opinion."

"So? You and Rabb ever going to stop hurting all the people around you?" He’d seemed calm, almost disinterested, but she’d heard the underlying bitterness.

"We’re working on it. He’s gotten custody of a young girl who really needs him." The smirk on Mic’s face had been nothing if not lascivious. "Don’t be disgusting. Mattie is a sweet kid and I can’t believe you’d think that of Harm. No matter how you felt about him as a rival."

"He was never good enough for you. But then I’ve come to the conclusion that you weren’t good enough for me."

She’d gritted her teeth, but accepted that this was pretty much what she’d expected. "And you were good enough for me?"

"No." He’d paused, then reached for her hand. "Look at me." She’d seen the pain in his eyes, and she’d allowed her own misery to shine through. "Christ, what were we thinking? I know I went after you for a lot of wrong reasons, but I did love you."

"Did you? Or did you just see me as some kind of prize in the never-ending competition between you and Harm? You had to try to prove you were better than him."

He’d sighed and squeezed her hand. "Damn, you were the prettiest shelia I ever had a chance at. Walking out on you was the hardest thing I ever did."

"Was it? You seemed pretty determined to me. Why couldn’t you just talk to me about it? Couldn’t you see that, no matter what, I would’ve married you, once I was sure…"

His anger had resurfaced. "Once you were sure that Harm didn’t want you. Is that why you came out here? You wanted a second chance?"

"No. I wanted to confront you, too."

"I always knew we were on the same wavelength," he’d almost managed the classic Aussie grin.

She’d pulled her hand free and leaned against the rail. The sun reflected off the windows of his house. "I guess you don’t want to hear what I have to say now."

"Probably not. But take your best shot."

"You were a force of nature, Mic. No one ever pursued me like you did. You gave it all that you had."

"Well, that’s the way I am."

Sarah had pointed to the wallet gripped in his hand. "She appreciates it?"

He’d started to bristle, then he’d laughed again. "She smacks me hard whenever I try."

"Gee, why didn’t I think of that?"

"Wouldn’t have worked."

"Probably not."

"So?"

"What?"

"You and Harm?"

She’d closed her eyes and shaken her head. "Never gonna happen, Mic."

"You’re kidding me." He’d sounded surprised, and not a little hurt; as if some great sacrifice on his part had been for nothing. "Why the bloody hell not?"

"Wouldn’t work with him, any more than with you. You’re brothers under the skin."

"Crimey."

She’d turned and kissed him gently on the cheek. "Be happy, Mic. I really mean that. You hurt me, but I hurt you, too. I’m sorry." She’d waited, but she’d known he wouldn’t say it back. "Goodbye, Mic."

"Sarah!" She could have taken the opportunity to just walk away like he had in Washington, but she’d turned and waited.

"Damn it." He’d looked down at the picture still in his hand. She hadn’t want him to do what she’d known he was considering.

"Gotta go, Mic." She’d quickly left the house and jumped into the car. She had no destination in mind, and the thought of returning to San Diego and a hotel did nothing for her. So, she’d left the top down and headed north on the coast highway.

Ten hours later, after talking to Bud outside of Monterey, she’d paid the penalty to the car rental company at the San Francisco airport – ‘If you’d just let us know when you signed the paperwork in San Diego’- and boarded a plane to St. Louis. She’d slept the entire flight, knowing that she’d need all her strength.

The drive through Missouri had given her plenty of time to try to figure out if anything had been accomplished by confronting the men. She wasn’t unhappy with the outcomes, she just didn’t know if it’d been worth it. «Damn it» Maybe Mic had the right idea. Maybe she needed to talk to someone – a professional. She’d passed the Bagnal Dam exit and had begun to see road markers for the small town where Bud had finally tracked down her mother.

"She took back her maiden name, ma’am. Thank God, Social Security direct deposits now."

"So, you have her address?"

There’d been a long silence, followed by a sigh. "No, ma’am. The last detailed information I could find was from three years ago. She had an apartment in Rochester, Minnesota, like you mentioned. Now, all I can find is that her Social Security check is deposited into an account at the First National Bank of Osage Beach, Missouri. It’s the middle of the Ozarks. Not real big, only 2,500 people. Everybody knows everybody else in those small towns."

That’d been yesterday. Now, she sat outside her room at the Residence Inn, contemplating God’s sense of humor. The lights from the bar across the way twinkled in the water. The stars were incredibly vivid overhead. The moon was still somewhere behind her. She finally pushed up out of her chair and turned to the softly lit lawn to make her way up to her room.

True, the actual population of Osage Beach was only 2,500 – in the dead of winter when all the tourists were content to stay home. Now, at the height of the summer, the population swelled, and it’d taken a good hour at the Chamber of Commerce’s rental kiosk to find what seemed to be the last hotel room within a hundred mile radius of the shopping mecca of the entire Lake of the Ozarks. She’d checked into one of the few rooms of the resort not taken up by the far flung, but obviously close knit, Jackson family. She’d always felt like an outsider. Being plunked down in the middle of God knew how many generations of Jacksons just served to underline it.

She’d wasted no time in going out to the bank that afternoon. And, as with everything else on this trip, the meeting was unsatisfactory. "I’m sorry, miss, but I can’t divulge the information without a court order." He’d looked at her like she was a city slicker out to pull the rug over the eyes of the silly country bumpkin, and he wasn’t about to allow that. No, sirreee, bob.

"She’s my mother. Can you at least get word to her that I’m looking for her?" But she’d seen the mean stubbornness on his face, and had returned to the hotel, defeated. Now, as she entered the too cold relief of her hotel room, she tried to figure out what to do.

According to Bud, Deanne MacKenzie – or O’Hara – wasn’t listed on any utility, deed or cell phone contract. "She doesn’t have a driver’s license in any of the fifty states – hasn’t for five years, ma’am. But, there’s definitely no death certificate." She was beginning to think that even Clay couldn’t find Deanne without doing what she was faced with – walking up and down the town streets, going into shops and bars, asking if anyone knew her. Sarah didn’t even have a recent picture, although the memory of her from their last meeting was etched permanently on Sarah memory.

Sarah sank into the deep leather couch and sighed. "Maybe she’s a greeter at one of the Wal-Marts." She stared at her reflection in the dark television that sat between her and the view of the lake. Her eyes closed, and soon she was asleep, but the dream this time didn’t feature Clay, or Harm or any of the men in her life, past or present.

Sarah jerked awake, looking around wildly. The banging continued. Someone was pounding on her door. Had she cried out? Damn it. She didn’t need to face a hotel manager or worse, a concerned Jackson. Would Harm have wormed it out of Bud? Was he here to save her yet again? She jerked open the door, ready to bitch him out. "Oh." A Jackson, after all? "Yes?" She studied the woman before her. She didn’t look like any of the other guests. Although the Jackson family seemed to span the entire spectrum of humanity, from old to young, black, white and even an oriental, they all dressed in resort casual. The sloppiest – and youngest – of them wore cut off jeans and tee shirts.

The woman, waiting so patiently before her, was perhaps in her mid sixties. Coarse gray hair was pulled back into a ragged bun, held precariously in place by a bright orange scrunchie. She had one small tuft of hair growing at the edge of her chin that was dark – like her thick brows. She wore what had to be the ugliest muumuu Sarah had ever seen. Her heavy breasts pushed the blue, green and scarlet flowered material away from her body. With all that, she wore a calm, determined air that Sarah couldn’t ignore. "I’m not part of the reunion," she offered, praying that her visitor had made a mistake.

"I know that." She waved a rolled up magazine at Sarah. "I know all about you, Sarah MacKenzie."

Sarah silently took back all the nasty things she’d thought about the bank manager. "You know my mother?"

"Yeah. Took your time getting’ here. She’s dying. Ain’t much time."

Somehow, Sarah wasn’t even surprised. «I get your point, God. You’re the boss. Could you knock it off for a while now?» "Take me to her." She turned back and grabbed up her purse and nothing more. She barely registered the fact that her cell phone was on the coffee table.

"You going to tell me your name and where we’re going?" Sarah demanded as they walked between the buildings toward the vast parking lot.

"Anna Mae Williams. And we’re going to my place out on Turtle Creek Point. You afraid of me?"

"Should I be?" They stopped at a late model Saturn.

"Not no more. But you go ahead, take your car and follow me. I cain’t be leaving her again. I’ll wait for you at the entrance of the hotel." With that, Anna Mae climbed into the car, huffing a bit as she positioned her body behind the wheel.

Sarah followed Anna Mae out onto Route 54 and wondered why she wasn’t afraid, particularly after Anna Mae’s cryptic response to Sarah’s question. A cold calm descended upon her. It was a perfect exclamation point to the entire trip. She wondered if her mother would be lucid, or if it would be a replay of Joe MacKenzie’s death. Dinner traffic was particularly heavy, but the driver in front of her made sure that she stopped at yellow lights and kept her speed such that no one could get between the two cars. Sarah counted four stoplights before traffic thinned out and they made better time. The streetlights were fewer and the pine trees thicker the further south they drove. Finally, the car ahead signaled they’d be turning left. A bright spotlight still shown on the peeling sign that proclaimed, "The L ke iew Ba s Res rt." The red arrow was so faded that it was a bare slash, indicating no direction whatsoever. Sarah thought it was a perfect allegory to her life and what she was doing.

The road was dark, her headlights bounced as the cars slowly made their way down, to the lake. Through the trees, she spotted one or two cottages, with lights illuminating glimpses of life, all too quickly extinguished by a turn and another bounce. Finally, they came upon a widening in the road. A small house was lit by one mercury vapor security light that picked up more than a dozen hanging baskets filled with flowers. Parking next to Anna Mae’s car, Sarah climbed out. In silence, they walked down the narrow, wooden walkway that separated the house from a small drop off. Coming to the door, Sarah saw the house was right on the lake. She could see nothing but dark water highlighted by the moon, now high enough and bright enough to claim the sky for itself.

The room was larger than the outside of the house would’ve suggested. It was paneled in knotty pine, and the floor was covered in a bright, gleaming vinyl tile. The furniture was a heavy wood-framed set. The cushions were covered in a brown and orange plaid. Deanne MacKenzie sat in the chair, her slipper-covered feet resting on the matching ottoman. An afghan of discordant colors, obviously hand crocheted, was wrapped around her. She looked frail now. Never thin, Deanne’s skin sagged from the rapid weight loss her illness had caused.

Anna Mae tossed the crumpled issue of People that featured Sarah on the cover onto the wood end table with a built in lamp. Looking around, Sarah wondered just how many copies her mother had purchased. Several of the pictures, including the one of her in the bright blue bikini, were framed and rested on the tables. One cover hung on the wall. "I would have sent you a decent picture, Mom." It was a lame greeting for sure but she could think of nothing else to say.

"Didn’t want to be a bother." Deanne’s voice was raspy and weak.

"What’s wrong? Have you seen a doctor?" If she had, why hadn’t Bud found that in his precious computer?

Anna Mae answered harshly. "Mayo Clinic. Best oncologist we could find. That good enough for you? Ain’t no hope. It’s pancreatic cancer."

Sarah could see the pain of loss sharply etched on Anna Mae’s face. But she ignored her to address her mother. "Why didn’t you call me? What if I hadn’t come looking for you? Damn it." She swiped the tear that threatened to stain her face.

"Why did you?" Deanne struggled to rearrange herself and, before Sarah could help, Anna was at her side, fluffing a pillow that Sarah hadn’t noticed before. The tenderness solidified what Sarah suspected of the relationship between the two women. She looked away, allowing them what little privacy she could, as well as to get a handle on her emotions. Whatever they were together, one or both of them must have some source of income. The television wasn’t huge, but it was new, and it rested above what appeared to be a DVD/VHS combination. The kitchen, just beyond the breakfast bar with its stools, appeared gleaming and modern. A hallway led back to what she assumed was the sleeping area and bathroom.

When she turned back, Deanne’s eyes were closed and Anna Mae was studying Sarah, noting her appraisal of the house. She answered Sarah’s unspoken question. "I drove a semi truck for thirty years. I was one of the first women on the road to own my rig. Made good money, didn’t have much to spend it on. We do just fine. I worked for a local that was pretty honest and actually got my pension."

"How long have you known my mother?"

Anna Mae unnecessarily smoothed the afghan. Sarah could see the smile in profile. "Over fifty years. We grew up together." Deanne opened her eyes again and Anna Mae’s voice grew gentle. "You want something to drink, sweetie?"

Deanna just shook her head. "Need to get this over with." Sarah almost wept at the cruel words, but Deanna continued tiredly, "I owe her that much."

Anna Mae nodded and turned to give Sarah a glare that spoke of swift intervention should Deanne become upset. "Well, you best sit down, I’ll start supper."

"Not for me," Sarah said weakly. She wanted to escape and spend the remainder of her time huddled in a bed so far away from everyone that even God would have to look for her. She suddenly didn’t want to hear what her mother had to say.

"Well?" Deanne’s voice croaked. "Go ahead. Spill it out. Yell all you want. Don’t mind Anna Mae."

"Oh, Momma. I’m not going to yell. I just need to know why."

The huddled figure stirred and a frightened sigh escaped. "Yell. It’ll be easier."

"Are you even sorry for what you did to me?"

"Shit. I’m sorry for what I did to all of us. What difference does it make?" She took a ragged breath. "God, I hated your father."

"So? That gave him the right to beat you?"

"No. But I could’ve left sooner."

"Why didn’t you take me with you when you decided to finally escape?" Of all the questions she’d asked of all the people she’d talked to, that was the sixty-four thousand dollar one in Sarah’s book. "Why? Damn you."

"Girl, I couldn’t take care of myself. Joe never hit you, did he?"

"Not physically. But, oh, God, Momma, he was a cruel man. Why did you even marry him?"

Deanne straightened and looked toward the kitchen, then sighed. "’Cause I was too afraid to go with the one who I wanted. I thought it was a way to escape my own father."

"Why?"

Deanne sank back into the chair. "I don’t even remember any more."

"Did your father abuse you?" Sarah clutched at any explanation that could justify her childhood.

But Deanne had fallen asleep.

"Jake O’Hara never touched her," Anna Mae said from the kitchen. "You want a cup of coffee?"

For the first time in a very long time, the craving for a drink was overpowering. "Do you have a beer?"

Anna Mae’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head violently. "That ain’t gonna help matters none."

"What the hell do you know about it?" Sarah snapped.

"Oh, Miss Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Marine Corps, I know everything there is to know about you. She bought ten copies of that magazine. Every time there was a line on the Navy’s website about JAG, she made me hunt down what was going on. For thirty-six years, you’re the only human being she ever cried about." Anna Mae looked away for a moment before continuing. "You know, she got the invitation to the wedding back in ’01."

"Gee, I didn’t get her RSVP."

"She’d just come off chemo. She looked like hell. Didn’t want your pity. So? Where’s this Brumby guy? Why didn’t he come with you?"

Sarah ignored the question. "How long has she been sick?"

"Five years. Right after the bastard died."

"You mean my father?" Sarah, no matter what she felt about the man, felt the insane need to justify him to this woman. "You mean the man who stuck it out and did the best he could to raise me? The one parent who STAYED?"

"Oh. I see you’ve forgiven him and now you want to blame her? Why don’t you just blame me instead?"

"Why? Were you the one who talked her into leaving him?"

"Yes!" There was a triumphant gleam in Anna Mae’s eyes.

"Good. But why didn’t you talk her into taking me with you?"

"Because, I blamed you almost as much as I hated him." Anna Mae released a long breath. "She was so pretty back when we were kids. I always knew I loved her – and not just as a friend either. But back then? In Wyoming?" She sighed and turned to the stove, stirring the soup bubbling away. "I thought once I convinced her it was for the best, I could heal her. Only she couldn’t let it – or you – go."

"How come I don’t remember you when I was growing up?"

"Because your precious father would’ve beaten her even worse if he knew she was still sneaking off to see me."

"I see." And Sarah remembered the times that Deanne had bundled her up and left her with her grandmother. She remembered how excited and nervous she’d be, and now she finally understood. "At least someone really cared about her. Was she happy, once she got away from us?"

"No." Anna Mae snapped. "Does that make you happy?"

"No. Damn you." The tears threatened to fall, but she fought for control. "Why didn’t she call me when she got sick? Or did you prevent her from doing so? Do you still hate me? Why do you hate me?"

Anna Mae sighed again. "I blamed you for anchoring her to him. Blamed you for giving her someone besides me to love and need. But I never hated you. I’d be happy to let you blame me if you’d forgive her. But I think you came looking for the truth, didn’t you?" She snorted and turned off the heat. Her look pierced through Sarah. "The truth ain’t goin’ to make no difference."

"Just tell me!"

"She lived her whole life feeling guilty. After she left the bastard, she sometimes managed to put up a front, work for a while." Anna Mae shook her head. "But, if I had to use one word to describe your mother, it was guilty."

"Because of me?" Sarah whispered.

Anna Mae began to tick off points. "For disappointing a cold, hateful father who never touched her in anger or love. For disappointing me, because she didn’t have the courage to face the ugly words to describe what we were to each other. I wanted her to run away with me when she was sixteen. She felt guilty for settling with Joe instead, and for putting up with his abuse for so long. She felt guilty for having you in the first place, and then worse for not loving you the right way." Anna Mae stopped and the tears were bright in her eyes. "But she did love you. It just got to the point that she lost the ability to make a decision – right or wrong."

"So you took over for her?" Sarah didn’t know if she believed Anna Mae or not.

"Yes."

"And how is that different than my father controlling her?"

"Because I loved and respected her. I tried to make her stronger, but something would happen – that accident you had in high school, long after she’d left; your graduation from college, your damned birthday. Her depression was total at those times. But there was nothing I could do for her. The doctors couldn’t help, and the medications just turned her into a zombie." Anna Mae jabbed the air angrily. "I spent my entire damned life searching for her, helping her, loving her!" Her face crumpled and the tears fell. "And now she’s going to die and leave me."

Sobbing, she fled the kitchen and locked herself in one of the bedrooms. Sarah considered leaving, but her mother groaned in her sleep, and she knew she couldn’t leave.

For the next two weeks, Sarah took care of both women, helping Anna Mae keep the house clean and watering the forty-two planters. Fortunately, the ground cover that led the way to the lake needed no tending. She drove them to see the local doctor; brow beating him into letting her read the reports. Anna Mae was named as Deanne’s power of attorney, and Sarah didn’t have the heart to ask Deanne to change it. Besides, Sarah wasn’t sure she had the courage to enforce the DNR order.

After the visit to the doctor, she stopped at the hotel to grab some clothes. But the Jacksons were checking out, and she didn’t want to wait to check out completely. She’d already turned down the side road to Anna Mae’s before she realized left her phone. She figured it was fate. But, she knew she needed to check in, so that night, after leaving Anna to settle Deanne into the large king-sized bed they shared, Sarah used Anna Mae’s phone to call the Admiral at home. She hadn’t heard him sound so relaxed in over a year. "Sir?"

"Mac! Are you okay?"

She smiled as she heard Nora’s voice in the background. "Is that Sarah?"

"I’m fine, sir. I guess. Sir, my mother is dying. It won’t be long, but her…her life partner needs me here. I need to do this."

He let out a long sigh. "Longer than the last two weeks coming to you?"

"God I hope not, sir," she said with feeling. "Her life partner wants her to die at home. I just can’t leave them, sir."

"I’ll figure it out, Mac."

"Thank you, sir. Say hello to Nora for me."

"Goodnight, Colonel."

The next days turned out to prove Sarah right. Deanne refused to leave the bed. Sarah, remembering some of Nora’s techniques, gently massaged her mother’s legs, keeping the blood flowing. She and Anna Mae managed to change the sheets as needed and they shared bedpan duty. Morphine-induced sleep was the order of the day, and lucidity was followed by wracking pain.

It was 0230 and Sarah, who’d fallen asleep in the chair next to the bed, rose to turn off the bedside lamp. Anna Mae was curled up in exhausted sleep, her outstretched hand rested on Deanne’s. Sarah stood for a moment, watching both women, when she found Deanne staring at her. "I’m sorry that I left you, that I couldn’t have been a better mother," Deanne whispered.

Sarah found the knot of anger and resentment unraveled by the heartfelt words. "I understand. Thank you." She started to say she was sorry too, but instead she took a steady breath and bent down till her face hovered over Deanne’s. "I forgive you."

Deanne nodded. "So, you going to be able to get past it finally?"

"Yeah. I think I’ll let it go."

"It won’t make that much difference." Deanne struggled for a breath and Sarah waited, wondering if she should wake Anna Mae. There was no oxygen, nothing to help but the morphine pump that her mother had complete control over. Deanne managed to survive yet again. "After you buried Joe, I went to his grave, said all the things I should’ve said before I left him. Then, I forgave him." She snorted a weak laugh. "Got the diagnosis the next month."

Sarah eyed her carefully, unsure of what Deanne was trying to say. "You see a connection?"

"Hell, no!" she responded with a vigor Sarah hadn’t seen since the week she arrived. Anna Mae grumbled in her sleep. "That’s the point, girl. Don’t matter. What’s going to happen is going to happen. Just live your life, be as happy as you can." She took a steadying breath, the pain beginning to cloud her eyes, and Sarah saw her finger twitch over the small button of the housing taped to her hand. "Dying alone, or with a bunch of strangers, has got to be the ultimate hell. At least Anna Mae and you gave me relief from that."

Her mother had always hated any display of affection, so Sarah contented herself with reaching out and squeezing Deanne’s hand. Instead of going to the guest room where she knew she wouldn’t sleep, she settled into the bentwood rocker and sat up to watch over the two old women. She fell asleep and woke early the following afternoon to a ragged, "No!" from Anna Mae.

"Oh, damn."

Anna Mae sat there staring at Deanne’s body. Her bitter whisper was empty of tears. "It was so hard back then. She hated the words: butch, dyke, lesbo. Me loving her wasn’t enough and it was too much, all at the same time."

"Don’t. It’s over."

"Yes. For her." Their eyes met and Anna Mae sighed. "I’m glad you found her."

"Are you?"

A fat tear tracked down her lined face. "Yes. You see, I realize now that I loved her enough that it didn’t matter that she loved you more. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that early on. I should’ve told her to bring you with us."

Sarah touched Anna Mae’s shoulder. "If you had, what kind of life would I have had? Maybe good, maybe not, but I wouldn’t be the woman I am today." Sarah walked to the window and looked out over the lake. "What do you want to do? Can I go with you to make the arrangements?"

"Already taken care of. De didn’t have anyone but me…before you came back into her life. She wanted to be cremated and her ashes cast over the lake outside. She loved it here. I always wanted to bring her here, let her stay while I worked. The people around here would’ve let us alone. But she was a stubborn woman. Wanted to earn her keep. Didn’t agree to move here until she got so sick.

"Regrets?"

"Hell, yeah." She sniffed. "Now get out of here. Let me grieve in peace. I’ll call the funeral home to come get her. They’ll do the work. No need for either of us to witness that. Come back Thursday morning. At dawn. You okay if there ain’t no priest?"

"What ever you decide, Anna Mae." She gazed at her mother one last time. "I’m so glad you were there for her."

"Go on. Get goin’."

Back at the hotel, Sarah tried to cry for her mother. But Deanne had made her choices and lived her life for better or worse. She tried to cry for her own lost childhood, but, as she studied her reflection in the mirror over the sink, she understood she’d told Anna Mae the truth. Everything that had happened made her who she was today. She was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Marine Corps. She had friends who loved her, and she had a man who was willing to try to rescue her, even as he struggled with his own haunted demons. Could Harm rescue her?

"Do you love him?" she asked her reflection. "Can you imagine waking up next to him? Putting up with his attempts to explain what my problem really is? Do you want to feel his hands on your tits? His mouth on your clit?" She realized that she didn’t even know if he enjoyed oral sex.

She tried to imagine him doing to her what Clay seemed to relish. And she accepted that she no longer cared. She didn’t need anyone to rescue her, or to keep their deal made in the aftermath of little AJ’s birth. More importantly, she recognized the fact that Harm was never going to change. No one changed. Not that much. How would she react the first time he threw something she’d done back into her face? No. As much as she loved him, she couldn’t picture him as a life partner. He’d never put up with one tenth of the shit she knew Anna Mae had put up with from her mother. And Sarah accepted the fact that she was her mother’s, and father’s, daughter. She’d been almost right in Paraguay: she didn’t want to continually battle for top position. What she really wanted was someone she was comfortable with, standing side by side.

"Damn you, Clay. Did you wait? It’s way past the deadline I gave you for making my decision. Did you even check with anyone at JAG? Or, are you drowning your sorrows somewhere? Please don’t do something stupid like throwing yourself into your work and dying. Please give me one more chance."

After her shower, she threw on an oversized sleep shirt, and slicked back her hair that would need to be trimmed before she returned to work. She still had clothes here, in the same spot where she’d left them after informing the hotel that she would keep the room, even though she’d not used it once since checking in. The price would be staggering, but not the worst mistake of her life. She found her cell phone and settled on the couch to begin the process of reentering her life.

"Chegwidden."

"Sir?"

"Mac." He waited patiently.

"She died peacefully in her sleep a few hours ago."

"When and where is the funeral? Nora…and I will come out to be with you."

"Thank Nora for me. But, I…there isn’t going to be a funeral. Her life partner…"

He spared her the explanation. He treated her like an adult and officer to be respected to make her own choices. "Understood. You need to stay to finalize anything?"

"No, sir. She didn’t have anything. I’ll report back on Monday, if that’s okay with you."

"You’ve been missed, Colonel."

"Thank you, sir – and thank you for letting me take the time."

"We did what had to be done."

"Thank you, and would you let Nora know I’ll touch base with her when I get back?"

"Very good." His voice softened. "Call me if you need me."

Sarah wondered briefly if Jenny Coates had, or ever would, meet Nora Simmons. She rather doubted it. And Sarah was damned if Coates or anyone, including Harriet, would hear about it from her.

Next she punched in Harm’s number.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mattie."

"Oh, my gosh. Harm! It’s Mac! Are you okay? We’ve been worried sick. Where are…"

"Mac?" Harm had obviously grabbed the phone away from his ward.

"Hi."

"The Admiral told me about your mom. Told me to keep it on the Q.T."

"I appreciate that."

"So? Is it over?"

"Yeah."

She heard the hesitation in his voice. "You…you need me out there, Mac? I can be on the next flight."

"Harm!" Mattie’s wail floated over the connection. "My game. Oh…"

"Mattie, hush."

Sarah broke in quickly. "Harm. It’s okay. Really. There’s not going to be a funeral."

"Mac. I wasn’t there for you when your dad died. Of course, you didn’t tell me."

"It’s okay. Besides, I think her friend would prefer it to be just the two of us."

"You sure, Mac? ‘Cause I can always get Jenny to go to Mattie’s softball game."

"See you Monday, flyboy."

She sat on the sofa staring at the cell phone. It had been six weeks since she spoke to Clay; long even for them. What if he’d decided she wasn’t worth her constant ridicule? Maybe she should wait. But her finger was already pushing the speed dial button.

"Sarah," he greeted her calmly after the second ring. «Damned caller ID»

She took a deep breath. "Hi."

"Is she? I mean…don’t get mad. AJ told me about your mother. Are you okay?" he finished softly, the embarrassment at having to explain his concern cutting through her.

"I’m not mad." She tried to continue, but the depths to which she’d hurt this man finally loosed the tears she’d been unable to shed all day. "Oh, Clay." She dropped the cell phone to bury her head in her hands and sobbed.

"Sarah?" His voice, while muffled, sounded too clear to be coming from the cell phone on the floor. In fact, it was coming from the wrong direction entirely. "Sarah!" followed by a hard rap against the patio door, jerked her head out of her hands.

He was standing on her small patio, the lights from the footpath casting his form as a dark shadow. She sat there for an eternity staring at him. Now that she knew he was there, he seemed content to wait until she made her decision. She climbed out of the deep leather and walked over to stand before him. After she threw the lock, he pulled open the door, but he made no move to enter or touch her.

"How long have you been here?" She could easily see his features now. He seemed embarrassed, concerned and relaxed all at the same time.

"Not long?" He shrugged. "Okay, a week." He looked behind him towards the lake. "Who would’ve thought a place with three Wal-Marts, a Sam’s Club, two outlet malls and 263 bars and all-you-can-eat buffets could be so peaceful?"

"You’ve been here a week? What? Even you couldn’t find me?"

His snort put her suspicions on that count to rest. "I figured you needed the time alone with them."

"You knew? How long?"

"Contrary to popular opinion – okay, one that I foster – I do not delve that deep unless it’s necessary." He sighed. "I tracked your credit card. I debated for over a week, then flew out here. Just in case you needed me."

"Really? I missed the headline about how we achieved world peace. You aren’t needed any longer?" He just rolled his eyes. He still hadn’t made a move to enter, and she knew he’d wait until she invited him in. But she hesitated because a niggling suspicion had settled in her belly. "Clay?"

"I followed your lead. After Paraguay, I had something to prove to them, and to me. But it just wasn’t the same. Or, perhaps, it was more of the same and it was me who’d changed. I took leave, even though Kershaw tried to talk me out of it and Watts threatened me with suspension." He glanced back at the lake. "This seemed as good a place as any to think."

"And?"

But he grew quiet again and waited. She knew he wanted her answer. «God, please let this be the right decision.» Placing a hand on his chest, she took a step towards him. And as if in answer to her prayer, she found the words came effortlessly, joyously. "Marry me, Clay. Live with me, fight with me, grow old with me. That’s all I really need. Everything else, your job, my job, kids, no kids, it’s all just decisions that we’ll make – together – when the time comes." She couldn’t keep her lower lip from quivering. "Okay?"

He stood there, and she was sure he was going to say his week of contemplation had allowed him to move on. She felt a hollow emptiness that she’d never felt before, not when Mic left, not when Harm rejected her. She finally thought she understood how Clay had felt all those times she’d denigrated his job and his choices. "Are you going to make me beg, Clay?"

His hand covered hers, and his other grabbed her hip, pulling her towards him until their lips were so close they all but touched. His eyes bored into hers. "There’s only one place I ever want to hear you beg and that’s in bed. Understood?"

Her lips sealed to his and she wrapped her free arm around his neck. When they pulled back she whispered, "Come inside."

He waited until she locked the patio door and drew the drapes. Then he opened his arms offering his comfort. She stepped into his embrace and laid her head on his shoulder. After holding her for a long moment, kissing her hair, he finally asked, "What can I do? Can I help with the arrangements?"

She shook her head and snuggled closer. His arms tightened around her and she could feel the effect she was having on him. He sighed and tried to relieve the pressure she was putting on his cock. "Jesus, Sarah. I’m a pig."

Her shirt was hiked up past her bare ass and she rubbed her mound against his jeans. "I think you’re glad to see me. I know I’m glad you’re here. Not just for this." She rocked against him. "But because I want you with me." She gave him some relief by stepping back and pulling down her tee. She settled back into the couch, one foot nestled under her. "Come and sit next to me. We need to talk."

She had planned on giving him the short version, but she found the story of her cross-country trip spilling out. Every detail, every nuance, every hurt she’d inflicted and accepted. And, that led to a broad examination of her entire life choices. "So you see, my complaints about you leaving without telling me had less to do with your job than my own insecurities." His eyes never once left her face. His hand held hers, his thumb skimming back and forth across her skin. He let her tell it all without once offering comment or telling her, ‘You know what your problem is, Mac?’ as Harm would’ve done. She didn’t even realize how late it was until her stomach growled.

Clay tried hard to keep the smile from his lips, but she slapped at him, then groaned. "It’s 0130 in the morning. I’m famished and I bet there’s nothing open."

"Well, I think even the snack bar at the Wal-Mart is closed, which leaves the Denny’s." He shuddered. When her eyes lit up, his grew in worry. "Sarah?"

"Denny’s?"

"Oh, Sarah!" He groaned. "Tell you what. I’ll make you a Denver omelet if you come to my room."

"You actually have food in your kitchen?" She looked behind her and tried to think if she’d even stepped into the galley kitchen that was standard in all Residence Inn rooms.

"Well, I actually LIVED in my room and the ‘all-you-can-eat buffets’ were just…" He shuddered again and reached out his hand to help her up. "Throw on some jeans and your tennis shoes." His eyes dropped and he contemplated her bare feet. "If you want, bring your toothbrush, too. You can spend the night." He lifted his eyes to hers. "I just want to hold you, Sarah."

She leaned in and brushed her lips across his. "Thank you. I want you to hold me, too."

They walked hand-in-hand along the shoreline to Clay’s building. He led her inside and unlike hers, his room looked lived in. The bed was made, of course, but there was evidence that he’d been here awhile. Shoes, including dress, tennis and sandals, were in various places. The closet was full and his suitcase was closed and put away. The coffee table was cluttered with today’s newspaper as well a file folder. On the desk in the corner, his laptop, the cover closed, rested next to a thick report. "Just thinking, huh?"

"Actually, yes." He said nothing further but pointed to the couch as he continued on into the kitchen. Instead, she followed him and sat at the built in dining counter.

"Good heavens, how much did you buy at the grocery?" she said when she saw how well stocked his cabinets were. She was pretty sure that the resort didn’t furnish spices.

"Not all that much. They have a surprisingly good selection. Frankly, I was expecting a small town like we get in southern Virginia. This place is a real hoot."

"I wouldn’t know," she said. "Except for taking Momma to the doctor, and that first day when I checked the bank, I haven’t been out and about in Osage Beach. I did notice they had some very nice outlet stores."

"Well, if you want, before we leave, we can drive around and see some of the area. Maybe rent a boat?"

"I don’t know, Clay. I may not wake up tomorrow – today - until late. I’ve not slept much or well these past six weeks. And Thursday, Anna Mae wants me there at dawn. Then, I better get home and see if I can get through the dust."

"I talked to Harm after you left. He and I were going to find a cleaning service for you, but when he asked Harriet Sims for suggestions, she insisted that she and a couple of the women from your office would take care of it."

"Oh, goodness." Once again, she was struck by how much love was around her, even though she paid scant attention to it sometimes. "I can’t believe they’d do that."

"What’s so hard to believe? You have plenty of friends at JAG."

"Well, it’s sweet, but I have to get my head back in lawyer mode."

"I understand." He quickly prepared the egg mixture and set it aside to begin the cutting of the ham, onions and green peppers.

"You want any help?"

"Nah. Not a lot of room back here."

"Clay, I don’t want you to give up your job just to please me," she blurted out.

He continued to concentrate on his slicing, but he finally answered. "I appreciate that. But, I’ve really been thinking about it. Watts is entrenched. My contacts are dying out – occupational hazard I guess. The players are changing." He looked over his shoulder. "You know Sadik is dead?"

"Yes. The Admiral told me. So, what are you thinking about doing?"

"Well, it kind of depends. I really want to be with you as much as we can find the time to do so. If you need to stay in Washington, then I can take the job at Homeland Security."

"But that’s not what you really want, is it?" She stood and walked to his desk. "Should you be leaving this out?" She held up the report, the word ‘Confidential’ was in bold black letters.

He smiled ruefully. "Probably not. I was reading it when you called and I just dashed out. Not smart, but I doubt there are a lot of enemy agents in the middle of the Lake of the Ozarks."

"But what is this? Or is it need to know?"

"It’s the preliminary proposal for the security overhaul for the Embassy in London. I’ve got a lot of suggestions." She heard the eagerness in his voice.

They sat side-by-side, in silent companionship, eating their omelets. Finally, Sarah turned to him. "You’re really excited about the job with State, aren’t you?"

"Yeah. I guess I am. I’m not going anywhere in the CIA. I’ve made too many enemies being the cocky young gun. Well, I’m not so young anymore, but I’ve got a lot left to offer my country, Sarah."

"Then do it. We’ll work it out. How long will it take to make the change?"

"At least six months. I’ve got things to clear up at the Agency. Most of which will keep me in DC. Then I’ll have to get acclimated over at State." She could see he was already making checklists in his head. Shyly, he asked, "So? You think you might be able to find something in London if it comes to that?"

"Yeah. I might be able to pull it off. Besides, if I can’t, I think you might be able to support me, don’t you?"

Standing, he pulled her into his embrace. "You don’t know how good it feels to hear you say that. I’ll make you a good husband, Sarah. I promise."

She believed him. He would try hard and, if she tried hard, too, they might have a chance at happiness. "I’ll make you a good wife, Clay."

He kissed her softly. "Why don’t you go and climb into bed? I want to take a shower."

"Okay."

Stripping off her clothes, she longed to join him, but the stress of her attempt at self-awareness, and dealing with her mother’s final days, finally got to her and she was only vaguely aware of him crawling into bed. It seemed like one of her more comforting dreams as he laid his head on her pillow and rested his arm right under her breasts. "I love you, Sarah."

When she woke, she was surprised that it was only 0840. During the past month and a half she’d lost her habit of rising at 0530. She knew she’d need her alarm when she returned.

Sitting up in bed, she sniffed the heavenly fragrance of coffee mixed with the clean smell of the lake drifting in through the open patio door. Clay’s laptop was running, but he wasn’t in the living area. The bathroom was open and empty.

Rising, she grabbed up one of his shirts and, after pulling it on, walked over to gaze outside. He sat on one of the chairs, engrossed in the security report that rested on his leg, his ankle propped up on his knee. He lifted the cup in his hand to his lips, only to find it empty.

"I’ll get the pot," she said.

He craned his head around and smiled. "Did I wake you?"

She shook her head as she turned toward the kitchen. "How long have you been up?" By the time she pulled down another cup, filled it and turned with the carafe in her free hand, the computer was off and he was putting the report in a steel brief case. He locked it and slid it under the couch.

"I’ve only been up for an hour," he said taking the carafe to fill his cup before leading her back outside. "I uhm…thought you needed the sleep and I didn’t want to bother you."

She pointedly looked at his crotch. "Men and their morning woodies."

"Nice. I seemed to remember you rather liked it."

"Yeah." She grinned. "I remember that, too. Pity you blew it."

"Your loss."

She loved that they’d slipped into the easy banter they’d perfected over the years. She felt safe and content for the moment as they sat side-by-side. When she turned to him she found him unabashedly looking not at the lake, but at her. "What?"

"When I woke up this morning to find I really was holding you in my arms again, and after what you said – you did mean it? You really want to get married?"

A lump rose in her throat. This was what she’d done to her flippant, sarcastic spy. He was willingly changing careers. No matter what he said, she knew he was doing it for her. And, he was still unsure of her love. She thought about taking him to bed and just fucking him senseless, but he deserved so much more. She’d show him how much she’d missed him that way later. Now she saw they needed to reconnect.

"Clay, I meant it. Now, drink your coffee. You offered to show me some of the town. For today, let’s pretend we’re just regular folks."

His snort almost covered his sigh of relief. "Gee. Regular folks? Think we can get a briefing on how to do that?"

"Ass."

He stood and took the coffee cups. "Come on, I’ll walk you back to your room so you can change." Once there, he playfully tried to distract her, but she evaded his attempts to grab her, knowing that, if he were serious, he would’ve easily changed her mind.

"Breakfast first?" she said as he held the door of his rental car for her.

"Of course." He drove down Route 54. Being mid-week, traffic was light. "Suggestions?"

She pointed to a bright neon sign. "The Clown and Poop Deck?"

"Funny. No."

"There’s the Denny’s."

"Never in this life, Sarah."

"Man, are you stuck up. I suppose I’m going to have to get little AJ to eat at Beltway Burgers with me. Hey!" She gasped and gripped the handle on the door as he made a sharp turn up a hill just before one of the many bridges crossing the huge manmade lake. "What?"

"Keep your fingers crossed," he said as he pulled into what had to be the last parking space in the small lot. "Always trust a place called Ma’s Home Cooking."

As they walked to the door, Sarah studied the cars. "Especially if it’s this crowded with locals."

They got lucky. A table in front of the window was just opening up. After giving their order to the perky young waitress, they quietly watched the activity out on the lake.

"You want to try parasailing?" Sarah joked.

"Uhm…do you?"

The look of abject horror on his face almost had her laughing, but she calmly asked, "And if I say yes?"

He thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Then I’ll sit in the boat and wave to you, help you out of the water, and hopefully, you’ll still be in one piece. Of course, you run the chance of missing out on the festivities tonight." He wiggled his eyebrows at her and she finally allowed the laughter to escape.

"You have a one track mind." «God, it feels good to just laugh with him.»

He huffed, but she could see the laughter in his eyes. "It’s been a long time, Sarah."

"You’ll remember how." They held hands across the table and bantered with the waitress. "So, what would you suggest for two tourists who only have one day in your lovely town, Jenny?" Clay asked.

"One day?" The waitress chewed her lip thinking. "Well, there’s parasailing."

"No."

"Hey!" The waitress snapped her fingers. "I know. My boyfriend took me two weeks ago. It was so cool."

"What was so cool?" Clay said warily. Sarah could tell that anything a teenaged waitress found cool worried him.

"Jacob's Cave! It’s neat. They fixed it up real nice. It’s an easy walk. Heck, some lady even took her mother in a wheelchair. The guide was kinda cute. They’ve got pools and this gigantic rock with crystals inside."

"A geode?" Sarah asked, suddenly interested.

"Yeah, and the ceiling is cool. Oh, and they have bones of real old animals, you know, Jurassic Park like."

"Really?" Sarah looked hopefully at Clay.

"Gee. Jacob’s Cave it is," Clay said.

It wasn’t a long drive, and she enjoyed the scenery that she’d ignored on her trip down. She glanced over at Clay and saw the relaxed smile on his face. "We could always go on the water slide instead," she teased and his smile grew. «He’s happy just to be here with me not bitching about his job. Oh, Clay. I’m going to make it up to you.»

The cave was beautiful with every type of cave formation imaginable, from millions of soda straws, massive stalactites and columns, to delicate helectites. The children in the tour were reasonably well behaved. And when, deep in the cave, the guide turned off all the overhead lights, plunging them into total, complete darkness, Clay happily copped a feel. "Great idea," he whispered after kissing her neck.

"Beast," she sighed happily.

When they returned to the car, she leaned into him before strapping in. "Really to go back to the hotel now?"

He kissed her, but shook his head. "Later."

"Oh? What now?" But she saw the stubborn jut of his chin and knew she would get nothing from him until he was ready.

They crossed over Bagnal Dam into the oldest of the area tourist traps. "Clay!" she cried. "Taffy! Moccasins! Oh! Bumper Cars!"

"Tacky," he pronounced, not even slowing down.

"Of course, it is. That’s the fun of it."

"Later."

She was beginning to think he was going to hold her to parasailing, so she was really surprised when he pulled into the larger of the two malls. He drove around each section, carefully scanning the stores. As he did he pointed out, "Not all these stores are really outlets. Some are owned by local artisans and shop keepers who realize this is the place where the shoppers will be."

"Oooookay."

He found a parking place and quickly got out to open her door. Standing before her, his hands resting on her hips he continued. "We are going to be insanely busy when we get back. Hell, we may have to elope."

"No," she shook her head violently. "Navy Chapel, Annapolis, our friends. No eloping."

He kissed her. A kid behind them snickered. "Humor me, here." He turned her around and pointed to a small jewelry shop. "Pick out your engagement ring. I figure you won’t let them cheat you on the stone. Anything you want, Sarah."

"Clay," she whispered.

"Sarah." He took her hand and together they went inside. By the time the owner came out to wait on them, she was as excited as Clay seemed happy. She’d never shopped for an engagement ring before. Chris couldn’t afford one, and Mic had given her his mother’s.

Clay was right. There was nothing outlet about the shop. There were glass cases of native jewelry, as well as traditional gold and silver. The owner was pleasant and good-natured about allowing Sarah to use his loop. "Well, now. You seem to know a little bit about diamonds."

"Enough." Sarah was trying to keep the disappointment from her voice. She hadn’t expected, nor wanted a perfectly flawless diamond, particularly after the fiasco with Meredith’s ring. However, what she was looking at was garbage. The settings were pretty enough but the diamonds were full of flaws and very cloudy. She looked at Clay and silently shook her head.

"Should we go?" he asked softly.

"If you’ll give me a moment?" the jeweler said hastily as he went to the back of the shop.

"Damn it, Clay," she hissed. "Your training spoiled me."

"Well, I guess we’ll have to go to Tiffany’s when we get back."

The owner returned carrying a velvet tray of loose diamonds. "You’ll forgive me. Most of our walk-ins are tourists looking for bargains like they get in the rest of the shops. I keep these for regulars. You see anything you like here, miss?"

Her hand hovered over the tray. She saw a pretty square cut, not the smallest, but certainly not the biggest of the stones. When she held it up to the light and looked through the loop, she was pleased to find that not only the microscopic serial number, but also one tiny flaw on a minor facet. "How much, please?" Clay didn’t say a word.

The owner quoted a price, but at her raised eyebrow said, "I’ll include the setting." She waited, and he finally laughed and looked at Clay. "Your young lady knows her stuff, sir." He looked back at Sarah. "As well as the wedding bands?"

"Deal."

"Can you have them done tomorrow?" Clay asked after she’d picked out a simple brushed gold set.

Taking Clay’s credit card, the owner said, "You’re lucky I’m actually a jeweler, Mr. Webb. They’ll be ready late tomorrow afternoon."

"Excellent." Clay took her hand and led her out of the store. "Lunch?"

She stepped closer and whispered in his ear. "Later. I want you. Right now." She was very pleased with the results of her declaration.

He pulled her to the car and said, "Get in." She scooted over and strapped in the middle of the car seat. When he got in he glared at her. "Get over there. I don’t want to get a ticket."

She pouted, but complied until they reached the winding road to the hotel parking lot. Then she once again moved over. But she made not move to sexually tease him. Instead, she laid her head on his shoulder, resting her hand on his thigh. "Clay?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"You’re welcome."

"Not just for the ring."

She could feel the heat of his blush. He started to stammer something, but she whispered, "Let me finish. I really need to say this."

"Okay." He pulled into the parking space nearest her building. He wrapped his arm around her and she continued.

"Thank you for waiting…both times."

"Never any question about that," he admitted softly.

"Thank you for what you tried to do, and for what you did, in Paraguay."

"God, Sarah, I…" He turned to her, and she kissed his protest away.

"Thank you for so much, but thank you for being here. For today. God, you don’t know how much I needed today. Thank you for sharing your silly, playful side with me."

He kissed her hair, then lifted her chin. "You’re very welcome. May I have a turn?"

"Sure," she whispered before tracing his lips with her tongue.

"Thank you for accepting my ring. Thank you for allowing me to show you my silly side, and thank you for saving my soul."

She tried to deepen the kiss, but he held her back. "I’m not making out in the front seat of a rental car, Sarah. Let’s take this inside. Once I start, I don’t plan on stopping until you pass out."

"Pretty sure of yourself, Mr. Webb." And she jumped out of the car.

He ran after her, but didn’t catch her until they reached her room. She used the key card and he pushed her inside, grabbing her before the door began to slowly close.

She thought the kiss would never end. His tongue sought entrance to her mouth and she gasped a lungful of air as she greedily sucked it deep.

One hand held her head and the other held her tight against his erection. When he finally released her mouth, his lips began kissing down her neck. She held him tight. "Oh, Clay. Lord, how I missed this."

"Bed, now!" He turned her toward the bed, one step up from the living area.

However, she had other plans. "Clay?"

He stilled instantly, and once again she noticed the uncertainly flash behind his eyes. She was determined that she’d forever erase that look. "I want you to do something for me."

He took a deep breath, but managed a reasonably steady, "Sure, Sarah. Anything."

She smiled. "Good. Go sit on the bed." As she followed him, she kicked off her tennis shoes, pulled off her tee and unhooked her bra.

"Hey!" he said after sitting down on the bed. "I like doing that."

"Next time." She stood before him, her breasts right at his eye level. He reached up and, with what she could only describe as reverence, kissed each nipple. But, when he tried to pull her to him, she stopped him with a gentle, "Wait." She pulled his shirt over his head. "Lay back, Clay. Let me show you how happy I am you’re here, how much I need you." After one last teasing caress across her breasts, he grinned and scooted back until he was sprawled across the bed. He clasped his hands behind his head and quirked his eyebrow. The cocky grin that she’d come to love was once again on his face.

She took her time stripping her shorts and panties off. She touched herself, dipping her fingers into the moisture that had been there all day. Crawling along his side, she pressed her fingers to his lips. Greedily, he pulled them in to his mouth, sucking them clean. "See what you do to me, Clay?"

"Let me taste you, Sarah," he begged. The raw passion in his voice sent a spasm of pure pleasure through her.

"You do that so well," she assured him as she firmly shook her head. "Later. Don’t move your hands."

She bent down to kiss him; running her fingers through his hair. Her kiss was soft, but thorough. She played her tongue over his lips, darting inside to find his questing tongue. When she pulled back, she was panting softly.

"I love you, Clay. I love the way your hair feels." She stroked him and she sighed. "I love kissing you." She placed gentle pecks on his eyes and nose. "Your mouth?" She grinned, but instead of kissing him again, she sat back on her heels and gazed at the bulge in his jeans. "Your mouth is lethal." A low growl was his only response. She grinned broadly. "You’re smart, and a smart ass and damn you, you made me love that, too. You can use just words to make me melt. But when you use your mouth on me, it’s like a flame to butter."

"God, Sarah." He groaned as her fingers traced over his chest.

She turned quietly serious. "For so long, I hated looking at these." She traced the scars from where Sadik’s men had burned him with their cigarettes and the battery cables. "I’m sorry, Clay. Sorry I wasn’t brave or strong enough."

"Sarah, don’t. I never…Please don’t."

In answer she leaned over him and lovingly kissed each scar. By the time she reached his waistband, her somber mood had passed. She looked him in the eye as she roughly undid his belt. "Button fly, Clay? I love that you wear button fly jeans. All those years of three piece suits, I had no idea how sexy you could be." Once she loosed his jeans, she stood next to the bed to pull them off. She leaned over him, brushing her swaying breasts across his skin.

His arms stretched out to fist the sheets. He wasn’t looking at her any more. Instead, he was focused on the ceiling fan over the bed. When she trailed her finger over the bulge already leaking pre-come on his black briefs, his body shuddered and his jaw clinched in his effort to remain in control. She tugged at his briefs. "Look at me, Clay."

He shook his head. "Can’t. Too much. God, Sarah. So long. Fourteen weeks, three days…"

"Six hours and thirty two minutes," she finished for him. "Never again, Clay. I swear it." She grasped the base of his cock and gently, but firmly. pressed against the vein. "I want you to last for me, Clay."

He sighed in mild relief, but it didn’t last long.

"Look at me, Clay. Watch me while I suck you."

The sound he made was inarticulate and desperate. Her tongue lightly lapped at the pre-come glistening on his cock. "Oh, Clay, if your tongue is lethal, this is pure succor. I love your cock." She kissed it everywhere before running her finger around the head, spreading the moisture even more. "I love the way you taste, sweet and salty. Your cock is perfection. Nice and thick, but not so long as to hurt when you pound into me. I’ve missed you so much."

"Please, Sarah."

"Please what?" She was so close. Her thighs were sticky with her flowing juices. Her clit was swollen and just waiting for a hint of friction. She took his cock in her mouth and began to suck.

"No!" he gasped. "Please. Need to be in you." His hands were pulling the bedding loose. "Waited so long. Dreamed of you every night. Jerked off thinking about you. Please."

Slowly she crawled over him, straddling his hips, she poised over his cock and roughly demanded, "Not until you open your eyes and look at me."

His hands left the bed and rested on her hips. Their eyes met and she began her slow sheathing. When she could feel his coarse pubic hair against her aching clit, she took a deep breath. "I love you, Clay."

He pulled her close to toy with her breasts. "So soft, so strong. Damn!" He gasped as her muscles clinched around his cock. "Ride me, Sarah." He caressed her skin, touching her everywhere, until he came to her nipples. He rolled and pulled them until she threw back her head, crying out.

She could feel her orgasm already starting. She was frantic for more stimulation, rubbing her clit against his hair each time she stroked down.

"Touch yourself. Come for me!" He tugged harder on her nipples, the pain only adding to her intense pleasure.

"C-c-claaaaaaay!" She stiffened, holding herself rigid, experiencing every charge darting, exploding, claiming her. Even in her rapture, she could still feel the way he filled her, his cock was so hard. His come shooting into her was warm and felt so damned good as he filled her.

When their eyes once again focused on each other, she actually purred. "Oh, yeah. You know just what to do to me." She gave him a sexy smile and clinched her walls again, holding him inside.

"I love you, Sarah. Come here and let me hold you."

They awoke in time for him to insist that they shower and go out for dinner. "You wanted tacky. Let’s go do tacky." Dinner was fried catfish, complete with hushpuppies that Clay couldn’t seem to stop eating. Afterward, they strolled along in front of the garish shops and she bought homemade ice cream. Clay patted his stomach and grimaced a no.

Finally, after several, almost hilariously vicious, bump-car sessions, she declared, "We have to get back. Dawn is going to come early."

He brought clothes to her room. And, after setting her alarm for five, he settled next to her. As she fell asleep in his arms, she tried to find the guilt she should be feeling about having such a marvelous day. But she knew her mother wouldn’t want that. And, she decided that she would make Anna Mae welcome in her life.

She slept well and rose easier than she expected. Clay grumbled and clutched her pillow when she rose for her shower. While brushing her teeth, she felt a vague disquiet steal over her, but she chalked it up to the ritual that would close a door on her past. From now on, she was determined to live her life being happy – happy with Clay.

"I’ll drive you out there, wait in the car, then after, I’ll take you two out for breakfast," he said as they walked out to his car. "You know. Like a reverse wake?"

"If Anna Mae wants. She’s very independent. I guess she had to be, growing up so different. I want her to know she’s welcome in my life, Clay."

He brought her hand to his lips. "Our life." They turned down the lane, the day just beginning to brighten from pitch black to cold misty gray. Anna Mae’s Saturn was parked in its spot and, for the life of her, Sarah couldn’t explain her growing feeling of anxiety.

He rolled the window down and the birds of morning were calling to each other. In the distance a speedboat, rushing to the first fish of the day, could be heard. "I’ll wait here?"

"Yes." She leaned across the seat and kissed him. "Thank you."

"Sure. I’ll just listen to the hog report."

Her heels echoed on the wood walkway as she made her way to the door. Something skittered in the underbrush and she chided herself for feeling jumpy. She started to open the screen but the white square, with her name written on it, taped to the wooden door froze her in place. She hadn’t had a vision since the murder case she and Turner had worked on. However, now the waiting scene seized her, forcing a strangled, "Clay!" from her throat.

He was at her side in an instant. "What?" He saw the envelope, looked at her quickly before opening the screen to pull it off the door. "You want me to…" All she could do was nod. The paper barely tore as he opened the flap and pulled out the lined note. He stepped under the glow of the security light to read it better. Finally, after the papers rustled several times, he sighed. "Go wait in the car."

"No. What did she write? I know she’s dead."

A sharp intake of breath was his only preamble. "Sarah: I’m real sorry to do this to you. But I’m kinda glad it will be you who finds us instead of the meter reader or some damned Jehovah’s Witness who finally notices the smell."

"Oh, God." She reached for the door handle, but he clasped her hand in his.

The tears were falling freely, but Clay had to let her hand go to turn to the next page. She leaned against the house, trying hard to regain her composure.

Clay looked at her for a moment. "She sounds like a real bitch."

Sarah shrugged. "You had to be there, I guess."

"I guess." He cleared his throat and finished. "Now I accept that she brought that pain on herself. You ain’t to blame and I’d be honored if you carry out my will. But, now I understand how busy you are and I won’t come back to haunt you if you decide you can’t. I left a note for my lawyer telling him who to appoint if you tell him to. There’s also a list of the names you’ll need and the numbers where you can reach them. I left a note for the sheriff. Don’t you just hate suicides who don’t leave notes?"

"Damn her!" Sarah looked out at the mists hovering over the water. "I should’ve been there for her."

"There’s a bit more."

"Great." She shivered and hugged herself tight.

He stood there, the note in his pocket, his arm around her waist, waiting for her to make the final decision. She knew he wanted to do this for her, but finally, she reached out and opened the door. That they were both familiar with the sickeningly sweet smell of death didn’t make it any easier.

The front room was spotless. The kitchen was equally clean. The two boxes rested on the table, just like her note said. There was also an envelope with the single word ‘Sheriff’ on it. "Better wait until the police get here," he said when she started to reach for the tin box. ‘St. Louis World’s Fair 1904’ was still shiny and clean. She closed her hand and turned away.

"Go ahead and call them," she said as she resolutely stepped to the closed door of the master bedroom.

"Sarah. You don’t have to do this."

Her hand on the doorknob, she turned and smiled bitterly, "Yes, I do." Then her face softened. "It’ll be okay."

It wasn’t pretty. The relaxation of the bowels in death wasn’t what any suicide thought about. The vodka bottle and the pill vial were both empty. Even without the smell, there was no doubt that Anna Mae was dead. Her hand, stiff in rigor, was clutching Deanne’s relaxed one.

Sarah exhaled, turned and walked past Clay, who was speaking softly on his cell phone. She grabbed up the tin and walked out of the house, down to the small fishing platform jutting out over the lake.

She focused on the sounds around her. The waves washed against the dock. Boat motors roared. A plane sputtered somewhere overhead.

Later, but not very much so, car doors slammed. Clay’s voice greeted the sheriff. Rubber wheels bumped and squeaked along the wooden slats of the walkway. The screen door slammed more times than she could count. She felt nothing but guilt and the cool tin against her hand.

Had she really thought that Clay’s arrival would solve her problems? What had both old women told her? Knowing, understanding, meant nothing. Why did she feel worse about Anna Mae’s suicide than her own mother’s death? She should’ve known! Stayed with Anna Mae. Made her understand that she had something to live for. Did she even have the right to presume that Anna Mae had to stay alive?

A pontoon boat slowly made its way past her. The people on board seemed to draw her attention. There was a couple, two small children and an older woman. Snatches of shouted happiness joined the splashing of the waves against the dock. Her eyes riveted on the old woman, who sat at the edge of the boat, looking away from the family. Even from this distance, Sarah could see she didn’t want to be on the boat with them. The children called to her, as children do, demanding attention, but the woman shook her head. «Jeeze, lady, enjoy your life. It doesn’t last long. You obviously have people who love you.» She shuddered at the truth of her own advice, and finally considered her inheritance. Something rattled inside and she pried open the lid. Would it send her on a quest like Harm’s? The box was almost a hundred years old. Who’d originally bought it? Was it even one of her ancestors? «Why didn’t you give it to me and tell me about it, Momma?»

A small gold and jade scarab stared up at her. Was it valuable? Was it as old or older than the box? Had it belonged to her Iranian grandmother? She supposed she could take it to a jeweler. Would it answer the deep questions of her life?

"Ain’t gonna change nothing," Her mother’s words echoed in her brain. And finally cold clarity showed her what Uncle Matt, John, and even Mic had tried to tell her.

She’d always prided herself on living in the moment. But she understood that she carried around the same guilt that had defined her mother’s life and destroyed Anna Mae in the process. She could only control her own life. Uncle Matt’s treason, Chris’s murder, John and Mic’s choices, even Harm’s verbal cruelty, were all beyond her control – and in the past. She’d gone on her quest, said what she thought she needed to say and, in the end, found no real answers, but one. It did no good to relive the past. Learn from your mistakes and move on. She decided to live, right now and in the moment. Whatever was going to happen, would happen. She’d do what she’d always done, her damned best.

"Sarah?" Clay said from right behind her. The relief that flooded through her was complete. He’d waited. Waited for her to just get past it.

"Yes?"

"The police have a couple of questions." He sounded annoyed that he couldn’t have handled it for her.

She turned and found her smile easily. "I’m ready now. Thanks for calling them. Will you stay with me?"

"Always."

Together, hand-in-hand, they walked back to the house.

Epilogue

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