Rock point collection, p.84
Rock Point Collection, page 84
“How many nights a week?”
“Usually just one, maybe two, but lately I’ve done three.” She shrugs, tapping the grinds out of the filter. “I’m lucky I have Mom to look after the boys.”
I’m about to ask why she upped her shifts, when the penny drops. “Liam’s soccer.”
It doesn’t take much to read from the expression on her face, I got it in one.
“Just for extras.”
I’m not rich by any stretch of the imagination, but I make a decent income. I can afford to live without big financial concerns, don’t have to consider every penny I spend, and Max sure doesn’t lack for anything. I remember money was always scarce growing up, though. Ma was on her feet all day long, six days a week at the diner in Cedar Tree, and whenever it was close to my birthday or Christmas; she’d work double shifts whenever she could get them.
With three boys, I imagine there will always be extras that need funding. Max’s birthday invitation last Saturday comes to mind and I wonder whether part of Marya’s initial hesitation was financial concern. Shit. I should’ve thought of that.
“Have you had a chance to talk to Kerry yet? About Silverton on the twenty-eighth?”
She pulls out a cardboard tray and starts tucking the cups in. “Just this morning. She says she won’t need me.”
“Good. I’m glad you and the boys’ll be able to make it. We’ll hammer out the details next week. You don’t have to worry about anything except wearing clothes that can stand to get dirty; everything else is taken care of. Ma’s bringing a trunkful of junk food and pop, so the boys will be good and wired, and I’m taking care of the tickets, so all you have to do is be ready.”
“That’s easy enough. I haven’t even told the kids yet.” She grins. “Liam knows of course, but I’ve sworn him to secrecy until I knew for sure. The boys’ll be excited.”
“So will Max,” I share. And then I share some more. “I’m pretty excited myself.”
Her eyes briefly meet mine before she shoves the tray over the counter.
“That’s fifteen sixteen, please.”
I pull out my wallet when I suddenly remember. “Shit, Damian said something about brownies.”
“Never fails,” Marya mumbles under her breath as she moves to the glass-domed tray on the other end of the counter.
“What was that?”
“Damian,” she says, lifting the dome. “He knows I bring in fresh brownies on Thursdays.”
“You baked those?”
“First thing in the morning,” she confirms, holding up tongs.
“In that case give me five.”
“Five?” She looks pointedly at the tray with four coffees.
“Two for me,” I clarify with a grin, and see a hint of pink hit her cheeks. I watch as she packs them in a small box, and adds them to my order.
“Twenty-three ninety-one, please.”
“I can’t believe you bake. I wonder if…” I purposely let my words trail off as I pull the money from my wallet and hand it to her.
“Wonder what?”
“Never mind.” I wave her off, grabbing the tray and the box. “You’re busy enough as it is.” I start to turn to the door when her hand snakes out and grabs hold of my wrist.
“What is it?” she insists.
“Oh, okay. I usually get Max one of those premade cakes from the City Market, but what if I bought you the ingredients?” I am so going to hell for this. “Would you consider baking him a proper birthday cake? It would absolutely make his day.”
Her face lights up. “I’d love to. I do my boys’ cakes every year. But you don’t have to get the ingredients, I’ll take care of—”
“No way,” I cut her off, setting down my purchases and pulling my wallet out again, slapping two twenties on the counter. “I pay for the ingredients and no argument.”
I snatch up the tray and the box and make a beeline for the door.
“Wait!” she calls after me. “I don’t even know what he likes.”
“I’ll text you later,” I return before slipping out the door.
I’m grinning ear to ear when I get behind the wheel.
I’m not only going to hell, my mother is going to ream me a new one when I tell her she’s not making Max’s cake this year.
Marya
The kids should be home soon.
I’m being ridiculous. I’ve sat here at the kitchen counter for the past half hour with the phone in my hand, Dylan’s contact information open.
He said he’d text me, but my phone’s been quiet since yesterday. Then I thought maybe he’d drop by the bookstore this morning, but he didn’t.
I’m sitting here wondering if I’ve lost the last of my marbles. How did I get from keeping my distance to being impatient for a glimpse or a word?
The door flies open and my boys come barging in, dropping their backpacks where they land.
“Hey, Mom!”
“Guys, pick up those bags right now and take them up to your room,” I direct the kids. “Then get your butts down here and bring your dirty laundry.”
There are a lot of days I wish for carpeted stairs, today being one of them. It sounds like a herd of stampeding buffalo through my house.
After Mom moved out, I pulled up the old, dusty pink carpet to expose the nice hardwood floors throughout the house and I’ve occasionally questioned the wisdom of that. I always intended to sand and refinish them, but never got around to it. So instead of gleaming, they look scraped and dented. Probably for the better anyway. I’ll wait until the kids have passed their loud and destructive phase before sinking time and effort into it.
Despite the age of the house, and aside from the small closed off entryway, the main floor has an open feel: one big living and dining space, and only a long counter separating the kitchen. I like it, makes it easier to keep an eye on the kids while I cook, the flip side of that being there’s little privacy. I will occasionally escape into the small laundry room off the kitchen if I don’t want to kids to overhear or interrupt, and I briefly contemplate slipping in there to try and call Dylan.
“Mom?” Harry yells, already thundering his way back downstairs. “Can we order pizza for dinner?”
Resolutely, I put my phone facedown on the counter and get up to grab the overflowing basket from my youngest. The amounts of laundry these boys produce every week is overwhelming and takes me most of my weekend to get through.
Pizza is a luxury I let them indulge in only on my biweekly payday, which happens to be today. I swear my youngest keeps track. “We’ll see.” Harry already pumps his fist in victory before he sits down at the counter.
Liam is the last one to come down. I take his basket, shove it in the laundry room with the others and wait until he’s taken a seat.
“You wanna tell them about next week, Liam?”
His eyes shoot up at me, a surprised grin on his face. “We can go?”
“Looks like it.”
While he enthusiastically shares with his brothers, I pull the brochures I printed out at work this morning from my purse and hand one to each of the boys. Even Theo, who is the most laid-back of the bunch, lets out a whoop.
“Just to be clear,” I finally manage to get a word in edgewise. “Your homework better be done every day, there’ll be no fighting, and I don’t want any lip from you two…” I point first at Theo and then Harry, “…about getting up tomorrow morning to come to your brother’s soccer game.”
“What time?” Theo asks, and I send him a scathing look.
“Seriously, kid? You’re considering passing up on this depending on what time you have to get up? Don’t think I won’t cut you out and leave you with Grandma while your brothers and I go have fun, because I will.”
He looks a little sheepish and mumbles, “Never mind.”
“Good call, Bub.”
-
It’s after homework, pizza, and a rerun of Iron Man the kids and I piled on the couch to watch—them because…Marvel, and me because…Robert Downing Jr.—with popcorn, our Friday night family fun.
The kids are in bed and I’m just straightening up the kitchen before turning in myself when my phone, still facedown on the counter, vibrates against the surface.
Dylan: Sorry for the late hour. You awake?
I was pretty proud of myself for not checking my phone all night, thinking I nipped this unhealthy attraction in the bud. However, the immediate butterflies his message sets loose in my stomach proves otherwise. Shit.
Me: Yes
It takes me several minutes to formulate my response. Typing, erasing, typing some more, only to backspace the whole thing again, and this is what I end up with. Ugh.
I startle when the phone rings in my hand, quickly answering.
“Hello?”
“It’s been a crazy two days.” The sound of his chuckle so close to my ear has goosebumps pop up on my skin. There’s something intimate about the lazy drawl in his voice, as if talking to me at the end of his day is a common occurrence.
“How so?” My own voice sounds a little hoarse, and I quickly clear my throat.
“A new development in a case that kept me busy into late last night, so Max stayed at his grandparents. I didn’t see him until I picked him up from school this afternoon, and then we had homework to deal with, went to get groceries, cooked dinner, and we ended up both passing out on the couch watching some TV. I just put him to bed, but he woke up long enough to announce he likes red velvet or chocolate.”
“Life can get crazy when you parent alone.” I catch myself smiling, even though I know he can’t see me. With the phone at my ear, I make my way around the house, flicking off lights and making sure doors are locked before I head up the stairs.
“That’s for sure.”
“And by the way, I can do red velvet and chocolate.”
“Really? That’s awesome.”
“Other than soccer and gaming, is there anything else he really likes? A book, a show, a movie—anything I could use for inspiration?”
“You need inspiration for a cake?” He sounds incredulous, which strikes me as funny.
“You do if you plan on decorating said cake.”
“I see. Well, he’s a big fan of Marvel.”
I flop down on my bed, smiling. “The boys and I just finished watching Iron Man.”
“Really? The original?”
“Are you seriously asking that? Of course.” There is that chuckle again in my ear.
“Iron Man is cool, but Max is sold on Deadpool. That’s his favorite Marvel movie.”
“So violent, though.” I shudder remembering some of the bloody scenes. “I thought it would be more like the other movies, otherwise I would probably have thought twice about letting the boys watch it.”
“I get that, but I figure it’s better to let them watch when you’re around than to see it at a friend’s house without supervision.”
“I guess.” I stifle a yawn, my week catching up with me.
“I’m sorry, I’m keeping you from your bed.”
“Not exactly,” I confess. “I’m already there.”
There’s dead silence on the other end and I realize that for someone trying to keep their distance, I may have shared more than I should’ve. Suddenly self-conscious, I start to ramble.
“I mean, I haven’t changed or brushed my teeth yet, but I’m in my bedroom, lying on my bed.” I snap my mouth shut. It’s like I have no filter. I’m only making this worse, but I can’t seem to help myself. “I don’t usually sleep in my clothes—except maybe when it gets so cold outside I can’t get the house warm—but normally I don’t wear clothes to bed. I mean I wear something, of course, with kids around and all that, but—”
“Marya, stop talking,” he finally rumbles.
I wince, mortified. Jesus, I’m a tease—a cock tease. I totally fail at keeping my distance.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I was just…”
Being an idiot?
“As informative as this conversation has been,” Dylan says, humor in his voice. “I’m going to hang up now before this goes places I know we’re not ready to go. I’ll see you tomorrow at the game.”
My head is stuck on those places he’s talking about, but I still manage to echo my goodbye.
“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
The moment I hear dead air, I drop my phone on the mattress, roll over and shove my face in the pillows, and let go of a frustrated groan.
I am so fucked.
SIX
Dylan
She brought her family.
I watch as Marya approaches, a lanky boy I assume is her oldest, dragging his heels by her side, while behind her an older, gray-haired woman has a much younger boy by the hand. The resemblance tells me this is her mother, and the young boy looks the spitting image of his older brother. The same dark hair as their mother, unlike Liam, who is blond. He’s already joined his team on the field.
“Morning,” I greet them, standing up when she stops in front of me, a little tentatively.
“Morning,” she echoes, before turning to her mother. “Mom, this is Dylan Barnes, he works with Damian.” To me she says, “My mom, Lydia Stewart, and my boys, Harrison and Theodor. Boys, this is Max’s father.”
I shake hands with her mother and both boys, when the youngest pipes up, “Do you think we’ll find gold?”
I’m guessing Marya told her boys about next weekend and I grin at him. “Anything is possible. I’ve been there before and never have, but I’ve heard stories of people going home luckier than me.”
“You get to keep it?” the older one, Theo, asks.
“Yup. You find it, you keep it.”
“Rad,” he mutters.
“Mom, can we go to the playground?”
“Sure, but stick with your brother, okay?”
Harry nods, punches his brother in the arm and starts running in the direction of the small park on the far side of the field, the other boy chasing him.
“Have you seen Liam play before?” I ask Lydia when we sit down.
“I have, but not in an actual game.”
I see questions in the woman’s eyes, which have little to do with her grandson or the game on the field, and I read her concern, but I have no answers to give. Not yet anyway. I know what I want, but I’m not sure I can have it, that’ll be up to her daughter.
Twenty minutes into the game my phone rings. It’s the office.
“Excuse me.” I get up and walk away from the bleachers to take the call. “What’s up?”
“Sorry, Barnes,” Jasper answers. “Any way you can get to the office? James Aiken just dropped in and wants to meet with us all.”
“Out of the blue?”
James Aiken is the big honcho at the FBI’s Denver office who Damian reports to.
“Yup. Had me call everyone in, he’s holed up in Damian’s office for now.”
“Not getting a good vibe from this,” I share.
“You’re not the only one. Anyway, I know you’ve got Max to sort out, I can stall for an hour or so.”
“I’ll need it. I’m in Aztec at his game. I’ll have to call in some help.” My eyes drift to Marya, who is looking at me with concern in her eyes. The stress I feel must be visible. “An hour,” I repeat before hanging up.
“Everything okay?” she asks when I return.
“Got called into the office for an emergency meeting in an hour. I’m going to have to pull Max and drop him at Ma’s.”
“Don’t do that. We can take him back with us, drop him at your mother’s.”
I open my mouth to object, but I change my mind at the last minute. This is not familiar to me, but the offer of help feels fucking great. It’s always been me and Ma or Clint in emergencies.
“You sure?”
She smiles as she nods, and I can feel the warmth of it in my gut.
Fully aware of her mother sitting on the other side of her, I lean in and limit myself to kissing her cheek. “I owe you big time,” I whisper against her ear.
Ten minutes later, after a quick chat at the fence with Max and a call to warn Ma, I’m on my way back to Durango, the knot in my stomach at what awaits me there getting tighter with every mile.
-
“You’re kidding?”
I look up to find Luna glaring at Aiken.
“Luna,” Damian warns, drawing her attention.
“I’m sorry, but this is bullshit. We’re already spread pretty thin, and now we’re supposed to babysit fresh trainees?”
“Actually, they’ll have graduated their training, so technically they’re fresh agents,” David offers sardonically. “Besides, as you said, you have been spread thin and since it’s not currently in the budget to assign another experienced agent, this will provide you with an added body, without digging into your wallet. Quantico is picking up the tab for this.”
It’s clear Luna is resistant, and I can understand why, working together with a team requires trust, and that’s not easy to give for Luna. It took me over a year to get to a point where she saw me as a full member of the team. Bringing someone in for three-month stints at a time is hardly enough to build the kind of trust required, but everyone has to start somewhere.
Damian and Jasper seem only mildly annoyed. I agree it’s going to mess with the nice balance we have in our office, but David’s right, it’s a cheap addition of manpower. In addition to that, it will make me no longer the junior agent in the office, which is something I look forward to.
I’m not going to say that out loud, though. Not with Luna up in arms. I like my balls attached to my body.
“Why a small field office like ours?” she questions. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to have them in a place that has more constant action? Bigger? Like, say, Denver?”
I bite down a chuckle and glance at David, but he just seems equally amused at Luna’s sarcasm.
“In a larger office, they’d see maybe twenty-five percent of the casework. Here they’d not only be exposed to the full view, but can see how the different levels of an investigation work together. For an office this small, you have a uniquely complete set of skills represented between the four of you.”
