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Chapter or Story
See Part 1 for disclaimer.
Brand New Year, Part 17
WARNING: The following may induce vomiting.
By Ginger
“So, what are you hoping for: A boy or a girl?”
“What?” Emily inquired defensively to the look shot at her from across the kitchen counter then pointed out, “It’s a question! People ask!”
“Yes, but I expected more of you,” Miranda stated with a smirk as she lifted her mug of herbal tea.
“Hey, at least I didn’t tell you you’re glowing.”
“Which is nice because it means that I don’t have to kill you... God,” Miranda sighed and continued, “The things I let that brother of yours talk me into. Now I find myself spouting clichés like: ‘I don’t care whether we have a boy or a girl, as long as the baby is healthy and has ten fingers and ten toes.’ Oh, and an inherent ability to give the appearance of normalcy while always keeping one eye trained over his or her shoulder would be a nice bonus.”
With a sympathetic smile Emily offered, “It’s a real leap of faith, I know, but you seem to be holding up okay. In fact, at the risk of incurring egregious bodily harm, I must confess to detecting a tiny hint of iridescence, you know, just around the edges.”
“I’m going to forget you said that... Hell, who am I kidding, I’m outnumbered. Every morning Jarod brings Michael into the bedroom so the two of them can engage in a lengthy, in-depth conversations with my navel.”
“That sounds nauseatingly cute.”
“Well, I’m usually pretty nauseated, but I guess that could be morning sickness.”
"How are you feeling, really?"
"Pretty good, actually. According to the books that your brother will insist on bringing home, the second trimester is about as good as it gets. I've got more energy now and, joking aside, the nausea is just about gone. Of course, I can look forward to getting big as a house, swelling ankles, stretch marks, and hemmoroids. Yup, this experience definitely has 'Compliments of Jarod' written all over it."
"Well, I certainly hope so. And what did you expect, the way you two carry on?"
"Excuse me?"
"I got the live show - well, the audio, which was more than I needed, thank you - while I was getting dressed this morning."
"Sorry," Miranda offered with a wince.
Emily shrugged and, after a few moments of companionable silence, observed, “Wow, what a difference a year makes. It sounds like you guys really are... alright.”
With a sigh Miranda reflected, “I guess we just needed to strike the right balance between living in fear and living in hope.”
* * * *
Once the dust had settled after Jarod’s outburst, he and Miranda were still left facing the implications of Ethan’s disclosure. Several long, tense conversations ensued as they struggled to find a way to prepare Michael to bear a burden that neither wanted him to carry.
Ethan remained with them for a few weeks until one evening at dinner he announced, rather abruptly, that he would be leaving early the next morning. When in unison his siblings asked why, he simply responded that it was time for him to go. Later, each one confronted him individually to press the issue, only to receive the same sweet smile and unsatisfactory reply that it was “time to go.” On the morning of his departure, he promised not to stay away too long and, with a wink to his nephew, assured that he would never be too far away.
Then they were three, again. Field work on the study concluded in early May, around the time of Michael’s second birthday. So, Jarod and Miranda threw a party, which ultimately ended up doubling as the wrap party. Everyone on the study team was there, and Luis and Ele had their children come down for the weekend so they could attend. It was a big success, and Michael had a ball, gleefully unwrapping gifts while throwing around smiles that charmed the pants off everyone in the room. Having accompanied his father to work often, he had been adopted by the team as their mascot and, if the large pile of gifts he received were any indication, he was clearly popular boy. Watching him work the room, his mother noted with amusement and affection that he was definitely his father’s son.
Late that night, as they lay in bed together exhausted after cleaning up, Jarod and Miranda agreed that it felt like the right time to move on. While they hated leaving behind their little slice of paradise, both were keenly aware that lingering too long would place their son, themselves and the people they had let into their lives in danger. As they were packing to leave the next day, taking few of their own belongings to save space for Michael’s things, Miranda sighed, slumped onto the bed and remarked,
“So, this is our life.”
“It’s not so bad,” Jarod offered encouragingly. “At least we’re not alone.”
Meeting his eyes, it dawned on Miranda that this was the only life, outside of the Centre anyway, that Jarod had ever known and that, for him, it actually marked a vast improvement over the years spent wandering alone to evade capture. She shot up from the bed and was in his arms in an instant, holding him close and tenderly stroking his hair as she murmured, “You’re right; we’re not alone. I love you.”
Crushing her to him he nodded and replied, “I love you too, Andi.” Slackening his hold, he pulled back and with an impish grin observed, "It really would be a shame to leave ALL those bikinis behind. One... or two... will hardly take up any space at all."
Rolling her eyes she agreed, "Okay, monkeyboy, two. You pick."
"Um," he began, his face twisting into an intensely earnest expression. "The black and... the blue."
"Black and blue, eh?" she remarked with a smirk.
"Rather fitting, wouldn't you say, for a guy in love with you."
Early the following morning they were on their way, to where they had no idea so they decided to see more of the country as they plotted their course. Two days after their departure, Jarod contacted the real estate agent to say that they had been called home earlier than expected, that the keys to the house should be arriving that day via courier, and that she was free to either offer the things they'd left behind to the next tenants or to donate everything to charity.
About a week later, during their stay at Tortuguero on the Caribbean Coast, they agreed to go back to the beginning, so to speak, and head to Scotland to try to find out anything else they could about the scrolls. While neither had any intention of stepping foot on the cursed Isle of Carthis with their son, they figured it couldn't hurt to do a little investigating on the mainland.
There was one final bit of business to attend to on their last day in Costa Rica. Strolling lazily through the village with Michael napping in the carrier on his father's back, they approached a small gift shop and stopped. Looking knowingly into one another's eyes, they stepped up to the rack of post cards next to the entrance and began flipping through them, each taking turns holding up a card for the other's inspection, shaking their heads, and making another selection. When they found what they were looking for they went inside. Jarod scrawled a message on the back of the card and held it up for Miranda to read. She nodded and he handed it to the shopkeeper to post along with at least five times what he owed the man. They left without getting their change. Flipping the card over to read it, the shopkeeper furrowed his brow and sighed, attributing his lack of comprehension to a limited knowledge of the English language. With a shrug he set down the photograph of a monkey clinging contentedly to a tree trunk and dismissed the strange words written on the back:
*To the Man With The Yellow Hat - The little monkey that got away is enjoying his refuge.*
Having let their surrogate father and friend know that they were well, they left behind their tropical paradise, thereby bringing to a close the first chapter of their life together, which in retrospect was actually more of a prologue.
While their visit to Scotland was in many ways pleasant, with Jarod and Miranda passing easily as academics enjoying a long summer holiday with their young son, it was proving less than fruitful with regard to their quest for information about the scrolls. They were disappointed, if not surprised, to find that most church scholars, historians, and folklorists they contacted claimed complete ignorance of the scrolls. And the few who didn't were nervous or hostile or both and, therefore, not particularly forthcoming on the topic. Meanwhile, Michael's fascination with monkeys was replaced by an obsession with sheep and border collies. Muddiness ensued, prompting Miranda to buy him his own little pair of bright yellow Wellies and a matching rain slicker that made him look like Paddington Bear.
Feeling a good deal less secure so close to the scene of so much trouble less than two years earlier, they moved around frequently, rarely spending more than a night or two in the same place. Miranda began to have trouble sleeping or, at least, staying asleep. She would wake up with a start several times a night, as if from a nightmare, but could not recall what she'd been dreaming. Jarod became increasingly worried and had pretty much made up his mind that they were leaving Scotland the night that she gasped and bolted upright in bed.
"What is it?" Jarod asked with concern as he flicked on the bedside lamp. He was wide awake, having all but abandoned sleep since she had begun having the dreams.
"Interpretation!" Miranda blurted in a loud whisper then glanced over at the crib in the corner of the room to see if their son had stirred. Satisfied that he hadn't she continued, "What Mama told Ethan was that the scrolls predicted Michael would 'bring about' the downfall of the Centre."
"Yes," he replied with a weary sigh and a frown. "We've already covered that."
"No," she challenged, waving her hand dismissively. "We've interpreted 'bring about' to mean that he, personally, would be the one to destroy the Centre. But 'bring about' doesn't necessarily mean 'to act', does it? Couldn't it mean 'to cause' or 'influence' or, maybe even, 'inspire'?"
She cast him a knowing glance, which he answered with a blank stare for a beat or two then his eyes widened in comprehension and he asked hopefully, "Do you think it could mean...?"
"That... maybe... Michael's existence was meant to bring us, the Angel and the Chosen, together. And we're together for a purpose. I mean a purpose beyond this..." She reached up to stroke his cheek, smiling as she ran her thumb lovingly over his birthmark before adding, "Maybe we're supposed to fight like hell to destroy that place so our children will never have to live the way we did. Our motivation is personal but it serves a higher purpose. Maybe it's suppose to be that way. Maybe it was always meant to be that way. You said it: that you've always known that there was more to our lives than you run and I chase."
"Actually, I was more or less referring to this," he confessed with a nod at the bed they were currently occupying.
"Yeah," she stated with a grin. "I know, but this works too, doesn't it?"
"So," he began. "Instead of running we..."
"Fight," she finished.
"We'll need help."
"We've got help - three very capable men already on the inside, four if we count Sam."
"Can we count Sam?"
"Yes, I believe we can. He arrived on the scene when I was taking Michael. Everything was happening so quickly that I'm not sure exactly how, but I believe he acted in some way to assist me."
"It won't be easy," he warned as he pulled her into an embrace.
"Like difficult makes a change for us," she muttered softly against his neck.
Drawing lazy circles on her arm, Jarod reflected for a moment or two then smiled and remarked, "You said 'children', Andi. 'So our children will never have to live the way we did.'"
"Did I? Shit."
* * * *
"So," Miranda explained over her second cup of tea. "Sydney, Broots and Angelo are our eyes and ears on the inside with Sam doing his best to watch their backs. And Broots, of all people, is leading an underground movement, organizing a group of Centre employees who are tired of selling their souls and want to make things right. Broots, a natural-born leader. Who knew?" She chuckled then added, "He's really something. You know what that little shit said to me?"
"Hmmm?" Emily responded over her mug as she drew a sip.
"When we rendezvoused with him and Sam a few weeks back, I made a remark about how surreal it must be to see Jarod and me together like this and he said, 'Yeah, it's a real shocker, to anyone born without eyes and ears maybe.'"
"The nerve," Emily commented with a smirk.
"Well, I remember a time when he'd never have dared," Miranda said with a wistful sigh then added, "Of course, that was before I became a mere vessel for Jarod's spawn."
"I heard that," a male voice called from the doorway.
"Which is why I said it," she shot back without turning around.
"Hey Em," Jarod greeted as he approached his sister with open arms. Wrapping them snuggly around her, he kissed her forehead and said, "I was wondering when I'd run into you."
"I've been working as a stringer for the local rag and had an early assignment so I couldn't wait up for you guys last night."
"It's great to see you," he said, giving her another bear hug.
"You too, daddy-to-be-again."
"Isn't it great!" he beamed.
"Where is my son?" Miranda asked with a slight cock of her head.
"I left him out in the garage with Dad and James. He made his desire to remain there abundantly clear. He is his mother's son, you know," he added addressing his sister then continued, "It's a beautiful day. Mid- sixties. What do you two say to a walk?"
"I've got a story to write so I'll have to decline, but you two should definitely go," Emily advised as she slid off the stool and paced over to the sink rinse out her mug, adding over her shoulder, "Carmel is a lot more habitable this time of year than Old Forge. I think it's like seventeen degrees there today."
"True," Jarod concurred with a shrug of his shoulders. "But I'd still like to get back there someday. It is, after all, the place where my life began."
* * * *
"Did you have to be so rude?" Jarod challenged as they approached the house.
"Yes, I believe I did. The guy was an asshole."
"Agreed, but was it really necessary for you to announce that fact to everyone in the store?"
"Uh, yeah!"
"Would it kill you to hold that tongue of yours once in a while?"
"You don't seem to have any problem with this tongue of mine when I'm using it to..."
"Dad."
"Son."
"Charles."
"Did you kids have a nice walk?" the Major asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"Fabulous," Miranda replied rolling her eyes then added, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to urinate for about the fiftieth time today thanks to your son," before jogging up the front steps and disappearing into the house.
"Subtlety is not her strong suit," Jarod stated with a sigh.
"Told her you love her today?"
"Twice... so far."
"That's my boy!" his father offered with a slap on the back then walked around the house toward the garage.
Jarod shook his head and, bearing a wry smile, sauntered up the porch steps and into the house.
* * * *
"So, tell me," Miranda inquired conspiratorily over her cards. "Is this Laurel chick I've been hearing so much about your girlfriend?"
Blushing a deep red James protested, "She's not a chick! She... she's amazing. She's the editor of her school newspaper, knows almost as much about computers as I do, and... and you should see her surf. She's teaching me but there's no way I'll ever be as good as she is."
"Bet she looks cute in a bikini too."
"Well... yeah," he admitted, averting his eyes.
"Gin!" Miranda announced triumphantly.
"No fair," James grumbled through a grudging smile. "You've been distracting me. I think pregnancy has made you evil."
"Correction, kiddo," she replied with a snicker.
"Pregnancy has made me MORE evil."
* * * *
Jarod stepped out onto the deck to find Miranda sitting on the porch swing, propelling it gently to and fro with one foot as she gazed up into the night sky. Michael was sound asleep with his head in her lap, one ear pressed against the still modest, but nonetheless visible, swell of her abdomen. Jarod smiled, taking a moment to revel in everything that was beautiful and right with his world before approaching the swing.
"Any room for me?" he asked softly.
Miranda nodded, motioning for him sit down beside them. He carefully lifted his son's legs to slide beneath them so that Michael's body spanned both his parents' laps. The child stirred slightly and blinked his eyes open for instant.
"It's okay, kiddo," Jarod soothed. "It's only me."
"Daddy," the boy yawned then drifted off again.
Jarod turned his head to press a kiss to Miranda's temple then uttered into her hair, "I've been thinking..."
"Again?" she remarked. "I thought we agreed you were going to stop that."
He chuffed then continued, "Remember, last year, when you said that if things ever changed, you would take your mother's maiden name?"
"Mmm-hmm," she responded lazily.
"Well... I was wondering if... when... and if... we succeed in changing things, you would considering taking another name... mine."
Miranda straightened in her seat, met Jarod's eyes and inquired, "So, this is a marriage proposal?"
Blinking away from the intensity of her gaze he answered, "Yes, I guess it is. Of course, there's no telling when I'll actually be able to follow through on it. The Centre isn't going anywhere tomorrow and we still haven't found my mother."
"This year, Jarod," she assured, nuzzling him. "Like I told Em and your dad this afternoon, Broots's leads are getting fresher all the time. We'll find her this year."
Nodding he continued, "So... What do you say? Could be a year; could be fifty. Either way, you're worth the wait."
"Yes," she replied with a smirk. "I will marry you in fifty years, Jarod."
"Sure, you say that now," he challenged playfully. "Because you think I won't make it to ninety."
"Oh, you'll make it, alright. If only to compel me to keep my promise."
"Well it is a matter of principle," he tacked on with a smile. Silence reigned for a time until he stated,
"It's a brand new year, Andi."
"That it is, Jarod."
# # # #
Brand New Year, Part 17
WARNING: The following may induce vomiting.
By Ginger
“So, what are you hoping for: A boy or a girl?”
“What?” Emily inquired defensively to the look shot at her from across the kitchen counter then pointed out, “It’s a question! People ask!”
“Yes, but I expected more of you,” Miranda stated with a smirk as she lifted her mug of herbal tea.
“Hey, at least I didn’t tell you you’re glowing.”
“Which is nice because it means that I don’t have to kill you... God,” Miranda sighed and continued, “The things I let that brother of yours talk me into. Now I find myself spouting clichés like: ‘I don’t care whether we have a boy or a girl, as long as the baby is healthy and has ten fingers and ten toes.’ Oh, and an inherent ability to give the appearance of normalcy while always keeping one eye trained over his or her shoulder would be a nice bonus.”
With a sympathetic smile Emily offered, “It’s a real leap of faith, I know, but you seem to be holding up okay. In fact, at the risk of incurring egregious bodily harm, I must confess to detecting a tiny hint of iridescence, you know, just around the edges.”
“I’m going to forget you said that... Hell, who am I kidding, I’m outnumbered. Every morning Jarod brings Michael into the bedroom so the two of them can engage in a lengthy, in-depth conversations with my navel.”
“That sounds nauseatingly cute.”
“Well, I’m usually pretty nauseated, but I guess that could be morning sickness.”
"How are you feeling, really?"
"Pretty good, actually. According to the books that your brother will insist on bringing home, the second trimester is about as good as it gets. I've got more energy now and, joking aside, the nausea is just about gone. Of course, I can look forward to getting big as a house, swelling ankles, stretch marks, and hemmoroids. Yup, this experience definitely has 'Compliments of Jarod' written all over it."
"Well, I certainly hope so. And what did you expect, the way you two carry on?"
"Excuse me?"
"I got the live show - well, the audio, which was more than I needed, thank you - while I was getting dressed this morning."
"Sorry," Miranda offered with a wince.
Emily shrugged and, after a few moments of companionable silence, observed, “Wow, what a difference a year makes. It sounds like you guys really are... alright.”
With a sigh Miranda reflected, “I guess we just needed to strike the right balance between living in fear and living in hope.”
* * * *
Once the dust had settled after Jarod’s outburst, he and Miranda were still left facing the implications of Ethan’s disclosure. Several long, tense conversations ensued as they struggled to find a way to prepare Michael to bear a burden that neither wanted him to carry.
Ethan remained with them for a few weeks until one evening at dinner he announced, rather abruptly, that he would be leaving early the next morning. When in unison his siblings asked why, he simply responded that it was time for him to go. Later, each one confronted him individually to press the issue, only to receive the same sweet smile and unsatisfactory reply that it was “time to go.” On the morning of his departure, he promised not to stay away too long and, with a wink to his nephew, assured that he would never be too far away.
Then they were three, again. Field work on the study concluded in early May, around the time of Michael’s second birthday. So, Jarod and Miranda threw a party, which ultimately ended up doubling as the wrap party. Everyone on the study team was there, and Luis and Ele had their children come down for the weekend so they could attend. It was a big success, and Michael had a ball, gleefully unwrapping gifts while throwing around smiles that charmed the pants off everyone in the room. Having accompanied his father to work often, he had been adopted by the team as their mascot and, if the large pile of gifts he received were any indication, he was clearly popular boy. Watching him work the room, his mother noted with amusement and affection that he was definitely his father’s son.
Late that night, as they lay in bed together exhausted after cleaning up, Jarod and Miranda agreed that it felt like the right time to move on. While they hated leaving behind their little slice of paradise, both were keenly aware that lingering too long would place their son, themselves and the people they had let into their lives in danger. As they were packing to leave the next day, taking few of their own belongings to save space for Michael’s things, Miranda sighed, slumped onto the bed and remarked,
“So, this is our life.”
“It’s not so bad,” Jarod offered encouragingly. “At least we’re not alone.”
Meeting his eyes, it dawned on Miranda that this was the only life, outside of the Centre anyway, that Jarod had ever known and that, for him, it actually marked a vast improvement over the years spent wandering alone to evade capture. She shot up from the bed and was in his arms in an instant, holding him close and tenderly stroking his hair as she murmured, “You’re right; we’re not alone. I love you.”
Crushing her to him he nodded and replied, “I love you too, Andi.” Slackening his hold, he pulled back and with an impish grin observed, "It really would be a shame to leave ALL those bikinis behind. One... or two... will hardly take up any space at all."
Rolling her eyes she agreed, "Okay, monkeyboy, two. You pick."
"Um," he began, his face twisting into an intensely earnest expression. "The black and... the blue."
"Black and blue, eh?" she remarked with a smirk.
"Rather fitting, wouldn't you say, for a guy in love with you."
Early the following morning they were on their way, to where they had no idea so they decided to see more of the country as they plotted their course. Two days after their departure, Jarod contacted the real estate agent to say that they had been called home earlier than expected, that the keys to the house should be arriving that day via courier, and that she was free to either offer the things they'd left behind to the next tenants or to donate everything to charity.
About a week later, during their stay at Tortuguero on the Caribbean Coast, they agreed to go back to the beginning, so to speak, and head to Scotland to try to find out anything else they could about the scrolls. While neither had any intention of stepping foot on the cursed Isle of Carthis with their son, they figured it couldn't hurt to do a little investigating on the mainland.
There was one final bit of business to attend to on their last day in Costa Rica. Strolling lazily through the village with Michael napping in the carrier on his father's back, they approached a small gift shop and stopped. Looking knowingly into one another's eyes, they stepped up to the rack of post cards next to the entrance and began flipping through them, each taking turns holding up a card for the other's inspection, shaking their heads, and making another selection. When they found what they were looking for they went inside. Jarod scrawled a message on the back of the card and held it up for Miranda to read. She nodded and he handed it to the shopkeeper to post along with at least five times what he owed the man. They left without getting their change. Flipping the card over to read it, the shopkeeper furrowed his brow and sighed, attributing his lack of comprehension to a limited knowledge of the English language. With a shrug he set down the photograph of a monkey clinging contentedly to a tree trunk and dismissed the strange words written on the back:
*To the Man With The Yellow Hat - The little monkey that got away is enjoying his refuge.*
Having let their surrogate father and friend know that they were well, they left behind their tropical paradise, thereby bringing to a close the first chapter of their life together, which in retrospect was actually more of a prologue.
While their visit to Scotland was in many ways pleasant, with Jarod and Miranda passing easily as academics enjoying a long summer holiday with their young son, it was proving less than fruitful with regard to their quest for information about the scrolls. They were disappointed, if not surprised, to find that most church scholars, historians, and folklorists they contacted claimed complete ignorance of the scrolls. And the few who didn't were nervous or hostile or both and, therefore, not particularly forthcoming on the topic. Meanwhile, Michael's fascination with monkeys was replaced by an obsession with sheep and border collies. Muddiness ensued, prompting Miranda to buy him his own little pair of bright yellow Wellies and a matching rain slicker that made him look like Paddington Bear.
Feeling a good deal less secure so close to the scene of so much trouble less than two years earlier, they moved around frequently, rarely spending more than a night or two in the same place. Miranda began to have trouble sleeping or, at least, staying asleep. She would wake up with a start several times a night, as if from a nightmare, but could not recall what she'd been dreaming. Jarod became increasingly worried and had pretty much made up his mind that they were leaving Scotland the night that she gasped and bolted upright in bed.
"What is it?" Jarod asked with concern as he flicked on the bedside lamp. He was wide awake, having all but abandoned sleep since she had begun having the dreams.
"Interpretation!" Miranda blurted in a loud whisper then glanced over at the crib in the corner of the room to see if their son had stirred. Satisfied that he hadn't she continued, "What Mama told Ethan was that the scrolls predicted Michael would 'bring about' the downfall of the Centre."
"Yes," he replied with a weary sigh and a frown. "We've already covered that."
"No," she challenged, waving her hand dismissively. "We've interpreted 'bring about' to mean that he, personally, would be the one to destroy the Centre. But 'bring about' doesn't necessarily mean 'to act', does it? Couldn't it mean 'to cause' or 'influence' or, maybe even, 'inspire'?"
She cast him a knowing glance, which he answered with a blank stare for a beat or two then his eyes widened in comprehension and he asked hopefully, "Do you think it could mean...?"
"That... maybe... Michael's existence was meant to bring us, the Angel and the Chosen, together. And we're together for a purpose. I mean a purpose beyond this..." She reached up to stroke his cheek, smiling as she ran her thumb lovingly over his birthmark before adding, "Maybe we're supposed to fight like hell to destroy that place so our children will never have to live the way we did. Our motivation is personal but it serves a higher purpose. Maybe it's suppose to be that way. Maybe it was always meant to be that way. You said it: that you've always known that there was more to our lives than you run and I chase."
"Actually, I was more or less referring to this," he confessed with a nod at the bed they were currently occupying.
"Yeah," she stated with a grin. "I know, but this works too, doesn't it?"
"So," he began. "Instead of running we..."
"Fight," she finished.
"We'll need help."
"We've got help - three very capable men already on the inside, four if we count Sam."
"Can we count Sam?"
"Yes, I believe we can. He arrived on the scene when I was taking Michael. Everything was happening so quickly that I'm not sure exactly how, but I believe he acted in some way to assist me."
"It won't be easy," he warned as he pulled her into an embrace.
"Like difficult makes a change for us," she muttered softly against his neck.
Drawing lazy circles on her arm, Jarod reflected for a moment or two then smiled and remarked, "You said 'children', Andi. 'So our children will never have to live the way we did.'"
"Did I? Shit."
* * * *
"So," Miranda explained over her second cup of tea. "Sydney, Broots and Angelo are our eyes and ears on the inside with Sam doing his best to watch their backs. And Broots, of all people, is leading an underground movement, organizing a group of Centre employees who are tired of selling their souls and want to make things right. Broots, a natural-born leader. Who knew?" She chuckled then added, "He's really something. You know what that little shit said to me?"
"Hmmm?" Emily responded over her mug as she drew a sip.
"When we rendezvoused with him and Sam a few weeks back, I made a remark about how surreal it must be to see Jarod and me together like this and he said, 'Yeah, it's a real shocker, to anyone born without eyes and ears maybe.'"
"The nerve," Emily commented with a smirk.
"Well, I remember a time when he'd never have dared," Miranda said with a wistful sigh then added, "Of course, that was before I became a mere vessel for Jarod's spawn."
"I heard that," a male voice called from the doorway.
"Which is why I said it," she shot back without turning around.
"Hey Em," Jarod greeted as he approached his sister with open arms. Wrapping them snuggly around her, he kissed her forehead and said, "I was wondering when I'd run into you."
"I've been working as a stringer for the local rag and had an early assignment so I couldn't wait up for you guys last night."
"It's great to see you," he said, giving her another bear hug.
"You too, daddy-to-be-again."
"Isn't it great!" he beamed.
"Where is my son?" Miranda asked with a slight cock of her head.
"I left him out in the garage with Dad and James. He made his desire to remain there abundantly clear. He is his mother's son, you know," he added addressing his sister then continued, "It's a beautiful day. Mid- sixties. What do you two say to a walk?"
"I've got a story to write so I'll have to decline, but you two should definitely go," Emily advised as she slid off the stool and paced over to the sink rinse out her mug, adding over her shoulder, "Carmel is a lot more habitable this time of year than Old Forge. I think it's like seventeen degrees there today."
"True," Jarod concurred with a shrug of his shoulders. "But I'd still like to get back there someday. It is, after all, the place where my life began."
* * * *
"Did you have to be so rude?" Jarod challenged as they approached the house.
"Yes, I believe I did. The guy was an asshole."
"Agreed, but was it really necessary for you to announce that fact to everyone in the store?"
"Uh, yeah!"
"Would it kill you to hold that tongue of yours once in a while?"
"You don't seem to have any problem with this tongue of mine when I'm using it to..."
"Dad."
"Son."
"Charles."
"Did you kids have a nice walk?" the Major asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"Fabulous," Miranda replied rolling her eyes then added, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to urinate for about the fiftieth time today thanks to your son," before jogging up the front steps and disappearing into the house.
"Subtlety is not her strong suit," Jarod stated with a sigh.
"Told her you love her today?"
"Twice... so far."
"That's my boy!" his father offered with a slap on the back then walked around the house toward the garage.
Jarod shook his head and, bearing a wry smile, sauntered up the porch steps and into the house.
* * * *
"So, tell me," Miranda inquired conspiratorily over her cards. "Is this Laurel chick I've been hearing so much about your girlfriend?"
Blushing a deep red James protested, "She's not a chick! She... she's amazing. She's the editor of her school newspaper, knows almost as much about computers as I do, and... and you should see her surf. She's teaching me but there's no way I'll ever be as good as she is."
"Bet she looks cute in a bikini too."
"Well... yeah," he admitted, averting his eyes.
"Gin!" Miranda announced triumphantly.
"No fair," James grumbled through a grudging smile. "You've been distracting me. I think pregnancy has made you evil."
"Correction, kiddo," she replied with a snicker.
"Pregnancy has made me MORE evil."
* * * *
Jarod stepped out onto the deck to find Miranda sitting on the porch swing, propelling it gently to and fro with one foot as she gazed up into the night sky. Michael was sound asleep with his head in her lap, one ear pressed against the still modest, but nonetheless visible, swell of her abdomen. Jarod smiled, taking a moment to revel in everything that was beautiful and right with his world before approaching the swing.
"Any room for me?" he asked softly.
Miranda nodded, motioning for him sit down beside them. He carefully lifted his son's legs to slide beneath them so that Michael's body spanned both his parents' laps. The child stirred slightly and blinked his eyes open for instant.
"It's okay, kiddo," Jarod soothed. "It's only me."
"Daddy," the boy yawned then drifted off again.
Jarod turned his head to press a kiss to Miranda's temple then uttered into her hair, "I've been thinking..."
"Again?" she remarked. "I thought we agreed you were going to stop that."
He chuffed then continued, "Remember, last year, when you said that if things ever changed, you would take your mother's maiden name?"
"Mmm-hmm," she responded lazily.
"Well... I was wondering if... when... and if... we succeed in changing things, you would considering taking another name... mine."
Miranda straightened in her seat, met Jarod's eyes and inquired, "So, this is a marriage proposal?"
Blinking away from the intensity of her gaze he answered, "Yes, I guess it is. Of course, there's no telling when I'll actually be able to follow through on it. The Centre isn't going anywhere tomorrow and we still haven't found my mother."
"This year, Jarod," she assured, nuzzling him. "Like I told Em and your dad this afternoon, Broots's leads are getting fresher all the time. We'll find her this year."
Nodding he continued, "So... What do you say? Could be a year; could be fifty. Either way, you're worth the wait."
"Yes," she replied with a smirk. "I will marry you in fifty years, Jarod."
"Sure, you say that now," he challenged playfully. "Because you think I won't make it to ninety."
"Oh, you'll make it, alright. If only to compel me to keep my promise."
"Well it is a matter of principle," he tacked on with a smile. Silence reigned for a time until he stated,
"It's a brand new year, Andi."
"That it is, Jarod."
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