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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: The Pretender and its characters don’t belong to me. But since those who do own them won’t use them I’ll just borrow them for a while. I refuse to let Jarod and those he loves stagnate, to wither and die.
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Author’s Note: Twinkies and extra Pez to anyone who recognized the crossover reference in the last chapter. For those of you who didn’t, allow me to explain. The Phoenix Foundation is the company that MacGyver worked for after he left the DSX. The foundation was involved in everything from environmental issues to political security. MacGyver was the best troubleshooter The Phoenix Foundation had. Which basically means that he did whatever Pete Thornton asked him to. Any similarity in the name of this foundation and your humble author is purely coincidental. Well, not purely, I really like MacGyver.
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The Door of Memory
Part 4 – By Phenyx
11/27/04
“Sooner or later we all discover that the important moments in life are not the advertised ones, not the birthdays, the graduations, the weddings, not the great goals achieved. The real milestones are less prepossessing. They come to the door of memory. “
Susan B. Anthony
-
It was nearly eleven o’clock at night before Jarod set his paintbrush aside and stepped back to admire his handiwork. The gazebo he had promised Heather was done. Well, almost done anyway. It was still in four rather large pieces spread across the garage floor. But with a little help, those could easily be assembled in the morning. All that was left to do this evening was watch the white paint dry.
With a weary sigh, Jarod wiped his brow on the back of one arm. He was filthy. Covered in sawdust and spattered paint, his skin felt as though it was buried beneath layers of grime. Ignoring his dirty hands, Jarod grabbed what was left of a sandwich and munched on it as he stared thoughtfully at the wooden construction.
The result had been everything Jarod could have hoped for. He’d built the gazebo in the garage so that the lawn wouldn’t be marred by sawdust or paint. The pieces were small enough for easy transport to the structure’s final destination. A hammer, some nails and about thirty minutes work, and everything would be ready for the wedding tomorrow.
Not that Jarod had done all the work alone. Everyone had combined their efforts in order to pull things together. Sydney had worked with Jarod for most of the day, holding planks and listening to Jarod talk through the architectural plans he had in his head. Exhausted and a little jet-lagged, the older man had gone to bed only when Jarod began to put the final touches on the paint job.
The rest of Jarod’s family had broken into similar pairs. Jack and the Major had ferried rented tables and chairs from the hall. Emily and Heather had picked up all the tuxedos and gowns. Ethan and Miss Parker had arranged flowers and decorations. Jarod’s mother had made phone calls to caterers and guests alike. Like a well-oiled machine, everyone had worked together to make things as perfect as possible.
There was nothing left to do but wait.
Jarod picked up a nearly empty glass and downed the liquid it held in one long swallow. The lemonade was watery and warm. No surprise considering that the ice had melted sometime around sunset. Carrying the empty glass in one hand, Jarod turned off the lights with the other and headed for the house.
As he crossed the yard, Jarod took a moment to savor the night. The air was cool, refreshing after working hard in the hot afternoon. The stars above were bright in a moonless sky. As Jarod approached the house he realized that the back door was open.
He hadn’t intended to sneak onto the porch. But after years of training, Jarod’s movements were naturally silent. He glided to the door like a wraith and halted among the shadows.
On the other side of the screen door, the kitchen lights burned brightly. The scene seemed so warm and welcoming that Jarod felt himself drawn to it like a moth to the flame. But rather than enter, he chose instead to savor the sight, to burn it on his memory like a photograph.
His mother and Miss Parker were sitting at the kitchen table. Both women were dressed in bathrobes and had teacups before them. Parker’s hair was wet. She had one long leg folded so that her knee nearly hugged her chest. She was smiling at something Jarod’s mother had said, something Jarod had not caught.
Hovering in the darkness, Jarod listened to the two women talk.
“How did you know my mother?” Parker asked abruptly.
“We were introduced by a man who was trying to help us find Jarod,” Margaret began. “Out of the blue he called me one day. I don’t know how he found us. But he knew so much about us, about Jarod. This man had pictures of Jarod, who would have been eight or nine at the time. He was the one who told us about the Centre.”
Margaret sipped delicately at her tea then went on. “He told us that he wanted to help free Jarod but he feared that he was already suspect. We needed the support of someone within the Centre, someone above reproach. He arranged the first meeting with your mother.”
“Fenigore,” Parker said. “His name was Fenigore.”
“No,” Jarod’s mother replied. “He said his name was Jacob.”
Parker flinched visibly.
“Did you know him?” Margaret asked.
“Sort of,” Parker answered softly. “I only met him a few years ago, just before he died.”
“I always wondered what had happened to him,” Margaret said. “He risked so much for us. When he disappeared, I feared that something might have happened to him.”
“There was an accident,” Parker explained. “He never recovered. He was comatose for the rest of his life, only regaining consciousness for a few hours near the end.”
The two women were silent for a moment, each sipping quietly at her tea and lost in her own thoughts.
“How do you know my son?” Margaret asked.
Parker smiled wryly. “Hasn’t Jarod told you?”
Jarod’s mother shook her head. “He has mentioned you in the past, but never actually said anything informative.”
“That seems to be one of his many talents.” Parker’s eyes flashed vulnerably. “I find it difficult to believe he talks about me. We aren’t exactly on good terms.”
“He has made the occasional stray comments about you,” Margaret said thoughtfully. Eavesdropping on the porch, Jarod squirmed uncomfortably. He hadn’t been aware that he referred to Parker that often. Margaret went on. “He says things like ‘Parker always hates it when I do this’ or ‘Parker never liked that’. I get the impression that Jarod values your opinion but I haven’t a clear picture of why that is.”
“He valued my opinion once upon a time,” Parker admitted. “We were friends once.”
“Close friends?” Margaret asked.
“Very.” Parker sighed. “When my mother died, I was left alone a lot. I was a lonely child. He was a lonely child. We gravitated toward one another.”
“You comforted each other,” Margaret supplied.
“I suppose we did, “ Parker agreed. “For a while anyway.”
Margaret tilted her head inquisitively. “What happened?”
“I grew up.” Parker said in a flat voice. “Daddy sent me away to complete my education. Jarod was left behind. Years later, he ran away from The Centre and it was my turn to be left behind.”
“You pursued him,” Margaret said. “You tried to catch him and take him back in the Centre.”
“Yes.” Parker’s answer was simple and straightforward. She watched Margaret with an unfaltering gaze and seemed not the least bit afraid of the older woman’s recriminations. Parker continued. “He did get caught, not once but twice. Both times because he was trying to help me.”
“Sounds to me like you’re still friends,” Margaret observed.
Parker shrugged. “He thinks so.”
“You don’t?” the older woman pried.
Parker stared into her cup for a moment before answering. “I’m a lousy friend.” She sighed. “The damned thing is, there is very little Jarod wouldn’t do for me if I asked. I know that. Deep down, I’ve always known that.” Parker’s gray eyes shimmered sadly as she looked up at the older woman. “I just don’t know how to deal with that kind of loyalty. How do I repay an honesty that is so foreign I can barely recognize it?”
Jarod watched his mother work her magic. Miss Parker was not an easy person to know. Granted, Jarod had a way of getting the ice queen to spill her inner most thoughts but that was a skill he’d developed over years. His mother had known Parker for less than a day, yet here she was, prying confessions from Parker that Jarod hadn’t even known existed.
Margaret reached out and clasped Miss Parker’s hand. Parker glanced up warily and for a moment she seemed about to pull away, but she didn’t. “I’ll tell you how to repay his friendship, Miss Parker,” the older woman said tenderly. “Accept it. Accept that affection for the simple, selfless thing that it is.”
“He deserves so much more than I can give him,” Parker whispered.
Margaret nodded. “He deserves more than any of us can give. But he has never asked for what he deserves. He wants only what we have already offered.”
Jarod stood on the porch, firmly rooted to the spot. He was less than half a step from the line of illumination cast by the kitchen lights. But he remained still, as motionless as a statue while his heart thudded painfully in his chest.
His mother didn’t understand. The truth was, Jarod wanted so much more than she realized. He wanted more than friendship, more than affection. He wanted everything Parker had to give and then he wanted more. Standing alone in the dark, inches away from the home he had struggled for so long to find, Jarod came to a startling realization.
He loved her.
He loved Parker with every fiber of his being. He had loved her from the day he first set eyes on her. What Jarod felt when he looked at her or heard her voice, had nothing to do with friendship or fear, disappointment or desire. It had to do with all those feelings combined. Emotions intertwined into a connection that was so strong nothing could break it.
He loved her.
Jarod’s first impulse was to dash into the kitchen and sweep Parker into his arms. His body started to move and he had swayed forward in a half step before he realized what was happening. A split second later he caught himself, stopping in mid-stride. Transfixed, he stared into the kitchen at the two most important women in his life. They were smiling at each other now, talking calmly about nonsense that Jarod could barely comprehend in his current state.
He loved her. And she could barely tolerate his presence.
Jarod’s entire universe seemed to collapse in upon itself coalescing into a hard, hot knot of pain that lanced through his heart. The force of it knocked the breath from his lungs and left his knees trembling. She hated him. She wanted him dead. She loathed his very existence.
Some small sensible part of Jarod’s brain tried to tell him he was exaggerating. Parker had never truly meant to harm him. ‘But she has threatened your life more than once,’ he thought. Reason whispered back, ‘If she wanted you dead, you would be pushing up daisies.’
Jarod wanted to cry. The fact that Parker had never shot him didn’t mean she cared. As a matter of fact, evidence seemed to point to the contrary. Jarod could count on one hand the number of times the woman had spared him a kind word in the last decade.
Closing his eyes, Jarod savored the pain writhing through him. Agony was something Jarod knew very well. He’d spent a lifetime learning about it, experiencing it, dealing with it. But never had he felt anything so pure and destructive as what tore at him at this moment.
Jarod stood in the dark, shaking uncontrollably in the aftermath of his epiphany. He didn’t move when his mother stood up and cleared the cups from the table. He remained motionless as Parker rose and gracefully tucked a stray lock of hair behind one ear. She came toward Jarod but did not see him in the shadows as she closed the back door. Through the window, Jarod could see the two ladies wander from the room. The kitchen lights abruptly blinked out, leaving Jarod alone with the night.
He loved her.
Turning away from the house, Jarod stumbled across the porch. With a heavy thud he sat on the wooden steps and stared blindly into the darkness. “What the hell am I going to do now?” he asked aloud. The sound of his own voice startled him and he laughed nervously.
Burying his face in his hands, Jarod closed his eyes and concentrated on taking deep, calming breaths. It took several minutes but eventually the racing of his heart eased. When he finally looked up again, his head was thudding dully and he felt a little nauseous but the trembling had stopped.
Jarod shook his head sadly. The woman he loved had spent years shutting him out. He twisted his body to glare at the door. Frowning as if the wood was to blame, Jarod felt a sudden urge to kick the thing down. The symbolism was not lost on Jarod. She had closed the door on him, locking him out of her life and leaving him alone in the dark.
‘But it isn’t locked.’ The thought flitted through Jarod’s mind so quickly that he nearly missed it. He tilted his head inquisitively and tried to remember if he had heard the deadbolt turn. He rose slowly, crossing the porch with a strange mixture of hope and dread churning in his gut.
He pulled open the screen door with one hand and with the other he reached out to grasp the brass doorknob. It turned with ease, allowing the door to swing open soundlessly. Jarod heaved a shaky breath as he gazed upward in the direction of the room where Parker would be sleeping.
Everything suddenly seemed to fall into place in Jarod’s mind. It was the perfect representation of their lives together. Parker had spent years protecting herself, closing emotional doors in Jarod’s face. But never once had she locked him out completely. All Jarod had to do was reach out to her, push ever so gently, and those barriers fell away.
Jarod stepped across the threshold and into the house with a strange sense of wonder. It occurred to him that for the first time in his life, everything he loved was under one roof. A hope filled smile began to spread across his face.
“Time to set some new boundaries,” Jarod whispered. He promised himself that this time, the rules of the game were going to be very different. It was his turn to do the chasing, his turn to pursue her.
If he played the game right this time around, they would both win.
-
End part 4
Author’s Note: Is the syrup getting too thick? If so, let me know and I’ll try to ease up a tad. But to be honest, this is pretty much going to be the common theme for the rest of the story. I did warn you. When I say ‘fluffy romance’ I mean it.
-
Author’s Note: Twinkies and extra Pez to anyone who recognized the crossover reference in the last chapter. For those of you who didn’t, allow me to explain. The Phoenix Foundation is the company that MacGyver worked for after he left the DSX. The foundation was involved in everything from environmental issues to political security. MacGyver was the best troubleshooter The Phoenix Foundation had. Which basically means that he did whatever Pete Thornton asked him to. Any similarity in the name of this foundation and your humble author is purely coincidental. Well, not purely, I really like MacGyver.
-
The Door of Memory
Part 4 – By Phenyx
11/27/04
“Sooner or later we all discover that the important moments in life are not the advertised ones, not the birthdays, the graduations, the weddings, not the great goals achieved. The real milestones are less prepossessing. They come to the door of memory. “
Susan B. Anthony
-
It was nearly eleven o’clock at night before Jarod set his paintbrush aside and stepped back to admire his handiwork. The gazebo he had promised Heather was done. Well, almost done anyway. It was still in four rather large pieces spread across the garage floor. But with a little help, those could easily be assembled in the morning. All that was left to do this evening was watch the white paint dry.
With a weary sigh, Jarod wiped his brow on the back of one arm. He was filthy. Covered in sawdust and spattered paint, his skin felt as though it was buried beneath layers of grime. Ignoring his dirty hands, Jarod grabbed what was left of a sandwich and munched on it as he stared thoughtfully at the wooden construction.
The result had been everything Jarod could have hoped for. He’d built the gazebo in the garage so that the lawn wouldn’t be marred by sawdust or paint. The pieces were small enough for easy transport to the structure’s final destination. A hammer, some nails and about thirty minutes work, and everything would be ready for the wedding tomorrow.
Not that Jarod had done all the work alone. Everyone had combined their efforts in order to pull things together. Sydney had worked with Jarod for most of the day, holding planks and listening to Jarod talk through the architectural plans he had in his head. Exhausted and a little jet-lagged, the older man had gone to bed only when Jarod began to put the final touches on the paint job.
The rest of Jarod’s family had broken into similar pairs. Jack and the Major had ferried rented tables and chairs from the hall. Emily and Heather had picked up all the tuxedos and gowns. Ethan and Miss Parker had arranged flowers and decorations. Jarod’s mother had made phone calls to caterers and guests alike. Like a well-oiled machine, everyone had worked together to make things as perfect as possible.
There was nothing left to do but wait.
Jarod picked up a nearly empty glass and downed the liquid it held in one long swallow. The lemonade was watery and warm. No surprise considering that the ice had melted sometime around sunset. Carrying the empty glass in one hand, Jarod turned off the lights with the other and headed for the house.
As he crossed the yard, Jarod took a moment to savor the night. The air was cool, refreshing after working hard in the hot afternoon. The stars above were bright in a moonless sky. As Jarod approached the house he realized that the back door was open.
He hadn’t intended to sneak onto the porch. But after years of training, Jarod’s movements were naturally silent. He glided to the door like a wraith and halted among the shadows.
On the other side of the screen door, the kitchen lights burned brightly. The scene seemed so warm and welcoming that Jarod felt himself drawn to it like a moth to the flame. But rather than enter, he chose instead to savor the sight, to burn it on his memory like a photograph.
His mother and Miss Parker were sitting at the kitchen table. Both women were dressed in bathrobes and had teacups before them. Parker’s hair was wet. She had one long leg folded so that her knee nearly hugged her chest. She was smiling at something Jarod’s mother had said, something Jarod had not caught.
Hovering in the darkness, Jarod listened to the two women talk.
“How did you know my mother?” Parker asked abruptly.
“We were introduced by a man who was trying to help us find Jarod,” Margaret began. “Out of the blue he called me one day. I don’t know how he found us. But he knew so much about us, about Jarod. This man had pictures of Jarod, who would have been eight or nine at the time. He was the one who told us about the Centre.”
Margaret sipped delicately at her tea then went on. “He told us that he wanted to help free Jarod but he feared that he was already suspect. We needed the support of someone within the Centre, someone above reproach. He arranged the first meeting with your mother.”
“Fenigore,” Parker said. “His name was Fenigore.”
“No,” Jarod’s mother replied. “He said his name was Jacob.”
Parker flinched visibly.
“Did you know him?” Margaret asked.
“Sort of,” Parker answered softly. “I only met him a few years ago, just before he died.”
“I always wondered what had happened to him,” Margaret said. “He risked so much for us. When he disappeared, I feared that something might have happened to him.”
“There was an accident,” Parker explained. “He never recovered. He was comatose for the rest of his life, only regaining consciousness for a few hours near the end.”
The two women were silent for a moment, each sipping quietly at her tea and lost in her own thoughts.
“How do you know my son?” Margaret asked.
Parker smiled wryly. “Hasn’t Jarod told you?”
Jarod’s mother shook her head. “He has mentioned you in the past, but never actually said anything informative.”
“That seems to be one of his many talents.” Parker’s eyes flashed vulnerably. “I find it difficult to believe he talks about me. We aren’t exactly on good terms.”
“He has made the occasional stray comments about you,” Margaret said thoughtfully. Eavesdropping on the porch, Jarod squirmed uncomfortably. He hadn’t been aware that he referred to Parker that often. Margaret went on. “He says things like ‘Parker always hates it when I do this’ or ‘Parker never liked that’. I get the impression that Jarod values your opinion but I haven’t a clear picture of why that is.”
“He valued my opinion once upon a time,” Parker admitted. “We were friends once.”
“Close friends?” Margaret asked.
“Very.” Parker sighed. “When my mother died, I was left alone a lot. I was a lonely child. He was a lonely child. We gravitated toward one another.”
“You comforted each other,” Margaret supplied.
“I suppose we did, “ Parker agreed. “For a while anyway.”
Margaret tilted her head inquisitively. “What happened?”
“I grew up.” Parker said in a flat voice. “Daddy sent me away to complete my education. Jarod was left behind. Years later, he ran away from The Centre and it was my turn to be left behind.”
“You pursued him,” Margaret said. “You tried to catch him and take him back in the Centre.”
“Yes.” Parker’s answer was simple and straightforward. She watched Margaret with an unfaltering gaze and seemed not the least bit afraid of the older woman’s recriminations. Parker continued. “He did get caught, not once but twice. Both times because he was trying to help me.”
“Sounds to me like you’re still friends,” Margaret observed.
Parker shrugged. “He thinks so.”
“You don’t?” the older woman pried.
Parker stared into her cup for a moment before answering. “I’m a lousy friend.” She sighed. “The damned thing is, there is very little Jarod wouldn’t do for me if I asked. I know that. Deep down, I’ve always known that.” Parker’s gray eyes shimmered sadly as she looked up at the older woman. “I just don’t know how to deal with that kind of loyalty. How do I repay an honesty that is so foreign I can barely recognize it?”
Jarod watched his mother work her magic. Miss Parker was not an easy person to know. Granted, Jarod had a way of getting the ice queen to spill her inner most thoughts but that was a skill he’d developed over years. His mother had known Parker for less than a day, yet here she was, prying confessions from Parker that Jarod hadn’t even known existed.
Margaret reached out and clasped Miss Parker’s hand. Parker glanced up warily and for a moment she seemed about to pull away, but she didn’t. “I’ll tell you how to repay his friendship, Miss Parker,” the older woman said tenderly. “Accept it. Accept that affection for the simple, selfless thing that it is.”
“He deserves so much more than I can give him,” Parker whispered.
Margaret nodded. “He deserves more than any of us can give. But he has never asked for what he deserves. He wants only what we have already offered.”
Jarod stood on the porch, firmly rooted to the spot. He was less than half a step from the line of illumination cast by the kitchen lights. But he remained still, as motionless as a statue while his heart thudded painfully in his chest.
His mother didn’t understand. The truth was, Jarod wanted so much more than she realized. He wanted more than friendship, more than affection. He wanted everything Parker had to give and then he wanted more. Standing alone in the dark, inches away from the home he had struggled for so long to find, Jarod came to a startling realization.
He loved her.
He loved Parker with every fiber of his being. He had loved her from the day he first set eyes on her. What Jarod felt when he looked at her or heard her voice, had nothing to do with friendship or fear, disappointment or desire. It had to do with all those feelings combined. Emotions intertwined into a connection that was so strong nothing could break it.
He loved her.
Jarod’s first impulse was to dash into the kitchen and sweep Parker into his arms. His body started to move and he had swayed forward in a half step before he realized what was happening. A split second later he caught himself, stopping in mid-stride. Transfixed, he stared into the kitchen at the two most important women in his life. They were smiling at each other now, talking calmly about nonsense that Jarod could barely comprehend in his current state.
He loved her. And she could barely tolerate his presence.
Jarod’s entire universe seemed to collapse in upon itself coalescing into a hard, hot knot of pain that lanced through his heart. The force of it knocked the breath from his lungs and left his knees trembling. She hated him. She wanted him dead. She loathed his very existence.
Some small sensible part of Jarod’s brain tried to tell him he was exaggerating. Parker had never truly meant to harm him. ‘But she has threatened your life more than once,’ he thought. Reason whispered back, ‘If she wanted you dead, you would be pushing up daisies.’
Jarod wanted to cry. The fact that Parker had never shot him didn’t mean she cared. As a matter of fact, evidence seemed to point to the contrary. Jarod could count on one hand the number of times the woman had spared him a kind word in the last decade.
Closing his eyes, Jarod savored the pain writhing through him. Agony was something Jarod knew very well. He’d spent a lifetime learning about it, experiencing it, dealing with it. But never had he felt anything so pure and destructive as what tore at him at this moment.
Jarod stood in the dark, shaking uncontrollably in the aftermath of his epiphany. He didn’t move when his mother stood up and cleared the cups from the table. He remained motionless as Parker rose and gracefully tucked a stray lock of hair behind one ear. She came toward Jarod but did not see him in the shadows as she closed the back door. Through the window, Jarod could see the two ladies wander from the room. The kitchen lights abruptly blinked out, leaving Jarod alone with the night.
He loved her.
Turning away from the house, Jarod stumbled across the porch. With a heavy thud he sat on the wooden steps and stared blindly into the darkness. “What the hell am I going to do now?” he asked aloud. The sound of his own voice startled him and he laughed nervously.
Burying his face in his hands, Jarod closed his eyes and concentrated on taking deep, calming breaths. It took several minutes but eventually the racing of his heart eased. When he finally looked up again, his head was thudding dully and he felt a little nauseous but the trembling had stopped.
Jarod shook his head sadly. The woman he loved had spent years shutting him out. He twisted his body to glare at the door. Frowning as if the wood was to blame, Jarod felt a sudden urge to kick the thing down. The symbolism was not lost on Jarod. She had closed the door on him, locking him out of her life and leaving him alone in the dark.
‘But it isn’t locked.’ The thought flitted through Jarod’s mind so quickly that he nearly missed it. He tilted his head inquisitively and tried to remember if he had heard the deadbolt turn. He rose slowly, crossing the porch with a strange mixture of hope and dread churning in his gut.
He pulled open the screen door with one hand and with the other he reached out to grasp the brass doorknob. It turned with ease, allowing the door to swing open soundlessly. Jarod heaved a shaky breath as he gazed upward in the direction of the room where Parker would be sleeping.
Everything suddenly seemed to fall into place in Jarod’s mind. It was the perfect representation of their lives together. Parker had spent years protecting herself, closing emotional doors in Jarod’s face. But never once had she locked him out completely. All Jarod had to do was reach out to her, push ever so gently, and those barriers fell away.
Jarod stepped across the threshold and into the house with a strange sense of wonder. It occurred to him that for the first time in his life, everything he loved was under one roof. A hope filled smile began to spread across his face.
“Time to set some new boundaries,” Jarod whispered. He promised himself that this time, the rules of the game were going to be very different. It was his turn to do the chasing, his turn to pursue her.
If he played the game right this time around, they would both win.
-
End part 4
Author’s Note: Is the syrup getting too thick? If so, let me know and I’ll try to ease up a tad. But to be honest, this is pretty much going to be the common theme for the rest of the story. I did warn you. When I say ‘fluffy romance’ I mean it.
