13. ETHAN
13
ETHAN
Dammit.
Why won’t she answer?
If I’m being honest, I deserve it.
I was shitty to her earlier.
Having the time alone has caused me to think.
Why are we working so hard to trick some poor girl into thinking we’re going to be adopting her baby?
As much as I believe the child would be better off with someone with the means to care for him or her, who says that necessarily has to be the biological father?
Why does he want the child anyway? My father’s explanations are poor at best. It just doesn’t add up.
It’s not that I have any reason to suspect there’s anything overtly wrong with Whitmore, but why does it have to be so hush-hush?
Why isn’t Harrison Whitmore willing to go through normal channels to accomplish this adoption? The excuse that Whitmore doesn’t want the publicity won’t cut it.
With my father’s lawyer’s considerable skill and clout, it can be accomplished relatively discreetly.
Questions are naturally going to arise as to how and why he is fighting for custody of a newborn, no matter how reclusive he is.
Plus, there is always the chance that Lena will talk unless she is being paid to keep quiet.
As much as I want it not to be true, Sophia probably isn’t wrong in suspecting that if my parents have anything to do with this; it’s probably dirty. That’s just how they roll.
This is getting increasingly tangled, and I have to figure it out before I allow it to go any further. I have to be discreet, though. If my parents suspect I’m digging too deeply into their scheme, the repercussions might be unpleasant.
Not that I suspect that they would physically harm me, but there were other ways they can make my life unpleasant. Look how easily they were able to frighten Graham off.
What I am more apprehensive about is the other parties involved. While Mother and Father may have reservations about applying too much pressure, others won’t be so reluctant.
Harrison Whitmore is a powerful man with powerful friends.
The enormity of what I now face is becoming more apparent.
What I need to do is have that conversation with Lena, and that will require Sophia.
Digging deeper into this whole situation could put her in danger too. I don’t want to do this, but she has become an essential cog in this machine. I am confident I can protect her with my training, but it could get messy.
I really have been unfair to her, I pushed her away when all she did was ask for me to be honest.
I just don’t like people digging into my personal life.
What am I afraid of? My affair with Alexa Farrell had not ended well, but there was no violence. There is another side to that story that apparently neither Melanie nor Sophia know.
If I can convince her to come back, maybe I’ll explain.
Walking over to my window and looking out over the vast expanse of ocean illuminated by the light of the full moon, I am reminded of both the insignificance of one person and how that same one person can set in motion a chain of events that can rock the world.
It’s a phenomenon commonly referred to as the butterfly effect. It’s based on the metaphorical example of the formation of a tornado being influenced by minor events such as a distant butterfly flapping its wings several weeks earlier.
What if Nelson Mandela had never moved on from attending herds of cattle as he had as a boy? What if JFK had died as a sailor in World War II as he nearly did?
What if my actions, as insignificant as they are, not only damage the Blackwood family but also have some other significant consequences, particularly if Harrison Whitmore is ensnared in a scandal?
That, however, is still to be determined.
I awaken early, get dressed, and jump in my car. I have to see Sophia, and the best way to force her to hear me out is to see her in person
When she answers the door, it looks like she’s just rolled out of bed. Her eyes are barely open, her hair sticking out wildly.
Somehow, I find her even more beautiful in this state.
“Get dressed, I have to talk to you.”
She frowns and tries to slam the door in my face, but I stick my foot in to prevent it from closing.
“Come on,” I insist. “You are going to want to hear this, I promise.”
Reluctantly, she backs away from the entrance, allowing me to enter.
“Just say what you have to say and leave me alone.”
“Walk down to the beach with me, please. The fresh air will wake you up.”
I wait for her in her bedroom as she throws on a sundress, showing off her bronzed shoulders. I can see waking up to this every morning.
As we head toward the beach, the early morning sun is already blazing in a cloudless sky. Rain is forecast for this afternoon, but there is no sign of it now.
“First, I want to apologize for snapping at you yesterday. Part of it is trying to deny what you seem to have figured out on your own. This whole thing stinks.”
She looks at me for the first time since we started walking. She seems surprised but not overly so.
“I don’t get you,” she says. “That’s your whole problem. You’re one way, then the other. Liam used to accuse me of being wishy-washy when I was a kid because I never could seem to make up my mind, but that’s your perfect description.”
“Your family tries to draw you into something you know doesn’t sound right, but then you try to defend them and do what they tell you. The bad thing is you had me believing in it, too.”
She pauses for a second. “So, what convinced you?”
“It’s this whole thing with Whitmore and why he wants this kid anyway. He already has a grown son, so it’s not that he’s looking for an heir. The only way to figure out what’s really going on is to talk to Lena tomorrow.”
“That’s why I need you. We’ll still have to go in there as Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood, just on the off chance this is all legit and we’re just misreading it.”
“If this is some scam, I will shut it down. Look, I know sometimes I’m confusing.”
“In the Navy you learn to make snap judgments, and sometimes, you judge wrong. It’s made harder by the fact that I’m a moral relativist, what’s best for the here and now. But that also means you sometimes make decisions with insufficient information.”
Her face shows she’s doubtful.
“Trust me, I’m working on it. I realize not everything in civilian life has to be right now.”
There are swings along the boardwalk, and they’re primarily unoccupied this early in the morning. I motion to the nearest one, and we take a seat, swinging gently and enjoying the salt air.
“So what do you do all day,” she asks, changing the subject. “I mean, surely you don’t just prowl along the beach saving drowning women and scheming with your parents?”
She’s joking, of course, but the “scheming with my parents” thing stung slightly.
“What do I do in my spare time? I write smutty novels,” I reply, also joking, and drawing a hearty laugh.
“Seriously?”
“No, I do write, though. I’m working on a memoir. I started keeping a diary when I was a SEAL. We had some wild missions. Yemen, Afghanistan, some dangerous shit. That was one of the reasons I felt like I wanted to help Lena, and why it’s so important that we do the right thing.”
“We were in Afghanistan, and we came upon this village, and there was a group of men dragging this young woman through the streets. We didn’t have any idea what was going on. None of us spoke Urdu, but we had a guide who was familiar with the countryside.”
“Anyway, we wanted to know what was going on. The guide told us the woman had been raped by someone in a nearby village and had gotten pregnant.”
“I don’t know how much you know about Islamic law, but when something like that happens, the woman is in the wrong, not the rapist.”
She looks at me incredulously.
“So, these men from the village were taking her out to stone her to death.”
Sophia gasps.
“So, what did you do?”
“Nothing. There was nothing we could do. We were outnumbered, and they were following the laws of their country.”
“It’s fucked up, but our rules of engagement say we can’t interfere with local customs unless coalition troops are in danger. And we needed their help to fight the terrorists that we were after.”
“Sounds like they’re the terrorists.”
I nod. She’s right of course.
“Anyway. I have a soft spot for women who find themselves in that situation I guess. It can’t be easy, even if your life isn’t in danger.”
She stays silent. The mood has changed.
“I’m not expecting an answer right now,” I say. “Think about it, and let me know if you still want to go through with this.”
I take her hand and help her off the swing.
We approach Ocean Avenue, which runs parallel to the beach, and my “spidey senses” are tingling.
That’s what we call that sixth sense you get when you’re in the military and sense something is wrong.
There is a car in one of the parking spaces that line the beach, and there’s something off about it.
The windows are tinted way too dark. I thought I had spotted it behind us as we walked to the beach but I wasn’t sure at the time.
I’m not paranoid, and I wonder if we’re being watched. But why?
I haven’t revealed my doubts about this project to anyone except Sophia, and that was just now.
Maybe my father had assigned someone to keep an eye on me to make sure I followed through with my task.
More worryingly, maybe Harrison Whitmore was alarmed that I had pushed the lawyer so hard to set up the meeting with him.
Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me at all, worried that I might figure out what is really going on.
I need to be on the lookout and tread carefully. So far, I have not given them any reason to worry.
That might change soon. Very soon.