6. Ariella
Thank goodness Patrick has a large truck with plenty of room in the back for Alex to put his feet up and sleep while we’re driving. With nearly 2,400 miles between New York and the outskirts of Billings, Montana, it’s paramount that we get some rest. I don’t know how Patrick managed to keep his eyes awake for the long haul, but he did.
We stopped twice, staying in hotels along the I-90 corridor. “Isn’t it risky to stay in hotels where the check-in clerk can identify us if someone comes looking?” I asked.
Patrick pulled out his phone and showed me a hotel application on the home screen. “Nope. The team has booked every hotel they’re staying at for two nights. The first night, they’ll check in at the front desk, talk with the clerk, show their faces, and then leave the next morning without checking out. They share the digital key with me, and then we use it to stay the second night, slipping in and out without being noticed.”
“Can I use the pool at the hotels?” Alex asked. Patrick frowned, and I knew the answer without him having to say a word.
Not wanting Patrick to be the bearer of bad news, I turned around in my seat and told Alex, “I’m sorry, Sweetie, but this time we have to skip it. We have to be like ninjas, moving about without being detected.”
“Hey, Buddy. I know the drive will be long and boring, but you can run around and have fun when we get to the ranch. There’s even an indoor pool you can swim in,” Patrick tells him.
“Awesome sauce!” Alex shouted, pumping his fists in the air.
Surprised that a ranch has a pool, I questioned him about it. “Your parents have an indoor pool? Why?” It seems like such an extravagant expense for a small farm.
“My father is a retired Navy Seal, and his only stipulation for taking over the family farm was that they build a pool. He swims laps every morning, rain or shine. Hence why it’s indoors.”
“At least that explains why you are such a good swimmer. When we swam in the Bahamas, you kept up with me. Considering our family lives on an island, that was quite an accomplishment. For Cothenans, learning to swim before we can walk isn’t only for fun, but also for our safety.”
I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment while I formulated my thoughts. Eventually, I asked, “Why didn’t you follow in your father’s footsteps and join the Navy?”
He laughed. “My father said that the Navy treated him right, but the quality of life in the Air Force was much better. He said, ‘Patrick, if you’re going to be a desk jockey and fiddle with computers all day, it would be better for you to join the ‘Chair Force.’ He was only kidding, but I took his words to heart and joined the Air Force ROTC program in college.’”
He continued to tell me the story of how the FBI had recruited him, and I listened intently as he talked about his life growing up. I didn’t realize until that moment how little I knew of his life before the FBI, and I’m ashamed to admit that most of our conversations had been about me when we were together.
On our last day of the trek to Montana, Alex pulled me aside and asked if he could ride up front today with Patrick. I tried to explain to him that he wasn’t allowed to because of his age, but Patrick must have overheard because he told me, “The Montana border is only an hour away. They don’t have a law regarding children in the front seat, so if Alex can wait until then, he should be fine to ride up front with me.” When he saw the excited look on Alex’s face, he turned to him, “But that’s only if it’s okay with your mom.”
“Please, Mommy!” he begged. Since Alex has never begged for anything, I knew this was very important to him. I asked Patrick to give my son and me a moment in private, which he granted.
He stepped far enough away he couldn’t hear us but close enough to jump in at the first sign of danger.
I bent down and whispered to Alex, “It’s okay with me if you sit up front, but if you do this, you have to keep your promise, okay?”
He whispered back, “I promise. Scouts honor.” He held up his three fingers.
Chuckling, I reminded him, “Alex, you have never been a Boy Scout.”
“I know, but Kiernan taught it to me and says there’s symbology in the gesture. What’s symbology?”
“It’s when an object or sign represents an idea or something else. In this case, the Scout sign represents a solemn oath. But always remember that your words are your oath, regardless of the gesture. Now get in the truck, Goofball.”
He ran over to Patrick, bouncing excitedly, “Now we can have guy time! Whoopie!” Patrick grinned and then helped him get situated in the back seat. After that, he opened the front door for me and hoisted me into the truck. I’ve never been considered short, but I’m not tall, either. At 5”7”, the top of my head comes just below Patrick’s chin. Unfortunately, the truck is big, and it took effort for me to climb in.
I looked down at his hands that were still on my waist as my feet dangled off the seat, relishing the feel of them as he held me in place. When he noticed where I was looking, he quickly removed them as though he had been burned. He mumbled an apology before closing the door and heading toward the driver’s side.
Once we hit the Montana border and I swapped seats with Alex, the “men” engaged in a deep, philosophical discussion. I kept my mouth shut as I listened in. It was a serious conversation between the two of them, with very important questions getting asked and answered.
“Who is your favorite superhero?” Alex asked.
“That’s a pretty tough question to answer before my first cup of coffee. How about we drive through the coffee shop and grab a bite to eat first,” Patrick informs him.
“Mom says I’m too young for coffee, and it will stunt my growth. She told me I already had enough energy to power Cothena and didn’t need any more. Once, she threatened to hook me up to a bicycle to test out her theory,” he said deadpan. Patrick barked out a laugh.
“I was the same way growing up,” Patrick told him. Alex grinned widely and nodded approvingly.
“You know, they make a delicious hot chocolate. How about one of those instead?”
Alex looked back at me, silently asking for permission. “Hot chocolate sounds wonderful. I’ll take one too, only with three shots of espresso in mine, please,” I teased.
Patrick ordered our coffees—his black with no frou-frou—along with three orders of egg white bites for him, a breakfast sandwich for me, and a blueberry muffin for Alex.
“Okay, now that you’ve had your coffee, who’s your favorite superhero?” Alex asked without missing a beat.
“That depends. Are we talking about my favorite in the Marvel comics or in the DC Universe?”
Alex pondered his question before answering with, “Both.”
“Hmm. I’m partial to Captain America in the Marvel comics, but Spider-Man with DC. What about you?”
Alex didn’t answer right away, instead asking another question. “Why are they your favorite? Spider-Man only has his webs, and Captain America has a shield and strength. They can’t fly and don’t have any real superpowers.”
“You don’t need superpowers to be a hero, Alex. You simply have to have the desire to do the right thing even when it’s not an easy choice. They’re my favorite because they were both ordinary people who got to do extraordinary things. They have integrity and virtue.”
“Just like Superman! He’s my favorite, and my mom’s too.” Patrick’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, and I saw the side of one eye crinkle because of his smirk. “He can fly, shoot laser beams from his eyes, and even turn back time!”
As their conversation continued, I couldn’t help but wish that I had the power to turn back time.
If I could, I never would have left Patrick’s side.
After three days of driving, we’re finally pulling into the long driveway that leads to the ranch where we will be staying for the foreseeable future. The area is gorgeous, surrounded by snow-capped mountains off in the distance and white-covered hills nearby. Alex bounces in his seat, going on and on about how he wants to build a snowman.
“It’s going to get dark soon, Alex, and we need to get settled in first. Not to mention, it would be rude if we didn’t greet our hosts first. How about we build a snowman first thing in the morning after breakfast?” I suggest.
“Okay,” he says, mildly dejected. After such a long trip, I know he wants to run around and play.
Patrick reminds him that there is an indoor swimming pool that’s heated. It might be too dark to go outside, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t time to have some fun after dinner.
The driveway seems never-ending as we trundle down the road for what seems like miles. “Are we there yet?” I tease. Alex has been asking the same question repeatedly for the past two hours.
“Almost,” Patrick says, giving me the same answer he gave Alex. He barely has the words out when a beautiful, dark blue, two-story home comes into view. It’s large, with white shuttered windows and a wrap-around porch that looks like it goes all the way around the house.
“Wow! Is that my new home?” Alex asks.
“For the time being. I know it’s not a palace like you’re used to, but the people inside plan to take really good care of you,” Patrick tells him.
“It’s amazing! But you’re staying with us too, right?” Alex asks, hopefully.
“Absolutely. My room will be right across the hall from yours and your mom’s. My parents’ room is on the first floor, which gives an added layer of protection. In fact, there they are,” he says, pointing to a handsome couple making their way down the porch steps so they can come and greet us.
As soon as Patrick is out of the truck, Mrs. Kent jogs over to him with her arms extended. She’s shorter than me by a few inches but looks extra tiny compared to her son. I giggle at the sight, especially when she says, “There’s my precious baby boy! Give your momma some sugar!”
Patrick embraces her fiercely, picking her up so her legs dangle. She titters lightly and says, “I’m not ready to go to Heaven yet, so why don’t you put my feet back on solid ground? The air is getting thin up here, and it’s hard to breathe.” Once he does as she asks, his father also comes in for a hug.
I try to exit the vehicle quietly, but Alex has no such reservations. He slides out of the truck, leaving the door open as he runs around the back so that he can be next to Patrick. I close it for him before I follow, using the time to take a deep breath and compose myself before I meet Mr. and Mrs. Kent.
“Who is this handsome little man?” Mrs. Kent asks.
“My name is Prince Alexander Caras, and it’s a pleasure to meet you!” He bows, doing what he has been taught to do. Mr. Kent bows in return.
“Mom. Dad. This is Princess Ariella Argos and Prince Alexander Caras.
From here on out, they will always be referred to as Aria and Lex if anyone is around. Ariella, Alex, these are my parents, Charlotte and Donovan Kent.”
I shake their hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. For the record, it’s Caras, not Argos,” I say without explanation. Patrick’s questioning gaze could bore holes through steel if he had laser eyes like Superman. I shrug. “It wasn’t necessary to change my last name,” I tell them. If Ethan didn’t bother telling Patrick that I never married Kiernan, then he must have had his reasons. It’s for the best since it will help me keep my distance and feelings in check. If anyone bothers to ask, I won’t lie. But I don’t see any reason to say anything until that happens.
Sensing the tension permeating the air, Charlotte claps her hands together loudly. “Now that introductions are over, let’s get your luggage inside and some food in your bellies. I’ve made a nice, home-cooked meal with all of Patrick’s favorites. Once you tell me what you like, I’ll make your favorites, too.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Kent.”
“There will be none of that Mr. and Mrs. stuff around here. Everyone is like family, and you’re included in that. You can call me Charlie and my husband, Don or Donnie. He also responds to, ‘Hey you, Pops, and Honeybun,’ but the last one is reserved just for me,” she winks.
As Patrick and his father begin unloading the truck, she tells them, “While you three strapping men take care of that, I’m going to show Ariella around the farm.” Patrick looks dismayed since he is supposed to be our shadow, always nearby. She reassures him, “I have my Canik on me, not to mention your team is set up in the bunkhouse, which won’t be far from where we’ll be. She’s in good hands.” He sighs but doesn’t argue with her. Smart man.
Alex is quick to grab a bag and help them unload, leaving Charlie and me alone. She takes my hand and silently leads me toward the back of their home, where the bunkhouse is in full view, just as she said it would be.
Once we’re out of sight, she drops my hand and crosses her arms across her chest, her smile disappearing. “Ariella, will you please explain to me why Alex looks like the spitting image of Patrick at his age? And why you haven’t told my son that he’s his father?”