58. Não Seja Bobo
n?o seja bobo
Mirren
I’m sitting in Strider’s lap, avoiding thinking about my knee at all costs. Luckily the man holding me is a great distraction. I’m afraid two days’ worth of beard growth and those sexy-as-fuck glasses have unlocked a new kink.
Mom stops her pacing and ballerina moves. Thank goodness. If they didn’t think we were crazy before, they should by now.
Suicide bomb? Check.
What looked to be Men in Black coming to confiscate everything and hush things up? Check.
Double the agency handlers advising that we wouldn’t speak due to some Latin phrase that means I’m above Texas law? Check.
Mom in firelog position with thumb and middle finger pressed together having replaced her ballerina moves? Double check.
She says it’s for patience. We’ll see about that.
Hambone walks through the locked doors and into the waiting area with murder on his face. That look bounces between me and Mom. For her part, she pops up from her meditative pose and stands before her much taller son. “James.”
I haven’t heard his full name since he graduated at Coronado. That’s got to have been fifteen years ago.
Strider glances my way. I can feel his eyes on me, but I can’t take my eyes off the scene before me.
“Well, the cat’s out of the bag now. But the boys don’t need to know, m’kay?” Mom turns, heading for the door.
No one follows, and she stops with her back to the door, as if waiting for her command to be followed.
Jamie bores into me with his gaze. “This whole time? Why didn’t you tell me?”
I subconsciously rub the outside of my knee. “Only after the Army. It hasn’t been that long.”
“But you couldn’t trust me with it?”
“I was protecting you.” I stand to my full height and want to go toe-to-toe with him, but my hopping on one leg really ruins the badass vibe I was going for. “You of all people would be the one to understand. But you don’t need everyone’s secrets.”
He plants his hands on his hips. “But you trusted Mom to have your back instead of me?”
She strides his way, her short bob flying out behind her. “Who do you think she got it from? Who led the way at the agency? Who was the first bad-ass Jones woman? Me?” She plants a thumb in her chest.
Jamie stumbles back two steps. “Wait. When you said the cat’s out of the bag…”
“I meant me, Hambone. Scooter trusting you with her secret is one thing. Me trusting you with mine is another.”
“So you’re… a spy?” He looks at our mother as if he’s never seen her before.
“Was. Still am, but only when contract jobs come up that they need an older woman… one who can handle herself. And speak Portuguese.”
“You speak Portuguese too?” Jamie asks, his face surely cramping from the puzzled look on his face.
“Claro, filho. N?o seja bobo.” With that, she waltzes from the station and out into the Texas night.
“What does that mean?” Strider asks. His voice is an awe-filled whisper.
“No fucking clue, but it wasn’t English,” Hambone replies, before turning his focus from the double glass doors to me. “You and I have things to discuss.”
“Okay.”
“But first, can we get Mirren’s knee checked out?” Strider supplies.
“And a meal,” Jamie adds.
“Thought you’d never ask. I have a doctor lined up at UT Health. We just need an Uber.”
Jamie and Strider look at each other before both looking at me.
“What?” I shrug.
Jamie shakes his head and leaves the station.
And I’m left… reeling, hurting, and exhausted. All my bravado is gone. “Mind helping me?” I ask Strider.
His face goes soft, and his forehead drops to mine. “For as long as we both shall live, Freckles.”
Strider
“Do you mean to tell me that in the two days you were gone, you managed to connect with someone who has one of the leading sports medicine surgeons in the country on speed dial? So much so that he would drop whatever is going on to see you at your convenience?” Jamie’s voice is rising, revealing his continued frustration.
As reticent as he normally is, he’s been non-stop questioning.
And non-stop accusing.
I’m good with the first. It helps me not have to ask. Besides, the Jones family dynamic is fascinating. But the attitude behind his accusation is grating on my nerves.
Standing, I put myself between him and the woman I love. “Take it down a notch. I get you’re angry, but taking that out on Mirren won’t happen on my watch.”
He bows up, seething down at me and attempting to lord the couple inch height difference he has over me.
“She’s your sister, and the bond you have is special. Are you actually angry that the best of the best is looking at her knee?”
He exhales and shakes his head.
“I get it, man. Lies suck. So talk to her. Ask her, but don’t get mad that she needs another surgery and that someone qualified is doing it.”
That does it. The wind is completely sucked from his sails and defeat takes over.
Walking back to Mirren, I kiss her forehead and then her lips. “I’m gonna go to the waiting room with your mom. Text me or call me when you need me.”
She nods and looks past me to her brother. “Don’t make me send you out there. You do not want to go down the June Jones rabbit hole. Trust me when I tell you that.”
His sigh could fill a hot air balloon to the point of liftoff.
I’m sliding past him when a hand comes to my chest. “Wait.”
I look down at it, assuming the same posture he did outside Mona’s a couple of days ago.
He removes his hand and extends it my way. “Thank you.”
I accept it—and the peace he offers. “No thanks needed.”
“That’s not true.” He shakes his head. “Appreciate you reminding me.”
I nod and head through the door and down the hall.
June is on the phone and extends a finger in a one-minute gesture. It takes a little longer than that, but she hangs up and uses a hand to show a huge bag on the seat next to her.
“I’m glad we grabbed the rental car on the way over.”
And checked out of the hotel rooms, I don’t add. That place was a bed bug convention waiting to happen. I shiver just thinking about it.
“While y’all did registration stuff, I ran to grab dinner for us. Some stuff’s gotten cold, but—”
My stomach growls at the mere mention of food and cuts off her train of thought.
I grabbed an apple and a bag of Cheez-its at the airport as Jamie and I were making the dash for our flight.
I ate both before dawn. Why I thought today was an in-and-out type of affair where we’d be home by dinner exposes my naiveté.
“I can’t.” I can. I should. I won’t… because Mirren is in the same boat and since they can’t prep her for surgery if she doesn’t keep an empty stomach, it would be rude to eat. But my empty stomach gnaws on itself as the acid churns with nothing to do. “Okay, but just a couple of bites.”
Plopping down in the chair next to June, she extends two brown-wrapped parcels. “Pulled pork or chicken soft tacos.”
I groan and grab the sandwich. I’m three huge bites in when I come up for air. A bottle of water sits on my arm rest and four different kinds of chips dangle between her fingers. Without thinking, I grab the sour cream and onion and rip into the bag.
“Mirren and Jamie probably trained for this, but it’s been nearly twenty-four hours for me.”
June’s smile is warm and maternal. “Hunger can’t be trained into submission. Mind over matter is one thing, but biology is still biology.”
Glugging through half the bottle of water, I finally pause. Just a couple of bites became the whole over-sized thing, down to every sesame seed from the bun left in the wrapper. Add to that a bag of chips, and I’m stuffed even though my mind isn’t sated.
“I’ve been thinking about something, and it’s going to sound odd, but I want to ask anyway…
” My rambling pairs with the posture of a much younger man.
“If you were a”—I look around as if we could be overheard—“spy, and so was Harry. Did you ever tell your families? And when you stopped, did everything go back to how it was before?”
June has a long blink. “No one asks. Of course, no one knows to ask. My sister knew. She knows, I should say. She’s in Atlanta, and I’ve kept a good relationship with her.
The kids know her and her children. I cut out my parents, mostly because I didn’t have the heart to lie to them and I knew they would worry.
I couldn’t live with myself if they’d been targeted because of me.
Perry— I mean Harry told his and was always worried about that.
They died in a freak accident in Europe about ten years ago.
He regrets not having more time with them.
Of course, at that point, we still had two teenagers in the house.
We’ve always decided to prioritize our family’s safety over everything. ”
“Except suicide vests and exploding substations?” I ask cautiously.
A grin plays on her lips. “Well, there’s got to be a little excitement in our lives,” she snarks.
I pause but continue anyway. “You said Perry?”
“I suspect you’re putting together pieces we never planned to share. Harry and June Jones are aliases. Perry and Jen died to have the life we now live.”
Perry and Jen.
“Have you not noticed the names we gave our kids?” She studies me.
“Zipper, Scooter, Wiggle?”
Her lips tip up in a genuine smile. “That’s all my husband. It was a thing, and I allowed it. I love it now, but there was a time it annoyed the piss out of me.”
“Really?”
“Living off the radar while having a real life means hiding in plain sight. There’s a reason we took Jones as a surname instead of Perry’s. There’s a reason our kids have common first names. It’s much harder to find Charles or Michael or David Smith than it is to find Jennifer Latoilais.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jen. I hope you don’t mind that I call you June. Or maybe you need a nickname like all the other Joneses?”
“Only if you want me to call you Bootsy.” Her eyebrows lift in a silent challenge.
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I offer, “June it is. I supposed it could be worse, even if I don’t know how. Bootsy is…”
“Bootsy is a gift from Harry. It means you’re in the family. Take it for what it is.”
I nod and down the last half of my bottle of water, standing to take my trash to the can in the corner.
I’m returning to my seat when Jamie pushes through the double doors, eyes scanning the room. “Strider, Mirren’s asking for you before they prep her.”
My eyes hit June’s and then bounce between her and Jamie.
“Come sit, son,” are the words that hit me as I head down the long hall.
Mirren lies in a hospital bed, just as I left her. Except for additional tubes and cords, and more equipment around her. It socks me in the gut, though I knew to expect it.
Before I can take the chair at her side, she pats the covers on her good side. It’s the side with her bruised face, but I can avoid hurting that easier than I can her bum knee.
I look around, hoping we won’t be fussed at and wondering about my filthy clothes, but ultimately say fuck it, shuck my shoes, and climb in. Kissing her softly, I ask what I’ve been afraid to, “Are you scared?”
Her face scrunches, and her eyes slice to slits. “I taste onion and sugar. You ate?” The betrayal on her face hurts, but, frankly, so did the pit of my stomach. That’s my only excuse.
“Your mom made me?”
“Your mom made me.” She feigns a deep voice laced with sarcasm. “That’s what you’re going with?”
“I tried not to, but I was weak.” My body spoons into hers like it was made to fit there.
Because it was.
She softens as my arm tugs her into me. “A little,” she whispers.
“A little weak?” What were we talking about again?
“A little scared.” Her fingers trace patterns on my forearm.
“You’re a badass.” It’s quiet in the hollow room. “You’ll sail through with flying colors.”
“What does that mean?”
I don’t know. What I do know is she’s safe, I’m warm, and have a belly full of carbs.