The Perfect Weapon Chapter 2010: Part 1 Section 1 of
Chapter 2010: Part 1 section 1 of
“I don’t want to.”
“Too bad.”
“I don’t-“
“Get out. Now.”
“But...”
“Do you want me to call your mother?” Jack asked, opening his car door with a jerk.
“No. I’ll do it!” Sydney got out of the car and stomped around to the trunk. “I’m not a child you need to threaten with Mom playing the role of bad cop.”
Jack bit his lip and pressed a button on his remote car key. He popped the trunk and reached in for a box. “Sydney. I know this is hard. But you need to do this. For them. And yourself. Closure.” He pulled the box out of the trunk.
“You’ve been talking to Dr. Barnett,” Sydney accused as she slammed the trunk down with more than necessary firmness.
“It was in a family therapy session, sweetheart. I was there. And...” Jack hoisted the box in his arms. “More importantly, I know how important it is to have a way to say goodbye to a best friend. It’s been more than two months.”
Sydney nodded and gingerly tapped one fingertip on the plain cardboard box. “I...can’t bring her home, not really. We’ll never know what Alison did with Francie,” she whispered almost silently.
“I know.” Jack nodded in the direction of the house in front of them and set off toward the door. “This is the best we can do. And...”
“The best we can do is the best we can do. Realistic expectations.” Sydney nodded. She put her hand on the box and halted her father’s progress. “Like you need to have, Dr. Barnett, said about Dave.”
“You...” Jack shook his head. Here it comes... Direct hit. She was their daughter, after all. He began walking again.
“It was in a family therapy session, Dad. I was there.” Sydney smiled, then stiffened as she realized that her father had led her up to the door.
“And here we are.” Jack nodded at the door. “Ring the bell, please.”
Sydney hesitated, then pressed the bell with one hard, brief thrust. She took a step backward. The door opened.
“Jack Bristow?” Mrs. Calfo looked shocked.
“Mrs. Calfo.” Jack nodded.
“Call me Pam, Jack...Is there someone else there-“
“And Sydney-“ Jack stood aside and Sydney stepped hesitantly forward.
“Hello, Mrs-Umph!” Sydney grunted as Mrs. Calfo flung her arms around her and squeezed her tightly.
“Sydney! I’m so glad to see you!” Mrs. Calfo held on to Sydney, then reluctantly released her. She blinked up at Jack. “And you too, naturally.”
Jack gave a tight smile. “I’m sorry - you seem surprised. Didn’t your husband tell you I called?”
“No. Reuben!” Mrs. Calfo yelled in the general direction of the stairs. “Sydney and her father are here. Apparently we should have been expecting them...“ Pam glared at her husband.
“Oh, sorry.” Mr. Calfo came down the stairs slowly. “I...forgot. He wanted to bring over some of Francie’s things.”
“Yes. I have them right here..” Jack lifted the box a little higher. At least carrying it had prevented Francie’s mother from hugging him as she’d done at the funeral; she'd hugged everyone.
“Oh my goodness. Come in. Come in. I’m so sorry, I was just startled,” Pam Calfo said as she opened the door wide.
Jack stood in the foyer with Sydney, holding the box until Reuben Calfo wiped his hands on his thighs and took the box. Staring at it, he didn’t move. “Perhaps since it’s her kitchenware, you’d like to put it on the kitchen?” Jack suggested carefully.
“Of course.” Mr. Calfo nodded and moved even more slowly. His lack of speed, Jack knew, was not from age but from the weight of grief.
“Coffee?” Pam asked as they all entered the kitchen and silently watched Mr. Calfo set the box down on the counter and then just stand there, staring at it.
Jack started to automatically refuse then stopped himself. This interaction was the kind he used to have. He needed to practice. And Sydney needed to extend her condolences, have some closure. A good doubleplay, he told himself. “Of course. Thank you. Black, please.”
Sydney began to shake her head, then asked, “Can I have a cup with some cream?” At least it would give her hands something to do. She relaxed slightly as Francie’s mother turned to the coffeemaker on the counter. Thank god. Looking into her eyes was like seeing Francie.
“I want to say...” Jack paused and then continued on to the back of the Calfos’ heads. “How deeply I feel for your loss. I didn’t have a chance to speak with you privately at the funeral and Sydney was of course still in the hospital, but I want you to know that I, that we...” He stopped as Francie’s parents both turned to face him.
“Thank you,” Pam Calfo whispered, her eyes wide. This was a condolence call from Jack Bristow? She hadn’t realized that he had enough emotions in him to care about the niceties of making such a call...Oh, for Sydney, she supposed. How interesting, that he was here supporting his daughter now. He hadn’t even been home the night the girls had senior prom! She looked at her husband, glaring once again. Did she need to hold up cue cards for him, or what?
“Yes, thank you,” Mr. Calfo echoed, then bit his lip and looked down. Pam’s face softened and she covered his hand with her own, their hands then sliding until they could grip each other tightly.
Jack shuffled uneasily at the display of emotions. Was he supposed to say something else? He must. Sydney was standing there, mute. “I...can only imagine the grief of losing a child. I know...how it would eviscerate me if I lost Sydney.”
“Yes,” Reuben nodded and stared curiously at Bristow. He’d never had this long of a conversation with him in all the years of Sydney and Francie’s relationship. But Francie had told them that in the last year or so before her death, Jack and Sydney had begun speaking once again. Sydney looked a little lost right now; she kept gazing at her father as if she expected him to do something.
“Sit down,” Pam urged. This visit was getting more interesting by the moment. Not only had Jack Bristow paid a condolence call, he had spoken of emotions? What was next? As everyone seated themselves, she asked curiously, “How are you these days, Jack?”
“I’m...very well, thank you.” Jack winced at how stilted he sounded. Exchange information. That’s what you do in these situations. Give a little piece of information and let them respond. “I’m...actually, I mean that. I am doing well. Sydney is well, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
“I...yes. I still miss Francie,” Sydney said in a whisper. “I wish...”
“Oh, so do we...” Pam Calfo whispered back, reaching out to take Sydney’s hands. Ice cold. The girl must be overwhelmed, even if she wasn’t showing it. “But...I’m grateful you and your friend, Will, survived the attack. So grateful. That is something to be thankful for, your lives.”
“It doesn’t always seem that way,” Sydney blurted out. “Being alive when she is gone is....” She clenched her hands around the coffee cup, willing her palms to accept the heat within.
“Losing a friend like that feels like a death of a part of yourself,” Jack offered softly, looking directly at his daughter. Sydney nodded slowly.
“Have you had a loss like that?” Reuben asked tentatively. Jack Bristow had always seemed...tightly wound, cold. But tonight he was clearly here to support his daughter in a way he would have thought impossible given what Francie had described over the years.
“Yes. My best friend. He...”
“He just came home, actually,” Sydney interjected, happier to be away from her own emotional land mine for the moment. “He was a POW all those years.”
“What a gift of grace!” Mrs. Calfo exclaimed. “How amazing.”
“Yes.” Jack leveled a look at Sydney. She was trying to redirect the conversation.
“I imagine that would be quite an adjustment for him,” Reuben said thoughtfully. “I remember reading an article once about the difficulties of adjusting to life at home for POWs, that sometimes that seemed harder than their incarceration. Survival is one thing, but living a life is another. Or so I read.”
“It’s been a challenge.” Jack looked down into his coffee cup.
“How’s Dave doing?” Judy asked, picking up her cup of coffee and sipping it. “It’s been two months and I-“
“I hope-“ Jack bit his words off, then said in a clipped tone, “Hope is not a strategy.”
“No, but it doesn’t hurt,” Judy answered immediately, running over a well-worn path between them. “Hope and faith are intertwined, are they not? We know, do we not, how important they are to any strategy?”
Jack sighed. “Yes, of course. Don’t worry, I haven’t slid backward. I haven’t forgotten. I’m just...impatient.”
“You’re as bad as Dave is,” Irina asserted. Her eyes flashed between her husband and Dr. Barnett. They had a history and these little short cuts in their conversations would have raised her anxiety had she been as possessive as she’d once been. And was no longer, of course. But, Dr. Barnett was just their therapist. And a blonde. She was safe. “Sometimes, patience truly is the best strategy. Should I embroider that on a pillow for you?” She smiled as Jack’s mouth quirked up and he relaxed.
Sydney blinked. “You know how to embroider?” And patience was supposed to be a virtue, wasn’t it? But then again, with the way she’d learned her parents’ minds worked in these last two months, everything seemed to be a strategy with them.
“No, Sydney.” Irina smiled tentatively. “I don’t. It was just a joke, to make your father smile.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Right now, he’s...depressed, I think. Then he has anger. It’s to be expected, of course.”
Judy nodded. “Yes. It’s part of the cycle. And from what I’ve heard of Dave, his physical condition merely adds to his frustration.”
Irina snorted. “He wants to walk. Yesterday. Not today or tomorrow but yesterday.”
Sydney nodded. “He wants to be in on the k-“
“Capture. Target acquisition,” Jack amended his daughter’s words. “Sloane. The acquisition of that target. Dave wants to be in on it.”
“I see.” Judy picked up a pencil and held it between two fingers, staring at it. They intended to kill Sloane, but did not want to go on record as saying so. She would forget she’d even had the thought. She looked up. “He wants to be in on the target acquisition, but knows you can’t hold up the process forever, so he’s even more frustrated?”
“Yes. He wants to see Sark, engage or rather, disengage the protocol. And he hates being cooped up in the hospital,” Sydney added. “He wants out. I don’t blame him. My god, that cave would have been enough to give anyone claustrophobia.”
“I agree,” Jack said blandly. He and Dave had had several conversations on the topic.
“Have you ever talked with Dr. Barnett about your claustrophobia?” Irina interjected.
“I don’t have claustrophobia,” Jack answered automatically, smiling slightly as he knew she’d intended with that regular salvo between them. Or rather, he was overcoming it. And if he could overcome his fears and find faith, then surely Dave could too. Dave was strong. He just needed friends to keep him from falling.
Judy hid her smile. Irina had successfully encouraged a sense of hopefulness again. “And how has Dave been catching up on the events of those years he lost?”
“Weiss has been bringing him the CIA annuals for each year, complete with dvds,” Sydney answered, when her parents stayed silent, merely and annoyingly just sitting there smiling at each other.
“And how is that going?”
“He likes Weiss.” Irina shrugged.
“Well, everyone likes Agent Weiss,” Judy agreed, with a slide of her eyes toward the door of her office.
“Including Susan,” Sydney quipped with a smile.
“Yes.” Judy put the pencil down. “Dave will recover, Jack. Physically and emotionally. He’s feeling adrift right now - as I’m sure his therapist has told you. Even if he’d been in perfect physical condition, this time in his life would be one of difficult transition. So much has changed and he had no control over it.”
“I know.” Jack sighed. Dave’s therapist had told him the same, but hearing it from Judy made it easier to accept.
“Dave can do it, with some help. He’s a strong man or he wouldn’t have survived his situation.”
“Exactly. He’d been so strong for so long and...it’s what he expected of himself. And now he’s frustrated, wanting to walk now. Wanting to feel better now. Wanting the anger to go away now. He’s...angry with Irina right now. He...Then he’s angry at himself for feeling anger.”
“You know..” Judy began.
“I know,” Irina interjected softly. “It’s okay, Jack. I understand. He’s slid back a little. It’s part of the process. Good days and bad days. We all know that.”
“I know. I know. He...He knows it too. And he’s angry about these feelings he’s having trouble controlling. As if all it required was effort on his part. But time...” Jack looked up. “He needs time.”
“And support when his strength falters, like now. Support you’ll give him,” Judy said, knowing it was true. Jack’s loyalty to those he loved had never been in question, even if his ability to show it had been. In the past. These days, watching him with his wife and daughter in these sessions and hearing the others speak of him, it was a different story. She’d like to see him out of the office, with his family, just to make sure. He really had no need for his private therapy sessions any longer; she’d have to cut him loose.
“Absolutely. I found a cousin of his too. Hopefully she has some photos or something from Dave’s parents or knows where we might find them. But we can’t contact her until it’s safe. He’ll be glad to see her again, I’m sure. I remember him speaking of her.” Jack looked away. “But right now...he hurts.”
“Of course. But it’s hard to see, to experience with him?” Judy asked softly.
“Yes. I...know now, what he was feeling when I was going through my own trouble. It hurts almost as much to see their pain as your own, if not more.” Jack clenched his fist. He wanted to do more. Wished he could. He knew Dave was going to be okay, but Sydney was right, he did need a chance to get out of the hospital. How?
“Yes. If one is empathetic.”
“He’s my best friend. I love him. Of course, I’m empathetic.”
“There’s no of course about it, Jack. I’ve found empathy is often in short supply and in this life you’ve led? It’s as rare as an absolutely flawless, perfect diamond. As I’m sure you know all too well,” Judy reminded him quietly. She watched silently as Irina covered Jack’s hand with hers and curled her fingers around his palm, offering him silent support. He looked down at their hands and then back up into his wife’s face.
“It will be okay, Jack,” Irina whispered. “You’re almost as impatient as Dave. Time...and love will help him heal. Just as it helped you.” Along with some good therapy, she added, sending a grateful look toward Judith Barnett. They all owed her something, something as priceless as what she had given Jack. Luckily, Dave would serve the purpose.
Sydney bit her lip as her eyes slid toward her mother. She still didn’t know the full story of her father’s illness and knew her mother didn’t either. She...She felt like she didn’t know much of anything. She was as impatient as Dave these days. And as confused, watching her parents interact. Seeing the love between them, remembering how they’d been before, she was having trouble understanding why her mother had left in the first place and why she hadn’t come home later. She understood it intellectually, had even - at Dr. Barnett’s insistence talked about it - but in her heart? She still hadn’t achieved a sense of peace yet. It seemed beyond her understanding.
Sydney stood up abruptly. “I...Could I see Francie’s room?”
“Of course.” Pam Calfo stood up and led the way. As they walked up the stairs and Pam opened the door to the room, she kept a close eye on Sydney. She was going to chew a hole in her lip if she kept biting it that way. She gestured with her hand and watched Sydney hesitate at the doorway, then cautiously enter. She touched a jewelry box, smiled at an old Duran Duran poster, and ran her fingertips along the top edges of the garments still in the closet. When she seemed finished and suddenly ready to bolt from the room, Mrs. Calfo walked over to the bureau. “I want you to have this.” Pam handed Sydney a small box.
“What is it?” Sydney edged toward the door, not wanting to look at what she held in her hand.
“Open it up.” Pam urged. “I know your generation does everything on the computer, but I thought you might like to have the real thing. Open. It. Up,” she said firmly. She nodded as Sydney flicked open the lid and frowned in concentration at the contents.
“Her favorite recipes?” Sydney gulped, as her fingers flipped through the index cards. She watched her hand, feeling as if she were underwater. Yes, that must be it. That must be why she saw a drop of water on her hand. “But, but...don’t you want them?” she asked, wondering why her voice sounded so muted.
“Sydney, many of the recipes were from me or our family. I already have copies. And don’t you remember? Francie was the real cook in the family. Not me.” Pam reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a tissue. Sydney didn’t seem to realize that she was crying.
“But-“ Sydney broke off as she heard a sob begin to erupt from her mouth. She looked down, then jerked, startled as Mrs. Calfo’s gripped her chin and gently wiped her eyes, before stuffing the tissue in her hand. Yes, that’s right. Francie’s mom had always had a tissue on her.
“I made copies. But I want you to have the original.”
“But the box too?” Sydney blotted her eyes with the tissue and released a shuddering breath.
“The box was hers...” Pam Calfo trailed her fingertips across the top. “You know, when we were at the funeral home, making the arrangements, the funeral director was...well, he was yapping on and on, I think, trying to give us time to accept what we were doing. And picking out the casket, her final...home, was horrible. I couldn’t bear the thought of my baby being in a box. And the funeral director told me something then, that...”
“Yes?” Sydney prompted softly, then sniffled. She used the back of her hand to wipe away the slow trickle of tears.
“He said that the word casket was originally meant as any box that held something precious. In the last century, it came to be synonymous with coffin, but the in past girls and women often created these keepsake boxes in which they kept dried flowers, notes, calling cards...”
“Forget me nots? That’s what they called their little mementos. ” Sydney remembered, her memory clicking back to a class in nineteenth-century women’s literature. “When this you see, remember me.”
“Exactly. And that’s what I thought when I was unpacking Francie’s things. I saw this little box and I thought of you, asked myself a question. What could you have to remember Francie that we be most helpful?”
“And her recipes?” Sydney swallowed hard, feeling the ache in the back of her throat begin to recede the longer she held onto the box. “In this little box. It will be like having a piece of her with me.”
“Yes. If you want it-“
“I want it.” Sydney clutched the box to her chest. “I’ll never be able to cook like her, but if I even try...I’ll remember her cooking and eating with her and... Yes. It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“Thank you for coming by. It means a lot to us.”
“Thank you for this box. It means more to me than I can say.” Sydney sniffled again, then sighed, a long watery sound as Mrs. Calfo opened her arms and enfolded Sydney within.
“I hope it will help you heal. I know you grieve for her-“
“Yes...” Sydney sniffled again and rested her head on Mrs. Calfo’s shoulder for a moment, then stood upright. “Thank you. But I didn’t ... How did you know I’d be coming eventually?” Sydney asked, her hand curling around the box. “You had this ready, didn’t you?”
“I knew because your father said you would. At Francie’s funeral.” Pam watched Sydney’s eyes carefully. Good, she seemed a little more alive now, not the wraith wanting to flee she’d been upon entering this room.
Sydney smiled. He’d been planning this trip for that long? “Well, that settles it, then. If he said I would...”
“Then you would.”
“You know, Mrs. Calfo...” Sydney began as Pam Calfo led the way down the stairs. “My father’s been looking for a new home and he’s been unsuccessful so far. Perhaps you’d like to help...”
“Well! That’s why I have my real estate license after all. To help prospective buyers.” Pam quickened her pace. “Jack! I understand you’re in the market for a new home. Let me show you some listings-“
“I thought you ‘d say that.” Sydney smiled behind Pam’s back. Her parents weren’t the only ones who could be manipulative. Just because they all cared, of course.
“I’ll make you a copy, if you’d like, Jack,” Reuben offered, pointing at a photo of Sydney and Francie dressed up for a school Halloween party. Jack Bristow had actually broken out in a grin looking at the image of Sydney in a witch costume. Francie had been wearing the dragon costume from the same show which, in his opinion, made that Barney look neurasthenic.
Jack looked up from the photo album Reuben had been showing him of the girls’ younger years with a smile. Irina would love more photos. She pored over the ones they had, asking him far too many questions he could not answer. Perhaps...If only he could find a way for Irina to meet the Calfos - they seemed to have more knowledge of Sydney’s growing up years than he did. Not surprising, of course. “Yes, I’d love that-“ He stopped as he heard the women coming down the stairs. “What did your wife say?”
“Uh-oh. Are you looking for a house?” Reuben asked. When Jack nodded, Reuben closed the album with a snap. “Pam’s going to commandeer you. So we’ll have to look through these another time. If you’d like.”
“I...” Jack paused, then nodded. Reuben seemed like a nice enough guy. Quiet. But then he’d have to be, married to Pam and having Francie as a daughter. Those two could dominate a room. Maybe... Maybe he and Reuben could be the quiet guys in the corner, talking about...whatever it was men talked about these days. He could try. “I would. Thank you. I have many missing years I need to make up for--”
“Jack!” Pam Calfo called out. “Why didn’t you tell me you were looking for a house? I’m a real estate agent, after all.”
“I-“
“What are you looking for? Tell me.”
“Well, I-“
“He doesn’t know,” Sydney answered. “He keeps looking and looking and it’s ridiculous-“
Jack shook his head. “No, it’s not. I’ll know it when I see it-“
“You’re picky but not?” Pam smiled. “How many houses have you looked at?”
“I don’t think the number is important-“
“Seventy-eight!” Sydney exclaimed. “Do you believe that?”
“Whoa.” Reuben looked at his wife. “That just screams-“
“Problem client.” Pam nodded.
“I’m not a problem,” Jack protested.
“You are so high maintenance, Dad.”
“I am not.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard-“ Sydney broke off. She’d been so relaxed - or perhaps the word was exhausted - after her emotional scene with Mrs. Calfo she’d almost used the word, ‘Mom.’ It was okay, though. Her father would save the situation. "Her say."
“That's not what my fiancee says?” Jack interjected. "I'll have to speak with her about that--"
“Wait. A. Minute.” Pam held up her hand. “You’re getting remarried. This changes everything.”
“Does it?” Jack shrugged, while giving his daughter a look. He had not intended to introduce Irina into this conversation. Hell, he hadn’t intended to have this conversation at all. Now, explanations would be necessary. Had the Calfos ever seen a photo of Sydney and her mother in the house and if so, would they recognize Irina from it? Unlikely, but... Damn it. “She hasn’t seen anything that’s screamed to her, ‘This is our house.’” So what would you recommend we do?”
“I’m still processing the notion of you getting remarried. I mean...Wow!” Mrs. Calfo exclaimed. “You? With whom?” She slapped her hand over her runaway mouth in a manner that reminded Jack of Francie making a crack about his lack of friends. The snot apparently hadn’t fallen far from the tree with that mother and daughter. “I meant, wow, you’ve been a widower for so long, this will be a huge change.”
“No kidding. Would you like some whiskey for that coffee?” Mr. Calfo offered, glaring at his wife.
“I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Irina smiled as she poured two cups of coffee.
“I’m sure they will.” Judy nodded. She’d been concerned about Sydney’s reaction to visiting the Calfos. And she also wanted to see the Bristows interact outside the office.
“But you want to make certain. And...you’re also nosy enough to want to see our house.” Irina stared intently at Judy and she sighed. No reaction. But it had to have been a direct hit. Dave was going to have to work hard to get beneath the mask Judy wore so well.
“House? Not home?” Judy asked, looking around the modern kitchen with its white cabinetry and stainless steel appliances. The entire house was white. She’d been shocked by it, until she’d seen the view. The interior was almost irrelevant with a view like that, the beach a beautiful ribbon of sand backed by an endless, shimmering width of blue. Perfect for someone with claustrophobia.
Irina gestured around the room and then patted the stainless countertops. “It looks like you could do surgery in here. So, it’s not a home. Or not my idea of a home with my family.” Querencia was her idea of a home for her family. But...
“Knowing your family, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that surgery had occurred in here.”
“Very amusing.” Irina looked at the wavery, indistinct image of herself in the silver beneath her. Querencia had been her refuge for so long. But was it outdated? Or was it just one part of her life, a part to hold onto. But not the entirety. Not anymore. She didn’t need to rely on her memory book anymore. She could make new memories in a new house. Was that why she hadn’t found a house yet? Was it time to move on? Not this house. Too white. This house was a good way station en route to the rest of their lives. But what next? “This isn’t the house for us. It was available and...”
Judy lifted her cup in the direction of the windows facing the ocean. “Amazing view, though.”
“Yes. We rented it because we hoped Dave would be here with us and we thought he’d appreciate being able to see to the edge of the world.”
“I can see where that might be enticing after years spent in a dark cave.” Judy took a sip from her cup.
“So we thought. And not that Jack has any claustrophobia.”
“Of course not.” Judy smiled. “I’m sure you could find a way to help him with that problem.”
Irina plunked her cup down with a metallic ping. She knew Judy was goading her and didn’t care. If Judy weren’t her therapist, she would have wanted her to be a friend. She felt comfortable with her in a way she hadn’t in decades, which might - she knew - be due to the fact that she was allowing the real her to emerge. Speaking of emerging.. “You’ve hinted at that before. You have an idea. Tell me.”
Judy shrugged. Jack was correct. It was amusing to irritate Irina. “It’s best if the patient devises their own creative solutions-“
Jack gave a short laugh at Reuben’s suggestion. “Don’t tempt me. But, Pam, if you’d rather discuss my romantic failures than discuss house options, that’s-“
“Oh no, of course not.” Pam grabbed a pad and pen from the counter near the phone. “Let’s talk.”
“Let’s.” Jack sighed with a look at his daughter. “What do you suggest?”
“Keep looking.” Mrs. Calfo gave a roll of her eyes that once again reminded Jack of Francie. No wonder Sydney had come up with excuses to avoid this visit. “But first, I’d suggest that you figure out what’s important to you. What you like and dislike. What do you want?”
Sydney grinned and avoided her father’s warning glare. “Now there’s a question. Which he cannot answer. He doesn’t know what he wants. Obviously, if he’s looked at seventy-eight places-“
“Good lord!” Mrs. Calfo put her hand on her chest. “That is ridiculous. I lost track of that in the more important news. But really. The man needs to be talked to.”
“I thought so.” Sydney smiled, as she rolled her hands over the box she held.
“The man is sitting right here, Pam,” Reuben snapped. He hid his relieved smile. Being with Sydney had elevated his wife’s spirits. She hadn’t been this animated ever since they’d gotten the phone call from Jack in the middle of the night.
“Where are you living now?” Pam asked after exchanging glances with her husband.
Jack hid his own smile. It had been so long since he’d watched another married couple interact. “On the beach. It’s a nice...building. But not...”
“Not a home?”
“No.” Jack wrinkled his nose. “It’s all white and glass and...It has a beautiful view, but...”
“It’s cold,” Sydney interrupted. “I don’t like it. My.. father’s fiancee has put colorful rugs and throw pillows around, but it can’t mask the fact that you feel like you’re in a hospital or something. Blech. Mrs. Calfo, what do you think--”
“So. It doesn’t feel like home?” Mrs. Calfo pressed. There were as many different notions of home as they were clients.
“No. Not yet. But we’re just renting right now. It’s functional because I hope my friend will be able to leave the hospital soon and live with us for a while. He can’t do stairs.” And because it had been easy to outfit with Marshall’s most foolproof security devices.
Mrs. Calfo nodded. She might as well start throwing darts at the board and seeing which one would hit the as yet unseen target. “Well...Let’s see. The latest trend are these 'new urbanism' developments in which it’s all-“
Jack nodded and said succinctly,“Fake. Those developments are designed to make one think one’s living in an organic neighborhood without the fuss and bother of the investment of time?”
“How did you know that, Dad?” Sydney asked incredulously.
“I’ve spent enough time in hospital waiting rooms in the last two months. After a while, you’ll read anything.”
“Including architecture magazines?”
“That’s the least of it. I now know which shampoo is best for curly hair with or without the horror of attendant frizziness.”
Sydney gaped at her father and began to laugh. With a sly smile, she asked, “Gee, I suppose it’s lucky you didn’t read Cosmo or-“
“I’d know seventy-eight ways to drive a man crazy in bed.” Jack rolled his eyes as Sydney choked and began to cough at his words. Ha. She deserved this. “What a bunch of-“
“Crap,” Reuben finished. He leaned toward Jack to whisper, “All they really have to do is show up and that works for me.”
Jack bit his lip and nodded. Pam leaned over and swatted her husband’s arm with her pad. “I know you just said something disgusting!”
“It was horrible. I was shocked,” Jack agreed. “Now, about a house....?”
Mrs. Calfo nodded. “Let me think. There is a new development, an executive development...” She got up and went over to the counter and opened her briefcase. Pulling out a map, she carried it back over to the table. “Here...It’s not on the ocean, but it’s not too far. The lots are large, for this part of California. The price is...correspondingly high.”
“That’s not a problem.” Jack’s mouth quirked wryly. “Then again, I probably shouldn’t have just said that to a real estate agent, should I?”
“Bad negotiating posture,” Mr. Calfo laughed.
She pointed to a location. “It’s new, but it’s designed to give a feeling of permanence.”
“The illusion of permanence?”
“Yes. But, in time, it will become real, of course. As people make the houses and the neighborhood their homes.” She pulled out a folder. “Here. They’re all custom homes, no two alike. There are several partially completed homes and several lots still available.”
“I don’t think I want a new development. It seems somewhat...raw.” Jack shook his head. And people in a new development, he’d heard, were generally friendlier than those in established neighborhoods. The last thing he wanted was to have to deflect invitations to neighborhood barbecues.
Pam nodded slowly and then pulled her laptop out of her briefcase. “Is oceanfront important?”
“Not particularly. I enjoy it, but...I think...” Jack took a sip of his coffee. They had talked about buying an estate, but the idea held no appeal for him. He’d spent enough of his life isolated from others behind a wall. Irina’s home on Malta was a frickin’ village on its own. He thought suddenly of a story she’d told him one night by the light of the moon; it had just been part of the story, he knew. “I think my fiancée would like a....neighborhood. Not too close to each other, privacy is important to us both. But...Not just houses on a street, but neighbors to...spy on, if you know what I mean.”
Mrs. Calfo grinned. “Neighbors are better than a soap opera. Especially if you have a front porch and actually open your windows. But what do you want?”
“I want my wife to be happy.”
“Smart man,” Mr. Calfo laughed. “But Jack, you must have some idea-“
“I want...” Jack frowned. He’d never thought about it. “I want a feeling of openness without coldness, warmth without feeling cozy--"
"He has claustrophobia," Sydney interrupted to say.
"No, I don't." Jack smiled at the running joke in their family. "I want privacy without...feeling cut off. My fiance owns another home that is quite isolated. We... I enjoyed when I was younger, living in my neighborhood with my neighbors...”
Mr. Calfo nodded. “That old guy that lived next to you with the hollyhocks?”
“Yes. How do you remember him?”
“Mr. Greenjeans?” Sydney asked.
Jack smiled. “Mr. Greenlaw, sweetheart. You always confused him with the character from Captain Kangaroo.”
“Well, he was always outside puttering around, giving advice, just like Mr. Greenjeans.”
“He was a good man.” Jack turned to Reuben. “Again. How did you know him?”
“He was nosy, asked me who I was all those times I came over dropping off or picking up the girls. We got to talking and I complimented his flowers, trying to be friendly. He gave me some of his hollyhocks. They’re still growing - generations later - out back.”
“You’re kidding,” Jack and Sydney said in unison, looking at each other in surprise.
“No.” Mr. Calfo laughed. “Look out the back window. Or better yet, go outside and smell them.”
Reuben got up and opened the door. He and Pam followed the Bristows outside, watching as they stared, seemingly unseeingly at them.
“I didn’t know you’d gotten these flowers from him. They...when I was a little girl, they were so much taller than me and now...” Sydney measured herself against them, coming within inches of the top bloom. She gently reached up and touched the light pink edges of the fluttering petals. “Mr. Greenjeans and these flowers. I don’t know if I would ever see these without thinking of him.”
“I...” Jack shook his head. “I remember him, fussing with those flowers. He taught us so much about gardening. A generous man. He was a good neighbor. A good friend, too, really. The closest thing Sydney had to a grandfather.”
“You know what?” Mrs. Calfo interrupted. “When you get your own house, we’ll give you some of those plants. You and Sydney will have a trip down memory lane.”
So will Irina, Jack thought, but did not say as he stared at those long, tall stalks of flowers, bending slightly in the warm breeze of a late summer afternoon.
“Would you like a house that has the right siting for a garden?” Mrs. Calfo asked, seeing the wistfulness on both of the Bristows faces.
“Dad... my purple petunias...” Sydney whispered. She smiled as she remembered her parents arguing about the garden and her mother turning a hose on them both as they’d dug petunias. “We could make a messy garden and she could have her uptight little-“
“Yes, actually, I would like a garden,” Jack decided. “I enjoyed that in the past. Or a greenhouse or...”
“Wait.” Pam Calfo turned and went back into the house. “Let me check my listings. I have an idea.”
“I don’t know...” Jack demurred a few minutes later, looking down at the sheet in his hand.
“Why don’t you swing by on your way home? It might give you least an idea, a place to start now that you have a better idea of your likes and dislikes.” Pam paused and when Jack said nothing, just continued to stare quietly at the listing, she spoke rapidly, filling in the silence. “You have to start somewhere. I think this is a good start. Note your reactions to it and then we can move on. Sometimes, it requires persistence. The perfect house isn’t just going to fall into your lap.”
“Not unless you’re the Wicked Witch of the East,” Mr. Calfo quipped.
“Hey, Witchiepoo...” Jack drawled as his wife answered the phone.
TBC at Chapter 2010 Part 1 section 2 of