talk: clinking of utensils against china, the crunch of bacon being bitten into, the quiet slurp-and-swallow of orange juice and coffee disappearing into stomachs.
I’m on my second cup of coffee, and between the shower, the great breakfast, and the relative harmony of my home, I’m feeling awake and alert and refreshed. I eat the last of my eggs and push my plate forward.
I rub my stomach in an exaggerated way and roll my eyes heavenward. “Awesome.” I sigh.
“I agree,” Bonnie says. “You cook a good breakfast, Tommy.”
“Mom told me a man who can cook would always make a favorable impression with the ladies. I guess she was right.”
I check the clock. Bonnie will have to leave to catch the school bus in about thirty minutes. Time enough to tell them both about my offer from Director Rathbun. It’s a bit of a skydive, but scheduling, for this family, is difficult.
“I have something you guys need to know about,” I say. “Something I was offered.” I give them the full rundown, leaving nothing out. When I finish, both of them are quiet. I scan their faces nervously, looking for any signs of upset.
“Well?” I ask. “What do you think?”
Tommy wipes the corner of his mouth with the paper towel in his hand. “Bonnie’s the one with the time crunch,” he says. “You and I can talk after she catches the bus.”
I turn my attention to Bonnie. “So?”
“What would change?” she asks.
It’s the perfect question, really. The key one.
“Well … I guess not much in the beginning. We’d still be living here.” I frown. “No, that’s not right, is it? We’d be covering the whole USA, so I imagine even though we’d be living here, I’d be traveling more. Kind of like last year, when I had to go to Virginia. Later, if this becomes permanent, we might have to move to Virginia.”
She nibbles on her toast. “What’s Virginia like?”
I don’t have a detailed answer to this question. I spent twenty-one weeks in Quantico, Virginia, for my training, but I don’t think Quantico is a good demographic. It’s on 385 acres of woodland. Breathtakingly beautiful in the fall, surprisingly mild in the summer, at least when I was there. Humidity was higher than California, for sure, and rainfall was scattered but always welcome. I was gone before the winter.
“It has four seasons,” I say. “Snow in the winter. Trees with the red and yellow leaves in the fall. Nice summer. Beautiful spring, I guess, though I wasn’t there for that.” I struggle to put words to the faint memories. “Everything feels older, but not in a rundown kind of way. California has a newer feeling to it. The East Coast has more weight.”
“I’d like to see it,” she says.
“Of course, honey. I promise, if this all comes to pass, we’ll take a trip out there.”
She brushes her hands off over her plate. “Okay, Mama-Smoky.”
“Okay what, honey?”
“I’m okay if we have to move. And I think you should do this job.”
“Why?”
“What you do is serious. It’s important.” Her voice is grave. She means what she’s saying, maybe more than a thirteen-year-old should “mean” anything. “Your boss is right. You’re the best person for the job. If that’s true, then you have to take it. It’s your duty. And it’s my duty to help make it okay for you.”
I have no immediate response to this. Duty? She throws the word out with certainty and intensity. It’s another look into the direction her mind is growing, and it makes me wonder if agreeing to do this would be all wrong, after all.
“I haven’t decided yet, but I’ll let you know.” I check the clock. “Time for you to go.”
She collects her backpack and I walk her to the door. The bus stop is only a block away. She turns before she leaves and gives me a hug. “I love you, Mama-Smoky,” she says.
This I can handle. I hug her back. “I love you too, baby. Don’t forget what I said about the extracurricular activity.”
“I
I’m on my second cup of coffee, and between the shower, the great breakfast, and the relative harmony of my home, I’m feeling awake and alert and refreshed. I eat the last of my eggs and push my plate forward.
I rub my stomach in an exaggerated way and roll my eyes heavenward. “Awesome.” I sigh.
“I agree,” Bonnie says. “You cook a good breakfast, Tommy.”
“Mom told me a man who can cook would always make a favorable impression with the ladies. I guess she was right.”
I check the clock. Bonnie will have to leave to catch the school bus in about thirty minutes. Time enough to tell them both about my offer from Director Rathbun. It’s a bit of a skydive, but scheduling, for this family, is difficult.
“I have something you guys need to know about,” I say. “Something I was offered.” I give them the full rundown, leaving nothing out. When I finish, both of them are quiet. I scan their faces nervously, looking for any signs of upset.
“Well?” I ask. “What do you think?”
Tommy wipes the corner of his mouth with the paper towel in his hand. “Bonnie’s the one with the time crunch,” he says. “You and I can talk after she catches the bus.”
I turn my attention to Bonnie. “So?”
“What would change?” she asks.
It’s the perfect question, really. The key one.
“Well … I guess not much in the beginning. We’d still be living here.” I frown. “No, that’s not right, is it? We’d be covering the whole USA, so I imagine even though we’d be living here, I’d be traveling more. Kind of like last year, when I had to go to Virginia. Later, if this becomes permanent, we might have to move to Virginia.”
She nibbles on her toast. “What’s Virginia like?”
I don’t have a detailed answer to this question. I spent twenty-one weeks in Quantico, Virginia, for my training, but I don’t think Quantico is a good demographic. It’s on 385 acres of woodland. Breathtakingly beautiful in the fall, surprisingly mild in the summer, at least when I was there. Humidity was higher than California, for sure, and rainfall was scattered but always welcome. I was gone before the winter.
“It has four seasons,” I say. “Snow in the winter. Trees with the red and yellow leaves in the fall. Nice summer. Beautiful spring, I guess, though I wasn’t there for that.” I struggle to put words to the faint memories. “Everything feels older, but not in a rundown kind of way. California has a newer feeling to it. The East Coast has more weight.”
“I’d like to see it,” she says.
“Of course, honey. I promise, if this all comes to pass, we’ll take a trip out there.”
She brushes her hands off over her plate. “Okay, Mama-Smoky.”
“Okay what, honey?”
“I’m okay if we have to move. And I think you should do this job.”
“Why?”
“What you do is serious. It’s important.” Her voice is grave. She means what she’s saying, maybe more than a thirteen-year-old should “mean” anything. “Your boss is right. You’re the best person for the job. If that’s true, then you have to take it. It’s your duty. And it’s my duty to help make it okay for you.”
I have no immediate response to this. Duty? She throws the word out with certainty and intensity. It’s another look into the direction her mind is growing, and it makes me wonder if agreeing to do this would be all wrong, after all.
“I haven’t decided yet, but I’ll let you know.” I check the clock. “Time for you to go.”
She collects her backpack and I walk her to the door. The bus stop is only a block away. She turns before she leaves and gives me a hug. “I love you, Mama-Smoky,” she says.
This I can handle. I hug her back. “I love you too, baby. Don’t forget what I said about the extracurricular activity.”
“I
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