paragraphs.
Carolyn wasn’t especially interested in her mother’s legacy. She wanted to play.
“You wanna catch fireflies, Billy?”
He looked up from the laptop. “Not right now, Carolyn. We are going to barbecue some chicken in a few minutes. You can help me—your dad is going to be home tonight.”
It didn’t register. “Hey—I gotta good idea. I think we should ride bikes!”
“No.”
“How ’bout we color?” She got up to run. “I’ll get the crayons.”
“No, Carolyn!”
She stopped and turned back toward him, looking at him with her big negotiator eyes. “Then I guess we’re gonna haff to ride bikes,” she said with a wispy shrug and grin.
Billy devised a compromise—they would both write. He wrote his article, while she scribbled with crayons on a piece of scrap paper.
“I’m writing a story just like you, Billy.”
“That’s good.”
“When I grow up I’m gonna be a newspaper writer.”
“I thought you were going to be a firefighter?”
She sighed. “Can’t a girl change her mind?”
He couldn’t hide his smile. “I’m not sure newspapers will still be around when you’re my age. Maybe you should think about starting a blog instead.”
“Blog rhymes with frog,” she said, then performed her best frog imitation—ribbit…ribbit. It was cute the first few times, but got old real quick.
They finished their masterpieces simultaneously. Billy emailed his story to his editor, and Carolyn displayed her work for his viewing. The scribbles weren’t legible, but that didn’t stop Carolyn from reading them aloud, “I love Mommy, Daddy, Billy, Aunt Dana. I hope they never die and go to Sesame Street. But if they do, I hope I can come because it would be fun!”
He was really going to miss her.
They moved to the top of the cottage and Billy started the barbecue. Regardless of his fate, he thought cooking a meal for Chuck and Beth would be the least he could do for giving him one of the most fulfilling weeks he’d had in a long time.
Carolyn was his assistant, stirring the barbecue sauce before Billy brushed it on the chicken. She referred to it as “painting the chicken.” But she ate most of the profits by dipping her finger into the spicy sauce and licking it off.
“Doesn’t it sting?” he asked, thinking of her wounded tongue.
She giggled and took another fingerful. “Like a bee?”
“Something like that.”
She made a buzzing sound. “I’m gonna sting you, Billy,” she said and poked him with her finger.
He smiled. “Come on and help me paint the chicken before you eat it all.”
In one ear and out the other. “Now you be a bee and try to sting me !”
She began to run from him.
“Get back here, Carolyn, be careful!”
She continued to run, heading for the steep stairs. “You can’t catch me, Billy!”
“Get back here, Carolyn!”
She rapidly approached the dangerous stairs.
“Watch me fly like a bee, Billy!”
“Nooo, Carolyn!”
She looked back and smiled—
And then she jumped.
Chapter 20
Following another morning visit to Arlington, Kerry Rutherford instructed his driver to bring him to his Northern Virginia estate so he could get some much needed rest and relaxation. Benny, his longtime driver, rolled his eyes and mentioned that he didn’t think Rutherford would ever get any rest until he caught all the bad guys. Benny was right.
They drove past the Pentagon, which was the castle where Rutherford was king for so many years. Then into the bumper-to-bumper morning traffic of I-95 South. They passed Quantico, where he had done the majority of his marine training. Memories hit him like a wave pounding the beach.
Twenty minutes after Benny dropped him off at his home, Rutherford was in his government-issued, bulletproof GMC Yukon XL. He drove out of the city, the road soon turning into a quiet highway lined by thick trees and overhanging greenery. An hour later he arrived in Fredericksburg, a sleepy city off of I-95, the
Carolyn wasn’t especially interested in her mother’s legacy. She wanted to play.
“You wanna catch fireflies, Billy?”
He looked up from the laptop. “Not right now, Carolyn. We are going to barbecue some chicken in a few minutes. You can help me—your dad is going to be home tonight.”
It didn’t register. “Hey—I gotta good idea. I think we should ride bikes!”
“No.”
“How ’bout we color?” She got up to run. “I’ll get the crayons.”
“No, Carolyn!”
She stopped and turned back toward him, looking at him with her big negotiator eyes. “Then I guess we’re gonna haff to ride bikes,” she said with a wispy shrug and grin.
Billy devised a compromise—they would both write. He wrote his article, while she scribbled with crayons on a piece of scrap paper.
“I’m writing a story just like you, Billy.”
“That’s good.”
“When I grow up I’m gonna be a newspaper writer.”
“I thought you were going to be a firefighter?”
She sighed. “Can’t a girl change her mind?”
He couldn’t hide his smile. “I’m not sure newspapers will still be around when you’re my age. Maybe you should think about starting a blog instead.”
“Blog rhymes with frog,” she said, then performed her best frog imitation—ribbit…ribbit. It was cute the first few times, but got old real quick.
They finished their masterpieces simultaneously. Billy emailed his story to his editor, and Carolyn displayed her work for his viewing. The scribbles weren’t legible, but that didn’t stop Carolyn from reading them aloud, “I love Mommy, Daddy, Billy, Aunt Dana. I hope they never die and go to Sesame Street. But if they do, I hope I can come because it would be fun!”
He was really going to miss her.
They moved to the top of the cottage and Billy started the barbecue. Regardless of his fate, he thought cooking a meal for Chuck and Beth would be the least he could do for giving him one of the most fulfilling weeks he’d had in a long time.
Carolyn was his assistant, stirring the barbecue sauce before Billy brushed it on the chicken. She referred to it as “painting the chicken.” But she ate most of the profits by dipping her finger into the spicy sauce and licking it off.
“Doesn’t it sting?” he asked, thinking of her wounded tongue.
She giggled and took another fingerful. “Like a bee?”
“Something like that.”
She made a buzzing sound. “I’m gonna sting you, Billy,” she said and poked him with her finger.
He smiled. “Come on and help me paint the chicken before you eat it all.”
In one ear and out the other. “Now you be a bee and try to sting me !”
She began to run from him.
“Get back here, Carolyn, be careful!”
She continued to run, heading for the steep stairs. “You can’t catch me, Billy!”
“Get back here, Carolyn!”
She rapidly approached the dangerous stairs.
“Watch me fly like a bee, Billy!”
“Nooo, Carolyn!”
She looked back and smiled—
And then she jumped.
Chapter 20
Following another morning visit to Arlington, Kerry Rutherford instructed his driver to bring him to his Northern Virginia estate so he could get some much needed rest and relaxation. Benny, his longtime driver, rolled his eyes and mentioned that he didn’t think Rutherford would ever get any rest until he caught all the bad guys. Benny was right.
They drove past the Pentagon, which was the castle where Rutherford was king for so many years. Then into the bumper-to-bumper morning traffic of I-95 South. They passed Quantico, where he had done the majority of his marine training. Memories hit him like a wave pounding the beach.
Twenty minutes after Benny dropped him off at his home, Rutherford was in his government-issued, bulletproof GMC Yukon XL. He drove out of the city, the road soon turning into a quiet highway lined by thick trees and overhanging greenery. An hour later he arrived in Fredericksburg, a sleepy city off of I-95, the
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