Commitment Read online

  “No, Alexis. Your grandmother and Edmond’s father did.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Alex asked.

  Helen sighed. “Your grandmother was not Greek, Alexis. You do know that?”

  “Yeah. She was French,” Alex said.

  “Richard is French. That was not her original name,” Helen said. “It was Kaufman.”

  Alex pressed her temples firmly. “What are you telling me? YaYa was German?”

  “YaYa was a German Jew, Alexis,” Helen explained. “She changed her name.”

  “To avoid persecution,” Alex surmised.

  “Partly. Only partly,” Helen said. “She worked in an office in Rastenburg.”

  “Are you telling me she worked for the Nazis?”

  Helen nodded. “They thought so,” Helen smiled. “She worked as a stenographer, Alexis. You take after her as well. She had an aptitude for language. Did you know that?” Helen asked. Alex studied her mother. She was growing more curious and more anxious with each second that passed. “YaYa spoke Greek, French, German, English, and Russian fluently,” Helen told a surprised Alex.

  “She was a spy,” Alex said in disbelief.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Helen confirmed. “She sent information about banking transactions to the allies. Specifically to a contact in France. A young French officer named Rene Callier.”

  Helen watched as Alex attempted to process the story of her grandmother’s life. It was a fanciful story, but every word of it was true. Helen remembered the long conversation with her mother one stormy Sunday afternoon. Alex’s father had been away for nearly a month, and a very pregnant Helen was growing weary. She could not understand what business could manage to keep her husband overseas for such extended periods. It was a pattern that repeated throughout the early years of their marriage, and Helen was beginning to wonder how many mistresses her husband had. Her mother’s revelations seemed preposterous to Helen. As she listened to her mother, Helen came to embrace the idea that fiction is always born of truth. Helen looked at her daughter now and saw a familiar expression reflected back to her.

  “It was no accident that I met your father,” Helen said quietly. “Your Grandfather Toles was stationed in France during the war.”

  “Yes, I know,” Alex said.

  “Your father, Edmond….even me….we were born into this life, Alexis. We did not find each other by accident. It was carefully orchestrated. Not unlike like you and Jonathan. Your father and Edmond….they were not given much choice.”

  “There is always a choice,” Alex responded swiftly.

  “Is there?” Helen challenged her daughter. “Maybe there is. Maybe it’s just part of who they were; just like you.”

  “You think I am like Dad and Edmond? Do you have any idea the things they have done?” Alex chastised her mother for her assertion.

  “I don’t need to know what they have done,” Helen said. “I do know that neither of them wanted his children to follow in his footsteps. And yet, you have.”

  Alex shook her head. “I never wanted to be part of this, Mom. Not this,” Alex said.

  “And you think they did?” Helen asked pointedly.

  “It was their choice,” Alex offered her opinion.

  “And, it is yours,” Helen responded in kind. “You are very quick to judge,” Helen reprimanded her daughter. “Particularly, when you don’t seem to know all the facts.”

  “Are you defending them?” Alex asked. “They have financed warlords, drug dealers, sold weapons to terrorist. Jesus Christ, Mom…they’ve had people assassinated! What do you think killed Dad? A heart attack?”

  “That’s enough, Alexis,” Helen demanded.

  Anger and confusion poured through Alex’s body. Helen closed her eyes to calm her frustration. She pulled herself from her seat and made her way to her daughter. Helen pulled Alex’s hands away from their task of digging into her temples. She directed Alex to look at her and softened her tone. Gently, Helen pushed back her daughter’s hair just as she did when Alex was a child.

  “I didn’t tell you this to hurt you, Alexis. It’s part of who you are; where you come from. You tell me that your father made choices. Edmond made choices. That’s true. I made choices. We all do. You chose to marry Cassidy. You chose to have this baby with her.” Helen began.

  “I love her,” Alex said.

  “Yes. I know you do. Your father loved me. He was always torn, Alexis; torn between what he felt he had to do, maybe even what he enjoyed doing.” Helen struggled to complete her thought as a myriad of memories flooded through her mind. “And, with being present for the people that he loved. He did love you, Alexis, but he was never very good at showing you that. He was gone so often, and when he was home, he was preoccupied with whatever would take him away next. So, yes…. we made choices. Now, you have to make some of your own. You think chasing the ghosts of the past will make your children’s future better?” Helen asked.

  Alex’s eyes betrayed her doubt as she answered the question. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

  “They are that, Alexis….ghosts. They will haunt you if you let them. You have to decide now; what do you want? The past will always repeat itself unless you choose to stop it.”

  “That’s what we are trying to do,” Alex defended her actions.

  “Is it?” Helen questioned Alex. “You and Jonathan; you want to change the future? Or do you think somehow you can change the past?”

  Helen’s frank question cut through Alex like a knife. “I…”

  “The future is upstairs right now,” Helen said. “Not just your future….our future. So, now it’s your turn to decide how committed you really are to that. You can uncover all the secrets of the past. I’m confident of that. You might find some satisfaction in that, but you will never be able to change it.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” Alex asked helplessly. “I have to protect them. I need to know…”

  Helen smiled and patted Alex’s cheek. “You talk about choices, Alexis, and yet you see everything as right and wrong; absolutes. Only you can decide what choice is right and what choice is wrong. I can’t do that for you. In the end, it comes down to what you value most,” she said. “Talk to your brother,” Helen suggested.

  “You think I should tell Nicky….”

  Helen stood and shook her head. “I didn’t mean Nicky,” she said.

  “Mom?”

  Helen offered her daughter a smile. “I’m sorry,” Alex said

  “What are you sorry for?” Helen asked.

  “Everything. Disappointing my family…disappointing you,” Alex shook her head. “Dad….”

  “I’ve made peace with my choices,” Helen said. “It allowed me to make peace with the past. I forgave your father long ago for his shortcomings. I never loved him any less because of them. Disappointment? You’ve never disappointed me, Alexis. As for Cassidy and Dylan…they will love you no matter what choice you make. Disappointment is your own demon, honey. Once you learn that, you’ll be much happier,” Helen advised her daughter.

  Alex sat silently for a few moments, pondering her mother’s advice. She was surprised that she felt no anger or sense of betrayal in this new found information. Alex watched her mother as she puttered about the kitchen in a routine that was timeless. She’d never given much thought as to what it must have been like for her mother all those years. Helen was a homemaker. She was ‘Mom’. Alex suddenly realized the wisdom that came with that role. She looked to the ceiling and chuckled before beginning the short trek back upstairs.

  “Where are you going?” Helen called to her daughter.

  “I think I’ve had enough of the past for one day,” Alex explained as she left the room.

  Helen watched her daughter leave and smiled. “Maybe there is hope yet,” she whispered softly.

  Friday, January 30th

  assidy headed into the kitchen wishing she could indulge in a strong cup of coffee. Alex was sitting at the table with th
e newspaper in front of her, sipping her cup of exactly what Cassidy was craving. “What are you doing?” Cassidy asked her wife.

  “Good morning,” Alex greeted her.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Cassidy said.

  Alex’s eyes drifted to the mug beside her. “I would think that would be obvious,” Alex answered.

  “Don’t be cute, Alex. You know exactly what I am referring to. Why aren’t you working?” Cassidy asked.

  “Who says I’m not working?” Alex responded.

  Cassidy sighed in frustration. “You’ve been home all week. I’m fine, Alex.”

  “Hey, being the boss has certain privileges,” Alex said. “Why are you so grumpy? I thought you were feeling better.”

  “I am feeling better and you know why I am grumpy.”

  Alex smiled and nodded. “Sit down,” she suggested to her wife. Cassidy rolled her eyes but followed Alex’s suggestion. “All right,” Alex looked at her wife to ensure she had her full attention. “I know that you are okay, Cass. I won’t lie to you, knowing that O’Brien is out there, God knows where and God knows doing what….well, I feel better being close.”

  “You don’t think he would try and come here?” Cassidy asked nervously.

  “No, I don’t. You might be feeling better, but be honest; you and Dylan have both been nervous with all the news surrounding O’Brien. There is no way to shield Dylan from all of that, or for me to shield you. We both know that he feels safer with me here, even if he has no reason to be afraid.”

  Cassidy sighed. Alex was completely on point. Cassidy had been shocked and shaken when the news broke that Christopher O’Brien had failed to appear in court. He was now America’s most wanted man. She couldn’t fathom how such a public figure could maintain any anonymity. Congressman Christopher O’Brien’s face was everywhere. “I know. The truth is…I feel better with you here too,” Cassidy confessed.

  Alex smiled. “Look, I do have some work I have to do later, but I can do that here,” she said. Cassidy nodded. “I want to be here as much as I can right now; for both of you. Unfortunately, I have to go to Natick next week for a few days,” Alex said. She knew that Cassidy would understand, but she hated delivering the news that she would be away so soon again, even for a few days. Cassidy offered Alex a small smile and nodded again. “I have some meetings, and I have to conduct them there,” Alex explained.

  “It’s all right, Alex. I understand,” Cassidy said honestly.

  “I know you do. Pip is going to meet me there,” Alex told her wife. Cassidy waited for Alex to continue. “He’ll have some things that I need.”

  “When are you leaving?” Cassidy asked.

  “Tuesday evening. I’ll be back Saturday,” Alex promised.

  “Staying at your mom’s?” Cassidy asked.

  “That’s the plan; yes. I have some things I need to deal with there as well,” Alex said with a sigh. Alex confided in Cassidy the story that Helen had told her. Alex was rattled by all the revelations of the last week. They did not shock her, but she was not satisfied with only knowing the cursory details.

  Cassidy was sure that Alex intended to dig deeper into all that she had learned on this short trip back to Massachusetts. She understood Alex’s need. She wanted to know the same answers, no matter what they were. The plain truth was that their children would be born into the same cycle that Alex and her parents had been. There was little doubt in Cassidy’s mind that Alex sought to break that cycle somehow. She moved from her seat and plopped herself in Alex’s lap, placing a kiss on her wife’s nose.

  “What was that for?” Alex asked. Cassidy shrugged. “You feeling okay?” Alex asked lightly.

  Cassidy scrunched up her face playfully. “Actually, I’m feeling hungry.”

  “Really?” Alex was delighted at the simple statement.

  “Yep. So, Agent Toles, how about you make your wife an omelet for breakfast and your wife will make you those tacos you’ve been craving for dinner?” Cassidy offered with a suggestive wink.

  “I’m not sure that’s a fair trade,” Alex contemplated the offer. “Your tacos are much better than my omelets,” she complimented.

  “Throw in a lesson on the pool table,” Cassidy whispered, wrapping her arms around Alex’s neck, “and we’ll call it even.”

  “You are feeling better,” Alex grinned.

  “So, deal?” Cassidy asked.

  “I still think I got the better end,” Alex admitted. “I’ll figure out a way to make it even somehow.”

  “Is that so?” Cassidy flirted.

  “It is. Now, get off my lap,” Alex demanded jokingly. “My wife is hungry.”

  Cassidy put her hands up in mock defeat and removed herself from Alex’s lap. “Please, I wouldn’t want to upset your wife,” she agreed.

  “Me neither,” Alex said as she headed for the refrigerator. “Nothing gets between me and my tacos.” Cassidy’s soft snort quickly turned into a fit of laughter. “What’s so funny?” Alex pretended to take great offense in her wife’s sense of humor. “There is nothing funny about tacos,” Alex declared.

  Cassidy sidled up to her wife and placed her hands in the back pockets of Alex’s jeans, continuing to laugh softly. “Je t’adore,” Cassidy said.

  “Tu m’aimes seulement pour mes omelettes (You only love me for my omelets),” Alex huffed.

  “Ce n’est pas vrai. J’adore aussi tes leçons de billard. Maintenant, nourri moi avant que je sois grognon de nouveau. (Not true. I love your billiard lessons too. Now feed me before I get grumpy again),” Cassidy ordered her wife with a gentle swat.

  “Yes ma’am. I live to serve,” Alex promised Cassidy with a kiss.

  “Anything stand out for you?” Tate asked Brian Fallon.

  “No, not really. It doesn’t appear that he took much; wherever he went,” Fallon answered.

  “No evidence of any visitors?” Tate inquired.

  “None,” Fallon responded. “Look, Tate, everybody and his brother is looking for O’Brien right now, not just us. His failure to appear in court put him more on the radar than he ever has been. He can’t possibly get that far, even with Claire Brackett’s help.”

  “Under normal circumstances, I would agree with you. These are not normal circumstances. Keep digging,” Tate told him.

  “What am I supposed to be looking for?” Fallon asked.

  “If I knew that I would tell you. Anything; anything that might lead to Taylor or Claire. Anything that leads to where he might have that money hidden. Just look.” Fallon ran his hand over the top of his head in frustration as Tate continued. “Agent Fallon, if you see no evidence that anyone was there, then trust me, someone was.”

  “You mean, Claire.”

  “Probably, but I am guessing someone beat us to the punch this time,” Tate said.

  “NSA?” Fallon asked.

  “Perhaps,” Tate said. “Just look….look in the unexpected places, Fallon. Look in his sock drawer.”

  Fallon laughed, understanding the humor intended in Joshua Tate’s directions. “Tate?”

  “Yes, agent?”

  “How many cartons of cigarettes do you think a person normally stocks?” Fallon asked.

  “Depends on the smoker,” Tate replied.

  “O’Brien doesn’t smoke. It’s probably his only redeeming quality,” Fallon explained.

  “Cheryl?” Tate suggested.

  “Yeah; she did. Thing is; there is no evidence she ever existed in this place. None. You think she would have left that behind?” Fallon interjected. Brian Fallon made his way to the towering stack of cigarette cartons that had been placed at the back of Christopher O’Brien’s pantry. He delicately extracted one from the middle and pulled out his pocket knife to unseal the wrapper. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

  “What?” Tate asked.

  “He’s been squirreling away more than money,” Fallon said.

  “Fallon….make sure you weren’t followed. Do it right now,” Tate
ordered, suddenly feeling apprehensive about Brian Fallon’s whereabouts.

  Fallon maneuvered the townhouse quietly. “I don’t think so,” Fallon said. “Sir….” Fallon turned around and met the icy stare of a familiar face. “You….”

  “Fallon! Agent Fallon! Answer me! Fallon!” Tate screamed into the phone.

  Christopher O’Brien paced through the large farm house, sputtering off a long list of complaints to himself. “She thinks I’m her pet hamster,” he muttered. Claire Brackett had been gone for several days and O’Brien felt the suffocation of boredom pressing in on him. He made his way into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of whiskey. The smell and stench of the alcohol made him wince. He hated whiskey, but it seemed his best companion these days. O’Brien swirled the yellow liquid in his glass, watching it ripple in small waves. He sipped it slowly, wrinkling his nose as the size of each swig increased. Never stopping his love-hate relationship with the drink in his hands, he made his way to the bathroom. One final gulp and he set the empty glass on the sink. The congressman looked up into the mirror and groaned in disgust. “You look like shit, O’Brien,” he told his reflection.

  Several days of neglect had quickly transformed the congressman’s usual clean-cut appearance. He stroked the growth on his cheek and smiled. “I don’t even recognize me,” he said. His declaration sparked an idea. He offered himself a sly smile, winked at his reflection, and headed back towards the kitchen. “Yes, yes….there you are,” he said. He looked across the room and sighed with satisfaction before pouring himself another drink. He downed the glass quickly and retrieved the set of keys that hung by the door on a small hook. O’Brien donned his jacket, opened the back door, and made his way to the barn that served as a garage.

  “Well, Claire…she certainly had good taste,” O’Brien beamed in delight at the three cars in front of him. He was tempted to slip into the sleek red Porsche. “Too conspicuous,” he admitted in disappointment. “No matter,” he said as he slid into the silver Jeep. “Time to take a spin,” he gloated.