Natalie set down the plates with a thump. “Tomorrow.”
“Yes. I figured I’d make pancakes—where are you going?”
She didn’t answer, just left the kitchen, went through the dining room, and opened the hall closet. Stretching, she pulled down a suitcase.
“Natalie?”
She ignored him, just slung the suitcase and climbed the stairs. At a loss, he followed.
The bedroom had once been theirs, a place they’d read books and made love and talked about the kids. But since the divorce, he’d been in it only once, to help her move a dresser. She’d shuffled and redealt the space, putting the bed under the windows and repainting. His ex-wife had the suitcase open on the bed and was piling clothes beside it.
“What are you doing?”
“Packing.”
“Look, that’s sweet, but I’m going alone.”
“Like hell you are.” She spoke mildly, but as a woman who rarely swore, her word choice had power.
“Natalie—”
“Nick, be quiet.” She turned to look at him. He could see her wanting to cross her arms, see her making the choice not to. “Tonight was Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Hey, look, I’m sorry I missed it, but it’s not like I was drinking at a bar. My job—”
“I know,” she said. “I’m not mad. In fact, I’m proud of you. I’m just saying, tonight was Thanksgiving, and you couldn’t be here. That’s one less Thanksgiving Todd and Kate will have with you.”
He hadn’t thought about it in those terms. Cooper leaned against the wall.
“The last time you went away you were gone for six months,” Natalie continued. “I know it was for the best possible reason, but the kids are just now getting used to having you back in their lives. They deserve not to have their dad vanish again. And you deserve to get to be a father.”
“You know I want that.”
“I do,” she said. “That’s why we’re coming with you. This is something we can do. You’re not going undercover to kill someone. You’re the ambassador for the president of the United States. That means that there will be protection. It will be as safe as anywhere
else is right now. Plus, it will be good for the kids. Kate will get to be in a place where she doesn’t feel different than everyone else. And Todd will experience the other side of things, to see that the world is bigger than the schoolyard. We’re coming with you.”
Cooper knew his ex-wife. She was kind and smart and gentle, and her words were more aligned with her intent than most anyone he’d ever met.
She was also as moveable as the Rock of Gibraltar when she set her mind to something. No argument, no stormy sentiment, no tidal pull could shake her. Short of cold-cocking her, there was no way to make her stay.
“People ask too much of you. Your father, the army, Drew Peters, now the president. Even me. You don’t always have to be the lone wolf. It will be good for the kids to see their dad trying to save the world. It will be good for us as a family.”
There was a slight emphasis on the last word, a tiny inflection that most people might have missed. One with a world of possibility behind it. He remembered sitting inside the fort they’d built in the living room when Natalie had kissed him. That hadn’t been a friendly peck. It had been . . . well, maybe not a declaration of intent, but certainly a statement of possibility.
When it had been good, their marriage had been very good. And he’d always been proud that when it stopped working, they had both recognized it. Had been able to acknowledge that though they loved each other, they were no longer right together, and they’d been able to part without rancor. He loved her, always would. But there was love and there was being in love.
Has something changed for her?
It was odd to think that the things he had done in the last year might actually have drawn her closer to him. They had been apart most of that time, and there had been the horrifying night that Drew Peters had kidnapped her and the kids. On paper, it should have pushed her away.
But in reality, all of the things he’d done had been to protect his children. Plus, he had made the choices she would have wanted him to make, right down to revealing the truth, despite the cost of that action.
Cooper had a theory about personality. Most people considered personality to be a singular identity. Malleable, sure, but essentially cohesive. But he tended to see people as more of a chorus. Every stage in life added a voice to that chorus. The different iterations of himself—lonely military brat, cocky teenager, faithful soldier, young husband, dedicated father, relentless hunter—they all existed within him. When he saw a ten-year-old girl, there was a ten-year-old boy inside him that thought she was pretty. Just one voice in a chorus of dozens, which was what marked the difference between healthy people and broken ones; in the broken ones, the inappropriate voices held an inappropriate number of spaces.
And the man who had been in love with Natalie had added a lot of voices to his personality. In moments like this one, that segment of the choir sang loudly.
He realized that he was staring into her eyes, and that she was staring back. He thought of that night in the space station, the way her lips had felt against his, the wine-sweet taste of her tongue—
THUD, THUD, THUD.
They both jerked upright. “Are you expecting—”
“No.”
He stood, moved swiftly down the hall. Another THUD, THUD, THUD at the front door. His sidearm was in a lockbox in the car, too bad. He moved down the stairs lightly, heard Natalie following him. What was this? Someone from the White House? Something worse?
“Cooper! I know you’re in there.” The voice was muffled, but perfectly recognizable.
Yep. Something worse.
He unlocked the door, opened it. Shannon stormed in, poking her finger into his chest. She wore a leather jacket and an angry
aura, the muscles in her neck bunched. “You’re a colossal prick, you know that?”
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s
wrong
? I spoke to John, that’s what’s wrong, you fascist—” She stopped, her glance going over his shoulder, to the dining room table, the remnants of Thanksgiving dinner spread out across it. Her posture tightened. “Shit.”
“Shannon,” Natalie said, her voice level. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m—I’m sorry, I forgot it’s Thanksgiving. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You’re always welcome here. Come in.”
“I don’t mean to—”
“It’s fine. Really.” Natalie turned to him. “Why don’t you guys talk in the living room? I’ll give you some privacy. I’ve got a lot to do if we’re leaving tomorrow.” Her smile was as perfect and chilly as if it were carved from marble. She turned and went back up the stairs.
“Shit,” Shannon repeated.
“Come on.” He let go of the door, walked into the other room. “You want some turkey?”
“No. I don’t know what I was thinking, banging like that.” She shook her head. “I totally forgot it was Thanksgiving.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “So did I.” Funny how the life they lived made it easy to forget the things that defined everyone else’s. It was one of the reasons he and Shannon had the connection they had. They both lived apart.
She followed him into the living room. “Where are they going?”
“What?”
“Natalie said she had a lot to do if they were leaving.”
Actually, she said “we,” which was a little stiletto on the way out.
The brutality with which women waged war always surprised him. “I’m going to New Canaan tomorrow to talk to Erik Epstein. Natalie and the kids are coming with me.”
Shannon said, “Oh.”
“So.” He flopped down in an armchair. “You were calling me a fascist?”
Her eyes flashed, and whatever social awkwardness she’d been feeling fell away. “You kidnapped him? Put a gun to his head? Beat him up?”
He met her eyes. “Yup.”
“That’s it? ‘
A-yup
?’ ” she said in her best hick voice. “That’s all you have to say, honey?”
“No, dear. You want to hear something funny? Yesterday I sat in a meeting about a massive security breach. A terrorist snuck into the DAR and stole a huge amount of data. Most of it about genetic research centers and bio-labs, the kind of privately funded, quasi-legal places that develop chemical weapons and customized viruses.” He leaned forward. “And there I am, thinking, ‘Huh—the terrorist on the security cameras looks just like my girlfriend.’ ”
“Oh Jesus, Nick, I wasn’t after bioweapons.”
“What were you after?”
“A magic potion.”
He shook his head. “Cute.”
“I was working. You know the kind of work I do.”
“For terrorists.”
“For my cause.”
“Goddammit, you can’t put me in that position!”
She regarded him coldly. “Just because we’ve had sex a couple of times doesn’t mean I owe you anything.”
“And it doesn’t mean I can’t bring you into the DAR in handcuffs.”
“That’s great. So when you need my help, it’s all love and trust. And the moment you don’t anymore, you’re ready to arrest me?” She crossed her arms. “I saved your children’s lives, Cooper. Don’t you ever forget it.”
He started to retort, caught himself. Took a breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry about that last bit.”
“I knew us dating was a bad idea. But I told myself that even though we were on opposite sides, I could trust you to do the right thing.” She shook her head. “But you’re still a storm trooper at heart, aren’t you?”
“No.” He felt silly sitting in the chair and wanted to stand up, but thought it would look even sillier. “No, I’m just a guy trying to stop a war.”
“Nick Cooper, one-man army. Judge and jury.”
“Said the woman who stole government secrets. Tell me, Shannon, what are you blowing up today? How many innocents are going to die in your next adventure?”
She stared at him, a storm raging inside her. He could see the fire and fury of it, the lightning flashes and howling winds. “I’m going to West Virginia. I’m going to do the best thing I’ve ever done. And you know the funny part? If you’d asked me about it this morning, I would have told you everything.”
“What’s in West Virginia?”
“Watch the news.” She spun on her heel and stalked out. “And fuck off.”
Before he could respond, he heard the door open and then slam shut.
Shit.
He hadn’t meant for things to get that far; angry as he was about what she’d done, she had the same reasons to be angry at him. They had both been keeping secrets, and he’d expected a fight about it. Just not right now, not here. He rubbed at his eyes.
Shit, shit, shit.
After a moment, he heard Natalie enter the room. She leaned against the wall, a dish towel in her hands and the ghost of a smile on her lips. “Oh, Nick.”
“What?”
She shook her head. “You haven’t lost your touch with women, have you?”
EDUCATING THE GIFTED CHILD:
A TEACHER’S MANUAL FOR ACADEMY INSTRUCTORS
Section 9.3: On Pity
Being an instructor at a tier one academy is a privilege for which few are qualified. It requires not only the most advanced educational training, but also a sense of mission rooted in unshakable personal discipline.
Humans are conditioned to love children. It is difficult to see a child suffering, whether the harm is physical, emotional, or psychological. That is natural and right.
However, a child who has been burned in the past will not reach for a flame. A minor injury prevents major ones.
In other words, pain is a teaching tool.
Pity undercuts that education. Short-sighted and destructive, pity trades a brief benefit for long-term damage. When we see a child reaching for a flame, pity tells us to stop him. To protect him.
Instead, we must stoke the fire. We must encourage the child to burn himself. If need be, we must manipulate him into doing so.
How else will he learn that fire is not for him?
For the good of the academy, for the good of the world, and for the good of the children themselves, it is your duty to purge yourself of pity.
SALE OR DISPLAY OF THESE CONTENTS IS PROHIBITED AND CARRIES A MINIMUM PENALTY OF FIFTEEN YEARS IN PRISON AND $250,000.
CHAPTER 19
The sun was setting, and it made no difference at all.
Heavy clouds quilted the world as Ethan turned off the Honda. For a moment they sat in silence, just the ticking of the engine and the quiet rasp of Violet’s breathing in the backseat. The parking lot was half full; he wouldn’t have guessed that Thanksgiving was a big day for church, but it seemed the good people of Independence felt differently. Or maybe it had nothing to do with the holiday; maybe it had more to do with what was happening to the world.
He looked over at Amy. “Zombie apocalypse?”
She nodded.
“Okay,” he said, and opened the car door.
Independence Presbyterian was a funky A-frame shingled in brown, with an old-fashioned spire rising from one side. Located just off the square of the quiet suburb—Independence called itself a town, but seriously, come on—it seemed a good place to leave the CRV. Who messed with cars in a church parking lot?
Ethan’s best guess was that if the government wanted to quarantine Cleveland, they would use the highways as rough boundaries. I-80 was ten miles south, but since he didn’t know exactly where the cordon would start, it was boots and backpacks from here. Twenty-two miles, much of it through national park land, with Cuyahoga Falls as the promised land.
Now
there’s
a phrase that may never have been uttered.
Ethan shouldered the backpack and cinched the waistband tight to distribute the weight. Muscle memory gave him a flash of
strolling through Amsterdam, bicycles and cobblestones, the sun glinting off canals four thousand miles and a million years away. He tucked the pistol into his belt.
Violet was awake, the straps of her car seat tight across her little round chest. “Hello, my love. Want to go on an adventure?” If she had any feelings about the idea, she kept them to herself. Ethan hoisted her out. For a moment he held her to his chest, the sweet weight of her, the steady breathing and milk smell, and when he slipped her into the carrier Amy wore, her absence made him colder.