NUMB - Judy Colella (good beach reads txt) 📗

Lud. I told her she was safe at that you are my husband.” She waved a hand at Jett, her eyes telling lots more. “And this is his brother.”

The woman was nodding, smiling at them both. When she asked her next question, Jett was able to interpret the look that went with it, the look that everyone got when asking if he and his brother were twins.

Atarah was shaking her head “no,” confirming his conclusion, adding a few words which she interpreted for him. “I explained you weren’t twins but close in age, then asked her where my son was.”

Lud smiled at the brothers and went into another room.

No one spoke during the few seconds she was gone, Jett pulling his wife close, staring hard at the door through which the woman had disappeard. A moment later Lud returned, and in her arms was a sleeping bundle, his cherubic features flushed with the rosiness of good health, his dark hair slightly curly. He made a tiny sigh as the woman handed him to Atarah.

“Jett, this is Chasin, our son.”

With all her talk about being alive, Nightmare Atarah had never said anything about a child…the real Atarah was holding the baby out to him, and he gathered the small miracle to his chest, holding him with a version of love he’d never imagined existed, and grateful beyond measure for the doctors at Bluebird Foundation who had kept him alive. A tear landed on a fold of the baby’s blanket, but it took a few seconds for Jett to recognize it as his, to realize he was crying.

“Oh, my dearest Jett,” Atarah whispered. “I have missed you so much! And there’s so much to tell you, to explain. I – are you all right? You haven’t said a word this whole time.”

Taking a shaky breath, Jett looked over at Jax, raising an eyebrow. She didn’t know, of course. But how to tell her? With great reluctance, he handed his son back to Atarah, then signed to Jax that he could fill her in on some of it, that the rest would have to wait until later.

Jax paused, his look telling Jett that he was trying to interpreting the gestures. Then his expression cleared and he said, “He can’t speak, ‘Tarah. His vocal chords were badly damaged, and yeah, he can make sounds, kind of like a rough whisper, but it hurts him a lot to do that.”

“Wh- why? What happened? Was he in an accident?”

“No, you were. He had to find a way to deal with that, with believing you were dead. We’ll tell you the rest later, though. Right now, I think we need to get out of here. The FBI gave us a special kind of dispensation or something by allowing us to be in on your rescue, but I get the impression they don’t want it generally known that we’re here.”

“He’s right, ma’am,” said a man who had come to the open door.

“Oh. I see.” Atarah nodded, turned to the woman who had agreed to watch Chasin and gave her a fierce hug that almost woke up the baby, whispering something into Lud’s ear as she did that made the woman’s eyes fill with tears.

She patted Atarah’s back and nodded as they separated.

Jett went her, gave her a hug and a kiss on the top of her greying head. “Thank you, Lud.”

The others had gone out; Jett put an arm around Atarah and followed the group, gazing more frequently at Chasin than where he was goin. When they’d gotten back to the second floor, the doctor’s body, now encased in a black body-bag, was being loaded onto a stretcher in preparation to being brought downstairs.

“I have a question for you, ma’am.” The agent who had gone upstairs to find them gave Atarah an almost apologetic look. “Uh, who shot the doctor? Was it you?”

Looking horrified, Atarah said, “My God, no! No, it was another doctor, uh, Chevon. She was an associate of Kobienko’s. I think I should finish explaining about her when we’re back at whatever place it is you’re going to take us for – what did you call it that first time we spoke?”

“Debriefing.”

“That.”

“Very well.”

When they stepped out onto the street, they were greeted by a small fleet of shiny black SUVs. As they began to get in, Jax stopped.

“Don’t you want to take anything from the apartment?”

“No. I had nothing of value except Chasin. Right now, I just want to get this all behind us and go back home.”

Jett nodded beside her – he couldn’t have agreed more.

 

******

 

“Damn reporters.”

Bryson gave his wife a startled look. Hadn’t she said exactly the same thing a little over two years ago when they were at the same airport waiting for Jett and Atarah to return from their honeymoon? Well, he couldn’t disagree with the sentiment. “At least they won’t be bothering Jax and his wife, since they’re here hoping to see Chasin.”

“Fools.”

“They are, but this is what they do.” Bry took a deep breath and looked around the terminal, thinking about what had brought them there this time. After returning from Russia, Jax had gotten back in touch with Ondine, and within no time at all, everyone knew that Atarah’s lovely best friend was crazy in love with Jett’s older brother. The reporters had gone into a tizzy over it, but none of their reactions over this news had come even close to the frenzy over the announcement that Atarah Kinsley was both alive and a mother.

Scandal papers had run weeks of headlines speculating about the “real” father of Chasin, some of their writers going so far as to print all kinds of fictional accounts of a “love nest” in the Russian countryside, going into insane and imaginary details about how Atarah had fallen in love with her abductor in a classic case of Stockholm Syndrome. This might have continued a lot longer, but Jax had paid a visit to the offices of the paper that had been the worst offender. No one who wasn’t present at that meeting knew what had been said, but the stories had suddenly stopped.

One of these days, I’m going to get him to tell me what he did. Bryson was still a tad miffed that the only one Jax told what had happened there was Jett, and he wasn’t sharing it with anyone, either.

Another development, the cause of which Bryson was waiting for the media to discover, was that stories about Jett and Atarah, which might have continued where they’d left off before her presumed death, had all but stopped because Jett was no longer speaking with them. He’d wave, smile, even pantomime a pleasant greeting from time to time, but there were no actual words. Perhaps the reporters figured he simply didn’t feel like shouting over the noise of all the questions being barked at him. Eventually, though, they had to recognize that the reason for his silence was not what any of them had concluded.

This had spawned new stories. New speculation. And the whole time, they did whatever they could to snap pictures of the sweet-faced little boy Atarah had brought home – Bryson’s beloved grandson. By the time Chasin was a year and a half, Bry knew no one could reasonably continue to wonder if the father was Jett. The little boy had gotten enough of his famous father’s characteristics and features that his genetics were unquestionable.

And then word had gotten out that Jett’s big brother wasn’t just dating Ondine, but was going to marry Atarah’s best friend. New frenzy. Not as big a reaction as all the breathless wonder over the decathlete, but it was nothing if not interesting. However, the media’s presence at the airport this time wasn’t because of any great desire to see the latest honeymoon couple, but to see his nephew, Jett’s little boy, who had become the newest darling of paparazzi the world over. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were still running after us five generations from now.

“It doesn’t matter, love,” Bryson said. “Jett is on his way to the Olympic Training Camp with Atarah and Chasin, while these blithering dummies are tripping over themselves trying to catch a glimpse of them here.”

“Serves them right.” She smirked at the nearest blithering dummy who was trying to snap a picture of her; Celia, Bry could see, was so not in the mood for this. They’d let it be known that Jax and Ondine would be arriving shortly, and all Bryson and his wife wanted to do was get them home. Jax had bought a house and would be moving back out of state, but for the next week, at least, Jax and their newest daughter-in-law would be their guests. They didn’t need the media there, too.

The loudspeakers blared out the information that Flight 235 was about to land at Gate 7. Only half the reporters rushed forward, the other half heading for Gate 6, having apparently remembered the sneaky ploy the Kinsleys had used the last time.

“Think they’ll figure out what we’re doing?” he asked, taking Celia’s arm.

“Probably, but like last time, too late to do anything about it.” She giggled as they went to the lounge upstairs where their older son and his wife were waiting for the helicopter to land on the roof of the terminal and take them all to the smaller, private airport several miles away where a car had been arranged for them.

“Should be here any moment.” Celia’s smile was one of delight as she looked on the couple. “I never thought to see Jax married, much less to someone as sweet and beautiful as you, Ondine.” She embraced the delicate young lady, adding, “I, for one, need a nap. I expect you two are pretty worn out, too.”

“We’re okay, Mom.” Jax stood and stretched. “You can doze off on the way home, if you have to – we don’t need to be entertained.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t.”

Overhead, the pulsing drone of a chopper alerted them to the arrival of their ride; the four Kinsleys headed for the stairwell leading to the roof. As soon as they were inside, Bryson shut and locked the door behind them in case some reporter with a few more brain cells than the others figured out the purpose of the helicopter. Grinning, he went to his seat and strapped himself in. “Success once again!” he crowed over the sound of the whirling blades.

From joy to tragedy, from tragedy to a long, dark time of sadness, from sadness to hope, and from hope to a sparkling series of joyful days, Bryson’s inner philosopher intoned. He closed his eyes, head back against he seat. Content, he couldn’t allow himself to believe that everything was going to be sitcom-happy-ending great forever, but was determined to hold tight to every moment ahead that was.

 

*******

 

As the Kinsleys had boarded the helicopter, several of the reporters had looked up from the parking lot where they’d gone as soon as they realized Jax and his bride were not on the plane. Among them, a woman stared up at the roof, the fur of her collar blowing against her low-cut bodice.

“What do you make of that?” a man beside her asked, pointing.

The woman didn’t answer, but smiled, and the man suddenly wanted to get far away from her. He couldn’t have said why, exactly, just that there was something grotesque about that smile…