Revving up now. A little action today along with a little intro to characters for new readers. Let me know what you think, and thanks for all the kind notes, especially yours Richard :)

Cal and Daniel stuck around for breakfast. Patty Quinn put Cracker Barrel to shame. The full spread of pancakes, french toast, eggs and mounds of bacon left both men full. Tom and Patty barely touched their food. Husband and wife were not eager to see the Marines leave so Daniel did what he always did, he made things happen. A couple of phone calls and within fifteen minutes, a police cruiser was sitting out front. Daniel had a few words with the police officer and it was assured that the Quinn's would be watched night and day. 


Cal and Daniel said their good-byes again. The Quinns thanked them profusely for coming. Tom offered to pay for their gas, but Cal refused. 


"Give me a call if you need anything. Anything at all.” 


“I feel like I'm imposing on your life," Tom said. 


"You're family now," Cal replied, surprised that he really meant it. "Daniel and I like to take care of family, so like I said, if you need anything, call me." 


Tom just nodded and went back into the house with his wife.


Daniel waved to the cop at the curb as they pulled away. 


"Do you think we should get them a place to stay, at least until this blows over?” Cal asked his friend. 


"I think they'll be okay with police for now. They got lucky, but maybe it is all just a coincidence," Daniel said. 


They'd already discussed the break-in while the Quinns had slept. Whoever had gotten in was good. There was no sign of forced entry. According to the Quinns, nothing had been taken, but from careful analysis Daniel had detected that a couple pieces on the mantle and on the living room coffee table had been moved around. The months-long collection of dust had seen to that.


They were winding their way through town, headed back towards the highway, when Daniel said, "We're being followed. Maroon Ford Ranger. Four cars behind. One man in the cab.“ 


Cal didn't have to look. If anyone could sniff out a tail it was Daniel. “Since when?" 


"Just after we left the neighborhood.” 


“See if you can bring them in close. I want a better look." 


So instead of making their way back to the interstate, Daniel took a circuitous route, meandering in and out of morning traffic.


Once they were one hundred percent sure that they were being followed, Cal said, "Make your way to the highway. He's not making much of an effort to stay hidden. Let's see where we can take this." 


Daniel did as instructed and turned left. Suddenly they were out of the morning log jam. Sure enough, a few cars later, their pursuer followed. 


"We'll take him at the on-ramp. You ready?" 


Daniel nodded. When was he not ready? The truck was close now, probably concerned that maybe they'd make a quick getaway. Daniel let the cars behind get close and soon it was their car, a sedan, and the truck behind that.


Daniel's timing was perfect. He jammed on the gas and then slammed on the brake as if the engine had locked up on itself. By now the maroon pickup was sandwiched from behind with nowhere else to go so Cal made his move. He bolted from the car and caught the eye of the driver in the maroon truck. Mid to late twenties. Eyes narrowed. Blue ball cap. The driver didn't wait either. Instead of trying to drive his way out, he bolted from the truck and headed towards the highway and the steep embankment leading down to the four lane road. The guy was quick, but Cal was in fast pursuit.


Just as his quarry hit the lip of the hill, Cal dove, slamming into the man's back. Over and over they tumbled, neither man gaining the upper hand. Cal's hip slammed into something hard and he tried to grab hold of the man. End over end they went until they were at the bottom. 


The man hopped to his feet first seemingly no worse for wear. Cal hopped up a split second later, too late to block the haymaker that clipped him in the left side of the face. He rolled with it taking some of the pain, feeling his head swim, but he'd taken worse hits before. The hit was hard, but would have been harder if his own reflexes hadn't been as fast. He finished his roll on one knee, bracing himself for a hand to hand match, but the guy was running again.


Then, as if out of nowhere, a black motorcycle swerved out of traffic and pulled off to the shoulder. The man in the blue cap hopped on. Before Cal was even to his feet, they were gone. Cal rubbed his jaw and then his sore hip. At least now he knew the thing with the Quinns wasn't a coincidence. It was no use second guessing what he'd done. He'd seen an opportunity and taken it. Maybe he could have shot the man, but for what? A hunch? And besides, the last thing Cal wanted to have to do was explain to the cops why he'd killed a man in cold blood. The Jefferson Group was made up of elite warriors who worked directly for the President, but even they weren't above the law when it came to working in the public eye.


Cal straightened his shirt and did a quick search of the area in a vain attempt to salvage something from the situation. And then there it was. In the grass, a piece of metal that didn't belong. When he reached down to pick it up he realized it wasn't metal. It just had a glossy sheen. It was rectangular and about the size of a wallet or one of those passport holders. He picked it up and turned it over. There was a zipper around the seem. Cal unzipped it and his eyes narrowed as what he saw. Inside was a stack of mini photos, the size kids get when they have pictures done for their yearbook. The picture on top was of Tom Quinn in his bathrobe going to get the mail. The second was of his wife looking out the window. 


But what really made Cal's jaw clench was the next picture. It was a image of him from days before, squatting next to a wrecked Maserati cradling the lifeless body of Tommy Quinn.

Something about the Georgetown bar always reminded Master Sergeant Willy Trent of the movie The Firm. “Top”, as the former Marine Master Sergeant was called by his friends, could just see the young Tom Cruise playing Mitch McDeere, prowling the place as both a law student, shuffling pizza, and as a newly minted member of the firm that has ties to the mob. The upscale pub had that kind of intrigue. Students mingled with politicians. Money men sipped on martinis while college athletes downed pitchers of beer. It was a lively place and there was an unwritten rule that you never got in a fight at Hanrahan’s.


He’d come in for a drink and to watch the game. But it wasn't the game that had Top's attention now. It was a drama being played out at the other end of the bar. There sat a guy with a suit, tie pulled down to his third button, talking the ear off of a girl who would nod politely every once in a while. To Top's trained eye, it was clear that she was uncomfortable. The date, if that's what he was, kept buying drinks and the girl kept refusing. Nobody else seemed to take notice, but Top did. It was something about the body language. The guy kept getting closer while the girl inched away as far as she could. 


Top downed his drink and stood. His near seven-foot frame towered above the rest of the crowd. Despite his size, he weaved his way effortlessly through the packed crowd until he was standing right behind the couple at the other end of the bar.


"Excuse me, miss," he said to the girl. That cut off the date's jabbering and they both looked up at him in surprise. Top registered disgust on the man's face, which quickly turned to feigned congeniality when he saw the size of the man looming behind. "I'm sorry miss, but I think I know you. I went to school with your father. You were about this high back then." Top motioned to his waist and ever so subtly, so only she could see, he winked and she instantly got his meaning. 


"Oh yes, I'm so sorry. I didn't recognize you," she said, extending her hand. 


"Yes, ma'am. The name's Willie Trent." 


"I'm Mary." 


"That's right. How rude of me. How could I forget such a pretty name? How is your father these days?" 


"Oh, he's fine," she said, playing along. 


"Hey look man," the date said. "We were having a conversation. Do you mind?" 


"I don't mean to be rude, but it seemed kind of like a one-way conversation." 


"We’re on a date," the boy said, doing his best to salvage his pride. He was full of liquored courage, his words starting to slur.  


"Well, Mary, I didn't mean to butt in, you know us old timers." 


"Oh no, that's okay," Mary said quickly. “I was just leaving."


She went to rise, but her date grabbed her by the wrist. "We just got here," he said angrily. He wasn’t completely stupid because he realized what he'd done and let go of Mary's wrist. He did not back down. "Come on, just a couple more drinks. You said you liked this place." 


"Mary, would you like me to call you a cab" Top asked. 


The date didn't give Mary a chance to reply. 


"Hey, Grandpa, why don't you beat it?" 


Top winked at Mary again, just to let her know that everything was all right. She was tense now and boy wonder was just plain stupid.


"Oh, I'll take off," Top said, said turning to the boy, "But first, you mind if I show you a bar trick?" He didn't wait for the clown to answer, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a single dollar bill. The date glanced furtively at the twisting bill in Top's hand. "I heard a story once of this guy, a young kid, just like you. You see, this guy met a girl. The only problem was that they lived on opposite sides of the country. So what does this guy do? He decides to take a trip. He jumps in his car and just starts driving. Now, back then he didn't have some fancy phone that gave him the father and told him a storm was coming. So on he plowed as the snow fell and the ice slicked the roads. The highways were clogged from the mess so he took out an old paper map and went the back way, over steep hills and black ice roads. He ignored all the signs and just kept driving, thinking about that girl.  You see, he really, really, really wanted to see that girl.


On he went through the night.  He somehow got through a couple of states. Luck, I guess. The storm still raged, but the poor guy ignored it. He thought he was safe in that car, safe in the memory of that pretty girl. He got tunnel vision, you see. Well, at some point, the weather just got too bad. I'll spare you the details, but that fine young man swerved off the road, crashed, and died right there in the middle of no where. But here’s the kicker. He didn't die right away. They say he laid there for hours, pinned against the wheel with broken ribs and who knows what else. He was barely able to breathe, and probably died thinking about that girl."


By now, Top had twisted the dollar bill into a tight cone with a pointy end. He held it up for a moment and admired it. 


"What's your point?” the date asked with a huff. 


"My point, sir, was that this poor young man failed to see the signs. He failed to see that he was walking into something he could not handle. He had never once driven in snow. He had never once driven more than 100 miles at one time. He was in unchartered territory, but he was young and he felt invincible and the thought of that girl kept him going." 


The date snorted. "You're crazy, you know that?" 


"Oh, I've heard that before, but I'll tell you what. You see this little dollar bill in my finger?" Top held it up so the man could see. "You know if you fold a newspaper this way you can kill a man with it? Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking. No way, right? But I've seen it. Now, I’ve got a bet with an old friend. I told him I thought you could probably do the same thing with a dollar bill. That's sturdy paper they make those dollar bills with. Gotta be sturdy to pass between all those hands. All you’ve gotta do it shove right up here.” Top show him the spot right under his jawline. “So yeah, I've got this bet, and well, I've got nothing but time."


Then, as if he'd remembered his manners, Top jammed the dollar bill back in his pocket.  “But like I said, I’m so sorry I interrupted.  Mary, it was a pleasure to see you again,” and then he pointed to the other end of the bar. "I'll be right over there if you need me. And, sir," he said to the date, clapping him on the back hard, "It was a pleasure to meet you as well." He gave the boy one final grin and then returned to his perch across the way.


No sooner had he gotten there when his phone beeped. Before he could type a reply to the text, Mary was there. Top glanced back to where she and her date had been. He was gone. 


"I just wanted to say thank you, Mr. Trent," she said nervously. "I met him online and he seemed so nice, but when he showed up, he was already drunk." 


"That's all right, Mary. I'm sorry you had to go through that. How about I walk you to your car, just in case.” 


"My roommate dropped me off and he,” she pointed to where her date had been, “was supposed to be my ride home."


"Well, not to worry. Modern technology shall save the day." Top pulled up the Uber app on his phone. "Well, will you look at that. There's a car right around the corner." 


"Oh, Mr. Trent, you don't need to do that." 


"Mary, it is my treat. It is not often that I get to save the day for a young lady such as yourself.” 


“That's very nice of you. If you give me your phone number, I'd be happy to pay you back." 


"Completely unnecessary. Like I said, my treat. Now, my phone says that the car should be here in exactly one minute. Amazing this technology. How bout I walk you out and make sure you get there safe?" 


Mary nodded and Top caught the eye of the bartender who slipped his tab across the bar. Top laid a $50 bill on top of it and then left with Mary at his side.


Once he explained to the driver that he was not coming along for the ride, he said goodbye to Mary. He waved as the car drove off, then he turned back to his phone. The text had been from Cal. 


Need you back in Charlottesville. Something’s come up. 


The Marine typed in his reply. 


Sorry. I was just playing Captain America. I'll be home in a couple of hours.

I guess I need to get a book cover made! Hope you all had a nice weekend. I was excited to get back to the story and see what else we could flesh out. More intrigue in today's installment. Let me know what you think...

Cal and Diane didn't say much on the drive back to Charlottesville. They relegated themselves to listening to Top 40 station, each lost in their own thoughts. By the time they'd gotten home, Cal was convinced that it all had been some strange coincidence that Tommy Quinn had somehow recognized him from their time in the Marine Corps, that there was no conspiracy and that the wreck had just been the tragic end in a troubled man's life. 


"Thanks for going with me,” Cal said as they were about to get out of the car. Diane squeezed his hand but said nothing. Now Cal really wanted to explain everything to her. He knew that she knew that he was holding something back, but the grief of the day made it seem like talking about it would only dig up bad memories.


"How about I order us some dinner?" Cal suggested, when they’d entered their rented home. 


"I'm not really that hungry,” Diane said, slipping out of her coat and hanging it behind the door. 


"Yeah, me neither." 


For a moment they just stood there. Cal didn't know what to say. Was this where Diane would call him out on his lie? 


"I'm sorry about your parents." Diane said finally. 


Cal nodded. Of course they'd talked about his parents before, but today it had become that much more real for Diane. 


She stepped closer, "Cal, I'm serious. I'm so sorry. I can't imagine what you've gone through." 


The coming reply wouldn't get past the lump in his throat, so he reached out and stroked her cheek. She grabbed his hand gently, and that was all it took. They came together like magnets finally unleashed, their love for each other, the pain of lost ones, and the joy of being alive and together. Their lips locked, and then Cal picked Diane up and carried her to the bedroom.




Cal woke to the buzzing of his phone on the bedside table. It was just after 2:30 in the morning and at first he didn't recognize the phone number. Then it hit him. It was Tom Quinn. 


"Tom, is everything okay?" Cal answered quietly, trying not to wake Diane. 


"Cal, I'm sorry to call so early but, well, I hate to impose,” a pause, then, “Could you come here?" 


Cal didn't hesitate. "Yeah, of course. I'll leave in five minutes." 


Cal thought he heard voices in the background, maybe Mrs. Quinn, with other male voices. Before he hung up he asked, "Tom, is everything okay?" 


"It is now, but, if you could hurry I would appreciate it." 


The call ended and Cal rose from the bed.


"Who was that?" Diane asked groggily. 


"It was Tom Quinn. Something's happened. I've got to go." 


Now Diane was wide awake. "I'll come with you." 


"No, you've got that thing for work today.” 


"At least call Daniel." Diane said, without hesitating. 


Before, it had been as easy as walking down the hall and knocking on Daniel Briggs's door, but Cal and Diane had decided to rent a house a few blocks from The Jefferson Group’s headquarters. Diane liked to call it The Frat House, even though the house was spotless, but still filled with The Jefferson Group's warriors, most of whom lived at the headquarters or in the auxiliary house across the street.


Cal dressed quickly and texted Daniel as he slipped on his shoes. As usual, Daniel texted right back and said he'd be out front in five minutes. He was there in four, no questions asked. Unlike his trip with Diane, Cal explained everything to Daniel, from the crash two days before to Tommy Quinn’s final words and, of course, the phone call from Tom Quinn, Sr. Daniel didn't say a word, just drove. 


They were an hour into their journey before he asked, "Does Diane know?" 


"No." Cal said, "It could be nothing."


When they arrived at the Quinn household the police were just leaving. Tom Quinn ripped down the yellow police tape to let them in, and told Cal that it was a break in. Husband and wife were obviously distraught and Cal guessed that Patty Quinn had probably been crying, although she put on a good face and even offered them coffee and something to eat. After Cal introduced Daniel, the sniper disappeared, already seeking out the scent. While he was gone, Cal suggested that maybe Patty should go back to bed, that they were safe now. She agreed, although somewhat reluctantly, and Cal took Tom into the kitchen and they both sat down at the table.


“Tell me what happened." 


Even though he'd probably told the story multiple times before, the older man said it again. His voice was monotone, almost robotic. Cal could see the man's toughness just by the fact he still had energy to speak. 


"Good thing I'm a light sleeper,” Tom said. "Never been a robbery in all the years we've lived in this neighborhood, but I still always sleep with my pistol under the night stand. I’d just gone to the restroom when I thought I heard something. Patty was still asleep. Figured maybe it was my old ears playing tricks on me. Good thing I was smart enough to take my weapon. Padded out into the hallway and there he was, black ski mask and all, right out of Central Casting. I didn't hesitate, I shot, but my the round went high, right out there. The police already dug out the nine millimeter slug and took it with them. Don't know what good it'll do, of course. Well, that's all it took. The guy in the mask went right out the front door. Slipped out more than ran. Disappeared before I could get a better look at him, and that was it. Whole thing took no more than 20 seconds."


Cal could see that the old man was still replaying the scene in his head. He gave him a moment and then asked, "Tom, I was just wondering why you called me. I'm happy to be here, but I'm not sure what I can do." He’d never once mentioned what he did for a living in his previous visit. 


“I’m a pretty good judge of character, Cal. I knew something was wrong with my son. Never one to let on for Patty, of course, but when we met you yesterday I could tell that you were a good man. I saw how you were with Diane, and I can't tell you how much it meant that you spent the day with us. So when I got back to the bedroom and saw your phone number I just called, after I called the police, of course. At any rate we're kind of alone in the world with Tommy being dead and all. Most of our old friends have moved out of the neighborhood. Lots of nice young couples now, but it's pretty much just Patty and me. I hope you don't mind that I called." 


"Of course not. I'm happy to be here."


"Cal, there's one other thing. Something I told the police, but they didn't really seem to hear me." 


"What is it?" 


"Well I- I know the police officers think it's just one of those smash and grab type things, you know, that the guy was probably here for money or maybe some jewelry, but I had my wallet sitting right there at the kitchen table, even had the car keys. I'm sure whoever it was had already seen that, but they didn't get touched. I'm sorry," Tom said, shaking his head, "I'm just overthinking it. I probably just got lucky, got the jump on him, you know." 


"Would you mind if I took a look around, see if maybe the police missed anything?" 


"That's what I hoped you'd do." 


"Well, good. Why don't you go to bed now, see if you can't get a little rest. We'll hang around until daylight and then we'll make plans from there. Sound good?"


Cal could see relief on the man's face, like the burden had finally lifted. "Thank you, Cal, I really mean that, thank you." 


"Everything's going to be all right, Tom." But even as he said it, Cal had a creeping feeling that this was just the first act in a much longer drama to be played out.

Senator Warren Fowler gazed out the huge bay window to the snow covered fields of the early Wisconsin winter. While most hated the cold, Senator Fowler relished it. It made him feel alive. Even in his early 70s he enjoyed cross-country skiing and the occasional snowshoe jaunt with his dogs. 


But there was no time for that today. Ever since the presidential election, his schedule had been packed as the recently picked chairman of the Republic National Committee, the former senator from Wisconsin was in the thick of it all. The Republicans had lost the election and this had come as no surprise to the senator or his colleagues on the conservative side of the government. The current president, a Democrat from Massachusetts, Brandon Zimmer, was a good man, a solid leader and in many ways more Republican than some of Fowler's own colleagues. But it wasn't Zimmer's good standing that had won the election. It had been the actions of his opponent, a rising star in the Republican Party, the only man who, at the time, could have even come close to competing with Zimmer, whose popularity was soaring.


It had been impossible to keep all the details from leaking to the public. Congressman Antonio McKnight had done the unthinkable. Just prior to their first televised debate, McKnight had actually attacked the President of the United States with a knife. A brief scuffle had ensued and thankfully, Zimmer, after being stabbed multiple times by McKnight, had somehow summoned the strength, to toss his attacker of the wooden balustrade and down to his death.


The White House, the Secret Service and a few in the know, those like Senator Fowler, had made the awful decision that the congressman's actions could not be swept under the rug. They crafted what would be released, that Congressman McKnight was a troubled soul and had hidden his demons well. Fowler was one of a dozen who knew the truth, that McKnight was a sociopath, that his life had been perfectly crafted, and that the man from Miami had somehow ditched his terrible upbringing and reached the highest heights of the Washington elite. 


Fowler had to tip his hat to a man like that. Such ambition, such strength to do it all on his own. There were details even he would never find out, that the Secret Service and probably the President knew, darker secrets, things that should never be allowed to see the light of day. Senator Warren Fowler knew about such secrets. He had his own.


There was a knock on the door. 


"Come in,” Fowler said. 


A young man marched in, mouth already open to give his report. 


Fowler held up a hand. "Is it cold in here?" 


The man took his meaning and pulled out the cell phone from his pocket, even as another man emerged from the shadows. The senator’s bodyguard rabbed the phone and set about frisking the visitor. 


"I'm sorry about all this cloak and dagger nonsense,” Fowler said, congenially. "Cigar?" 


The younger man nodded as he took a seat in front of Fowler's desk. Fowler selected two Maduros from his humidor, handing one to the man. After the thick smoke was happily billowing from each man's cigar, Fowler asked "Do you remember Operation Mantis?"


The young apprentice froze. "Yes, sir. I remember." He looked like he was about to choke on the cigar smoke still in his lungs. He even coughed a little bit out.


"As it turns out, we've had a breach,” Fowler said almost, but not quite, nonchalantly. The young man went from gray to green. Fowler's eyes went from fatherly kind to ice cold. "If I'd wanted you dead, I wouldn't have wasted a cigar on you." Then the lightness in Fowler's eyes returned. "Are you okay? You look a little peaked."


"Just woozy from the cigar,” the man said quickly. "This is good one, Senator. Cuban?"


Fowler snorted. "Dominican." As if a senator from Wisconsin would smoke one of those Communist sticks. "I want you to interview your staff. Find the leak and report it to me."


"Senator, I-"


"Just find it,” Fowler snapped, but his smile was warm, the same one that had won over thousands of voters over the years. The man even the media had taken to calling “Uncle Warren” for his warm disposition, turned back to window, puffing his cigar. It was a dismissal and the man knew it. Fowler didn't speak again until the man was gone.


The shadowy figure from the corner emerged once more. "Do you think it was him?"


"No,” Fowler answered, “but it won't hurt to keep him paranoid. I know exactly who the leak was."


"Who?"


"A dead kid,” said Fowler, taking a long, slow pull from his cigar. He let it out in a thin stream that hit the window and plumed out. "A very dead kid in a very expensive car. I'd very much like to recoup my losses. I'll have the details to you by nightfall."


The man from the shadows didn't say a word but walked back to where he belonged, leaving Fowler to once again calculate which way to turn the ship. For him, there was only one true North. Revenge, plain and simple. 

Thanks for all the comments yesterday. Like you I was ready to get back into the story. This should be an interesting one. A little story building today. More action coming soon. Enjoy!

It wasn’t hard finding the dead man's identity. Before the paramedics and the police arrived, Cal snapped a couple pictures of the dead man's face. Thomas A. Quinn, Jr.. It was Neil Patel who provided the information. He was the Jefferson Groups resident tech genius. 


“No social media accounts, but I found some old clippings from his high school days. It says here he went by the name of Tommy.”


"Do you have an address?" Cal asked.


"Nothing yet," said Patel, “but I do have his parents' address."


"Okay, then let's start there."


Thomas A. Quinn, Sr’s home was in Roanoke, Virginia. It was about a two hour drive from Charlottesville. Luckily, other than the questioning from the police, Cal's day was free. He thought about telling the others about what had happened, but it really could be nothing. Maybe it was just a guy from the Marine Corps. Calvin had met too many people over the years to remember them all by name, let alone by their face. So once he'd confirmed with Neil that the police had been out to the Quinn house to inform them of their son's death, he decided that the next day he would make the drive to Roanoke.


The next morning his girlfriend, Diane Mayer, was just returning from the gym when Cal was headed to the door. 


"Where are you going?” she asked, pecking him on the cheek, but avoiding the full on hug since she was drenched in sweat. Cal thought that it did little to tarnish her beauty. His heart still did that little skip thing whenever she entered the room.


"I'm going to go visit the parents of that kid that died yesterday, offer my condolences."


 He hadn't told Diane the whole story the night before, just that he'd been on the scene of the accident. If he had, she would worry. There'd been a lot to worry about in the last year. No need piling one more thing on top of the heap of their complicated lives. She was just starting out as a Navel intelligence officer, having completed her final training in Dam Neck, Virginia. She was a mustang, a prior-enlisted seaman and she was very good at what she did for a living. His exploits had already gotten in her way and the last thing he wanted was to do it again. But now here she was, staring at him the way she did, head cocked slightly to one side, analyzing him.


"I can come with you. I don't have much to do today," she said.


“Don't worry about it. It shouldn't take long."


"Is Daniel going with you?" she probed.


"No, he's busy." He grabbed his car keys and wallet and shoved them in his pocket, trying to get out the door, but she pressed on.


"When was the last time you went out of town without Daniel?"


"Come on, Diane. I just want to make sure they're okay."


After another long moment of her staring at him, trying to pry the truth from beneath his layers, she smiled and said, "Okay, then I'll come with you."


"You really don't have to do that," he said quickly.


"No, it's fine. Give me five minutes. Let me shower and I'll do my makeup in the car." 


Cal knew there was no use arguing. She was already headed toward the bathroom and he was left thinking that he should have left ten minutes before.




The Quinn household was easy to find. It was in one of those ranch home communities where the roads had been designed wide and spacious, plenty of room for kids to learn to ride their bikes and couples to stroll on daily walks. The leaves were mostly gone now, but there were some trees that were still clinging to their burnt orange decor. The Quinn’s house was a simple affair. An old mailbox had Quinn painted in faded flowery lettering on one side. 


As he and Diane got out of the car, Cal saw that the mailbox was overflowing so he went to it and emptied its contents. Lots of junk mail, but even with a quick glance, he could see the angry red stamps on some of the envelopes, overdue notices. There were more signs. The grass was a little longer than the yards on either side. The gutters were overflowing with leaves whereas everyone else on the street had already cleaned theirs out. When they reached the door, a pile of soggy newspapers lay to one side, just far enough for the screen door to be able to open.


Cal rang the doorbell and it was a few moments before he saw the shadows moving inside. A light clicked on and then there was a face in the window. The graying woman’s eyes were swollen and she had a Kleenex in her hand when she opened the door.


"May I help you?" she said with a shaky voice.  Cal caught the smell of home cooking emanating from inside. Pot roast maybe.


"Yes, ma'am. My name is Cal Stokes and this is Diane Mayer." Mrs. Quinn did not extend a hand and Cal watched her for any recognition that she knew his name. None. "Ma'am, I was there when your son died." The Kleenex went to Mrs. Quinn's mouth.


"Oh god. You knew my Tommy?" 


This was the tricky part.


"Ma'am, is your husband in? Maybe we can come inside and talk. Or we could talk outside if you prefer.“


"Tom," Mrs. Quinn called to the back. Thomas Quinn, Sr. came out a moment later in a gray and black flannel shirt that was tucked in on one side. His hair was perfectly combed, but he had maybe a week's worth of stubble on his face.


"Who is it, Patty?" he said, his voice weary like he'd been up all night.


"They say they knew Tommy."


His eyes brightened at that and before Cal could correct her, Mr. Quinn had his hand extended. "Any friend of Tommy's is welcome in our home." He was on the verge of tears, not his first of the day Cal could see. Cal shook his hand and then the old man pulled him into the house. "Please, please, what can we get you? Coffee? Is it too late for coffee?"


Cal couldn't find the words so it was Diane who answered for them. "Coffee would be fine, please. He'll take his black and I'd like mine with a little bit of creamer, if you have it."


So they entered the Quinn home like old friends. Mr. Quinn guided Cal in by the arm and Mrs. Quinn took Diane. The place was dark and it felt like it had a year's worth of dust on every surface. Things were tidy, like they'd been placed and not used for a long time, but that all changed when they walked into the kitchen. There were pots and casserole dishes lined up neatly on the counter top. There was a slow cooker bubbling away, the source of the smell. Pot roast, Cal confirmed. Then in the corner, Cal saw it, a small fold out table, one of those 1950s relics. His parents had had two that they brought out whenever company came over. On the top of the table were an assortment of trophies, mostly track, but there was the old T-ball trophy and one that happily displayed third place in a soccer tournament. But right there in the middle of it all was a picture of the man he didn't know, Tommy Quinn, grinning from ear to ear flanked by his parents at his boot camp graduation.


Mrs. Quinn let got of Diane's arm and walked over to the table and touched the picture as if it had already become ritual. "He was such a handsome boy." She stood there for a long minute, stroking the picture, and then her body shuddered and she turned to them. "Oh my, where are my manners? You said black and you said a little bit of creamer. Was that right?"


"Yes ma'am. Thank you," Cal said.


"It's been a busy day," Mr. Quinn said, sliding into one of the kitchen chairs. Patty’s been at it since two this morning getting the food ready for the visitation. "I wish we could all go back to that day," he said, pointing to the picture of his son. "He was so proud. He was just a weekend warrior. Do you know what that means?" he said, turning to Cal.


"Yes sir. I was in the Marine Corps too.”


"Oh, is that how you knew Tommy?"


"Not exactly," Cal said.


Mr. Quinn didn't detect the awkwardness in Cal's tone and continued. "He had done his time in the Reserves and said he wanted to go full time. He had aspirations of working for the CIA, if you can believe that." He said it in a tone filled with wonder, as if no one before Tommy had ever had the necessary skills or talent to work for the CIA.


Mrs. Quinn brought their coffee. "Thank you, ma'am."


"Please, call my Patty," she said through a sniffle.


"Thank you, Patty, " Diane said, sipping her coffee. "This is delicious."


"My family used to own a diner in Clarksdale, Mississippi. My grandmother taught me exactly how to make it, just like Daddy liked." 


Diane was right. Cal had had his fair share of coffee over the years and this was the best he'd ever had. Whether it was the caffeine hitting his brain or the guilt that he felt about lying,  Cal decided to come clean.


"Mr. and Mrs. Quinn,"


"Please. I'm Tom and she's Patty," Mr. Quinn said, with a tired smile.


"Yes, sir. Well, I don't exactly know how to say this, but I didn't really know your son. The first time we met was yesterday, when I tried to help him."


"You tried to help our Tommy?" Patty said, stepping closer.


Cal didn't want to go into the details. No parent should hear about how their son's body couldn't be pulled from a mangled wreckage. "Yes ma'am. I was there with him in his last moments."


"My Lord," Tom said. "And that's why you came here, isn't it? Did he say something? Oh, God. He said something didn't he?" There were fresh tears in the father's eyes now and Patty was sobbing. Diane moved over to her and put an arm around her shuddering body.


Cal honestly didn't know how to proceed. He'd come looking for answers to his own questions and now he'd dug a pitchfork into these poor people's wound. So he did the best thing he knew to do, he lied. "He said to tell you he loved you."


At the realization, Tom folded in half, face in his hands. His grief full on now. "Oh, my Tommy," he wailed.


Cal walked over and put a hand on the man's back. "I'm so sorry for your loss," he said and there he stood until the grief ran out, until the tears would no longer come. When it was over, Thomas Quinn, Sr. sat up straight, readjusted his shirt and looked up at Cal.


"Thank you for coming, for telling us that. Will you please stay for lunch? We have plenty of food."


It was Diane who cut in. "Patty, why don't I help you with the food. I may not be quite the cook you are, but I can follow directions and I'm pretty handy with a knife."


"I'll help too," Cal said, and that's how they spent the rest of their day with the Quinns. Patty was the master chef in the kitchen. She knew every recipe by heart. It only took her two minutes to figure out Diane and Cal's level of skill.


While Cal was relegated to the chopping board, Diane was allowed to tend to the soup and monitor the casserole dishes. In between instructions, Tom told them stories about Tommy, about the day he learned to ride a bike out front and about his years of track stardom in high school. "He ran every race from the mile on down," his father said proudly. "I don't know many kids who could do that. He'd finish one race and get ready for the next. It was the damnedest thing.”


"He had so much energy as a boy," Patty interjected. "Track was a blessing. It kept his mind occupied."


Tom nodded. "Then he surprised us again, asked us if he could enlist in the Marine Corp, just in the reserves, of course, so he could go to college. He got a full ride to Virginia Tech to run track. He went on to have a brilliant career. All American, you know. He even thought about going to the Olympics."


By this time Cal felt like they'd all become friends so it wasn't awkward when he asked, "What did Tommy do after college?"


"Oh, well, he did this and that." For the first time, Tom hesitated. It was obvious he was holding something back. "He had kind of a hard time finding his way."


"I know the feeling," Cal said.


Tom nodded. “Well, he did finally find a job. It paid good money too, but it kept him away a lot. We were used to seeing him at least every weekend, but now he was gone for months at a time. Sometimes he would come back happy. He couldn't tell us stories because it was some kind of top secret deal. He said it was security, but well, you never know with those things. Then there were the weekends he would come home and barely say five words to us. He'd hole up in his old room with a case of beer and only come out to get more. Oh, God, I don't know why I didn't do anything about it," he said. "It's just as parents, you don't want to pry. Do you think he understood that?"


"I'm sure he did," Cal said honestly. "It sounds like you did the best you could."


"Yes, well, sometimes your best isn't good enough, is it?" Tom said.


There was a long silence, with only the sound of the bubbling soup filling the void. 


Cal didn’t know why, but for some reason he said, “You know, I lost both of my parents on 9/11."


"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that," Patty said, "And here we are going on and on about Tommy and ..."


"No, it's fine, really, " Cal interrupted. "I just tell that to you so you know that I understand the grief you're feeling right now. I didn't have anyone to talk to, or at least that's what I thought. I ran to the Marine Corps and they accepted me with open arms. But I was in a lot of pain for a long time. I'm sure you've both experienced that type of pain before, but it's another thing when it's your son. I know that." The words were coming freely now, emotions that Cal rarely showed to anyone but his closest friends, and even then, he still remained guarded. But now, in the tiny kitchen surrounded by grief and memories of the past, Cal couldn't help but share his story. He told them about how he'd left school and gone to bootcamp, ignoring every person who tried to contact him. He told them of the message his father had left moments before his airplane had crashed into the Pentagon, and finally he told them about the peace that he'd found that he knew that his parents were always looking down on him. "It took a long time, I won't lie. They were good people and even better parents. They loved me unconditionally, even when I was the handful. My father even got out of the Marine Corps because of me. He said he did it so he’d never miss another moment. I never doubted their love and that's what made it that much harder."


They were all listening now, maybe Diane the most. Cal cleared his throat, the raw emotion of the day threatening to overtake him. "I guess what I'm trying to say is if you need someone to talk to, you're more than welcome to call me."


"Thank you, son. I appreciate that," Tom said, extending a hand and this time Cal took it gratefully. He wouldn't press these people. He wouldn't ask what they thought the connection was. Maybe there would be time for that later, but for now, it was just enough knowing that he might bring them a small measure of solace. Because wasn’t the loving embrace of a stranger better than no embrace at all?