A Family Secret
Jack tapped the crisp white envelope, running his finger along the sharp edges while trying to imagine what he would feel if he read, so sorry, but Cam is no longer your responsibility. Picking it up then letting it drop to the table, he agonized over whether to open it or simply discard it. Out of sight, out of mind wasn’t such a bad idea he figured. His stomach cramped, and the urge to empty his stomach felt almost overwhelming, but that was nothing to the pain of losing his child.
He took a deep shuddering breath, his eyes again drawn to Danny and Cam playing so happily, so innocently, so completely unaware of the turmoil Jack was going through. Again, he tapped the envelope, traced the edges with his fingers and agonized over whether to open it or to discard it. Shall I open it? Do I want to know? Maybe I’ll just call in a few favors; God knows I am owed a few.
When Cameron’s younger brother, Tom, started the ball rolling a few months before, seeking custody of his late brother’s child, Jack had felt more annoyed than worried. After all, he had been granted legal custody of both Cameron Mitchell and Daniel Jackson, so what did the man think he was doing? But, the disquiet he felt had grown stronger, and the advice he received more and more alarming. Cam’s brother had a legal claim, and the annoyance he’d initially felt at the priggish letter had turned into ice cold fear. He knew if he opened the official envelope then there would be no going back for any of them.
“Can’t do it.” Again, Jack placed the envelope down on the table and looked outside. Summer had produced another spectacular day, and the boys were play fighting with swords made from bits and pieces dragged out from his shed and painted bright blue. The old lemon tree was harboring a dragon of monumental meanness it seemed, and from the shouted bravado, Jack figured only the brave and daring O’Neill brothers could defeat it. The first real smile of the day tugged at his lips before disappearing into a frown. There was no reason to smile, nothing to be happy about that morning, and the stress he felt caused his headache to raise a notch.
That morning, the children had no idea what had caused their father’s moodiness, but sensing trouble, had run outside as soon as allowed. Jack had been pleased to see them disappear; his temper was worn and hung by a thread. Whooping and hollering, they leapt around, capes fluttering in the warm breeze, their faces bright with childish energy. Just the thought of losing those two boys playing so happily in the yard was causing Jack physical pain and he knew he couldn’t do it, could never let them go. Some things, he decided, were just unable to be borne.
The sounds of a high pitched giggles broke his concentration and his eyes were drawn back to Daniel. Memories rose and refused to be quelled. The images of the somber young man he’d met on Abydos surprised him with their intensity, and took his breath away. A smile slowly crept across his face as he thought of his team mate’s gentle wit; his understated determination to succeed, making him a surprising ally, and eventually a surprisingly wanted friend. “Ah, Space Monkey, what to do, huh?” Staring into space, Jack felt time roll by fast in his mind, like an out of control filofax, flicking from one event to another, until the memory of Sha’uri lying in the SGC mortuary made him cringe. “Damn it!” And as he closed his eyes, he swore he heard soft weeping carry mournfully on the summer breeze. The Abydonian girl’s death, and the way she’d been killed, by whose hand, had been a terrible time, and after the smoke had cleared, Jack had sworn to himself that he’d protect Daniel from ever being hurt so badly again. Of course, that hadn’t been possible, but when SG-1′s survey to P3R-5X2 had hijacked both his and Colonel Mitchell’s lives, Jack hurried to make good his word. Every time he thought about it, he struggled to comprehend the enormity of it all.
The Goa’uld trap so cleverly sprung had meant that Doctor Daniel Jackson and Colonel Cameron Mitchell had returned alive, but as boys of no more than five years of age. It hadn’t taken O’Neill long to see they needed a father more than a friend, and so that was what he became. Jack struggled though. He grieved for Daniel almost as much as if he had died on P3R-5X2, and the feeling of loss made the pain of losing Charlie reignite in all its horrible glory. Unable to sleep, he worried about showing disloyalty to his late son’s memory. Could be take the kids? Would he ever be able to love them as much as he’d loved Charlie? Thoughts and memories tormented him, and as much as he tried, Jack still despaired. But, finally, early one morning, he woke, knowing he’d finally figured it out. He would never substitute one child’s memory for another. Nothing could take away the joy Jack had felt moments after Charlie’s birth—that squirming, helpless scrap of humanity that reduced the tough soldier to tears. The videotapes of Charlie’s first birthday, the shots of the determined child wobbling his first steps towards the ice cream cake were forever etched in his memory. Then there were the other memories, some not quite so welcomed. Rushing Charlie to hospital in a heart-crushing panic when whooping cough made his temperature soar, and made him sound like he’d never be able to catch his breath. Memories of the little boy with his brand new bike complete with the sturdy little training wheels, and then the same bike with them removed. This all played like an old, grainy, black and white movie in his mind. Daniel was wanted and loved, but never at the expense of memories of old.
Jack’s eyes moved to his other child, and a tiny smile crept across his face. Then there was Cameron. With a snort, Jack watched heart in his mouth, as Cammie hung upside down swinging back and forth. As always, the child placed himself in a precarious situation, but Jack now understood it was in his nature to push the boundaries. It’s what made Cameron …Cameron. Still, it didn’t mean he had to like it and he opened the screen door and yelled his first and hopefully last warning.
“Cameron! For the love of God! Stop swinging upside down! I mean it, come on down! Carefully! Come down carefully!” Jack muttered under his breath and took a step forward, ready to bolt down the back steps to catch his wayward child. “Kid drives me nuts!”
“Whoaaaa!! All my blood has rushed to my head!” Cameron called out cheerfully, oblivious to his father’s stress levels shooting through the roof.
“Cameron! So help me…” The parental request was repeated more forcefully, and Jack watched as Cam scampered over the brightly colored play gym before jumping onto solid ground again. He wore with a wide smile of triumph, his freckled face was alight with mischief.
“Hey, Daddy! My blood’s all back again!”
Cameron confirmed this bold statement by tumbling across the grass several times, energy, joy, and enthusiasm bursting from his every athletic movement. His method of command had been the same, impetuous and daring, and Jack knew Cam would never change. When Carter had explained what had happened on P3R-5X2, she reported Danny had desperately tried to drag Cam out of the light’s arc. Jack had burned with fury, convincing himself that the unpredictable Colonel Mitchell had been somehow responsible, but, deep down, he knew it wasn’t true. He understood the necessity of getting past the need to point fingers and apportion blame, because what good would his anger do? Make Daniel a man again? Turn Cam back into the hot shot pilot he’d been? No, the time for recriminations had long passed.
“That’s good news! Best you see that it stays that way!”
“I’m like Cap’n Invincible aren’t I? Can’t get rid of me, can ya, Dad?!”
Jack closed his eyes, and wincing, felt his breath catch in his chest. He felt suddenly stricken and lost for words. There were so many questions he’d never have the answers for. Cameron was still somewhat of an enigma to him, and he admitted that he just didn’t know enough about the little boy from Kansas. For instance, did Cammie prefer the sweeping corn fields of the farm to the neatness of a suburban backyard? The Colorado Springs local pool to the swimming holes of Kansas? Or, Jack winced, his face crinkling with worry; had he loved Frank more than him? The thought was petty, and intellectually, he got that, but part of him needed to know. The insecure part of Jack O’Neill he couldn’t always control.
But, none of that mattered now. Now, all their happiness was being threatened, and he needed to come out of retirement to slay another dragon. He didn’t want to, he just wanted things to remain exactly as they were. O’Neill figured that he’d done enough to deserve his peace.
Not that having the kids move in with him had been all plain sailing, because it hadn’t been. Not by a long shot. He was a fifty plus bachelor, more a grandfather’s age than a father’s, and he often felt so weary, he could barely drag himself into bed. The chickenpox, the broken arms, the school notes demanding his immediate parental attention took their toll, and he welcomed the help from another interested party. Sara had taken tentative steps back into his life, and the burden of raising the children had been shared with both the laughter and the companionship he craved. Life had been so good, and now he cursed himself for his complacency. Things were never meant to be easy for men like Jack O’Neill.
Staring into empty space, Jack heard the quiet footsteps pad behind him.
“It came,” Sara said. The shopping bags she held fell to the floor and tipped over, Jack watched as oranges and tomatoes rolled across the floor. He blinked as she pulled up a chair, ignoring the groceries, and tugged at his arm. “Sit, before you fall over.”
“I can’t, if I sit I might never get up again.”
Her eyes widened. “You haven’t opened it yet?”
“Nope.” Jack said.
Sara sat on the chair and chewed at her lip. It seemed she could scarcely catch her breath. “Oh.”
Eventually, Jack looked down at her and shrugged. His voice wavered as he walked to the back door and looked out into his garden for the tenth time that morning. “I’ve been thinking—watching the little fartdusters destroying my only living fruit tree and…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Not without crying, and that wasn’t an option.
Sara stood, and taking the envelope in her hands, walked over to the man she had known for more than half her life. The man whose child she had borne and had then been forced to bury. “Jack, honey, don’t do this to yourself. Whatever happens, we will deal with it.” Her voice sounded so calm, so sure to Jack, he turned around. Hope flickered in his eyes, and then died while his expression turned hard. Black Jack, suspicious and mean, forced his way to the surface once more, and he came out swinging.
Like a predator, he hid his intent behind a dangerous smirk, enjoying the look of alarm in her eyes. “That a fact, Sara? Like we did before? Remember? When Charlie died?” Emotions, memories all clouded his vision the need to hurt someone as much as he’d been hurt shocked him, and he took a step forward, hands out. “God, I’m sorry, Sara.” The dangerous man of old disappeared as quickly as he appeared. He had come a long way, and learnt the hard way, loneliness: was a one way street to nowhere.
As he moved forward she moved back, and the look of betrayal on her face hurt him again. A tear rolled down her cheek to show him how much his words had wounded her, and he cringed at her cry. “Jack…not again! Do NOT push me away again.”
He lowered his head a fraction, shame and humiliation burning in his face. “Even if…Well, I still wouldn’t have changed a moment of it.” He could feel her near him once more, and kept his eyes fixed on the lemon tree, as though it could offer a piece of advice that would solve it all. He bit back the urge to scream, to punch a hole in the door, anything but stand helplessly by while his life unravelled. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you as well.”
“Read it, Jack.” She held out her hand. “Let’s see what cards we have to play with first.”
He looked at the letter in her hand, then taking it, walked over to the table, all but falling into his chair. With trembling fingers, he opened the envelope, slowly making sure the contents weren’t torn. Clearing his throat, he read out the first line. His eyes searching for more, he raced ahead, not caring that he missed more words than he read. It didn’t matter.
Jack, I have thought long and hard about Cam Jr. Dad tells me how happy he is with his new brother, and what a great dad you are, but…
He read the letter out loud and sighed as Sara wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing him gently. Her warm tears tickled him, and blinking slowly, he pushed back and pulled her onto his lap. Holding her tightly, he rocked back and forth, saying nothing, but needing the warmth, the connection to her more than he had ever needed anything. The fear of losing his family, not once but twice, had been paralyzing, and he couldn’t seem to make his heart beat slower.
“He says his nephew is better off with him, but that Daniel and I can be included in Cammie’s life.” He saw the direction of her glance, and then shrugged ruefully as she turned from the playing children and back to the letter.
“Oh, no!” The pain in Sara’s voice echoed the pain in his heart. “So, what if he demands to see the DNA results?” she asked quietly.
Jack shifted, and as he patted her leg, she stood, allowing him to struggle to his feet. “Well, that can’t be allowed to happen, can it?” He pulled in a deep breath, taking in the scent of her hair. Could a woman’s hair have its own scent? He swore Sara’s did. He shook the random thought from his head, and closed his eyes to block out her image. Now wasn’t the time for wanting her.
Sara paced back and forth beside the table and checked her watch before making her announcement. “It’s time for the boys’ snack, so why don’t I make them a sandwich while you make a call. Jack, we are not losing Cammie to the Mitchells! Get the clearance needed, and make tracks! We need to make this family understand why Cam needs to be with you…us.”
Clapping her hands together, she walked to the door and called out. Turning and looking over her shoulder, she whispered, “Look at them! They are brothers now!”
His ears vaguely registered her voice, his thoughts now a mile away. A realist, Jack knew the likelihood of Tom’s attorney’s assuring him Tom would win. That couldn’t be allowed to happen though, and burying them in a ton of paperwork was tempting. The Mitchells didn’t deserve anymore grief, and Jack O’Neill was nothing if not an honorable man, but things were spinning out of control. And now, whether it was honorable or not, the past needed to be …rewritten.
A hawk swooped elegantly into the fields, and tracking its descent, Tom shuddered. Life on a farm was fleeting and he figured the hunted creature was gone. In a blink of an eye, its life extinguished while everything around it went on as normal. Sun still shone, breeze still blew, and Tom still breathed. Albeit shakily.
“Get a grip, Mitchell!” he scolded himself silently, “crying over vermin?” He forced himself to take a deep breath, unsure what he felt. Kansas? God, he was back at the family farm, sitting at the same picnic table he had twenty years previously, drinking ice cold cider and toying with his flapjacks. He didn’t want the food and felt ten years old again. Chewing at a tooth pick in subtle avoidance, he obediently answered his mom’s questions about nothing and everything, and pondered how it was that nothing had really changed. All this pretty family picture needed was for Cam to stalk around the corner, ball tucked under his arm, demanding to know if there was there any food left. With a stab of envy, he thought, Yep, it was always about you, Cameron, wasn’t it? Guess nothing has changed, except now it’s your kid we’re obsessing over.
Tom narrowed his eyes, his temper close to exploding. “Mom, stop fussing! We ate on the plane.” He then threw his head back in a jaw-breaking yawn, and smacked his lips together, the honey from the flapjacks sticky and cloying. The long trip from London left him feeling seedy, and glancing at his watch, he groaned at the thought of making the thirty mile drive needed to sign more papers for Cam Jr’s adoption. He knew he was too tired to risk navigating the treacherous dirt roads, and while watching his mom fuss, impatiently interrupted her. “Mom! Please!” The very thought of asking for his parents’ help made him furious, and brooding, his handsome face grew dark with temper. “Just leave the plates for pity’s sake.”
“Tom!” his father growled, “Best you mind your manners.”
Lurching to his feet, cursing softly as the back of his flip flop caught the chair Tom’s apology sounded over-loud to his ear. He knew it wasn’t beneath his father to box his ears, and made a half hearted attempt to restore the peace. Nerves made him boom in times of stress and it annoyed him thinking that Cam would have kept his overwhelming coolness, teasing his father into laughing. His male pride stung, he smiled sweetly at his mother, ignoring his father’s presence, just as he’d done all his life. “Sorry, Mom, guess I’m tired and cranky. Hey, I’m meeting the attorney after lunch and I want to make sure I’m on time. Bum a lift?”
Wendy nodded her head, but staring back at her son, said nothing. Whatever she felt about him being there wasn’t shared, and Tom felt mildly irritated with her. This trip had cost him a fortune and the least she could do was pretend to be slightly grateful. But he knew Wendy Mitchell kept her own counsel, and that was that. His father looked up, and draining his cider, glanced over at his wife in silent concern. Tom’s temper rose at the implied rebuke. “I’m just tired is all!”
On the long flight from London back to Kansas, he had sat next to his new wife and said little, taken up with his own thoughts. Occasionally, he glanced over and taking her hand, squeezed it gently. He couldn’t risk opening up to her and explaining why his head pounded and some things were best forgotten. His eyes dropped to the pink fullness of her lips, and with a tremble of desire, he reached across, his breath hot against her cheek. “Have I told you how much I love you? Perks of flying business class are that we get left alone!”
“That a fact? Good thing I married a rich man then, isn’t it?” Fran smiled, but pressing her hand into his chest, made sure he stayed where he belonged.
He got the message, and half-heartedly sulking, listened to music instead. Not his kind of music but the classical type Fran adored. The irony of being lulled into a sense of peace wasn’t lost on him, but he was afraid if he thought too deeply, he might just lose his nerve and run back to the anonymous streets of London. Back to where Tom Mitchell was a successful merchant banker and nothing more. Certainly not a brother whose casually orchestrated betrayal had driven a wedge between him and Cam forever. But, he’d been young and foolish, and jealousy of Cam’s easy charms had made him a fool. Now, decades later, he could put that right, he could love Cam’s child as his own. Then, maybe, the ice in his belly would stop churning.
The day was going to be hot, it was just after eleven am and the sun’s rays were already agonizingly bright. Wendy Mitchell scrunched her eyes against the sun shining directly through the windscreen. “Can you change the station, honey? I can’t concentrate with that noise.” Tom Mitchell and his mother were a few miles from town, and the awkwardness they felt seemed to increase the closer they got. Wendy never understood what drove her complicated youngest son to do the things he did, and in the corner of her mind, she knew that taking Cameron back to London was wrong. She’d met Jack O’Neill, she met Daniel, and she had been content to allow her mysterious grandchild to remain just that… a mystery. The Official Secrets Act she’d signed had been so unbelievable, she wondered if she’d dreamed it. But, she hadn’t, and Cameron was no more her grandson than he was Tom’s nephew. Jack O’Neill was a hard man, but he could keep him safe from the people that would harm him, and that was something she and Frank could never do. It had been an obvious choice and one she’d come to terms with, until Tommy started to poke at a hornets’ nest like he always did. Cam was okay where he was, and she just needed to keep reminding herself of that.
Deep in her heart, she’d been proud of herself. The way she’d accepted her child needing to be reared by a stranger from Colorado. So, why had she spent all last week tidying and cleaning Cam’s old room? Polishing his trophies and reading his old year books. She couldn’t talk to Frank about her feelings: the old soldier in him had made that promise to the general, and his word was his bond. She had no such predilection though, and figured she owed Jack O’Neill squat. Did he spend forty hours in labour to bring Cam into the world? Did he sit by his bed for days, refusing to leave, while he lay so badly injured after his accident? No, he and his lot just got her baby boy half killed and turned back into a boy. Her boy…her Cammie.
Glancing over at her youngest son, Wendy sighed softly, these self-absorbed thoughts weren’t like her, but, certainly like Tommy. “Do you want to talk?” she said at last, her knuckles clenched on the steering wheel. Hearing no reply, she threw Tom a concerned glance. “Honey?”
She shrugged when he didn’t answer her straightaway. Some things, she figured, didn’t bear talking about, no matter who was doing the asking
“Nope, not really, Mom. Better watch the road though, don’t want to miss the appointment because you drove into a ditch!” He smiled at her, and blinking slowly, gazed at the cornfields dancing in the warm breeze before adding softly. “It’s going to be fine, trust me, Cam Jr. will love London, and Fran and I will make up for everything.”
“Make up? Make up for what exactly?” Her hands grabbed the steering wheel tighter, her voice taking on a sharp tone. “What exactly do you mean, make up for everything?”
She pulled off into the car park and switched off the engine, glancing at her son shrewdly. “Why are you home, Thomas? The truth now!”
Frances Mitchell was what used to be called, a real looker. A redhead with the brilliance that could never be captured by a bottle of dye, and perfectly shaped brows. Her eyes were enormous, the color of sapphires, and when she smiled, she dimpled prettily. Frances Mitchell knew she could stop traffic, and Frank didn’t like her one little bit.
The day was already a scorcher, and as beads of sweat trickled down his back, he thought carefully. A shrewd man possessing an excellent judgement of character, he wondered what his youngest son could see in the vacuous Frances. Tall, slim to being close to underweight, the young woman had as much substance as a flat can of pop. Or so he thought. Fran Mitchell was nothing like she appeared, and he learned that the careful façade of vanity enabled her to be the watcher more than the watched.
“So, Frannie how did you met up with my boy?” Frank asked casually.
Fran smiled. “Oh, friend of a friend, you know how it is.” With a graceful movement, Fran stood declaring she needed another coffee. “Be right back, Frank, don’t run away will you?”
Frank arched an eyebrow and watched her sashay away. “Touche! That put me in my place, didn’t it, Miz Frances Mitchell.” Annoyance crept into his voice, and lowering his eyes, he looked at the stumps of his legs and slammed his fist onto the table. Once upon a time, those legs were whole, and he had been whole. Now, he was an aging cripple and old before his time. He’d lost one son and the other had always been lost to him. Tommy had been so young when Frank had his accident, and the years of therapy and adjustment turned the snub-nosed little boy into a stranger. Tom had been frightened of his father’s disability, and when he called him close, he see him hiding behind his mother’s back, refusing to talk.
Frank remembered the frustration he’d felt at the strange little boy blinking at him with fear-filled eyes, and to his regret, he’d been pleased when Wendy had taken him away. Cammie was his backbone, and the bond they shared was rock hard. Tom was a spoilt child whose odd ways annoyed him, and Frank needed to focus on himself. It wasn’t selfish, it was survival, and all fighter pilots were born with a will to succeed.
Tom was born to be a banker.
Cam was born to rule the sky.
When he’d got the telegram that Cam had perished in a classified accident, Frank clutched the paper to his chest, and wanted to die. His pain overwhelmed him, but that had been nothing to the pain he felt when he heard his wife weeping that night. A dark cloud of misery hung over their farm, refusing to shift, and he truly wondered if this would be the final straw. Then, one day, a man called Jack O’Neill came calling with his two small sons. Daniel and Cameron… his Cameron. It was a lot to ask a man to believe, but General O’Neill had been calm and solid, and in his heart, Frank knew it was the truth. His crazy, impetuous, brave son had been the elite of the elite, and travelling to other worlds, had fallen foul to a terrible trick. The enemy no one knew existed, the Goa’uld, had laid a trap so cunning, so devastating that it was mind blowing in its complexity. His six foot plus strapping young man morphed into a small boy, and needed to grow up once more.
Question was with whom? Jack and he were the same age, give or take, and both were canny, financially secure men. Jack had one advantage; he had two legs and had connections in the seedy word of black ops and silent men. Frank had a wheelchair, and was on the local council. Jack could protect his son against the shadowy forces of his Uncle Sam, while Frank could barely shoo the crows away from the crops. It hadn’t been a hard choice, but that didn’t mean it had been easy. Frank had never felt so impotent in his life, and when Cam had thrown his arms around O’Neill’s waist and called him daddy, Frank knew he was capable of murder.
He had no choice but to shelve such feelings and learn to cope with what cards he had been dealt. His son was alive, but… he wasn’t his anymore. Tough lesson for a man to have to learn. Then, one day, Tom called out of the blue and said he and his new wife wanted to take Cam Jr. to live with them. Frank had struggled with the crackly connection, but heard enough to be appalled. New wife? He hadn’t even known there was a new girlfriend, and what gave Tom the right to take Cameron anyway? He hadn’t even flown home for the mock funeral organized by the Air Force, citing the global crisis and mysterious budgets needing fine tuning. Hearing a phoney British accent, Frank had gritted his teeth as Tom alluded to how important he was now, and how hard it would be to leave London. He did however send expensive flowers. Wendy gave them to the church.
Then, Tom and Frances were suddenly at his front door, annoying the crap out of him with their pretentious ways. Tom’s new accent, new wife, and new family seemed somehow contrived to Frank, but no amount of persuasion could stop him from filing those papers. Tommy wanted to adopt his nephew, and with a heavy heart, Frank waited for the inevitable. Jack O’Neill didn’t strike him as a man to give up easily, and Tom Mitchell would have the fight of his life on his hands. He wondered if his spoilt son was up to the challenge, and secretly hoped that another ‘money crisis’ would send them home again. Frank simmered silently as his son and daughter-in-law waltzed into his home, air kissed Frank and Wendy, while dumping expensive luggage by the door.
Perhaps it was Frank’s insistence on calling Fran by her full name that made Wendy warm to her, and she shooed her cranky husband away. Bringing out her carefully planned morning tea, they all tried hard to connect; trouble was with Tommy, half the jigsaw pieces were always conveniently missing. Tom never brought much to the table but always took as much as he wanted. It was a habit his father had tried to break as a little boy, but Tom hadn’t wanted to learn it, refusing to understand why he needed to.
A tingle of apprehension swept over Frank as he watched Wendy drive the truck away, losing sight of it in the choking dust. If Tom was back, it was because he wanted something, and for the life of him, he couldn’t believe it was really that small six-year-old boy he mistakenly considered his nephew. His new daughter in law had sat herself opposite him, filing blood red nails, her alabaster face hidden behind a giant sun hat. She looked and sounded like a movie star and Frank had nothing to say to her. Fran didn’t appear to like the farm, America, or them. What was there to say? But, as Wendy had fumbled with her keys, she’d begged him to make Frannie feel welcome and he’d do just about anything for his honey haired wife.
His daughter-in-law settled back under the umbrella. “Now, what were we talking about?”
“Where you’d hooked up with a farm boy from Kansas? Why the trip back here to collect a child you’ve never even met?”
She looked up and pushing her sunglasses down her nose gave her father-in-law a careful look. She took a sip of her frothy coffee just as her cellphone beeped into action. She had a message and her smile lit up her face with pleasure.
“Thank God! Overseas roaming actually works out here! Frank, I have to reply to this, okay?” If she noticed the look of bewilderment on his face she didn’t react to it. “So, I’ll see you when Thomas gets back? Okay?” Pushing her chair out, leaving her plate, her mug, and her napkins behind, Frances Mitchell looked at the cell, and pressing a few buttons, chatted into her cell, laughing and waving her manicured hand in the air.
He wanted to respond that no, it wasn’t okay, and that she was a rude little miss that needed her backside paddled. But, he shrugged, calling Cameron’s old collie dog over for company.
“Jasper, heel! Seems we have a mess of polly waddle doodle all day to discuss here.”
Jasper barked in agreement, wagging his tail, and limped slowly over.
Sara stretched out her long arms and grimaced as her spine complained. “Ouch! I am too old for burning the candle at both ends!” The previous day had been one shocking revelation after the other, and avoiding the mirror in her compact by squinting, she figured she probably looked all her fifty years. Hello, Methuselah, how’s it doing?
She snapped the compact shut in disgust, and glancing over at Jack, sucked in her lower lip. He was miles away, and the hurt he tried to keep from her made her love the complicated man of old. The divorce from him eight years ago had knocked her about. They’d gone through something no parent should have to, but somewhere in her heart she had always hoped they could smooth things over like they used to be able to. So, when he told her he’d signed the papers at long last it had come as a total shock, and devastated her.
She’d survived, but the sadness and loneliness had taken its toll. She’d felt suddenly old and bereft of hope, and more…She had felt abandoned-like one of Jack’s trouts kindly released back into the water. Gradually, and with expensive therapy, she got used to hearing herself called Ms O’Neill, and after attending night school became a successful editor. She’d done okay, learning to appreciate the small things in life once more. Her garden, her friends, her hapless writers, all became important to her, but she wasn’t really fooled. She missed Jack—she missed them.
Then, suddenly, everything changed-and much to her surprise, for the better. A phone call inviting her for brunch to meet his kids floored her, and she felt a stab of pain so intense she forgot to breath. Kids? He had another family? What about the old one? What about her and Charlie? But there was no her, and there sure as eggs wasn’t any Charlie. Nothing had been further from her mind than starting up a relationship with her ex-husband and his new kids, but curiosity won, and she went. After a tentative start, she became hopelessly caught up with the O’Neill boys, and she allowed herself a spark of hope. One day she found herself punching in Jack’s cell number, followed by the school’s number, various SGC personnel, and before she knew it, she was involved. Now, some man from another country threatened their happiness and Sarah was grimly putting up her dukes.
Plans needed to be made, tactics fine-tuned, a military procedure in other words. She’d stayed the night, and after draining the last of the coffee, they made their final decision. If they were going to persuade Tom Mitchell to drop his suit then it needed to be done man to man. No other way seemed right. While the fact that he had a claim to Cammie wasn’t up for debate, the morality of it was. To drag the little boy away from the only family he remembered was fraught with danger, and Jack had a ton of paperwork to back him up. But that ton of psychological mumbo-jumbo could cause unbearable stress to his child, and that couldn’t be allowed to happen. Besides, the dark suited men could catch planes easily, and that meant Cam would never be safe.
Sara glanced at her watch and ran her furry tongue across her teeth. She needed to freshen up and made a move to leave. She leaned forward and kissed Jack’s cheek, feeling the bristly grey stubble scratch her face. Some things never changed she thought.
“I have to go.”
“Yep, I know.”
“Call me the moment you get there, promise? If you need me I’ll be there! Jack, I will always be there for you and the boys.” Sara’s eyes clouded over with tears and she wanted nothing more to sit down and howl.
“I know.” Jack put out his hand and caught her arm, pulling her into a rough embrace. “Be there for me—for us—and we can make it.”
Sara said nothing. She didn’t know what to say, losing Cameron would be a body blow for Jack, and she feared what that might do. She felt a sudden pang of anxiety. Perhaps she was expecting too much—perhaps she should be preparing Jack for the inevitable. Perhaps…perhaps…perhaps.
