Vertias Odium Parit
Simon Says

"So it has begun," quietly mused the woman.

An older man answered: "No, it began 30 years go. This is just the climax."

"Do you honestly believe she'll play along?"

"She will," interrupted another voice, male and young, "she cannot resist the DSA's of her mother."

"Yes, I thought Raines destroyed all those."

There was a low chuckle. "It's rather funny how misplaced things can get on the way to the furnace."

"You do realise what happening to Jarod though?" asked the women, a touch of resentment in her voice.

"The same thing that happens to them all," reasoned the older of the men.

"So you don't think that maybe we should let him be?"

The answer was immediate.

"No," said the younger.

"No," said the older.

"Just checking."

"What do you intend to do when Miss Parker asks for the baby?"

Teeth showed in the dim light, but whether they grimaced or smiled remained unclear.

"One less bartering chip for the Chairman."

There was a frown in the reply, "I thought he showed promise."

A shake of the head was just visible, "Not with the original as is."

The other man broke in again. "I don't think you ever told me, who the original is."

The other two replied immediately; "Really,", "Funny that."

Two more lairs; two more DSA's.

Surely, Miss Parker thought, Jarod has used every abandoned warehouse in the country.

The warehouse they stood in was painted black, wall to ceiling. Stars were scattered in luminescence yellow. The constellations stared down at Miss Parker. Sydney turned on the lights - which was actually one meaner bulb, which illuminated 5 cm around its position in the high ceiling. By this dim light and torches, they looked amidst the astrology and horoscopes.

After an indeterminable time of fruitless searching, they pulled out a red notebook, and began reading: a patient let out from a psychiatric centre. Miss Parker was however searching for something different; yet another DSA, but thus far she'd searched without result. There are only so many places to hide something, she thought. Then, angry at the idea that perhaps there were no more, or that Jarod was baiting her, she struck the wall in fury.

Her ring left a small mark, showing the wallpaper beneath.

Wallpaper? Parker thought, in a warehouse?

Realisation dawned and she looked around for Pisces: her star sign. There, over on the far wall. Picking up a bread knife from what could have constituted a kitchen she ignored the strange looks Broots and Sydney sent.

The wall itself was smooth; wallpaper had absorbed all the bumps, and black paint made it impossible to see depth in shadow. Her fingers made do instead. There, a bump about four inches from the epicentre. She followed the groove and located all 360 degrees. The butter knife quickly cut through the paint, releasing the tiny silver disk and Parker breathed again.

"Parker, have you found something?" Sydney asked, his voice half lost in the high ceiling.

She held the little treasure tight for a moment before replying, "Nothing," and putting the disk safe in her pocket.

The DSAs now had there own box, hidden away in her mother's studio, beneath the roses. Jarod rang more often now too, always while she was home, never at the Centre and never at 2 am.

The phone was due to ring tonight. As always, he would ask for answers, something, anything about his family. The Centre surely knew, she thought once. It would be impossible for them not too. But day after day she returned to hell, awaiting the sweepers that would escort her to the Tower. They never came.

Not even when she warned Jarod that Lyle had the location of his father. He gave her three disks after that.

Sometimes Jarod's calls were social - or as social as they could be - Jarod generally asking after her, her family, Sydney, what was happening and all that. On other occasions, he asked specific questions, needing help with his pretends.

There was no doubt during those times she could have sold him, but somehow, it didn't matter. The game was no longer important.

The phone rang right on queue; Parker picked it up on the first ring.

"Parker."

"I see you found my latest."

"Yes, very clever."

The smile was evident in his voice, "I try."

From his tone and joking mood, she could tell it was going to be a social call.

"So, how's Centre life?"

"Wonderful," Parker replied, "Cox decided that my office was in dire need of a dead ferret."

"Lovely," Jarod said with faint traces of disgust.

"That, would be what I told him."

They had been talking on and off about the executioner when Jarod changed the topic. "Parker," Jarod said slowly. "How do you feel about chocolates?"

"What?"

"Chocolates," he repeated. "Do you like them?"

"Not as much as you," was her half serious response. "What's this about, Jarod?"

"You'll see tomorrow. Have to go. Bye."

Dial tone.

The conversations wouldn't be so weird, Parker though with a bewildered shake of her head, if he'd just hang up like he normally does. With that thought in mind, the phone returned to the cradle and the lights turned out.

That night she dreamed she was in Raines woodland house with her mother (who was currently pregnant with Ethan). She looked on fondly a younger Miss Parker talked and played with Jarod and Sydney. It was a pleasant dream - right up until the end - when everyone suddenly left and she was all alone screaming.

In the morning the alarm awoke her at 6 AM, she remembered nothing.

Upon arriving in her office, two things became clear: Jarod had left her a chocolate box, and taken with him the ferret. "Good riddance," she muttered and shook the box; disappointingly it didn't rattle.

The heart shape box was opened and it became clear why it had not. Taped to the lid were a note and … an airline ticket to Hyannis Port, an exclusive town in Massachusetts.

All or nothing was the notes cryptic message.

Parker's mind immediately made the connection: Jarod had always felt that one life was worth everything, he would not hesitate to give all his bargaining chips to save even one life. His bargaining chips being the rest of the disks.

The flight was leaving in three hours, just enough time to leave a message for Broots - two weeks should be enough leeway - dash home, grab her things and get to the airport.

The Inn she apparently had reservations for was actually rather cosy, and in some ways reminded Miss Parker of Ben's. Making a note to see him again soon, or at least call she was lead to her room (double bed with an en-suite), and her luggage arrived a minute later. Not having much else to do or any idea how long the visit would last she unpacked.

It didn't take long and she was almost immediately bored, so she went to look around town. There wasn't much to see, a few boutiques and stores that looked interesting but her mind soon wandered to Jarod, his strange behaviour lately, his affinity for moral justice, and of course - his lovely pranks over the years.

"Shit," she swore aloud, trying to figure out how many times he'd fooled her with the same old trick. Quickly she went back to the Inn, knocked and knocked on the neighbouring room door. An old woman answered, "Sorry, wrong room," she apologised and tried the next; it yielded the same result. The last door she regarded with a predatory smile and knocked twice.

Jarod opened the door and beckoned her inside as if he'd been expecting it all along.

Through the shock that it had been that easy, she surveyed the new surroundings. The room was much the same as hers, same standard art print and duvet covers that you found in every hotel, but his was larger, had a couch and was more lived in. Candy wrappers and art books covered every surface.

He sat down on the nearest space. "Hello, Parker. Have a nice flight?"

Even though they had talked recently, perhaps as friends might, Parker was all business.

"What's to keep me from finding the discs myself and dragging your sorry butt back to the Centre?" she asked, sitting a couple of meters away from the couch.

"I'm bigger than you," Jarod suggested with a shrug.

Like that mattered.

"I have a gun."

Jarod smiled, her smile, the one he compared to an alligators.

"Not anymore."

She touched her holster. Empty, goodness knows how long ago.

"I carry a spare."

Ever since he took the firing pin from the one under my pillow.

"That I removed the bullets from."

Bullets are easy to replace.

"I always keep one extra."

In the bottom of the holster.

"I also removed the firing pin."

Damn.

Parker extracted the weapon from right ankle holster under the new goochies, took aim at his groin and fired.

The weapon clicked and Jarod despite himself couldn't help letting out the breath.

Parker chose some choice words that would have upset the old woman next door.

"Why have you brought me here?" she asked, suddenly feeling weary.

"Why did you come," he asked, never one for a bloody straight answer.

"Because Broots was available for the romantic weekend," she hissed. "Now why did you bring me here?"

So Jarod actually explained: his latest pretend was an art provider for the wealthy of the town, he was replacing another man, who had tried to commit suicide after finding his daughter murdered, in retribution for a deal that had gone bad.

"And I fit in where …?" Parker asked, looking up from stripping the weapon on his bed.

"The people here are naturally suspicious, it comes with the territory, and one of them is a killer. I've already had numerous background checks on me so I need you to play a part and lay down some of the grid work."

She could tell from the way he picked at his Twinkie that there was more. "And what exactly is my part?"

He grinned ever so slightly at her, "You are my drunken wife who gave up an aspiring career in law to marry me and loathe me for it."

The magazine clicked into place as she sarcastically replied. "Gosh I'll have to get Sydney to figure out why you chose me for such a role."

Jarod finished the Twinkie. "Yes, it will require a bit of acting."

Parker glared and explained in explicit detail exactly where he could go.

"I wasn't expecting you to do it for free," he said, tone even colder then hers.

She quirked an eyebrow.

"The remainder of DSAs," he confirmed.

She looked at him, looking for any sign that he was playing her. None was apparent but then he was a pretender.

And now so was she.

In such an exclusive town it was little wonder they had their own dinner hall; particularly one that looked like it had been shipped from Britain and put together again - which it probably was. The ancient dinner hall was crowded and though it was very classy, it just wasn't designed for such large functions. The waiters were having an impossible time navigating the crowded room and not helped by an already understaffed service.

It was making getting drunk rather difficult indeed.

And the alcohol was needed, in the last two hours she'd been introduced to far too many people, most of which wanted to fight Raines for 'Bastard of the year' or wanted to contend with Miss Parker's own bitchy-ness.

Fools, she thought through a tragically small haze, they don't stand a chance. My father was worse to me as a child.

Fortunately this a few other dinners/lunches and gatherings and sharing a room with him were all that was required. Jarod had done a lot of work before she had arrived and her main job was later revealed to be getting drunk and informing them of a painting that Jarod had just acquired. The same painting the little girl had died because of. Then the theory went that Jarod would do his Save The Little Guy thing and not-really purge his soul of some of the guilt.

But that wouldn't be for a while, and in the meantime she had to pretend she knew their names.

It had been a couple of hours since she had seen Jarod, him going off with some of the men and so she was flirting with one of the waiters (not usually her style but he had a tanned Mediterranean look and a drinks tray) when the conversation abruptly stopped.

Parker glanced around to see what had made her companion so scared. And she had to admit that at this moment Jarod pulled off looking very much like a husband that caught his wife cheating.

"Come on, honey," he said, taking grip on her arm. "That's quite enough partying for you."

On the quick way out they hastily bid goodbye and Parker got quite a few names mixed up. "Sorry," she apologised. "I'm normally good with names but right now I'm drunk."

Jarod rolled his eyes and continued to the exit, prying the glass she'd gotten from somewhere from her fingers with difficulty.

Back at the Inn Jarod had more difficulty trying to keep her from being a loud drunk. "This isn't the way to my room you said I wouldn't have to stay with you until later," she announced as they walked past her door.

Jarod continued leading her, "That's because your drunk and I don't' want you getting hurt."

Parker shook off the hands guiding her, "Up 'til now I've done fine on my own."

Jarod rolled his eyes again; she could see him as he got out his key. "Yes like just a few weeks ago you were doing fine, waking up in the recovery position."

"If I had my gun," she muttered quietly, and then in a sudden turn started laughing.

Jarod had her on the bed and one shoe off before she stopped. "You wanna know something incredibly sad Jarod?"

"O-"

"You are one of the only true constants in my life. Other than Sydney's psychobabble, Daddy's continuing rejection and Broots' terror," she laughed so hard she ended up vomiting into a bucket Jarod quickly placed for such an event. He took the opportunity to sit on the bed next to her; she fought for a moment but gave in and let him hold her.

He held her hair back as she leant over again, "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"For?" Parker asked between gulps of air. "I shouldn't have let you drink so much." And seeming to be finished he pulled her back up.

"Let?"

They both smiled slightly.

"You know," Parker said, feeling a little more sober, "I'm surprised at you. You have as of yet to ask me questions."

Jarod's smile grew, "I've tried it before, you're not a very talkative drunk."

"Do you really want to know why they want you back?" she asked sleepily into his chest. From the way his arms tensed around her she guessed a yes.

"You're the only one that was successful," she whispered.

"Successful at what?"

"Everything," she mumbled and fell asleep.

That night she dreamt of her mother and Thomas, they were both standing together and smiling in the not to far distance, but in the dream she had no form and as hard as she tired she could get no closer.

The next morning she rationalized that it was the DSA's of her mother, the feeling of a mans arms around her and large quantities of everything alcoholic that caused it, when she awoke to the pleasant aroma of coffee. Feeling the headache building already behind her eyeballs, she opted for not blinding herself.

"Good morning." Jarod said chirpily. That was something she'd learnt over the last few days, Jarod was a morning, afternoon, evening and night person.

"Ugg," Parker replied and opened her eyes.

It wasn't as bad as it could have been, though the clock read 8:12 the curtains were drawn tight and the room quite dark. Jarod crossed the room and put a glass, two pills and a coffee mug on the bedside table.

"Next time, how about you just pretend to get drunk," Jarod teased as he helped her to sit up.

"Not everyone can be you, Wonder-Boy."

Jarod's smile turned grim and Parker had a sudden unexplainable feeling of foreshadowing, what ever he said would be important. He'd been dancing around it ever since she'd got here. "Well, the Centre looking for damaged goods," he said quietly.

Damaged? She wondered if she looked alarmed.

"I've been having more and more trouble getting in and out of pretends," he confided and laughed bitterly. "Perhaps because I don't know enough about myself to tell whose who."

He frowned, it made lines appear on his face and she didn't like it.

"And sometimes I feel like I'm someone else again. This faint feeling like someone's watching. Only it's inside my head."

And to think I envied him.

"Have you told Sydney?"

Jarod laughed, and Parker heard on element that was not his own. It was slightly … maniacal … she shook herself; it was all in her head - and his.

"What does Sydney do? Tell me to come back home."

"Jarod-" she began but stopped, not sure what to say, despite what some believed she was not a Pretender and had never been. She had no idea what he was going through.

"What happened to the others?" Jarod asked, ignoring her would-be statement.

"What?" Parked answered, trying not to reflect on her still aching head.

"The other Pretenders, why where they not successful?"

Parker took another pill and sipped luke-warm coffee, wondering, and then remembering what she had said last night. The Centre was going to kill her, oh well then screw it.

"Sydney said that in the end their sims and findings became corrupt, their own personality imprinting on the sim. When that happens their useful for data crunching and other genius stuff, but the Centre employs enough people like them to not make it worth while feeding and keeping them."

"Except for me?" Jarod said miserably.

Parker shrugged, the movement jolting her head again and making her wince. Jarod, as always, took note.

"Still in pain?"

She gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Jarod moved around beside her. "Here I'll fix it. I can't give you any more pills because of your ulcer. Lean forward."

Parker conceded after giving him a brief glare, almost as soon as his fingers kneaded the tense nerves and muscles the pain diminished. With a strange sigh she whispered, "I hate you."

Jarod dug a little deeper into a spot that had been bothering her for weeks. "Why?" he asked.

"For variety."

Days passed along with liquid lunches with snobby wives. Most of which wanted to discuss just what a 'biscuit' Jarod was, only pausing occasionally to consider her and tell her they'd 'never ever try anything' … with me around, she said to herself and focused upon laying the bait. Telling them of the big project Jarod is working on. Some of the girls asked about it and Parker, acting twice as drunk as she was would laugh and shrug often with drunken slurs to match.

It was rather easy, she reflected as the waiter brought the next round, people just accepted you as what you pretended to be, simply because it was easier than not. No wonder they'd never caught Jarod these last four years.

The evening on her sixth night during dinner (Chicken Kiev, Jarod was quite the chef) Jarod assured her that tomorrow night it was show time, and the man would come forward. She smiled not entirely happily and continued drinking her lemonade - she'd had quite enough to drink that lunch.

* * *


Despite the bickering that they constantly half-acted, Jarod and Parker where the best looking couple at the ball, Jarod in a deep blue suit and black tie and Parker in a stunning black dress that they brought form one of the boutiques.

"Honey, why don't you go talk with the girls while we discuss business?" Jarod suggested, while prying her fingers from his arm. "There's nothing interesting going on here."

He kissed her hand and gave her a small push in the women's general direction. That was the queue.

"Honey," she replied, tone sickly sweet, "why don't you remember that until I left my job and family to be with you, I made more money than you. So I'm quite capable of discussing business."

The patronising tone continued as though nothing had been said. "I know you are, sugar, but I'm sure thing are much more interesting with the girls."

Her tone lost all sweetness, leaving only cold hard bitch, some of the men flinched. "You never want me around. Never. And ever since that damn Constable painting came along you haven't even looked at me. And you know what? I'm sick of it, Jarod. Go to hell!"

The crowd that had been listening parted for her; some of the older women clicked their tongues in sympathy and started conversations about men's treatment of women these days.

"Say, Jarod," muttered Keith, a banker from New York Jarod had been watching ever since he arrived, "why don't you and I go and discuss some business elsewhere. Those women," he gestured to the tongue clickers, "will be over here in a minute ready to inform you of you're taking your wife for granted. And those," his hand pointed to some women in a far corner with skin tight outfits and heavily painted faces, "will be over to comfort you afterwards."

Jarod nodded and allowed Keith to lead him into one of the smaller dining rooms. As he entering, he spotted Parker watching from a safe distance and gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

This room was almost as extravagant as the main hall; with expensive timbered walls, candelabra and a large mahogany desk taking up the centrepiece. Upon it, ornamental unlit candleholders to match the candelabra stood. High quality silver if Jarod was any judge.

"The owner lets me use this room for business because of the time and money I spend here."

He got a bottle of burgundy from a small liquor cabinet and poured two.

"Now, Jarod, the grapevine tells me that you have a John Constable."

Jarod swirled the drink in contemplation before drinking. "Who tells you that?"

"Well obviously your wife and my own has been telling me about this big project you have."

The pretender smirked. "You're a fan?" he asked, making the banker grin.

"An understatement on the highest level, I love John Constable. Only a few months ago I tried to get a piece, but the deal fell through and I ended up getting into some sticky business." He trailed off shaking his head and pouring more drinks from the cabinet.

The gun went 'click' before he even noticed it had been drawn.

"What you fail to mention, Keith is that when your deal fell through you killed his daughter because he'd spent the money. You shot her through the heart when she was playing on her swing, her father held her as she died, and then when he realised why his only child died he tried to hang himself but the rope broke and he fractured his skull. Now he not only has to face life without his daughter but he might never wake up or be the same. And you did it because he spent the money on paying his wife not to challenge him for custody."

"Didn't you."

"Didn't you!"

"DIDN'T YOU!"

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" Keith stuttered.

"You murdered a little girl, destroyed a mans life, and show no remorse."

The gun pointed directly at his heart, the safety switched off, his finger wrapped around the trigger, just a little pressure…

"I did it, yes I did. I killed the girl because he spent the money, now please, don't kill me."

Jarod's finger continued squeezing and an almighty 'bang' issued from it.

A small yellow B.B. bullet hit him squarely in the chest. He looked down at his lack of wound and breathed out; a second later Miss Parker hit him from behind. "I called the cops, they'll be here soon." She said, dusting her hands on the sequined dress.

Jarod pulled a letter from his jacket pocket and placed along with an audio recorder on the desk in front of him.

They just managed to avoid the police going in while returning to their room.

Once inside Parker quickly changed and started packing, it appeared that Jarod had already done so. She tucked the spare gun into the folds of clothing.

"Jarod where is my gun anyway?"

"Being mailed back to the Centre."

"With the firing pin."

He smiled dangerously, "Of course."

Parker continued packing while Jarod watched from the bed that she'd slept on since she and Jarod had become introduced themselves as married couple and had to keep up appearances.

"So will you be picking up your gun and firing pin?" he asked, almost tentively.

The skirt she holding nearly dropped, but she caught it and herself.

"That has been the plan," she replied, choosing her words carefully.

"Why?"

Why? Because that's all I know how to do. The thought flitted across her mind and was halfway to her lips before she caught it.

"Because ... because I couldn't be like you, Jarod, and that's how I'd end up. The Centre will only let me go if I catch you."

"You don't really believe that."

"No," she agreed, "I don't, but its not like I'm going to walk in with you and walk out, when I catch you the Centre will get you back from the end of the runway while I'm on the private plane."

She didn't like his expression as she said that. She could see him in the mirror; he looked angry, dangerous and wild, a reaction to talk of him going back no doubt.

What the hell was happening to him? I've threatened him with worse than that before she thought and looked back to the last week, there had been no uncharacteristic behaviour.

Giving up on the packing, she sat down on the couch that had served as Jarod's bed. He got up from the real bed, sat down beside her and put the comforter around her. It was nice to know that some things never change. She shrugged it off after a moment, standing again.

"Running away?" Jarod asked, affliction in his voice. "You run I chase?" he muttered, standing up also.

"Same as always," she agreed with a nod.

"But this isn't the Centre," he said slowly a strange look in his eyes.

"And this isn't you," she countered.

"How do you know? I can be anyone so why not this?"

He was standing in front of her, eyes that had regarded her with so many emotions over the years now held a surgical coldness as he grasped both her arms.

"Maybe that's what it is, maybe before I was all those people I'd been, part them, part Sydney. This is me."

"No," Parker said recognising his predatory gaze, "This is me."

Jarod grinned crookedly and once again ignored her statement. "You distracted me."

She raised her eyebrows, pretending he wasn't still holding her and she wasn't affected by it.

"We were talking about you."

Parker squirmed slightly but his grip was tight and to move him she'd need to get closer.

"What are you afraid of?"

She stopped squirming and looked into his eyes, seeing the strange figure behind them. "I'm afraid, Jarod, that this is a part of some master plan to make me fall in love with you." she admitted after a minute.

His response was right on the beat, "And if it is?" he asked in an uninflected voice.

It wasn't something that Jarod would do. However, this was not Jarod. God knows who it was.

"Then I'd never be able to bring you back, and you would've won."

"What's the prize?"

It's about what everything is about...

"Freedom."

"What if I told you I wasn't trying to make you fall in love with me?"

"I'd shrug and display the roses."

"I'm not," he said in a tender voice that was almost all Jarod.

"Fine, but your not Jarod."

"You've been around Broots to long, you think everyone's in love with you."

Simple harmless crush...

"Well I don't write romance novels with look-a-like cover art."

"Good thing," he retorted, "I've seen your pictures."

They both stopped and just glared at each other, it always amazed her how angry or exasperated she could make him. The new Jarod just as argumentative as the old, Parker remarked, wanting to stop the silence.

"Yes, but this Jarod finishes what he starts."

Parker realised what was happening immediately, Jarod's grasp on her arms became light, guiding instead of holding. He started to lean in, dimly Parker realised that she could twist now, or stamp on his foot or do damage with her knee.

Instead, she parted her lips.

It was the complete opposite of what she expected, before Jarod's touch had always been light, sweet and innocent now he was ... stronger. He wasn't forceful. Not like Tommy Tanaka, who was rough and didn't care for her pain. Not timid, like Thomas had first been, afraid she'd reject him. Not soft like young Jarod had been. This was Jarod, or at least it was a Jarod, his kiss told that and a lot more.

They broke apart and Jarod took a small step back, she could see in his eyes that this was really he. Automatically Parker's fingers touched her lips, a poor substitute for him.

"I'm sorry," Jarod said sounding slightly confused but not very sorry.

"I'm didn't mean for that ..." he shook his head.

The room seemed very cold with Jarod's warmth gone. Parker swallowed audibly while she shivered. Jarod's taste was still in her mouth. I thought he would taste like PEZ, she thought bemusedly.

Jarod reached over and handed the comforter to her. This time he did it from arms length - afraid to get close.

Parker pulled the blanket around her and watched Jarod run his hand through his hair.

"I'll take the couch," he muttered.

Parker nodded her reply and turned away.

"Parker," Jarod said quietly, sounding for all the world like a little boy, "I'm sorry."

Parker smiled, "I'm not," she said, "Not-Jarod was a good kisser."

If need be I could always blame the alcohol I haven't really consumed.

"Jarod," Parker said quietly, trusting it would reach his ears. "That couch really is uncomfortable-"

The morning the sun did pour from the curtains, streaming in Parkers eyes. But she had no hangover and wasn't bothered. Bathing in one of the light rays was a box that had appeared over night. She showered, dressed and finished packing before she was ready to give it another look.

Inside was another box with Sydney's name on it and around a dozen silver disks along with a note.

Maybe you'll have better luck next time. Was all it read, which was more than she expected.

Upon return to the Centre she was immediately barraged by Broots (who had been worried about the sole message she'd left saying she was chasing a lead and maybe gone or up to two weeks) Sydney gave her that grin and asked if she'd found anything.

"Yes," she proclaimed and dug about in her briefcase.

"I travelled for two weeks so you could add to your collection," she said and handed him her Pepé Le Pew PEZ dispenser and continued on her way her office, her heels clicking monotonously on the marble floor.

"Uh, Miss Parker," Broots stammered slightly, "Now that you're back, Debbie would really like to see you."

Then he seemed to decide this wasn't a good idea, "Unless you're tired or something. Syd, you want to come over?"

"Of course," he replied, voice tinged with amusement. "Will you be there Miss Parker?"

"I'll be there at eight," was the answer as she turned to yell at a passing sweeper who didn't have a tie.

The house was immaculate and the dining room dustless. Debbie had taken Miss Parker's coming very seriously. She served Chicken Kiev as Jarod had and Parker bit her lip to keep from smiling - it tasted almost as good.

The candles Debbie had insisted on lighting flickered as the group talked. Sydney asking Debbie how things were going in that caring, charming voice that children loved while Broots filled her in on what she had missed.

Just before they left, Parker visited her car and came back with two gifts. One to Debbie: a watch she had gotten in Hyannis Port. The other to Sydney, the box that she'd found amongst her hand luggage. "It's from Jarod," she explained as he shook it.

Debbie gushed over her new jewellery while Broots thanked her and Parker began driving Sydney home, after they pulled out of Broots' driveway, he opened it and let out a small gasp. Parker couldn't resist pulling her eyes away from the road for a second and saw the contents just as Sydney closed the box.

An olive branch.

And for the remainder of the trip the old physiatrist couldn't stop grinning.