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Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: The Pretender and its related characters don’t belong to me. There is no money involved here and no copyright infringement is intended. Actually it is intended but I’m not making any profit so there’s really no point in suing me over it.
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Veil of Contentment - Part 6
- By Phenyx
- 04/24/04
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Life took on a comfortable routine. Parker and Sydney both returned to work on Monday. That evening, the psychiatrist moved out of the guestroom and back to his own home. Jarod quietly shifted his things into the available quarters, although he tended to sleep on the couch more often than not.
Each morning when Parker left the house, Jarod would be sitting in the livingroom watching CNN. When Parker returned at dusk each day, he was in the same position, giving little indication that he had moved from the spot. He had of course. In a hundred subtle ways, Parker could tell that Jarod managed to find ways to keep occupied during the day.
Dinner was almost always simmering on the stove when Parker came home with Teddy. The house was sometimes clean, smelling of lemony polish, on days when the service was not scheduled to have visited. One day last week, Parker had pulled into the driveway and noticed that all the trim on the garage had been painted a deep emerald green color.
One day, about two weeks after Jarod had moved in, Parker woke to find a note on top of the coffee machine. “Gone to Chicago after one of my kids,” the brief message said in the pretender’s distinctive script. He’d been gone for a day and a half. Miss Parker had felt his absence more acutely than she wanted to admit. The house seemed duller somehow, less vibrant, without Jarod’s presence.
Parker had been inordinately pleased the next evening when she returned from work and found the dark Mustang parked in the driveway. Dressed in a plain white t-shirt and soft blue jeans, Jarod had been sprawled lazily on the couch flipping through channels on the television. Parker had not asked him about the trip and Jarod had volunteered nothing more than a dry “Dead end.”
It was easy. The pretender slipped back into Parker’s life as though he’d never been gone. On nights when Parker couldn’t sleep, she would glide soundlessly through the house, never failing to find Jarod lurking in the shadows. It was almost as if he could sense her restlessness and was waiting patiently for her to seek him out.
“The nightmares will never really go away,” he said solemnly on one such night. They sat in the dark for a long time, curled in opposite corners of the couch. Jarod wore his regular nighttime attire, only the jeans he had been wearing that day. Parker snuggled into her robe, saying nothing.
There were few words exchanged between them during these predawn vigils. It was enough that they were no longer alone. They each found solace in the presence of the other, no longer needing a cell phone to find that connection.
Parker quickly noticed that Teddy was also forging a special bond with the tall dark man that had invaded their lives. She would see them at times, from a distance, standing in the yard or waiting in the car. Jarod’s dark head bent seriously in conversation with the boy as Teddy gazed up at the pretender intently.
When Parker asked about these solemn encounters, Jarod would say only, “It was a conversation between men.”
Knowing Jarod’s cryptic nature only too well, Parker’s curiosity forced her to ask her son instead. “You like Jarod, don’t you kiddo?” she asked as she tucked him into bed one night.
“Yeah,” the boy’s eyes sparkled. “Jarod is cool. He knows all about fireworks.”
Parker couldn’t help but smile at what constituted a seven-year-olds idea of hip. “Is that what you two were talking about when I came into the kitchen this morning?” she asked, seeing the opportunity.
“No,” Teddy frowned.
Stretching out on the bed beside the child, Parker caressed his hair lovingly. “Well, it seemed like a very important discussion,” she said.
“Uh-huh,” the boy nodded. “But Jarod said I shouldn’t say anything unless you ask me.”
Now it was Parker’s turn to frown. She didn’t like the idea that Jarod was keeping secrets with her son. “I’m asking, Theodore,” she said in a firm but gentle voice.
“That man, Jeffrey Duncan, won’t take the plead bargain.” Wide innocent eyes glanced up at Parker inquisitively. “Do you know what a plead bargain is Mama?”
Parker nodded. “The word is plea bargain,” she corrected, a little stunned. “No ‘d’.”
“Anyway, Jarod thinks that man won’t take the plea bargain. So I may have to go to court and tell a lot of people what happened at the museum,” Teddy said.
“Does that scare you?” Parker asked.
“Not anymore,” the boy said seriously. “Jarod says that a man has to take ‘sponsibility for what happens to him. Good or bad, what happens to us makes us who we are. The hard part is to take the bad stuff we know and use it to help other people.”
Parker struggled against the huge lump in her throat. It took all her restraint to keep from bursting into tears.
Teddy went on, unaware of his mother’s emotions. “If I have to go talk to a judge and a bunch of people, I will. That’s what needs to be done. ‘Cause if I don’t, that man won’t go to jail and he may hurt someone else, maybe hurt them worse than he did me.”
Parker sniffed. “You and Jarod have talked about this a great deal, haven’t you?” she asked.
“I guess so,” the little boy said with a yawn. “But we talk about lots of stuff. Did you know that if you suck ginger-ale up your nose it hurts really bad?”
Parker had to laugh. Hugging her adopted son, she bid him good night. She eased the bedroom door closed, leaving it ajar just enough for the hall light to provide the boy with some reassurance.
Then she went looking for Jarod. Parker found him in the dining room. He was sitting at the head of the table, his laptop open in front of him. He was, no doubt, scanning the internet for possible leads on missing children. There were at least a dozen unsolved cases that he’d been assigned, and still followed, though he’d not contacted the detective agency in nearly two months.
Parker rested against the edge of the table, positioning herself very close to the computer keyboard. She smiled fondly as she watched the pretender’s long fingers dance over the keys. After a moment, Jarod looked up at her expectantly.
Without thought, without hesitation, Parker bent at the waist, leaned over and kissed him on the lips. Jarod’s brows shot up and his eyes grew wide with shock.
“What was that for?” he asked in amusement.
Cupping the pretender’s face in her palms, Parker tilted his chin up so that he could not look away. “You are a good man,” she said fervently. She shook him gently for emphasis. “A very good man.”
Jarod smiled crookedly at her. “I’m going to remember you said that,” he purred.
Parker pressed her forehead against his. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” she whispered.
“You kissed me,” came the feather soft reply, murmured as quietly as a prayer.
“I’ll kiss you again if you’d like,” she told him.
The pretender made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “If I weren’t a married man, Parker, I would take you up on that,” he growled.
“It doesn’t matter to me that you’re married, you know,” Parker chuckled.
“I know. But it matters to me,” Jarod replied. “And I believe you would probably think less of me if I broke a promise, any promise.”
“Like I said,” Parker cooed. She pulled away, tenderly caressing Jarod’s cheek as the distance between them grew. “You are a good man.”
And just like that, it was over. Jarod watched in awestruck wonder as Parker smiled once more before she turned and left the room. Jarod shook his head and fought the sudden urge to pound his head against his keyboard.
“Idiot,” he hissed to himself.
-
Veil of Contentment - Part 6
- By Phenyx
- 04/24/04
-
Life took on a comfortable routine. Parker and Sydney both returned to work on Monday. That evening, the psychiatrist moved out of the guestroom and back to his own home. Jarod quietly shifted his things into the available quarters, although he tended to sleep on the couch more often than not.
Each morning when Parker left the house, Jarod would be sitting in the livingroom watching CNN. When Parker returned at dusk each day, he was in the same position, giving little indication that he had moved from the spot. He had of course. In a hundred subtle ways, Parker could tell that Jarod managed to find ways to keep occupied during the day.
Dinner was almost always simmering on the stove when Parker came home with Teddy. The house was sometimes clean, smelling of lemony polish, on days when the service was not scheduled to have visited. One day last week, Parker had pulled into the driveway and noticed that all the trim on the garage had been painted a deep emerald green color.
One day, about two weeks after Jarod had moved in, Parker woke to find a note on top of the coffee machine. “Gone to Chicago after one of my kids,” the brief message said in the pretender’s distinctive script. He’d been gone for a day and a half. Miss Parker had felt his absence more acutely than she wanted to admit. The house seemed duller somehow, less vibrant, without Jarod’s presence.
Parker had been inordinately pleased the next evening when she returned from work and found the dark Mustang parked in the driveway. Dressed in a plain white t-shirt and soft blue jeans, Jarod had been sprawled lazily on the couch flipping through channels on the television. Parker had not asked him about the trip and Jarod had volunteered nothing more than a dry “Dead end.”
It was easy. The pretender slipped back into Parker’s life as though he’d never been gone. On nights when Parker couldn’t sleep, she would glide soundlessly through the house, never failing to find Jarod lurking in the shadows. It was almost as if he could sense her restlessness and was waiting patiently for her to seek him out.
“The nightmares will never really go away,” he said solemnly on one such night. They sat in the dark for a long time, curled in opposite corners of the couch. Jarod wore his regular nighttime attire, only the jeans he had been wearing that day. Parker snuggled into her robe, saying nothing.
There were few words exchanged between them during these predawn vigils. It was enough that they were no longer alone. They each found solace in the presence of the other, no longer needing a cell phone to find that connection.
Parker quickly noticed that Teddy was also forging a special bond with the tall dark man that had invaded their lives. She would see them at times, from a distance, standing in the yard or waiting in the car. Jarod’s dark head bent seriously in conversation with the boy as Teddy gazed up at the pretender intently.
When Parker asked about these solemn encounters, Jarod would say only, “It was a conversation between men.”
Knowing Jarod’s cryptic nature only too well, Parker’s curiosity forced her to ask her son instead. “You like Jarod, don’t you kiddo?” she asked as she tucked him into bed one night.
“Yeah,” the boy’s eyes sparkled. “Jarod is cool. He knows all about fireworks.”
Parker couldn’t help but smile at what constituted a seven-year-olds idea of hip. “Is that what you two were talking about when I came into the kitchen this morning?” she asked, seeing the opportunity.
“No,” Teddy frowned.
Stretching out on the bed beside the child, Parker caressed his hair lovingly. “Well, it seemed like a very important discussion,” she said.
“Uh-huh,” the boy nodded. “But Jarod said I shouldn’t say anything unless you ask me.”
Now it was Parker’s turn to frown. She didn’t like the idea that Jarod was keeping secrets with her son. “I’m asking, Theodore,” she said in a firm but gentle voice.
“That man, Jeffrey Duncan, won’t take the plead bargain.” Wide innocent eyes glanced up at Parker inquisitively. “Do you know what a plead bargain is Mama?”
Parker nodded. “The word is plea bargain,” she corrected, a little stunned. “No ‘d’.”
“Anyway, Jarod thinks that man won’t take the plea bargain. So I may have to go to court and tell a lot of people what happened at the museum,” Teddy said.
“Does that scare you?” Parker asked.
“Not anymore,” the boy said seriously. “Jarod says that a man has to take ‘sponsibility for what happens to him. Good or bad, what happens to us makes us who we are. The hard part is to take the bad stuff we know and use it to help other people.”
Parker struggled against the huge lump in her throat. It took all her restraint to keep from bursting into tears.
Teddy went on, unaware of his mother’s emotions. “If I have to go talk to a judge and a bunch of people, I will. That’s what needs to be done. ‘Cause if I don’t, that man won’t go to jail and he may hurt someone else, maybe hurt them worse than he did me.”
Parker sniffed. “You and Jarod have talked about this a great deal, haven’t you?” she asked.
“I guess so,” the little boy said with a yawn. “But we talk about lots of stuff. Did you know that if you suck ginger-ale up your nose it hurts really bad?”
Parker had to laugh. Hugging her adopted son, she bid him good night. She eased the bedroom door closed, leaving it ajar just enough for the hall light to provide the boy with some reassurance.
Then she went looking for Jarod. Parker found him in the dining room. He was sitting at the head of the table, his laptop open in front of him. He was, no doubt, scanning the internet for possible leads on missing children. There were at least a dozen unsolved cases that he’d been assigned, and still followed, though he’d not contacted the detective agency in nearly two months.
Parker rested against the edge of the table, positioning herself very close to the computer keyboard. She smiled fondly as she watched the pretender’s long fingers dance over the keys. After a moment, Jarod looked up at her expectantly.
Without thought, without hesitation, Parker bent at the waist, leaned over and kissed him on the lips. Jarod’s brows shot up and his eyes grew wide with shock.
“What was that for?” he asked in amusement.
Cupping the pretender’s face in her palms, Parker tilted his chin up so that he could not look away. “You are a good man,” she said fervently. She shook him gently for emphasis. “A very good man.”
Jarod smiled crookedly at her. “I’m going to remember you said that,” he purred.
Parker pressed her forehead against his. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” she whispered.
“You kissed me,” came the feather soft reply, murmured as quietly as a prayer.
“I’ll kiss you again if you’d like,” she told him.
The pretender made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “If I weren’t a married man, Parker, I would take you up on that,” he growled.
“It doesn’t matter to me that you’re married, you know,” Parker chuckled.
“I know. But it matters to me,” Jarod replied. “And I believe you would probably think less of me if I broke a promise, any promise.”
“Like I said,” Parker cooed. She pulled away, tenderly caressing Jarod’s cheek as the distance between them grew. “You are a good man.”
And just like that, it was over. Jarod watched in awestruck wonder as Parker smiled once more before she turned and left the room. Jarod shook his head and fought the sudden urge to pound his head against his keyboard.
“Idiot,” he hissed to himself.
