Thursday, December 25
Parker, Colorado
Riley eased his Denali to the curb outside the Ricci residence in Canterberry Crossing, a subdivision in Parker. Off to his left he could see a group of four men teeing off on Black Bear Golf Course. Either they’re single, or they have very understanding wives, he thought.
He grabbed some packages from the passenger seat, then went around to the liftgate. There, protected in a shallow box, was his offering for the Christmas feast-brown bag apple pie (his mom’s recipe with the slight modification of a store-bought crust).
After Riley had left the air force, his mom had taken a day and taught him how to make one main course (pepper steak-steak au poivre, if he really wanted to impress), one side dish (green-bean casserole), and one dessert (apple pie). Mom reasoned that with these three recipes under his belt, he would always be prepared to bring something whenever he was invited to someone’s house. Good thinking, Mom, as long as I’m not invited to the same place twice.
He scooped up the pie, wrangled the liftgate closed, and walked up the path.
Before he even had a chance to ring the bell, Sal Ricci opened the door. “Welcome!” Ricci said as he took the packages from his friend’s hand. Then he called over his shoulder, “Riley’s here, babe.”
Riley pressed Lock twice on his key fob and followed Ricci in.
The smell of Christmas filled the air-the woodsy scent of a beautifully decorated fir tree, the cinnamon and clove fragrance of potpourri, the rich, thick smells coming from the kitchen, the… Whew, what is that smell? Riley looked down to see nine-month-old Alessandra preparing to crawl up his leg.
“Sorry, bud. I think she needs a change,” Ricci said, scooping his daughter up.
“What have you been feeding that poor kid? Pork rinds and broccoli?” Riley called after him. He sought refuge for his nose in the kitchen, where Megan was busy preparing the feast. “Merry Christmas, Meg. It smells wonderful in here.”
She put her spoon down and gave Riley a hug. “Welcome, Riley. It’s great to have you with us today. Wow, what is this?” she asked, taking the pie from his hand. “Is this homemade?”
“Yep-exactly like Mom used to make. But do me a favor-next year ask me to bring a side dish.”
“Sure thing,” she said, giving him a curious look. “What happened to my husband?”
“Alessandra had a toxic leak. It’s funny; I remember when you were pregnant. Sal said he would never change a diaper.”
“True, and for the first months it was all I could do to get him to change her. But recently, he jumps at the chance to change every diaper. It seems like every waking moment he’s playing with her or just staring at her.” She stopped for a moment, then looked Riley in the eyes. “You’re Sal’s closest friend on the team. Have you seen anything different about him lately?”
“Different how?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’d say he seems edgier than usual. He says it’s because of the pressure at the end of the season, but I think it has to be more than that. One moment he’s wonderful, and the next moment he bites my head off about something; then the next moment he’s staring off into space.” Megan paused and looked down. When she looked back up at him, there were tears in her eyes. “Would you… would you tell me if he was having an affair?”
“After I got through beating him to a pulp, yeah, I’d tell you-or at least I’d make sure that he told you. But I don’t think you have to worry about that. I would be truly shocked if he were messing around on you, Meg. I’ve seen the same stuff you have, but I see it all around the locker room. Everyone is on edge.”
“You don’t seem to be.”
“Well, that’s because I’m an extreme introvert who suppresses my feelings of angst until they reach a boiling point, finally finding a violent outlet on the playing field.”
“Impressive. You’ve been talking to the sports psychologist,” Megan said with a relieved laugh.
“Watching Dr. Phil, actually. Seriously, I’ll talk with Sal today and try to find out what’s going on.”
“Thanks, Riley.” She gave him another hug as Ricci came in with Alessandra.
“What’s-a happening-a here? Are you a-messing with-a my girl?”
Riley laughed. “Sal, for being Italian, you have the worst fake Italian accent in the world. You sound like a junior high production of The Godfather.”
“Well, let’s-a sitta at the table. Or am I-a gonna hafta make-a you an offer you can’t-a refuse?” They all laughed as they sat, including Alessandra, who had no clue what was being said but apparently knew that her daddy was the funniest man in the world.
Thursday, December 25
CTD North Central Division Headquarters
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Scott Ross saw it as soon as he walked into Jim Hicks’s office. Sitting on Hicks’s desk was a case of Yoo-hoo.
“Merry Christmas,” Hicks said.
“Jim, I’m touched.”
“Now don’t go all sappy on me. I was getting tired of all your complaining, and… well, I appreciate all the hard work you’ve put in over the past few days. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Not even a Christmas hug to go with it?”
Hicks glared at Scott.
“Well, thank you anyways. And, just so you know that I didn’t forget about you this yuletide season…” Scott reached into his coat and pulled out a magazine with a little red bow stuck on its front cover.
Hicks took it from him. “Wow, Guns & Ammo. Exactly what I’ve always wanted.”
“Take a look. It’s the January issue!”
Hicks couldn’t help but smile. “Scott, you’re like the son I’m glad I never had.”
“Thanks, Pop. So, I’m assuming by your being here that you have no pressing family obligations.”
Hicks shook his head. “No, I stopped having family obligations three years ago when my second wife divorced me.”
“How’d that happen?” Scott asked as he cracked open his first Yoo-hoo bottle of the day. He offered one to Hicks, who quickly declined with a grimace on his face.
“Listen, Scott, I appreciate your feigned interest and all, but I’m not really into talking about myself.”
“Believe me, I understand. But I was thinking, you know, it being Christmas and all. What the heck. We could even do it quid pro quo-you know, like in Silence of the Lambs. ‘A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti,’” Scott said in his best Anthony Hopkins impersonation, finishing with the skin-crawling slurping sound.
Hicks thought for a moment, then said, “Why not? Okay, I’ve told you about my divorces. Quid pro quo. Where’s your family? Why aren’t you with Mom and Dad?”
“First of all, ‘told you about my divorces’ is a little strong for what you’ve said thus far. But if it will make you feel better, I guess I can launch first. My parents were addicts. Coke, horse, meth-you name it, they took it. There was this one Christmas when I was eight-my parents sent me into a house to score some chiva for them. I heard yelling and screaming as I walked up. I tried to turn around, but my parents wouldn’t let me back in the car without the dope. So I went back and knocked. No one answered the door. I walked in, and the smell in the house nearly bowled me over. It wasn’t until years later when I was with AFSOC that I recognized what that smell was. It was death, hanging big-time in that house.
“So anyway, I look around and see this big nasty-looking guy, hair in a ponytail and all tatted up-I can still see him like he was right in this room. He was standing over his old lady. She was pretty bloodied up by this time. This guy sees me, and before I have a chance to tell him why I’m there, he crosses the room and plants his fist right on my cheek. He knocked out a tooth. I’m lucky he didn’t break my jaw. Then he grabs a handful of my hair and a handful of my pants, carries me to the open door, and literally tosses me out onto the sidewalk and slams the door behind him.
“So I’m all scraped up and bleeding. I go crying and limping up to my parents’ car. My dad rolls down the window and asks if I got the chiva. When I tried to explain what had happened, he flies out of the car, smacks the other side of my jaw, grabs the money from my hand, and drives off with my mom. I walked two and a half miles to get home that day. Needless to say, Santa forgot to leave anything under the tree that year.” Scott downed the rest of his Yoo-hoo and chucked the empty a little harder than he intended into the stainless steel waste can.
“Are your folks still alive?”
“I don’t know, and I can’t say as I care. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t hate them. I probably should, but I can’t. They were addicted. Nothing was more important than feeding the monkey. That’s why I rarely drink, and I don’t smoke or do anything like that. I’ve seen what the monkey can do, and I don’t want any part of it.”
They were both quiet for a few minutes.
Finally, Scott broke the silence. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that story before.”
“So, how’d you come from that home to what you are today? A lot of folks would have used that as an excuse for wasting their lives and living off the government.”
“It was one man who did it-one man who changed my life. And believe it or not, he was a librarian-Mr. Pinkerton. Funny, after all these years I still don’t know his first name. He saw something in me-potential, he said. He took the time to let me know that just because my parents were trash, I didn’t have to be. He helped me believe in myself. He helped me get through school and then directed me toward the air force after I botched college. Without him stepping in, I hate to think where I’d be now.”
“You still in contact with him?”
“Nah, he died when I was in Afghanistan. I couldn’t even go to his funeral. When I heard he was gone, that was one of the hardest days of my life… So, buddy, quid pro quo. Let’s hear about you.”
Hicks reached into his desk and pulled out a tumbler and a small bottle of Jack Daniel’s Gentleman Jack. He tilted the bottle toward Scott, who waved it off. After pouring himself two fingers, Hicks began. “My story’s not pretty either, but for a different reason. You took something screwed up and made it good. I took something good and screwed it up-royally… You sure you want to hear about this?”
“I’m all ears,” Scott said, twisting the cap off another Yoo-hoo and kicking his feet up on the desk.
“Well, you asked for it. Without going into too many details, I got married right before heading up to RTC for boot camp. We were both eighteen and stupid, and family planning was certainly not on my mind at the time. I’m seven weeks in when I get a call from my wife, who says she’s pregnant. All I could do is think of the situation in terms of me. It’s too soon. I’m just starting my career. How can I raise a kid? We’re too young. All that junk went through my mind. So I tell her, ‘Baby, this isn’t a good time for us to start a family. Why don’t you get-I can’t even remember her best friend’s name now-why don’t you get your best friend to drive you over to Planned Parenthood and get it taken care of?’
“Well, my wife had a conniption over that. I yelled at her; she yelled at me. I told her that I was the man of the house and that if she wasn’t going to listen to me, she might as well go back home to her mom and dad-which she did. Mom and Dad thought I was the devil anyway, and they promptly had the marriage annulled. So I guess technically I had one annulment and one divorce. Seven months later, I’m at SEAL training. I hear through the grapevine that she’s had a girl-named her Tyler after her brother. Go figure.”
“You ever see Tyler?”
“Yeah, once. Kelly-I guess I never told you her name-Kelly got remarried a few years later. She and her husband settled down in Omaha. One time I get an extended leave. I find out where Kelly’s living, drive out to Omaha, and stake out the house. It’s about 3:30 in the afternoon and I see this twelve-year-old girl come walking down the street. I would have recognized her anywhere-looked exactly like pictures I’ve seen of my dad at that age, only with beautiful, long brown hair. So, anyway, she comes down the street, walks into her house, and I drive off.”
“You never said anything to her?”
“What am I going to say? ‘Hey, sweetheart. I’m the father who wanted you dead. Glad to see you’re still alive and kicking.’ I’m not even sure she knows I exist. Probably better that way. I’m sure she’s got kids of her own by now. Kelly’s husband seemed like a good, white-bread kind of guy. Gave Kelly and Tyler a good, stable home-a heck of a lot better than I could have given them.”
“And what about the second wife?”
A big smile spread across Hicks’s face. “Ah, Marina. I truly thought she was my second chance. I met her about eight years ago. We had a whirlwind romance, and I married her three months later.”
“Sounds like a good start. What happened?”
“9/11 happened. This job happened. When CTD was created as a response to the attack, it became my life. I wanted to find every little Prophet worshiper who even had a passing thought about hurting America. I wanted to find them and make them pay, practically and tangibly. I spent more and more time on the job. I became consumed. When I did go home, I took my job with me. I guess I wasn’t easy to live with, and finally Marina had enough. One night, she let me have it-laid out all her frustrations. I snapped and hit her. Only time it ever happened, but once was enough. She was gone. I can’t say that I blame her; I deserved it. In fact, the only reason I have a career right now is that she didn’t call the cops even though she had every right to. She was and is a great woman. Her biggest mistake was getting mixed up with me.” Hicks looked distant for a moment, then refocused on Scott. “So, what do you think of me now, Weatherman?”
Scott turned his eyes to the desk and didn’t answer right away. When he did speak, he kept his eyes down. “There was something Mr. Pinkerton used to say to me when I blew it big-time. I think it was a quote from somewhere in the Bible. He’d say, ‘Putting the past behind, I press on toward the goal.’” He turned his eyes up to Hicks. “That’s the only way I’ve been able to forgive myself for some of the junk I’ve done in my life. Friend, I think we both have a lot of ‘putting the past behind’ to do.”
They stared at each other for a moment. Then Scott said, “You sure you don’t want that Christmas hug?”
Hicks laughed. “Shut up and take that box of liquid mud out of my office.”
After the Christmas feast was consumed, Megan Ricci said, “Sweetheart, why don’t you and Riley go into the living room to digest. Alessandra and I will take care of the dishes.”
“It’s hard to pass up an offer like that,” Ricci replied. As the men got up from the table, Megan gave Riley a quick wink and a nod toward her husband.
Great, Riley thought, Meg got it all worked out, but now I have no idea what I’m going to say to Sal.
The two men entered the living room and settled into a couple of overstuffed leather chairs. The smell of the expensive cowhide filled the air.
“So, let’s have it,” Ricci said.
“What do you mean?”
“Whatever you and Meg were conspiring about. That wink meant that either the two of you have some secret romance going on-which is so not you-or she wants you to talk to me about something.”
“Well, now that you mention it,” Riley responded, trying to regain his footing in the conversation, “there is something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about for a week or so now. You haven’t been yourself lately, Reech. You’ve been moody; you ripped me a new one on the plane; you’ve isolated yourself from me and Travis and Garrett; and I gotta say, you played Sunday like your mind was anywhere but in the game.”
As Riley watched, Ricci’s expression shifted from neutral to anger to profound sadness and back to neutral. Ricci sighed. “I appreciate your concern. Truly I do. I guess I’m just really feeling the pressure. It was never like this in Europe.”
Riley, relieved that it was what he thought it was, said, “You’re taking the game too seriously. Sure, you want to do your best. Sure, there’s tons of pressure. But you know what? If we lose, you’ll still get up the next day. You’ll still have a wife who loves you. You’ll still have a daughter who thinks you’re the greatest thing since sliced focaccia. The things that matter will still be here.”
Rather than cheer Ricci up, Riley’s words seemed to darken his mood. Finally he said, “Riley, I want you to promise me something.”
“Sure, buddy. Whatever you need, you know you only have to ask.”
“No, I’m serious. I need you to swear to me.”
“Of course, Sal. What is it?”
“I want you to swear to me that if anything ever happens to me, you’ll take care of Meg and Alessandra.”
“C’mon,” Riley laughed, “those Predator DBs are big, but they’re not that big.”
But Ricci wasn’t laughing. “Swear it to me, Riley. If anything ever happens to me, I need to know that my girls are taken care of.”
“Sal, I give you my word,” Riley said somberly. “You never have to worry about Meg or Alessandra.”
“Thanks. I know you’re probably wondering what that was all about,” Ricci said, giving a little self-deprecating chuckle. “I’ve been having these dreams-strange, ugly dreams. I guess they’ve got me a little shaken. You know Italians-we can never shake the feeling that a nightmare is actually someone from the other side warning us that something really bad is about to happen.” He laughed and finished his sentence with ghostly sounds. “Hey, isn’t there a game on right now?” His hand encircled the television remote, and he pressed the red On button.
What was that all about? Riley wondered.
The discussion had certainly taken an unexpected turn. Now, as he looked intently at his friend, something told Riley that this conversation was far from over.