Lies(58)

She sips from her glass of wine. “Love the name. Bear. Because he really does sort of look like one. Some parents are so mean yet so accurately descriptive.”

“Yeah.” I give her my best fake smile. “Aren’t they?”

“He is a big dude. Decent-sized head. Maybe it was a hard birth.”

“Ah, maybe.”

“And who’s the handsome, classy-looking dark-skinned guy standing next to them?”

“Hmm?” I move over to the window. “Oh, that’s Cro… Chris. Yeah. Chris. He’s an old friend of Thom’s.” If too many people are named after animals, Jen would definitely get suspicious. And while she knows a little bit, I’m not going to encourage her to get curious about anything else and attract the possible attention of the organization. That would be dangerous.

“The man is supermodel gorgeous.”

“I know, right?”

“Oh, he brought a date.”

“That’s Fiona. Another friend from where Thom used to work.” Mental note to tell Crow and Fox they’ve had a change of identity. Probably pretty normal for them.

Despite numerous lessons from Thom, my lying skills are obviously nowhere near his. Fortunately for all of us, Jen has accepted that any weirdness related to Thom and Co. should be ignored. Though today is the first time it’s been “and Co.” since the hospital. Guess the rest of the zoo have been kept busy working. Or they’re just not the type of people to drop by for Friday night football or a Sunday BBQ. Which is sad. I think Thom misses them and the comraderie more than he thought he would. Not that he would ever admit to such a thing. Why, it would probably be considered a weakness among the hardcore operators. He has me, and I’m all he’ll admit to requiring in life these days.

Thom has been…keeping busy. We now have an entire room dedicated to his whittling. What can I say, the man likes playing with knives. Everyone I know has been gifted at least one wooden squirrel or hummingbird in the last four months.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say retirement is slowly driving him insane, and he’s in complete denial about it. I’m not sure what to do about it just yet. Various articles said newly retired folk can take a year or two to find their stride without work to ground them.

Maybe he needs a new and different job. Something part time, perhaps. Or at least an interest outside of me, working out, sculpting wooden critters and, of course, the maintaining and cleaning of his stockpile of weapons and various safe houses. Just in case. Thom wouldn’t be Thom without a couple dozen different emergency exfil plans, retired or not.

We still both go to a shooting range twice a week to practice. Even my draw has gotten faster. And when at work or anywhere outside of the house, I call or text him regularly to let him know I’m still alive so he doesn’t worry.

We should be in a state of domestic bliss. But something feels off. I don’t know. I worry. I love him and want him to be happy. Just not quite sure the quiet life is right for him, though. Or perhaps it’s the old occasional bullshit anxiety rearing its ugly head, making me wonder if I’m enough.

Ugh. I know he loves me. Like I need that nonsense creeping up on me today of all days.

“More rosé?” asks Jen.

“Yeah. Actually, gimme the bottle.”

“That’s the spirit!” She laughs, handing the booze over. “Skip down the aisle, I say. Or no, rumba.”

“I don’t even know how to rumba. But you know, I just might.” I slip it under my arm and pull out my cell, sending a quick text. “Be back in a minute or two.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“Something important I have to do. Won’t be long. Don’t freak.” I slip out the bedroom door and cross the hallway into the office or den or whatever it’s called. The place where Thom stores his creations. I set the bottle of wine down among a tabletop full of eagles and coyotes. His latest animal fascinations. So many beady little wooden eyes looking back at me. At least he didn’t take up taxidermy or something equally gory and strange. That would have been full-on yikes.

My man slips into the room, closing the door behind him. And the look on his face, it’s very gratifying. “Babe, you’re beyond beautiful. A walking dream. And that is a shit-hot dress worthy of a queen.”

“Thank you.” Nice to know the two hours’ worth of hair and makeup were worth the effort. I swish the full skirt of my silk strapless gown. “It has pockets.”

“Yeah. What’s in them?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I tease. “You look pretty damn handsome in that suit.”

It’s an understatement. The man is drool worthy. With the old Thom’s precise, slicked-down hairdo, tepid manner, and slumped shoulders gone, he stands out as the strong, virile man he’s been all along. I can’t help but stare. Without a doubt, he makes my heart beat double time.

“What am I doing here, Betty?” he asks, stepping closer. “Are you all right? Is everything okay?”

“Lock the door, please.”

He does as asked.

“So…my sources reported you looked somewhat tense standing down there among our guests.”

“Your sources, huh? I’m fine.” He sighs. “Actually, I’m more than fine, I’m great. About to marry the love of my life. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”