Jack and Annabelle turned as Clara walked into the kitchen, closely followed by Cassie, Dylan and Alex. Now the whole group was together. Except for Beatrice, whom Annabelle guessed was still sleeping off the effects of one too many diminutive, over-priced bottles of airplane liquor.
“Of course, dear daughter,” Jack replied wryly. “I always consider everyone affected by each and every one of my actions.” His deep voice dripped of sarcasm, and in his British accent, it was nearly taunting. “It would be selfish and inconsiderate of me to do otherwise.”
Annabelle’s brows rose, as did Cassie’s and even Alex’s. There was more than a little double meaning to Jack’s words, and the narrowed gaze that his daughter shot in his direction confirmed as much.
Clara gave the pot a sniff and wrinkled her nose. “Chamomile. Not my cup o’ tea.”
“I’ll take some,” Cassie interjected, brushing past everyone to move to the cupboard where she’d correctly guessed that the coffee mugs would be located. She pulled one down and turned to face the others.
“So, when do we leave?” She asked as she lifted the pot off of the stove and poured a good helping into her mug.
“Soon,” Annabelle answered, opening the fridge to get the creamer for her friend.
“Wow. Tea on the stove. Quaint but cool.” Cassie returned the pot to its place and took the creamer from Annabelle with a nod of thanks.
“Microwave your tea in England and the queen will have you drawn and quartered,” Annabelle offered, smiling softly.
Jack shook his head once and put his empty mug in the sink. When he turned and made to leave the kitchen, everyone stepped back, affording him the room. Annabelle wondered at their actions. It was amazing to her how some people simply commanded the area around them, demanding a certain amount of deference and space.
When he was gone, Alex opened the fridge, took out a can of soda, and followed his employer out of the kitchen. Dylan followed, wearing a distracted expression and leaving Annabelle, Clara and Cassie behind in the kitchen.
“So, what’s the deal, Clara? Did you seriously just decide to visit, on a whim, and now was the best time?” Annabelle asked, pinning the teenager with a hard gaze. She’d had some time to consider Clara’s actions and, while on the face of them, they might appear to be the normal rebellious and spontaneous actions of a teenage British girl who hadn’t seen the states and needed an excuse to do so, the truth was, the timing was a little too off on all fronts.
Clara would still be in school in England. If Annabelle was at all familiar with the academic systems in Jack’s territory, then Clara was finished with her required, or as they termed it, her “compulsory” education, but just like in the states, education didn’t stop there. Clara would have begun college or would currently be stuck right smack in the middle of what the British termed “sixth form college”. Annabelle likened it to community college or maybe even finishing school. But whether she was in sixth form or had already begun at some University in England, this time of year would be testing time. So, for Clara, now was literally the worst time to be absent from her classes.
Clara narrowed her gaze on Annabelle and leaned casually up against the counter. She chewed on her cheek for a moment, perhaps wondering whether or not she should bother explaining herself to the woman in front of her.
“You know, I was sort of wondering the same thing,” Cassie said softly before she took another sip of her tea, eyeing the girl over the rim of her steaming mug.
Clara snorted and then straightened. Then she tossed a long lock of her jet-black dyed hair over her shoulder and brushed past the two of them to exit the kitchen.
When she was gone, Annabelle and Cassie looked at each other. They shrugged simultaneously and returned to their teas.
“You’re wearing a hole in that carpet, hon’,” Cassie sighed and sat back against the couch as she watched her friend pace back and forth in front of all of them.
“How long is the flight again, Jack?” Annabelle asked, running a hand nervously through her long hair. She turned at the end of the small living room space and walked hurriedly in the opposite direction. Again.
Jack tried not to grit his teeth when he answered, for the third time in the last hour, “Approximately two hours, luv.” He, too, sighed and sat back against into the love seat across from Cassie and Dylan. “And seventeen minutes, give or take.”
“Thanks for that, Mr. Spock,” Clara shot him an aggrieved look.
Jack shrugged, eyebrows lifted. His daughter, who was seated in a love seat adjacent to the couch, only smiled in response.
“Miss Drake, the flight will be over before you know it. It’s like – take off, level out, get a drink, and then land. Or, at least that’s what it’s like when you fly commercial,” Dylan told her. His voice was soft and his tone somewhat deadened, but his words were meant to comfort. And, coming from him, at this point in time, that was something that Annabelle could appreciate.
She stopped pacing and turned to face him. “Are you sure, Dylan? Because that chamomile tea was nice at first,” she shot a look at Jack and then looked back at Dylan. “But it sure as hell didn’t last all that long.” Her own voice shook a little and it was obvious that she was so distracted by her own fear, she’d given up on social niceties hours ago.
“I’m sure, Miss Drake,” Dylan straightened a little, now that he felt he’d actually said or done something useful toward the situation. “We can play cards. Your pick. I’ll even try to win this time.” He smiled a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and stood.
Annabelle blinked. “Okay.” She chewed on her lip and forbade herself from resuming her nervous back and forth stride.
“I’ll find a pack,” Dylan told her and then turned to Jack, who was watching the exchange with quiet interest.
“In the kitchen,” Jack said, before Dylan could ask. “First drawer on the left.”
Dylan nodded and left.
Jack didn’t fail to notice that his daughter watched Dylan go, a strange expression on her pretty face. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
He re-focused his attention on Annabelle, before he could give the matter too much thought. Annabelle’s temporary sanity didn’t fool him one bit. Her posture was rigid with tension, her hands were gripped tightly in front of her, and he knew her too well. He stood and closed the space between them in two long strides. She watched him with large eyes.
He bent and whispered in her ear. “You’re still terrified, aren’t you, luv.”
She let out a shaking breath with a whoosh and nodded, closing her eyes.
“Blimey… My head’s pounding like a bung-load of African drums…”
Annabelle and Jack both turned to see Beatrice emerging from the hallway that led to the room where she’d been sleeping for the past two hours.
“Mum, how are you feeling?” Clara stood and approached her mother, concern across her young features. Annabelle was instantly struck with the dichotomy of how she acted toward each parent.
“I need an aspirin,” Beatrice said softly, as if speaking to Clara alone. Clara nodded and turned away, heading toward her own black backpack, which she’d draped over the arm of one of the chairs at the kitchen table. While she was gone, Beatrice took a moment to eye the living room’s occupants.
Dylan had returned with the deck of cards and had already placed them inside his jacket pocket and re- claimed his end of the couch. Cassie sat back against the other end of the couch, more or less quiet, but watchful. She met Beatrice’s gaze head-on. Annabelle and Jack, of course, stood in the center of the room, watching her as well. No one spoke.
“Well, Jack,” Beatrice sighed and claimed her ex-husband’s abandoned love seat. “I suppose you’d best go on and explain this mess to all of us now – that is, unless everyone else has already been de-briefed and I’m the only one still in the dark.”
“No, actually,” Dylan said then, turning his attention to Jack, “I’d kind of like to know what’s going on as well. Mr. Thane?”
Jack met the boy’s gaze. Dylan’s expression was hard and unyielding. Annabelle was momentarily distracted
