Elspeth's big sister stare unnerved me. As if Mentor wasn't enough. “What?” I muttered.
“Can't you do something about the media? They're relentless.”
“They have glommed on to M, that's for sure.”
“Humph,” Elspeth huffed. “As if she belongs to them.”
“But, don't you see. It suits my purpose. I need my Little Soldier to be the subject of endless speculation. The more they talk about her, the more I—”
Elspeth's eyebrows rose.
“Sorry, the more M and I will be able to accomplish.” Sometimes I thought it would be so much easier if I could go down there myself and slam a few heads together.
“Oh, look. There she is.”
M staggered to her car carrying two heavy boxes. She stumbled and fell. Papers flew out of the boxes and scattered in the wind. “Damn it!” Tears ran down her face. She pushed herself to a sitting position in the snow. “Damn it!” She watched the papers, some flying high in the sky, others plastered to the school ground fence. “Fuck!”
“Yves, do something.”
“Nothing I can do.” I felt like a heel. I could protect her from the Spinda, but I couldn't even pick up one little piece of paper for her.
M slumped in the snow and cried.
I closed the earth view and leaned my head wearily against the back of the chair.
“Yves?”
I waved Elspeth away. Her caring and concern, her censure and fretting were too much. She tiptoed out of the alcove.
I blinked M back. She was still sitting in the snow. Still crying, and unaware that she was speaking Pashto. What had I done to her? Could I protect her from herself?
And there’d be many more meetings with Mentor. I had practiced so many versions of explanation that I didn’t know any longer which might be the best to use when I saw her. Why was I so worried? “Because I’m a Drone and I don’t think I’m good enough?”
“What did you say?” Elspeth stood in the alcove entrance holding two cups of tea.
I jumped up, set the tea cups down and hugged her. “I’m so glad you came back.” I held out a chair for her.
“What’s wrong? You look worried.”
“I am. I'll have to meet with Mentor again of course—”
“So you’re sitting here brooding, trying to anticipate her questions and plan your answers.” I nodded. “Well, let’s get your mind off Mentor. Is M okay?”
“Are you trying to divert me or satisfy your own curiosity?” I grinned when Elspeth blushed. I blinked Earth into view.
“Who’s that?” Elspeth asked.
I frowned. “I have no idea.” Why had this lump of lard come into the picture? He hadn’t been on my radar at all. Why were we seeing him? Some two-bit actor, not even good looking—now if it had been Pitt or Depp….
*
It was well past midnight when Ron Conlin slipped into the house quietly so as not to wake Gram and the kids. Wound tightly from the day’s work, he poured a generous scotch, and sank into his armchair.
He flipped on the TV and the screen filled with images of foreign lands, war-torn and impoverished. He punched the control repeatedly trying to find something light. More of the same. He tossed the control onto the table, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. A shift of the announcer’s tone drew his attention back to the television.
Ron’s heart pounded. He gulped the last of his drink, watched a few minutes more. “Not again! I’m too old for another fucking obsession.” He swore, grabbed the control, hit the off button, and tossed it into the basket by his chair.
He went to bed, tried to put her out of his mind, tried to get some much-needed sleep. An hour later he lay wide awake, her face imprinted on the ceiling.
Ron kicked at the offending tangle of sheets, struggled out of bed, and went back to the TV.
He caught a glimpse of her and then a headshot of the news anchor, Richard Peters, who spoke in the clear crisp tones of neutrality as he recapped.
Ron fumed with impatience as Peters droned on about the events in central Asia, about the network’s news team, about Durocher, the foreign correspondent who had seen it all. He talked about the mystery woman’s first appearance in Indonesia. Madame of Miracles, the natives called her.
“Now,” Peters said, “we return to our interview with François Durocher. Fortunately, Mr. Durocher had his camera with him and had the presence of mind to take these pictures.”
Blessedly, for Ron, the screen was once again filled with images of her standing, arms spread wide with a look of wild anticipation, then bending to talk to a small child, and another of her scowling into the bright sun. Concentrating on her, Ron was barely cognizant of the commentary as François spoke.
Ron paced furiously in front of the TV as the camera switched from François to the newscaster and back again. He flipped to other channels searching for more shots of her, and finding none, switched back, forcing himself to be patient. François was speaking again.
“... after sunset is unheard of. As morning approached, people began moving in groups to the square.”
Tia, Ron’s daughter, found him in the darkened room asleep in his chair, clutching the control. Gently she wrested it from his hand to turn off the TV.
“No.” He opened his eyes and stared at her. “Dad, are you okay? It’s almost noon.”
Ron scowled. “Skipping school?”
Tia laughed, informed him it was Saturday, and reminded him that Brad was at soccer camp for the weekend.
“Where’s Gram?”
“She’s having lunch with her ladies’ group and getting groceries. She said she wouldn’t be back till late but that she’d make supper with you. Don’t forget, I’m staying over at Tracey’s. You okay?”
“I was watching the news.”
“Pretty amazing, eh? If you believe it, that is.”
“You don’t?”
“Brad and I watched last night until Gram made us go to bed. Brad thinks she’s cool.”
“And you?”
“He’s just a kid. What does he know?”
“Tia!”
“Come on Dad. She can’t be real. It’s just some kind of gimmick.” She kissed him goodbye with a “see ya tomorrow.”
“You’re probably right,” he said. But, in his heart, he knew otherwise.
*
Elspeth watched, enthralled, but I didn’t need to see this. The whole world was captivated with M and that was just as it should be. But, this idiot? Obsessed with her? No way. She was mine. Mine!
“Oh,” Elspeth cooed. “That’s so sweet.” Sweet?
“We should have more heart, up here,” Elspeth said.
“Are you nuts? That’s their problem. Damn weak hearts. If they’d use their heads, they wouldn’t be in such a mess.”