Long-Distance Home Call

Posted on Sat May 11th, 2024 @ 1:17pm by Solveig Kallestad & Dr. Winston Sinclair & Jonathan Sinclair
Edited on on Thu May 23rd, 2024 @ 2:55pm

6,415 words; about a 32 minute read

Mission: Summer's Fading Light
Location: Kallestad Residence, Gibbon, NE
Timeline: July 2016

Winston and Jonathan Sinclair had left Sedona for Phoenix the evening after Winston had sensed Solweig and seen her sins. After a two hour drive, they arrived at Sky Harbor International Airport and caught the Red Eye. After catching some unsatisfactory airplane sleep and a brief stop at Dallas-Fort Worth, they finally arrived at Grand Island Central Regional Airport. After a lengthy back and forth between the grandfather and grandson pair about the necessity of renting a brand new bright red Camaro for the rest of the journey, the two of them set out on the forty minute drive from the airport to the small town of Gibbon, Nebraska. Following yet another intense debate between the two about the necessity of stopping at the local Dunkin Donuts for coffee and breakfast food, the older and more portly of the two won out, and they were off on their way to the house Winston had seen in his psychic connection.

As they made their final approach to the place where the house was supposed to be, there was an unmistakable change in the landscape. Fields of green grass, crops, and vibrant gardens were suddenly replaced with yellow, withered plant life. A few examples of residents standing outside studying the phenomenon or lamenting it presented themselves as well. As sad and shocking as it was to see, Winston found he wasn’t surprised by it. Finally, they arrived at the craftsman-style home and Jonathan parked behind a navy blue Hyundai Sonata.

Winston stepped out of the passenger side and stretched shamelessly in the strong wind around the house. As he yawned, tired from the tedious and exhausting journey, he leaned back into the car to pick up the bundle of coffees and the Dunkin Donuts bag.

“Jon Henry, go knock on that door and see if the girl is even awake.” he ordered, and then fell into his work of gathering supplies.

Jonathan, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, walked around the car and approached the front porch with an obvious, irritable confidence. He was notably strong and wore a brown leather jacket over a white button-up and a pair of faded jeans. His shoes, obviously designer, were immaculately kept, and his facial hair even looked as if it had been cut by a professional and, due to its texture, seemed to almost be painted on his handsome face.

“And don’t scare her, boy. She’s been through alot.” Winston’s voice sounded from across the driveway.

Saying nothing in response, Jon pulled open the screen door and rapped his knuckles on the wooden door. He then crossed his large arms and frowned at the door, holding the screen door open with his body.

In the window next to the door there appeared to be an inordinately large stuffed silver cat. At least, it seemed like it was stuffed until it moved its head and looked at Jon, blinked its eyes once, and then yawned dramatically before hefting itself out of the window. There was no answer from the inside of the house at first, but after a moment the door cracked open as far as the chain lock would allow and a blue eye peered out at Jon.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Looking for Solveig. That you?” He asked while barely moving his face. His tone was dry as well.

“Yes… who are you?” She asked slowly, not opening the door more. The corporation had already come by to address matters regarding her mother and they hadn’t sent word anyone else was coming, but this man reeked of… that.

“I’m here with my grandfather. He’s outside gathering the snacks.” Jon said without any change. “He says he knows you from when you were a kid. Just open the door; it’s windy out here.”

“Sorry, I don’t know you or your grandfather. Please go away.” She then closed the door and locked it behind her. Lifting a hand, she reached up to rub her face and looked at the stacks of boxes in front of her with a frown.

Jonathan blinked at the closed door and rolled his eyes. He hated this part, and preferred to do it the way he was trained. He pounded on the door harder this time five or six times, but refrained from raising his voice.

“If you don’t go away, I’m going to call the police!” She threatened from the other side of the door. This was certainly the last thing she needed right now with everything else going on. She needed to finish packing and leave. Any other day she might have been panicked, but she hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours in the past three days; she was too tired to be afraid.

“God damnit, open this fucking door before I-“

“Jon Henry!” His grandfather’s voice bellowed loud and low, its powerful and distinctive timbre carrying across the way as he made an approach with his hands full. He was clearly not amused. “What is wrong with you, boy? We’re here to help this poor young woman, not make her fear she’s the victim of a house invasion. Move. MOVE.”

The old man elbow-checked his grandson out of the way brusquely, his face contorted in a frown.

“Now knock on this bloody door or hold these donuts.”

Jonathan accepted the drinks and the bag with the same irritated frown he had been wearing before, but said nothing else. It wasn’t clear if he was refraining from talking back out of respect or indifference.

Winston knocked on the door much softer this time.

“Young lady, I apologize for my grandson’s behavior. He’s…the strong silent type. He’s also incapable of diplomacy.” He gave Jonathan the evil eye before talking to the door again. “My name is Dr. Winston Sinclair. I’m a school headmaster and a clinical psychologist. I do, in fact, know you from your childhood and we’ve come quite a long way just to talk to you.”

Inside, Solveig listened to the voice and frowned as she stood there. It did actually sound familiar, but it was a very distant memory from a time she tried to forget. Apparently, she wasn’t too tired to be curious and after a moment of back and forth consideration, she cracked open the door and looked out at Winston. Her blue eyes fell on him and narrowed just a little as she tried to figure out where she knew him from, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“I would call him the strong type, but he is far from silent, sir.”

Winston smiled at that while Jonathan produced no response or sign whatsoever.

“Ah, yes. I compelled him to greet you and you see the result. He’s a dutiful grandson, but we have different philosophies.” He said, and gestured toward Jonathan’s arms. “You've been here from Norway long enough to know that America runs on Dunkin. I brought you a coffee. If you will just open this door… the smell of these apple fritters has been bothering me for almost an hour..”

Winston had the power to make her more disposed to letting him in, but not to force her to choose anything. Still, he didn’t use it. It was rude, after all, to manipulate people without need.

There was just the smallest tugs of a smile on Solveig’s beautiful lips at his quip about Dunkin and she was grateful he had seemed to think of her. She closed the door again though this time it was much more gently and Winston could hear the chain moving across its track and then finally the door opened. She was standing there in what was clearly an old t-shirt that had a faded bouquet of daisies on a light blue background. She was wearing black sweatpants, and her brown hair was tied back in a messy bun. She was aware of how she looked and immediately apologized.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t really expecting company. I’ve been having… a difficult few days.” She stepped back and gestured for them to enter. “I hope you don’t mind cats…”

“I don’t mind a cat every now and then. Jon Henry is allergic, but he can just hold his breath.” He knew his grandson well enough to be sure the young man wouldn’t be laughing at the joke. As he placed the beverages and the bag on the table, he remembered the image he saw a few days ago of her late mother laying with her on the table, forlorn. He looked to Solveig. “Are you a glazed girl or do you like to stray from the beaten path every now and then?”

That question, for some reason, got a single chuckle from Jonathan, though Winston paid no attention to it.

“I’ll take whichever you two don’t like. I’m not picky.” She offered absently. “Would you like some water?”

From the archway leading through the hall, the massive cat appeared again and - as all cats seemed to have an uncanny sense to do - made a beeline for Jon and began to wind around his legs and rub up against him. Given this cat was actually the size of a dog, it was a rather different experience. It purred and looked up at him expectantly.

Jon leaned away from the huge creature instinctively, but already knew that his efforts were in vain. He had always been more of a fan of dogs, but he would’ve liked cats if they didn’t make him feel so unwell. He pursed his full lips and glared at the woman as if it had been her fault. Despite this reaction, or perhaps, because of it, his grandfather started laughing riotously.

“I think we are fine with coffee, thank you.” Winston answered, finishing his chuckling and turning his attention back to the host. He pulled a box out of the bag and opened it, revealing six donuts. “There’s enough for you to get what you like.”

When Solveig turned her head and noticed her cat, she immediately clicked her tongue and waved her hand. “Ack, Hati! Gå vekk!”

The cat looked at her, meowed, looked up to Jon, meowed louder and waited to see if he was going to do some undetermined task, and then finally walked off and into the living area of the room. She pulled a small glass out of one of the cabinets and filled it halfway with water from the fridge, then opened a drawer and pulled out a blister pack of pills. She brought them over to the table and put them both down in front of Jon. Emblazoned on the foil was the word “Benadryl” repeating over and over.

She provided small plates for the donuts and then finally sat down at the table after she picked up a chocolate glazed donut.

“Doctor… I know what your grandson said and I have to admit you do look familiar… but I really can’t place where I know you from…”

Her voice was tired but gentle and kind. The dark circles under her eyes did little to detract from the striking beauty of her face. She was twenty-five, but with her appearance - especially when she was wearing her hair up - she could have passed for a teenager.

“It was when you were this high.” Winston said, gesturing to the side next to him and indicating the height of a growing child. “I’m fairly certain you were six. I was an employee with the US State Department, and I was sent to negotiate for an end to the program that..trained you with a NATO delegation.”

Solveig’s enchanting eyes moved back and forth over Winston’s face while searching for the memory to connect it to, though his voice was far more distinct. Finally, it clicked and she pulled over a pile of sugars and a few creams to start dumping them into her coffee.

“You mean the program that bred me.” It was a pointed statement, but not hostile. She glanced over toward Jon briefly, then focused back in on Winston.

Jon had slid the Benadryl toward him, but took no steps to open it and take them quite yet. He figured his allergic reaction might be mild enough that he could justify not taking it. He was the sort of man who tried to avoid all help he reasonably could. He simply sipped his black coffee in silence until she mentioned something about being bred.

“What?” He asked, his eyes moving between the other two in confusion.

She glanced at Jon, then to Winston, then back to Jon again. “The program your grandfather is talking about was called Project Aesir. It was based out of Norway and was a mutant research project specifically focused on genetics and heredity of the x-gene. At least on paper. In practice they were trying to breed mutant super soldiers… the research was just a bonus.”

With her coffee now prepared how she liked it, she took a sip of it and sighed out over the rim of the paper cup.

Jonathan offered a reflective blink. He knew all about the love the government had for the concept of super soldiers. He had put in his time in the military doing missions which would have been far beyond him if he didn’t have the ability to become unstoppable with just a bit of momentum. He responded, while his grandfather painstakingly prepared his own coffee.

“Yeah, those government weirdos will do anything to keep their edge.” He said to Solveig, his eyes resting confidently on hers without the need most people had to look away. There was a story behind those words, but he didn’t share it. “Even our presidents pretend to support mutant rights while using us like lab rats.”

Her gaze lingered on Jon and even as exhausted as she was, her curiosity showed through. Her eyes followed the movement of his full lips; focusing as she was, she could see every line, crack, and detail, she could see the lingering bit of coffee between his lips. She blinked once and looked down into her coffee to try and let her mind reset. Usually, she didn’t think anything of such details, but once she started to focus in, it was hard to stop and it usually made people uncomfortable.

“I’m afraid it may always be that way.” She pulled off a piece of her donut and looked at Winston again.

“If you came to see my mother, sir, she unfortunately… passed away a few days ago.”

“Yes, I know.” Winston responded, having finished preparing his coffee and almost completely missed the interaction between her and his grandson. He was always meticulous in preparing things, no matter how mundane they were. He took a sip of the coffee and swallowed slowly, then picked up an apple fritter and put it on his plate. “Like you, Jonathan and I have particular skills, Solveig. We happened to acquire them through much less dubious processes…like birth and uninterrupted nature, but there they are. My mutation gives me the ability to see the sources of any given person’s guilt and shame and, actually, to see those memories. That’s why I’m here.”

Jonathan took another drink of the coffee and looked at his grandfather briefly. He hadn’t picked up a donut and didn’t seem to have looked at them even once. Instead, he turned his dark brown gaze back to Solweig and watched her movements. He had been taught to be not only capable, but observant. He was an excellent judge of character, though he often kept his findings to himself. He didn’t always know a person’s motivations, but he was very meticulously critical about what they did.

“I have a very powerful machine that allows me to observe and engage with people around the world with my psychic abilities. And I hope you won’t be terribly disturbed to know that, at the moment you were trying to resuscitate your mother, I was with you. That’s how I found out who and where you were after all these years and, frankly, that’s how I learned you needed our help.”

Solveig was listening intently as Winston spoke, her beautiful eyes on him alone and not wandering. She took a bite of the already small piece of donut she was holding, clearly eating to be polite and not necessarily because she had an appetite for it right then. She was clearly trying to be presentable and courteous to her guests, but she was tired and tense and likely just wanted to be left alone. It was only when Winston was done speaking did she eventually look away, a slight frown settling on her beautiful lips.

“I won’t lie to you, sir, that is a rather unsettling thought, but I try not to hold anyone’s particular gifts against them. I don’t know what you mean by needing your help, though.”

Winston took a bite of the apple fritter and chewed, closing his eyes as the taste of one of his favorite treats dazzled him. He smiled brightly and, when he opened his eyes, they returned to the woman sitting across from them.

“I’m sure you’d survive without any assistance. After all, you know how to struggle.” he said amiably. “But I believe your life can be much more than that. Moving from one middle-of-nowhere place to another is no easy thing, especially all alone.”

“Someone’s keeping track of you.” Jon said with certainty in his voice. “You’re in an established place with an established routine, and our government is making sure you stay controlled and predictable. Am I right about that?”

She looked between the two men and it was clear her apprehension was growing. She sat back in her chair and pulled one leg up to wrap her arms around it. “Yes, of course. That’s how it works. We were given a place to stay and had our basic needs provided for, but we are liabilities and need to be watched. It’s been that way since we moved here and we accepted that.”

“Well, yes, that’s the way those pesky three-letter organizations see it, and one isn’t likely to change their minds.” Winston said, only after finishing his bite. “But, an organization that already specializes in training mutants might be able to convince them that someone like you would be safer and, in fact, less of a liability, should you be transferred there.”

He picked up a leather bag he’d brought in on his shoulder and started unlatching it.

“When I introduced myself, I told you I was a headmaster and teacher. Have you heard of Red Rock Academy for the Gifted, by chance?”

“No, sir. I haven’t.” She replied, her eyes finally leaving his face in favor of watching his hands and the bag. She had seen many of those bags in her lifetime usually wielded by men in suits reminding her family how grateful they should be for their lives and how tenuous their position would be were something to go wrong. She licked her lips and took another sip of her coffee to try and distract herself from those thoughts. “Out in a place like this we don’t hear much if it isn’t on the news.”

“Well, we’re never on the news.” Winston said with a smile, and then popped the bag open. He pulled out a professional-looking folder the color of the sky just before the sun was finished setting; a dark blue hue with an emblem of a pale yellow sun setting over red mountains. Underneath it, in bold letters were the words “Red Rock Academy for the Gifted.” and underneath in a smaller and lighter font read “Est. 1992.”

“The information on the Academy is all there.” Winston said as he slid the folder to her. “One of the most prestigious private high schools in the country. It’s so exclusive, in fact, that even the children of the rich and powerful aren’t guaranteed a spot. Some naturally assume it's because we are selective, which is true. The most significant reason, however, is that we were established as a school for people like us.”

Carefully, Solveig put her leg back down and pulled the folder closer. She opened it to flip through the first few pages, and then looked up at Winston with a small smile. “I’m a bit past my highschool years, sir, even if I don’t look like it.”

It was a joke considering he was clearly aware of that fact, but if she didn’t allow herself to be amused by her youthful face, she would just live in a state of constantly being offended when people asked her where her mother was or if she was old enough to be working.

Winston chuckled, happy to see the young woman was still able to smile. Without levity, life was a cruel march.Tapping the table with his finger, he nodded.

“Right right, of course you are.” he said, drawing his signs of amusement back slowly. “I only mean to offer you a position on staff. Our Groundskeeper just retired to go live with her children in New Mexico. I called in a few favors and discovered you have a way with plant life. I also enquired about the transfer and it's all squared away if you are interested.”

She blinked a few times as if she were having trouble processing what she had just heard. Her eyes moved back down to the folder, glanced over to Jon, and then went back to Winston. She tilted her head just slightly, “How did you manage that exactly, sir? The people… overseeing my family were very clear about what our lives would be here in the US. This wasn’t exactly on the list.”

“Yes, I know. That’s how so many are treated who are in your situation.” Winston said, and then took another bite of the apple fritter before placing it back on his plate.

Jon took the cue and spoke next to actually answer her question.

“My grandfather is a former collaborator with the State Department, the CIA, the MIA, and the Department of Mutant Affairs. He has enough friends in shadowy places who move around the mutants. They handle people like you, but we all know they don’t really care. As long as someone they trust is keeping an eye on you, they won’t bat an eye.”

“Collaborator. Hmm.” Winston said before taking another bite. “I see you’re expanding your vocabulary.”

Winston finished the latest of his bites and then turned to her and smiled. It seemed that the smile was genuine and contained real amusement. Jon’s expression, on the other hand, had no sign of mirth at all.

“You can’t tell yet, but that was Jon Henry’s hamfisted attempt at comedy. Don’t listen to him. He’s very gifted at the art of pretending not to care what people think.”

“I don’t care what people think.” Jon responded in a neutral tone containing just the slightest hint of defensiveness.

“Oh, does it bother you to be misunderstood, Jon Henry? Do you wish for her to think well of you? Shall I compliment you instead?”

Jon rolled his eyes, and the image of tight annoyance grew slightly. He eyed Solveig as if they were experiencing the same irritant together.

“The old man is one huge mind fuck. Run while you can.”

“Watch your LANGUAGE in front of the lady!” Dr. Sinclair said, smacking his merry palm on the table. “We are men, not animals.”

Solveig jumped slightly when Winston smacked the table and immediately frowned again. She played with the edge of the folder in front of her nervously and then cleared her throat. “This table is from IKEA, I’m not sure it will tolerate being smacked… and everyone cares what people think - maybe not all the people in the world, but at least some people, they care.”

“I’m very sorry, I didn’t mean to risk destroying your furniture.” Winston said, settling into his chair and leaving their refreshment for a bit. “All that aside, though. What do you think of my offer?”

“I don’t know, it would be a very different life from what I’ve been used to for the last fifteen years.” She picked up her coffee and took a sip. “I suppose if I wasn’t really interacting with the children or other staff it wouldn’t be a big deal, but you had mentioned that you ‘train’ mutants; train them for what exactly?”

“We teach them how to think for themselves and, hopefully, to give them the tools they will need to be future leaders and citizens in this society.” Winston answered. “We educate in the mind and in the morals, and we make sure that each of our students have a background that will prepare them for the world as it is. It’s an experience few places give them.”

She listened quietly. It all sounded a bit too good to be true but maybe she was simply being too skeptical; her own experiences did tend to cloud things after all/ She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, flipping through the pages in the folder slowly. The pictures inside were of course immaculate and professional, the children looked happy and the staff looked respectable and determined. Were they all models, or were they actual residents she wondered. “You wouldn’t be expecting me to teach anything or really interact with students, right?”

“No no.” Winston shook his head gently. “The job description is in the folder as well. You would be responsible for the care of the grounds and that is all. Of course, you would be expected to be appropriate and accommodating with the students, but little more than that. There’s even a garden house on the estate for you, so you would have your privacy. Which is more than the rest of us can say in many cases.”

“Alright, good, because I am not even remotely qualified to teach. I have no higher education.” She shrugged and continued to flip through the folder slowly. “When do you need an answer? I have a lot I still need to do here, and I want to make sure I’m mentally in the right place for this.”

It would be a big change, but maybe a change would do her good after everything that had happened. The mundane life was existing, but not much else. While she didn’t possess the fire that her sister had, even she longed for more than what she had been given - something she often felt guilty over.

“We have a Board meeting next Wednesday. You will need their approval to begin. If you can give me a call by then, that would be ideal.” Winston answered. “Don’t worry about expenses. As soon as you decide to come, we’ll handle your plane ticket.”

“Um, alright.” She nodded and then reached up to brush a few stray hairs back behind her ear. Finally, she looked over at Jon again since she had been giving Winston all of her attention. “Do you teach there?”

“I do. Physical training and conditioning.” Jon responded, looking at her without inflection only on the word ‘physical’. “I see every student every day for an hour and fifteen minutes. During that time, I either run them until they collapse, make them lift until their arms fall off, or do specific power-based training. At Red Rock, we believe in educating the whole person, body, soul, and mind.”

The corner of her mouth lifted just briefly as if she were going to smirk and the shadow of an unspoken comment passed over her beautiful eyes. “I see. That seems like quite a bit of time out of the typical school schedule I know that students have. Is there a reason for that?”

“Because a typical gym class makes for typical, fat, lazy kids.” He answered, actually lifting a brow that time. “And our students aren’t typical. They are exceptional. We expect exceptional grades, exceptional work ethic, and exceptional character. And, in my case, that means they need to learn to master their bodies.”

“Mm…” She lifted a hand and rested her cheek in it while continuing to look at him. “Were you in the military?”

“Navy Seal, Lieutenant Commander.” He answered curtly. There was a hint of pride in his tone, though it wasn’t overwhelming. Truth be told, it was the thing he was most proud of so far. “Until last year, when I came to help out at the Academy.”

“Ah, I see.” She lowered her hand and sat back, clearly unimpressed by his supposed accomplishment. By the way she was looking at him, there was obviously more she wanted to say, but she was holding her tongue. “Well, I suppose that explains things.”

His quirked brow raised higher at that comment.
Whether she was impressed by his title, or unit was irrelevant to him, but he did find himself curious what her mindset was.

“What, does that mean, exactly?”

“I was wondering why you sounded like the men and women who were involved in Project Aesir from day to day responsible for turning mutant children into excellent, compliant soldiers.” She looked between Jon and Winston then. “What happens when your excellent students are less than excellent, hm?”

“We have them shot.” Jon said, his expression souring after hearing her words. The sarcasm came without a tone, leaning solely on the ridiculousness of the statement to carry it into the realm of implausibility. “And what happens to mutants who can’t defend themselves in this world, Solveig? What do they do to you when you can’t stop them?”

“You can teach them to defend themselves and fight without running them into the ground and making them suffer.” She placed her hand palm down on the table. “I’m sure you saw a lot of very difficult things while you were serving and I know your heart is in the right place and you want to protect them, but part of that is remembering they are children.”

“You just met us, and have absolutely no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.” He responded, his frustration coming out in a direct attack. “Look at you. What do you know about not being the victim?”

“Jon Henry!” Winston hissed angrily, shocked at what his grandson had just said. He leaned at the young man, his scowl deep and uncharacteristic. “She doesn’t know us, you’re right. Is this how you want her to meet us?”

Solveig ignored Winston cutting in, her cerulean eyes still trained on Jon. “You just spoke with pride on how you run your students down in the name of ‘excellence’, are you saying you don’t do that?”

“Training makes them stronger. Obviously you have no experience with that if you don’t know.” He said, leaning back further in the chair. “Our students may be challenged by the very forces that claim to protect them. My training is designed to make them capable of defending themselves and protecting other people. If you could manage to reserve judgment until you saw it yourself, you would know what I mean.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t present what you do like a gleeful sadist who gets his rocks off by running children down.” She replied simply and finished her coffee.

“Enough.” Winston said, standing up then and shaking his head. “You’re both acting a bit like children, really. Stop this.”

Jonathan, for his part, said nothing and looked quite calmly from Solveig to his grandfather. He gave nothing away, and if he harbored any irritation with the woman, he didn’t show it. That was a skill he’d learned a long time ago, and he wasn’t afraid to make use of it. Winston seemed quite upset, but refrained from chastising them further. He looked at her with sad eyes.

“Perhaps you will think better of my system when you see it in action. My students are dedicated and capable, and every member of our staff contributed to that culture and education. We don’t take pleasure in their suffering. We challenge them.”

“Neither of you actually answered my question,” Solveig pointed out, finally moving her eyes from Jon and up to Winston. “What happens when your dedicated, capable, excellent,” she glanced at Jon then immediately back, “students don’t live up to your obviously rather exacting standards?”

“We have them try again, if they can. We aren’t monsters.” Winston said, shaking his head. “Look, I understand you’ve seen some bad things, but we aren’t like that. And we are focusing on helping our students to develop. Don’t allow the presence of physical training to make you think there are abuses. Come see for yourself.”

Solveig succeeded in not rolling her eyes, but she did shake her head slightly; obviously Winston hadn’t heard her either. She was very skeptical about the entire prospect, but at the very least she figured perhaps she should go and see what things were really like there. If they were bad, she could try reporting it if nothing else.

“I’ll consider it.”

“Good. I'm glad to hear that. If you say yes, it will give this trip quite a lot of meaning..” Winston said. He closed the bag rather quickly and popped the rest of his apple fritter in his mouth.

Jon took the cue and drained his cup of coffee in seemingly one gulp. Then he leaned back, crossed his arms, and adopted his typical stoic silence.

Winston slid a card across the table toward her then. It contained his name and his contact information, all of which would be easily searchable online accepting his work in the CIA.

“Thank you.” She said automatically as she took the card and tucked it away in the folder, She looked at Jon then and considered him while she ran her tongue over her teeth behind her lip. “I apologize if I was too hard on you.”

“Thanks.” Jon said immediately, and his eyes reflected the subtle feeling of surprise within him. “I don’t like suffering, by the way, but I understand why it might sound like I do. I’m just very proud of my students and what they accomplish when they’re pushed.”

Winston cleared his throat, and Jon got the signal without needing to be told what it meant.

“Oh, and I guess I shouldn’t have implied you were weak. I don’t know you, so that’s a foolish assumption for me to make.”

Solveig didn’t miss Winston’s prompt either and found herself wondering if the young man often needed someone to point out when he was being an asshole and to apologize for it. She lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug and offered the olive branch of a small smile. “Well, maybe I’ll come see your students in action in a few days.”

“I hope so. Call ahead so we can book the flight. Don’t spend a dime.” Winston said, picking up his bag and looking at Jon. “Let’s leave our new friend to consider things, Jon Henry. We need to get back to Sedona so you can pay a fortune to the swear jar.”

Jon stood, showing no sign of amusement except the slight lifting of the corners of his mouth. He gave Solveig a parting glance, and then proceeded his grandfather out the door.

On his way out, Hati who was once again occupying the windowsill turned her massive head as Jon walked out and instead of the friendly greeting, instead she narrowed her eyes and hissed at him. Noticing this, Solveig gave a slight chuckle and looked at Winston. “Goodbye, sir. Thank you for coming to see me.”

“You’re welcome, young lady. Just remember to be kind to yourself.” He said, and gave her one more parting smile. He had the kind of eyes that told people he was kind the instant they met him. Besides being intelligent and insightful, he had never been accused of lacking a moral compass or doing harm on purpose. There were some things which communicated about a person right away, and his goodness was one of them. He stepped out of the house behind his grandson and closed the door behind him gently.

She watched him go, wondering after him and what she felt from him. She wasn’t really sure why he seemed to feel some sort of responsibility toward her, but perhaps he was just that type of person. Picking up the folder she called to her cat, “Hati, min lille valkyrie, kom og få en godbit.”

Immediately, Hati jumped off the window and trotted into the kitchen with a chorus of meowing. As Solveig started to move toward the cabinet, she heard something fall out of the folder and looked down. It was the card Winston had handed her, but it was flipped to its backside and she could see something written on it. She bent to pick it up and her eyes focused on the handwritten phrase “It’s not your fault” written by Winston himself. She frowned deeply then, feeling her chest tighten and her throat go dry. He said he had been there with her, but he didn’t know the truth of it.

Tears started to roll down her cheeks again and the fresh memories and raw feelings all came rushing back to her. He was wrong, it had been her fault; if she had just done things differently or better, it wouldn’t have happened. She put the folder and card down and just wrapped her arms around herself, standing there and crying while her cat yowled at her for her promised treat.

END

 

RSS Feed