Chapter 8

The Colonel climbed in bed next to his wife. She snapped her book shut and put it on her bedside table, then turned off her light and lay down, turning her back on him.

“Ellen?” He put his hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off. “Ellen, speak to me. You haven’t said a word since everyone left.”

She grunted and pulled the bedclothes up around her neck.

“Ellen. Please.”

She turned over and propped herself on her elbow. “Didn’t I tell you not to make a scene? Didn’t I tell you not to make things worse with Beth?”

“But she brought a date to the funeral.”

“No, she didn’t,” Ellen snapped. “She brought a friend. A close friend, as I understand.”

“If he’s such a close friend then why haven’t we seen him before?”

“He’s from England. They met on the Internet a couple of years ago. I think this is the first time they’ve met in person.”

“Even better. She brought someone she hardly knows.”

“She knows him quite well enough. He’s the closest friend she’s got. And he probably knows Beth better than you do. The fact that he flew all this way to comfort her shows you how much he cares.”

“How do you know who he is anyway?”

“Because, Bobby, unlike you, I talk to our daughter. And I listen, too.”

The Colonel sighed. “I messed up again, didn’t I?”

“Damn right you did.” She adjusted her weight and brushed away some hair that had fallen into her face. “Look, Bobby, I don’t know who’s right about the kind of funeral Lance would have wanted. But what I do know is that the last thing he would have wanted is for the two of you to be fighting over it. You need to sort this out. And quickly.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Not hard enough, you haven’t. I want you to go and see her tomorrow and apologise. Just apologise and then we can try and get back to normal.”

When Chris woke the next morning, Beth had already showered and dressed. He sat up and leaned against the headboard. “Going somewhere?”

“Work. I’m sorry, babe. I wish I didn’t have to, but I haven’t got a choice. If my cases sit unattended then I’ll wind up losing commissions, and I can’t afford that.”

“Nobody will cover?”

“Not unless it’s prearranged. If I go in today, I can sort out some cover and then book some vacation for the rest of your stay.”

“Okay. I’m sure I’ll be able to find something to occupy me for the day. After all, this is such a happening town. There’s so much to do.”

She punched his arm. “Hey, don’t be mean. This is my home.”

“Sorry,” he said as he rubbed the spot where she’d hit him. It hadn’t hurt, but he played along.

She bent to kiss his forehead. “I’ll leave my house keys on the counter in the kitchen. Be sure to lock up if you go out. And if you run into any hot, young blondes, just remember you’re here to see me, not go on a pussy-hunt.”

Chris watched her from the bedroom window as she drove away, then he showered, dressed and made breakfast. He watched some daytime television, concluding that it was as bad in the States as it was in Britain, and then decided to take a trip to Wal-Mart. He’d heard that the American superstores dwarfed the ones in England and wanted to see for himself. He picked up the keys from the kitchen and headed for the front door.

Someone knocked on it as he got there.

He opened it.

Beth’s father stood in the entrance looking at the floor.

He lifted his head and looked surprised for a second before his expression became harder. He twisted his wedding ring around his finger as he spoke. “Is my daughter home? I have something I need to say.”

“No. I’m sorry. She’s gone to work.”

“Oh. I didn’t think she would be working today.” He turned to walk away then turned back. “So what are you doing here?”

“Beth insisted I stay to save on hotel bills.”

“And that’s the only reason, is it?” He didn’t sound convinced. “I’m not stupid, son. You don’t cross the Atlantic just to comfort someone at a funeral. I think that perhaps you and I should have a conversation. Don’t you? I’ll talk. You listen. Understand?” He strode through the door and into the lounge.

Chris closed the door and followed him. “Look, Mr. Burnett, I don’t know what you think is going on here, but I swear, I was just—”

“Colonel.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s Colonel Burnett. I’ve served my country my whole career and risked my life to ensure her security. I’ve damn well earned my title, so I’d appreciate it if you’d show some respect and do me the courtesy of using it.”

“Well, in that case, Colonel, you can address me as Dr Austins. I studied full time for seven years and had to pay for it myself by working evenings and weekends in a shit-house restaurant. My parents weren’t wealthy. You earned your title, and I’ve earned mine.”

“And what exactly are you a doctor of?”

“I hold a PhD in Economics and Management Studies from the L.S.E. on top of my first-class Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees from Kings College, Cambridge.”

“What the hell is the L.S.E.?”

“The London School of Economics.”

“Well, that all sounds very impressive. But it still doesn’t give you the right to disrupt my son’s funeral.”

“Now, hang on just a sec. I didn’t disrupt anything. All I did was stand next to Beth and support her when she broke down. You didn’t see Beth standing at the graveside in tears, did you? Blaming herself for his death?”

“You, a complete and utter stranger, showed up at my house, with my daughter, and started an argument.”

“Forgive me, Colonel, because all I remember doing was defending Beth when you called her an ungrateful wretch.”

“She is an ungrateful wretch. Fancy talking to me that way, questioning the way we treated Lance. He fought terrorists to keep our country safe!” The Colonel’s arms were as expressive as his words.

“It’s my understanding that there weren’t all that many terrorists in Iraq until we invaded.”

“You’re one of those liberal, anti-war assholes, aren’t you? Don’t you remember nine-eleven?”

“Yes, I do. And I remember seven-seven, too.”

“Remember what now?”

“Colonel, America isn’t the only country to suffer at the hands of Islamic fundamentalists.”