Deceived (3 page)

Jennie stumbled out of bed at seven the next morning, threw on her robe, and headed downstairs. The phone rang once. Mom picked it up in the kitchen.

“She what?” Mom yelled just as Jennie reached the dining room. After a long silence she spoke again. “I can't believe Jennie would do a thing like that. Are you sure?”

Panic slammed through Jennie's body with the impact of a cement truck. Who had seen the show and phoned? Pulling an about-face, she sneaked back up the stairs and into her room. Any second now, Mom would barge in and demand an explanation. Fifteen minutes went by. No Mom. Jennie got dressed and braided her hair. Still no Mom.

This was not good. Jennie thought about packing her clothes and escaping through her bedroom window when a car pulled into the driveway. Gram and J.B. Mom had called in reinforcements.

Unable to stand the suspense, Jennie emerged from her room and eased down the stairs. She'd either get nailed or find out what was going on. She watched from the landing as Mom let Gram and J.B. in. They each gave Mom a hug and purred condolences.

“What's going on?” Jennie asked innocently.

They glanced in her direction. J.B. looked annoyed, and Gram, disappointed. Mom stared through Jennie as if she were invisible. Mom's pasty complexion and red­ rimmed eyes told Jennie she'd been crying.

Come on, guys, lighten up
, she wanted to say.
So I went on television to try and find Dad. Is that so bad?
They were acting as if someone had died.

The silence crackled with unspoken charges—all leveled at Jennie.

J.B. cleared his throat. “I think we need to talk, lass.”

Mom started for the living room, then stopped. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked and without waiting for their answers headed into the kitchen.

J.B. and Gram took a seat on the couch and asked Jennie to join them. Jennie loosened her hold on the bannister, now more puzzled than afraid. Why would Mom cut and run? Gram and J.B. seemed afraid of saying the wrong thing. Why didn't they just yell at her and get it over with? Unless…Jennie hurried down the rest of the stairs. “What's going on?” she asked. “Has someone been hurt?”

“Not in the way you mean.” Gram pinched her lips together and glanced at J.B. as if she suddenly needed his support. That was strange. Gram was one of the most in­ charge people Jennie knew. Now she seemed too upset to even talk. Jennie dropped into the chair next to the couch, taut as an overinflated balloon. One more second and she'd explode.

She jumped up and paced across the oriental rug, then stopped in front of them. “I don't understand what all the fuss is about. All I did was try to get some help to find Dad. You guys are acting like I committed murder or something. So I went on television and did a little interview. What's the big deal?” Jennie slumped back into her chair again. “How did you find out anyway?”

“I had a phone call waiting for me when I got home last night, lass. From Washington.”

“Washington?” Jennie swallowed hard. “As in DC?”

“As in the FBI. Before the accident, your father had been loaned to the DEA for some undercover work. We were up until two this morning trying to work out some kind of damage control.”

“I knew he was on a special assignment,” Jennie said, “but that was five years ago. What's that got to do with finding him now?”

“A great deal, I'm afraid. They are not happy, lass. Unfortunately, you didn't just appear on television. You interfered with national security. Your interview has investigative reporters from all over the country storming the intelligence agencies in Washington.”

“I don't understand.”

Gram leaned forward. “You've opened a Pandora's box, dear. The press loves to get hold of stories like this. They think the government is hiding something.”

“By playing on public sympathy,” J.B. added, “you've managed to make both agencies look like they're whitewashing a terrible crime.”

“I…I didn't know. I didn't mean to cause any trouble. Not really. I was mad at you for not wanting to look for Dad anymore. I mean…it isn't fair. Besides, if the government is hiding something that has to do with Dad, I have a right to know.”

“Do ye now? And just how far do you think your rights go?” J.B. shoved his hands into the pockets of his black jacket. “I wish you would've talked with us first. When we asked you to forget about finding him, we knew you'd be disappointed, but this…I never thought you'd go against orders, lass.”

“Don't be so hard on her, luv.” Gram shifted to the edge of Jennie's chair and slipped a reassuring arm around Jennie's shoulders. “When you get down to it, this whole thing is mostly our fault—and the government's. We should have told her the truth.”

“Our orders were to tell her as little as possible.”

Gram tensed. “Yes, but the government isn't always right.”

This was getting bizarre. “What story? What couldn't you tell me? What are you talking about?”

J.B. ran a hand through his silver hair, walked to the window and stared at something outside. His action reminded Jennie of when she'd first met him. In his rich Irish brogue he had told her he had once worked with her father. When Jennie asked him if Dad was still alive, he'd said, “I don't know, lass.”

At the time, his hesitation had given Jennie hope. Now she had the feeling he and Gram intended to close the door to that and any other hope she had of finding Dad. J.B. turned back to face her. “When Helen told me ye wanted to spend the summer hunting for Jason, I agreed. Felt it was about time to clear things up once and for all.”

“Here we are.” Mom bustled in with a tray and handed Gram and J.B. their coffee, took her own, and sat in the rocker opposite Jennie. She gave Jennie a strange look—a cross between disgust and disbelief—and turned to Gram. “I'm sorry about this, Helen. I knew Jennie was having trouble accepting Jason's death, but I had no idea she'd pull a stunt like this.”

Gram sipped at her coffee and nodded. “I'm afraid we all misjudged Jennie's resourcefulness. I'd forgotten how much like her father she can be.” Gram didn't smile, but the sudden twinkle of appreciation in her eyes when she looked down at Jennie spoke volumes. Even with all that had happened, Gram was still on her side.

“Just how much trouble is she in?” Mom asked.

Jennie's heart lurched. Trouble? Oh, great. Why hadn't she seen it before? No wonder Mom was so upset. Her daughter had interfered with government affairs.
Say your prayers, McGrady. They're sending you to prison.

Jennie shifted her gaze from one to the other and settled on J.B. since he seemed to be the only one with all the answers. “Would you guys please tell me what's going on? Am I going to be arrested or something?”

J.B. hesitated, then shook his head. “No. But we'll need to get you out of here for a while. The reporters will be swarming all over this place if they discover where ye live. We're doing what we can to settle things and provide the press with acceptable answers. Hopefully, that will be enough.”

“We'll be leaving in a couple of days to go on the cruise,” Gram added. “By the time we get back, things will have blown over.”

Mom cleared her throat. “I still can't believe you would do something like this, Jennie. Despite everyone's assurance to the contrary, you stubbornly insist your father is alive. You've caused us all a great deal of grief over this.”

“He is alive.” Jennie hugged herself and sank deeper into her chair. “I'm not wrong. J.B., tell her. You said you thought he might be alive. Don't you remember? When we first met.”

“I'm afraid that was wishful thinking on my part. Your Gram and I kept hoping, but…” J.B. shook his head.

“Before Mom came in you said this was partly your fault for not telling me the whole story. Are you trying to say you know for sure that Dad is…”
Dead
. Jennie couldn't say the word out loud. It would mean giving up, and she couldn't do that.

“Go ahead and say it, Jennie,” Mom pleaded. “It's time. Please, can't you just admit Jason is dead?”

Jennie stared at the wall above Mom. Voices warred in her head.
Give it up, McGrady. Stop acting like a little kid.
“I can't,” Jennie finally said. “I think he's still alive and nothing you say can change my mind. I'm glad I did the show. At least I did something.”
Dad will see it and come home. Then you'll be sorry you doubted me.
Jennie didn't say the last part out loud. Even to her own mind it sounded like the feeble cries of a stubborn child rather than the intelligent arguments of a sixteen-year-old.

“I think you'd better tell her what we've learned, luv,” Gram said to J.B. as she squeezed Jennie's shoulder.

J.B. walked across the carpet and settled back on the sofa near Gram. “It pains me to say it, lass, but perhaps it is best ye know the whole story. Your mother is right. Jason is dead. When Helen asked me for help in reopening the case, I went right to the top. Asked one of me friends in Washington to pull up Jason's file. It wasn't easy to get the information, but he eventually came through. While your Gram and I were in Europe he called with a full report. According to our records, Jason had a passenger with him that day. A fellow agent. When the plane went down, Jason told him to bail out. The lad jumped, thinking Jason would be following.” J.B. drew a hand across his face. “He never did, lass. The plane went down in flames with your father still on board.”

“B-but the picture.”

“That puzzled me until I showed it to the brass and talked to the lass who took it. As ye already know, Debbie admitted to making a mistake. I'm sorry, lass. I truly am.” Gram wrapped loving arms around her. But Jennie found no comfort in them. All she could feel was a growing numbness. Her arguments melted away like a summer snow. She didn't want to hear any more. Dazed and defeated, she pushed away from Gram and walked to the stairs. The stairs she'd run up and down all her life suddenly seemed impossible to climb. Jennie willed one foot to lift, then the next.

Once in her room, she went to her closet and took down the box labeled “Dad's Things.” One by one she set them on her bed, letting the memories soak into her heart like tears into her Kleenex.

“Jennie!” Mom's voice penetrated the foggy numbness surrounding her. “Honey, I know you're upset, but you've got to eat.”

Jennie placed the box of her dad's things on the shelf. Then, taking the picture of him that she kept on her bedside stand, she placed it on the shelf with photos of Mom, Gram and Nick, and the others. It wasn't that she didn't love him anymore. She did. She just didn't want to be reminded of his death every time she went to bed.

There was nothing left to do now but go downstairs and apologize. She'd tell J.B. and Gram that she was ready to do whatever she needed to do to straighten things out with the government and the media.

J.B. set up a news conference for two in the afternoon in the lobby of the Hilton Hotel. He asked Jennie if she wanted to make a statement to assure the public she was satisfied with the government's findings. Satisfied? That was rich. Her father had been killed and was never coming home. How could she be satisfied?

J.B. told Jennie she didn't need to go with him, but she decided she would—not because she was satisfied, but because she owed John Hendricks and the other reporters an apology.

At the hotel, a crowd of reporters and photographers hovered around. J.B. introduced himself as the official spokesperson for the FBI in Oregon and went on to make a formal apology. He told the story of Jason McGrady's disappearance, then offered the same information about the agent who'd witnessed the tragedy.

“Because of the highly confidential elements of the mission that McGrady and his passenger were on at the time,” J.B. said in closing, “I still can't reveal details of the case. I can only say that, according to the bureau files, Jason McGrady was killed in the plane crash. Both the FBI and the DEA would like to extend their sincerest apologies to the McGrady family for not providing more complete information when it became available. Because of that error in judgment, we've subjected this young lady and her family to a great deal of pain that could otherwise have been avoided.”

After concluding his remarks, he introduced Jennie. As she stepped up to the microphone, he squeezed her shoulder. Feeling more robotic than human, Jennie glanced over the crowd and picked a sympathetic-looking face out of the audience, John Hendricks, the man who had interviewed her at KKNG-TV only a few days earlier. Days? It seemed much longer than that. More like years. After apologizing to Hendricks, Jennie gave her side of the story.

“I spoke with the…um, with J.B.…um…Mr. Bradley this morning. I didn't mean to cause any trouble. I only wanted to find my dad. I really believed he was alive.” Jennie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, determined not to cry. “I went on television to learn the truth about my father. I guess I found it.” Jennie thanked them and turned from the clicks, whirs, flashes, and questions. J.B. hooked an arm around her shoulder and led her away from the crowd.

“How do you know for certain he's really dead?” John Hendricks asked as she passed by him and his cameraman. His question startled her. What was he doing? Before giving her a chance to answer, he asked another. “Have you considered the possibility that the government might be lying to you? Let's face it; they lied once—what makes you think they aren't lying now?”

Hendricks' questions brought a flood of others. J.B. drew her away from the overzealous journalists and reporters. Jennie let him escort her through a side door and into a waiting limousine. Once inside, she leaned back in the soft gray leather seat and closed her eyes.

“Pay them no mind, lass.” J.B. leaned forward and mumbled something to the driver. “Journalists are a pushy lot. Have to be, I suppose, what with scrambling for the highest ratings.”

Jennie tuned the questions out of her mind. She'd already asked them too many times. Besides, she was certain they were not lying to her. Not that she trusted the government, but she did trust Gram. Gram had told her Dad was dead. Gram wouldn't lie.

“It's time to get on with your life, Jennie.”
Her mother's words flashed across her mind like captions in a foreign film.

J.B. reached over and touched her arm. “I'm sorry you had to go through all that.”

“I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have done that segment for
Missing in America
without talking it over with you, Mom, and Gram. I guess I didn't because I knew you'd all say no.”

J.B. smiled. “You truly are a lot like your father, lass.”

“Yeah.” Jennie gazed out the window. She didn't want to think about Dad or anything remotely connected with him.

They arrived at the house a few minutes later. Gram and Mom met them at the door. “You both did very well,” Gram told them as she hugged Jennie and J.B. at the same time. “I think the worst is over.”

“Let's hope so,” J.B. said. “If you don't mind, Susan, I'll be taking Helen on home. We've a great deal to do to get ready for the cruise.”

“Of course. Thanks for all your help.” Mom sounded stiff. Gram had said the worst was over. For the government, maybe, but then they didn't have to face Mom.

Gram stopped at the door and turned back. “I want both of you to come shopping with me tomorrow. No excuses. We need to spruce up Jennie's wardrobe for the trip.”

“My wardrobe?” Jennie frowned. “You mean I'm still going?” She glanced at Mom.

“We'll talk later,” Mom promised, dismissing Jennie's question.

When Gram and J.B. had gone, Jennie followed her mother into the kitchen for tea and what Mom had called a “good long talk.” Jennie wasn't certain how good it would be, but she had no doubt it would be long. She thought about finding some reason to leave, but decided she may as well get it over with.

“I was proud of the way you handled the press conference.” Mom set her coffee on the table and handed Jennie her mint tea. “I'm just sorry you had to do it in the first place.”

“Mom, I told everybody I was sorry. Can't we just drop it? I mean, ground me forever, take away my driving privileges, make me eat bread and water for a week, any­ thing, just don't make me sit here and go back over it again. I did a stupid thing, okay?”

Mom looked at her, all sad and teary eyed, as if she had the most difficult kid in the world to raise.

“Don't look at me like that. I'm not that bad,” Jennie protested. “Okay, so I make mistakes sometimes, but at least I don't do drugs. I don't drink. I hardly even date. And even if I did…”

“Jennie, don't.” Mom wrapped both hands around the cup as if to warm them. “The issue here isn't what you don't do. It's what you did.”

Jennie chewed on her lip.

“I'm not sure what to do with you. I'm finding it hard to trust you anymore.”

That hurt. It really did. Jennie had always tried to do the right thing. “I didn't lie to you, I—”

“No, you just went behind my back and did what you wanted to do. You never gave a thought as to how your actions would affect your family. You even pretended you wanted to spend time with us, when all you really wanted was to keep us from finding out what you'd done. You manipulated and deceived us, and that's as bad as lying. I hope you realize that.”

“I only wanted—”

“Your own way? Don't make excuses, Jennie.” Mom shook her head, then continued. “I wanted to ground you and not let you go on the cruise, but Gram and J.B. asked me not to. They want you with them for security reasons, whatever that means.”

Jennie couldn't think of anything to say. Mom was right. She had betrayed their trust.

“A lot of this is my fault,” Mom went on. “I realize now that I've been pushing you too hard. Gloria keeps telling me to be patient—that it takes some people longer to come to terms with loss than others. She warned me not to cut your grieving process short. Maybe she was right.”

Gloria was the counselor she and Mom had been seeing “to help them resolve their grief issues,” as Gloria had put it.

“I'm trying to understand your side of this, Jennie, but frankly, I'm having a hard time.” Mom paused to take a sip of coffee. “Anyway, I don't want to talk about it anymore. You've apologized and I accept that. And I do plan to take Gloria's advice. I'm backing off so you can deal with your father's death in your own way.”

Mom gazed at a spot in the middle of the table for a moment before looking at Jennie. “Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“You'll stop trying to find him.”

“There's not much point in trying now.”

“So you're accepting that he's really gone?”

“I…”Jennie wanted to argue, but the fight to keep him alive, even in her mind, seeped out of her like water from a leaky bucket. “I guess there's not much left to believe in.”

Mom sighed and took another sip of coffee. She glanced at the clock. “It's four-thirty already. Michael should be here any minute.” She pushed her coffee aside and rubbed the back of her neck. “Wake Nick up from his nap, will you? He'll be up all night if we let him sleep any longer.”

“Sure.” Jennie pushed her chair back and carried her cup to the sink. “Mom, I…I really am sorry.”

Mom made her way to the sink and wrapped her arms around Jennie's waist. Jennie had been a head taller than her mother for a couple of years now, but it still felt strange. Mom's auburn hair tickled Jennie's chin. “I know,” Mom said as she released Jennie and turned back to the sink. “I'm sorry, too. Now, I need you to get Nick up and keep him occupied so I can get dinner on.”

Nick's room was nestled between her bedroom and Mom's on the second floor of their restored turn-of-the­ century Victorian home. At the top of the landing Jennie ignored the doors on either side and entered the one with big bold block letters that read NICHOLAS MCGRADY.

She pushed at the door. When it refused to budge, she put her weight against it and managed to move it enough to squeeze inside. Nick had gotten out of bed to play and had fallen asleep on the floor in front of the door. She scooped him up and settled into the rocker. Nuzzling his cheek she murmured, “Time to wake up, li'l buddy. Rise and shine.”

“Don't.” Nick turned away from her. “That tickles.” Despite his giggling protests, she gradually teased and tickled him awake. By the time she'd gotten him dressed and downstairs to watch
Sesame Street
, Michael had arrived. From the sympathetic look on his face when he greeted her, Jennie suspected that her mom had already filled him in on all the sordid details. Thankfully, he didn't mention it and neither did Mom.

After dinner, Jennie excused herself, saying she needed to pack for the cruise. After tossing a couple pairs of shorts and tank tops into her suitcase, she gave up and got ready for bed. She didn't feel much like packing. Actually, she didn't feel much like doing anything.

Since it was too early for bed, Jennie decided to write another letter to her father. For the first time since she began the journal five years before, Jennie couldn't think of anything to write. Actually, that wasn't quite true.

The words forming in Jennie's head were hateful. Anger ripped through her like a shuddering earthquake.
Why did you leave me, Daddy?
a small voice inside cried.
How could you go away like that and never come back?
Mom was right. If he hadn't been working for the government—if he hadn't gone on that last mission—if he'd gone to her birthday party instead—he might still be alive.

She tossed the journal aside and threw the pen across the room. It hit the window and bounced onto the seat. “Why bother?” she muttered. “It doesn't make sense to write to someone who can't write back.” Swallowing the lump in her throat and ignoring the gnawing pain that had eaten a hole in her heart, Jennie picked up her latest mystery novel and crawled under the covers. She spent the next two hours trying to solve the murder of a millionaire executive at Mt. Bachelor in Oregon. When she got to the last chapter and discovered that the murderer was the victim's own fianceé, Jennie nodded, feeling smug. She'd guessed right.

Jennie turned off the light, trying hard not to think about the fact that if her father was really dead like everyone said, she had nothing left to live for.