Informed Consent (7 page)

S
asha appraised
the diminutive woman who struggled down the aisle, wrestling with her suitcase as she bumped against the seats that edge the narrow pathway. She was smaller than Sasha—which was rare in itself—but looked friendly, if harried. Late middle-aged, maybe older. So even if she didn’t have children of her own, surely she’d been exposed to them in some capacity—as an aunt, a godmother, a neighbor? Please let her have the seat across the aisle, she willed silently.

Better her than the sour-looking businessman who interrupted his haranguing cell phone call long enough to roll his eyes at her as she juggled both babies while Connelly engaged in whatever top-secret machinations allowed him to conceal carry his weapon on a commercial flight. And definitely better her than the gaggle of bridesmaids and already tipsy bride-to-be who’d stumbled past on their way to the back, tiaras and sashes crookedly in place. Maine in late October seemed like an odd destination for a bachelorette party, but she wasn’t one to judge.

She simply wanted to survive the plane trip with a minimum of nasty looks and muttered comments. It seemed that merely appearing in public with infant twins was enough to ruin some adults’ days.

The woman stopped, checked her ticket, and scooted into the seat across the aisle from Sasha.
Yes,
Sasha celebrated silently. The woman tried in vain to hoist her suitcase above her shoulders to jam it into the overhead compartment. She rested it on the seat and then tried again. Another miss. Ah, the travails of the petite.

The woman’s seat mate, a thin man in his twenties with a soul patch and a sketchbook lolled his head against the window, sleeping. He wasn’t going to come to her aid. Sasha sensed the opportunity to buy some good will.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” she said.

The frazzled woman turned. “Yes?” Her eyes were enormous, magnified behind her glasses.

“If you’ll hold my babies for a moment, I can get that up there for you.” She nodded toward the suitcase.

“Oh … I can call the flight attendant.” She trailed off and looked at the stream of passengers making their way along the aisle. It would be quite some time before a flight attendant would reach her. In the meantime, Sasha was sitting right there.

“It’s okay, they don’t bite. No teeth,” she assured the woman with a smile.

The woman gave a little laugh and held out her arms. “Thank you. That’s very kind. I must warn you, though, it’s been a long time since I’ve held a little one.”

Sasha eased Fiona into the woman’s open arms first. Fiona immediately curled a tiny fist around the woman’s shoulder-length hair and gave it a tug. Then she placed Finn in the crook of the woman’s free arm. He batted his eyelashes and cooed up at her as if he were taking stage directions. She hurriedly grabbed the suitcase and hefted it overhead. It landed with a thud in the compartment, and she retrieved the twins, gently prying Fiona’s fingers off the woman’s hair in the process.

“Thank you so much,” the woman breathed. She held onto Finn a split-second longer than absolutely necessary, and Sasha concealed her smile.

Mission accomplished.

“It was my pleasure.”

“Your babies are adorable,” the woman remarked as she settled into her seat and tightened her lap belt into place.

“Thank you.”

“How old are they?”

“Ten weeks.”

“Tiny things. Are you traveling alone with them?” She said in a conversational tone.

“No, my husband’s around here somewhere. Probably in the cockpit making a nuisance of himself.” She leaned across the aisle. “He’s a retired Air Marshal.”

“Oh? What does he do now?”

“He’s a security consultant.” And then, although the woman hadn’t asked, she felt compelled to add, “I’m a lawyer.”

“My, you must have your hands full. I was a teacher for years, but when I had
my
twins, I quit to stay home with them.”

“You have twins, too?”

The woman smiled at some memory. “Oh, yes. I’m on my way to Maine to visit my Roland, as a matter of fact. He’s an artist. His sister Rebecca is a mechanical engineer.” She smiled at some private memory. “Once they were in high school, I went back to work.”

“Teaching?”

“No, journalism, actually. I’d written some articles for parenting magazines over the years. I started out covering the education beat and moved on from there. When I retired, I’d been the crime reporter for almost a decade. Now I write the occasional freelance article when something moves me. My name’s Annabeth Douglas, by the way.” She extended her hand across the aisle. She had a firm, businesslike handshake.

“Sasha McCandless-Connelly. This is Finn. And this is Fiona,” Sasha said in return, pointing to each twin’s head in turn.

From there, their conversation flowed naturally, as if they’d known each other for years. At some point, Connelly returned and settled into the window seat. Sasha introduced him to Annabeth and handed off Finn, who was fast asleep before the plane’s wheels retracted.

Connelly nestled his son into his chest and peered through the window, staring out at the clouds. Annabeth pulled out a book, and Sasha played a quiet game of patty-cake with Fiona.

Fiona squealed with laughter, and Connelly turned to smile at her.

“What are you thinking?” Sasha asked when she caught his eye.

His smile faded. “Hoping this wasn’t a mistake.”

“Which—meeting this guy or letting us tag along?”

“All of it.” His lips curved into a smile. “I’m glad you’re here, though.”

“So am I. And the twins are being awesome.”

“Don’t jinx it,” he warned. “We’re not there yet. We still have to rent a car, drive for hours, take a water taxi, and then somehow navigate Great Cranberry Island on foot, with the terrific twosome in tow.”

Sasha dismissed the litany with a wave of her hand, even though thinking of the journey ahead exhausted her.

Annabeth leaned over. “Did I hear you’re headed to Great Cranberry Island?”

“That’s right,” Connelly answered.

“My husband and I spent a week there, ages ago, with friends. There’s not really much to do, but there’s a cute little general store with a cafe. Make sure you get some homemade cookies for energy. You’ll be flagging by the time you get there.” She nodded toward the babies. “That’s quite a haul for the little ones.”

“It is,” Sasha agreed. “But we didn’t want to send daddy up without us.”

“So this is a business trip? It’s not really the tourist season up there, now, I’m afraid.”

“I know. I wouldn’t say it’s necessarily a business trip, but it’s … personal business. Leo’s been trying to find his father. There’s a gentleman on the island who may have some information for him. After they meet, we’re going to spend a few days visiting Acadia, if the weather cooperates.”

Connelly shot her a dark look, but she ignored it. The fact that he was searching for his father wasn’t classified. She was just making conversation.

“Oh, how exciting!” Annabeth clapped her hands together. “Are you nervous?” she asked Connelly.

“No.” He turned back to the window.

“Sorry,” Sasha mouthed.

“No apologies necessary. Sometimes I forget I’m not a reporter any more. When I was working, it was my job to pry. Now it’s just nebby.” Annabeth laughed.

Connelly must have realized his behavior was rude, because he looked back at them with a sheepish expression. “It’s just not a very interesting subject. I’d much rather hear about you. What was the most exciting crime you covered?”

As Annabeth began to prattle about a story involving a long-ago trial of a New York City gang, Sasha smiled to herself. Connelly had a talent for getting people to talk about themselves. For the first time, she wondered if he’d developed it, not—as she’d always assumed—as part of his secret agent man arsenal, but as a coping mechanism to avoid having to talk about his fatherless childhood.

S
asha hauled
Annabeth’s suitcase down from the overhead compartment and handed it to her. “Have a nice visit with your son.”

“Thanks, dear. Here, take my card.” She pressed a business card into Sasha’s hand. “If nothing else, send me an email some time. I’d love to hear how your trip went and maybe see some pictures of those two little pumpkins in their Halloween costumes.”

“Oh. Oh, thank you.” She dug around in her wallet for a business card of her own to exchange, but the woman was already halfway down the aisle.

“She was nice,” Connelly said.

Sasha nodded her agreement and did a final sweep of their seats to confirm they weren’t leaving a blankie, a board book, or—in Finn’s signature move—one lone baby sock—behind.

“I think we have everything,” she said, as she shrugged into one of the hiking backpacks they’d decided to use in place of traditional diaper bags on this trip and then strapped Finn into the front carrier slung over her chest.

Connelly put on the second backpack and then the second baby carrier. He maneuvered Fiona into the carrier and secured the straps. “All set?” he asked.

“All set.”

They strode through the spotless, nearly empty airport terminal and followed the signs to the rental car counters. While Connelly acquired the car, Sasha headed for the family restroom. She re-diapered the twins and listened to her voicemails at the same time. A court reporter calling to confirm a deposition, a reminder about a bar committee meeting, and a request for a donation. No calls from courthouse clerks, panicked clients, or irate opposing attorneys. All in all, the best-case scenario.

Will had almost managed to hide his dismay at the news that his recently-returned-from-maternity-leave law partner was jetting off on an unscheduled trip on short notice. The least she could do to repay him for that kindness was to stay on top of her messages and emails.

Emails.

As she repacked the wipes into the backpack, she spotted her phone, its red light blinking to let her know that emails awaited. Her hand hovered over it and she began to pull it from the side pocket, but she knew the emails would far outnumber the voicemails. She didn’t have time to start that little project in the restroom. She stowed the phone and pushed open the bathroom door with her hip.

Connelly was leaning against the tile wall, dangling the rental car keys from his hand. He reached out and relieved her of half of her baby load. She allowed herself a brief moment’s satisfaction at the well-oiled McCandlesss-Connelly traveling machinery. Later, after the machinery broke down, she’d be grateful she’d kept her thoughts to herself, so Connelly couldn’t accuse her of tempting fate.

L
eo shivered
in his thin jacket as the wind swept across the highway. He pawed through the backpack until he found the unopened package of baby wipes; then he closed the rental car’s trunk with a slam and jogged around to the passenger side. Sasha was leaning over the front seat, zipping Finn into a clean sleeper.

“Found them,” he announced.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Can you get started on the carseat? But give me a couple first. I’m all out, and I have vomit under my nails.”

He almost laughed at the incongruity between the image and the words. With her arched back and over-the-shoulder expression and the breeze lifting her long, loose wavy hair, she could have been a model on an exotic shoot. But her request laid bare the reality: she was a traveling mom with a carsick infant.

He handed her a fistful of wipes, held his breath, and got to work wiping down the carseat. One seat over, on the other side of the back seat, Fiona giggled and gurgled, either oblivious to or amused by her brother’s predicament.

“There.” He tossed the used wipes into the ziplock bag that held Finn’s soiled outfit and closed it.

Sasha lifted Finn and traded him for the bag. “Poor little guy. I hope he’s feeling better now.”

Leo buckled his son into the carseat and kissed his forehead while Sasha popped the trunk and stowed the bag.

Once they were back in the front seat, Leo checked his mirrors and prepared to merge off the shoulder and back onto the highway.

“Does the house you rented have a washer and dryer?” he asked, suddenly wondering what they were going to do about Finn’s vomit-coated clothes.

“Are you new here? Of course it does. Who would plan a long weekend with two-month-old babies and no access to a washer and dryer?” She laughed at the question and then returned to examining her fingernails.

He nodded and then hit the gas, seamlessly rejoining the flow of traffic streaming north on Interstate 295. They drove in silence for several minutes, then Sasha unbuckled her seatbelt and twisted around to check on their two tiny passengers.

“How’s everybody doing back there?”

“Finn’s asleep, and Fiona’s trying to see if she can get her foot into her mouth.” She settled back into her seat, keeping her voice soft so as not to disturb the peace that had fallen over the car.

He was continually amazed by how quickly the mood could change with babies. Minutes ago, Finn was red-faced and howling. Now he was calmly sleeping. Sometimes one of the twins would go from alert curiosity to drowsy, heavy-lidded quiet in mere seconds.

“I hope Fiona naps, too. We still have a good two hours’ of driving until we get to Mt. Desert Island.” And then they’d have to get a boat to Great Cranberry Island. They had hours of traveling ahead of them.

Sasha responded by looking pointedly at her empty takeout coffee cup.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “We’ll stop for a quick lunch. But we really should try to lay down some miles while the twins are cooperating. I really don’t want to get to Great Cranberry Island too late.”

She shrugged.

She wasn’t worried.
He
was worried. They would likely arrive early enough to take one of the three regularly scheduled ferries to the island, but all three ferries stopped running before six p.m. That would leave him very little time to actually meet with Wynn. So he’d called around and arranged for a private water taxi to transport them to the island, wait for them, and then bring them back. The captain had been amenable, but he was loud and clear about his personal belief that making such a trip, after dark, in late October, was foolish. When Leo mentioned the babies, the captain amended his opinion to ‘damned foolish.’ Leo privately agreed.

He felt her eyes on his face and glanced at her. “What?”

“I know what you’re thinking, Connelly.”

“Tell me—what am I thinking?”

“You’re thinking that you’d really like to drop me and the twins at the rental house and go to the island alone.”

“That’s a great idea. I’m glad you’ve finally come—”

“No. Listen to me. You aren’t doing this alone.”

“Sasha.”

“They’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

He shook his head. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

She was silent for a long moment. Then she sighed and spread her hands wide in a gesture of appeasement. “We’ll hang out at the cafe that Annabeth told me about, okay? We won’t tag along to Mr. Wynn’s house.”

He kept his eyes on the road ahead and hoped he was successful in hiding his surprise. He could count on the fingers of no hands the times his wife had suggested a compromise with him. Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but only a bit. She was wildly independent and accustomed to being right—two traits that didn’t lend themselves to easy negotiation.

“Really?” he asked, almost afraid to believe she meant it.

“Really.”

The tension he’d been holding in his neck and shoulders drained away. “That would be a great idea. What made you change your mind?”

“I wanted to come with you to be a support, Connelly, not a weight. It doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re extra uptight—even for you. You’re not dumping us on the mainland; I want to be close enough to help if you need me. But if you want to go alone to meet your mystery man, we’ll keep our distance.” Her voice turned into a whisper that he had to strain to hear. “Just make sure you take your cell phone. And your gun.”

“Thank you.” He reached over and covered her hand with his.

She traced a circle on his thumb with the pad of her pointer finger. “You’re welcome.” Then she eased her hand free and rifled through the backpack at her feet. “Speaking of cell phones,” she said, more to herself than to him, “I need to charge mine so I can tackle my emails after lunch. My battery died right before Finn lost his breakfast.”

She plugged the device into the charger, leaned her head back against the headrest, and covered a yawn with the palm of her hand.

“You should take a nap,” he suggested. “That stupid phone isn’t the only thing that needs to recharge, you know.”

She smiled sleepily and closed her eyes. “Maybe I will. You know what they say—sleep while the babies are sleeping. Or eating their feet.”