Page 33 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

“I can’t help it—it’s been two years since I saw them in person. Phone calls and video chats aren’t the same.”

“Oh, I’m not knocking it. It’s actually very cute seeing you like this.” She pauses a moment, then asks, “So, have you heard any new family lore lately about the Lancaster grandparents? Hints of what they’ve been up to?”

“Just that they’ve been living in Portugal, doing humanitarian things. My grandpa has been helping to upgrade a community center with low-maintenance solar panels, while my grandma is running language classes in the same building. And knowing them, they’ve become unofficial grandparents to half the neighborhood.”

Reese pauses a moment, then asks, “Do you think that’s all they’ve been doing?”

“Not for a second.”

“They’re in the witness protection program, aren’t they?”

I laugh. “That’s a good one.”

“Maybe they’re CIA.”

I shake my head. They’re not CIA. Or in any other intelligence agency. I would know.

Sometimes, when Reese’s brain goes anywhere along the lines of intelligence operatives, I love it. I hope it’ll help her to clue in on what I do. But other times, it scares me to death. We’ve been friends for five years, so when she does find out what I do, she’s going to be so mad that I haven’t told her that important detail about me during all that time. I don’t know how long it’d take to get over something like that.

But in my defense, it’s my job not to tell her. I legally can’t— I’ve signed an NDA. I mean, I could’ve submitted a request for permission to tell her by now, but I’m also scared that telling her will change how she sees me or how much she trusts me. That’s why I like when her mind wanders into “spy” territory. Maybe the only way she’ll ever get past my withholding the info is if she’s been slowly accepting it all along the way.

Reese is watching for them as much as I am now. “Maybe they’re sleeper agents. You know, people just out there living ordinary lives until they’re needed.”

“I’m not sure they’ve ever lived ordinary lives.”

“I’ve only met them twice and wasn’t around them for long,” Reese says. “But they seemed… normal.”

“I guess they really are.” I shrug. “My grandpa is always helping neighbors fix their heaters or their plumbing in his spare time. But he also worked for a defense contractor on aircraft, missiles, and space projects as an aerospace engineer.”

“Your grandpa is a rocket scientist?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And that falls into the category of ‘normal’ to you?”

I shrug again. “It felt normal. My grandma? She’s always baking cookies and taking them to neighbors. She also worked for the State Department as a linguist, specializing in cross-cultural communication. They just live extraordinary lives right alongside normal ones.”

Reese is shaking her head. “No wonder there’s so much family lore around them.”

“Oh, there they are,” I say as I spot an airport cart coming in our direction. My grandma is sitting in the front seat, next to the driver, and my grandpa is in the second seat with their carry-on luggage.

As soon as they pull to a stop near us, I hear my grandma say to the driver, “I’ll be thinking of you and Maya on Thursday. She’s fortunate to have so many people working to bring her home healthy, and to have you as her father.”

The driver seems genuinely touched, and they squeeze each other’s hands. I immediately go around to the side with the carry-ons and grab them as my eighty-something-year-old grandparents step off the cart.

Then I set the bags down and give each of my grandparents a big hug. They give Reese a big hug, too, calling her by name. Not that I thought they’d forget, but it’s been a couple of years since they last saw her, and then it was only for a few minutes.

Reese gestures at the retreating cart. “That’s so cool you ran into someone you know.”

I smile because I know my grandma.

“We didn’t know him,” Grandpa says, “but it only took a five-minute drive, and Elizabeth already knows his blood type. AB positive, in case you’re curious.”

Reese is looking like she doesn’t know whether my grandpa is exaggerating or if she should be in awe.

Then Grandma says, “Oh, Arthur. I only know his blood type because it was relevant. His daughter is getting a kidney transplant. Since Maya is O-negative, Daniel can’t donate directly to her, so he’s doing a paired exchange.” She turns to me, putting a hand on each side of my face. “Now, how are you, dear? You just get more and more handsome every time I see you.”

“Thanks, Grandma. I’m doing as good as ever.” I smile as I pick up their bags, and the four of us head to the baggage claim carousel for their flight.