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"Jenny, please don't cry. Can I have the f
light attendant bring you something?"
She shook her head and lowered the damp tissue from her eyes. "No, thank you, Cage. I'm fine."
But she wasn't fine. She hadn't been since yesterday afternoon when Bob Hendren had told them that Hal had been shot by a firing squad in Monterico.
"Why the hell I let you talk me into letting you come along, I'll never know," Cage said with bitter self-reproach.
"This is something I had to do," she insisted, still blotting her puffy red eyes and dabbing at her nose.
"I'm afraid it's going to be an ordeal that will only make things more difficult for you."
"No, it won't. I couldn't just sit at home and wait. I had to come with you or go mad."
He could understand that. This was a gruesome errand, traveling to Monterico to identify Hal's body and arrange for its transport back to the United States. There would be mounds of paperwork from the U.S. State Department that must be dealt with, not to mention the tenuous negotiations with the petulant military junta in Monterico. But grappling with all that was better than staying at home and witnessing the Hendren's abject grief.
"Jenny, where have you been?" Sarah had cried. She had stretched both arms in Jenny's direction when the younger woman rushed into the living room of the parsonage after Bob had told her and Cage the news. "Your car was here … we looked everywhere… Oh, Jenny!"
Sarah had collapsed against Jenny and sobbed heart wrenchingly. Cage sat down on the sofa, spread his knees wide, bowed his head low, and stared at the floor between his booted feet. No one comforted him on the loss of his brother. He might not have been there, save for the condemning looks Bob directed toward the motorcycle helmets Cage had dropped on the hall floor as they rushed inside the house.
Jenny smoothed back Sarah's light brown hair. "I'm sorry I wasn't here. I … Cage and I went riding on his motorcycle."
"You were with Cage?" Sarah's head popped up and her eyes swung toward him. She looked as though his existence was a great surprise to her, as though she had never seen him before.
"How did you find out about Hal, Mother?" he asked quietly.
Sarah seemed to have fallen into a stupor. Her expression was blank, her skin pasty.
It was Bob who had told them what little they knew. "A representative of the State Department called about half an hour ago." The pastor seemed terribly old suddenly. His shoulders sagged, reducing his posture to that of an old man. The skin beneath his chin looked flabby and wobbly for the first time. His eyes weren't as clear and lively as usual. His voice, which sounded impressive and full of conviction from his pulpit, wavered pitifully.
"Apparently those fascist hoodlums in control of the government down there didn't like Hal's interference. He and members of his group were arrested, along with some of the rebels they were going to rescue. They were all—" he cast a sympathetic glance at Sarah and amended what the government official had told him "—killed. Our government is making a formal protest."
"Our son is dead!" Sarah wailed. "What good will protests do? Nothing will bring Hal back."
Jenny had silently agreed. The two women had clung to each other for the remainder of the evening, weeping, grieving. Word had spread through the congregation of the church. Members began arriving, filling the large rooms of the parsonage with sympathy, and the kitchen with food.
The phone had rung incessantly. Once Jenny glanced up to see Cage speaking into it. At some point he had gone home and changed clothes. He was wearing a pair of tailored slacks, a sport shirt, and a jacket. As he listened to the party on the other end, he rubbed his eye sockets with his thumb and index finger. Slumped against the wall as he was, he looked tired. And bereaved.
She hadn't even taken time to go upstairs long enough to brush her hair after that madcap ride with Cage. But no one seemed to notice her dishevelment. Everyone moved about like robots, going through the motions of living with disinterest. They couldn't believe that Hal's presence in their lives had actually been snatched away in such a cruel, violent, and irreversible way.
"You look exhausted." Jenny had turned from pouring herself a cup of coffee to find Cage standing behind her. "Have you eaten anything?"
The dishes of food brought over by members of the church were lined along the countertops of the kitchen. They didn't entice Jenny, indeed, the thought of eating anything was repugnant. "No. I don't want anything. How about you?"
"I guess I'm not hungry either."
"We really should eat something," Bob had remarked as he joined them. Sarah was clinging to his arm as he eased her into a chair.
"A man named Whithers from the State Department called, Dad," Cage had informed them. "I'll go down there tomorrow and accompany Hal's body back." Sarah whimpered and crammed her fingers against her compressed lips. Cage looked down at her sadly. "This Whithers is meeting me in Mexico City. He'll go with me, and hopefully cut through some of the red tape I'm bound to run into. I'll call you as soon as I know something, so you can make funeral arrangements."
Sarah folded her arms on the table, laid her head on them, and began crying again.
"I'm going with you, Cage."
Jenny had spoken her intentions calmly. The Hendren's reaction to her announcement hadn't been so calm. But her mind was made up and they were too distraught to argue with her about it.
She and Cage had left early that morning, driving to El Paso to catch a plane to Mexico City, the same flight Hal had taken almost three months before.
