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Lynx
Three Years Later
When I came out of the kitchen door and stood on the back porch, I could see my wife and her parents sitting on the sand. Our two-year-old son, Finn Arlo—his middle name, for my father—sat between his grandparents. Emerson held our one-year-old daughter, Charlie Annaliese—her middle name, for my mother—on her lap. From where I stood, I could see the baby rubbing her mum’s belly, endlessly chattering at her brother or sister, who would arrive in the fall.
My cousin Stephen and his family were scheduled to arrive this afternoon, as was my brother. We might even see Saint, Angel, and Typhon before the Fourth of July holiday weekend was over.
I looked out at Cape Cod Bay and thought back to the summer when I imagined this could one day be my life, afraid to speak the words aloud even to myself, and now, here I was, my every dream realized.
My beautiful Emerson insisted she loved being pregnant as much as she loved being a mother. She still taught at the War College, but more and more, she gave up her lectures in Newport, and offered them online instead.
Last night, as we laid on the hanging daybed on the back porch, we agreed that our third child would be named for her father and brother regardless of whether the baby was a boy or a girl. The spelling would vary, as would the middle name. I’d made the offer when Finn was born, but my lovingly sensitive wife said she wasn’t ready to bestow that particular name.
I’d learned straight away, when I was an undercover MI6 agent and she an international policy writer, that in most matters, my wife was far smarter and quite a bit more capable than I—with the exception of cooking, which I was happy to take on, particularly since I’d given up most missions in favor of becoming the U.S. Chief Operating Officer of the Invincible Intelligence and Security Group. Rile was my European counterpart, and Typhon was in charge of Asian operations.
We’d grown from the original four, plus me, to a total of twenty-five agents who operated all over the world.
I watched as Emerson handed baby Charlie to her grandmother and walked in my direction.
“Everything okay?” she asked, wrapping her arms around my waist. I kissed the top of her head, where the scar from her staples only showed when her hair was wet.
“Everything is perfect,” I murmured, moving her hair so I could nip the soft skin on her neck.
“Are you sure you won’t mind my parents keeping Finn and Charlie here with them next week?”
“Are you sure you won’t mind?” I rested my hand on her belly, loving that being pregnant didn’t stop her from wearing a bikini, or better yet, walk naked as often as privacy would allow.
“We need to find a bigger house,” she said, tapping her lower lip with her fingertips.
We’d given up the apartment in Boston when we were pregnant with our first child. Two apartments, actually, since Rashid and David were fully ensconced in Emerson’s.
We had a house in Newport, but our family was quickly outgrowing it. Next week, we would decide whether to sell it and buy a bigger place there or choose another city entirely. Honestly, I didn’t care where we lived. All that mattered to me was that Emerson was happy.
“I should get Charlie,” she said, watching as her parents stood to come up to the house. “She’s probably hungry.”
I checked the time. Finn was likely ready for a nap as well.
“I’d like to talk to the two of you for a minute,” said Rick.
Rebecca handed Charlie to Emerson and took Finn’s hand, leading him inside.
“Wait!” Emerson cried, and Finn came running back.
“Love you, Mum,” he said in words that only my wife and I understood. When she knelt down, Finn put his arms around her and Charlie and gave them both a kiss.
“I bet your grandmum will read you a story if you ask nicely,” she said before he ran back to Rebecca and put his tiny hand in hers. I couldn’t imagine a better life for our children, and was thankful for the amount of time Emerson’s parents spent with our family.
Emerson sat down at the patio table and got Charlie settled on her breast. It was a sight I would never tire of.
Rick motioned for me to take a seat before he did the same. He folded his hands and rested them on the table.
“Your mother and I have given this a lot of thought, and we’ve decided to downsize.”
“What does that mean?” Emerson asked.
He pulled what looked like a real estate flier from his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to his daughter.
“You’re buying the house next door?” she gasped. “But…why?” Her eyes met mine, and I recognized her silent pleas.
