Not far from the Tree
By: ncisnewbie
The tee-shirt’s picture showed a cartoon of a man on a surfboard, but two things distinguished this surfer from the traditional California surfer image. First, the waves measured, at most, six inches: wakes from the tourist boats passing under London’s Tower Bridge. Second, he wore the full red regalia and bearskin cap of a beefeater. Underneath, the caption read “Thames River Surf Association.”
The tee-shirt barely contained the paunch that had hunted down Eric Beale, now fifty years old. Eric grumbled as he vacuumed the large, formal living room of the Jones-Beale household. In one corner a music stand, overflowing with viola music, stood beside a baby grand piano. As he shut off the vacuum, he wiped the sweat from his brow, checked his phone and rolled his eyes. He took a deep breath, and then returned the call. “Hi, Sweetie. Sorry I missed your call.” He did not sound sorry.
“Right. I had time to vacuum before I had to get Barrett from Math Club. We’ll do…. You’re right, He’ll do homework ’til five-thirty five, then it’s off to fencing…. No, it’s Wednesday: it’s fencing. …We should be back by seven. During the homework, I should be able to get the lasagna in. And a couple bags of salad during fencing…Are you sure Renée doesn’t mind doing the Smithsonian ’til you’re done? We’ll hurry back. I’m sure she’ll be anxious to see her nephew.” As he talked, he grabbed a cloth lunch bag and filled it with a protein bar and banana.
Three hours later, dusk had come to a perfect Indian-summer day, complete with blue skies and crisp air perfumed by drying leaves. Eric pulled into the cul-de-sac and used the remote to open the garage. He parked his Dodge on his side of the driveway and plugged it in. Barrett roused from his near-sleep and uncoiled from his seat in the car. Tall and slender for his fourteen years, freckle-faced and tousle-haired like his father had been in Los Angeles, he had inherited auburn hair from his mother, the main physical feature he shared with her. Father and son negotiated their way between Nell’s Mercedes and his old Kia Soul. (“Better hang onto it. It’s big enough for projects, and for when I drive a bunch of kids.”)
Renée got hugs from each of the returnees, and Nell and Barrett shared a hug while Eric continued, “Hello, Renée. I’m so glad you could make it to Washington! Let me just pull the lasagna out, then we can eat in fifteen minutes, after it’s set.” As soon as he opened the oven, his face reddened. “What the Nell? Nell, I left a note to uncover it as soon as you got home so the top could brown!” He pulled the foil-shielded casserole from the oven. “Good grief, Nell! I bust my butt to get things set up so we can eat on time, get Barrett to bed at a decent hour and you can’t even do one thing?”
“As soon as I got in, I got a call from the embassy in Lithuania! Russia trouble again. Just uncover it now! Fifteen minutes ain’t gonna kill us, Beale!”
His shoulders slumped, he paused, and then he uncovered the lasagna and slid it back into the oven. Nell shook her head and steered her sister into the living room as Eric put on an apron and finished assembling the garlic bread. Once it was wrapped and in the oven, he poured himself a seltzer, took a breath, and went into the living room.
Read the whole story on fanfiction.net and don’t forget to leave a comment…
