The Newlyweds

“And there’s always the phone,” Bridget added.

“Mm,” her mother said.

“And e-mail.”

“Mm.”

Bridget narrowed her eyes at her mother. “Why do I feel a lecture coming on?” she asked.

“No lecture,” her mother told her. “Just…concern.”

“About what?” Bridget asked.

Leslie expelled a soft sigh as she settled her cup back into its saucer, then she braced both forearms on the table. It was a posture that belied her words, because it was her lecture posture. Bridget recognized it well. After all, she’d probably received more of Leslie’s lectures over the years than any of the other Logan offspring had, thanks to her having traveled an alternate route than the rest of them when it came to things like, oh…life in general.

“About the fact that you’re only twenty-five years old,” Leslie said, “and if it hadn’t been for this case, you’d be someplace in Europe right now completely out of touch with the family and mingling with terrorists. How could I not be concerned about that? A part of me is almost grateful for the problems that have been plaguing Children’s Connection. At least they’ve brought my daughter home to me and kept her out of danger.”

Yep. It was going to be a lecture, all right. And Bridget really should have seen it coming. Last night, when she had visited briefly with her family, the focus of the conversation had simply been getting caught up with what everyone had been doing in their individual lives. Now that they’d finished with that, the next order of business was, as it always was, Bridget’s needing to explain why she had strayed so far from home and the loving bosom of her family. She just wished she could explain that to her mother. But she scarcely understood it herself. She’d just never felt complete in Portland, had always felt as if she was missing out on something. Felt as if there was something missing from herself. There was a big, wide world out there, brimming with all sorts of sights and experiences, and she wanted to be a part of it. There were just so many things to do out there. And she wouldn’t feel satisfied until she’d done every last one of them. Then, maybe, she wouldn’t feel that strange emptiness inside herself that she’d felt for most of her life.

“Mom, that’s my job,” she said gently. “And I’m perfectly well trained for what I was supposed to be doing. They wouldn’t have assigned me to the counterterrorist task force if they hadn’t thought I could handle it. More importantly, I know I can handle things like that. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’m your mother,” Leslie said unnecessarily. “It’s my job to worry about you. I worry about all of you. It’s what mothers do.”

And it was especially what mothers did when they’d lost a child, Bridget thought. She shouldn’t be so hard on her mom, she told herself. Leslie, more than most mothers, knew how endangered a child could become, even in the most benign circumstances. Robbie had been snatched from the front yard of his best friend Danny Crosby’s house, while Danny’s mother Sheila was inside. And Leslie had never forgiven Sheila for allowing her son to be stolen.

Of course, even before Robbie’s kidnapping, there had been little love lost between Leslie and Sheila. Leslie had never made it a secret that she’d considered the other woman to be a shallow, greedy, materialistic social climber, everything Leslie was not. Her midwestern upbringing had given her solid values, and she’d never aspired to an affluent lifestyle or marriage to a dynamic corporate leader. Ultimately, she’d welcomed the opportunity, though, because being the wife of a wealthy businessman had enabled Leslie to stay home with her son, to whom she became utterly devoted the second he was born. Sheila, however, had been neglectful when it came to her own children, had often left them in the care of others when she could have been spending time with them herself. She’d preferred spending her husband’s money and lunching with her girlfriends instead. Her mother, Bridget knew, had never been able to understand that.

And, truth be told, her mother had felt sorry for Sheila, at least back then—that had never been a secret, either. Leslie had always said she thought Sheila’s behavior must have stemmed from her unhappiness, trapped in a life that held no purpose for her, no direction. Jack Crosby, rumor had held, hadn’t been an easy man to live with, and Bridget knew for a fact that the man had enjoyed numerous affairs quite openly before he and Sheila divorced. That had to have taken a toll on her.

But Sheila had been unfaithful to Jack, too, something else Bridget knew for a fact, and that behavior had dropped her in Leslie’s estimation even more. Bridget even recalled her mother saying that, on the day Robbie was taken from the Crosbys’ front yard, Sheila had been talking to one of her lovers on the phone, too distracted to keep an eye on the boys playing in the yard. Robbie had been easy pickings for the kidnapper, thanks to Sheila’s neglect. And Leslie had never forgiven her for that.

So all in all, Bridget knew she shouldn’t come down hard on her mother for being overly protective and overly concerned about her. Being worried for Bridget’s welfare and safety was, after all, just another way her mother showed how much she loved her.

So instead of feeling irritated, Bridget smiled and covered one of her mother’s hands with her own. “You don’t need to worry about me,” she said. “I promise I’ll be fine.” Translation, she thought, I promise I won’t be snatched away from you the way Robbie was.

Leslie smiled back sadly, something that told Bridget her mother had picked up on her unspoken assurances. Nevertheless, she turned her own hand to weave her fingers with Bridget’s. “You might be fine,” she said, “but I’ll still be worried about you.”

The waiter returned with their appetizer then, relieving the tension that had threatened to descend on the trio. Bridget used the opportunity to change the subject, turning it to one of her mother’s favorite topics. “So what else can you tell me about everything that’s been going on at Children’s Connection?” she asked.

Leslie sighed heavily as she reached for a cracker to scoop up some of the hot artichoke dip. “You’re probably privy to more information than I have been,” she said. “The FBI won’t tell us much of anything that they’ve learned from the investigation so far. I should probably be asking you the same question.”

“I wish I could tell you more, Mom,” Bridget said, “but there are certain things the Bureau wants to keep quiet for now, for reasons of security. And although I’ve been informed of the particulars about the illegal activities and such, I don’t know what kind of toll it’s taking on the people involved, since I haven’t actually interviewed anyone and won’t, thanks to being undercover. So how’s the mood at Children’s Connection right now?”

Leslie’s expression grew melancholy. “Not good, I’m afraid,” she said. “It’s been hard on everyone, from the housekeeping staff to the board of directors. Whoever’s doing this could be working in any department, in any capacity. No one wants to believe that. It’s terrible to think that someone we’ve all come to trust and like could be doing something so heinous as stealing and selling babies, and deliberately sabotaging people’s desires to create a family. But the FBI tells us they’re convinced the ringleader must be someone who works inside, and that all the things that have happened are related.”