There had been times when she longed to have her own children.  But she wasn’t sure she’d make a great mom.  Catherine Parker had been wonderful, but she hadn’t been with her daughter for very long—a perfect example of loving too much.  Parker was her father’s daughter, cool, not too good with kids.  She was no Sydney; she sucked at nurturing.  Even the potted plants in her house died after a couple of months of neglect.    She put her hair into a pony tail and walked out to find Jarod.    “Evening.”  He was humming that German folk song… kree kraw, toad’s foot, geese walk barefoot, while he sauteed fish, onions, green peppers, and mushrooms in a saucepan.  Her mouth watered.  She hadn’t eaten anything since the peanuts on the airplane, not really anything since the delicious apple muffin she’d had in New York.    He’d taught the song to her when they were kids, and now she remembered the words every time she listened to the NPR theme song during the commute to work.  “I see you met Carson.”  The dog was lying behind Jarod in the kitchen, staring up at his master with adoring golden eyes.  His otter tail swished slowly against the wooden floor when his name was mentioned.  “He’s a good dog.  He’s really what I had to go pick up.  I left him with a friend.”    She’d never figured him for a pet person, but Carson looked happy enough.  She noticed off-white plastic grocery bags on the table.  There was also a very large and heavy-looking bag which read RADIO SHACK.  She wondered how the dog had managed the parachute jump.    However, there were more pressing issues.  “Jarod, how come there’s a picture of you with my sister and my nephew?”  Though Lyle had never married her, Parker had admitted Kara into the family, anyway.   Kree kraw, toad’s foot, he hummed, dinner sizzling and emitting a delicious aroma, geese walk “Lay-ter,” he said, filling in the last two syllables.    “Dammit, Jarod.”  She stomped her foot.  She hated to have to wait, for anything.  “You know, you haven’t changed at all.  It’s going to drive me up the wall staying here tonight.”    “Oh, I don’t know, Miss Parker.  It’s not so bad.  You can lock the door.  And Carson is good company, if you need someone to talk to.”    She was not going to tolerate this.  She had been up all night.  She had been dragged to a foreign country, on the whim of an escaped lab rat she’d known fourteen years ago.  She’d been locked in a flying tin can with a jerk-off pilot, and she’d been forced to jump from an airplane to a cabin in the middle of fucking nowhere, where genius boy had been inventing home control panels and writing psychology books and messing around with her family and spying on her.  She was sick and tired of the bullshit.  And she wanted to go home.  “Jarod, if you don’t tell me everything right now, including what the hell you were trying to pull with Kara and Nate, I’m walking out your front door and I’m never coming back, not even if it starts snowing.  Not even if I starve to death.  Screw your stupid plan, Jarod, screw Africa, and most of all, screw you.”    The dog had gotten to its feet, its hackles raised.  Jarod had frozen, his wooden spoon stuck in their sizzling dinner.  His eyes were burning, and she couldn’t tell if it was from hurt feelings or plain old anger.  The moment hung there, Parker with her hands on her hips, Jarod staring back, a tense expression on his face.  And then it was gone.    “Easy, Car,” he murmured gently.  He reached down to scratch the yellow dog behind his ears, but she guessed that the comfort was as much for him.   He scooped the food onto two plates, portions slightly smaller than she was used to, but then, Jarod probably hadn’t cooked for two lately.  A loaf of bread was already on the kitchen table.  Frosted glasses of iced water had been set out for both of them.  “Miss Parker,” he said, after he’d set both plates on the table, kitty-corner from each other.  “I want us to have dinner, okay?  I want a quiet evening without thinking about any of the problems we’re going to have to deal with tomorrow.  I want to know how Sydney’s doing.  I want to ask you about your sister and nephew—I haven’t had a chance to see them in a while.  And I’m very curious about what you’ve been up to for the past fourteen years.  And then we can sit down in my living room, light a fire, make some hot tea—though you’ll probably want a shot of liquor in yours—and discuss what I’ve been up to, to your heart’s content.  Is that all right with you?”  He said it all in a calm tone usually reserved for the mentally unstable, or if you were unsure if the person nearby spoke English properly.  She was trembling with anger, or the release of it.    Breathe.  “Fine.  Jarod— fine.”   She drew back the high-backed wooded chair.  It squeaked across the wood floor.  She drew it close, and then she picked up a silver fork and took a bite of her dinner.  The fish was fresh, and the veggies released a warm sweetness as she bit into them.  Her meals were the pop-in-the-microwave kind.  She’d never been much for stove-jockeying.  But Jarod…of course, a Pretender could cook like Julia Child.  A Pretender could be Julia Child.  Still, involuntarily, she released a muffled, “Mmm,” as she chewed.  It didn’t even need salt or pepper.   Jarod was watching her with a ghost of a smile.  When she swallowed, savoring every last taste, he asked her, “So, anything going on with business that he hasn’t told me?”   She sipped her water.  Surprisingly, it was exactly appropriate.  Bitingly cold.  Refreshing.  “Who?” He chuckled.  “Oh, come on.  Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”   “Know what?” She wracked her brain for some indication of the “he” Jarod was talking about. Jarod was trying very hard not to laugh.  “You mean…you mean…he didn’t tell you?  I mean, I asked him not to but I’d always thought… he likes you so much…”   She was giggling, too, now, though she had a feeling she should be irritated.  It felt good.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed.  “Who are you talking about, Jarod?”   “Well, Broots.”   He waited for comprehension to dawn on her face.  His brown eyes were glowing, paler in the light which hung over the kitchen table.   “Broots?”   “Wow, he really didn’t say anything.  Parker, do you know that place just off the Centre’s driveway?  Across the street, a half-block down?”   “Moe’s.”  She still didn’t have a clue what Jarod meant by Broots.  She had lunch at Moe’s once or twice a week.  They had great sandwiches.  The best French fries in Blue Cove, too.   He took a bite of food and chewed it, messing up his words.  “We meet there on the second Tuesday of every month.  At seven p.m. We’ve been exchanging information for almost ten years…you’re serious…he didn’t tell you anything about it?”  Jarod swallowed and lifted his eyebrows at her.   That little shit.  Now she’d have to kick his ass when she got back.  Clyde, shmyde; loyal Broots, best friend and techie extraordinaire, had turned traitor.  But she couldn’t think it with any malice.  It was actually kind of sweet, in a weird sort of way, that he expected Jarod to look after her.   She'd still have to kick his ass.