Page 56 of One Last Stand
Shep raised an eyebrow. “A ball?”
“Oh, it’s a glorious event. It coincides with Queen Isabella’s birthday and is a true royal ball.” She tucked away her phone. “Your father is on his way. The ball is this weekend. I’m sure we can find something for you both to wear.”
The attendant came back in and set another place at the table right about the time York and Mitch came into the room.
“Darling. Do you remember York Newgate? He was in Russia when we were there.”
“York. Oh, it’s been years. How are you?” Sofia came over, gave him a two-kiss greeting.
“Good. I live in Washington State with my wife and daughter and our one-year-old son.”
The staff had brought out lunch, dinner,whatever,in white stoneware, and Sofia gestured to the table. She sat at one end, Mitch at the other, and Shep sat by London.
The whole thing felt like a spy movie—so maybe they were in a Bond flick, complete with hidden motives and super-secret devices and people hiding guns under the table.
“So, how are your parents?” Sofia asked as she passed London the fried schnitzel. Shep’s stomach betrayed him, growling. His last memory of food was somewhere over Quebec when they’d stopped to refuel and grabbed breakfast.
“Good. Mostly.” Well, as good as they could be, given their grief. But maybe the Ambassador didn’t know—London certainly didn’t. So he didn’t give any more.
“Are they still travelling in that ’74 Winnebago Brave?” This from Mitch. “Your dad had overhauled the engine a couple times, if I remember.”
“It finally died while they were in Canada. During the height of ski season, of course, so they rented a chalet and finished the season.” Oh, this schnitzel nearly melted in his mouth, the potatoes creamy, garlicky, fried in olive oil. “Dad suggested sticking around, but Mom loves to travel, so they upgraded to a ’98 Fleetwood Tioga with an overcab bunk. It’s a 29-footer, so bigger than the one I grew up in. I don’t know where they are right now.”
“And your sister?” Sofia asked, reaching for the salad, what looked like cabbage and carrots and corn, all doused in a cream sauce.
He took in a breath. So they didn’t know.
“Sofia,” Mitch said softly. “I mentioned the accident, right?”
Everyone stilled.
Sofia looked at Mitch and set down the salad. Looked at Shep. “I forgot. I’m so sorry, Shep.”
His chest tightened.
“What happened to Jacey?” London said now, looking at him.
“She was in a skiing accident,” Shep said quietly.
She drew in her breath.
“She died.”
“Oh, Shep, I’m sorry.” She touched her hand to his under the table. Then she took it when he didn’t respond, and, oh well, he squeezed back. It did seem to loosen the unexpected clench in his chest.
“When you’re a backwoods skier and like to ski alone, that can happen. She was found by some other skiers. She’d hit a tree, went into a tree well face-first and suffocated.” He stared at his half-eaten schnitzel, no longer hungry. He left out the rest because, well, the words spoken aloud could tear him apart. The memory found him anyway.No, Jace, I’m not going with you today.
London was looking at him. He took a drink of water, set it down.
“So, what have you been doing since we last saw you?” Sofia said, forcing a smile.
He forced one back. “Since I was sixteen? Um?—”
“He toured with his cousin Gage.”
“I remember him,” Mitch said. “Amazing snowboarder.”
“Yes,” Shep said. “He joined a rescue team in Montana, and I ended up there too, after a little stint in the military.”