19. Under Siege at Breakfast

UNDER SIEGE AT brEAKFAST

ANDREW

I am up and making coffee when there comes a knock on the door. Yeah, yeah, I know. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke or action thriller. But that really is how the day started.

I thought it likely that the person at the door would be Austin. But when I answered it, Charles Emory and my brother, Richard Lane, stand on the doorstep.

"You are moving today," Charles said. It was a statement, not a question.

"Reckon so," I say, opening the door wider. "I'm making coffee. You want some? Maddy and Paul are still asleep." Then I realize that it isn't quite true. The door to the pantry is closed, and I can hear the shower running in the half bath just beyond the kitchen.

"Look at you, all domestic," Richard teases, as I return to my task.

"Look, yourself, little brother," I return, "I was making coffee before you were able to reach the counter. The cooks could never get it right. You want stove top, drip brew, cold brew or Keurig?"

"Whatever you are having will be fine," Charles put in. Clearly, he could see a family spat brewing.

I was making stove top in a percolator I had found on Maddy's shelf next to her hazelnut coffee. I hoped I'd made enough for her, and our unexpected guests.

Fortunately, the coffee was just beginning to bubble into the clear bulb at the top when Maddy entered the kitchen wearing my robe again. Man, she looked hot in it! It made me deeply regret our lack of privacy.

I made up my mind to gift the robe to her as soon as we were alone. And have it off her…hopefully, without interruptions…but that wasn't likely to happen this morning.

Maddy, realizing we were not alone, cinches the robe a little tighter, and puts on a polite smile.

"Do I smell hazelnut coffee?" she asks. "I need a cup of courage."

"Coming right up," I say, getting out a bowl, a bag of self-rising flour, eggs, and powdered milk. I am determined to live up to my statement that I would pull my own weight in household chores. "Pancakes all right?"

She nods.

The coffee is done. I take down a mug that bears the legend, "Mom is not a Morning Person", pour coffee into it, leaving enough room for liquid creamer, and hand it to Maddy.

"Pancakes are perfect," she says, accepting the cup, then turning to the fridge to look for creamer. I take note that the creamer she chooses is also hazelnut flavored. Clearly my woman is fond of the sacred nut of wisdom – fitting, since she seems to have the clearest head on her shoulder of anyone I have met in the last few days.

As she turns, she makes a show of realizing that we are not alone. "Oh! Charles, Richard," she exclaims. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"I have their cups over here," I say, forestalling what looks like an attempt to hand her cup to Charles. "That one is for you."

She blushes, and gives me a shy smile. It looks so good on her! How was I ever stupid enough to leave her behind? I want to shake my younger self until his teeth rattle.

The blush and smile go straight to my nether regions, and for a moment I don't care who is in the building. I want to take her straight back to bed.

I am brought back to my senses by her next comment, "Thank you for making pancakes. I always get the batter all over the kitchen."

"Pancakes are my camp cooking specialty," I say, sounding out the syllables in the last word in the English fashion.

Paul eases his way out of the pantry, still in pajamas. "Hi, Mom," he says, "Hi everyone. Can I have coffee?"

Before I can speak, Maddy says firmly, "Not until you stop growing. Milk or juice for you. We have apple-kiwi," she adds enticingly.

"Okay," Paul says. "How come we have company?"

"You are an amazingly fortunate young man," I say. "We are moving before you get a chance to put any holes in the wall."

He looks a little blank for a moment, then grins at me. But then lapses into a frown. "There's something wrong with that window, though."

"Yes," I say. "And that is why we are moving. Why don't you help me set the table?"

"All right," he says. "If it's alright with you, Mom?"

Her eyes crinkle with good humor as she gets a sip of her very, very hazelnut coffee. "Please do," she says. "Watching other people work is a novel experience."

There was a rebuke in that statement somewhere, but at the moment I didn't care. I had Maddy and Paul in the same room. The day was looking up.

As soon as everyone is seated, Charles taps his coffee mug with his spoon. "Before everyone starts with the crazy ideas for where Maddy and Andrew should live, I have the perfect place for them. The clinic has an attached apartment that was intended for the director or a resident. Since it was constructed during the riots a few years back, the walls are three feet thick, it has bullet proof glass windows, and a state-of-the-art security system. The biggest drawback is its size. It only has two bedrooms, and the living room and kitchen are small.

"Can I have Angel and Carousel there?" Paul piped up, looking a little worried.

"Yes," Charles says, "I just have one question. How did you wind up with Carousel? I thought she was Cece's cat."

"Cece rescued her," Paul says earnestly, clearly aware that he is speaking to Cece's father. "But she already has six cats, and they don't like Carousel. Anyway, Carousel likes me. And so does Angel."

The three of us, me, Maddy and Paul all look at each other. Two bedrooms means that someone will have to share, or sleep on the couch. "It sounds good to me," I say. "But the house is always the woman's domain. What do you think, Maddy?"

"I think I want a long talk about that statement, but it sounds functional. What about school for Paul?" Maddy asks.

"Austin's friend, Mrs. Hubbard, has agreed to expand her school. She has a friend who will assist her. We've not decided where to place the school, but the construction of the building will be similar to that of the clinic," Charles says.

"Her credentials?" I ask.

"Impeccable from preschool through high school," Richard says. "I had an independent company check. Austin vouches for her, but I wanted to be sure."

"All right," Charles adds, "Since that is settled, I'll text the movers. At least you've not had time to accumulate enough items to fill a four bedroom home."

"Next item on the agenda," Richard says, "Andrew, now that you are stateside, will you take over as CEO of Lane Enterprises?"

The forkful of pancakes that had been en route to my mouth pauses in mid-air. "I'd not anticipated doing so," I say slowly. "Do you need to turn it over to me?"

"No, no," Richard flapped a hand at me. "Just checking. Now is not a good time for a power struggle between brothers. Leland is content with his role as Prince Ildogis, and is concerned with what to do about Mountain Hold, when the lava cools enough for people to get back to it. I believe he has in mind to pass it to the oldest Iskander brother."

"I thought the mines were destroyed," I say.

"You'd have to ask him. But I think he and Tulok were discussing the fertility of volcanic ash, and other bi-products of volcanic activity," Richard commented.

"I see," I return. Could Mountain Hold be made habitable? That was a wrinkle I'd not expected. Good to know that there is a plan in place, and that there will not be a power struggle within the family. I was personally eager to return to practicing medicine, and had no desire to run anything.

"Who is in power there?" I ask, making the fork continue its journey to my mouth. I was no longer hungry, but the body needed fuel.

"Technically, Leland still is," Richard replies. "In actual fact, the heat from the magma is boss. I wouldn't want to go hiking there."

"Next thing . . ." Richard starts to say.

"I need to go have a long sit-down talk with Grandfather," I say. "I have no problem with Leland turning it over to Cole Iskander. But the last thing this world needs is for the old man to somehow re-enact the Boer wars – here or there. I'm fairly certain he has some sort of power agenda lined up with me or Paul as the center of it."

"Isn't that the same thing that sent you to Africa ten years ago?" Richard asks, helping himself to the last of the pancakes.

"In broad outlines, yes," I say, placing my fork on my plate beside my half-eaten pancakes. "I am not cut out to be a mob boss, or gangland chief, or whatever you want to call it. I have no desire to inherit Grandfather's turf."

"Godfather," Paul chirps. "Like the movie."

There it was. The very comparison I did not want to have made. But my astute son was not wrong.

I make my voice calm and conversational, despite my inner turmoil, "I do not see any Godfather-like lifestyle changes in our immediate future," I say firmly, cutting into my pancake, just to give my hands something to do.

"What about pot farms?" my nine-year-old son says. "Pot's legal now."

"Paul!" Maddy exclaims. "Where and when did you hear about marijuana?"

"I overheard Slugger talking to some of the older kids about how people used to go to jail for it, but now you could get a prescription for it. So if you can get it as medicine, it can't be so bad can it?" Paul's eyes are big, as he answers his mother's question.

She just drops her face into her palm.

I have mixed feelings about marijuana, and I do not want to muddy the waters by going into it here and now. Growing and selling it skates too close to some of the activities I suspect my grandfather of dabbling in, and is on the milder end of things at that. In truth, legalizing it might have much the same effect as legalizing distilling alcohol. All the same, I was glad not to be required to make a judgment call on the issue.

"Not going into farming anything," I say. "Perhaps you might have a word with your son, Richard. He seems to have acquired some peculiar ideas."

But Paul had hit on one of my fears about what Grandfather Aims might want. And it wasn't even my deepest fear.