Edna Mayfield (heavily revised)

Now here she was, dressed in typical Tracy fashion; gray cardigan sweater over white blouse, grey flannel skirt, black tights and tasseled loafers. Boarding school garb, always the same -- like coming of age at that school in New Hampshire would always define her life. She was home for Thanksgiving vacation, just like high school -- again, yet Claire wouldn't be home this time.

How would she react to Jordan? 'Thank God,' Edna Mayfield said to herself as she thought of their meeting, 'I don't think I could handle all of them together this time.'

"So Mom, what's new with you," Tracy asked, and yet just then she could hear Stanton's penetrating questions in her voice.

"Oh, not too much, sweetie. I've had to make appearances at a couple of seminars, some campaign appearances for Senator Daniels, but not much else. I went to Norway in September to visit family. And, oh, don't go wandering up into the garage apartment; we've got a boarder up there."

"Oh, really?" Tracy said, now very curious. The last girl they'd had up there had been really bad news. Drugs and all night parties, and her father had been furious at the damage done to the place. "What's she like?" she asked.

"Not a she, sweetie. He's a very nice young man," Edna Mayfield said, not wanting to walk this minefield so early in her vacation.

"That's a pretty good trick for a girl's college, don't you think, mom?"

"He's a replacement they brought in, after Olin had his heart attack. You know, he actually worked for your father for a while at the agency," she continued.

"That's pretty wild, huh? What's he like, how old is he?" she said as they made their way through the little terminal to the parking lot, and she was looking closely at her mother now, looking at all the tell-tale signs glowing on her face.

"You know, sweetie, I'm not real sure. I've been away so much this fall I just haven't had a chance to get to know him as well as I'd have liked."

Yet, as Tracy Mayfield got in the car she saw her mother blushing, and now red flags started popping-up all over the place. Still, she moved on, not wanting to upset her mother, also thinking the right guy might be good for her.

As they pulled into the driveway Tracy commented that the house looked good. Her mother pulled through the carport and headed back to the garage.

"Wow, mom, are you driving Dad's Porsche?"

"Hmm? Oh, no sweetie, that's Jordan's."

"Jordan's?" Tracy asked, a telltale arched eyebrow the giveaway.

"Dr Douglas, dear. Jordan Douglas. I guess he's home now. Oh, I forgot, they only had classes scheduled for half a day."

Tracy Mayfield knew all she needed to know for now. Her analyst's mind was the natural by-product of being raised by two spooks -- one in the C.I.A., the other from the N.S.A. 'Ok,' she said to herself, 'the facts so far: first name basis; knows his schedule; blushes when talking about him. This could be an interesting vacation after all...'

She carried her small bag into the house while her mother went into the kitchen to work on her stuffing. She made her way quickly into her parent's bathroom and took a quick look around -- and it didn't take long to make her inventory.

There, around the sink, is that brown hair? Ah-ha, razor stubble there, and on the shower floor, and TWO damp towels. She went back to her bedroom and got out her cell phone, pulled up her contacts and speed dialed her sister's number.

"Claire? It's Trace. I think you'd better come home tonight. What? Are you feeling okay? Yeah, I know, but I think it's that important. Yeah, but listen...I think something's up with Mom, there might be a boyfriend thing going on. Yeah, I know, but get me the flight time as soon as you can, and call me on the Boston cell. Right. Bye."

She went back down to the kitchen, looked at her mother working away in her apron, her real, bonafide kitchen warfare uniform, making homemade biscuits for her stuffing, an old family recipe called out only for the most important occasions.

'She hasn't made this in years, has she?'

Bingo!

"Can I help out, mom?"

"I was thinking it might be nice to call Dr Douglas and invite him over for a drink. Would you mind doing that?"

"Can't I go over and ask him? Seems silly to call."

"I think calling's the polite thing to do, Tracy. He might have company."

She smiled -- thinking of tangled webs -- then called the number to the back house. "Hello, Jordan? It's Tracy, Tracy Mayfield. Mom and I would love it if you'd come over for a drink. Five minutes? Sounds good. Bye!"

Edna Mayfield's eyes were wide open.

'Jordan?' -- then she thought of Tracy's best poker voice on the phone, when she had a bad report card to discuss. 'OK. She's never been a fool, and if she hasn't figured it out already, she will in about ten minutes. Time to set my own snare...'

Jordan walked up to the kitchen door and knocked, and when Edna was through with her stuffing and she set it in the 'fridge, Jordan fixed drinks and they all went to sit in the living room.

"So, you're teaching at the college?" Tracy asked, wanting to break through the ice quickly.

He smiled at her, wondered what form her game would take. "Yes, that's about the size of it."

"What department?"

"History."

Tracy's eyes lit up. "I just declared my major. History, but I may minor in philosophy..."

"You are so your father's daughter," Edna said, grinning. "When did you decide?"

"A few weeks ago. So, where'd you do your PhD, Jordan?"

"Stanford. On FDR's pre-war efforts to mobilize industry, for what he considered an inevitable war."

"What are you teaching now?"

"Oh, a couple of intro survey courses, and one 400 level seminar, 20^th-century social structures. What are your interests?"

"The medieval church, oddly enough, and Rome."

"Tracy, Jordan's been living on a sailboat, on San Francisco Bay. That's interesting, don't you think?" Of course, Edna tossed that one into the ring knowing Tracy lived to go sailing...

And her eyes went wide hearing that. "Really? What kind of boat?"

"Oh, a real oldie, an Alden Boothbay Challenger; it was my father's."

"That's a Maine boat, wasn't it? How big is she?"

"Yes, only fourteen of 'em built. 58 feet, draws a little over five with the boards up. She was the light in my dad's eye."

"What's her name?"

"Siren Song."

"I love it!"

He grinned. "Three staterooms, maybe we can all go out on her sometime..."

"Gosh...I'd love that...I know Claire would too..." Tracy said as she looked at her mother. "Maybe we could, huh?"

Edna looked at Tracy, then at Jordan -- and she smiled...

And then Tracy's phone chirped -- and she dashed outside to take the call. "Yeah, it's me. There's a boarder in the back house, a new prof at the college. Former spook, worked for Dad too, apparently. Oh, yeah, confirmed; evidence all over her bathroom. Uh, huh. Yeah, he seems like a nice guy, did his doc at Stanford so maybe you can do some research. So yeah, really interesting in a beach bum sorta way, lived on a sailboat around there somewhere. Okay, got it. Flight 481. 2315 hours. I'll get out of here somehow, meet you at the baggage claim."

As she walked back in she thought about how best to make an excuse to get the car keys. Bet her mom would fall for it, give her time to be with her beau anyway, she thought with a smile. Mom's are so easy to fool...

As she came back inside she saw her mother on the telephone, heard her thanking the party on the other end, saying good night.

Mother turned to daughter, a knowing smile on her face.

"So. I guess you'll be wanting the car tonight? Say around ten or so? You did write down her flight number, didn't you? 481, is it?"

"Well, fuck," Tracy muttered under her breath. When your mother was retired from the NSA, you couldn't get away with dick.

"I know," Edna Mayfield said, seeing the frustration in her daughter's eyes. "Let's go out to dinner now, shall we? We can pick her up after..."

Jordan Douglas looked at mother and daughter and wondered just what the hell had happened.

◊◊◊◊◊

Claire Mayfield came into the arrivals concourse only to see a dejected Tracy standing next to her mother -- and a nice looking man who stood about a half head taller than their mother.

'OK, cover now thoroughly blown,' as her Dad would've said at a time like this, 'it's time for Plan B.'

"Hi, Mom. Tracy thought it would be nice to surprise you for Thanksgiving."

Edna Mayfield hugged her oldest daughter, gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Well, Claire, you know how it goes," her mother said. "Hard to keep a secret in a house full of women." She smiled, trying her best to keep her sense of irony in check.

"And I'm Jordan Douglas," the man next to her mother said, holding out his hand.

Claire Mayfield turned and looked into the man's penetrating eyes, yet she sensed little guile, and an unassuming intelligence. And anyone with an IQ over 70 could see that he was head over heels in love with her mother. She gave Trace a sidelong glance and noted the 'she beat us again' grin on her face, and knew it was all over now. Oh, well. Someday. Someday, they'd pull one over on her.

Claire Mayfield turned and walked out the terminal, holding her mother's hand for a while, and she tried not to stare at the man she instinctively knew was about to change all their lives -- forever. And she wasn't too surprised when her mother let Jordan Douglas drive the car, nor the way they surreptitiously held hands in the front seat of her pale yellow Cadillac.

◊◊◊◊◊

December 17th

Tracy Mayfield walked out into the massive arrivals concourse, her arms fully loaded with holiday packages and a single carry-on. She looked around for her mother, or even Jordan, but no one was there, no one waiting with open arms...

Then she saw Claire -- walking her way -- an uneasy smile on her face. They hugged, and Claire took some of the load off her sister's hands, then they started for the car.

"Mom and Jordan? Where are they?"

"On the boat."

"Have you seen it yet?"

"Yeah. It's nice, I guess, very cozy down below, but it's as old as he is, built forty something years ago. You can tell he's put a lot into her, though. Anyway, bet you're glad to get out of Beantown...supposed to be a monster blizzard coming in."

"It's there. It was ten below when I got to Logan this morning, and already about a foot on the ground. I was never so happy as when those wheels came up..."

"Yeah? It's been like 80 degrees here, for the last three months. I'd almost like to see some snow."

"I don't know...it feels pretty nice out here to me..." They were on the upper parking deck now, walking to Claire's Honda in the sunlight. "Where's the boat, anyway?"

"Pier 39," Claire said, "downtown. Nice spot, if you can handle tourists gawking at you all day long."

"I can't believe we're doing Christmas here. This is the first time we've ever not been at home."

"I think a lot of things are changing, Tracy. Kind of -- 'right before our eyes.' She's 21 years older, you know? I'm not sure I think it's right."

"It's her life, Claire."

"It's our life, too," Claire said as she unlocked the doors. "We don't know him, who he is, or what he wants from her. Maybe he tried to get a job at the college, maybe he's trying to get closer to mom. Maybe all he wants is her money. Did you think of that?"

Tracy looked at her sister, not really sure what she was hearing. Paranoia was one thing, but Claire sounded almost delusional. "Well, I'm sure we'll find out a lot about what's going on over the next few days. Why don't we just sit back and watch 'em for a while."

"Tracy, you should read his dissertation. It reads like he worships FDR and the New Deal."

"So did Dad, Claire."

"He did not!"

"Claire, he was a democrat."

"He was not!"

"Claire, what's the name of that place by campus...the one with the pastrami sandwiches Dad always took us to?"

"The Oasis?"

"Yeah, The O. Have you been lately?"

"No, too many memories. I didn't go to any football games this year. Dad will kill me," Claire said.

And Tracy looked at her sister just then, at the faraway look in her eyes. "I'm real hungry. Suppose we could drive down there? I'd like to see the place one more time..."

"It's not the same anymore."

Tracy listened to the voice. Flat, lifeless -- and very depressed. "Okay, well, let's go on up to the city..." Something was wrong, something had drastically changed since Thanksgiving. "Have you stayed on the boat yet? Been around them?"

Claire pulled up to the gate to pay, then got on the 101 -- heading north into San Francisco in a silent fugue -- then she pulled onto the Embarcadero and drove into North Beach. Parking was always a nightmare down here, Claire said absent-mindedly as she passed a vacant space, then another -- finally settling on a space far from the marina. They walked down to the pier and to the marina, and Claire entered a code and led Tracy down to the Siren Song.

Jordan was up the mast in a bosun's chair -- setting a radar reflector below the spreader -- as the girls walked up, and when he saw them approaching he lowered himself down to the broad teak decks and slipped out of the chair, then hopped over to the boarding gate and took the packages from Tracy's hands, helped her up.

"How are you?" he said, smiling as he helped Claire up. Tracy gave him a hug while Claire walked by in a silent rage, went to the cockpit and sat down in a heaping pile.

"Doing fine. You?" She looked at him, expressing caution as she looked at Claire, but he gave her a knowing nod.

"I could use a hand," he said as he turned and walked back to the mast. He tied-off lines from the reflector, handed her a line and asked her to shackle it off. He watched her, looked how she handled the line, then walked forward to the bow pulpit. "How was she?" he asked.

"What's happened to her?"

He shrugged. "You mom started getting bills last October, from student health services. Her report card is all incompletes, she's put 13,000 miles on the car since August."

"That's all you know?" she said as she smiled. "What do the health service notices say?"

"HIPA, confidential, won't tell us anything, just a bunch of bills and co-pays."

"What's Mom think?"

"She's worried."

"Okay. When are we headed out?"

Jordan looked at his watch. "About an hour, as soon as the tide turns."

"I'd better go say 'hi' to Mom, then get changed."

"She's aft, working on some emails. When you come back up we'll head out."

She looked at him again, smiled. "I'm glad you're here, Jordan. With her, I mean," then she turned and walked aft.

He watched her as she walked away. How like her mother she was, and in a way, like Stanton, too. And there was Claire, looking at him from the cockpit, the complete opposite of Tracy. Claire, who seemed to be a composite of all those traits Stanton struggled with. Brilliant, insecure when on unfamiliar turf, easily unsettled by challenges to his authority. All the things he had relied on Edna to keep in check...and now, those had settled on Claire. Who would be there to hold her together? She was fading so fast, who would come to her rescue?

◊◊◊◊◊

Once the main was set, Siren Song pulled into the wind on her own, and while Tracy steered Jordan rolled out the genoa, then hopped aft and shut down the engine. The afternoon breeze was flowing in the Golden Gate so they tacked towards Sausalito, dodging fishing trawlers and a nuclear submarine as they crossed the bay. A quarter mile shy of The Needles, Siren Song tacked to port and sailed close-hauled under the Golden Gate, keeping well off Baker Beach on her way to Mile Rock. Once five miles offshore Tracy steadied up on a heading to carry them down the peninsula, their next turn seventy miles ahead.

The mid-afternoon sun beat down on the deck, and it was warm for a December day, even by California standards. A steady onshore wind keep Siren Song's sails pulling; Claire walked up to the bow and straddled the pulpit, let her legs dangle off the bow while Tracy steered and Jordan walked around checking lines and gear.

Presently, Edna Mayfield came up from below and sat beside her youngest, looking at her -- so immersed and in her element -- as she held fast to wheel and compass. She looked forward, saw Claire sitting on the bow -- isolating herself, drowning in self-inflicted despair, then she turned and saw Jordan on the aft rail, looking up at the mast, measuring angles in the rigging. He had a tension gauge in his hand and went forward, tweaked one of the shrouds then walked aft again, checking the angle one more time. When he was satisfied he slipped into the cockpit and sat between Edna and Tracy, looking from one to the other -- and startled once again by the almost complete similarity between them. Tracy's nose was different, and her skin lighter, but that was about it. Looking at Edna was like looking at a Tracy that might exist in forty years -- and here he was, in age straddling the two of them.

"Well," he said, "here I am, sitting between the two most gorgeous women in the world, and what I want to know is which one of you is going to fix lunch?"

Edna Mayfield pushed her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose and looked at Jordan.

"Are you saying Tracy is as pretty as I am?" she said in a deadpan, her eyes boring into his.

"Oh, no," Jordan replied, just as seriously. "She's much prettier than you are."

That made Edna Mayfield smile. "Who wants a Coke?" Edna smiled as she went below to the galley. A few minutes later she came up with chicken salad sandwiches, chips and cokes, and Edna called Claire out of the sun.

"There are a lot of sharks out here," Claire said as she slipped into the shaded cockpit, and Edna looked at her carefully.

"Oh? What did you see?"

"I don't know what kind, but I've seen two really big ones, like that one," she said, pointing.

Jordan looked, saw the large scything tail of a White about 50 meters to port -- and Edna's eyes went wide. "What is it, Jordan?" Edna asked.

"A White. There are a lot of them in the area this time of year, especially out at the Farallon Islands. Humpback whales, too."

"Could we go out there?" Claire asked, her voice clear, yet sounding almost mesmerized.

Jordan looked at Edna, who gently shook her head. "This is the wrong time of year, Claire. Winter is when the Whites gather out there, a breeding and hunting season, and it's off-limits to everyone but a handful of researchers, even passing boats are required to stay well away."

"They're pretty," she said. "Dangerous, but pretty."

"From a distance," Jordan said, "I suppose they are. In a few months they'll disappear, head out into deep water between here and Maui. It's thought they give birth out there, then return here in winter."

Claire looked at the animal as it swam along. "God...how lonely she must be. Out there adrift in the blue, to give birth -- then lose even that companionship..."

Tracy looked at her mother -- who looked back and smiled, then Claire turned to them, to Jordan, really.

"I'm pregnant, Jordan, and I need your help."

Edna sat very still, not sure where Claire was coming from, or where she was going...

Jordan, however, smiled gently as he turned to her. "Oh?"

"I've decided to have an abortion, and I want you to go with me when I have it done."

"I see. Why me, not the child's father?"

"I don't know who he is."

"Whatever do you mean, Claire?" Edna said.

"I was at a party...and I woke up on a bed, naked. I may have been raped, but I don't even know that much. I went to the health services clinic last week and they confirmed it, and I've found a place that does them. Abortions, I mean. I don't want to go alone."

Jordan reached for her hand and she moved away.