AT 11:15 A.M., Kord received a call from the hospital that Youssof Dagher had regained consciousness. Still critical and receiving care for his injuries, but alive. Kord informed Prince Omar and Ali, but he wouldn’t waken Monica. She’d not be happy to learn Youssof had been questioned without her. Yet she’d understand the nature of what they were doing. Their mission came first. He arranged for an agent to take his place at the mansion and wrote her a note before driving to the burn center at Memorial Hermann.
During the alone time, his thoughts turned to Monica. Last night he’d kissed her, and he’d welcome the chance to do it again. He laughed at recalling her reactions to being diagnosed with double pneumonia. She was one upset lady. No way would anyone hold her back from working a case. What would a future be like with a CIA operative?
Gorgeous. Skilled. Intelligent. Committed to her job.
Christian.
The God-Jesus thing had him rethinking his agnostic views. For too long he’d been searching for purpose and an answer for how this world came to be. He didn’t believe he was a sack of chemicals, a being whose thoughts were merely electrical impulses. Was he a product of a big bang? The result of a huge fireball? Who or what set the standards for right and wrong? He’d read the Bible from cover to cover —twice. Also read the Quran twice. The Bible and archaeological proof had leverage. It was the grace thing that didn’t fit into the human personality . . . or was grace what each person needed?
While Monica’s family believed she was finding her way in the career world, she put her life on the line to keep them safe. But she didn’t appear bitter about her family’s view of her. Instead, she claimed they loved each other unconditionally. The strange part of her faith came in her conviction —totally out there, and nothing he’d ever experienced before.
Was it God who gave her courage? With her outstanding record, she had superior intelligence, and he’d always heard Christians were ignorant, needed a crutch. A professor from a prestigious university told him once that most Christians lived in the South, products of ignorance. Even as a college student, Kord had rejected those words.
Where did he fit in this universe? And why was the answer important to him?
Snatching his personal iPhone from the console, he spoke to Siri and requested connection to his mother’s cell phone. Strange urge to reach out.
Kord waited. Uneasy. He hadn’t talked to either parent since his obligatory Christmas call. Hadn’t seen them in over two years.
“Hello.” His mother’s smooth voice brought back memories of her impeccable hair, dress, and makeup, when she wasn’t —“Whatcha want?”
She’d been drinking.
“This is Kord. Just called to say hi and see how you and Dad are doing.” He had questions, but little good they’d do him now when she was wasted.
“We’re partying. On a cruise somewhere. You know the Jamaican rum.” She slurred every word.
“And Dad?”
“Passed out on the chair beside me. The older he gets, the less he can hold his liquor. How’s the law business?”
“This is Kord.”
“Oh, the cop wannabe.”
What a mistake. “We can talk another time.”
“No rush. We have lots of trips and little time for chitchat.” She ended the call.
Some things never changed. His parents hadn’t started out as drunks who couldn’t wait until their two sons left home. When Kord was five and his brother eight, Mom and Dad seemed normal. They did family things: vacations, taking his brother to soccer and baseball. Whatever his parents had experienced that turned them into alcoholics had left Kord questioning the purpose of life and if a God existed who cared about humans.
This was why he’d steered clear of relationships. How could he father a child when he had no clue what being a good parent meant? He’d been scarred and recognized it. Why subject a wife or child to his confusion? But since meeting Monica, he wanted to try, make a difference.
What had blasted his parents’ lives? The only person who might have an idea was his brother. Kord spoke into his iPhone for Siri to call Blake’s private number at his law firm, and his brother answered on the second ring.
“This is Kord. Got a minute?”
“Fire away. Welcome the interruption from research.”
“Tried to have a conversation with Mom, but she thought I was you. Peculiar question here, but what caused our parents to dive into the bottle?”
“Thought you knew.”
“I was five.”
“Right. You were five when Mom got pregnant. Twin girls. She and Dad were happy. Mom lost them and the doctor told her she couldn’t have any more children. She had a nervous breakdown. Dad started drinking, and Mom climbed in there with him.”
“That’s how it all started?”
“Yep. Neither of them ever recovered.”
“Sad,” Kord said. “No purpose in life but the next drink.”
“Sure says good things about how they felt about you and me. Smartest thing they ever did was give us the high road.”
“Maybe we should try to help.”
“Are you crazy? Trust me, they don’t want it. Dad’s brother tried years ago and gave up. The parents are pathetic.”
“But they are our parents.”
“Forget it. I have a law practice and a new girlfriend. Why the interest now?”
Great question. “To understand the dysfunction. Help them find quality of life.”
“Leave that to professional shrinks.”
He and Blake talked awhile longer about sports and the weather until they both grew tired of talking to a stranger.
Why had Kord chosen today to probe deeper into their parents’ lives? If he admitted the truth, it was more about wanting proof of God. His parents’ inability to handle a tragedy only left him feeling empty. The more he deliberated it, the more he felt like a kid wanting attention from Mom and Dad, embarrassed he’d wasted time on a hopeless cause. No one in this world looked out for another, unless they were trained.