"I don't want you just taking off and leaving your mother to worry about what's happening to you," said Father. "I think it's very clear to all of us that young Mr. Delphiki here is a trouble magnet, and I think your mother has lost enough children without having to worry about something even worse happening to you."
It made Peter cringe the way Father always talked as if it were only Mother who would be worried, only Mother who cared what happened to him. And if it was true--who could tell, with Father?--that was even worse. Either Father didn't care what happened to Peter, or he did care but was such a git that he couldn't admit it.
"I won't leave town without checking in with Mommy," said Peter.
"You don't need to be sarcastic," said Father.
"Dear," said Mother, "Peter isn't five, to be rebuked in front of company." Which, of course, made him seem to be maybe six years old. Thanks so much for helping, Mom.
"Aren't families complicated?" said Sister Carlotta.
Oh, thanks, thou holy bitch, said Peter silently. You and Bean are the ones who complicated the situation, and now you make smug little comments about how much better it is for unconnected people like you. Well, these parents are my cover. I didn't pick them, but I have to use them. And for you to mock my situation only shows your ignorance. And, probably, your envy, seeing how you are never going to have children or even get laid in your whole life, Mrs. Jesus.
"Poor Peter has the worst of both worlds," said Mother. "He's the oldest, so he was always held to a higher standard, and yet he's the last of our children left at home, which means he also gets babied more than he can bear. It's so awful, the fact that parents are mere human beings and constantly make mistakes. I think sometimes Peter wishes he had been raised by robots."
Which made Peter want to slide right down into the sidewalk and spend the rest of his life as an invisible patch of concrete. I converse with spies and military officers, with political leaders and power brokers--and my mother still has the power to humiliate me at will!
"Do what you want," said Father. "It's not like you're a minor. We can't stop you."
"We could never stop him from doing what he wanted even when he was a minor," said Mother.
Damn right, thought Peter.
"The curse of having children who are smarter than you," said Father, "is that they think their superior rational process is enough to compensate for their lack of experience."
If I were a little brat like Bean, that comment would have been the last straw. I would have walked away and not come home for a week, if ever. But I'm not a child and I can control my personal resentments and do what's expedient. I'm not going to throw off my camouflage out of pique.
At the same time, I can't be faulted, can I, for wondering if there's any chance that my father might have a stroke and go permanently mute.
They were at the station. With a round of good-byes, Father and Mother took the bus north toward home, and Peter got on an east-bound bus with Bean and Carlotta.
And, as Peter expected, they got off at the first stop and crossed over to catch the westbound bus. They really made a religion out of paranoia.
Even when they got back to the airport hotel, they did not enter the building. Instead they walked through the shopping mall that had once been a parking garage back when people drove cars to the airport. "Even if they bug the mall," said Bean, "I doubt they can afford the manpower to listen to everything people say."
"If they're bugging your room," said Peter, "that means they're already on to you."
"Hotels routinely bug their rooms," said Bean. "To catch vandals and criminals in the act. It's a computer scan, but nothing stops the employees from listening in."
"This is America," said Peter.
"You spend way too much time thinking about global affairs," said Bean. "If you ever do have to go underground, you won't have a clue how to survive."
"You're the one who invited me to join you in hiding," said Peter. "What was that nonsense about? I'm not going anywhere. I have too much work to do."
"Ah, yes," said Bean. "Pulling the world's strings from behind a curtain. The trouble is, the world is about to move from politics to war, and your strings are going to be snipped."
"It's still politics."
"But the decisions are made on the battlefield, not in the conference rooms."
"I know," said Peter. "That's why we should work together."
"I can't think why," said Bean. "The one thing I asked you for--information about where Petra is--you tried to sell me instead of just giving it to me. Doesn't sound like you want an ally. Sounds like you want a customer."
"Boys," said Sister Carlotta. "Bickering isn't how this is going to work."
"If it's going to work," said Peter, "it's going to work however Bean and I make it work. Between us."