“I couldn’t.”
“No, I insist.” Al gave John a devilish wink and pushed the rose into his hand. “It’s important to keep the romance strong, John. Us men have a habit of getting complacent, if you know what I mean.”
John grinned and took the rose. “You do have a point.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. Tell Diane to give Missy a call when she gets home. The annual block party is tomorrow and the wife wants to finalize who’s bringing what.”
The block party had become something of a tradition. Neighbors, new and old, would gather the first week of June in the park at the end of Willow Creek Drive. Each family was asked to bring a salad, main dish or dessert. The men organized games for the kids to play. It was a sweet way for the neighborhood to come together once a year. Build a sense of community. John had lived in suburbs outside New York City where you never knew the names of the people around you. Sequoyah Hills was different and John never stopped appreciating that fact.
“Okay, Al, I’ll tell Diane to give Missy a call.” John lifted the rose. “And thanks again.”
Al nodded. “Don’t mention it.”
Chapter 2
After entering the house, John searched out a vase for the rose. The kids would be home in a few hours and the tranquility he relished during the day would evaporate like early-morning lake mist. Gregory and Emma would tell him stories about their day and all the crazy things that had happened to them. John made sure to take an active role in his children’s lives. Already they were entering that challenging teenaged phase when they weren’t as enthusiastic about sharing. He’d learned to talk to them about their day and ask questions in a way that didn’t seem judgmental.
Greeting them after school was one of the benefits of being self-employed. He’d built his home office in the basement and soundproofed it using rockwool insulation. John worked mostly with contracts involving renovations. Sometimes that meant showing up on site to ensure the work was being done properly. It also meant a lot of paperwork and phone calls with suppliers, subcontractors and engineers.
Not long ago, he’d begun the largest project of his career. A rich homeowner in Kingston Pike had hired him to oversee a million-dollar renovation on his two-story colonial-style mansion. The truth was, the guy would probably have been better off tearing the house down and starting fresh, but John could tell in that first meeting that this wasn’t about saving money. The man had made an emotional decision. He loved his home, but wanted the inside brought into the twenty-first century. Voice-controlled lighting. Touchscreens in every room. A fully integrated security system. Stress sensors in the floors designed to detect when someone was entering a room.
When the subcontractors John hired had done their work, the house would practically become a sentient being… so long as the electricity was running. John had spent considerable time trying to convince the owner to incorporate some other, lower-tech, security measures just in case inclement weather or some other unforeseen event cut the power. Of course, it wasn’t a huge shock that the home owner had turned him down. After all, this was the digital age, wasn’t? Like Al had said, what could go wrong that wouldn’t be fixed by city workers within forty-eight hours?
John was in the middle of faxing the latest drafts he’d received from the architect when the kids arrived home. The front door slammed shut followed by a pair of schoolbags being dropped.
Another two weeks and both Gregory and Emma would be off school for the summer, a time for family trips to the cabin John was eagerly looking forward to. Up until now Emma had been reluctant to take up shooting, even with the Walther P22 he’d bought her this past Christmas as a starter pistol. Wasn’t her thing, she’d said, and he respected that. It didn’t seem to matter that the skills he was preparing to teach her now might save her life someday.
He could hear the kids running around upstairs raising a ruckus and John marched up the basement steps two at a time to find out what all the fuss was about. He reached the main floor right as Gregory ran past him, followed closely by Emma.
“You better not,” she was shouting. “I swear to God, you better not.”
“Hey,” John said sternly. “I don’t wanna hear anyone swearing to God.”
Both of the kids stopped, out of breath. Gregory was wearing the kind of sly smile common to little brothers around the world. It was clear he’d been teasing his sister again. Both of them were out of breath. Emma was visibly upset.
“Now does someone wanna explain what this is all about or do I send you both to your rooms?”
Emma glared at Gregory. “He’s telling lies and I want him to stop.”
Indignation from Gregory. “I’m not lying, Dad.”
“I don’t even know what you said.”
“Emma has a boyfriend,” Gregory spat out as fast as he could.
“That’s not true,” she screamed. “See, I told you he was lying.”
John swallowed hard. His daughter had recently entered that age that most fathers hated. At fourteen she was starting to feel as though she was becoming a woman, but without any of the accompanying maturity or wisdom that went along with making adult decisions.
On the horizon lay young men ringing the bell and asking if they could take Emma on a date. Nowadays most of that was done in secret. Wasn’t like the old days when you actually sought the parents’ permission. But John tried to keep a healthy dialogue with his kids, if for no other reason than so they didn’t feel they needed to hide anything from him. It set him apart from other dads, but he always felt it was better to know before things got out of hand.
“Well, it’s normal that boys’ll start to notice you,” John said, feeling a bit awkward. Emma’s cheeks began glowing red. Gregory buried his face in his hands and giggled.
“You’re not helping, bud,” John told his son. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and start peeling the potatoes we’re gonna have for dinner tonight.”
Gregory turned to do as he was told.
“Does he have a name?” John asked Emma.
“Come on, Dad.”
“OK, OK. All I’m gonna say is I trust you’ll bring him over soon so I can meet him.”
She nodded reluctantly. He pulled her into a hug, aware of how quickly his kids were growing up. It had been a while since they’d hit a major milestone. Losing baby teeth, learning to ride a bike. Each of those had come and gone and now here was one more reminder that time could never be slowed or turned back. If anything, it seemed to fly by at ever-increasing speeds.
Emma went up to her room to listen to music and cool down while John made his way to the garage. In addition to the bunker, he’d also invested in a black 1978 Chevy Blazer, 6.2l diesel engine, with a Westin HDX stainless-steel grille guard.
Older cars and trucks were easier to maintain and find parts for in a SHTF scenario. He liked his Blazer so much he’d even named her Betsy. Whenever a call came and John was in the garage, Diane would tell them he was out with his mistress.
But all kidding aside, Betsy was John’s main bug-out vehicle (BOV) and he’d designed her for stealth and safety. These days many in the prepper community opted for the intimidation factor: camo paint jobs, armor-plating, gun ports. All that was fine and dandy, but when and if the stuff ever hit the fan, keeping a low profile would be the key to survival. That was one of the benefits of the cabin they had up in northern Tennessee. Sequestered away from any of the main highways and emergency escape routes, it had enough stored food, fuel and water to last his family close to a year. He’d also decided long ago not to leave any of his vast array of weapons there since it might encourage theft. The rest of his supplies were camouflaged well enough behind false walls and holes he’d dug around the property.