Early-morning sun baked the bedroom that Mary-Beth and JJ had been tossing in, and the bedding had all been pushed to the floor. Twelve hours had passed since John Senior showed up at the house to inform them that there had been a terrorist attack at the Madrid airport. They had both aged a lifetime since then.
The boys were alive, but they were still so far away.
Mary-Beth wiped day-old mascara from the wet, tender skin beneath her eyes. She shook her head at her husband. “I can’t go down there yet. Will you just sit with me for another minute?”
“I think they’re waiting for us.”
Mary-Beth didn’t move. She kept returning to the moment the night before when they finally got the call from DC confirming that the boys were okay. They had been sitting around the horseshoe of couches in the living room waiting, crying and watching cable news. It felt like hours, but maybe it had been only minutes. John Senior took the call, and it was clear on his face within seconds that the boys were alive. He had put a hand on JJ’s shoulder and squeezed, nodding. “They’re okay,” he’d said. “The bomb in the airport went off after their plane left the tarmac. They’re alive.”
Lucas and Cameron were alive. Mary-Beth had to say it to herself over and over again to remember that although it was unbearable to know that they were out in the world, this had been a good outcome. They were alive.
“Just sit another minute, JJ.”
JJ nodded and sat back on the bed, the same one they always stayed in when they were at the lake house. It was the same bed the boys had been conceived in sixteen years before. They had been conceived on Christmas, after a long day of celebrating. JJ and Mary-Beth usually tried to avoid sex at his parents’ house, but they were like magnets in those days, and resistance was futile. They’d exchanged gifts in private—a silk scarf for her and a knockoff briefcase for him—and then they slept together, within earshot of his brothers and their lovers, and that event cast them off on a new phase of life together. It was easy for Mary-Beth to remember how she’d felt that night, the levity of it all.
It was impossible to comprehend how they’d arrived at this point now, with her twin boys stranded in a foreign country after barely missing a terrorist attack, suited men from the FBI speaking in hushed tones downstairs.
What had Mary-Beth been thinking when she allowed her children to go on this trip? The physical tug of their absence suddenly pulled at her in a way that it hadn’t in over a decade. It was the pain of swollen breasts that begged to be nursed, the panic of lost toddlers in a department store and the guilt of countless near tragedies that accumulate over a childhood. Tumbles down a cement staircase, a sharp object in an electrical outlet, a bicycle veering into oncoming traffic—each one a searing reminder to never, ever take your eyes off your children for a second. The world is fraught with danger, and yet Mary-Beth had let her twins go.
She sat on the bed and buried her face in her husband’s shirt. Mary-Beth just wanted to hear their voices, to have evidence that they were okay.
JJ held her tightly as muffled sobs shook them both. “They’re safe, Mary. They’re safe.”
She came back up for air and rubbed her nose. “I know. I just can’t stop thinking about everything that could have happened.”
“Me, too.”
She knew JJ was also suffering, reliving every horrible possibility they’d been forced to consider. They’d spent four full hours of the night losing their minds before anyone could tell them whether or not Cam and Lucas had still been at the Madrid airport when the bomb struck. When they finally got word that the soccer team was safely on its way to Barcelona by then, Mary-Beth was sure her heart would never beat regularly again. She was alive, but forever damaged.
“They’re okay, Mary. They’re at the hotel in Barcelona now. The boys’ cell phones are in FBI custody for security reasons, but they’re going to call with the landlines this morning. It shouldn’t be long now.”
She blew her nose into an overused tissue. “I know. You’re right.”
“For now, we should just go back downstairs and hear what the FBI agents have to say. I think they’re waiting for us.”
Mary-Beth had been crying on and off in the bedroom all morning. She’d held it together for a while after they learned that Cam and Lucas were okay, but eventually she needed to escape and purge all the emotion that had been building inside her through the night. Her children were alive, but the possibility of their deaths was still in her body. And so she’d cried and keened until it was all expelled. Now she was empty, but not recovered.
“But why are they here, JJ? Do you think it’s a bad sign that the FBI are here?”
JJ had cried last night, too, wailed for a full minute. It wasn’t as long or as loud as his wife, but it was terrifying for both of them to see him so unraveled.
“It’s probably a formality or a courtesy because of Dad,” he said. “Maybe that’s all.”
Mary-Beth didn’t believe that and neither did her husband. She stood up from their bed and smoothed the wrinkled polo shirt she’d been wearing since yesterday. She again tried to wipe her smeared makeup from her cheeks. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Downstairs, the rest of the Bright family was sitting on sofas, facing the two suited men in armchairs. Everyone was drinking coffee out of handmade mugs and engaging in strained small talk. No one had slept through the night, and everyone looked exceedingly tired.
The suited agents stood up when JJ and Mary-Beth entered the room.
“Mr. and Mrs. Bright,” the first agent said, reaching a hand out for two quick shakes. “I’m sorry for the circumstances that bring us here. Very good to know your boys are safe.”
JJ nodded. “Thank you for coming. So what’s happening?” He sat at the edge of a couch cushion and leaned forward, elbows on knees.
Mary-Beth sat beside him.
The two men exchanged quick nods, and then the other agent jumped in. He was slightly younger, but with the same sharp haircut.
“Mr. and Mrs. Bright, we’re from the National Security Branch of the FBI. Our primary function is to detect and disrupt threats to the US, both here and abroad. We have reason to believe that the attack in Madrid was politically motivated, that the perpetrators were targeting Westerners. It’s still unclear who the specific target of this attack was.”
John Senior put his mug down loudly. “You think Americans were being targeted in Spain? Are you talking about my grandsons?”
“Not necessarily, Senator. But we can’t rule it out. Certainly, Europe was under attack here—there’s little question about that. But organizations like the ones we suspect are responsible for this are always looking for the broadest possible reach. To hit Europe and the US with one strike would be highly efficacious from their perspective.”
Spencer jumped in. “You think they were targeting the soccer team?”
“Possibly.”
“So what does this mean for the boys?” JJ demanded. “Are they safe in Barcelona?”
“Yes, the whole team is on their way to the US consulate now, which is where they’ll stay.”
“For how long?” Mary-Beth asked, her voice hoarse.
“They’ll have to wait until air traffic resumes in the region, which could be a few days. Could be a week. It’s hard to say.”
John pounded a fist into the coffee table. “Well, let’s get a government plane in there!”
“I’m sorry, Senator, that’s not going to be possible. We are working closely with Spanish and EU anti-terrorism authorities. These are close allies, and we defer to them on such matters. There can be no civilian air travel at this time.”
“This isn’t civilian air travel,” John said. “These children are terrorism targets now!”
“We don’t know that, sir. And until we do, they will receive the same treatment as the thousands of other air travelers who just missed this attack. There were a few other Americans on that flight, as well. They’ll all be taking commercial aircrafts home, too.”
John stood abruptly and walked to the kitchen to refill his mug. For as long as Mary-Beth had known him, he hadn’t considered himself a mere civilian.
Spencer cut in again. “So I’m confused. Do you think this is a random attack on a group of American schoolkids? Is it a coincidence that two of them happen to be related to a former US senator?”
The older suit shook his head. “We don’t know the answer to that. If the perpetrators didn’t know that the Senator’s grandsons were on this team, then it was probably a welcome surprise to them...no offense. But again—and I want to be clear about this—we don’t know for sure whether US citizens or the plane your grandsons were on were being targeted. It’s important that we not jump to conclusions. And it’s very important that we not get out ahead of ourselves publicly. So, if you folks could be discreet about this for a while—try to avoid any press inquiries—we would appreciate it.”
Mary-Beth, Ian and Philip nodded emphatically. The rest of the Brights made no such commitment.
Chelsea, who was at the far end of the couch looking tired, stared at her hands. She was as much a stranger to Mary-Beth as these FBI men.
Farah stood behind Chelsea, stick straight behind a camera on a tripod. The little red recording light was glowing out at them.
“Sorry, excuse me,” Mary-Beth interrupted. “We should turn off the camera for now. Let’s just keep them all off for the time being. Can we do that, please?”
Farah raised her eyebrows and looked at John Senior as he returned to the room. He shook his head and made a don’t mind her look.
“Don’t worry about the cameras,” JJ said to his wife.
“What?”
“Mary-Beth, this was part of the deal. The cameras stay on,” John Senior explained. “It’s okay, Farah.”
Mary-Beth made tight fists at her sides until her manicured fingernails were digging into the flesh of her palms. “I want the cameras off, JJ.”
He turned to her. “I can’t do anything about it, hon. We agreed to this. Let’s just focus on Lucas and Cam.”
Mary-Beth tried to breathe. Maybe it was true that they were contractually bound to have the cameras going, but it was also true that her husband and family could have stood up for her at that moment. They could have at least made an effort to request a moment of privacy on her behalf. They could have asked.
“Do we need some kind of security here?” Patty asked, moving on. “I mean, if this family was targeted in some way, are we in any danger?”
“We didn’t say that you were targeted, necessarily, ma’am. And it’s up to you whether or not to hire security. The federal government doesn’t offer Secret Service protection to someone in your husband’s position, but you might consider a private company.”
“We’ll get a few men out here,” John said. He turned to the suits. “And let your bosses know that I am requesting a secure line of communication be set up with the most senior person in your division. I will want to speak directly with him.”
They nodded politely, apparently accustomed to this variety of Washington bluster. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to accommodate you.”
“Fine, whatever,” the Senator said. “Thank you for coming. Please keep me apprised of every development.”
Spencer and JJ stood to shake the agents’ hands and walk them outside.
Through the window, Mary-Beth could see her husband wipe sweat from his face with an open palm. Next to him, Spencer was talking with the agents and gesturing emphatically. It was a relief to have Spencer—a foreign-policy expert—here. He, and all the Bright brothers, could be trusted to fight for her family. They were good for things like that.
When the agents drove away in their black sedan, JJ and Spencer came inside, and everyone returned to their position on the living room sofas.
JJ sat beside Mary-Beth and rubbed her back forcefully. She struggled to keep from crying again. “What did they say?”
Spencer took the floor. “They don’t know for sure, but this has all the signs of ISIS or a copycat group. They think the attackers made a last-minute attempt to change the location of the bomb once they learned that a bunch of American kids were passing through the airport. It wasn’t part of their original plan, but in the end, they were likely targeting the soccer team. Thank God they screwed that part up.”
“And what about Cam and Lucas?”
Spencer shook his head. “I don’t think this has anything to do with them specifically. Given that the attackers didn’t know there was an American team coming through until the last minute, it’s almost impossible that they would have known the identities of the individual kids. No one would have had time to figure out that a former senator’s grandkids were on the plane.”
Mary-Beth exhaled. “That makes me feel a little better. Do you think it should?”
Ian nodded from another couch. “Yes, definitely. It means no one is after them or their team in particular. It was just bad luck. Or, good luck, in a way.”
Everyone quietly considered the direction of their luck.
“Does this have something to do with the power outage?” Philip asked.
“Yes,” Spencer said. “They didn’t realize it immediately, but now it looks like those were tests, to determine the most vulnerable targets.”
“Oh no.”
“Yeah.”
At the far end of one couch, Chelsea began to snore. She’d nodded off with her head tilted back and her mouth wide open. Charlie nudged her softly and led her out of the room, upstairs to their bed.
“We should probably all try to sleep,” John Senior said. “We can’t stay awake forever.”
JJ nodded. “You guys go rest. Mary and I will stay down here by the phone in case the boys call. We’ll stretch out on the sofas for now.”
Patty nodded and began walking around the room, pulling gauzy curtains together in an effort to block some of the morning light.
“This is going to be okay,” Ian said, squeezing Mary-Beth’s shoulder before he left.
She smiled weakly.
Philip went next, but instead of walking upstairs, he went through the back door, holding the screen carefully to prevent it from slamming.
When everyone else was gone, Farah turned off the camera. She walked straight up to Mary-Beth and JJ.
“I just want you to know that I’m so, so sorry,” she said. And she looked it. Her large brown eyes—so exquisite up close—were red with exhaustion now, and puffy around the edges. “And also...if it’s really important to you...I’ll stop recording. This is real life. I get that. I’ll turn the cameras off if you say so.”
With this profoundly human acknowledgment, Mary-Beth felt the fat tears in her eyes spill over and down her cheeks. She leaned forward and, inexplicably, pulled Farah in, wrapping her arms around her for an awkward hug. She was suddenly grateful to have this young stranger here with them, seeing her and her pain. And although she thought she should ask to have the cameras turned off until this ordeal was resolved, she did not.
“Thank you,” Mary-Beth said.
JJ nodded with her.
And then Farah was gone and they were alone together with their anxiety.
JJ went to the adjacent sofa and stretched out, his large head and mussed hair resting on an undersized throw pillow.
Mary-Beth tipped to one side and rested her own head on the tufted sofa arm. She pulled her legs up against her body. The softness of the couch against the massive weight of her exhaustion felt wonderful, but she didn’t want to feel wonderful. She wanted to hear her sons’ voices.
It was all so excruciating and also somehow expected. She had wasted all these years trying to power through her motherly anxieties and put on a brave face, when in fact she had been right all along: the world was fraught with danger. Her only mistake was in letting down her guard for a moment.
Mary-Beth had always understood that the depth of her love for her children was in direct proportion with the world’s capacity to exact pain on her. The more she loved them, the more she could be hurt. The more joy she felt in their presence, the more their absence would gut her. She felt sure now, as she looked directly at her pain, that this was the predominant experience of motherhood.
Sometimes, in their normal life in the suburbs of DC, Mary-Beth would walk down the street and look around at all the women who might be mothers themselves, and she would marvel at their collective functionality. All these mothers, just going about their day, chatting with each other, talking on the phone and strolling through the grocery store, as if they weren’t haunted to a state of near paralysis by all the dangers that threaten to harm their offspring at every living moment. Look at us! she wanted to yell. What a feat this is! We’re alive and functioning! She often thought there was no braver act than a mother waking up every day and pretending to live like an unburdened person.
Mary-Beth’s eyes fluttered as she drifted in and out of a dreamless rest.