Diane Capri - Jack In A Box

Before his injury he never considered such things, never worried that he'd fail, never gnawed the consequences. Maria had handled the girls effortlessly and he'd swooped in to count noses and grab hugs before bedtime. Confidence had oozed from Gaspar's pores back then. Four kids hadn't seemed overwhelming. He hadn't felt boxed in so much as engulfed by creatures he loved more than anything.

Not any more. Adding a fifth child at this point terrified him. A boy. Boys needed a solid role model, a strong father like his own had been, but Gaspar's body refused to perform as required and he could barely keep his head in the game.

How would Maria manage the girls and a new baby while he worked the Reacher file, traveled all over the country, only coming home for brief stints, not knowing how long this assignment would go on, worried that the work would end too soon?

He shrugged again without realizing he'd moved this time. It was what it was.

As Otto said, only one choice. He'd do what he had to do.

Men work. Husbands work. Fathers work.

He had to work.

They needed the money.

Twenty years to go. Simple as that.

But he'd bought a big life insurance policy. Just in case.

FBI Special Agent Kim Otto had made a quick dash to Wisconsin over the weekend because Grandma Louisa Otto was dying. Not shocking, given her age. Modern medicine had pulled her through heart arrhythmias, osteoporosis, micro-strokes, and cancer, twice. This time she'd had another heart attack.

Kim doubted Grandma Louisa would actually die. Ever. Pure German stubbornness had kept her alive more than 102 years. Kim figured she had inherited the stubborn gene from Louisa.

But if death was to happen, Kim didn't want to be there to see it. She was not comforted by bodies in coffins or funerals or memorial services and avoided them whenever possible. Closure? Humbug.

“God knows how much longer she'll last, Kim,” her father said, probably noticing Kim's lack of enthusiasm for the trip.

“Is mom going?” Kim asked. Her stomach was already churning without the prospect of playing referee between Grandma Louisa and Sen Li. Kim reached into her pocket for an antacid and slipped it under her tongue.

“We've been there all week. We'll return Monday,” Dad replied, subdued. “Just go to Frankenmuth, honey. Say goodbye while you still can. You'll be glad you did.”

In what universe?

Still, her father rarely asked her for anything. Sen Li had drilled into her children from infancy-when there's only one choice, it's the right choice.

So she went.

Just in case.

Kim had flown out early, before she could chicken out. Adding two plane flights to her life was never her first choice, but too often it was her only option.

Miraculously, the plane didn't crash and she made it to Madison in one piece. Frankenmuth Otto Regional Hospital was a twenty-mile cab ride from the airport. She'd booked a two o'clock flight back to D.C. God willing, she'd arrive at Reagan National by five thirty. Plenty of time to take care of the things she needed to do before she met Gaspar Sunday. Get in, get out. That was her plan.

This could work , she thought, right up until the cab dropped her at the hospital's front entrance, when her internal response became, In what universe?

Nothing ever worked according to plan where her family was concerned. Dad had said he and his five siblings were posting a constant bedside vigil for Grandma Louisa, who had been a widow for decades. Kim shouldn't have been surprised to see the line of Ottos, all blonde and oversized, that snaked down the block from the hospital's entrance.

Mid-November was bleakly cold in Frankenmuth, Wisconsin. Men, women, and kids alike wore jeans, boots, and sweatshirts under coats, hats, and gloves. Practical, comfortable clothes. The kind Kim favored when she wasn't dressed for work. After all, she was German and oversized herself on the inside.

Only Kim's father had strayed from the family farm in Wisconsin, and he had traveled to neighboring Michigan at figurative gunpoint because his parents had refused to welcome his pregnant Vietnamese wife.

These Ottos served their community as farmers, shopkeepers, teachers, nurses, military, and a few, like Kim, were cops of one kind or another. Otto cousins lined up today because they worked during the week and Sunday was reserved for church.

Kim paid the cab driver and nodded to her cousins as she walked back to take her place at the end of the line. Shivering began immediately. Her suit was too thin a barrier for the Wisconsin wind. She turned up the jacket collar, stuffed her hands into the pockets, and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, attempting to gin up some body heat. The strategy didn't work well. Soon, the snowy concrete had transferred its glacial cold upward through the soles of her shoes.

Eventually, Kim reached the interior waiting room that had been overtaken by the Otto clan. She was in no hurry to approach Louisa's sickbed. She left the line and stood in a corner near the heat vent.

Kim absorbed the warmth through her pores while the noxious citrus scented air purifier attacked her sinuses, causing a sharp pain between her eyebrows at the bridge of her slender nose.

She was too cold to make conversation, but no one spoke much at all, and certainly not to her. Which was just fine. She felt as much an overwhelmed fish out of water as she always had among her fair-haired, blue-eyed, giant-sized cousins. None of the right-sized Ottos were older than eight and their conversational abilities would probably be all about age-appropriate video games anyway. The Ottos rarely spoke to her under normal circumstances; no reason to change things now. Kim shrugged.

As a child she'd wondered what it would feel like to be welcomed into this big, warm family. A long time ago, she’d realized she would never know that feeling. Every family needed its flock of black sheep. She was a Michigan Otto, born on the wrong side of the blanket as far as the Wisconsin Ottos were concerned. Period. End of story. She shrugged again. It was what it was.

A low murmur from the group interrupted Kim's thoughts and drew her glance toward the doorway. Attired in a full dress blue Class A Army uniform complete with ribbons, hat in hand, another Otto had entered the waiting area. Only one Otto was currently serving in the Army at that level, and only one Otto would compel the immediate respect that settled palpably over the room.

Kim had seen him maybe three times in her life before today and never in uniform, but she recognized Captain Lothar Otto instantly.

Literally the fair-haired boy of the moment, sported the unmistakable Otto family countenance, complete with caterpillar eyebrows and what Kim's father called a high, intelligent forehead, also known as a rapidly receding hairline. He'd grown up in Frankenmuth like all the normal Ottos, attended West Point, and then served the Army and fought in its wars. She’d heard he'd been wounded two years ago, but he looked fit enough today.

Ottos were not a demonstrative bunch by nature and Kim observed Lothar make the obligatory rounds seeming no more comfortable than she would have been. Men shook his hand or saluted respectfully; women nodded and smiled or saluted; children kept their distance and saluted.

Lothar’s identification was positively confirmed when he passed close enough for Kim to read his nametag, but he merely nodded toward her without stopping or noticing whether she nodded in reply. She didn't mind; she was no better at small talk than the rest of her family. She did not salute.

When Kim had absorbed enough real warmth to feel her toes again, she became aware of the lateness of the hour. She needed to do what she came for and get back to Madison for her flight back to DC.