"Agreed. We'll let Lippitt take the responsibility for deciding who should be told what."
"I wonder what the hell is happening in the outside world?"
"I don't know, and I don't give a shit."
"Mongo, we should really start reading newspapers and watching television again."
"Not today."
Our parents and Lippitt, on their daily walk, emerged from the apple orchard across the stream. Their arms linked, they ambled slowly in our direction along the opposite bank. Garth and I might have felt a tad depressed, but our mother and father certainly didn't; they hadn't stopped grinning since the day, four months before, when Lippitt, driving a sleek government limousine, had pulled into their driveway. And they never seemed to tire of Lippitt's company, nor he of theirs. My mother looked radiant, my father looked ten years younger. Lippitt looked… like Lippitt.
"Mongo, just for the sake or argument, let's assume he was right. Maybe, if we told people, it could change the outcome."
"Loge said no. Let Lippitt decide; he's the one with the direct phone lines to the White House, Congress, and the Pentagon. Maybe he's already told them."
"No," Garth said. "He may have told them everything else, and he's probably directing the cleanup operation.. but he hasn't told them what the Valhalla Project was really all about. I'm certain of it. He's still mulling it over, trying to decide what to do next. The same with Rafferty. If either had made that decision, there'd be no reason for them to stay holed up here with us. Lippitt talks only on the telephone; he's no more ready to go back than we are."
"Hey, you two fishermen!" my mother called, waving to us from across the stream. "Come on back now and wash up. Lunch is in half an hour, and you're getting your favorite dessert."
"Okay, Mom," I said, starting to reel in my line.
"Xavier just never seems to run out of stories about the two of you." She paused, put on a mock frown. "But he says you curse a great deal."
Garth and I looked at each other, and we both started howling with laughter.
"Xavier?!"
Lippitt's frown was genuine as he stepped to the bank, put his arm gently around my mother's waist and pointed a very menacing forefinger in our direction. "I'll always be Mr. Lippitt to the two of you, and don't you ever forget it!"
"Come on," I said, rising to my feet as our parents and a stiff-backed Lippitt continued on down the bank, toward the house. "Xavier will be cranky if we're late for lunch."
"Okay," Garth said, still chuckling. "Just give me a minute to get this line free."
"The hell with the line."
Shhh.