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“Which time? Because I heard there were more than one incident.”
“Any time,” said William. “Did you have something to do with it?”
Fiona smiled. Then suddenly she became enraged and grabbed one of the two glasses of water on the table. She angrily threw that water at Joy.
Joy backed up as the cold water hit her in the chest.
“Bitch!” Fiona said angrily to Joy. “Look how you’re turning my own son against me. You black bitch!”
William removed his arm from around Joy’s waist ready to defend her, but Joy, tired of that woman playing in her face, quickly grabbed the second glass of water and threw it at Fiona. “Wet bitch!” she said angrily too.
Fiona backed up, as she felt the sting of that cold water hitting her face. “How dare you!” Fiona cried.
But then, to Joy’s shock, people in the dining hall began clapping. They saw who initiated that water toss. They didn’t like Fiona either.
But Fiona was livid. “Arrest her at once!” she yelled at the manager as he hurried over. “Look what that trollop did to me!”
“You started it,” William said. “She finished it. Good day, Mother,” he said harshly and he and Joy went back across the room to their booth. The manager escorted Fiona and Cassidy out.
As Joy and William settled back down and the diners went back to minding their own business, Joy was still wondering. “She has the hate to do it,” she said to William.
“Certainly. But does she have the nerve? That’s always the issue with my mother. She’ll go to the ledge alright, but she never jumps off.”
“There’s always a first time for everything.”
William thought about it. But the very idea that his mother would place him in that level of danger was a bridge he wasn’t willing to cross. He couldn’t pull himself to go that far.
Joy looked at him. “What’s a trollop?” she asked him just as his phone began ringing.
William laughed out loud. Youth, he thought! And then he pulled out his phone. And then frowned.
“Is it Max?” Joy asked him anxiously when she saw that concerning look on his face.
“No.”
“Then who is it?”
William didn’t answer her. He answered the call. “Hello?”
It was a woman’s voice. “May I speak with William Skeffington, please.”
“This is he.”
“I am Director Reese’s private secretary. He wishes to speak with you, sir. Please hold.”
William exhaled. Then he looked at Joy. “It’s Director Reese.”
Joy frowned. “Who’s Director Reese?”
“Hamilton Reese.”
Joy’s jaw dropped. “The director of the CIA?”
“The former director, yes.”
Then the director came on the line. “William?”
“Hammer, hello. How are you, buddy? Haven’t heard from you in a month of Sundays.”
