Brother Odd

importance. By that, I do not mean only your… gift. I mean I did not know the kind of man you are."
        Although I wouldn't have thought the Russian could be a medicine for melancholy, he suddenly proved to be an effective mood-elevator.
        "What did your father do, sir?" I asked.
        "He prepared people for death, Mr. Thomas."
        Heretofore, I had not seen Sister Angela nonplussed.
        "So it's a family trade, sir. Why do you so directly call your mother an assassin?"
        "Because, you see, technically an assassin is one who proceeds only against highly placed political targets."
        "Whereas a mortician is not as choosy."
        "A mortician is not indiscriminate, either, Mr. Thomas."
        If Sister Angela didn't regularly attend tennis matches as a spectator, she would have a sore neck in the morning.
        "Sir, I'll bet your father was also a chess master."
        "He won only a single national championship."
        "Too busy with his career as a mortician."
        "No. Unfortunately, a five-year prison sentence fell at that very point at which he was at his most competitive as a chessman."
        "Bummer."
        As Romanovich gave me the laminated photo-ID card with embedded holographs, which he had taken from his wallet, he said to Sister Angela, "All of that was in the old Soviet, and I have confessed it and atoned. I have long been on the side of truth and justice."
        Reading from the card, I said, "National Security Agency."
        "That is correct, Mr. Thomas. After watching you with Jacob and with this girl here, I have decided to take you into my confidence."
        "We must be careful, Sister," I warned. "He may only mean that he is a confidence man."
        She nodded but seemed no less perplexed.
        "We need to talk somewhere more private," Romanovich said.
        Returning his NSA credentials, I said, "I want a few words with the girl."
        As once more I sat on the floor near Christmas, she looked up from her book and said, "I like cats, too, b-b-but they aren't dogs."
        "They sure aren't," I agreed. "I've never seen a group of cats strong enough to pull a dogsled."
        Picturing cats in the traces of a sled, she giggled.
        "And you'll never get a cat to chase a tennis ball."
        "Never," she agreed.
        "And dogs never have mouse breath."
        "Yuck. Mouse breath."
        "Christmas, do you really want to work with dogs one day?"
        "I really do. I know I could do a lot with dogs."
        "You have to keep up rehab, get back as much strength in your arm and leg as you can."
        "Gonna get it all b back."
        "That's the spirit."
        "You gotta retrain the b-b-brain."
        "I'm going to stay in touch with you, Christmas. And when you're grown up and ready to be on your own, I have a friend who will make sure you'll have a job doing something wonderful with dogs, if that's still what you want."
        Her eyes widened. "Something wonderful-like what?"
        "That'll be for you to decide. While you're getting stronger and growing up, you think about what would be the most wonderful job you could do with dogs-and that will be it."
        "I had a good dog. His name was F-Farley. He tried to save me, but Jason shot him, too."
        She spoke about the horror with more dispassion than I could have done, and in fact I felt that I would not maintain my composure if she said another word about it.
        "One day, you'll have all the dogs you want. You can live in a sea of happy fur."
        Although she couldn't go directly from Farley to a giggle, she smiled. "A sea of happy fur," she said, savoring the sound of it, and her smile sustained.
        I held out my hand. "Do we have a deal?"
        Solemnly, she thought about it, and then she nodded and took my hand. "Deal."
        "You're a very tough negotiator, Christmas."
        "I am?"
        "I'm exhausted. You have worn me down. I am bleary and dopey and pooped. My feet are tired, my hands are tired, even my hair is tired. I need to go and have a long nap, and I really, really need to eat some pudding."
        She giggled. "Pudding?"
        "You've been such a tough negotiator, you've so exhausted me that I can't even chew. My teeth are tired. In fact my teeth are already asleep. I can only eat pudding."
        Grinning, she said, "You're silly."
        "It's been said of me