Page 68 of Extreme Measures (Mitch Rapp 11)

Nash looked over at the ten-year-old, who was glued to the TV. Reluctantly, he turned Charlie around and sniffed his backside. With a sour face, Nash said, “Oh God, that stinks.”

“I told you,” the ten-year-old said after downing another spoonful of cereal.

“Your mother teach you how to change a diaper yet?”

“Nope”—Jack shook his head—“that’s women’s work.”

Nash wanted to laugh, but resisted the urge. “You better not let your mother hear you say that.”

Jack slowly turned toward his father, his mouth half open. “Who do you think I got that line from?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re ten. You talk like that around your mother, and you’re likely to get your butt swatted.” Then under his breath he said, “And I’ll really get in trouble.”

“I learned it from you, Dad.”

Nash carried Charlie through the kitchen and as he passed, his ten-year-old mumbled, “I’m surrounded by traitors.” He continued into the living room and set Charlie down on the floor. Kneeling next to him, he grabbed some wet wipes and a fresh diaper from the bookshelf. Charlie lay on his back with his feet up making motorboat noises with his lips. Nash laughed at his little tuft of fine blond hair. Other than that, he was pretty much bald. Nash got everything ready and then went in. He unsnapped the inseam on the kid’s bib overalls and undid the old diaper. A heinous mix of rotten vegetables and diarrhea wafted out from under the freed diaper.

Nash turned his head away and snatched a breath of fresh air. “Now, this is torture.” He looked back down at Charlie and said, “What are they feeding you, little buddy? This is horrible.” Turning his head back toward the kitchen, he yelled, “Jack, get in here.”

A moment later the sandy haired, flat-topped ten-year-old appeared. “Yeah, Dad?”

Nash finished wiping all the crevices and then rolled the old diaper up tight and sealed it. “Throw this in the diaper pail.” He saw his son’s apprehension and added a “please” for good measure. His wife claimed the kids would be more open to helping out if everyone around the house was a little more polite. Nash countered that he’d gotten a lot of shit done in the Marine Corps, and so did his men, and no one ever said please to anyone. Maggie countered that he was no longer a Marine, nor were any of their kids.

Nash held out the softball-sized diaper.

The ten-year-old held his ground. “You’re three weeks behind on my allowance.”

“Yeah…well, you’re ten years behind on rent, so unless you want to end up sleeping in the diaper pail, get your butt moving.”

The kid lifted his Boston Celtics jersey over his nose and mouth and grabbed the diaper with two fingers like it was a hunk of radioactive waste. The smell still lingered, so Nash decided to give Charlie a bath. He carried him into the mudroom and started to fill the laundry tub. Jack came back in from his trip to the garage as his father was sticking the stopper in the bottom of the tub.

“How was school today?”

“Good…how’s your back?”

“Better, thank you.”

“And your melon.” Jack pointed at his own head.

Nash smiled. Jack was the family comedian. “The melon is okay today. Not great, but okay. Did you have a test today?”

“Quiz.”

“How’d you do?”

“Twenty-five out of twenty-five.”

“Congrats,” Nash said as he added some soap to the water. “Did you finish your homework?”

“When was the last time I didn’t do my homework the minute I got home from school? It’s your other son you need to worry about…the troglodyte.”

Nash gave his third child a hard stare. “That’s a big word for a ten-year-old.” He set Charlie in the tub. “Do you even know what it means?”

Jack started dancing around like an ape. With his jaw stuck out, he said, “Caveman.”

With a fatherly look of disapproval he grabbed a washcloth for the baby. Rory, the second child, struggled in school, but excelled in sports. He was thirteen and a half and on the verge of shaving. “Jack, let me give you a little advice. Don’t say that to your brother.”

“He calls me girlie boy all the time.”

---