The Burning Edge

There was an automated announcement from the school on an upcoming parent–teacher night; a dental- appointment confirmation for Taylor; a message from Lisa’s friend Sophia: “Where are you? I’ve texted you a gazillion times. Did you sell the cabin? Are you coming to live in California? Call me, text me, anything.”

Then there was a message from the bank. “Donna Madsen, Mrs. Palmer. When it’s convenient, could you come in? We need you to sign…” That call was followed by a prerecorded telemarketing message —“Congratulations, you’re the lucky winner”—then another message from Sophia. “Getting ready to fly to London and still haven’t heard from you. I’m getting a little worried, so can you get back to me, please?”

Lisa wanted to text Sophia, but as she reached for her bag she realized that her cell phone had been taken in the crime. It triggered a sudden memory of the killer’s gun against the agent’s head then hers.

Focus on the here and now.

She would email Sophia later and let her know she’d “lost her phone,” but that everything was fine.

Right, fine in that I am alive.

Stop it. Concentrate on being a mom, on getting a grip.

Good advice, she thought, shuffling through her mail, most of it bills. She needed to get back to work. She’d planned to give it one more day before getting back into things but seeing the bills, she reconsidered the need to wait. Lisa called the school, informing the office that Ethan and Taylor would return to class tomorrow. Then she called the supermarket. She’d return to work tomorrow. Nick, her boss, was pleased.

Then she went through her bag and searched in vain for her work ID.

Where did I put it?

It was foggy as she went back over everything from her last shift. She had gone home from work and got ready for her overnight trip to the lake. She recalled holding her ID in her hand at some point. She always put it in her bag.

But it wasn’t there.

Maybe she left it on her dresser, or night table?

Entering her bedroom upstairs, she heard Dr. Sullivan’s muffled voice from down the hall. She was gently explaining to Ethan and Taylor how even though the bad guys “are likely very far away,” it was important to keep “all this stuff with the police secret so the bad guys didn’t know, so the police could catch them.”

This is the toll exacted on my family.

Lisa was hit with a sudden wave of sadness. She didn’t know if it was the room, a flash of Bobby, or something else. But having to swear her children to FBI secrecy because she’d witnessed a bloodbath, two years after their father had died, was a lot to ask.

This whole freakin’ mess was a lot to ask.

Lisa’s eyes stung.

She went to her dresser and traced her fingers tenderly over an elegant marble box, the cremation urn that held some of Bobby’s ashes. She roiled with emotion. It triggered the raw sensation of loss. Something had been stolen from her—the fragile peace of mind that she and the children had painfully rebuilt?

Hang on. Just hang on.

As a jetliner from La Guardia screamed its ascension across the distant sky, Lisa touched the corners of her eyes.

No, I refuse to let those monsters win. These bastards had no right to do what they did. I am taking back control of my life. I’ll spend every second of it praying for the FBI to catch those fuckers.

Looking at the urn, her heart aching, she assured herself that she would go back to the cabin, make their final tribute and start living the rest of their lives.

She’d do it for the kids, for Bobby.

And for me.

“Lisa?”

She turned to Dr. Sullivan.

“How are you doing?”

Lisa touched a tissue to her eyes. “You won’t believe me, but I feel stronger.”

“I believe you.”

“Just by being here, I feel like I am getting some control again”

“Lisa, of course you have to resume your life. Just know that it’s okay to accept any feelings, bad dreams, fears, anxieties. It’s all part of the trauma. Take your time, deal with them and move on. It’s part of the healing. To some extent you’ve already done that with Bobby and you’re still doing it.”

“It’s so hard.”

“Having us all around may give you a false sense of external security, might delay your healing. However, while you may be a little emotionally vulnerable, I sense that you’re very strong, incredibly strong, actually.”

A few moments of silence passed before Dr. Sullivan said, “I think Eve and I should go soon. You need to get back to your sense of normal. You have my number, so you or the kids can call me at any time for any reason.”

Dr. Sullivan hugged Lisa.

“Thank you.”

Downstairs, Eve Watson told Lisa her house was secure then passed her a business card with numbers penned on the back.

“The NYPD will have unmarked units swing by regularly, 24/7. Here are the precinct duty-desk numbers.”

Lisa nodded. Then, as Chan joined them, she lowered her voice.

“I plan to send the kids to school and get back to work tomorrow. I’m thinking after tonight, we should be okay on our own. What do you think?”

“Whatever you are comfortable with, Lisa,” Chan said. “We can stay with you as long as you like, but there’s been no evidence of a threat. Remember, our Behavioral Analysis Unit doubted that the suspects would have cause to attempt to pursue any witnesses. They don’t know who you are or where you live. They’re probably long gone from the Greater New York City Area.”

“Did anything come out of the tattoo yet?” Lisa asked.

Chan and Watson exchanged glances.

“We can’t say,” Watson said.

“Are you serious? After all I’ve gone through to help?”

“I’m sorry. It’s for operational reasons,” Watson said.

“Morrow’s orders,” Chan said.

Stung, Lisa realized she could learn more on the case from the press. The insult of shutting her out only fortified her decision about sending the kids to school and going back to work.

Watson was looking at her BlackBerry. “I just got this via the Hartford office. Agent Dutton’s funeral will be in two days in Bridgeport.”

“I want to attend,” Lisa said. “Will I be permitted?”

Chan and Watson threw her question to Dr. Sullivan.

“I’m the last person he saw,” Lisa said. “I need to be there.”

“I’ll give Morrow the heads-up,” Chan said. “We can take you.”

After Watson and Dr. Sullivan left, Rita said her goodbyes, too. Later, Ethan and Taylor played a computer game in the living room. Chan went to the guest room and worked quietly on her laptop while making calls on her cell phone. Lisa went to her own home computer, sent an email to Sophia, then started laundry.

In her small utility room, Lisa held fast to the therapeutic virtue of an ordinary task while she grappled with the aftermath of the last few days, and years, of her life.

As she loaded the washer, she reflected on Bobby’s death and widowhood, which was something that only happened to old ladies.

Or so she’d always thought.

I’m only thirty-one.

Nothing made sense to her. The life she’d known with Bobby was behind her. Selling the cabin was a turning point, a rose on the casket of a dream. She was preparing to move on when this—this horror happened.

I was a heartbeat away from death.