I place a hand on Alan's shoulder. 'It's okay.'
They glare at each other for a moment longer. It's Alan who breaks away with a sigh. James gives me one long, appraising look, then turns back to the file he was reading.
Alan shakes his head at me. 'Sorry.'
I smile. How can I explain to him that even this, those Damien ways, is somehow a
I walk all the way into the office, scanning the desks and the corkboards. Callie has been running things while I've been gone, and she takes the lead in responding.
'It's been quiet for us, honey-love.' Callie calls everyone honey-love. As legend goes, she has an actual written reprimand on file for calling the Director honey-love. It's a complete affectation, taken on to amuse herself. Callie isn't Southern in the slightest. It annoys some people to no end; to me it's just Callie. 'Nothing serial, two abductions. We've been working on some of the older, colder cases.' She smiles. 'Guess all the bad guys went on vacation with you.'
'How did the abductions turn out?' Child kidnappings are part of the butter on our bread, and are something dreaded by all decent men and women in law enforcement. They are rarely about money. They are about sex and pain and death.
'One recovered alive, one recovered dead.'
I stare at the corkboards, not really seeing them. 'At least both were recovered,' I murmur. Far too often, this is not the case. Anyone who thinks no news is good news has never been the parent of a kidnapped child. In this case, no news is a cancer that does not kill but instead hollows out the soul. I have had parents coming to see me over the years, hopeful for news of their child, news I didn't have. I have watched them get thinner, more bitter. Seen hope die in their eyes, and gray hairs cover their heads. In those cases, finding the body of their child would be a blessing. It would at least let them grieve with certainty. I turn to Callie. 'So how do you like being the boss?'
She gives me a patented, pretend-haughty Callie smile. 'You know me, honey-love. I was born to be royalty, and now I have the crown.'
Alan snorts at this, followed by an actual guffaw.
'Don't listen to this peasant, dear,' Callie says with disdain. I laugh, and it's a good laugh. A real one that catches you by surprise the way a laugh ought to. But then it continues a little longer than it should, and I'm horrified to feel tears welling up in my eyes.
'Oh, shit,' I mumble, wiping my face. 'Sorry about that.' I look up at them and give them both a weak smile. 'It's just really good to see you guys. More than you know.'
Alan, the man-mountain, moves to me, and without warning, wraps me in those tree-trunk arms. I resist for only a moment before hugging him back, my head against his chest.
'Oh, we know, Smoky,' he says. 'We know.'
He lets me go, and Callie steps forward, pushing him aside.
'Enough touchy-feely,' she snaps. She turns her head to me. 'Let me take you to lunch. And don't bother trying to say no.'
I feel tears coming again, and all I can manage is a nod. Callie grabs her purse, then grabs my arm, and hustles me toward the door. 'Be back in an hour,' she calls over her shoulder. She shoves me out the door, and once it closes, the tears begin to flow freely. Callie gives me a little sideways hug.
'Knew you wouldn't want to start bawling in front of Damien, honey-love.'
I laugh through my tears and just nod, taking the tissue she gives me, and letting her strength lead me in my moment of weakness.
7
WE'RE SITTING INSIDE a Subway sandwich store, and I'm watching in fascination as Callie fills her apparently hollow leg with a footlong meatball sandwich. I've always wondered how she does it. She can pack away more food than a linebacker, and yet she never gains a pound. I smile, thinking maybe it's those five-mile jogs she does, every morning, seven days a week. She licks her fingers loudly, smacking her lips with such enthusiasm that two older ladies shoot us a look of disapproval. Satisfied, she sighs and settles back, sipping on her Mountain Dew through a straw. It strikes me that this, right here, is the essence of Callie. She does not just watch life go by, she devours it. She gulps it down without chewing, and always goes back for more. I smile to myself, and she frowns, shaking a finger at me.
'You know, I brought you to lunch because I wanted to tell you how pissed off I am at you, honey-love. No returning my calls, not even an e-mail. Not acceptable, Smoky. I don't care how fucked up you are.'
'I know, Callie. And I'm sorry. I mean it--I'm really, truly sorry.'
She stares at me for a moment, an intense stare. I've seen her give it to a criminal or two, and I feel I deserve it. It passes and she smiles one of those radiant smiles, waving her hand. 'Apology accepted. Now for the real question: How are you? I mean, really. And don't lie to me.'
I stare off for a moment, stare at my sandwich. Look at her. 'Until today? Bad. Real bad. I have nightmares, every night. I've been depressed, and it's only been getting worse, not better.'
'Been thinking about killing yourself, haven't you?'
I feel the same jolt, at a lower frequency, that I felt in Dr. Hillstead's office. Here, I somehow feel more ashamed. Callie and I have always been close, and whether spoken or expressed, there is a love there. But it's been a love based on strength, not weeping on each other's shoulders. I am afraid that this love would lessen or disappear if Callie had to pity me. But I answer.
'I thought about it, yes.'
She nods and then is silent, looking off to something or somewhere I can't see. I feel a prick of deja vu; she looks as Dr. Hillstead looked, trying to decide which fork in the road to take. 'Smoky, there's nothing weak about that, honey-love. Weakness would be actually pulling the trigger. Crying, having nightmares, being depressed, thinking about killing yourself, those things don't make you weak. They just mean you hurt. And anyone can hurt, even Superman.'
I stare at her and am at a loss for words. One hundred percent lost, I can't think of a thing to say. This is just not what Callie does, and it has caught me by surprise. She gives me a soft smile.
'You know, you have to beat it, Smoky. Not just for you. For me.' She sips her drink. 'You and I, we're alike. We've always been golden. Things have always gone our way. We're good at what we do--hell, we've always been able to be good at anything we put our minds to, you know?'
I nod, still speechless.
'I'm going to tell you something, honey-love, something philosophical. Note it on your calendar, because I'm not one to get deep in public.' She puts down her drink. 'A lot of people paint that same, tired old picture: We start out innocent and bright-eyed, and then we become jaded. Nothing's ever quite as good again, blah, blah, blah. I've always thought that was a pile of poop. Not all lives start out innocent and Norman Rockwell, now, do they? Ask any child in Watts. I've always thought it's not so much that we learn that life is shit. It's that we learn that life can hurt. Does that make sense?'
'Yes.' I'm mesmerized.
'Most people get hurt early. You and I--we've been lucky. Very, very lucky. We see the hurt, doing what we do, but it's never been us. Not really. Look at you--you found the love of your life, had a beautiful child, and you were an ass-kicking FBI agent, a woman no less, all on the rise like a bright, shooting star. And me? I haven't done so bad either.' She shakes her head. 'I've managed not to get too full of myself, but the truth is, I've always had my pick of the guys, and I was lucky enough to have a brain to go with the bod. And I'm good at what I do at the Bureau. Real good.'
'You are,' I agree.
'But, see, that's just it, honey-love. You and I have never really experienced tragedy. We're alike in that way. Then all of sudden, the bullets stopped bouncing off of you.' She shakes her head. 'The moment that happened, I couldn't be fearless, not anymore. I was afraid, really afraid, for the first time in my life. Ever. And I've been afraid ever since. Because you are better than me, Smoky. You always have been. And if it can happen to you, it can damn
