It was never lost on me that she wanted me to come to terms with the probability my father was dead. She guided me right up to that point many times, but I never let her tip me over into it. It fascinated her, and now that he’s surfaced again, she’s eager to explore how it’s affecting me.
I feel like it's a disappointment to talk about. Of course, I'm thrilled that he's back and I can pick up the phone and call him anytime I want to. That I can ask him to send me a picture and get it in a text message seconds later. I know where he is and how he's doing. With a few exceptions of when he's gone on assignments, he's been back at the house and in a life just like before he left. Little has changed between us. We don't live together, and I have ten years of memories to tell him about, but there's no discomfort. No awkwardness.
My father was always a part of my world. Only now I can hear his voice. I can see him smile. There's more gray in his hair, more lines beside his eyes. But he is still my father. Nothing has changed.
Chapter Four
My phone rings as I'm leaned over, staring at containers of yogurt. I glance at the screen and smile.
“Hey, Dean,” I say, holding the phone between my shoulder and ear as I pick up two of the containers.
“What are you up to?” he asks.
“I am currently trying to determine if I am the type of woman who can eat sea salt caramel flavored yogurt,” I tell him.
“Doesn't that defeat the purpose of yogurt?” he asks.
“It's Greek,” I offer.
There's a brief pause.
“Does that mean anything?” he asks.
“I don't know. I think I'm going to take a walk on the wild side.”
“Go for it,” he says. I toss the yogurt into my cart.
“It'll be something I can talk to my therapist about at my next session,” I joke.
“How's that going?” he asks.
“I mean, it's therapy. So, it's not my favorite thing in the world. But I guess it's giving me the chance to vent a little. My last session was yesterday. I've been doing most of them on video chat, but I was in town yesterday, so I actually went into the office. I don't know why, but it feels completely different actually sitting there in the room with her.”
“Why were you in town? I didn’t think you were on an active investigation right now.” Dean says. “Were you seeing your dad?”
“No, it wasn’t for an investigation. I just finished consulting on a case, but it’s all remote. I saw Dad, but that wasn't why I was there. Greg's probate went through, so I was collecting his things,” I explain.
“Oh,” he says. “I'm—”
“Please don't say you're sorry,” I cut him off. “I have heard that so many times, and I just can't hear it anymore. Everything is out of his apartment, and most of it got donated right off the bat. I’m still going through a few of the boxes, but I don't really see myself keeping much if anything. It'll be a relief when that's over.”
“I haven't forgotten about him,” Dean assures me. “None of us have.”
“I know,” I tell him.
“We're going to figure out what happened to him.”
“I know,” I say.
I breathe through a tense silence, pushing my cart along the too-bright grocery aisle.
“Well, what else? I feel like I haven't talked to you in forever. What's been going on in your neck of the woods?”
“Not a lot, to be honest with you. I'm technically working in the police department with Sam in between working on cases. I go with him for some of the calls and have helped with a couple of investigations over the last few months. But for the most part, I'm just home researching. Grocery shopping and game nights with Janet and Paul across the street are my big moments of excitement recently since I haven’t had to travel for a case lately. I know I made the right call by telling Creagan I should stay out of potentially high profile, in-person investigations and undercover work for a while. But it’s bringing up all kinds of confusion.”
“What do you mean?” Dean asks.
“My whole adult life has been about investigating crimes. It’s what I’m driven to do. But I’m not feeling as comfortable with it as I used to. There are times when I miss the undercover work or constantly being on the run. But when I think about it, there isn’t that spark that used to be there. I feel like I got into a rut and kind of hit a wall. The whole reason I went into the FBI was to find out what happened to my mother.”
“I know.”
“And that’s what I did. It took seventeen years of wondering. Ten years of investigating. But I finally got the answers I was looking for. And now I just wonder if that means I don’t have that purpose anymore. Maybe there’s supposed to be something else. I’ve fulfilled that mission. So, do I keep going? Or do I find out what else is ahead of me? I guess I am trying to figure out what comes next.”
“You'll figure it out,” he says. “I still think you need to really consider getting your private investigator's license.”
“So, we could go into a family business together?” I crack with a smile.
“Something like that,” he says. “If nothing else, it would be something to have in your back pocket. You might figure out something else that you want to do or decide to go back to the Bureau in a more active role in the next year or so. You might find that small-town living isn’t right for you and that you want to be back in the excitement of DC. Or that you want to stay a consultant like B rather than a
