The shower washes away the filth but not the exhaustion. Gallie and I convene in her room to write the report. But first things first. I tell her we don’t need separate rooms. After our adventures in every dark corner of the barn loft and every glade of an eighteenth century forest, it’s too late to be coy. But like a girlfriend reluctant to get up to anything under her parents’ roof, she tells me no. I ask for a reminder of whether this is 1996 or 1956. She suggests we get on with the report. I’m going to be just next door, I remind her as I drain my third cup of coffee and she opens the report template with an air of I’ll pretend you didn’t saythat.
Zhivov pops his head around the corner to tell us we’re meeting with Prasad first thing tomorrow morning and he wants to have fully digested the report before then. So get the hell on with it, he leaves unsaid.
How do we resolve this? What does a resolution even look like? My team needs to be rescued, intact, for sure. But the arms trafficking? How to deal with that? Maybe cut it off at the pass? Prevent it from happening in the first place? No. Prasad had said that following the timeline is always the way to go–the way that doesn’t pile on the harm. Mitigate what was done, but don’t try to prevent it. But my mind is in no state to try and comprehend that distinction. I got the sense that even the great Prasad himself doesn’t have all of this crystal clear in his mind. Gallie types, asks questions, then types more as I look over her shoulder.
FORTY
I’m exhausted but can tell there’s no sleep to be had. The red figures on the bedside clock count the passing minutes and it’s gone midnight. Truth is, I’ve gotten used to Gallie’s warmth and the sound of her breathing. I hear the rumble of distant thunder and try taking a few deep breaths to settle me.
Then I hear the creak of a door. A silhouette appears briefly against the subdued light of the corridor before the door closes again. I look up through the roof to the heavens. He does exist. She sits on the side of my bed and I reach out to touch her leg.
“Hi Joad,” Bess whispers.
“What? No. What?” I pull myself up and bring up my knees.
“Did I wake you?” she asks.
“No. Yes. What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry. I startled you.”
“No, it’s fine. Sorry. I’m exhausted.”
“It’s just that ... we don’t get much chance to be alone. And I think we need to talk, don’t we?”
“Do we? Yes. Tomorrow maybe?” I say. “I’m so tired right now. You must be, too.”
There’s a silence and then she says, “This is weird for me. I know we’re closer to home than we just were but that makes it weirder. Do you know what I mean? It’s the same and different.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“I don’t really know what’s out there, except that right now there’s a ten year-old Elizabeth Sato in Honolulu with her family. How strange is that?” I nod in the dark and there’s another silence. “Joad,” she says. “I don’t want to seem pushy but I’ve been thinking about something and I just need to say it.” No, no, I think. “Is that okay?”
“Tomorrow will be better, Bess. I’m barely conscious.”
“Should we give it another go? I mean, try to pick it up where we left off?”
“One date is where we left off, Bess.” My heart is thudding and I reminisce fondly about the relative comfort of being caught in a spray of automatic gunfire.
“But not in your version, Joad. We were married for a long time. You and me. That’s what we can pick up again, can’t we?” More silence. “I’m sorry. I’m scaring you.” There’s a clap of thunder that seems close.
“Bess, the truth is, it wasn’t working out that well for us.”
“Why not?”
“Well. You know, we’re both good people, but we just didn’t fit together well. We were going in our own directions. The Bess I knew would agree with that.”
“Would she? That’s why I’m talking about a fresh start. Literally. How many couples get a chance like this?” She places her hand on my arm. I say nothing. I hear her sigh. “What’s wrong with me Joad?”
“Nothing, Bess. Really”
“I’m a disaster. Every decision I make about men is a disaster. I blow you off after a single date and then the men I do pick are bastards and deranged. My last husband wanted to use nuclear weapons against ancient Mongols, and he wasn’t even the craziest one. I just want to catch a plane to Honolulu and tell that ten year-old not to turn into such a stupid bitch.”
“It’s not that–” I start to say, but then I hear the creak of my door and again a silhouette moves across the opening. I fumble to turn on my bedside lamp and squint.
“I’m sorry,” Gallie says, pulling her dressing gown tight around herself. “I didn’t know you were busy.”
“No, I’m not,” I say and Bess gives me a discomfited look. “We were just talking about–” I shake Bess’s hand off my arm and only then notice that she’s wearing nothing but an oversized tee-shirt.
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t want to interrupt,” Gallie says smiling at Bess. With that she leaves.
“Fuck,” I say.
“You have more traffic than I-5,” Bess says. “What do you think she wanted?” I know exactly what she wanted, but not nearly as much as I did.
“Tomorrow Bess. I’m exhausted,” I say, lying back down and turning over with finality.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Maybe we both have a few things to think about.”
FORTY-ONE
In the detection facility meeting room with me is
