the Academy at Quantico but had a three-day weekend. He met me in front of the gates in a rented convertible. We drove almost eight hours, and no matter how many times I asked, he wouldn’t tell me where we were going. Not that I minded. We spent the time singing along to the radio and talking about nothing and everything. Right before the state line, we had to stop for gas. When he came back out from paying, he had that shirt with him. It was the first thing he ever gave me. Eventually he stole it from me, wearing it to the gym or to work. When I saw it that morning, my breath stopped. I held it up to my nose for a minute. It still smelled like him—coffee and that deodorant he always wore. When I finally regained my composure, I tossed the shirt back in the box, whispering, “I’m sorry, babe.” I grabbed the recorder and ran back upstairs to begin my vigil.
My security system buzzed, bringing me out of the bad thoughts. I got up to push the button to open the gate. “Finally.” I grabbed the suitcases by the door and tossed them onto the porch. I set the alarm, then shut the door before the screeching started. The car pulled up, but instead of Luke’s rental, it was Carol’s Corolla. I couldn’t hide my disappointment as she climbed out. She was dressed for the early heat wave in a yellow sundress, with a matching headband in her curly brown hair. She looked so comfortable, my temperature in the all-black suit went up another 10 degrees. I’d planned to call her after I left to ask her to take care of Gus.
“Hey,” she called from the car with her Southern accent. “What ya doing all gussied up? You look like you’re going to a funeral.” She walked around to the other side of the car to pull her son, Patrick, out of his car seat. He was an adorable kid with blond hair and chubby cheeks who spent most of his time chewing on a Batman action figure you couldn’t pry out of his hand even with the Jaws of Life. Patrick was the only good thing that came out of what was apparently a train wreck of a marriage. The father, who I knew only as “that no-good son of a bitch,” had had nothing to do with them for years. Carol refused to talk about him except when he was late with his child support payments. Then I never heard the end of him. The little I knew I found out from Hayden, who was Carol’s first cousin. That fact made her the only person in town I got along with. She was instrumental in getting me my job after my months of recovery. Carol introduced me to Roger, whom she worked for as an assistant, and helped get me acclimated in Grafton. She showed me around and tried to get me involved in things like book clubs and committees. I usually went only once.
“He gets bigger every time I see him,” I called to her. The jacket came off as sweat ran down my back. It had to be 90 degrees out.
Carol walked the four steps onto the porch with Patrick holding her hand. The second he reached the top, he ran over to me, wrapping his tiny arms around my leg. It was funny: all the adults I knew fled the other way when they were around me, but this kid ran
to
me. Just me. With everyone else he hid behind his mother’s legs. He looked up at me with those big brown eyes and got the biggest smile on his face. I tousled his hair and smiled back.
“Don’t change the subject,” she said. “Why are you wearing a suit? You must be dying out here.” She looked down at the suitcases and her mouth dropped. “Oh, God. Did someone really die?”
“No, nobody died. I just have to go up to Washington for a few days.”
“Why on earth do you have to go back there? Did something happen?”
“I’m just going to help out with something up there for a while.”
“With what?”
I sighed. I hated twenty questions. I picked up Patrick, figuring she wouldn’t yell at me with him in the crossfire. Plus he smelled like graham crackers. “The Woodsman.”
Her face fell. “You’re going back to the FBI?”
“No. God
My security system buzzed, bringing me out of the bad thoughts. I got up to push the button to open the gate. “Finally.” I grabbed the suitcases by the door and tossed them onto the porch. I set the alarm, then shut the door before the screeching started. The car pulled up, but instead of Luke’s rental, it was Carol’s Corolla. I couldn’t hide my disappointment as she climbed out. She was dressed for the early heat wave in a yellow sundress, with a matching headband in her curly brown hair. She looked so comfortable, my temperature in the all-black suit went up another 10 degrees. I’d planned to call her after I left to ask her to take care of Gus.
“Hey,” she called from the car with her Southern accent. “What ya doing all gussied up? You look like you’re going to a funeral.” She walked around to the other side of the car to pull her son, Patrick, out of his car seat. He was an adorable kid with blond hair and chubby cheeks who spent most of his time chewing on a Batman action figure you couldn’t pry out of his hand even with the Jaws of Life. Patrick was the only good thing that came out of what was apparently a train wreck of a marriage. The father, who I knew only as “that no-good son of a bitch,” had had nothing to do with them for years. Carol refused to talk about him except when he was late with his child support payments. Then I never heard the end of him. The little I knew I found out from Hayden, who was Carol’s first cousin. That fact made her the only person in town I got along with. She was instrumental in getting me my job after my months of recovery. Carol introduced me to Roger, whom she worked for as an assistant, and helped get me acclimated in Grafton. She showed me around and tried to get me involved in things like book clubs and committees. I usually went only once.
“He gets bigger every time I see him,” I called to her. The jacket came off as sweat ran down my back. It had to be 90 degrees out.
Carol walked the four steps onto the porch with Patrick holding her hand. The second he reached the top, he ran over to me, wrapping his tiny arms around my leg. It was funny: all the adults I knew fled the other way when they were around me, but this kid ran
to
me. Just me. With everyone else he hid behind his mother’s legs. He looked up at me with those big brown eyes and got the biggest smile on his face. I tousled his hair and smiled back.
“Don’t change the subject,” she said. “Why are you wearing a suit? You must be dying out here.” She looked down at the suitcases and her mouth dropped. “Oh, God. Did someone really die?”
“No, nobody died. I just have to go up to Washington for a few days.”
“Why on earth do you have to go back there? Did something happen?”
“I’m just going to help out with something up there for a while.”
“With what?”
I sighed. I hated twenty questions. I picked up Patrick, figuring she wouldn’t yell at me with him in the crossfire. Plus he smelled like graham crackers. “The Woodsman.”
Her face fell. “You’re going back to the FBI?”
“No. God
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