Isis is holding out hope, the wheels in her mind spinning into overdrive. “It’s okay if you don’t have the same amount of time as the other mentors. We know you’re busy running a companyand being the First Lady. We don’t need a lot of help, Mrs. Taylor, really. And we won’t get in your way.”
With every word she speaks, my heart cracks and my hatred for Joanna West and everyone else who made these girls feel like a burden instead of a gift grows tenfold. I hold up a hand to stop Isis’s devastating monologue.
“That’s not what I was going to say at all, sweetheart.”
Her shoulders drop. “Oh.”
“Then what were you going to say?” Imani’s neck rolls as she asks the question, all the softness from before now gone and replaced with the age-old defense mechanism of anger. I wish I could hug her again, but I doubt she’d welcome that right now.
“Every relationship you enter into, whether personal or professional, should be based on honesty,” I tell them, my eyes on the ceiling because for whatever reason I’m a little nervous now. “If I’m going to be your mentor, and I hope you will let me, I have a responsibility to myself, and you, to make sure I am as transparent with you as possible. That’s why I wanted to tell you that I knew your mother, Hope, and your brother, Isaiah.”
A short silence follows my admission, and then both girls burst out laughing.
“Why are you laughing?” I ask, lips twitching because their amusement is contagious even when it’s at my expense.
Imani giggles harder. “Because every time Mom gave Isaiah permission to go home with AJ after school we used to beg him to let us come too. He was always bragging about how nice your house was and how cool you were. He said whenever you came home from work, you always sat with them and asked about everyone’s day. Not just AJ’s.”
“He also told us you used to let them order whatever food they wanted,” Isis adds, a dreamy look glossing over her eyes. “One time, he said you got pizza AND Chinese, just because they wanted it.”
“Sounds like something I would do,” I whisper, voice wobbling at bit. It’s strange to hear what parts of his experience in my care stuck out to their brother. Things that felt so insignificant in the moment but left an impression on him so strong they found new life in his sisters’ memories, laying the foundation for the bond we’re forging now.
Isis, Imani and I spend the rest of the day trading stories about our lost loved ones. Some stories make me laugh, and others make me cry, but no matter what the resulting emotion is, I never forget to feel grateful. For their candor and insight, for their laughter and sass that even gives Monique a run for her money. For the hugs they give me when Joanna’s car pulls up to the curb, engine sputtering, brakes squealing. The woman clearly has better things to worry about than me, but she still manages to toss a nasty glare in my direction before she peels out of the parking lot.
“I can have my sister pull her file,” Agent Morgan offers.
She’s been so quiet all day, I almost forgot she’s been shadowing me. I watch Joanna breeze through the stop sign without even tapping her brakes and sigh.
“What good would it do? It’s not like I could use anything in there to have them removed from her care.”
I hadn’t even realized that was something I might want until the words leave my mouth and leave the flavor of truth on my lips. Everything I’ve seen of Joanna West tells me the desire is justifiable, but I’m also aware of how naive it is to think taking her out of the equation would automatically make things better for Imani and Isis.
“True, but it would give you an idea of who you’re dealing with. Maybe help you build some kind of relationship with her, so she doesn’t become an obstacle between you and the girls.”
I nod, impressed at how the agent’s thoughts complement mine. “You’re right. Any information your sister could provide would be greatly appreciated.”
“I’ll ask her tonight.”
“What are you two doing out here?”
Both Agent Morgan and I turn to find Agent Shaw approaching from the left. She’s got her hands tucked in her pockets and a frown marring her features.
“You’re completely exposed out here,” she says to Morgan, shaking her head as she herds us back inside the building like wayward sheep. “You know better.”
“It’s not her fault. I wanted to see the girls out.”
My defense barely registers as the senior agent begins to reprimand her second-in-command.
“No cover. No backup. The protectee standing in front of you, poised to take a bullet you’re sworn to jump in front of….” She rants the entire way back up to my office, and Agent Morgan takes the critique beautifully, nodding when appropriate and only responding verbally when absolutely necessary. Despite her easy acquiescence, Agent Shaw keeps going, turning what should have been a quick moment for correction and redirection into something else entirely.
I slam my purse on my desk. “Enough!”
Her mouth snaps shut, but resentment at being silenced shines in her eyes. I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to hunt down a hint of calm in a body buzzing with second-hand embarrassment and anxiety.
“Ma’am—” Shaw starts, but I refuse to hear anything else from her right now.
“Agent Morgan has done an amazing job leading your team today. She has demonstrated a level of competence, dedication and flexibility most agents at her level wouldn’t even dream of possessing, and most importantly, she has remained respectfuland patient in the face of what is, quite frankly, an obvious case of punching down.”
“It’s okay, ma’am,” Agent Morgan says. “I should have known better.”
