“Or if you even want to,” she finished for me, and my heart squeezed again. But for very different reasons.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
“I throw myself into work because it’s easier. Because it gives me focus. I feel like I’m making a difference,” Hannah went on. Tigger began to dig his nails into my legs. I lifted him off my lap and placed him beside me on the couch. He wasn’t very happy about that.
“Tell me more about your job.” I rubbed at the spot where Tigger had maimed me. I was pretty sure he had drawn blood. Damn cat. I glared at him. And here I’d thought he was starting to like me.
“Not much to tell,” she answered dismissively with a slight chuckle.
“You said you feel like you’re making a difference. How are you making a difference? Come on, give it to me,” I coaxed. Hannah was quiet. Had I done something wrong? Asked the wrong thing? Was it lame to ask a woman about her job? I had no idea.
Hannah had me feeling off balance. She gave me just enough to draw me in. And at this point I’d have gladly jumped off a cliff to find what she was hiding at the bottom.
It was crazy.
It was irrational.
Agent Kohler wasn’t used to irrational.
But maybe Mason Kohler could use a little insanity in his life.
“I work hard. I earn a paycheck. I help my mother pay for my sister’s care. I’m making a difference to her. In what little way I can,” she answered finally, sounding far away. Somewhere else.
There was a note in her tone that I couldn’t quite place. A hesitance that gave me pause.
“You’re a good sister,” I said, feeling strange. A buzzing went off in my ears. A tickle of warning.
“No I’m not. If I was a good sister, Char wouldn’t be where she is,” Hannah argued.
The buzzing faded. I understood that feeling all too well. Feeling as if I should have done something. Anything.
“Survivor’s guilt is debilitating,” I told her.
“I don’t know if it’s guilt or anger. They’re too mixed up. I can’t see one for the other.” Her confession was hushed. I could tell it took a lot out of her to say the words. She didn’t want to admit her failings. Her weaknesses.
Why was she giving them to me?
I felt honored.
I would take care of her truths.
Whatever she chose to give me.
“You can feel guilty. You can feel angry. I’ve learned that there’s no one emotion that covers everything. It’s okay to be a little bit of them all.”
Hannah let out a breath and I wished for the hundredth time that there wasn’t a phone between us.
“Thank you, Mason. Sometimes you need to hear that.”
It was easy to give each other the comfort we hadn’t realized we were looking for.
There was something about sharing grief and pain with someone who understood the suffering.
It made you feel less alone.
I found myself craving what she so easily offered: understanding.
Chapter 11
