Folding the soft clothing I wear to shoots, I set each piece in the hamper. Everything else is dry clean only and goes into a bag to be picked up tomorrow.
After I brew a small pot of tea and turn on the gas fireplace, I prop my phone on my knee and try to reach Mama on FaceTime.
“Allo, Sophiana!”Mama smiles at me, early morning sunlight lending a glow to her face.
“Mama, English, please. And Sloane. Remember?” I say, cringing.
Her brows draw close, and judgement lends an edge to her voice. “You are alone. No one will know.”
“Mama, please. I’m tired. It was a long trip, and I have to go buy groceries early tomorrow morning. How are you? Did you get the money I sent last week?”
Her eyes dim, even over the poor video connection. “Yes, Sloane.Lana was so excited. She will tell you all about the books she bought.”
The tea cup rattles as I set it down. My fingers tremble, and I force my lip from between my teeth. “Mama. That money was to fix the car and get your medicine.”
“The car work fine.”
“There’s no heat! Tell me you at least got your blood pressure medicine.”
Mama stands with a groan, and the image on screen shifts wildly until all I can see are her old, worn-out slippers as she shuffles into another room.
“Mama, pick up the phone. Remember what I told you about FaceTime?” The swinging image threatens to make me sick, especially as tired as I am, but she doesn’t have far to go to reach the kitchen where she picks up a bottle of pills and shakes them.
“I am not stupid. Or helpless. You send money every month, and all we want is to see you. My Sophiana.” Her voice cracks, and she squints at the screen. “Are you saying something? Your lips are moving.”
Shit. I’m doing it again. Alternating pursing my lips with pressing them together, chewing on them. It’s so bad, I can taste blood.
Focus, Sloane. You can hold it together for the next ten minutes.
But can I?
“No, Mama. I’m sorry. My mouth is dry from the plane, that’s all. Is Lana up yet?” My sister won’t guilt me as much as Mama does. Since she was only three when I left, she doesn’t hate me for never coming home, and loves the gifts from the United States I send every few months. Especially the makeup.
With a sigh, Mama calls for Lana. “You spoil her too much, you know.”
“You don’t let me do enough. I could move you to St. Petersburg, you know. Pay for an apartment there. Lana could get a job—a real job. Have friends. And you would live like a queen.”
Mama snorts. “We will not fight today, and you will not mention this again.” Lowering her voice, she pulls the phone closer. “You saynothingto Lana.”
“I know, Mama. I know.” Swiping at my eyes, I dash a tear away seconds before Mama hands the phone to Lana, and her smiling face takes over the screen.
“I got so many books!” Her joy fills my living room from halfway across the globe, and for a few minutes, nothing matters but her.
Chapter Four
Griff
Sitting at my desk at Langley, I rub my left shoulder. The prosthetic, despite being one of the lightest in the world, weighs me down in ways I can’t explain. My identity shouldn’t be tied to a hunk of metal and silicon, but when I look in the mirror without it, I don’t recognize myself.
Quit lying to yourself. You don’t recognize yourself with the damn thing either.
Recovery and rehab stole a solid thirty pounds from me, only ten of which supposedly came from my arm. Every day, I push myself harder in the gym, and every night, I fall into bed exhausted, sore, and frustrated as hell.
In my periphery, three other information officers enter the room, their voices nothing but unintelligible, soft background noise. I only spare them a quick glance. Last time I did a stint behind a desk, I considered them friends. Now?
Mason: “Thank God we don’t have to waste our time scanning all those intel reports from Moldova anymore. Never thought I’d be happy to have a grunt in our midst.”
Terry: “I can’t believe Hargrove hasn’t quit already. This is shit work.”
