Sylvie crosses her arms and repeats a sentiment from hours ago. “We are trapped in this room with you and have been for hours. So, yes, it does involve us.”
Beside her Nadine asks, “What’s going on, Tommy?” Though they’d tried to eavesdrop on his conversation, it was hard to understand what was happening based just on Tommy’s curt responses. But something, it is clear, is happening.
“She’s bringing Covey in here,” he says.
“She who?” says Nadine.
“That woman I’ve been talking to all day.”
“But... why?” asks Sylvie. She thinks, but does not say aloud, that this is highly unusual. She can’t believe it’s being allowed. She can’t believe Robert didn’t say, “Over my dead body,” and put a stop to it immediately.
“Because it’s what I wanted,” he says. “She asked what I wanted. I asked to see Covey, so she’s making it happen.”
“I just assumed they’d bring him up to the window, let you see him and let you know he’s here on the premises. Maybe they’dtell you that you could pet him if you come out,” Sylvie says. “That’s what I would’ve done if I was in charge.”
“Well, you’re not in charge,” Tommy retorts.
“That’s true,” Sylvie agrees. “I’m not.” She says no more but hums a few bars of “Amazing Grace” as they observe what’s occurring outside. She expects Tommy to tell her to hush, but he doesn’t. He’s too intent on what’s about to happen to bother.
“I sang that in church when I was a kid. A solo,” says Nadine. “It’s one of my favorites.”
Sylvie keeps her eyes on the window, spots Robert in the distance. “Mine too,” she says.
Outside the post office, Hope’s assigned SWAT officer introduces himself as Dale and again goes over the protocol. The two of them, plus Covey, who has curled up at Hope’s feet, hang back as the rest of the SWAT team prepares to enter the post office. Hope doesn’t think about what she is doing. She doesn’t think about the risk or the threat. Instead, she allows herself to think about the last negotiation she did. How, nine and a half hours later, when it was finally over, she grabbed her phone and called her dad back.
“Hey, Dad,” she said. “The situation is resolved. I’m sorry I couldn’t answer earlier.”
“Did everyone make it out?” her dad asked. There was something in his voice, a broken strain she’d never heard before.
“Yeah,” she replied, wary. She’d left him alone with her mom too long, that was all, she reasoned. He was just exhausted. “The mom and two kids are safe. And the suspect was taken into custody without incident.”
“Good,” he said. “I’m proud of you.” There was a pause, and in that pause was a hole Hope felt herself begin to fall into even before her father told her what she didn’t want to hear. It was abig black hole that, in some ways, she is still falling through now, here, today.
“We lost her this afternoon,” he said. “She went peacefully.”
“But they said...,” she argued, as if the right words could change the outcome. “They said it could be days. They said we had time.”
“I know,” he said. “We didn’t expect this. You couldn’t have known. You had to work, darlin’. It’s not your fault.”
But there had been a moment, not when her dad called the first time, but when he called the second. It wasn’t like him. She should’ve answered. She should’ve let one of her team members step in to talk to the suspect. It would’ve been just that easy to hand over the reins and go to her mother, to keep her promise to her mother instead of her commitment to her job.
In that singular moment she had a choice. And she’d chosen her job. She’d walked off after she’d hung up with her dad and never returned. She’d blamed the job, then run from it. But it is really herself she blames, and she can’t seem to run from herself.
She holds up a finger. “I just need a second,” she says, handing off the leash to Dale and running back over to Brower’s car. She opens the door, reaches for her purse where she stowed it, and pulls out a piece of paper that’s been folded and folded and folded again. She shoves it into her pocket, then races back over to Dale, reaches for Covey’s leash, and loops it once around her fist.
Dale looks down at her. “You ready?” he asks her.
“Yes,” she says.
Ahead of them, the group advances, guns raised, barking out commands as they reach the outer door and begin the process of entering the building. There are seven SWAT officers, plus Hope and the dog. The group inside the post office pivots to watchthrough the glass as an initial wave of three officers enters the vestibule. They come to stand in front of the glass, peering in.
Tommy indicates for the women to circle him, one in front, one behind, one to his right, and one to his left. “Come with me,” he orders, and for once no one argues or has anything smart to say in response. It’s hard to talk when your heart is in your throat. Tommy crosses the room, and with his hostages positioned around him as human shields, he goes over to the counter and lays down his gun, holds up his hands to show that he is no longer armed, and takes several steps away from the counter, the women moving in tandem. The officers outside scan the room before nodding that it’s safe and giving a sign that the rest of the team can come in.
Together the five of them watch as Hope enters, gripping a leash that is connected to a medium-sized spaniel with curly brown fur. Blythe looks from the dog to Tommy, seeing him see the dog he asked for. She watches as his eyes fill with tears and feels unexpected tears prick at her own eyes. She cannot help but think of Murphy, his loss still fresh and sharp. She feels unexpected sympathy rise for Tommy, who lost his dad, which has to be worse than losing your dog.
Blythe wouldn’t know. She never knew her dad. He abandoned her mother before Blythe was born. It is why, she thinks, her mother puts so much emphasis on being successful. She’s never had anyone but herself. Blythe lets herself sit with this thought about what made her mom the way she is and what made Blythe the way she is. People are shaped by their circumstances, formed by what happens to them, for better or for worse, in lack and in plenty. She resents how her mom sees her. But she hasn’t done such a great job at trying to see her mom.
She thinks back to last night on the porch, drinking wine with her mom, laughing and scheming and feeling a rare closeness toher. She never wanted that feeling to end. She would’ve done anything to hold on to it, including coming here and doing something she didn’t want to do. Maybe there’s still a way to have what they had last night, apart from departed dogs and old boyfriends. Blythe thinks about the song Sylvie just hummed. Maybe grace could still amaze her.
