20. Twenty
Twenty
BEN
I arrive at the Riley Trust campus fifteen minutes early to find my former training officer, Captain Tenor, waiting for me. He’s also a man who appreciates punctuality.
“Ben, it’s great to see you.” He shakes my hand, his eyes glistening. I also feel unexpected emotions at our reunion. He was a good teacher.
“You, too, Captain.”
“Oh, no,” he says, wagging his finger. “We’re friends now. Call me Larry.”
“Yes, sir.” My attire matches his, which is a relief. Lena’s suggestion of dark blue chinos, brown shoes, and a checkered blue and red button-down feels appropriate. “You look well.”
“Well-fed, you mean.” He rubs his soft paunch, chuckling. “My Jenny knows the way to my heart is through my stomach. You look great, too. Still keeping in shape, I see.”
“Jogging, biking, weights,” I explain. “Routine is everything.”
He laughs, though I’m not trying to be funny.
“Amen, brother. Your diligence pays off. It’s like I was telling the Rileys—you’re the most reliable and capable officer I ever worked with, dutiful to a fault sometimes.
Course, they already knew that about you.
I’m thrilled that you’re considering Riley Trust. I’ll feel better retiring knowing it’s in capable hands. ”
“I’m undecided about the position,” I clarify. “But excited to learn more about it.”
He pats my back good-naturedly. “See? That makes you a good officer—you rely on facts and observations. Let’s get to it.”
He takes me through a typical day for him.
He arrives by seven, chats with the security team, and then walks the campus perimeter, which seems unnecessary given the cameras.
But he says that doing it himself—checking doors, examining the fence line, and considering weaknesses—is better than watching screens.
His method proves correct when I spot a campsite beyond the fence at the westernmost section of campus.
It’s barely visible from our vantage point—and inaccessible to the cameras—but we find a better angle to see it.
The accumulation of trash and various implements—a shopping cart, buckets, and a rope dangling between trees with clothes pinned to it—shows the camp has been here for some time. This news irritates Larry.
He rubs his bald head. “Can’t believe I missed it.”
“Similar encampments are all over the city. The resident likely won’t cause issues. There’s no evidence to suggest he’s breached the fence.”
“You get one homeless camper, and more won’t be far behind. They multiply like rabbits,” he laughs. “The Rileys won’t be happy. They like their ambiance. I’ll make a call and get it taken care of.”
“Instead of calling the police, may I suggest handling it ourselves?” I ask.
He laughs. “You always were a big guy with a bigger heart. Let’s go.”
We leave the Riley Trust campus in my Jeep to access the camper’s position—it’s only twenty yards from the main road leading into the property.
We intercept the individual returning to his campsite.
He’s reluctant at first, but soon reveals that he’s a former marine and that alcoholism and PTSD have cost him his job and family.
Helping is better than displacing. With his permission, I secure him a spot in a treatment facility known for its work with veterans and, within the hour, he’s moved in.
Perhaps regretful for wanting to call the police, Tenor decides that Riley Trust will pick up his tab for as long as his recovery takes—a preferred outcome.
Identify a problem. Solve a problem. Simple.
Back on campus, we resume Tenor’s normal day.
His position isn’t the boring upper management role I expected.
He isn’t stuck in his office behind screens all day.
Nor is he merely an overseer. He is hands-on and involved.
He’s well-versed in the tech he manages—Riley Trust develops its systems in-house, and they make the WPD software look like an archaic joke from the sixties.
The largest threat to Riley Trust is virtual: viruses, ransomware, masking emails, and scams. The head of security works with IT to monitor and respond to such threats.
When a computer technician approaches him about a ten-thousand-dollar expenditure, Tenor signs the paperwork agreeing to the purchase.
There’s no ten-month wait for approval from a litany of higher-ups, as there is in the police department.
Results are quick and unencumbered by policies, permissions, or red tape.
I am dazzled.
The perks of a “normal” job impress me, too.
I’ve never had the freedom to self-manage my time.
I respond when and where I’m needed, and when the moment ends, so does my involvement.
Most of the time. Here, tasks are concrete and efficiently handled, providing a feeling of accomplishment that’s foreign to me.
I’d be a person rather than a presence. I’d be valued for my intelligence and experience, not my uniform.
I no longer feel qualified to wear it, anyway. Calls used to give me a rush; not knowing what to expect energized me. Now, it’s frustrating. Fears that my hearing will betray me and make a bad situation worse spike every time my radio clicks on.
Other people’s shit has worn me down, too.
Is it wrong to want a job that doesn’t include finding kids in dog crates?
Adam’s whimpers background my nightmares behind AK-47 pops and hellfire missiles.
Doesn’t seem right that the worst thing I’ve ever seen wasn’t overseas in a sandbox but down the damn road, fifteen minutes from Saddletree.
At a late lunch at Jillian’s with John and Larry, we swap war stories and review the job’s logistics for nearly two hours.
I can’t remember the last time I talked so much.
Lena would be astounded. I don’t open up often to people around Saddletree.
When she and I got together, I merged into her life, and I’m still trying to find my place in it like I’m the odd man out, awkward and uncertain, unable to relax. Or open up, even to her.
“So, Ben, what do you think about the job so far?” John asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
When I don’t answer right away, Larry laughs. “Uh, oh, John. Looks like you stumped him.”
“I’m unqualified for cyber-crimes,” I admit.
“So, was I to begin with,” Larry says. “But Riley Trust only hires the best and the brightest. The techies will get you up to speed real quick.”
“There’s no us-and-them attitude here at Riley Trust,” John explains.
“We support and learn from each other. Larry is a team leader more than he’s a manager.
So, don’t worry about what you don’t know.
You’re smart. Your team is smart. You’ll learn.
Focus on what you offer… like today. Well done, spotting that camp. ”
Larry huffs. “Still can’t believe I missed it.”
“It was a minimal threat,” I say.
“Minimal for now, but a huge hassle later,” John corrects. “So, tell us… what will it take to get you on our team?”
“Time. You’ve given me much to consider.”
John wags his finger. “Come on, Ben. I know you—Riley Trust fits you to a tee. You won’t get a better offer in the private sector, and certainly not one with a family you know and trust. What’s the hold-up?”
“Lena.” Her name falls out carelessly like those china cups slipping from my hands in the wash. “We’ll decide together.”
“Understood,” John nods, “but surely she’s supportive. What wife wouldn’t want this opportunity for her husband?”
“A wife who understands it’s not that simple. She wants what’s best for me. We’re not convinced this is it.”
John leans forward, folding his arms on the table. “Because of Lauren?”
“Yes.”
Silence ensues after my admission. The puzzle is scattered on the table, and we’re each trying to make the pieces fit.
After two hours of openly talking, it felt wrong to sidestep the truth.
I would’ve already accepted the job if Lauren wasn’t a factor.
John’s right—I won’t get a better offer, and the position suits me.
But it’d be hard on Lena.
She says all the right things. I wouldn’t be here now without her encouragement.
Everything’s gone to hell this week with the studio’s occupation of Saddletree, and she’s done nothing but try to appease me.
Turning her down the other night when she wore that lacy getup was me choosing my bad mood over her—I’ve regretted it since.
Taking this job feels wrong, too. It’d be a test of her faith in me that, however strong, she shouldn’t have to endure.
It’s a test I don’t want to endure, either.
I could’ve lived out the rest of my days in sublime contentment without so much as a hesitant pause over Lauren Riley. Like she said, it’s done, and we’re better people for it.
Only after Adam and with the changes ahead, my self-assurance has taken a hit.
I don’t know who I am anymore—a debilitating feeling that I haven’t had since six weeks after that damn IED when I lost Lauren and the Rileys in a blink, while starting over and recovering from physical injuries and PTSD.
It feels like history is repeating itself, except this time, I’m split into two versions—the man I was and the man I am now.
I catch glimpses of me before my injuries and long to be him again.
That guy had it all—an impressive career ahead, overwhelming family support, a bright, predictable future, and excellent hearing.
The Rileys make me remember what it was like to be whole.
And wholly devastated. Lauren destroyed us, forcing me to get small. I screamed, cried, said things, and broke things. I let my anger shield my brokenness to keep her away from me.
I never wanted to see her again, let alone be able to see her daily.
“Your contact with Lauren will be limited,” John says. “Larry, how often do you see Lauren?”
“Once in a blue moon. We handle HR’s security checks but rarely communicate unless there’s an issue.”
“She refused my invitation to our lunch today,” John adds. “She’s only interested in finding the best person for the job. That’s all… If Lena feels insecure, I’d be happy to—”
“Lena’s not insecure. She has no reason to be. She doesn’t want it to be a strain on me,” I say, more defensively than needed.
“That’s understandable. It was a difficult time. None of us handled it well. Lauren… it was hard for her to see you like that.” He takes a long breath. “But it’s all in the past now.”
I nod, but it doesn’t feel that way. I’m still like that . And with my hearing deteriorating, I’m even more broken.
On the drive home, I resolve to tell Lena everything. Pushing the past aside, going with Riley Trust would make my future feel less daunting. I want that security and support. To make the final decision, I need Lena’s.
Finding her in the barn laughing with that guy thwarts my best intentions. He’s clearly flirting, and she plays along, perhaps unaware. Maybe encouraging it. Regardless, it’s a violation. I don’t know him. That he’s alone in the barn with my wife and daughter pisses me off.
When she defends his intrusion and implies that she “admires” him, I cringe with jealousy, like she can’t admire us both at the same time. She can’t—I have a shit attitude and Kirby has a TV show.
Damn it. That’s not fucking fair, and I know it.
When she drives off, regret swarms me—it’s my headline emotion these days. I know how hard things were for her when she cared for her Mom and how precious small pleasures are when you find them.
Why do I keep hurting her?
Then, I consider that taking the job means jealousy could become an everyday norm for Lena, another thing she has to battle with her anxiety, and my regret grows for wanting a job that would cause her pain.
My optimism now gone, I default, once again, to silence.