28. Spy Mom, Faux Dad, Real Crisis
SPY MOM, FAUX DAD, REAL CRISIS
CHARLIE
A s I’m walking from my car in the underground parking garage to the elevator, I see that the Clandestine Service Agency’s director (a.k.a.
my mom) is already there, standing at the retinal scanner before she breathes into the DNA scanner.
The light turns green, the doors open, and she steps in and holds them for me as I jog the last bit and get in, too.
As the doors are closing, I say, “Oh, monkey bolts! I also forgot my water bottle!”
My mom’s finger hovers over the button to take us up. “In your car?”
I sigh. “No. At home. We can go up.”
As the elevator is taking us to the main floor, my mom looks over at me. “You seem a little distressed this morning. Is everything okay? ”
I rub my fingers over my forehead. It’s barely eight a.m., and already my day is bad. “Yeah.”
“Is it work or home stuff?”
“Home.”
“Do you need me to be your mom for a minute?”
I look over at the polished director. She’s wearing a navy pantsuit with a white shirt, looking as professional as can be. “Yeah,” I say. “I really don’t want to share this with my boss.”
Her demeanor softens as the elevator comes to a stop. “Let’s grab a conference room.”
When we step into the room, she takes off her lanyard—a sure sign that she’s switched from director mode to mom mode, and then she darkens the floor-to-ceiling glass so that no one from the floor can see inside. We both take a seat.
“I got a ticket on the way to work.”
My mom cocks her head. “You don’t speed.”
“It was for having an expired car registration. And I left my water bottle at home. And I’m not even wearing clean underwear because we were doing other things last night, and I forgot to do laundry.
We won’t even mention how I didn’t have enough time to make my lunch, or that I put my phone in the fridge and a yogurt in my purse.
Oh, and I stabbed myself in the eye with my mascara wand.
“Sometimes I feel like I can mostly stay on top of things, but that’s when there’s not much going on.
The rest of the time, I feel like I’m…chaotic.
I’m on fire at work, but I’m flooding at home.
” I meet her eyes. “Other people don’t let basic things fall through the cracks. Why can I not get my life together?”
I can’t help but think about Owen’s ex and wonder if that’s the kind of person he really needs in his life.
Someone who is more polished and doesn’t mess up this much.
Part of me loves feeling like Owen sees the real me that I don’t let others see often.
The part of me that hates being in the spotlight, though, is terrified that if he sees enough, he’ll discover how much I’m lacking.
“Sweetheart, everyone has things fall through the cracks sometimes. I do, too. I was supposed to renew my driver’s license by my last birthday, but somehow it never made it on my radar.
And I even have an assistant to help keep me on top of things!
Do you want to know how I found out that it had expired? ”
“You got pulled over?”
“No. That would’ve been preferable, actually.
I found out because I had to go to a meeting with the Director of National Intelligence, along with the directors of a lot of other agencies.
CIA, NSA, FBI, DIA, NGA—basically the whole alphabet soup of intelligence agency directors.
As Director of the CSA, my badge got me past the gate.
It was at check-in inside the ODNI lobby that I found out it had expired.
“And let’s just say that the security officer I’d handed it to wasn’t discreet about it, either.
Pierce, the CIA’s director, had checked in right before me and was on his way to the elevators.
The director of the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency was right behind me.
A few junior staffers were also in the mix.
And the security officer said that I couldn’t proceed until they got the ‘situation’ resolved, and that he’d have to call over a supervisor. ”
My face is burning just imagining being in that scenario, with all eyes on me.
“Needless to say, I got to the meeting late, and everyone who hadn’t already known exactly why found out when Pierce updated the whole group. So, don’t beat yourself up over letting something fall through the cracks. We all do at times.”
I am blown away that my mom forgot something like that. I thought she always had everything together. Oddly, it does make me feel better to know that even she can mess up.
“And I need to apologize to you,” she says.
“You do?”
She nods. “I probably should have a long time ago. After your kidnapping, your dad and I made sure we all got therapy. We knew it was a big thing to process and that it could have some real lasting effects. We even took you all to a therapist who specialized in trauma in young children.”
I nod. I was only three, but I still remember quite a few things about going.
“We both figured that all of you very possibly would have fears of it happening again, that you weren’t safe, or even fears of parks or open grassy areas, like the one where you were grabbed.
What I hadn’t anticipated—and really, hadn’t even recognized for years—was how much we had all shifted into “protect Charlie” mode.
“And not only were we all focused on protecting you from danger, but I think all of us tried to protect you from everything.” She shakes her head.
“That was such a disservice to you. It sent the message that we didn’t think you could handle things on your own, which was very much not the case.
It also kept you from experiencing and learning to do things that you had a right to learn and do. And for that, I’m truly sorry.”
Our chairs are facing each other, but she scoots even closer, and she holds both of my hands, like she really wants me to take in her next words.
“You need to know, Charlie, how much faith I have in you. I know what you’re capable of because I see you in action every day.
You are not just ‘fire’ at work and ‘flood’ everywhere else.
” She chuckles softly. “Although you are definitely ‘fire’ at work.
And you are definitely ‘fire’ in the way you look out for others, no matter where you are .
“The thing is, you’re the same Charlie at work as everywhere else. You are just muting the fire version of yourself outside of work because that’s what we inadvertently taught you to do. But make no mistake, Charlotte Florence Lancaster, you have it in you to be fire everywhere.”
A scared, little, tentative bud of hope builds up inside me. “You really think so?”
“Without a doubt.”
I stand, and my mom does, too, and I wrap my arms around her in a tight hug, and she hugs me right back for a good long minute.
After many meetings and hours spent researching and finding answers to things I didn’t really want the answers to, it’s finally lunchtime. And since it’s a Tuesday, it comes with the added bonus of eating with Abraham.
I take the elevator down to Sub-level One and head over to his workspace.
The corners of his eyes crinkle into a familiar smile the moment he sees me that is equal parts mischief and dad-energy.
He pushes aside a disguise-in-progress—false teeth, tinted glasses, and something rubbery that I’m guessing is a nose or forehead appliance—to make room for our lunch.
I flop down in the chair across from him.
“Exhausting day?”
I nod. “It even started out that way. But, I have a working kitchen sink, and my water didn’t shut off mid-shower, so at least I’ve got that.”
A lot of times, Abraham and I each bring our own lunches.
Since Reese and I went grocery shopping last night, I had planned to make a veggie wrap this morning.
But with how my morning went, I ended up grabbing a protein bar and an apple instead.
So I was thrilled when Abraham messaged earlier and said he made dinner last night, that there were plenty of leftovers, and he brought enough for both of us.
“Maybe this will help give you some energy back,” he says as he pushes a container across the table to me and pulls the other in front of him.
“Warmed them up moments ago.” I take off the lid and breathe in the creamy mushroomy sauce as Abraham says, “It’s chicken marsala with garlic herb orzo and roasted broccolini. ”
“Did you always know how to cook like this, or did this skill magically appear once you started cooking for Annette?” I stab a piece of chicken and a mushroom and take a bite.
Abraham laughs. “It’s one of my many skills—just one that I’ve kept more covert. Are you exhausted because you ran a mission today?”
I shake my head, and after I swallow, I say, “Ooh , wow, that is good. And no, I’m exhausted because I had a meeting with Emerson just before this.”
“He brought out the spreadsheets, didn’t he?”
I laugh. “No. He basically confirmed that I can trust my gut. Which is good. But it’s also so bad.”
“Oh. This is about The Shadowridge’s investor you told me about last week, isn’t it?”
I nod.
“I stopped by The Shadowridge a couple of days ago and Owen gave me the tour.”
“You did?”
“What kind of a substitute dad would I be if I didn’t more thoroughly check out the guy you’re dating? He’s a good one. And he’s doing a mighty fine job on that restoration.”
I nod. “He really is.” Then I blow out a deep breath. “Upstairs, we’ve all been working hard at finding out who the man is behind the thefts of a bunch of ancient artifacts that are being sold on the black market.
“This morning, I took a bunch of pieces of the puzzle that I’ve been finding about Giovanni—the investor—and realized they’re connected to the puzzle we’ve all been working on.
He’s the guy. The one we’ve been searching for.
He’s been right here, under our noses, this entire time.
Well, mostly in Italy, actually. The man funding Owen’s entire project is running an international smuggling ring and is using The Shadowridge as a drop point. ”
Abraham’s eyes go wide. “Well, that is rather unfortunate, isn’t it?”
“I’m sure you saw, as you were touring the place, just how passionate Owen is about it.
It’s where his grandpa and grandma met. And he told his grandpa before he died that he would one day restore the place.
Abraham, how in the world do I tell him that his investor is going to be arrested soon and that the building he loves so much could get seized in the process? ”
“Oof. That’s a tough one. Are you going to let him know who you really work for so he knows how you got that information?”
“Probably not. I submitted the forms to read him in and he was vetted last week, but it doesn’t really feel fair of me to say, ‘Oh, hey, I’ve been lying to you about what I do and where I work’ at the same time that I drop the bomb about his baby, throwing its future into the unknown.”
“Yeah, that’s a lot. Have you thought about just not telling him about his investor? I mean, he’ll find out on his own eventually.”
“I really like Owen. And by that, I mean that I love him, even though I haven’t told him yet. I think he’s the one. How can I know about this humongous thing that will personally affect him so much, and not tell him simply because it’d be hard? What kind of a relationship does that set us up for?”
“Okay, admittedly, not a great one.”
Abraham takes a bite of his chicken marsala as he ponders.
He always thinks before answering big questions, and I’m grateful for that.
I take a bite, too, but I can’t focus on the food—only on Abraham’s face and what he’s thinking, and how I am supposed to tell the man I love that his dream is in big trouble.
Eventually, Abraham takes a deep breath and says, “He’s going to want to know how you have this information, since it isn’t knowledge just anyone can get.
If you don’t think now is the right time to tell him about the CSA and your job—and I think that’s a good choice on your part—then I suggest keeping things about your source vague but honest. Avoiding direct lies will keep your integrity intact, and it’ll let you say later, ‘There’s more I didn’t tell you, and here’s why.
’ Then, when you do tell him about the CSA, hopefully everything will click into place instead of feeling like a shock. ”
I nod. “That’s good. I can do that.”
“As far as what to tell him about Giovanni and The Shadowridge? I’d keep that honest, too. Give him details, because if you don’t, he’ll assume the information must be wrong. But don’t give him too many details, or you’ll overwhelm him and he’ll shut down. It’s tricky to get the balance right.”
“Yeah, that does sound tricky.”
“You’ll get it, though.”
“Do you think?”
“During our lunch two weeks ago, you told me you thought something was up with the investor. Last week, you told me that Emerson’s initial search showed he was clean, but you started investigating him on your own anyway.
Those instincts of yours knew something was wrong even when all signs pointed to him being fine, right?
Those same instincts will help you figure out how to tell Owen. ”
I sure hope that’s the case! Because the words I choose when telling Owen could mean the difference between crushing his hopes and dreams—his whole world—and…
Okay, it’s going to crush his hopes, dreams, and world either way.
But maybe one way will help him to mentally prepare.
Maybe even have a little hope. And the other will just leave him crushed.
We chat more as we eat, with Abraham telling me stories about when he was a field operative and had to give people information they didn’t want to hear, and gave it in a way that made it easier to digest. I try to take it all in. Hopefully, it’ll help me break the news to Owen.
After we finish eating and clean up lunch, Abraham says, “Well, I’m not going to tell you, ‘Good luck, have fun, and don’t die,’ because that just feels inappropriate for this situation. So instead, I’ll just say, good luck, speak gently, and try not to obliterate the man’s soul.”