30. Permanent
CHAPTER 30
PERMANENT
ZOE
I love Ledger . And it scares me more than anything has in my life. More than jumping out of an airplane. More than going up against a terrorist. More than failure.
The problem is that I also love him more than anything. More than my new apartment. More than my job. Even more than I loved my first foster family. And that one was the one that taught me just how much it can hurt to have it taken away.
Logic tells me to back away.
I thought I was a logical person. Apparently , though, I run on emotion, because I don’t ever want to give up nights like last night with Ledger . He’s the best person I’ve ever known, and I want it all with him.
After work, I step-clomp out to my car. I’ve gotten pretty used to the boot, but it’s still annoying. Under normal circumstances, I would probably be walking without the boot right now— my leg is feeling that much better. I want to be back in the field as quickly as possible, though, and I know that it’s healing much more quickly by keeping it on.
I do take it off once I get into my car, though, because it’s too difficult to drive with it on, and I can’t handle taking Ubers to work any longer. I need the sense of freedom I get from my car. During my drive home, Ledger calls and asks if he can come over with dinner. The man is so thoughtful. He’s always doing things like this for me, and I’m never the one who thinks of doing it for him. So I tell him no— that I am coming to his apartment and bringing him food.
As much as I like to be the best of the best as an intelligence operative (and beat Ledger at everything), when it comes to navigating a relationship and being good at it, I am not the best of the best. I’m not even the best of the worst. I have not figured it out any more than I had figured out how to be an intelligence operative as an eight-year-old.
Ledger grew up knowing how to do all of it. He probably didn’t even realize he was learning it. He probably doesn’t even know how good he is at it. And I’m scared he’ll find out how bad I am at it. He has been at my hotel and my apartment so many times, yet this is the first time I am going to his apartment. I’m not even sure I knew that he lives in Cloakwood .
He opens the door before I get close enough to knock— probably because he heard my clomping steps coming up to the door, and I think the view of him when he opens the door will be forever burned in my mind. He just looks so elated to see me. I don’t think I’ve ever had someone so deep-down thrilled at my presence. He’s got me smiling right back, feeling that same happiness.
He welcomes me in, wrapping an arm around my waist and giving me a kiss that I savor. Then he smiles into the kiss and whispers, “ Welcome to my home.”
“ Where do you want this?” I say, holding up the bag that contains the pesto chicken salad sandwiches and strawberry lemonade pie that I got from a little café I found in his town. He sets it on a countertop that doubles as a breakfast bar and a half-wall separating the kitchen from the living area, and I take a look around.
This place is exactly how I expected it would be. Open and instantly welcoming. A big, comfortable-looking, modern sectional sits in his living room, and it isn’t hard to imagine it filled with Ledger’s friends, all playing games, laughing, having a good time. It isn’t hard to imagine the two of us cozied up together on the couch, either.
The walls have colorful artwork interspersed with photos of Ledger with people that I’m sure mean a lot to him, as well as photos of him skydiving, in scuba gear underwater with colorful marine life, windsurfing, ice climbing, high lining, you name it. There’s even a few, like kite skiing and steep creeking that I haven’t even tried. There would never be a dull moment around Ledger , that’s for sure.
Ledger just holds back as I look around at everything, including his bookshelves and sound system. When I turn back to him after looking at everything, he puts his arms around me again and, now that I’m no longer holding the bag with dinner, I wrap my arms around his neck and keep him close as we kiss. It feels so good to be like this that I memorize the way it feels to be in his arms. To have his lips against mine. I want to be able to remember this forever.
As we eat side by side at his breakfast bar, we talk about our day and about any progress we each made in our search for Aragundi or the Barno Brothers .
I am just finishing eating my strawberry lemonade pie— which is incredible— and I can practically feel the excitement that seems like it’s been building in Ledger for the entire meal. I turn to him, “ Okay , what is it? You’re killing me, here.”
It was as if all he needed was permission to end the meal early, because he practically bounds off his chair and into his bedroom. He emerges a few seconds later with a small, flat box in his hand. “ I’ve got something for you.”
I spin on my barstool to face him, a question on my face as he nears and holds it out to me. The box is from a jewelry store. It’s not even close to my birthday and it’s not Christmas , so I don’t have any idea why he’s giving this to me. I remove the lid, and so much is going through my mind that it takes a second to process what I’m seeing.
It’s a necklace with two pendants on it. The chain and the heart look exactly like my necklace that I lost. Exactly . Did he find one online and recognize it as similar to the one that I lost? No , this is the real one. Mine . I would recognize it anywhere.
I touch the pendant, then place the box back in Ledger’s hand and, fingers shaking, work to open the locket. I know this is the necklace I lost. The one I’ve worn around my neck for the past twenty years. But the part of me that knows it can’t possibly be the real thing is telling me that the locket is likely empty, and that it’s going to feel like a stab to the heart to open it and see. But I do it anyway.
I gasp and a hand flies to my mouth. It has the picture of my first foster parents in it. It is my necklace. The very same necklace that I lost. My eyes are filling with tears as I look at Ledger . “ What ? How ? Where did this…”
He gives me a smile that shows he’s seeing all of me. All the emotion that’s filling me. “ It broke when you fell in Ankara . I found it on the ground next to you and put it in my pocket before carrying you to the car. I still can’t believe I even saw it in the darkness and rain. I guess it wanted to be found.
“ The clasp was broken, so I had to take it to a jeweler to have it fixed, but it should be as good as new now. I know it means a lot to you and reminds you that your first foster family loved you.”
“ I can’t believe you found it,” I say, my voice coming out as barely a whisper.
He reaches out and touches the second pendant, the one that is hanging right next to the locket. It’s a lock, and it’s gold, too, just like the rest of the necklace. They go well enough together that it looks like they were always meant to be together. “ I had them add this. I hope it will remind you that you are loved by more than just your first foster family— you’re loved by a lot of people. Especially me. The lock represents that it’s not temporary. You will always be loved.”
I am so overcome with emotion that I can’t even talk. I’m glad that Ledger is holding the box now, because my hands are shaking. Ledger sets the box on the countertop and removes the card that the necklace is displayed on, carefully pulling the chain out from the slits at the top. I hold up my braid as he fastens it at the base of my neck.
As soon as I feel its familiar weight against my skin after going so long without it, everything immediately feels right again. The thing most precious to me is back where it goes after I thought it was gone forever. I reach up and touch the locket, like I’ve done thousands of times before. And this time, my fingers also touch the lock.
You are loved by a lot of people. Especially me . Ledger’s words echo in my mind, and I want them to stay there forever. To always be tied to the lock in the same way that my first foster parents’ love is tied to the locket.
I look at Ledger , overwhelmed with gratitude for him, and can’t even begin to express a thank you big enough to encompass this. So instead, I just kiss him. I pour all of it— all the emotion I’m feeling— into the kiss. My fingers grasp his hair at the base of his skull, and I hold him close, kissing him as tears stream down my face, making our kiss taste salty. The tears are streaming so much that they are even falling off my face and onto us.
Eventually , I pull back just enough to gaze into Ledger’s beautiful gray-blue eyes. I smile and shake my head a bit. “ I don’t deserve someone as amazing and as thoughtful as you,” I say, meaning every word.
I collapse back onto the barstool I’d been sitting on before, feeling incredibly spent from experiencing so many emotions. I pull the necklace forward as much as it can, looking down at it. I can’t believe I have it back. And back even better than it was.
But I really don’t deserve Ledger . I am not worthy of the kind of love he is showing me. As I look down at the necklace, I start to feel it more intensely. This represents a deep kind of love for someone who is worthy of that kind of love. I am not. As much as I am enamored by everything it represents, I feel like a fraud having it bestowed upon me.
It would be like really really wanting to win the school spelling bee, and working so hard to learn the words. In the end, though, being awful at spelling and not even coming close to actually winning. But then they crown you “ Spelling Bee Champion ” anyway and hand you the trophy as if you did. And everyone acts like it rightfully belongs to you even when you know it doesn’t.
I didn’t earn this kind of love. I don’t deserve it. And one day, Ledger is going to realize that.
My own mom realized it. For so long as a kid, I had wondered if something was fundamentally wrong with me: if I was unlovable. Then , in living with my first foster family, I had started to feel differently. Like maybe I had been mistaken. But after the next couple of foster homes, I started to realize that feeling lovable with my first foster family was the anomaly. Actually not being lovable was the reality.
When I was about nine, I was in a foster home where I tried so hard to get that same kind of love I had felt with the Jensens . I would spend hours cleaning the kitchen, making it sparkle. When my foster mom saw it, she would say things like, “ This looks amazing. Thank you.” And it kind of felt like it was enough. At least, I told myself it was.
But then, one day, my after-school young detectives club meeting was canceled, so I got home earlier than my foster parents were expecting me. I was walking to the kitchen as one of my foster siblings was presenting my foster mom with a bouquet of dandelions that she had picked in the back yard. My foster mom accepted them, gave the girl a tight hug, and said, “ I just love you so much.”
I had never been treated that way. I had never heard the words, “ I love you” outside of my first foster family. It was my confirmation that I am not worthy of love no matter how hard I try. Ledger just doesn’t know it yet.
The tears start again, but this time, it’s not because of the love and gratitude I felt moments ago. It’s the tears of the lost, lonely little girl I used to be. The lost, lonely little girl who still lives inside me.
I remind myself that I figured out long ago that I don’t need love. I was built to be an intelligence operative. Intelligence operatives aren’t lovable. You can’t be both an operative and be lovable. They can’t coexist. I accepted that a long time ago.
So Ledger showing me this kind of love feels like a knife to the heart. I want it so badly, and I know that the lock is supposed to represent that it isn’t temporary, but I know that it is. If he knew the real me, deep down, he’d know that I’m not worthy of his love. Which makes it not real. It’s a spelling bee trophy that I didn’t actually win.
And I want to hold onto it so desperately, but I know that it’ll only make it harder. It’ll make the wound deeper.
Ledger’s face is so full of love. He reaches out and wipes at my tears first with his thumb and then with his knuckles. “ I love you, Zoe ,” he whispers.
I know he does. And I realize that this pain I’m going to feel, the pain that’s going to just keep getting worse the longer this goes on— this pain is not only going to take down me. The blast radius will take down Ledger , too.
My heart starts to race and I can’t seem to take in enough air. I’m breathing fast, but not deep, because I can’t seem to get my tight chest to let in more air. And it’s just so hot in here. The heat is suffocating, making it even more difficult to breathe.
“ Are you okay?” Ledger asks, concern all over his face.
No , I am not. I stand and shake out my hands, trying to shake away the heat, repeatedly tugging at my shirt to get more air flowing, but I still can’t get enough oxygen, and I’m starting to get dizzy.
Ledger’s looking alarmed now. His arms are moving like they want to do something— anything— to help. “ Zoe , are you okay? What is wrong?”
“ What is wrong,” I say, feeling like I’m shouting the words, except that I don’t have enough oxygen for shouting, “is that we don’t get to live normal lives, Ledger ! Operatives don’t get normal lives! Operatives don’t get to fall in love! ”
Instead of just agreeing, or even letting me push him away, he steps closer to me, then envelopes me in a hug, pulling me tight to him. One arm is across my back and he’s running the other hand down my hair. Over and over, he says, “ Shh . It’s okay. Everything is okay.”
It is not okay. It’s not.
But feeling his strong, protective arms around me, his low voice repeating that it’s going to be okay, calms me anyway. It isn’t long before my lungs let me breathe again and it doesn’t feel so stifling hot.
When my heart rate starts to return to something edging closer to normal, I pull back. He lets one hand slide down my arm until he’s got his fingers entwined with mine. Then he reaches up and tucks a lock of hair back into my braid. When his eyes meet mine again, he says, “‘ Operatives don’t get normal lives?’ Or you don’t feel like you can?”
He seems to have it figured out, so I guess it is just me.
In a voice that’s so calm and sweet and loving that it makes my heart ache with longing, he says, “ You said you don’t think you deserve me. If anything, it’s the other way around. You , Zoe , deserve so much more than I could ever give you.”
I look into his eyes, scanning them for a long moment, seeing the full depth of which he believes those words.
Then , with my clomping boot, I turn and run.