Redemptio Animae

by Sydney Gibson

  I nodded and folded my hands in my lap, settling on the view that passed around the car. It was clear Kit didn’t want to discuss her taste in music and I let it be. It was inconsequential to me on a whole; I just wanted to start a conversation with the woman as we drove to lunch, try to get her to see that this job didn't require her to be so tense and stiff around me. I opted for another conversation route, “Did you have any questions so far about the job or your training?”

  Kit shifted in the seat, dropping one hand from the steering wheel as the building highway traffic slowed us down, “I have a couple.”

  I smiled, “Please, feel free to ask them.”

  Kit took a deep breath, “Your file stated that you have a genius IQ, how high is it?”

  I set my phone into the cup holder between us, “At the age of six, right before I met Davey, my parents had me tested. They were concerned I was autistic or an idiot savant because I was so quiet, but was able to absorb and repeat books beyond my reading level and I could take things apart, put them back together, physically and inside my mind. And by my mind I mean I had a firm understanding of the chemical process of how steel breaks down under extreme heat. All learned by going to work with my father at the steel mills we own.” I smiled at the memories of going to the steel mill in Pittsburgh and watching the chemical engineers try and create a stronger metal through metallurgy techniques and mixing chemical compounds, all things I could absorb and manipulate in my mind then write it down in a matter of minutes of being shown the formulas and charts they created. “I actually frightened one of the chemical engineers when I presented him with a formula written in blue crayon, giving them a new forging process that would make the steel ten times stronger and ten times cheaper to manufacture.”

  I turned to Kit, she had taken her sunglasses off and when she looked at me, there was something there I couldn’t place in her hazel eyes. I had been used to the looks of amazement or slight terror when I spoke of my childhood and that I was pretty much a rarity of nature in how my brain advanced at a young age and still operated now in my early thirties.

  With Kit, the look on her face was of genuine interest and a look as if things were slowly making sense about my careful behavior. After a second of holding her gaze, I had to turn away, “To answer your question about my IQ. When I had it last tested, right before my senate run, it was at a rough 160. That's only because I became bored with the test questions and fiddled with the answers.”

  Kit smirked, “Super genius. Means you’re heavy handed in book smarts, but a little shy in the street smarts department.” Her voice was edged with sarcasm and judgment. As if my super genius meant that I was a bumbling fool when it came to critical life skills and the application of them. The smirk suddenly irritated me and her comment flat out pissed me off.

  “Are you suggesting that I am a bumbling fool outside of the world of books and the education I sought out?”

  Kit shrugged, sliding her sunglasses back on, “I have been in the protection business long enough to spot the little things and read the body language of people. All little things that will tell me how you can or cannot handle yourself on the proverbial streets of life.” I barely caught her eyes rolling underneath her dark sunglasses.

  I dropped my head down, my pissed off was turning into full blown anger, “Observational skills, reading body language, all skills you learned through training or honed through your days with the agency. Right?”

  Kit nodded, not saying a word, the smirk still firmly held on her face. Her ring finger had stopped tapping, she was confident now. As if she had won the next move in a chess game.

  Now I wanted to win the next move.

  “You lied about the classical music just being on the radio and not quite figuring out the sound system.”

  Kit's mouth twitched as her smirk began to fade.

  “You fumbled around with the navigation system as we got into the car and yet the sound system has been perfectly programmed. The bass and treble are both set to a perfect level to highlight Brahms work in a way that only a true classical music connoisseur would understand. The slight grease marks from your fingertips are all over the brand new preset buttons. I can also see which channels you have set on the top of the screen. The six channels you have selected are the six best classical stations on the satellite radio provided in this car.”

  I looked dead at Kit, even though she was now completely focused on the road before her, the ring finger began to tap once again, “The entire five minutes the music has been on in the car, your left leg has been keeping time with the music involuntarily. Telling me that you know this piece and you know it well.” I paused, “Is that enough observational skills for you or should I continue on about how it took just about an hour to get ready this morning only because you felt your makeup was perhaps too much for the first day. The two layers of makeup at the edge of your jaw tell me that you applied and removed two different foundation tones before settling on this light beige tone you are now wearing.”

  I threw on my own smirk, “I can keep going if you would like. I have made plenty of observations about you over the last few days.” I finished my controlled rant with a strange confidence.

  I had spoken quickly, more quickly than Kit expected out of me as I watched the blush creep slowly up her neck and settle around her rounded cheeks. I had embarrassed her. Proving her wrong about if my mind only knew books and not the small details of life that would equate to my survival in this world. I let out a breath, letting my spontaneous anger go with the slow air I pushed past my lips. I hadn’t let anyone get under my skin since the day I threw on the invisible armor I knew I needed to protect my life as a politician. Kit’s flippant ways of deflection dug deep into that armor, frustrating me.

  I needed her to trust me as much as I needed to trust her. I wanted her to trust me.

  A moment passed, “I apologize, Kit, for that outburst.”

  She said nothing. Stared straight ahead to the road and focused on getting us to the taco joint.

  Essentially shutting me out for the rest of the drive.

  _______________________

  Paco greeted me with a large hug, picking me up and laughing when I pleaded with him to set me down in Spanish. He set me down, a wide happy smile on his face, “It is been far too long, bright one.” He held onto my arms, squeezing like a proud father would when a child came home from being gone far too long. The old man was almost like a father to me, I would spend most of my free days at his taco joint whenever I was in Malibu.

  I smiled, covering his hand with mine, “My work has kept me occupied.”

  Paco tsk tsk’d me. His dark grey eyes drifting to look over my shoulder as he whispered, “Rebecca?”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Kit, who was in a ready stance. Her hand on the concealed holster I had given her, staring hard at Paco, assessing his threat level. I knew the second Paco scooped me up and attacked me with the hearty hug, Kit would snap into old habits. Habits I was happy to see, giving me another sliver of hope for the woman.

  I smiled and turned back to Paco, “She is back at the house. That is Caitriona, my new assistant.”

  Paco’s eyes lit up with his smile, he moved past me and held out his hand to Kit, “Ah I have not met yet met a Caitriona, although I have always wanted to.” He bent and placed a gentlemanly kiss on the top of Kit’s hand, “Such a beautiful name for an equally beautiful woman.” He patted the top of her hand with his calloused hands, “A name that carries the meaning of purity. You fit it well.” He dropped her hand and waved at the both of us, “Come I will make you my best enchiladas! Sit and relax!”

  Paco hustled back into the tiny building, calling after us to sit outside since it was such a beautiful day.

  I motioned to one of the blue picnic tables that sat off to the side, giving a perfect view of the rolling hills and the houses below it. Paco’s was no bigger than a typical modern coffee house in the city, seating twenty inside and another thirty
on the random picnic tables he had along the rest of the property. He made the best tacos in the state and could easily have made a fortune in a large restaurant, but preferred the small ways of life and quality that came with it.

  Kit sat across from me, kitty corner so she could keep an eye on the car and possibly my back as well. She pulled her sunglasses off and set them on the wooden table, “Purity?” Kit glanced at the back door where Paco could be seen cooking through a screen door, her eyebrows raised in a way that told me she thought Paco might be a little senile or flat out crazy.

  I nodded, pulling napkins from the holder, “One of Paco’s many hobbies is researching the meaning behind names. Yours means pure, purity, mine means clear, bright. I asked him once why he was so fascinated with learning the meaning behind names. His answer was that all names are suited for who we are if we strive for the potential we all have. His favorite people are the ones who truly reflect the ancient meanings behind the names our parents choose.” I smiled, leaning my elbows on the edge of the picnic table, “Strange logic but I can see why he chooses to believe in it.”

  Kit shrugged and dug into the basket of tortilla chips one of the waitresses had set before us.

  That shrug basically informed me that any lunch conversation would be minimal or non-existent. I sighed, looking out onto the hills and the dots of rooftops set in a random geometric pattern. Kit and I were playing a chess game, I was certain of it now. But what for? That was what I couldn’t wrap my head around. How long would it take until one of us called checkmate and gave in? I shook my head and began picking at the loose blue paint chips on the table.

  Fifteen minutes of painful silence was broken when Paco came back. His arms full of fresh enchiladas and plastic cups full of ice cold tea. He set them down in front of Kit and I, “Only the best for my bright one.” He stood back, hands on his hips smiling as I took the first bite nodding my approval. He then looked over at Kit who couldn’t hold back the smile that flooded her face at the first bite.

  Paco grinned, “Ah I knew I could bring a smile from you.” He winked at me, “How long will you be in town, Claire? Emilia would love to see you; her lungs are getting better every day. All because of you.” Paco squeezed my shoulder, “We can never repay you for your kindness.”

  I shook my head, my hand squeezing the one on his shoulder, “You never have to, Paco. These enchiladas will always be enough payment for me.”

  Paco nodded, squeezing one more time, “Then a lifetime of enchiladas it is.” He winked at me one more time, “Enjoy and call out if you want more.”

  I smiled as he ran back into the kitchen to start on the lunch rush orders. I took a few bites of the enchilada before looking up at Kit, her brow furrowed as she stared at her plate, she was thinking again. Trying to place Paco and his debt to me without asking directly.

  I wiped my mouth with a napkin, “His wife had stage two lung cancer. Never smoked a day in her life or was ever around cigarette smoke, just a flaw in genetics and a raw deal.” I sipped from the glass of tea, “I facilitated her getting treatment at The Criterion Centre. Ensuring her and Paco never had to pay a dime. She is now cancer free and her lungs are as healthy as they were when she was twenty and an aspiring opera singer.”

  I turned to look at the screen door, hearing Paco singing one of his favorite songs as he rolled out tortillas. “Not everything I do is for money or power or even politics. It’s about giving good people a second chance at life.” I turned to look dead in the deep hazel eyes that had shifted from irritation to a soft emotion of respect. Kit broke away from my stare, knowing my words were also meant for her.

  She pushed her food aimlessly around on the plate, I turned back to finish the last three bites I had and enjoy the view. Silence began to grow like wildfire between us again.

  “When I was eight my mother took me with her to one of her teacher conferences at the University of Pittsburgh. She let me roam the halls of the giant music hall where her conference was being held. I was bored as all little kids are when there is nothing to do but wait. So I explored and kept hearing this sound that I had never really heard before. It was a violin, well actually a handful of violins. The New York Symphony Orchestra was rehearsing for their show later that night in the main concert hall.” Kit smiled setting her fork down, “I was drawn to the sounds of all the violins. I had never heard anything like that before. The only music I knew was the oldies my parents played all the time. This, this was different. It drew me in and before I knew it, I had snuck into the back of the hall and watched all of the musicians play. It felt like I was watching a painting being painted, but the paint was sound.”

  She looked up at me, smiling sheepishly, “I became obsessed from that point on. Classical music became a passion, it understood me. It understood my emotions when I bottled them up. I could listen to Mozart when I was sad, Brahms when I needed to calm down, and Wagner when I needed to find motivation and Beethoven when I just needed something to hold onto when things became hard.”

  Kit pushed the half eaten enchilada away from her, “My parents never understood it, why their cheerleader daughter and prom queen candidate preferred classical over the boy bands. I was even made fun of by my friends, so I hid my secret love for boring music. I begged my mother to take me to the symphony in D.C. for years.” Kit looked up into my eyes, “When I hired in with the Secret Service I thought I would finally have enough money to go alone or even go with a politician when they were invited to a charity event. Stand in the wings of a balcony and watch.” Kit dropped her head slightly, sheepish smile still on her face.

  I had been staring and listening to her tell me about something that was so very personal to her. Revealing something to me meant she was building some trust. I set my napkin on the plate, “And did you?”

  Kit shook her head, standing up with her plate to take it to Paco, “No, I was always assigned to details that took me away from anything cultured.” She took a slow breath, “I did buy tickets once, before I left for….my final assignment.” Kit looked up into the clear blue sky, “But I fucked that up. Just like everything else for the last two years.”

  Before I could say anything, Kit glanced at her watch, “It’s time to get going Senator Avondale. We don’t want to be late for your meeting.”

  I watched Kit walk away after taking my empty plate to the grinning Paco. He took her hand and patted it; I knew he was making her promise to come back with me as soon as possible. When she turned around, the soft open look on her face as she told me the truth about her love of classical music was replaced by the steely non-emotional one of my personal assistant and bodyguard.

  My symphony secret was one I kept close to my heart for years, only one other person outside of my family knew about it. I wasn't sure what it was about the Senator that made me want to tell her that. Maybe it was the sucker punch she threw me in the car when I tried to brush it off. I wasn't trying to dig at her when I made the comment about book smarts versus street smarts; I had made a poor judgment about the Senator. Everything she had done in the short time I knew her, was so carefully planned and organized that it begged me to believe she was untested in life, just like all rich folk I had worked for in my life. She surprised me in the car and at a lunch when she actually listened to me and didn't shrug it off, like so many others had before.

  I stood next to the car waiting for Claire, watching her say her goodbyes to the older man who hugged her like she was his own daughter. It was expected after the little hero moment that passed between them. Maybe that was why I told her about the symphony. For a split second as I listened to Paco express his undying servitude to the blonde for saving his wife and I looked into her eyes, I saw something that actually warmed my dead heart. Then she hit me with giving good people a second chance.

  It was her eyes. They always told me so much more than her very practiced exterior. They would smile when she was attempting a joke, and then turn to serious and analytical when she was watching me and readi
ng me. Then now as she turned from the older man, they seemed to sparkle. The afternoon sun doing their part to make them even more of a sea blue color rather than the normal blue green. Claire smiled slightly when hers met mine, sending a strange feeling through my body. A foreign feeling that made me confused at what it was and grateful when the Senator slipped her aviators on and ended the connection between us.

  I cleared my throat, “We should be at the university in a half hour, Senator Avondale.”

  She was still smiling as she opened the passenger door, “Perfect.” Before she climbed into the Lincoln, “Paco wanted me to tell you that we both have to come back before the vacation is over to have dinner with him and Emiliana.” Her smile turned into a smirk, “Seems he is very taken with you.”

  I furrowed my brow, dropping down into the driver’s seat. “I barely said three words to him outside of please and thank you.”

  “Paco told me that you remind him of fire.” Claire picked up her cell phone to check her emails, “That you burn bright with passion and have a fight that will swarm around those you care for when stoked.”

  I pushed the ignition, shaking my head slightly, “Okay, and what about my five words gave him that impression?” I kept my tone even, I hated being read.

  Claire set the phone in her lap, reaching to turn the radio up she glanced at me, “Your eyes. That's all he told me. I guess you will have to ask him the next time we come.”

  I laughed lightly, sliding my own sunglasses on now that the sun was piercing through the front windshield, “I think that’s okay, I'd rather not.” I pulled out onto the road, “I hate being read or told what others think they see in me.” The last part I did my best to not have an edged tone, “They are usually wrong.”