Artie involuntarily pooched her lips out and bit them.
“Don’t give me that look. I had been attending an evangelical church at the time, so there was that influence.”
Artie nodded in understanding. “Hey, I’m Catholic. I get it.”
“Today, I now wonder if I were on the outskirts of the quantum field. Everything I’ve read indicates the quantum field, if it could be described, is complete and utter blackness, void of anything physical.
“Sorry, I digress. So, I was just there, and all I could think about was that I had taken my life for granted. I thought of things I still wanted to do, but because I thought I had all the time in the world, I just kept putting off my dreams.”
“We all do that at some point.”
“Yeah, well, that’s all I kept thinking about. I took it all for granted. I took it all for granted. Slowly, a dim light began to rise out of nowhere, but not toward me. It was illuminating the figure just outside of my line of sight, and I remember having an impression that it was Jesus.
“He was dressed in all white. I couldn’t make him out completely, but his voice was one of deep love. If love had a voice, his voice was it. I could tell he was looking at me. I didn’t hear his voice audibly, but I knew his voice.
“He said, ‘I have always loved you and will never leave you, but you must fight, Smythe. You have given up, and in giving up, the stepping stones you’ve used to climb have cut into you as you have fallen.’
“He said that my life was one of perfection. That I was the expression of the character of God in all that I am. I recalled at that moment, that, in the last few years, I had given up. I don’t remember why—but I let something in me die. I remember, as though seeing through His eyes when He was speaking, that in giving up, I had fallen. When I fell, there were sharp edges cutting into me.
“He said, ‘Fight, Smythe. Fight for your life. Begin to climb and do not stop until you reach the top.’ I remember beginning to climb. There were sharp hand- and footholds, and whenever I slipped, those holds would cut into me. I remember wondering what I had become, and then, in a flash, I was in post-op throwing up. People around me were telling me it was alright, and some were even clapping. I heard someone say, ‘Thank God!’
“For a few months after that, I was angry. I was more angry at God than myself. I never spoke to anyone about it. At times, I thought it was a figment of my imagination, but over time, I began to read about similar after-death experiences. I became even more enraged, partly because everybody I read about was describing pie in the sky experiences. They met loved ones. They were given a choice to return to their lives. Blah, blah, blah. That wasn’t me, though. It’s taken a few years, Artie, and a lot of physical, financial, and psychological sweat and tears to finally more fervently fight for my life. Yet, there are still areas where I have not been as brave as I’ve needed to be.”
“How so?”
“Well—” Smythe started, cut off by the sound of Artie’s cellphone ringing.
“Hold that thought,” Artie said, removing her com set earbud and reaching to answer her phone.
Smythe rose from her dining room chair and headed into her bedroom. She was having second thoughts about talking to Artie about her feelings for her. She changed out of her flannel shirt as she had now become too warm to wear it and put on a T-shirt. When she headed back into the dining room, Artie was still on the phone. She seemed irritated with whomever she was speaking with.
“Look, I don’t care. You earn great money. I have not asked you for a dime in caring for him. He’s your son, too, so pick up the tab! Goodbye!”
Smythe walked into the kitchen, opened her refrigerator, and grabbed a couple of beers. She walked over to Artie and handed her one.
“I know you’re still on the clock, but I thought just this one time.”
Artie gave a half-hearted smile to Smythe and took the bottle from her.
“Sorry about that. It was my son’s father.”
“What’s going on, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Nah, I don’t mind.” Artie let out a slow breath.
“They’re heading to Maui next month for a couple of weeks, and for some reason, Davey’s father believes I should foot half the bill. I gave him written permission to take Davey, but that doesn’t include paying for the trip. He’s been angling for money ever since Davey arrived.”
“Wow. Isn’t that a bit presumptuous of him? Sorry, I know little of custody.”
“Right!? It is. It just tells me that either he isn’t making as many business deals, or that caring for Davey is costing him more than he had anticipated.”
“Didn’t you say he’s a millionaire?”
“A cheap one at that. He’s extremely frugal with money, which I can appreciate, but he decided he wanted Davey in his life. In fact, over the years, he’s all but begged to have more time with him. Obviously, he didn’t factor in a financial responsibility that comes with more time. At any rate, enough of my drama. Where were we?” Artie said, feeling the need to change the subject.
“Talking about you,” Smythe said with a grin.
“Nah, I don’t think so,” Artie teased.
“Yes, I’m sure of it. You asked me if I wanted to grab a bite to eat. I said a few things, you received a phone call, and we are now discussing you.”
Smythe began to rise from her chair, but Artie reached out for her hand and motioned for her to remain seated. Smythe reluctantly re-seated herself. She placed her remaining hand over Artie’s and stared at them.
“Look,” Smythe started. “We are always discussing what’s in my head. Rarely do we discuss you. I like you, Artie, and I’d really like to stop being so selfish and hear what’s going on with you.”
“You like me?!” Artie said, feigning disbelief. “You like me? Me, the one that keeps you cooped up— your words—like a prisoner? Now you dig your jailer?”
“Well, you’re kind of growing on me. But you keep that up, and I’ll think twice about it.”
Smythe removed her hands and looked across at Artie. Artie was searching Smythe’s eyes when a knock at the door interrupted them.
Artie quickly rose from the dining chair and motioned Smythe into the back portion of her apartment. Artie took a defensive position to the side of the door, drawing her weapon and pointing it toward the door. As she held her position, she realized she had removed her ear com bud from her ear when she answered the call from her son’s father and had yet to put it back in, essentially removing herself from communication with her team.
“Who is it?” she demanded.
To her relief, it was a member of Team 1 reporting in. He had attempted to reach Artie by the com link, and her lack of response put into motion a tactical response from the team. She opened the door.
“Sorry, guys. We’re good. Thanks for the check.” The team member nodded and returned to his post.
“Smythe, it’s all clear.”
Smythe sauntered out of her bedroom. “Well, it’s a good thing. I just cleaned yesterday. Last thing I need is blood and guts all over the place.”
“Want to grab something to eat?” Artie asked.
“Annnd, we’re right back to where we started. Yes. Yes, I do. I’m thinking pizza.”
“And I’m thinking Greek.”
“Um, no. Beer and Greek, they don’t go together. Well, at least for my taste buds. Beer and pizza do.”
“I just can’t with you,” Artie said, shaking her head and smiling in Smythe’s direction. She opened the apartment door and raised her hand, signaling to a member of Team 1 to be prepared to travel in five minutes.
Find the Good
CONCEALING HER WEAPON, ARTIE GRABBED HER JACKET AND PUT IT on. Smythe smiled widely, her face giving away her elation to get out of the house for a few hours. She moved swiftly to the sofa to sit down to put on a pair of shoes. As she rose, Artie extended a hand to help her to her feet. In true Smythe fashion, she hesitated for a moment, old patterns of
behavior attempting to kick in, but instead, she took Artie’s hand and allowed Artie to assist her.
“See? I told you you were growing on me. Normally I would have just stood up on my own,” she said, smiling.
“That’s progress right there, I tell ya.”
“Just so you know, there will be more beer.”
They left the apartment, climbed into the back seat of Team 1’s vehicle, and headed to a local pizzeria called The Joint. Located several miles from Smythe’s apartment, Artie had chosen the spot as a regular local hangout for Smythe to visit, mostly because it was owned by a friend and retired police officer. It helped that local law enforcement was known to frequent the pizzeria, therefore she felt assured there would be an abundance of officers and weapons should the need arise.
The Joint sat among a row of elm trees, a constant companion to the developing valley. Weaved between the densely planted trees, a credit union, dry cleaners, and a movie theater bordered both sides of the restaurant. Foot traffic was a constant, especially after work and weekends. The Joint bustled with patrons most evenings, with local bands playing in the background while the wait staff, gregarious in their mannerisms, welcomed all. But now, at 2:00 p.m. on a weekday, the restaurant was quiet.
Artie and Smythe took a seat at the furthest corner booth and spent a few hours enjoying each other’s company. They laughed and teased one another throughout their meal, trading bits of their life stories. Smythe, who mostly asked questions of Artie, was struck by how open-hearted Artie was, especially about her life. To her, it felt refreshing. Refreshing because she believed it was important to give Artie a break from her own ongoing internal drama.
Way too much time spent picking into my life.
“The least you could do is offer me the courtesy of knowing who’s behind the protector that always dresses in blue or black clothing.”
“Do I disappoint?”
“No, not at all, Smythe said as she blushed. “I mean, you look great in those colors. I can make assumptions about why you only wear them, but I would rather hear it from you.”
“Well, when not on duty, I wear any color but black or blue. The thing is people don’t pay attention to these colors. They’re just drab enough not to draw attention. Besides, black especially conceals my weapon.”
“Mmm—there’s that. Do you wear yellow?”
“Can’t stand the color. So, no.”
“Me either. Bleh.”
“You have a yellowish, golden-hued pot above your kitchen cupboard.”
“Yes, but it’s the only one, and it has a golden hue—just as you stated.”
“I wanted to smash it,” Artie said with a smirk.
“Don’t you dare! Sheesh.” Pausing for just a moment, she finally added, “I think someone gave it to me. I can’t be sure, but I know I didn’t purchase it.”
Artie eyed her with curiosity. Smythe was finally emerging. From a highly introverted, rightfully frightened woman to what she did not yet know. She thought about the first few months with Smythe. Smythe was someone who had shown signs of anxiety and depression, and seemed emotionally unavailable. But now, Smythe was different. Perhaps she was growing into a more confident person, or maybe she was beginning to show that side of her. Time would tell. Regardless, she was delighted to witness the positive change.
“So, moving away from smashing my belongings, tell me more about your son. Does he know what you do for a living?”
“No, he does not,” Artie said, shaking her head. “And I rather like it that way. He knows that I work with law enforcement, but beyond that, he doesn’t know much. He’s only seven, and it seems a bit too early to fill him in on the details—but that day is coming. Even his father doesn’t know what I do. I find it… advantageous. You know, to minimize my particular role in society.”
“And not publicizing that to anyone minimizes the risk of exposure. Makes sense.”
“Your profile didn’t indicate you had children—did you? I mean, ever have a kid?” Artie asked.
“Hey, we’re not talking about me right now, remember? But, to answer your question, no, I don’t have kids.”
“How come?”
“You’re just not going to give up, are you?” Smythe laughed.
“To answer your final question, while I like kids, I didn’t want to go through the whole birthing process. Besides, I wasn’t in relationships with anyone who wanted children in their lives. I never discounted getting involved with someone who had them or wanted to have them, but it just hadn’t played out.”
“So, you have a—” Artie began.
“No more questions, missy! My turn. What made you decide to leave New York?”
Artie chuckled and looked down at her plate before she answered, her eyes softening as she began.
“It was really about college. My best friend and I were accepted to several of the same universities, and in the end, we just sat down together and weighed the pros and cons of each. With our scholarships in hand, we chose the university that got us as far away from our parents as we possibly could.”
While Artie laughed at her memory, Smythe sat dumbfounded.
“Wait, you get several scholarships, and your deciding factor was how far away you could live from your parents? Why not the prestige of the university?”
“You have to understand; I come from an Italian family. Very close-knit, and while I do love them, I needed some breathing room. Besides, it was getting to a point where they were beginning to hint that I should find a guy while at university. I hadn’t come out to them yet, or to myself, for that matter.” Artie paused, her eyes distant as she recalled the memory.
Sensing a deeper story, Smythe gently asked, “Tell me more about coming out.”
Artie lifted her gaze and searched Smythe’s eyes. Out of all of her friends and girlfriends, none had shown an interest so directly. With a tinge of seriousness, she furrowed her brow and voiced her recollection.
“I recognized that I was attracted to girls in high school, but I was so busy with my studies that I never really paid attention to my attraction. I had male friends and one that I hung out with quite a bit, but it was really only to study. We both were driven to go to college, so he was easy to be with. When I arrived at college, that same drive to get good grades and move toward my goal of becoming an FBI agent was all I saw. I had a trajectory.
“During my senior year, I got involved with a female classmate. We were in a lot of the same classes, and we just clicked. Over time, I found my feelings for her getting stronger, and one day, just before spring break started, she asked me if I wanted to spend some time with her up at her parents’ cabin. I agreed, and the rest was history. We came back, finished out our last semester as girlfriends, graduated, and ended up going our separate ways. I went on to obtain my J.D., and she went off to Europe to travel.”
“Just like that, plop, you ended your relationship?”
“Actually, she did. She wanted to travel Europe, like a lot of kids do. I didn’t. There was a world to save, and I didn’t want to waste time traipsing through the countryside of Europe. At least right away.”
“And you, Smythe? What’s your coming out story?”
“Not so fast. What happened after that?”
Artie grinned.
“I obtained my J.D. While getting my advanced degree, I decided to take up a language. Arabic. I was already rather fluent in Spanish and thought it might come in handy in my line of work. And, yes, before you say anything, it is profiling. But I knew what the FBI was angling for with new recruits, and I wanted to make myself marketable—and it worked. I jumped through the hoops of the FBI academy and became a field agent for several years, specializing in behavioral profiling. And, of course, I’m a sharpshooter, one of only a few at the time. But that’s all you’re getting from me for now. What about you? What’s your coming out story?
“Is that in my file?”
“Actually, it is.”
“Wow. I didn’t discl
ose that.”
“Don’t worry about it. Only those that have to know, know,” Artie replied, nodding her head in reassurance.
“Understand, I’m not closeted. I’m just always fascinated by the assumptions people make.”
“Well, I’ve been living with you, in a way, for several months.”
“It hasn’t been living with me in a way. You are living with me. I should charge you rent!”
“For a blowup mattress as a bed? I don’t think so,” Artie teased. “So, in all seriousness, give it up. What’s your story?”
Let her in Smythe. She seems genuinely interested. Just take a step, she said to herself. She twisted a napkin on her lap. Why am I so reticent about talking about me?
Smythe sighed and murmured, “Good grief, Charlie Brown.”
Artie sat patiently waiting.
Taking in a breath, Smythe finally leaped into recounting that part of her life.
“It’s really not so dramatic, Artie. I just always knew I was different. I didn’t have the same interest in boys that my sisters did. As I got older, I realized that I was attracted to girls. Once I learned the term of my attraction, I pretty much kept it to myself until I was out on my own. Had a couple of girlfriends, but my love went off to Europe as well.” Smythe stopped and shook her head. “What is it with lesbians and Europe, anyway?” No longer twisting her napkin, she chuckled to herself, recounting the number of friends who took off on an adventure to Europe after college.
“I then had a longer relationship that lasted for several years before we ended it. Since her, I haven’t been in a real significant relationship. Haven’t really wanted to.”
“Haven’t found the right one yet?”
“Something like that.”
“What about your son? How did—?”
“One-night stand,” Artie interrupted.
The ringing of a bell caught Artie’s attention, and she looked up. A man approached, dressed in an apron and covered in dried tomato sauce. He strolled over with his arms outstretched. Artie stood up and warmly greeted him, but refused to hug, opting instead to hold out her hand for him to shake.
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