Chasing Charlie

by C. M. Newman

CHAPTER THREE: BACK TO WORK

  His visit with the oncologist the day before made Vince hyperaware of the changes his body had been going through over the last few months. The weight loss was the most obvious. If his memory served him correctly, he saw when he stepped on the scale that he was down two, maybe three pounds from the same time last week. He’d gone in two notches on his belt since he’d noticed the weight simply start to fall off. The first notch past his usual one had been used before on occasion and didn’t worry him much. The second notch was new and had prompted the questions from Harry and Jenna, as well as concerns within Vince himself.

  His clothes were looking baggy, but there was nothing he could do about that issue without shopping for more or going to a tailor, which was something he hadn’t had a chance to do over the last few months. And it was something he certainly couldn’t bring himself to care about now. The fatigue was another salient concern. That came and went, though, as did the nausea and the pain. He could usually ignore all of these selectively, but today, the desire to go back to bed was overwhelming.

  After dropping Charlie off at school, Vince walked into the office at his usual time. He was the first one in today, which was for the best. After taking a minute to stare at the outdated office furniture, the weak sunlight streaming in through the dirty windows, and the disarray of every desk in the bullpen, he made his way to see Hanson. A knot formed in his stomach, which he hadn’t bothered feeding that morning. He hadn’t felt that he would be able to keep it down.

  “Agent Glasser,” Hanson greeted him, her voice tainted slightly with worry. “Come in.” Her aged and typically harsh visage looked unusually soft from the dim lamplight and closed shades.

  “Good morning,” he replied, taking a seat in front of her desk. Only a few years ago, he and everyone else had thought this office and this job would be his. Hanson, however, had transferred from the field office in Denver, swooping in and taking the position at the last minute. It would have been easier not to take the move personally had the two not known each other from Academy training and had Hanson not given him a superior sneer her first day in Minneapolis. They had not been friends since, and the move had earned her some colorful nicknames from the rest of Vince’s team—a team renowned for its professionalism and expertise.

  “What is it that you wanted to discuss?” Hanson asked.

  Vince had spent almost the entire morning so consumed with wondering how long he’d be able to maintain his morning routine with Charlie. He hadn’t prepared much of a speech for his boss. His fingertips tapped together as he looked down at them. “I have bad news.”

  “Clearly, yes…” She sounded more troubled now.

  Vince brought his face up and met Hanson’s eyes. “I haven’t been feeling well for a while now, and I had some tests done. Long story short, I found out yesterday that I have stage four pancreatic cancer. It’s inoperable, but I’ve decided to undergo chemotherapy and radiation to fight it off for as long as I can.”

  Hanson’s well-manicured eyebrows slanted downward as she cocked her head a little to the side. “It’s terminal?”

  “Yes.” Vince found the informational session with his boss to be much less emotional than the one between him and his doctor or between him and Jenna. But it was still so uncomfortable that he would rather be almost anywhere else. The only real upside he could see was that he wasn’t crying.

  Hanson’s hands fell lazily onto her desk. “Agent Glasser…I am…very sorry to hear that,” she said hazily. “What can I do for you?” she added more clearly after some silence passed between them.

  “I need to resign from the Bureau. My treatments start next week. I’ll gladly stay until then to transition someone else into my role, and if you want my input—”

  “Do you know how much time you have, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Six to eight months with treatment.” Vince felt the story getting old already. A freezing cold dread overtook him when he thought of telling this story yet again to his team.

  Hanson’s hand trembled and steadied itself over her mouth for a second. “I’ll be honest with you, Agent Glasser. It feels a bit cold to be discussing work-related details after news like this. Granted, our relationship has never been exactly warm, but I think terminal illness transcends those kinds of boundaries.”

  “I appreciate the concern, ma’am, I do. I just need to get things straightened out as soon as possible. I hope you understand.”

  Like being roused from a daydream, the woman snapped back into business mode. “Of course. I just need a letter of resignation from you, something official. I’ll take care of the rest, get in touch with human resources and have them get you set with health insurance changes and instructions on cashing out any retirement funds. I’ll make sure they’re on top of that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Absolutely. I can’t ignore what an asset you’ve been to this team and to the Bureau. I’d like to do whatever I can to make this a little easier on you.”

  Vince nodded. “Thank you,” he repeated. “As for replacing me…”

  “Ah, yes. Who do you have in mind?” Hanson asked. “Agent Marshall?”

  “Agent Fitzhugh, actually.”

  This was one of the few non-Charlie-related thoughts that had made its way into his head over the last eighteen or so hours. Before Hanson could ask why, Vince continued. “I have no doubt that Agent Marshall can lead this team effectively, but I think it would be less of an emotional burden on Agent Fitzhugh, whom I also see as perfectly suitable as my replacement. Their leadership abilities and instincts are well matched, but Agent Fitzhugh can…compartmentalize a little more easily, in my experience. Of course, this isn’t my decision to make, but hopefully my two cents are worth something. Either way, the team would be in good hands.”

  “I will certainly take your recommendations into consideration. Is there anything else?”

  “If you’ve no objection, I’d like to take some time out of the day today to tell my team what’s going on. And I know today is our last day on stand-down, but I was hoping you could get us an extension of maybe a couple of days. It will help smooth the transition if everyone can stay in town a least until next week.”

  “And it will give your team time to recover from the news.”

  “They’re a very resilient group of people,” Vince said.

  For what seemed like the first time, Hanson had more understanding of the human condition—or at least was more willing to admit to it—than Vince had. “Of course they’re a very resilient group of people, Agent Glasser. But today they’ll be finding out that they’ll soon be losing someone who’s been not only a leader, but a friend, for many years. I’m surprised you overlooked that.”

  Vince chewed on this, but he was too taken aback by Hanson’s utter kindness to form any verbal reply.

  “Either way,” Hanson said when Vince didn’t speak, “Two more days on stand-down should be doable.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate the support.”

  “Think nothing of it. And let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

  Vince convinced himself he didn’t see a shimmer in Hanson’s eyes when he nodded, rose, and left. He was itching for some fresher coffee and hoped no one else was in the break area. He needed time to prepare.

  “Hey, you,” Angela said with a smile, pulling Vince’s favorite mug out of the cabinet for him. He busied his eyes not with the mug, but with the long dark hair that spilled over her shoulders in effortless looking waves. The deep, dark eyes that spoke nothing but understanding, even at times when he didn’t know what was going on in his own mind. She was another best friend of his, in a subtle sort of way. He trusted her with his life perhaps more than he trusted anyone else, especially since that night in Chicago. That trust coupled with a mutual understanding of each other made him start to wonder what might have been, if not for the cancer.

  “Mug?” Angela asked, waving it in front of Vince’s face w
hen he merely stared at her. “Need me to pour it for you, too?” she teased.

  “Oh, thanks,” he said, taking it. “Sorry, not completely here, I guess.”

  “Feeling okay? Fitz said you ate something funky yesterday.”

  “Feeling fine, thanks.” Of all the people he needed to think about, of all the people he feared informing, Angela was the last one he wanted to see right now. He didn’t make small talk, just took his black coffee with him into his cramped but organized office, leaving Angela somewhat perturbed. Without turning a single light on, he groaned and sank into the torn leather chair behind his desk. He’d slept poorly the night before and he felt a headache coming on as a result.

  After a few quiet moments, he was going to get up and walk to Harry’s office. Telling the calmest person first might be the easiest. But the second he tried to rise from his chair, his lower back protested. Not only did he hurt, but he now knew a tiredness he’d never experienced until he’d started noticing his symptoms. It was different from the exhaustion after several consecutive sleepless nights from traveling or poring over case files until dawn.

  Despite the coffee, Vince fought back a yawn and some chills. He sighed in frustration, sensing this day would only go downhill, and punched Harry’s extension into his desk phone. After a few quick words, Harry was at Vince’s door.

  Harry Fitzhugh (affectionately called Fitz by most of his colleagues) was a wisecracking, potbellied, grey-haired man about ten years Vince’s senior. He’d joined the Bureau around the same time as Vince after heading up the Minneapolis Police Department for ten years. “Morning, Vince,” he said as cheerfully as he could at that hour.

  “Good morning,” Vince returned, straightening his already straight tie. Suit and tie, almost every day for years now.

  “What’s up?” Harry took a seat across from Vince and tossed one foot over the other knee. As usual, he was dressed much more casually than Vince, wearing Dockers and a flannel shirt with his reading glasses hanging out the front pocket.

  How do you tell one of your best friends that you know you won’t be around to see the next year? Vince thought. Still without a tear, though he was certain they’d roll in eventually, he took one deep but silent breath. “The weight loss wasn’t nothing, Harry, even though I told you it was. I thought it was nothing, but I started—”

  “Cut the crap, Vince. What is it?” Harry said, growing hotter than Vince had expected, and sooner.

  “Cancer.”

  “What?” Harry said, not loudly, but with a little extra intonation.

  Vince told his short story again. While he talked, he watched Harry’s hands furl into fists, then unfurl and grip the arms of his chair. “Do you have any questions?”

  “Questions? Yeah, Vince, I’ve got questions. Six months? Really? They just found the cancer and it’s already terminal?”

  Vince shrugged helplessly. “They said they usually catch this kind of cancer too late to do anything about it.”

  Harry sat forward and scratched at his beard. “I’ve witnessed terminal illness before, but something tells me you’re gonna kill me right along with you, Glasser. How long are you staying at work?”

  “I’ll be leaving sometime next week, depending on how things go in HR, and with transitioning out. You know how it goes.”

  Harry said nothing to that, though from the introspective look on his ragged face, Vince could tell he had plenty that he wanted to say.

  “Speaking of transitioning, I’ve recommended you as my replacement. I think this will be easier for you to handle than it would be for Marshall,” Vince said, lowering his voice. “As you know, you don’t have to take the offer—”

  “What do you want?”

  “Come again?”

  “What do you want?” Harry asked with more helpful inflection. “Would you rather I take your spot or Marshall take it?”

  “It’s not about what I want, Harry. It’s about what’s best for the people we help and what’s best for the team, and that includes whomever is leading it. If this isn’t something you want, I’m just letting you know you don’t have to take it. That’s all. The three of us started this team together, so it’s not an easy call. I just don’t want you to feel obligated.”

  “I know that,” Harry spat. Vince’s lips thinned as he bore down on them with his teeth. He hadn’t pictured arguing with anyone today. Harry looked up from the floor in time to see this. “I’m sorry,” he said clearly. “You’re already getting enough grief from the world. I don’t need to pile on my own.”

  “It’s okay,” Vince struggled. “What you said is telling. I need to be prepared.”

  “Do you want me to help you tell the others?”

  “No,” Vince said through some congestion. “They need to hear it from me. And we, uh, have a couple more days on stand-down unless I hear differently from Hanson.”

  “What about Charlie? Have you told him yet?”

  “Not yet. I’m still trying to figure out what to say.”

  Harry rose from his chair and circled around to Vince’s side of the desk. Vince wouldn’t have minded the hug, but getting up was a struggle. He endured, though, and clapped Harry on the back a few times before drawing away. “Sorry if I made this harder than it had to be,” Harry reiterated.

  “Like I said, Harry, this isn’t about me. I’ve already had time to digest this, and I’ll have more time. You guys still have to function just as you were, and this is your first time hearing it. However you react right away is fine. It’s your prerogative.”

  “If there’s anything I can do, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m serious. I don’t have much of a life; you know that. If you need a ride somewhere, someone to talk to—not that I won’t be over bugging the living daylights outta you all the time anyway—”

  Vince shot Harry a short grin. “Thanks. Is Marshall in yet?”

  “Yeah. Want me to send him in?”

  “Please.”