requiem3

After a moment, when she was sure her mind was boss again, she glanced down at his handwriting. Not different at all, was her first reaction. And, of course, the words invited her to a meeting. A small coffee shop she knew in New York City. Five in the morning…she rolled her eyes. Don’t tell me he anticipated that I’d be up half the night trying to decide whether to read it.
In those rare moments in her life when she’d thought about meeting Jarod again, though back then, she’d been sure she never would, she had sworn she had changed completely. It bothered her, that he could still predict her moods. For Chrissake, he hadn’t seen her in fourteen years.      She felt like laughing, though it wasn’t that funny.
She wasn’t going, she decided. Too much anguish. To many buried things to dig up. But the words were empty; she’d made the decision before she opened the letter. She flipped on her headset, spoke the code that would bring her in touch with the pilot on duty, and tried not to notice that her hands trembled, ever so slightly. Her mind was on a one-track phrase. Fourteen years…Fourteen years…Fourteen years. She felt like a little kid again.
Now don’t get yourself into anything stupid, Angel. That’s what Daddy would have said, if he was lucid. Don’t go running off with your emotions. You’re a Parker. Remember what that means.
She knew she wouldn’t, with the same surety that meant she was going. But she felt a little dark something sink inside her at the thought. Maybe regret. Some things just don’t turn out the way you thought, she told herself. She wouldn’t feel this way for long. She never did. The Parker girl might have gotten caught up in the moment, hot-headed and foolish as she had been, but the Director certainly did not.
Already drowning, she spoke the code into her headset which would waken the helicopter pilot.

And so she was here, she thought, blinking her eyes as if rising from a dream. Standing out in the cold, while it threatens to rain, while my past uses his photographic memory to recall that I like my cappuccino with a shot of French vanilla, whipped cream, and chocolate sprinkles. Or had she drunk it black, like the hard-core bitchcake commando she’d fancied herself to be in those early years? She thought Jarod would probably figure it out, anyway.
How long are you going to stand out here, Miss Parker, Madame Director? Afraid of the lab rat, are you? Afraid of how you might feel? For a long time, she’d used that word scornfully. Feelings sucked, was her general opinion.
But the answer was yes. She was fourteen years beyond lying to herself and calling it courage. She wiped a stray tear from her cheek, wondering why she was crying at all, ran her fingers through her hair—it was not so difficult to restrain as it had once been—and pulled open the door.    Buck up, bucko. Remember who you are.
A blast of heat breathed into her face before the door closed, cutting her off from the strange-tasting air of New York.
She searched the empty seats for him, and this time, she spotted him first, eyes hooded, staring at the golden oak floorboards, hand wrapped around a tall latte mug. Whipped cream, she noticed. Colored sprinkles. She stared at his hand a long time before realizing what she was looking for. Something more than the wear of fourteen years. What had his life brought him?
Who was Jarod now? Not the man she had let go, the man who wore the face of an innocent and abused child. And someone familiar, all the same.
And then he was staring at her, his deep brown eyes bright. An impish smile spread across his face.
He winked. “Hello, Miss Parker,” he murmured, a playful lilt in his voice. “Listen—how do you drink your coffee these days?”
She felt something stick in her throat for a moment, but she smiled back, though her eyes welled up with tears. It was a long moment before she spoke “Jarod,” she choked, trying to put that snappish tone in the name. “You brought me all the way to New York City to ask me how I wanted my coffee?”
With the hand that had been resting in his lap, he beckoned her toward the table for two. She sat down, forgetting the pain in her knees and ass, and leaned close.
“We can talk about that later,” he informed her. “You don’t look bad, you know.”
Neither do you. “Thanks a lot,” she sighed sarcastically.
His hand came up and rested on hers. It was warm. There was no electricity, but she had never put much stock in that kind of BS, anyway. “Miss Parker…” He was grinning, eyes full of mischief.
“What is it, Jarod?”
“I wanted to ask you…well, I wanted you to go with me to…”
She turned her head and pursed her lips, an expression that felt so familiar, as she listened to Jarod explain his idea, and something unknotted in her soul. Outside, raindrops fell fat and heavy onto the street and hissed into drainage vents, a cold and bittersweet accompaniment.

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