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“I think she may have a vivid imagination.”
“How so?”
“I think she makes up things about people.” Wayne didn’t want to dig the hole too deep. He had no idea how much Beale knew.
“Like whom, for instance?”
“Me, maybe.” He couldn’t sit still.
“She’s never said a word about anyone, including you.” That was a little fib, but talking trash wasn’t part of any conversation she’d ever had with Melanie.
“Oh. Okay.”
“Are you alright, Mr. Howell?” She looked at him curiously.
He wiped his palms on his trousers. “Yes.” Borrowing a phrase from Melanie, he said, “I think maybe I’m coming down with something.” He got up and vanished into his compartment.
Beale wondered what that was all about. Maybe the date went sideways. While she was saddened to lose a top-notch civilian employee, she was excited for Melanie, and also relieved. Wayne Howell would have to find another woman to womanize.
When Melanie got home, she phoned her parents to tell them the good news. Their hope for Melanie was a job in the foreign service, but if this was the way to get there, and Melanie was happy, then they were happy. In three months, she would be transferred to Anacostia, less than a half hour away. They suggested she move back home until she finished her training. At some point, she would be relocated again. No sense to keep writing change-of-address cards. And Melanie would have the company of Bixby, their six-year-old Wheaten Terrier. She missed having a pet.
* * *
The next day, she pondered whether or not she should say something to Wayne. Something about his atrocious, vulgar behavior, or that she was leaving. She didn’t want him to think he was getting away with anything, so she walked to his cubicle and said loudly enough for a few people to overhear, “Two things, Wayne: Next time you think about taking advantage of someone, punch yourself in the face first.” He looked at her curiously. Her stare burned deeper into his skull. “You’re lucky you aren’t singing soprano right now.” He instinctively touched his crotch. She turned on her heel and marched back to her space, feeling very proud of herself.
The remaining two weeks of her stint passed quickly, and then she was on her way to enhanced training. When she arrived at Glynco, once again, she went through a rigorous security check. She was escorted to her new supervisor, given three heavy binders, her residence assignment, and her schedule. It was much more intense than she’d imagined. Especially the firearms part. She had never been a gun enthusiast, but now they were going to be part of her job. Her life.
Chapter Seven
Training
Federal Law Enforcement Training Center
Glynco, Georgia
The rules, regulations, and procedures were pervasive, but her biggest challenge was handling weaponry. She spent whatever extra hours she had on the firing range. As much as it went against her grain, she was going to get her marksman’s badge. “Sharpshooter” and “Expert” were much higher rank, but she would be satisfied with marksmanship level. She surely was not interested in becoming a sniper.
Not surprisingly, in twelve weeks, Melanie finished top of her class, and was transferred to Anacostia, which meant relocating back to her parents’. A year ago, she was mortified at the idea of still living at home, but now, it was different. She wouldn’t be a freeloader.
Back Home
Her first night home was glorious. Bixby could not contain his excitement at seeing his pal walk in the door and knocked her off balance as he landed both paws on her chest. She grabbed him by the scruff and nuzzled him. “Oh, Bixby-boo! How I’ve missed you!” He returned the affection by slobbering all over her face. “Such a good boy,” she said as she wiped the dribble from her cheek. Her parents were next in line to show their affection and delight at having their daughter back.
“Let me take that,” her dad said as he lugged her duffel bag up the stairs.
Her mother gave her another hug. “I made your favorite dinner.” She paused. “Mel, I hope you don’t mind, but we painted your room.”
Melanie chuckled. “I don’t care what color it is, as long as it’s not steel gray or army green.” She trailed her father up the stairs, with Bixby following at her heels. As soon as she entered her old bedroom, she flung herself on the bed. “There’s no place like home.” She giggled as Bixby joined her on the comfortable mattress.
“Let us know if you need anything, honey,” her father said as he was leaving the room. “We’re glad you’re back.”
Melanie never thought she would have the same sentiment. It wasn’t as if she disliked living with her parents. She’d just never thought she would be living in her room again and happy about it. Those few months after graduation were stressful. She didn’t have a job at the time and was feeling like a slug. Now, almost a year later, she was on her way to becoming a special investigative agent. Having grown up without guns around, she debated whether she should tell her parents she was a “marksman.” She decided against it. It would make her mother fret, knowing her daughter was packing a weapon. Yes, it was in a locked case, and, yes, she would keep it in a safe place. But still. Having a gun in the house was never a thing for her family.
She peeled off her traveling clothes, took a shower, and put on a pair of comfortable black jogging pants and a matching sweatshirt with the letters O S I on the front in three-inch block letters. Her hair framed her face, emphasizing her deep blue eyes. She gazed in the mirror, checking for any lines or signs of stress. She’d packed a lot in over the past year. It was rigorous training on many levels: physical, mental, emotional, and well, she wasn’t going to give the dating debacle another thought. She stood silently, closed her eyes, and practiced one of the stress relievers she’d learned many years ago. A slow deep inhale through the nose. Let the air flow through your body, your arms, and your legs. Hold for one second and slowly release the air through slightly parted lips, as it cleanses the tension from your body, mind, and spirit. She did it three times, feeling the layers of stress lift from her psyche. There was a lot for her to mentally unpack. Much more than what was in her duffel bag.
She heard her mother’s voice calling her for dinner, her words floating on the aroma of short ribs that had been cooking for over eight hours. Melanie envisioned the juicy, tender meat and her mom’s smashed potatoes. Her stomach growled, prodding her to slap on her sneakers and bound down the stairs.
Bixby hadn’t left her side, and both went racing into the dining room. “Smells fantastic!” Melanie hooted. Bixby’s tail was beating like a drumstick against her leg. Dinnertime was generally a good occasion for the family. Whether it was a holiday or any night of the week, it was an opportunity for them to talk about their day or discuss important or not-so-important matters. They rarely argued, and if they did, no one went to bed without reconciling. Maybe that was another reason Melanie thought a career in diplomacy would be a good fit for her. It was how she was raised. However, Major Beale had aptly pointed out that reality and ideals don’t match up very often.
