Page 102 of Jonesing for a Spy

Charlie’s house. I couldn’t make this up if I tried.

Why are you in Alabama when I’m in Illinois?

Things I say to myself every morning and every night.

Mirren

My damn mother.

The churning in my body yesterday was spot on. I should’ve known. Not true. I did know. I had a bone-deep knowing. And when Mom opened her mouth and told me what she did, I booked the first flight—at a ridiculous price, I might add—and brought my butt to Peoria.

And here I am, in Strider’s parents’ house, lying in his sister’s bed, and wondering how things got so crossways with the man whose high school and college pictures, along with his sisters’, dot the hall walls.

Diane and Jim Anderson are exactly who I’d expect would birth and raise a man like Strider. Salt of the earth, down-home, kind people who welcomed me like a long-lost friend and treated me as special as their son does.

It says something that his mom offered me a place to stay. Especially with the happy sadness in her eyes. Those are the only words for it. It’s easy to feel Diane’s welcome and easy to see that meeting me is hard on her too.

When my phone vibrates, I expect to see HoneyBun light up the screen. Instead, it’s Skipper’s picture that flashes.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby.” It’s as if Strider exhaled saying the words.

We only missed one night and one morning, but the absence has been a gnawing void.

“Hey, honey. I missed you.”

“It’s been a crazy couple of days.”

“About that… Back up. I have to know. Why are you at Charlie’s house on Charlie’s phone?”

“Because you’re not home, and randomly he’d made me promise to stay with him my next trip down. The answer to your second question is because I’m not sure after all I’ve learned that my phone isn’t tapped.”

“Wire taps require a court order.”

“And being a domestic terrorist doesn’t warrant one?” His sarcasm flows through the line.

“She told me she told you. I— I was pissed, but I’m so glad she did. It’s a relief for you to know.” My voice is tentative, and my hesitancy is obvious. I’m not usually timid, but since we’re dancing on landmines, I want to be careful when anything could cause an explosion.

“I wish you had trusted me with it.” Bristles scratch through the line, and I picture him scrubbing the five o’clock shadow on his chin.

“Please don’t leave me.” Desperation laces my tone. When he doesn’t reply, I go on. “It’s my job, not my life. My job is a means to an end. My life is in Alabama.”

“Did you actually go camping with your Army buddies?”

“No,” I admit. “But I never told you I did. That was my cover for my brothers only. I told you I needed a few days and I’d find you after.”

He hums through the line, before asking, “Where were you?”

“Taiwan.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, but he says no more.

“I never lied, honey. In fact, aside from how we met, the only time I’ve ever uttered a half truth is when I told you I was fine or some other platitude that people offer in polite conversation.”

“And needing a few days and taking a job in Taiwan feel the same to you?”

My temper is rising. My emotions dance on the surface, and my tone goes hard. “What would you have me do, Strider? Quit my job? After a handful of weeks with a man who lives halfway across the country. Just because I’m in love with you doesn’t mean I don’t need to pay my bills.”