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Virginia screeches, then sounds like she’s drowning.
I throw the switch. Blinding bright light floods the bathroom, but I need to see to help her.
I reach under her armpits and pull her up into my arms to clap her back several times.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I whisper like a broken record.
Her coughing slows, and her breaths regulate.
“You scared the crap out of me. How long were you standing there?”
“Seconds. I debated turning on the light, but didn’t want to startle you.” I release her from my hug and lean her back from me so I can see her face. “You OK?”
“Just surprised me.” Her lips curve enough to tell me she’s not mad.
“I woke up. You were gone. I worried that …” I stop myself.
Virginia kisses my cheek and pulls away. “Yeah, we need to talk about that.” She points to the towel.
I wrap her in it, kiss her wet hair, gather her clothes off the floor, and follow her back to our bedroom.
I change into a dry T-shirt and boxers while she pulls on a version of the same. Once we’re mostly covered, Virginia gets in bed, sitting up under the duvet, arms crossed, head tilted and eyes demanding answers.
I sit on the mattress edge so I can face her.
“Two, three weeks ago, the team received a credible threat from someone who knew that you are very important to me.” I pause to let that sink in. And so I don’t tell Virginia more than she needs or wants to know.
Her forehead wrinkles. I wait for the questions.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
She nods but still has her thinking face on.
“So, traveling with six security guys isn’t normal for you?”
Not the question I was expecting. “No. Usually just one guy. And if I’m with Dawes or another driver, that’s usually adequate. Even though they’re not trained to protect me, the car is built to.”
Virginia twists the edge of the duvet between her fingers, staring at it like she might squeeze out answers to her thoughts and questions.
“How often do you have threats like this? Do you get them when you’re touring?”
She’s not going to like this answer, but it’s the truth. “I actually don’t know. When I’m home, I reduce the risk—”
“By never going out,” she interrupts.
“Yes. And when I’m away, the security team is always the same size. My protocol is always the same. So if there is a threat, I don’t see or hear about it.”
“I guess that makes sense. It would be hard to focus on doing your job if you were always worried that someone in the crowd might be out to get you,” she says. “What made this threat credible? What was the threat?”
I don’t want to answer these questions. I take my time to consider how to tell her enough, but not too much.
“What made it credible was the level of detail the … uh, the person had about our plans to get away for a weekend.” That’s all I want to say.
“What was the threat?”
“Virginia—”
