“You sure? Wouldn’t it be cheaper to take a cab?”
“Yeah, but this way we’ll have wheels for the whole visit. You did say you don’t have a car right now?”
“True. How about we split it?”
I rolled my eyes. “Ray, I get this ridiculously stupid allowance from my father. Let me use it. Besides, you bought the tickets to the show tonight, and I know that couldn’t have been cheap.”
“But … all right, fine.”
“Send me the text, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. Tell the Army I said hi!” I have no idea what possessed me to say that.
He chuckled. “Cute. At the rate we’re going, you may get a chance to tell them yourself.”
So I got my luggage, then made my way to the Hertz counter and flashed my membership card, which usually catches their attention very quickly, and ten minutes later I was programming Ray’s address into the GPS. It estimated 39 minutes. I got on the road. Traffic was heavy though, and somehow I doubted the time estimate.
An hour later I pulled to a stop in front of a large apartment building in Glen Cove. I leaned out and looked up at the building. It was old, the stones painted with a light blue which was peeling off here and there. It was a nice building, and looked to have been built to last, but it wasn’t in the best repair. The lawn was covered in snow, and someone had done a not very good job shoveling the sidewalk. I got out of the car, took my bag out of the trunk and carefully made my way up the walk, then studied the directory next to the front door. I found “Sherman” in the directory and hit the button.
Just a moment later the buzzer went off, and I headed inside.
Ray’s apartment—or his parents’ rather—was on the eighth floor. The inside of the building reinforced my first impression. It was a nice building, but was suffering from lack of repair. Ray had told me his parents’ story—they’d been not quite wealthy, but firmly middle class. High paying jobs with lots of debt, and when the jobs vanished, so did their lives. Sometimes, when I heard stories like that, I felt guilty. I took my parents’ wealth for granted sometimes. My father inherited his money, and it allowed us things that few people had, not the least of which was security that our homes wouldn’t vanish out from under us due to a job change or because someone got sick.
Ray met me at the door and I involuntarily sucked in a breath when I saw him. It had only been three weeks or so, but the reality of him hit me all over again as we looked in each other’s eyes and embraced. Then his mouth was on mine and I forgot the time in between, I forgot the distance, I forgot the Army and everything else other than this very moment. I squeezed him tight, trying to do what I’d planned… easing the stress I knew he was under. I could feel it in his shoulder muscles, which were tightly bunched, tense, rock hard. He kissed me, and it felt as passionate, as hungry, as it had the very first time.
“I missed you,” I whispered.
“I missed you,” he replied. “Come on in. They’re still here.”
My arms and shoulders tensed and the muscles in my neck tightened, rigid, and I walked into the apartment. It was only four o’clock in the afternoon, but for some reason, walking in that apartment felt like walking into midnight.
The woman was an attractive, professional looking black woman who stood as I entered. She walked toward me, hand out, and said, “I’m Janice Smalls. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Thompson.”
I took her hand and shook. “Nice to meet you,” I said.
The man, who was lounging in a seat near her, a notebook in his lap, nodded from his seat.
“Jared Coombs,” he said. “Federal Bureau of Investigation.” Then he went back to his notes.
My mother may not have set the best example of sanity in the world, but one thing she gave me was an exquisite sense of manners. I returned his rudeness with icy courtesy.
“It’s a delight to meet you, Mr. Coombs,” I said.
He didn’t look up from his notes. My teeth jammed together, and I felt my muscles tense. For the last ten days, these two had been grilling Ray. Without warning, they just showed up at his place. They pried into parts of his life that had nothing to do with the war. They were treating him like a criminal, and I’d had enough.
“Excuse me, Mr. Coombs. I’ve got a question. For both of you.”
“Um… Carrie…” Ray said, as Major Smalls was returning to her seat.
“Wait a second, Ray. Seriously. Where do you get off? Ray reported the crime here. Why are you treating him like a criminal? Is this your subtle way of punishing him for doing the right thing? What the hell is it you’re trying to accomplish?”
Coombs gave me a cold look, and said, “Number one, it’s none of your business, Miss Thompson. Number two, we haven’t yet established just who the criminal is in this situation.”