After hugs and kisses and more hugs she took them upstairs.
Her son Calvin was growing fast. He took after his father in height and build, she noted grudgingly.
“Wait till you see this, Mom,” he said.
He ran to his room and came out a few moments later holding up a martial arts belt.
“I got my green belt in Tae Kwon Do. And the teacher said I’ll be ready for my purple pretty soon.”
“That is so great, Cal,” said White.
“I’ll have my black belt in a few years and then I’ll go for my double like you have in karate.”
He assumed a defensive stance and smiled at her.
She grinned back and matched his posturing while Jacky watched and clapped.
“Okay, show me what you got,” said White.
He did some kicks and punches and she backed up, pretending that she couldn’t block them, but smiling at how accurate and smooth his technique was.
“You might be getting that black belt sooner than you think,” she said, although her voice had gotten huskier and her eyes started to water.
He got his green belt when I was out of town. My mother had to take him. Because I wasn’t there.
She got them into bed, and the kids told her about their days since she had been gone. They went over school and friends and special projects and sports and maybe getting a cat because Jacky really wanted one, but Calvin wasn’t sure about that because he might have allergies.
She talked about the family possibly moving to DC. The kids were alarmed by this, because they didn’t want to leave their friends. But she told them it wouldn’t happen any time soon. She would just make the commute with some other FBI personnel she knew who were in similar situations.
After that she told them a couple of funny stories and then turned off the light. She sat with them until they fell asleep, then kissed them and left. But she stopped at the doorway, turned, and stared at her two greatest creations.
It should be three, actually.
She felt the catch in her throat, and the wobble in her chest. She could feel her heart rate speed up.
Shit!
She put a hand against the doorjamb to steady herself as she felt the anxiety build. Another panic attack was coming on, but she fought against it, taking deep breaths, thinking about good things, willing her racing heart to slow the hell down. She felt shame, she felt weak. It made her angry, which didn’t help matters at all.
She walked quickly to the bathroom and washed her face and let her belly settle along with her nerves. Like some working mothers, she worried she was doing them irreparable harm by being away so much. She was missing important moments in their lives. She wasn’t thinking about big things; she was thinking about being around in the morning to make them breakfast, which she planned to do before she left for the airport. But how many other such times had she missed?
Too many.
And hurried late-night catchups were just not going to cut it. But what was she supposed to do? Quit her job? Ask for a nine-to-five desk assignment that would require no travel? That was not how the Bureau worked. Not if she wanted to keep moving up. And she did. Otherwise, what was the point?
She felt an attack coming on again, and she sat on the toilet lid doing meditative breathing and thinking of spending time with her kids, until she got herself back together.
Downstairs her mother was waiting with a pot of tea and a plate of graham crackers. They had been her favorites since White was a kid.
Serena Washington was taller than her daughter and fuller figured, but their features were similar; her mother’s eyes were quick and took everything in, just like White’s.
“Are you coming down with something, Frederica? You look a little out of it.”
“I’m okay, just a little tired.” She turned so her mother couldn’t see her eyes. Her reddened eyes, her unnerved look.
“And did you accomplish what you came back up here for?” asked Washington.
“I accomplished enough. I head back to Florida tomorrow.” She looked around. “I wish I had something stronger than tea.”
“Then I got your back on that.”
Her mother rose and came back with a bottle of scotch and two tumblers. She poured out the drinks and set one in front of her daughter. “My grandbabies are doing fine. But they miss you.”
“I know they do. If I didn’t have bills to pay I’d spend all my time with them.”
“They would hate that. Buffers make the hearts grow fonder. Closeness is a buzzkill.”
“Is that how you and Daddy worked it?”
“Yes, only I had to keep reminding him. Your father didn’t like buffers between him and his kids.”