Page 9 of High Velocity

It had taken her a while to adjust when I first enlisted, following in my father’s footsteps, but at least she knew where I was at any given time. That wouldn’t be the case if I was part of a special ops team and we ended up getting sent off on some assignment.

I’d been able to talk to Jonas about those concerns, and he’d been helpful in dealing with Ma when I broke the news to her.

At the time, I didn’t think I needed or even wanted another father figure, but nevertheless, I’m grateful for the role he’s played in my life since. He was a rock for my mother, and for me, in some of our darkest times. He was pivotal in dragging my ass back from the brink two years ago when I was drowning in what I perceived as the insurmountable magnitude of the loss my missing leg represented. He assured me the worth of a man was not the sum of his limbs, but the weight of his actions…and then showed me the way to becoming that man.

For the past fifteen years, he’s been a great father to me without receiving any credit. It’s about time he did.

I’m a step behind him when we reach the shed where we store the equipment.

“I’m happy for you both, Dad.”

I know he heard me when he abruptly stops, but he doesn’t turn around. A moment later he expels a deep breath before he disappears into the shadows of the shed.

Taking a second longer to collect myself, I follow him inside.

Four

Stephanie

The sound of the birds waking up welcomes me when I slide open the door to the deck to watch the sunrise.

The temperature has been steadily rising, and this morning a spring jacket and my hot coffee are enough to keep me warm. With my travel mug in hand, I wander down to the creek, which is swollen with melt waters but so far staying within the bounds of its banks.

I fill my lungs with the crisp morning air and feel a smile tugging at my lips. I’m starting to see what drew JD to this spot, it’s so beautiful here. It’s taken me a while to be able to fully appreciate it.

Since dinner at Janey’s last Friday, I’ve been actively trying to get out of the house at least once a day. Nothing big, just grabbing a fancy coffee and a pastry at Bean There, or picking up a few odds and ends at the pharmacy. Enough to at least see, if not interact with, other human beings.

I didn’t recognize myself on Friday, scurrying off to the relative safety of solitude when Jackson walked into Janey’s kitchen with JD. I’m not that person, I’m an experienced federal agent, for crying out loud. Jackson spells trouble for me, but I don’t run away from trouble, I face it. That’s who I am.

But I’d been hiding for weeks, and although I may have been healing physically, I could feel my courage and mental strength eroding. I realized what a coward I was becoming when I ran from Jackson that night.

So I’ve been pushing myself out of the safe cocoon the trailer has become. Yesterday’s outing was to the UPS store in Libby to collect up a package I ordered, and I picked up a burrito at a roadside stand on the way home.

This morning my plan is to unpack the hand-knitting kit I ordered online and get a start on my new project. I’d seen an ad on Instagram when I was mindlessly scrolling, and loved the look of the bold texture of the blanket in the picture. It didn’t look too complicated when I did a little research and found a YouTube tutorial on how to make one. I clicked on the product link in the description.

It’ll be good to get my hands busy with something other than baking, which I bought ingredients for last week. I’ve been doing a little of it every day, but unfortunately, there is no one but me to eat it and I can feel my ass growing.

But first I want to greet the morning and drink my coffee surrounded by all this beauty. I want to learn to be in the moment. Too much of my adult existence has been spent in my head, plotting and contemplating tomorrow instead of appreciating today. That constant feeling of trying to catch up to something elusive, but never quite catching up.

Here, right now, I let myself hear, see, smell, feel, and appreciate the clean air in my lungs, the steady beat of my heart, and the taste of that kick-ass new coffee I bought on my tongue.

I feel good. Energized.

Not so much a few hours later, when I try to free my hands from the tangle of knots I managed to create for the umpteenth time.

Easy, my foot! On the video they showed a five-year-old hand-knitting to illustrate anyone can do it. Sure, anyone but this thirty-six-year-old, college-educated, decorated federal agent. I have no idea what I’m doing wrong.

Frustrated, I reach for my phone to call a friend.

“Do you know how to knit? Because it’s not working for me.”

Janey bursts out laughing on the other end of the line.

“I’m sorry,” she immediately apologizes. “You caught me off guard with that. You’ve taken up knitting?”

“Well, I need something to do with my time and my hands,” I respond a tad defensively. “Besides, I like the look of those big, chunky blankets, so I ordered a kit, but I keep getting tangled.”

“Oh, hand-knitting? I’ve always wanted to try that. The principle is the same as with needles.”

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