Page 9 of Grissom
“Sure. Let me help.” Tuesday shot to her feet, both hands extended to his boys. Like she’d probably done frequently over these last few days. But this time was different. Neither boy reciprocated. They both just sat there looking up at her, like they weren’t ever letting go of their father again. Her hands dropped. Her chest heaved. She’d just realized her time with Tanner and Luke was over. She was a babysitter, not their mother, not even a blood relative who could drop in to visit them someday.
“Umm, never mind. Sure. I’ll get their clothes and—” Pivoting on her heel, Tuesday stepped out of sight behind the closet’s louvered door. It was heartbreaking to watch her shoulders quake even as her spine straightened. Poor kid. She was like so many disappointed soldiers. When things were tough, they still had a job to do, and Tuesday’s job had nothing to do with mothering. She wasn’t a soldier who’d eventually go back home to her family and forget the ugliness of the world. She didn’t have a family.
Tuesday Smart wasn’t going into any battle zones, either, not working with naturalist photographer Robert Freiburg. She was documenting climate change. If anything, her profession was showing people the magnificent beauty of the world. She was ateacher, helping others understand how to save their planet. Not that a rewarding career could ever replace the love of a brave man or a family, but what she did was still important.
Yet Murphy doubted her adventurous life could replace motherhood, which was precisely what he was looking at. One of the loneliest things he’d ever seen, a mother with no children. Tuesday needed a man in her life, one who could help her realize her dream of becoming more. Was that man Grissom? Hardly. Grissom had a shit ton of issues to work through before he’d be ready for a relationship.
Good, healthy relationships weren’t the norm in American culture anymore anyway, and Murphy wasn’t sure they ever were. Look at him. He was pushing seventy and on his second marriage. Alex was on his fourth, although four seemed to be the magic number for him. Numbers two and three had simply been a desperate man’s attempts to recreate the family he’d tragically lost. No way they could’ve lasted, and Murphy didn’t blame Alex for trying. Every failed relationship had led him to Kelsey, and their marriage was something to be jealous of. One had only to glimpse those two kids together to believe in true love.
Murphy took a step in Tuesday’s direction, to at least give her a fatherly hug, then thought twice and left her alone. There was nothing he could say to make the upcoming goodbyes easy. Grissom had his boys back. The mission was over. It was time to get the troops home where they belonged.
He turned to Shane and Beckam, Taylor, Walker, and Cord. Lastly, to Grissom, still on the floor, completely absorbed in his boys and totally oblivious to the woman breaking down behind that darned door. She had yet to duck away from the closet. Damn it, Grissom needed to at least acknowledge how tough this was going to be for her. But it was Shane who stepped to Tuesday’s side and put an arm around her shoulders. When sheleaned into him, Murphy told Grissom, “Get moving. We’ve got a plane to catch.”
He lifted to his feet, both boys still in his arms. Luke giggled at the shift in position, but Tanner was holding onto his dad so tight that his fingertips were white. His eyes were squeezed shut and his face was wet with tears. He was embarrassed about his pants, poor damned kid. And Murphy no longer thought Grissom should be mindful of Tuesday. He was putting his boys first like a good father should. Tuesday’d have to walk her own path, and sadly, it didn’t include the McCoys.
Murphy cleared his throat, “If you’ll arrange our flight home, ma’am, I’d be much obliged.”
She stepped away from Shane with a soft, “Tell Everlee I said hi, okay?”
“Yeah, sure. Stop by next time you’re in Virginia.”
She walked away from him to the nightstand, where she unplugged a cell phone from a charger and made the call. Looked like everyone was going home happy. Everyone except Tuesday.
Chapter Five
“What’s your problem today?” Robert asked tersely.
Tuesday’s head shot up at his tone. Sure, she was tired as all get out, covered in squishy filth, and she’d seen more trauma these last few days than she’d expected during a photo shoot. But this wasn’t a normal assignment, and she’d never minded helping others. Robert had no reason to snipe at her. He was the one with a problem.
As often happened when covering natural disasters, instead of just taking photos, she and Robert were knees-deep in rescue efforts slash body recoveries slash offering first-aid and comfort to the poor people affected by the flood. The waters had subsided, but they’d left a ton of mud and debris in their wake, as well as death and destruction. American soldiers and airmen were there, assisting the Costa Rican Emergency Response teams, and recovery was going fairly well, considering how bad the flood could’ve been. Only two bodies had been found so far, and both were elderly men, not women or children.
Tuesday had never balked at any assignment Robert sent her on. She’d bucked up, packed up, and traveled alone more times than she could count. She was a freaking ‘woman of the world’. Independent. Robert’s proverbial Gal Friday. She could take care of herself. And she had, damn it. That was her life. She was reliable, intelligent, and a master at her craft.
Then why couldn’t she stop the tears dripping out of her traitorous eyeballs and leaving telltales streaks running down her dirty face, huh? She shoved her muddy hair out of her eyes yet one more time. That was another thing. She’d lost the elastic tie she’d kept on her wrist, probably because it didn’t want to bearound her any more than she did. Who was she kidding? The only reason she was here was because Robert needed her. And he only needed her because she had a talent for lighting and perspective and, okay, so her photos ended up in natural history magazines and documentaries, and the public loved her work.
And now she was rambling. Hadn’t yet answered the man who could fire her. Forcing her chin up, she turned and faced Robert. Tuesday took a second to formulate a passive, agreeable answer and replied, “I’m just tired. I’m taking a break. Can I get you another bottled water?”
“That all?”
He was either asking if the water was all she planned to bring him or if being dirty and tired were all that was wrong with her. She ducked the truth with a curt, “Yes, Robert. After twenty-four hours without a single break, I’m spent.”
“Fine. Stick to capturing the human element on film when you’re done resting. You’re missing some great shots. Closeups. I want more closeups. How long do you think you’ll be?”
Tuesday had never thought Robert could be as obtuse as he was right then. She shrugged, still keeping her feelings private. That was her. Cold, untouchable, and frigid, damn it. Let the world think what they wanted. They would anyway. “Depends if I get any sleep. How many bottled waters do you want?”
She’d no more than asked when an airman driving a frontend loader carrying a pallet of bottled waters arrived and bellowed, “Blue Light Special, people! Water’s here! Come and get it!”
When she was sure that Robert heard the guy, Tuesday turned on the balls of her feet and headed for the massive OD green tent markedWOMEN ONLY. A hot shower and a decent meal, courtesy of Uncle Sam, were waiting for her. America had provided not only over-the-top disaster relief, but an extensive logistical trail of supplies and support personnel for the durationof the relief effort. Even for her, a nobody who took pictures and called it living.
Once inside the tent, which could’ve held a three-ring circus sans the trapeze act, she headed for the locker she’d been assigned. She’d previously stored a backpack of extra clothes and other essentials there, as well as the hardened case full of sensitive photography equipment she’d brought with her. The USA had provided every aid-worker with either a courtesy cosmetic bag or a shaving kit, full of enough necessities to get them through a couple days of nonstop volunteer work. But Tuesday wanted her own body wash, shampoo, and conditioner, not some generic products made by the lowest bidder.
Next, she claimed the shower stall at the farthest end of the tent and locked herself inside the plastic cubicle. Turning the spigot to hot, she stepped into the spray and let the heat wash her cares away. If only life worked like that. But with every dab of slimy mud sliding out of her hair and off her body, she thought about those two little boys and wondered what they were doing. Were Tanner and Luke McCoy eating enough? Were they safe with their father? Grissom McCoy seemed like a good man. He’d certainly broken down like a father who’d missed his kids should. But had poor Tanner had the nerve to tell that rough bear of a man what his mother did to him? And how did Mr. McCoy respond to the ugly truth that Pam McCoy, his wife, was a vicious troll? That she’d basically sicced the jerk she was with on that sweet little boy? That she’d belittled and embarrassed Tanner in the worst way possible? In public. Would Mr. McCoy have agreed with what his wife did? Was poor Tanner in for more abuse or was he finally safe?
With all her aching heart, Tuesday wanted to know. Mr. McCoy hadn’t seemed anything like his wife, but Tuesday hadn’t spent enough time with him to be sure. Thinking back, she wished she’d demanded those little guys stay with her until sheknew for certain they would be well taken care of. She couldn’t see their father hurting them, not the way they’d clung to him the moment they’d run into his arms.
The tortured look on Mr. McCoy’s face… The tears that had leaked out of his tightly closed eyes… The way he’d crushed those little guys to his chest while he’d kissed their heads and faces and buried his nose in their hair…
Thinking about how he’d openly expressed his love for his boys still melted Tuesday’s heart. The man’s anguish at finally getting them back into his arms had turned her into a puddle of sappy goo in the closet where she’d hidden. What she wouldn’t give to be loved like that again. To be wanted. To be, just once more, encircled in the arms of a man who’d search the world over for her if she’d gone missing. Who’d be willing to fight, to die for her. Just for her.
