Page 8 of Forging Caine

Tears when we were separated, I was used to. When she told me she loved me, when she pushed back against something that held her heart from me, when she was utterly exhausted. But her silence was always the hardest part for me to deal with. Words were my currency, but actions were hers.

“You’re late,” she finally choked out. Her fingers dug into my forearms and she clamped her eyes shut. The desperation in her voice clawed at my heart.

“We talked about that when I was at the airport.”

“I needed you.”

“Then why didn’t you call?”

“I didn’t want to talk.” Her chin quivered and she blinked furiously. “I just wanted you here.”

Thiswas bad. These were not words that came easily from her. I whispered, “I’m here. I don’t know what I’m late for, but I’m not going anywhere.”

“My mother lied.” Her head tipped forward onto my shoulder, and I pulled her arms around me. “About everything.”

I drew her closer, wrapping her in my embrace, while she shuddered through her sobs.

Her breath rattled and she pressed her face against my neck, muffling her voice. “Elliot came by with that stupid box. And Lucy translated the letter that was in the book.”

Unsure which one to ask about—Elliot and the box or Lucy and the letter—I simply encouraged her to continue with whichever thing she needed to speak of. “And?”

“The letter was from my dad to my mom. It said he was leaving with Elliot.” She pulled away enough that I could see her face. “He was a spy, Antonio. My father was in the CIA, and—”

I drew back further, certain I’d misheard her. “He was what?”

“I don’t know what to do now.” Her tears continued flowing freely, although from the pile of tissues on the table, she’d been doing it for quite a while. How long ago had Elliot left? “My whole life, I thought he abandoned us. Abandoned me. But it was a job.”

How was I going to fix this? “This is a good thing, though, is it not? Your father left out of duty?”

One of her hands left my neck and she clenched it into a fist, knocking it against my chest. “But my mother lied to me. My whole life, I thought he just up and left. Cass always told me I was afraid of getting close to people, because I was afraid they’d leave, just like he did. Like so many other people did. I pushed you away because of it. I could have lost you before I even had you, and it was all a lie.”

I caught her fist against me before she grew more frustrated and hit harder. “Does Cassandra know?”

She blinked rapidly, the tears slowing. “She would have told me, wouldn’t she? Surely, at some point, she wouldn’t have kept the secret from me. If she knew dad left us for something like that and got killed doing it, there’s no way she would’ve encouraged me to join the FBI. She would’ve tried to talk me out of it.”

“Wait.” I tipped her chin up to look at me. “Your father died on that job? Mission? Whatever it was?”

She swallowed hard, and I could almost see the logic flickering in her brain, pushing the emotion aside. “He didn’t actually say.”

“Who didn’t say?”

“Elliot.”

Unlike usual, I was falling further and further behind in the conversation. “Elliot brought the box. How is he involved? Why was he in the letter?”

“They worked together.” She pulled away from me, turning to take a few steps, rubbing her hands over her face. Frustrated Samantha was attempting to break free and replace Devastated Samantha. “Elliot was with the CIA back then. And he was with my father on whatever job he left for when I was five. He says it’s too classified to give me any details beyond the fact that my dad didn’t come home from the trip.”

Elliot had been a near-constant presence in our relationship, always showing up, trying to pull her away from me and back into the FBI. I told her over and over if she wanted to go, I’d follow her. She’d told me about their past, from when she interned with him, but I’d never expected they went back so far.

Although she hadn’t known that, either.

She spun back to face me, hands cradling her cheeks, shoulders down. “What am I supposed to do? What do I say to Cass when I see her tonight?”

I took one of her hands and pulled her down to the couch as I sat. Plucking a fresh tissue from the table, I dabbed at her cheeks. What else could I do to make this better? She had so many heartbreaks in her life and we’d been working through each of them. Instead, she was handed one more today. “Do you want to skip the party?”

“I’ve been in this stupid little town for eleven months, by her side for almost every treatment.” She curled her legs up over my lap and pulled my arm around her shoulders. Bringing her sister home after chemo and carrying her upstairs to bed, helping Cassandra shave the last of her hair off, delivering food and groceries so her brother-in-law could focus on his wife. Samantha had told me stories after the worst of it was over, when she felt secure enough in saying things out loud, about how difficult the process had been. Both women had been through so much in their lives, but no matter what, they had each other. “I can hardly skip the party to celebrate her last radiation.”

“Do you want to talk about the letter?” I brushed an errant tear away from my own eye.

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