No Good Deed

When the governor was finished, he walked the line, and pumped each agent’s hand. Reaching Beth, he stopped and hugged her. He was a foot taller and had to lean way down. It was awkward as hell, but he did it anyway. Beth had saved the day, and the other agents broke into a round of applause.

Lancaster resumed eating. He’d gotten the outcome that he’d wanted, yet it didn’t erase the feeling that he’d lost the war. He hadn’t spoken with Beth since the confrontation at the marina, nor had she tried to contact him. The silence had been deafening.

But that didn’t mean he was giving up on their relationship. To give up was to fail before you ever tried, and Beth was too important to him to do that. As the Irish poet Samuel Beckett once said: Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better. He spent twenty minutes composing a text message that was only a few sentences long. Telling her how proud of her he was, and happy for her team. He sent it, then slipped his cell phone into his pocket, and did not look at it again for an hour.

No response.

That hurt. Even an emoji of a hand flipping him the bird would have been better than nothing. He told himself that she would get back to him later, when she had a few minutes to herself.

The hours slipped by. He hung around for the sunset before returning to his hotel. While he packed, he imagined how Beth was handling the aftermath of her triumph. She could have celebrated with her team, only that wasn’t like her. Beth wasn’t a party person, and would have preferred a quiet dinner, and a chance to reflect.

But with who? She rarely socialized with other agents, and he didn’t see her going out with Baldini or her team. If she’d been back home, she would have gotten together with one of her girlfriends. Instead, she would settle for eating takeout at her hotel.

She deserved a victory meal. She never said no to sushi, and a search on the internet turned up a joint called Sushi Alive. The reviews were decent, and it wasn’t terribly far. He called and made a reservation for two.

Then he sent her a text and suggested they have dinner. His message included a link to the restaurant’s website. He waited fifteen minutes but got no response. A number of reasons came to mind. Maybe her cell phone was turned off, or the battery had run out of juice. Or maybe she never wanted to speak with him again. That was certainly a possibility, and it was starting to feel like the end.

He went downstairs and checked out. Outside in his car, he checked his phone again, and saw that she hadn’t texted him back. Whether she liked it or not, the investigation had changed her life. The FBI needed all the heroes they could get, and there were more promotions in store, her career’s trajectory ascending like a rocket. Who could she talk to about this but him? No one. Nobody else would ever know the truth. It was their secret, and theirs alone.