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I waited for the end of the meeting, sat for a moment, watching as folks wandered off, then I followed Diana back to the med center. She had a private room, now lit by a single candle. A small space sparely furnished. Private and, more importantly, a safe space. Once inside, through her door watched as she settled on the edge of a cot, head back, eyes closed, unwinding. Appeared to be exhausted. Startled her as I knocked on the door frame, making my presences known, hoping to be invited in… asked as she looked up, “The plan?”
Surprised, startled, looking up, clutched her chest. She seemed exhausted. Been gone a week, maybe ten-days. Focusing on me as I stepped into her quarters, stopped, and waited for a response. I felt another nearby. There, to my left, realized Cord was seated. Unexpected but not surprised.
Refocusing on Diana, “Sorry, just that I’ve replayed this moment dozens of times. Each time with a different result.”
“Have a seat,” Cord suggested.
Diana joined us at a small, rickety table. Candlelight casting eerie shadows. Silent, but something about her disposition, the tightness in her jaw and a sadness. Tuning to Cord, nods her head, she mumbles, “The Plan, that’s where he wants to start.”
An uncomfortable pause, then Cord begins, “We shadowed Susan - at work, in her free time, observed her habits and vulnerabilities. Ate at the cafe and occasionally engaged her in small talk. How’s business, the weather, her clientele… any family? That question quickly altered her mood as she would promptly, politely excuse herself.”
“The plan is simple: catch her off guard, at home after work, approach her with care and sit down and talk. Explain the situation and present you. It will be your chance to clear the air. Nothing fancy or overly complex, simply a meet and greet.”
“Okay, when?”
“In two days.”
Listening, I learned Susan works full time, somehow for some reason, she is the owner of the cafe. It turns out that Mr. Eldridge gave her the business. Attractive at 5” 5” strawberry blond, slight but fit. Still a darkness about her. Life has not always been kind. A gray cloud ever present. Outgoing, capable of socializing, but cautious. Carries a small caliber pistol. Lives near the cafe, wary of strangers, outside work, known to carry this pistol in her fanny pack as she walks home to work to home. Bits and pieces of information shared.
According to Cord, she knows I exist but has no interest in seeing me, talking to me. I understand anger, but I still I don’t understand the hate she carries on her shoulders.
“What’s her story? Where has she been for the past several years? What…”
“Those are the wrong questions. Where have you been for the past several years?” Diana asked.
“I tried, I searched, I investigated, it was hopeless, I... I… gave up.”
“Where has she been? Those stories are for her to share,” Diana standing, excused herself, then, without comment, exited the room. Into the darkness.
“What?” I asked.
“She misses her dad.”
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