CHAPTER FOUR: MESSENGER
Vince got only a couple minutes to himself in his office before he heard a knock on the door. A short, tired breath left the depths of his chest. “Come in.”
Darcy Marshall—simply Marshall to anyone who enjoyed living—was a sharply dressed and fit former Marine from Georgia. He had a heart too big for his own good and a reputation for letting it influence his judgment too much at times. His eyebrows were already curved with suspicion when he entered the office, his forehead wrinkling below the quarter-inch blonde buzz cut that made people forget he was almost Vince’s age. “Glasser, what’s goin’ on? I just saw Fitz lookin’ like he saw a ghost, but he won’t say what’s up.”
Vince opened a hand toward his visitors’ chairs. “Sit. Please.” Marshall was apparently pleased to be getting information out of Vince so easily.
He sat down with eagerness and watched Vince intently, though Vince did nothing. “Vince.”
That was where military protocol stopped with Marshall. He hadn’t called Vince “sir” since his first week under his supervision.
“I’ll just cut to the chase, I guess.” Vince told his story yet again, regurgitating all of the information his doctor had relayed to him. It was more like he was telling his desk than he was telling Marshall for half of his recollection. He finished with his prognosis, watching his friend’s eyes grow a shine as the information sank in.
Marshall took plenty of time to fold his hands beneath his chin and examine the wood grain on Vince’s desk with the intensity with which he would study an evidence board.
Figuring he was not going to get a word out of Marshall without prompting him, and not wanting to continue to sit in silence, Vince said, “If you have any questions—”
“I do have a question,” Marshall muttered. His tone escalated as he continued. “Why you? Of all the people in the world, why does it have to be you? Haven’t you been through enough? Your wife makes you feel like a bad husband, cheats on you, divorces you, dies a year later leaving you with no choice but to blame yourself, then you almost die…you’ve seen it all. Why you?”
“Are you skipping right past denial and into anger?”
“Don’t get cute with me. How can you sit there with dry eyes and tell your friends that you’re about to die? How do you do it with a straight face?”
“It’s not easy. Don’t think that I don’t know how hard this will be for you and the rest of the team. We work well—”
“You know this has nothing to do with how this team will operate without you. You’ve taught us well. No, Vince, this is about people who’d take a bullet for you without a second thought, who won’t be able to. And I’m not trying to make it about us. I’m trying to make it about you. You know that you matter, right?”
Curiosity showed through Vince’s slightly squinted eyes. “That I matter?”
“You matter, Vince. You haven’t even known for a day yet and you’re already on autopilot. It’s like you think you don’t deserve to be upset. You do deserve to. Just because you’ve spent years getting the short end of the stick doesn’t mean you should take it.”
“Marshall, I know this is a lot to take in. You just heard this all now. But I’m only halfway done breaking the news to people if I’m doing my math right. If I were letting my emotions run the show, I wouldn’t be functioning right now. I still have a long day ahead of me.”
“So it’s just a cover.”
“You know I’m not as cold as you’re making me out to be,” Vince said, his lips curling up subtly.
With nothing sharp to say back, Marshall smothered his face with his hands. “Promise me you’ll be angry. Promise me you’ll get desperate and tell God you’ll do anything for a cure. Promise me you’ll let yourself get depressed, even if it’s just for a few minutes. Because you won’t be at peace with this unless you let yourself go a little.”
“You really buy into the stages of grief that much?”
“Stages or no stages, you know it’s gotta get worse before it gets better. Just promise me you’ll lose your cool. Let yourself be human. You’ve spent too much time like this, hiding inside that shell whenever you’re upset. Trying to be all collected for everyone else’s sake. Just—just use the time you have left to…throw something at the wall. To cry in front of someone who wants to be there for you.”
“I’ll probably do all those things. Just not today. Not anymore, anyway. I think I might’ve cried for Harry. I don’t remember.”
“I see how it is,” Marshall said with a sprinkle of good humor.
“Well, I couldn’t cry in front of Hanson, could I? Had to let it out somewhere, prepare myself for the rest of the day.”
“You know, I might have skipped denial, or only spent ten seconds there, but you’re more than making up for that so far. This is what I’m talking about. Don’t feel like you have to put on a happy face for anyone.”
“I’ll try not to.”
In acknowledgement to Marshall’s pain, acknowledging that he himself mattered enough to make someone else upset, Vince fought off the fatigue again and got up. He hugged his friend. “This isn’t it, you know. I’m not gone yet.”
“I don’t get it, I really don’t. Most of us probably won’t go through half of what you’ve gone through. When I said you have all these people who’d take a bullet for you, I meant it, you know.”
“I know.”
“What do I do now?” Marshall asked as their back-clapping embrace came to an end. “Just walk back to my desk and pretend none of this is happening?”
“You do whatever you need to do. I’m not throwing anything at a wall because I need to get through today in one piece. If you need to grieve another way, you do it. Take a long lunch. Go home for the rest of the day if you need to.”
Marshall shook his head. “No better distraction than low-paying civil servitude.”
“Then work. And let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
They shared one more glance before Marshall made a move for the door. Quickly, Vince ran a list of remaining team members. Angela, of course, and Sophie Brannon, the final member of his team. That was it.
—
After telling the normally bubbly Sophie and getting nothing but an endless river of tears, Vince was almost done informing his colleagues. He needed to break it to Angela on his own terms, not because she sensed something was wrong and approached him about it. But first, he needed more coffee. He made his way a little more slowly than normal to his door, feeling ten years older than he had a month ago. He avoided sneaking a glimpse of Angela as he walked by, but he could hear her furtively asking Marshall why Sophie had taken off for the bathroom, crying, and why she wouldn’t let anyone follow her. On his way back into his office, Vince knew Marshall didn’t deserve to be pestered right now, so he stopped at Angela’s desk. “I need to speak with you privately.” She was hot on his heels. “Please, have a seat,” he said once the door clicked shut.
Angela obliged and masked the worry on her face just as easily as Vince disguised his own pensiveness. She’d watched her colleagues leave Vince’s office either in tears or nearly so. She’d spent the morning with the gut-wrenching feeling that something was terribly wrong and wanted to know what. But she figured there was probably some sort of order Vince had established for delivering whatever bad news it was that he had to deliver. She was last for a reason.
For the first time today, the words wouldn’t come readily to Vince. He sipped on his coffee and mulled this over. His by now well-rehearsed story sounded absurd. Across from him sat a woman who had been the unspoken object of his affections for quite some time, even before she’d saved his life over three years ago. Shortly after his divorce, when he’d found himself wondering if there were trustworthy women anywhere out there, his feelings for her had taken that first tiny step beyond a protective friendship and a steadfast trust.
The timing of his feelings were irrelevant. His attraction could never go much further than that becaus
e of the power distance in the workplace. And it wouldn’t matter in the future, either, now that he was leaving work with the sole purpose of dying. Never would it be less appropriate to explore the possibilities of a relationship than it was now. The fact that he couldn’t have her aside, Vince still didn’t know why breaking the news to Angela sounded so impossible now.
Angela normally had all the patience in the world when her job was to listen, but she’d spent it already this morning. “Vince? What’s wrong?”