Hellbent

A passel of fresh Victorinox watch fobs waited in a hinged wooden box. He’d just clipped one to the first belt loop on the left side when it occurred to him that he’d dressed for the mission and not for the preceding dinner at Mia’s. He was due downstairs in twenty-three minutes.

Showing up to a DA’s condo with illegally concealed firearms didn’t strike him as the most prudent idea.

He went back into the bedroom, took off the hip holster, and then removed the magazines from his hidden pockets. The Victorinox fob seemed vaguely militaristic, so he unclipped it and set it aside. The cargo pants and S.W.A.T. boots were low-profile enough, but a wary eye might find them aggressive. He kicked them off, stood there in his boxer briefs and Woolrich button-up.

Now he was questioning the shirt. Tactical magnetic buttons — Mia couldn’t possibly notice those. Could she?

He took the shirt off. Then the one under that.

Down to boxer briefs.

This wasn’t going well.

There was a knock on his door. Joey called through, “Wanna try that meditating stuff before you go?”

Evan said, “Yes, please.”

* * *

Evan and Joey sat facing each other in the loft. After Operation Getting Dressed for Dinner, he figured he needed to meditate more than she did. He’d thrown his clothes back on hastily and headed up to meet her in the loft.

She assumed an erect yogi’s posture. “Back in Richmond you told David Smith, ‘You can’t help people more than they want to help themselves.’”

Evan said, “Yes.”

He could see that it was taking everything she had to get the words out.

“I want to help myself,” she said. “I want to wind up better.”

“Okay.”

“Clearly I suck at meditation.”

“That’s not clear. It might be doing exactly what it should be doing.”

“Walk me through how to do it again?”

Jack had taught Evan proper procedures for everything from fieldstripping a pistol to readying for meditation. He started to haul out the directives now when he caught himself and thought of the new Commandment he’d invented for himself — and for Joey.

Don’t fall in love with Plan A.

She was waiting on him, puzzled by his delay.

“You know what?” he said. “Maybe we’ve been approaching this wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sit however’s comfortable. However makes you feel safe.”

She gave a nervous laugh. “I don’t know.”

“Then figure it out.”

She looked around. Then she rolled her shoulders. Cracked her jaw. She crossed her legs and uncrossed them. “Can I go to my couch?”

“You can do anything you want.”

She got up on the couch, hugged her pillow, pulled her knees in to her chest. She took a cushion and pressed it against her shins. She put another against her exposed side, building a burrow. “Is this weird?”

“There’s no such thing as weird.”

“Okay,” she said. “Okay.”

“Does that feel all right?”

She nodded, two quick jerks of her head.

“Just focus on your breath now, and let your body talk to you.”

He closed his eyes. As the first minute passed, he acquainted himself with the silence. He barely had time to narrow his focus when she broke. The first shuddering breath and then the storm.

She stayed hugging her knees, curled into herself, sobbing. He waited for her to get up and stomp out like before. She didn’t. She rocked herself and cried until the pillow was dark with tears, until her hair stuck to her face, until he thought she’d never stop.

He sat still, being with her without being with her. After a time it occurred to him that might not be enough.

He said, “May I sit by you?”

She shoved tears off her cheeks with the heels of her hands, gave a nod.

He took a seat on the couch at a respectful distance, but she nudged the cushion aside and leaned into him.

He was surprised, caught off guard, unsure of what was expected of him.

At first his arms floated above her stiffly. She was shuddering, hands curled beneath her chin. He thought about what Jack might do and then realized that Jack might never have found himself in a situation like this.

So instead Evan asked himself what he might do.

He lowered his arms to comfort her.

He wasn’t sure if his touch would elicit anger or flight, but she stayed there, her face buried in his chest.

She felt like an anchor to him, not dragging him down but mooring him to this spot, to this moment, locking his location for once on the grid. For the first time in his life, he felt the tug as something not unpleasant but precious.

Her legs flexed, jogging her back and forth ever so slightly. He held her, rocking her, as she wept. He brushed her hair from his mouth. Cleared his throat.

“You’re okay,” he said.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he said.

“You’re worth it,” he said.

* * *

Downstairs in his bedroom, he called Mia. When she answered, he took a deep breath.

“Hi, Mia. It’s Evan. I know I was supposed to be there twenty minutes ago. But I can’t come over for dinner with you and Peter. I’m sorry.”