Around eight-thirty I left the suite to call Jannie and Damon before they went to bed. Nana answered the phone. She knew it was me before I said a word.
“Everything is just fine here, Alex. Home fires are burning nicely without you. You missed a delicious pot roast supper. Soon as I knew you were going to be away, I made your favorite dish.”
I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t believe it. “Did you really make pot roast?” I asked Nana.
She cackled for a good minute. “Of course not. We had prime ribs of beef, though.” Nana cackled even louder. Prime ribs were probably my second-favorite dish — and I was still hungry after the hotel deli food, pastrami and processed cheese on stale rye.
Nana laughed again. “We had turkey sandwiches. But we did finish up with hot, homemade pecan pie. À la mode. Jannie and Damon are right here. We’re playing Scrabble, and I’m winning their life savings.”
“Nana’s winning by a measly twelve points and she already had her turn,” Jannie said as she took the phone. “Are you all right, Daddy?” she asked, and her voice became motherly.
“Why shouldn’t I be all right?” I asked her. I was feeling much better, actually. Nana had made me laugh. “How are you doing?”
Jannie giggled. “I’m good as can be. Damon is being surprisingly nice. He brought my homework from school, and it’s all done. Aced! I’m about to take the lead, for good, in our Scrabble game. We all miss you, though. Don’t get hurt, Daddy. Don’t you dare get hurt.”
I was feeling pretty fried, but I trudged back to finish the work session with the FBI agents. Don’t get hurt, I was thinking as I walked the long hotel corridor. Jannie was beginning to sound like Christine. Don’t get hurt. Don’t you dare get hurt.
Chapter 79
MY MIND WAS SOMEWHERE ELSE when I knocked and Betsey Cavalierre answered the door to her room. It looked like the other agents had gone. She’d changed into a white T and a pair of jeans, and she wasn’t wearing shoes.
“Sorry. I had to call home,” I apologized.
“We solved everything while you were gone.” She grinned.
“Perfect,” I said. “God bless the FBI. You guys are the best. Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity.”
“You know the motto on our seal. Actually, everybody was beat. We could try for that drink now, if you’d like. You can’t have any excuses left. How about the Roof Bar I’ve read so much about in the elevator? Or we could go see the Connecticut Sports Museum? The Hartford Police Museum?”
“The bar on the roof sounds good to me,” I said. “You can show me the city from up there.”
The bar actually had a perfect view of Hartford and the surrounding countryside. I could see lighted logos for Aetna and Travelers from where we sat, as well as Route 84 snaking northeast toward the Massachusetts Turnpike. Betsey ordered a glass of cabernet. I had a beer.
“How was everything at home?” she asked as soon as the bartender left with our order.
I laughed. “I have two kids at home now, and they’re both terrific, but there is a certain amount of flux and change to our lives.”
“I’m one of six girls,” she said. “The oldest and most spoiled one. I know all about flux and change in families.”
She smiled, and I liked seeing her loosen up. I liked seeing myself loosen up.
“You have a favorite?” she asked. “Of course you do, but don’t tell me. I know you won’t, anyway. I was my father and mother’s favorite. Therein lies the recurring problem in my terribly self-involved life story.”
I continued to smile. “What’s the problem? I don’t see any problem. I thought you were perfect.”
Betsey nibbled salted nuts out of her hand. She looked me in the eye. “Overachiever syndrome. Nothing I did was ever good enough — for me. Everything had to be perfect. No mistakes, no slipups,” she said, and laughed at herself. I liked that about her: She had no airs, and her perspective on things actually seemed pretty healthy.
“You still live up to your own high ideals?” I asked.
She finger-combed her dark hair away from her eyes. “I do, and I don’t. I’m pretty much where I want to be on the work front. I’m sooo good for the Bureau. What’s that quote? ‘Ambition makes more trusty slaves than need.’ However, I must admit that I’m missing a certain balance in my life. Here’s a nice image for a life in balance,” she said. “You’re juggling these four balls that you’ve named work, family, friends, spirit. Now, work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it bounces back. The other balls — they’re made of glass.”
“I’ve dropped a few of those glass balls in my day. They chip, sometimes they shatter to pieces.”
“Exactly.”
Our drinks came, and we took the obligatory nervous sips. Pretty funny. We both knew what was going on here, though not where it was going or if it was a good or a really terrible idea. She was warmer and much more nurturing than I had expected. Betsey was a good listener, too.
“I bet you’re actually pretty good at balancing work, family, friends. Your spirit seems okay, too,” she said.