The General (Professionals 4)

And me, not good with confrontation of any kind, grabbed all my new belongings, carried them upstairs, and put them away before changing into a comfortable pajama set, and sitting down at my desk, making a bracelet of intricately carved flowers, taking my time, making sure each and every petal was perfect, unique before attaching the clay beads onto elastic string, sliding the finished project over my wrist, deciding right then and there that I was going to wear it. To the funeral. Maybe it was a tiny thing. But they would be expecting Cartier, Tiffany, Harry Winston. It was a rebellion of sorts, rejecting their world I hadn’t truly wanted to be a part of in the first place.

With that in mind, I shuffled a few things back into their new homes, but left some on the desk, liking that, liking the idea of being able to pick up right where I left off.

And then I made myself tea, silently hoping Smith would show his face, would casually stroll in so we could move past the awkwardness. But I got the distinct feeling he was trying to ignore me, only hearing him come out of his room when he heard me go into mine, silently moving down the hall whereas he usually made himself heard. Like an invitation to follow him downstairs to have warm drinks and talk or watch a show.

But neither of us had even passed that room where things had gotten decidedly unprofessional. And the only other places to watch TV were our own rooms.

I climbed into bed, staring at the TV without really watching it, unable to keep my mind from racing, from considering all the possible ways that the funeral could go terribly, and the realization that I wouldn’t have Smith for support. First, because he was just supposed to be staff, someone detached from me, certainly not someone to lean on. Second, because there was a wedge between us.

But there was nothing I could do about that.

I would have to get through it.

I could do it.

My life was getting through tough times.

And as I showered, dried, pulled back my hair, put on a garter and stockings, dragged on the dress, slipped my feet into shoes, put on pearls at my ears, a watch on my left wrist, and my clay bracelet, I reminded myself that it was just a few hours. Just a few more hours of playing a part, and I could come back home, climb into sweats, get the sleep I didn’t the night before.

Grabbing a set of oversized sunglasses in the hopes that they might help me appear like I was crying behind them when I wasn’t.

I moved down the stairs, finding Smith already dressed as well, standing in the kitchen drinking coffee, his free hand holding his phone, his thumb frantically moving around, shooting off a text.

“I wasn’t sure if we were supposed to wait here for the senator or not, so I warmed up your car. But we have to wait for Lincoln. He’s coming as well.”

“Okay,” I agreed, making my tea, trying hard not to overanalyze the fact that he hadn’t made it for me like he usually did.

“It’s just a couple hours,” he reminded me again, tone distant.

“Yeah,” I agreed, keeping my back to him as I went through the motions of making my tea, not sure I trusted myself not to get into it if I looked at him. And we couldn’t do that. I couldn’t get distracted. I had to keep my head on straight. I couldn’t do that after having it out with Smith.

“Angel face,” Lincoln greeted me, having come in silently, moving in behind me. “May I?” he asked, touching me up high between my shoulder blades. “You didn’t get the zipper all the way up.” With that, not actually waiting for permission since I clearly wasn’t going to go to my late husband’s funeral with a zipper unzipped, he zipped me up. “I hope your coat is warm. We’re expecting some snow,” he added, seeming to sense the tension in the room, and trying to ease it.

“A lot?” I asked, wanting noise too. There would be enough quiet in the house later.

“Three or four inches. But slow. Hopefully, most of it will be after we’re all indoors. You all about ready to go?”

And so we went.

By the time we met up with Bertram at the gravesite, big, fat tufts of snow were already falling lazily from the sky, dusting the shoulders of everyone’s black jackets, wetting the tops of everyone’s hair.

“And this is where we part,” Lincoln said quietly, touching my wrist discreetly before he and Smith fanned out, each going far to either side of the casket, both looking silently intimidating, looking every bit the security detail they were meant to be.