Jimmy was the type who would have doted on Avery and me for all the days of our lives. Just because he was taken from us before he could prove that doesn’t mean I don’t know the truth of it.
Regardless, the one thing I’m determined to do is be the strong, independent woman Jimmy so admired. The type of woman he said had attracted him from the very start. While he would never have an issue with me leaning on my mother—and I most certainly did for a while after he died—he’d also expect me to be a role model for Avery and teach her that we can overcome any hardship in this life. That’s what I’m trying to do by putting one foot in front of the other and moving forward.
Every day, I tell myself, You got this, Anna.
This morning, however, as I’m putting Avery’s carrier in the backseat and buckling her in, I have my moment. That one time each day I succumb to grief, pity, and tears. I haven’t figured out how to make these go away yet, and they often don’t last long.
Sometimes, it’s a mere dull ache in the center of my chest and a slight sting of tears as I think about Jimmy.
Other days, like this morning, I can’t hold back. As Avery coos to herself, holding a plastic rattle in her tiny fist, the tears start falling down my face in warm rivers. It’s actually painful trying to hold back the wracking sob that wants to tear free. Sagging against the doorjamb, I take in a ragged breath and curse the heavens for taking my husband from me and leaving Avery without a father. I succumb to that moment of feeling sorry for myself, because fuck if this isn’t hard as hell living life as a young widow and a single mother. I don’t deserve this.
Then my gaze falls to Avery, and she just stares so thoughtfully. Her eyes bore into mine, and I think she knows her mother is having a moment. I rub the wetness from my face with the back of my hand, suck in air through my nose, and level a smile at my little girl. She responds, the tiny pucker of her mouth curving into a gummy grin. She shakes the plastic toy and emits a tiny screech, which I think will become an amazing giggle one day.
And just like that, my moment is over.
Leaning over, I kiss Avery on the forehead, tug on the straps to make sure she’s buckled in tight and repeat my mantra.
“You can do this, Anna.”
?
Bypassing the second floor where my office is, I move up to the communal kitchen on the fourth. That’s where the best coffee is, and there are usually pastries someone brings in.
I’ve been working at Jameson Force Security for only a few months. This was Jimmy’s gig originally, and I was just the wife. His former experience as an Army ranger made him a prime candidate as one of their mission specialists for the private contracting work they were hired for. He was killed on a job the company was hired for by our own government—to go into Syria and rescue some aid workers who were taken hostage.
My role is far less glamorous, but one I’m cut out for. I was in administrative services during my enlistment with the Army, which translated well into becoming the owner’s secretary. Kynan McGrath and his wife Joslyn were so supportive after Jimmy died. They were constantly reaching out to me, checking on me, and making assurances they would help to take care of my daughter and me forever.
That’s not something I actually wanted, but Kynan didn’t hesitate to agree when I asked for a job. I needed something that made me feel worthy. Strangely, going to work for the company in whose service my husband was killed was exactly what I needed.
Jameson is an interesting company. It was started in Vegas by Kynan’s best friend, Jerico Jameson. He sold out to Kynan a few years back. Kynan moved the headquarters to Pittsburgh, wanting to be on the East Coast and closer to his government contacts in D.C.
The company handles a wide variety of security services. We have crack teams that can do something as simple as in-home installations of high-level alarm systems to mission groups that covertly go into hostile countries to rescue people. We do a surprising amount of that kind of work because our government’s metaphorical hands are often tied as to where they can send our troops. In those instances when they need something done—and it has to be black-ops and off the books—they will hire a private security firm. It’s with a moderate amount of pride they most often turn to Jameson.
My mom doesn’t understand how I can work for the company that got Jimmy killed. I’ve tried to explain it to her, but she’ll never get it. Jimmy wasn’t able to complete his mission. He gave up his life for something extremely important—saving innocents. If there is any way I can help this company achieve their directives, I feel like I’m helping Jimmy accomplish his.