Solace 12/14 (Without a Trace)
Solace
12/14
Chapter 23
On the day Danny resumed fieldwork, Martin had his first session with Dr. Harris. She stopped by his apartment on the way to her office. Denise, who now worked only part-time, let the psychiatrist in and then went to run some errands.
Dr. Harris took a seat in the upholstered chair by the navy-blue couch where the injured agent rested against some throw pillows. She popped open her black leather briefcase to retrieve a legal pad and pen, and then shut it, resting it against a chair leg.
“Thanks for making the house call,” Martin said, self-consciously straightening his T-shirt and loose sweat pants. It was decidedly strange having the psychiatrist see him dressed in the casual garb that passed for his wardrobe these days. He felt almost naked without his usual suit and tie.
It was even stranger to meet with the woman in his home, on his turf. She’d offered to come to him for the session, and he’d quickly agreed, rather than go to her office. While his mobility had improved during the past week, it would take a ridiculous amount of time to hobble from the elevator to her work space, and he didn’t want his weakness so publicly displayed.
“Now remember what I told you, Martin. This will be a short session today. I want to assess where you’re at, and then I’ll decide how we should proceed.”
“Okay.” He cleared his throat nervously. He’d been dreading this meeting, and the ones to follow. He didn’t want to explore his inner turmoil with Dr. Harris, or any other shrink, for that matter. There was little choice, though, since their sessions were required.
As he waited for her to speak, he unconsciously slid a hand over his left side.
The psychiatrist noticed the movement and raised an eyebrow. “If you’re not up to this, we can reschedule.”
He looked at her in puzzlement and then realized where his hand rested. The pain had eased somewhat the past few days -- he’d graduated from Demerol to Tylenol with codeine -- but he often found himself protectively covering the wounded area.
“I’m good,” he assured the psychiatrist.
“All right.” She folded her hands together, pen still in hand. “Let’s just start with that clichéd question. How are you doing?”
Martin smirked. He’d heard that one a lot lately. “Not too bad, considering. I’m getting around better than I was last week, and I’m doing some physical therapy at an outpatient facility.”
“That’s good, but I’m wondering more about how you’re doing emotionally.”
“Oh.” He paused. How much did he need to tell her? This was only a preliminary session, after all. “Well. Some days are better than others. It’s frustrating not being able to do the things I used to do.”
“Mmm hmm.” Dr. Harris scribbled on the legal pad. “Are you having any nightmares?”
He reluctantly nodded. “Not every night, but yeah, some.”
“Are they interfering with your sleep?”
“Not too much.” The nightmares had eased up since his first week home, probably because he was so wrapped up in his physical recovery.
“And when you think about that night, how do you feel?”
Martin shrugged. “Probably the way you’d expect. Sometimes I’m angry. Sometimes I feel detached from it.”
The psychiatrist nodded. “Do you feel frightened?”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth. The session was rapidly heading into soul-baring territory, a place he didn’t particularly want to visit just yet. He’d rather wait for their next meeting. Still, he supposed he should answer the question, since Dr. Harris could become a huge roadblock to him returning to work. And he did want to go back … for the most part.
Sighing, he adjusted his position on the couch, wincing at the pain. Maybe a small admission would satisfy her for now. Did his memories frighten him? “Yeah, a little bit.”
“Would you like to talk more about that fear?”
Now would be a good time for someone to call. Or knock on the door.
Since coming home from the hospital, there’d been lots of well-meaning interruptions, to the point where he’d felt a bit claustrophobic. Now, the one time he would gladly welcome a phone call or visitor, there wasn’t one.
“Martin?” Dr. Harris prompted.
She was politely pushing him, and he didn’t appreciate it. The stress of the past few weeks left him irritable and unable to prevent frustration from edging his voice. “What do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you that I was scared that I was going to die? Or that Danny was going to die? Or that sometimes I feel sick when I think about going back to work, because I don’t know if I’ll be able to do my job the same way I used to?”
The outburst left him slightly breathless, agitated and somewhat embarrassed. He dropped his head and closed his eyes.
“Martin.” Dr. Harris drew his attention back to her. “I want you to tell me whatever it is you need to tell me. I’m required to be here so we can evaluate your mental health and get you back to work. But I’m also here because I want to help.”
The tension eased a bit as he saw her sincerity. He nodded and sighed. “I guess I’m not really up for this today,” he apologized. “I wasn’t expecting to get into a lengthy discussion.”
The psychiatrist smiled kindly. “Well, we’ll save the lengthy discussion for next time.” She pulled a palm pilot out of her briefcase and consulted it. “I’d like to have weekly sessions. Do Tuesdays work for you? We can start next week, say at 1 o’clock?”
He shook his head. “Actually, Tuesdays I have some pretty involved physical therapy sessions. I doubt I’ll be up for much conversation.”
Dr. Harris again consulted her palm pilot. “Wednesdays okay, then? Same time?”
He nodded, and she gathered her things and stood up, leaning down to shake his hand.
“Hang in there, Martin. It’ll get easier.”
He smiled politely until she closed the door behind her, and then turned to stare out the living room window.
God, he hoped she was right.
**
Chapter 24
Nothing like a good chase to get the blood pumping and the adrenaline flowing.
As the door swung shut, Danny slammed it open and raced onto the porch, gun raised in his right hand. He looked left and caught a glimpse of Dominic Santini disappearing around the corner of the two-story home. Taylor pounded down a short flight of stairs onto the unkempt lawn. The afternoon sun shone overly bright after spending the last few minutes searching the darkened house, and he squinted as he sped after the fleeing man.
“Damnit!” he cursed as the suspect careened around yet another corner of the house, into the backyard. “Santini!” he yelled. “Give it up!”
As he raced toward the back, he heard heavy footsteps behind him and spared a brief glance over his shoulder to see Jack, who’d been upstairs when Santini bolted from the house. The older man’s determined features became alarmed as he yelled his agent’s name.
“Danny! Look out!”
Danny turned around just in time to see a large piece of plywood coming at his head. He ducked as it whooshed over him, then straightened up and trained his gun on Santini. “Drop it! Now!”
The other man threw the piece of wood to the side and raised his hands, brown eyes wide.
“Put your hands behind your head!” Danny thundered. “Turn around and face the wall!” He waited for Santini to obey his orders, and then pressed the man’s head into the bricks and pinned him there with his left arm. Breathing heavily, he nudged his gun into Santini’s back. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to screw around with law enforcement?”
“Danny!” Jack barked, drawing his attention. “Cuff him.”
As Malone stepped closer, gun raised to cover their suspect, Danny pulled back and holstered his weapon. His hands trembled slightly as he yanked a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and slapped them around Santini’s wrists.
“Hey, I didn’t do nothin’!” the other man protested as he was led away from the house. “I didn’t take that guy! All I did was ask him for the money he owed my boss.”
“We’ll talk all about it,” Jack said, holstering his gun. “But at the least, we’ve got you on extortion and assaulting a federal agent. So I suggest you shut up and think damned hard about how loyal you’re gonna be to your boss. Things will go a lot easier if you cooperate with us.”
When they reached the car, Danny put a hand on Santini’s head, guided the man into the vehicle, and shut the door. His breathing had returned to normal, and his hands no longer shook, but adrenaline still coursed through him. He turned to find his boss a bit too close for comfort, eyes flashing, jaw muscles twitching.
“What the hell was that all about?” Jack growled.
“What?”
“You shoving your gun in that guy’s back. He was unarmed, Danny.”
“He tried to whack me with that slab of wood!”
“And the second he dropped it, you should have cuffed him instead of playing Dirty Harry.”
Danny clamped his mouth shut, bristling at the criticism. What the hell was Jack’s problem? Okay, maybe he’d been a little aggressive, but it wasn’t like he was going to plug the guy.
The older agent leaned closer, voice lethally quiet. “If you’re not ready to be out here yet, tell me now.”
He’d been in the field for three days, but this had been his first physical altercation with a perp. All in all, he thought he’d handled it pretty well. Apparently his boss didn’t agree. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah? You sure about that?” Jack backed up a step. “Because from what I saw, it looks like you’re more interested in proving a point than solving our case.”
Danny’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“I know it’s hard getting back into the swing of things. After what’s happened, you’re entitled to be a little jumpy. But damn it, don’t let it control you.” The older man turned away and yanked open the driver’s-side door before eyeing his agent one last time. “And don’t make me regret putting you back in the field.”
As Malone got into the car, Danny blew out a frustrated sigh. Had he gone that overboard with Santini?
Maybe.
Probably.
Okay, yes. Yes, he’d been too aggressive. Usually, he could control his hot-headed impulses when he was working a case. But given what he’d been through so recently, it might be awhile before life-threatening situations didn’t make him edgy.
He rounded the front end of the car to the passenger side and got in, sliding his eyes to his boss, who stared out the front window. “Sorry, man,” he apologized quietly. “I got a little carried away. It won’t happen again.”
Jack met his gaze. “See that it doesn’t,” he ordered, putting the car into drive and pulling into traffic.
Danny looked out the window as oncoming vehicles passed by. “I’ll do my best,” he murmured.
**
Chapter 25
When Danny arrived home that night, it was to a ringing phone. He snatched up the cordless receiver, surprised to hear his brother’s voice on the other end. Rafie rarely called him. Their discussions were usually in person, at the prison where Alvarez was doing time on drug-possession charges.
“Hey, Rafie. How you doin’?”
“Not too bad. Counting the days until I’m outta here.”
He winced at the longing in the other man’s voice. Because Rafie had violated his parole a few months ago, he’d be in prison for a while. He’d miss the birth of his second child and would not see his son, Nicky, assume the role of big brother.
“How are you, Danny? I haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been by in a while,” Danny apologized, flicking on the kitchen lights and snagging a Coke from the refrigerator. “I meant to come by last week, but things have been hectic.”
He went into the living room and shrugged out of his suit jacket, laying it over the arm of the couch before sitting down.
“So … ” Rafie prompted. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Work good?”
“Yeah. Pretty good.” Danny frowned as he recalled his earlier altercation with Santini. And Jack.
“You sure you’re all right, bro?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” He popped the top off his Coke and took a long pull. “I’m great.”
Rafie paused, as if unsure how to proceed. “Look, I know we’ve had our problems, but you’ve really come through for me lately, so if you need to talk … ”
Danny settled into the couch and sighed. It had been a long day, and he really didn’t want to spill his guts. He just wanted to chill for a while.
“I’m not trying to get in your face,” Alvarez said. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
The agent’s lips curved up as he imagined the tough, yet concerned, expression on his brother’s face. Rafie’s face … one that looked more and more like their father’s, as the years passed. A flash of their dad, seconds before that fateful car accident, made Danny’s mouth go dry.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, silent and unmoving, before his brother’s voice pulled him out of dark memories.
“You all right?”
Danny shifted on the couch, placing one elbow on the armrest and rubbing his hand over his mouth. He hadn’t planned to get into any deep discussions with Rafie, but realized that he wanted to talk to him. Needed to talk to him. Needed to confess some of the guilt that gnawed at his soul.
“You remember I told you about mami and papi’s car accident?” he asked. “That they were fighting, and when I tried to stop them, that’s when we crashed?”
“Yeah.”
“I used to wonder if maybe I could have done something different, you know? Maybe if I hadn’t tried to get papi to stop yelling, he and mami would still be alive.” He shook his head. “But I realized a couple of weeks ago that there probably wasn’t anything I could have done that would have saved them. Papi took his eyes off the road before I said anything, and even if I’d kept my mouth shut, he still might have hit that median.”
“That’s true, man.”
Danny paused. “The irony is, even though I know I probably couldn’t have prevented that accident, it doesn’t make me feel any better. It just makes me feel … powerless. Like I have no control over what happens around me. Or to me.”
“I’ve been there, bro,” Rafie said grimly. “More than once. Watched everything goin’ on in my life, and felt like nothin’ I did would make a damned difference.”
Of course his brother would know, would understand, how he felt. The man had endured more than his share of difficulties as a child and adult. Trying to keep their father from beating on everyone, fighting a drug addiction, struggling to get -- and stay -- out of prison so he could provide for his family. Alvarez had gone through more in his thirty-nine years than some men experienced in a lifetime.
“Rafie, how do you deal with it?”
The other man snorted. “C’mon, man. You know the answer to that. How many times have you said that damned prayer in AA?”
The Serenity Prayer. Every addict knew it by heart. Danny’s AA group recited it once a month, and he carried a tattered copy in his wallet. He’d heard the words, said the words, hundreds of times. During those first few AA meetings he’d attended, they’d been of such comfort. Now, they were so rote, he didn’t even stop to consider their meaning.
Rafie recited the prayer. “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”
As the words soaked in, Danny smirked. “Guess I’m not too good at that acceptance thing, huh?”
Amusement tinged the older man’s response. “Can’t be perfect all the time, little brother. But I’ll tell you this much.” His voice grew serious. “You gotta make peace with what happened. You were just a little kid.”
He nodded slowly. “I know, man. I know.”
“And you gotta make peace with what happened a few weeks ago, too. Don’t let it eat you up inside.”
Danny swallowed hard, knowing his brother was right, but feeling unworthy of a reprieve in his suffering over the shooting. Surely he didn’t deserve to move on until he could make things right with Martin? He needed to see his friend and apologize for abandoning him during his recovery. He hadn’t visited Fitzgerald since that day at the hospital, and hadn’t talked to him in a week and half.
But he didn’t think he could face him yet.
How much of a coward was he?
Rafie’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. “Promise me, man, that you won’t keep beating yourself up over all this stuff.”
“I promise to try … I’ll try.”
After they hung up, Danny pulled out his copy of the Serenity Prayer, focusing on that one little phrase: “accept the things I cannot change.”
He knew those words embodied a key part of the healing process. He had to accept that he couldn’t always control his life, no matter how badly he wanted to or how hard he tried.
But it was one thing to believe those words, and entirely another to put them into practice.
**
Part Thirteen
12/14
Chapter 23
On the day Danny resumed fieldwork, Martin had his first session with Dr. Harris. She stopped by his apartment on the way to her office. Denise, who now worked only part-time, let the psychiatrist in and then went to run some errands.
Dr. Harris took a seat in the upholstered chair by the navy-blue couch where the injured agent rested against some throw pillows. She popped open her black leather briefcase to retrieve a legal pad and pen, and then shut it, resting it against a chair leg.
“Thanks for making the house call,” Martin said, self-consciously straightening his T-shirt and loose sweat pants. It was decidedly strange having the psychiatrist see him dressed in the casual garb that passed for his wardrobe these days. He felt almost naked without his usual suit and tie.
It was even stranger to meet with the woman in his home, on his turf. She’d offered to come to him for the session, and he’d quickly agreed, rather than go to her office. While his mobility had improved during the past week, it would take a ridiculous amount of time to hobble from the elevator to her work space, and he didn’t want his weakness so publicly displayed.
“Now remember what I told you, Martin. This will be a short session today. I want to assess where you’re at, and then I’ll decide how we should proceed.”
“Okay.” He cleared his throat nervously. He’d been dreading this meeting, and the ones to follow. He didn’t want to explore his inner turmoil with Dr. Harris, or any other shrink, for that matter. There was little choice, though, since their sessions were required.
As he waited for her to speak, he unconsciously slid a hand over his left side.
The psychiatrist noticed the movement and raised an eyebrow. “If you’re not up to this, we can reschedule.”
He looked at her in puzzlement and then realized where his hand rested. The pain had eased somewhat the past few days -- he’d graduated from Demerol to Tylenol with codeine -- but he often found himself protectively covering the wounded area.
“I’m good,” he assured the psychiatrist.
“All right.” She folded her hands together, pen still in hand. “Let’s just start with that clichéd question. How are you doing?”
Martin smirked. He’d heard that one a lot lately. “Not too bad, considering. I’m getting around better than I was last week, and I’m doing some physical therapy at an outpatient facility.”
“That’s good, but I’m wondering more about how you’re doing emotionally.”
“Oh.” He paused. How much did he need to tell her? This was only a preliminary session, after all. “Well. Some days are better than others. It’s frustrating not being able to do the things I used to do.”
“Mmm hmm.” Dr. Harris scribbled on the legal pad. “Are you having any nightmares?”
He reluctantly nodded. “Not every night, but yeah, some.”
“Are they interfering with your sleep?”
“Not too much.” The nightmares had eased up since his first week home, probably because he was so wrapped up in his physical recovery.
“And when you think about that night, how do you feel?”
Martin shrugged. “Probably the way you’d expect. Sometimes I’m angry. Sometimes I feel detached from it.”
The psychiatrist nodded. “Do you feel frightened?”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth. The session was rapidly heading into soul-baring territory, a place he didn’t particularly want to visit just yet. He’d rather wait for their next meeting. Still, he supposed he should answer the question, since Dr. Harris could become a huge roadblock to him returning to work. And he did want to go back … for the most part.
Sighing, he adjusted his position on the couch, wincing at the pain. Maybe a small admission would satisfy her for now. Did his memories frighten him? “Yeah, a little bit.”
“Would you like to talk more about that fear?”
Now would be a good time for someone to call. Or knock on the door.
Since coming home from the hospital, there’d been lots of well-meaning interruptions, to the point where he’d felt a bit claustrophobic. Now, the one time he would gladly welcome a phone call or visitor, there wasn’t one.
“Martin?” Dr. Harris prompted.
She was politely pushing him, and he didn’t appreciate it. The stress of the past few weeks left him irritable and unable to prevent frustration from edging his voice. “What do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you that I was scared that I was going to die? Or that Danny was going to die? Or that sometimes I feel sick when I think about going back to work, because I don’t know if I’ll be able to do my job the same way I used to?”
The outburst left him slightly breathless, agitated and somewhat embarrassed. He dropped his head and closed his eyes.
“Martin.” Dr. Harris drew his attention back to her. “I want you to tell me whatever it is you need to tell me. I’m required to be here so we can evaluate your mental health and get you back to work. But I’m also here because I want to help.”
The tension eased a bit as he saw her sincerity. He nodded and sighed. “I guess I’m not really up for this today,” he apologized. “I wasn’t expecting to get into a lengthy discussion.”
The psychiatrist smiled kindly. “Well, we’ll save the lengthy discussion for next time.” She pulled a palm pilot out of her briefcase and consulted it. “I’d like to have weekly sessions. Do Tuesdays work for you? We can start next week, say at 1 o’clock?”
He shook his head. “Actually, Tuesdays I have some pretty involved physical therapy sessions. I doubt I’ll be up for much conversation.”
Dr. Harris again consulted her palm pilot. “Wednesdays okay, then? Same time?”
He nodded, and she gathered her things and stood up, leaning down to shake his hand.
“Hang in there, Martin. It’ll get easier.”
He smiled politely until she closed the door behind her, and then turned to stare out the living room window.
God, he hoped she was right.
**
Chapter 24
Nothing like a good chase to get the blood pumping and the adrenaline flowing.
As the door swung shut, Danny slammed it open and raced onto the porch, gun raised in his right hand. He looked left and caught a glimpse of Dominic Santini disappearing around the corner of the two-story home. Taylor pounded down a short flight of stairs onto the unkempt lawn. The afternoon sun shone overly bright after spending the last few minutes searching the darkened house, and he squinted as he sped after the fleeing man.
“Damnit!” he cursed as the suspect careened around yet another corner of the house, into the backyard. “Santini!” he yelled. “Give it up!”
As he raced toward the back, he heard heavy footsteps behind him and spared a brief glance over his shoulder to see Jack, who’d been upstairs when Santini bolted from the house. The older man’s determined features became alarmed as he yelled his agent’s name.
“Danny! Look out!”
Danny turned around just in time to see a large piece of plywood coming at his head. He ducked as it whooshed over him, then straightened up and trained his gun on Santini. “Drop it! Now!”
The other man threw the piece of wood to the side and raised his hands, brown eyes wide.
“Put your hands behind your head!” Danny thundered. “Turn around and face the wall!” He waited for Santini to obey his orders, and then pressed the man’s head into the bricks and pinned him there with his left arm. Breathing heavily, he nudged his gun into Santini’s back. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to screw around with law enforcement?”
“Danny!” Jack barked, drawing his attention. “Cuff him.”
As Malone stepped closer, gun raised to cover their suspect, Danny pulled back and holstered his weapon. His hands trembled slightly as he yanked a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and slapped them around Santini’s wrists.
“Hey, I didn’t do nothin’!” the other man protested as he was led away from the house. “I didn’t take that guy! All I did was ask him for the money he owed my boss.”
“We’ll talk all about it,” Jack said, holstering his gun. “But at the least, we’ve got you on extortion and assaulting a federal agent. So I suggest you shut up and think damned hard about how loyal you’re gonna be to your boss. Things will go a lot easier if you cooperate with us.”
When they reached the car, Danny put a hand on Santini’s head, guided the man into the vehicle, and shut the door. His breathing had returned to normal, and his hands no longer shook, but adrenaline still coursed through him. He turned to find his boss a bit too close for comfort, eyes flashing, jaw muscles twitching.
“What the hell was that all about?” Jack growled.
“What?”
“You shoving your gun in that guy’s back. He was unarmed, Danny.”
“He tried to whack me with that slab of wood!”
“And the second he dropped it, you should have cuffed him instead of playing Dirty Harry.”
Danny clamped his mouth shut, bristling at the criticism. What the hell was Jack’s problem? Okay, maybe he’d been a little aggressive, but it wasn’t like he was going to plug the guy.
The older agent leaned closer, voice lethally quiet. “If you’re not ready to be out here yet, tell me now.”
He’d been in the field for three days, but this had been his first physical altercation with a perp. All in all, he thought he’d handled it pretty well. Apparently his boss didn’t agree. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah? You sure about that?” Jack backed up a step. “Because from what I saw, it looks like you’re more interested in proving a point than solving our case.”
Danny’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“I know it’s hard getting back into the swing of things. After what’s happened, you’re entitled to be a little jumpy. But damn it, don’t let it control you.” The older man turned away and yanked open the driver’s-side door before eyeing his agent one last time. “And don’t make me regret putting you back in the field.”
As Malone got into the car, Danny blew out a frustrated sigh. Had he gone that overboard with Santini?
Maybe.
Probably.
Okay, yes. Yes, he’d been too aggressive. Usually, he could control his hot-headed impulses when he was working a case. But given what he’d been through so recently, it might be awhile before life-threatening situations didn’t make him edgy.
He rounded the front end of the car to the passenger side and got in, sliding his eyes to his boss, who stared out the front window. “Sorry, man,” he apologized quietly. “I got a little carried away. It won’t happen again.”
Jack met his gaze. “See that it doesn’t,” he ordered, putting the car into drive and pulling into traffic.
Danny looked out the window as oncoming vehicles passed by. “I’ll do my best,” he murmured.
**
Chapter 25
When Danny arrived home that night, it was to a ringing phone. He snatched up the cordless receiver, surprised to hear his brother’s voice on the other end. Rafie rarely called him. Their discussions were usually in person, at the prison where Alvarez was doing time on drug-possession charges.
“Hey, Rafie. How you doin’?”
“Not too bad. Counting the days until I’m outta here.”
He winced at the longing in the other man’s voice. Because Rafie had violated his parole a few months ago, he’d be in prison for a while. He’d miss the birth of his second child and would not see his son, Nicky, assume the role of big brother.
“How are you, Danny? I haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been by in a while,” Danny apologized, flicking on the kitchen lights and snagging a Coke from the refrigerator. “I meant to come by last week, but things have been hectic.”
He went into the living room and shrugged out of his suit jacket, laying it over the arm of the couch before sitting down.
“So … ” Rafie prompted. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Work good?”
“Yeah. Pretty good.” Danny frowned as he recalled his earlier altercation with Santini. And Jack.
“You sure you’re all right, bro?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” He popped the top off his Coke and took a long pull. “I’m great.”
Rafie paused, as if unsure how to proceed. “Look, I know we’ve had our problems, but you’ve really come through for me lately, so if you need to talk … ”
Danny settled into the couch and sighed. It had been a long day, and he really didn’t want to spill his guts. He just wanted to chill for a while.
“I’m not trying to get in your face,” Alvarez said. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
The agent’s lips curved up as he imagined the tough, yet concerned, expression on his brother’s face. Rafie’s face … one that looked more and more like their father’s, as the years passed. A flash of their dad, seconds before that fateful car accident, made Danny’s mouth go dry.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, silent and unmoving, before his brother’s voice pulled him out of dark memories.
“You all right?”
Danny shifted on the couch, placing one elbow on the armrest and rubbing his hand over his mouth. He hadn’t planned to get into any deep discussions with Rafie, but realized that he wanted to talk to him. Needed to talk to him. Needed to confess some of the guilt that gnawed at his soul.
“You remember I told you about mami and papi’s car accident?” he asked. “That they were fighting, and when I tried to stop them, that’s when we crashed?”
“Yeah.”
“I used to wonder if maybe I could have done something different, you know? Maybe if I hadn’t tried to get papi to stop yelling, he and mami would still be alive.” He shook his head. “But I realized a couple of weeks ago that there probably wasn’t anything I could have done that would have saved them. Papi took his eyes off the road before I said anything, and even if I’d kept my mouth shut, he still might have hit that median.”
“That’s true, man.”
Danny paused. “The irony is, even though I know I probably couldn’t have prevented that accident, it doesn’t make me feel any better. It just makes me feel … powerless. Like I have no control over what happens around me. Or to me.”
“I’ve been there, bro,” Rafie said grimly. “More than once. Watched everything goin’ on in my life, and felt like nothin’ I did would make a damned difference.”
Of course his brother would know, would understand, how he felt. The man had endured more than his share of difficulties as a child and adult. Trying to keep their father from beating on everyone, fighting a drug addiction, struggling to get -- and stay -- out of prison so he could provide for his family. Alvarez had gone through more in his thirty-nine years than some men experienced in a lifetime.
“Rafie, how do you deal with it?”
The other man snorted. “C’mon, man. You know the answer to that. How many times have you said that damned prayer in AA?”
The Serenity Prayer. Every addict knew it by heart. Danny’s AA group recited it once a month, and he carried a tattered copy in his wallet. He’d heard the words, said the words, hundreds of times. During those first few AA meetings he’d attended, they’d been of such comfort. Now, they were so rote, he didn’t even stop to consider their meaning.
Rafie recited the prayer. “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”
As the words soaked in, Danny smirked. “Guess I’m not too good at that acceptance thing, huh?”
Amusement tinged the older man’s response. “Can’t be perfect all the time, little brother. But I’ll tell you this much.” His voice grew serious. “You gotta make peace with what happened. You were just a little kid.”
He nodded slowly. “I know, man. I know.”
“And you gotta make peace with what happened a few weeks ago, too. Don’t let it eat you up inside.”
Danny swallowed hard, knowing his brother was right, but feeling unworthy of a reprieve in his suffering over the shooting. Surely he didn’t deserve to move on until he could make things right with Martin? He needed to see his friend and apologize for abandoning him during his recovery. He hadn’t visited Fitzgerald since that day at the hospital, and hadn’t talked to him in a week and half.
But he didn’t think he could face him yet.
How much of a coward was he?
Rafie’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. “Promise me, man, that you won’t keep beating yourself up over all this stuff.”
“I promise to try … I’ll try.”
After they hung up, Danny pulled out his copy of the Serenity Prayer, focusing on that one little phrase: “accept the things I cannot change.”
He knew those words embodied a key part of the healing process. He had to accept that he couldn’t always control his life, no matter how badly he wanted to or how hard he tried.
But it was one thing to believe those words, and entirely another to put them into practice.
**
Part Thirteen