It was mid-February, but the temperature read forty-eight degrees. In Maine, a day like this is both a tease and a gift. And we were taking advantage of it. The window was open a crack, but it was enough for the breeze to cause Griff’s shirt to flutter. The skin on his chest was still tinted light purple. It had faded significantly from the deep plum it had been except at the site of the bullet hole where a scar was taking shape. Finding Kira had left quite a few of those on both of us.
We were heading to John’s to have dinner with him and Kira. Griff took a right, turning us toward downtown instead of staying straight on Forest Ave. to the interstate.
“Where are you going?”
“The office. There’s something I want to show you.”
We cruised Congress Street and took a right onto Temple to Middle. Griff slowed the car and pulled to the curb in front of the building that housed our office.
“What do you think of our new sign?”
A small white placard hung from an ornate rod iron post above the door. In old style black calligraphy it read, Cole and Callahan, Private Investigators.
My eyes filled, blurring the letters. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”
“The only change I’ll ever make to that sign is when it needs to read, Cole, Callahan and Sons.
I laughed. “What if we have a daughter?”
“We’ll name her Sam.”
“It’s just that simple?”
“It can be.”
I’d proven my worth as a PI and earned my name on the sign by taking a lot of risks, albeit some stupid, but they’d paid off. Maybe it was time to take a few in my personal life too. I leaned across the seat and kissed Griff. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was just that simple.
Thirty minutes later, we pulled into John’s driveway and stopped the car behind the black Suburban. Kira met us at the door. Though her face was still thin, you’d never know the hell she’d lived through from looking at her. Smiling in jeans and a turquoise sweater, her hair in a French braid, she looked like any other teenager. Only the wisdom in her eyes told us there was far more there than we could see.
John was on the back deck, flipping steaks on the grill. Only in Maine do people do outdoor grilling in forty-degree weather. You have to take it when you can get it.
“Wine and beer in the fridge,” John said. “Help yourself.”
Griff poured me a Chardonnay and took a Red Hook for himself. John raised his can of Diet Coke. “Cheers.”
Over dinner inside, the conversation inevitably turned to the pending trial. Myles had joined Clive in Grand Falls and was being held and charged along with a myriad of others that the Bon Sejour raid had uncovered. LeBlanc couldn’t have been happier with the outcome.
“Trial starts next month for Isaac,” John said. “Stebbins will follow.”
“Either of them talked?” Griff asked.
John shook his head. “They’re too loyal or too stupid. Either way, neither of them will see the light of day for a very long time.”
“I went to visit Ruth,” Kira said.
All eyes fell on her, but I wasn’t surprised. “How is she?” I asked.
“She was happy to see me.”
I smiled. “You were important to her.”
“If it hadn’t been for Ruth mailing that postcard, I’d, I’d still…” she stopped.
John laid his hand over hers. “I’ll make sure they know that at the trial. I don’t think she’ll fair too badly. She’s been completely forthcoming. I’ll do whatever I can for her.”
I sipped my Chardonnay and looked out the picture window over the frozen lake thinking how easily fathers can build or destroy a daughter’s sense of worth. Nurture a daughter’s self-esteem and you get someone like Kira or Griff’s daughter, Allie, survivors because they know they matter. Crush a daughter and you get Ruth or me, never quite good enough, but towing the line hoping someone will notice.
“….the real hero,” John said. “Britt?”
“Sorry, what? I was admiring the lake.”
“I said you were the real hero in all of this.” John raised his glass.
“I didn’t do anything but what I was told.” I felt Griff’s eyes on me and turned to look at him.
“Seems to me you did everything you weren’t told. Like go to Isaac’s in the first place, leave with Lucas, try to escape, give my phone number to the cop at Rusty’s and last but not least, take down Lucas.” I don’t remember telling you to do any of those things.”
Out of habit, I started to downplay my accomplishments, but then I realized he was right. I had done those things on my own. I couldn’t quite see myself as a hero though, since each of those decisions had almost paralyzed me with fear and aren’t heroes supposed to be fearless? But I raised my glass with the rest of them acknowledging that there had been a subtle shift along the fault line.