11

The first part of the week passed in a blur. Cooper remembered working on reports for Bowen and consulting with the other IRO branch offices about their training programs, but when Thursday morning dawned, he awoke, brain on full alert. And he hadn’t even had any coffee yet. Slow down.

Rookie, agent.

But he was eager to work with KC again.

She bounded into his office at eight sharp.

Her teal cap didn’t hide the tiny gray curls that peeked above her ears.

“Good morning,” he said, averting his eyes.

“Hi, Coop.” She dropped into the chair and held her bag close. “No more legalese, please. Sandra Urban, bless her heart, is a nice enough gal, but my hand aches from taking notes. I’ll be glad when I get my laptop. So many policies, procedures, and regulations to follow. I don’t know how agents ever accomplish anything.” Leaning back, she sighed, and set her bag on the floor. “What are we doing today?”

He purposely kept a straight face, but inside, he was grinning from ear to ear. KC was never at a loss for words. “The legal aspects of our job are extremely important. We have a little more leeway than the police, but we have to operate within the law.”

“I know. I know. But three days in a row are hard to take.”

“You’ll be glad to know, then, that for the rest of the week, we’ll be tackling domestic and family issues. Hands-on training, using actors in scripted scenarios.”

Her eyes sparkled. “That sounds exciting. And then IT next week, right?”

“Yes. Two or three days, depending on your aptitude.”

She removed her cap and ran her hand over her head. “How do you like my hair?”

Cooper cleared his throat. “Uh, I guess—”

“You don’t like it?”

“No. That’s not what I meant. I…it’s…” How did he get himself in such a bind? “You want the truth?”

She nodded, her lips in a downward slant.

“There’s not enough of it to tell.” Open mouth, insert his size thirteens. “I mean…KC, you are a beautiful woman, with or without hair. Don’t wait for my approval, or any person’s, for that matter, to do what you feel is right for you.”

His words had the desired effect. She smiled and stood. “OK, let’s get started. Where do we go for this training?”

Dodged a bullet, but he meant every word. “In a vacant office around the corner. We can walk together.”

She snagged her bag and followed him. “We had a large group for worship on Sunday.”

Although aware of the ease with which she shared her faith, Cooper’s defense mechanism still kicked in. His worship—or lack thereof—was private. “Thanks for the reminder, but I’m not ready—”

“No, no, Coop. I’m not pressuring you. If that’s what you thought, then I’m sorry. I was just making conversation.” She hung her head.

Guilt surged through him. She wasn’t judging him, but her faith reminded him of the void in his life. “I’ll come one Sunday. Give me time. OK?”

For the rest of the day, he regretted his sharp response. During the training sessions, KC performed well, learned from her mistakes, and took redirection to heart. But she didn’t smile or chat with him outside of the scenarios. Her subdued attitude toward him continued the next day. And when she said good-bye at five o’clock, she didn’t mention her parents’ church gathering.

On his way home, Cooper thumped the steering wheel. “You’re a king-sized dope.” What kept him from attending a church service, at a house or anywhere? He fingered his scar, running a thumb from his eye down to his chin. He didn’t blame God for the accident that took his wife and baby, slashed open his face. But since that day, he hadn’t been able to walk into a church building. Maybe a home church was just what he needed.

Cooper spent Saturday fishing at the Shelter Island Pier with Manny Hernandez, another IRO agent. They didn’t catch anything worthwhile, not even the ever-present sand bass, but laidback Manny wouldn’t let Cooper’s gray mood persist.

“You’re extra quiet today. Want to share what’s weighing you down?” Manny cast his line out again.

Almost involuntarily, the spiritual battle Cooper waged spewed out. On and on, the words tumbled, until he turned to his friend, eyebrows raised.

Manny remained quiet for a few seconds. He bobbed his pole up and down. “Can I make a couple of comments?”

Cooper shrugged. “Sure.”

“You say you’ve watched Pastor Owen Ross on TV for five years.”

“Yeah. I like his style. He preaches straight from the Bible.”

“And you can sit at home without interacting with anyone, right?”

Cooper could tell where this was going. He cast his line out again. “Yes.”

“Why do you prefer to be by yourself?”

“It’s not that.” But Manny had hit the nail on the head. “I…don’t know.”

“Maybe you’re afraid of confronting your loss. You told me you don’t hold God responsible for your family’s deaths. So why don’t you want to worship God with other people?”

His line jerked. He’d snagged something. Cooper reeled in seaweed that someone else had obviously caught as it had a weighted fishing line tangled in the glob. Figured. His life in a nutshell. No fish, or sustenance, but a heaviness trapped in an ugly mess. “I have no answers.”

“Can I suggest one or two?”

Cooper nodded.

“If you worship with other people, you might have to open up, share your innermost feelings. Let people into where Cooper Callahan exists.”

Clouds covered the sun. Cooper threw his rod onto the pier. Getting too personal, pal. “I think it’s time to go.” Cooper packed his gear then trudged to the parking lot where he and Manny entered their vehicles without saying another word.

After breakfast the next day, Cooper drove to William and Ellen Briggs’ home. Five vehicles were already parked in the driveway or on the street, one of them KC’s teal SUV.

He checked his watch. Ten minutes before ten. A sedan parked behind him. A woman and two young kids exited, passed him, and waved before entering the house.

Now or never. But the very thought of walking into a group of strangers—excluding KC and her parents, of course—twisted his gut into knots.

He sped away. I’m a coward. As he neared his apartment, he prayed aloud for the first time in years. “Help me, Father. I need Your guidance in my life.”

Maybe next Sunday.