Don't Say Goodbye to Love
September 2006
Order from Wings ePress
ISBN No. 1-59705-028-8 e-pub
1-59705-970-6 paperback


Sample Chapter

At 5:30 a.m. the clock radio on the bedside table came alive, blaring news of the stock market into the darkness of Jeannie McKay's bedroom. Unwillingly, she dragged herself to the surface of consciousness as Laura, age 5, bounced out of bed across the hall and catapulted into her mother's room, ready to begin the day as soon as her eyes opened, as usual. "It's too early," Jeannie groaned, closing her eyes against the glare of the lamp Laura switched on before burrowing eagerly beneath the covers of the big bed.

"You always say that, Mommy," Laura giggled, rubbing her cold nose against Jeannie's Eskimo style. "Can we have pancakes for breakfast?"

"We had pancakes yesterday, Miss Piggy," Jeannie pointed out. "This is a protein day. Reluctantly, she threw back the covers and reached for the fluffy pink bathrobe, draped over the bed's brass footrail, that comforted her on these frigid Connecticut mornings. Pulling it around her, she padded down the carpeted hallway, Laura close behind her, and descended to the first floor. She turned up the heat, then moved into the kitchen to pour water into the little coffeemaker on the counter. As she waited for it to brew, she settled Laura under a comforter in the family room to watch her beloved cartoons, returned to the kitchen to pack lunches for Laura and Rick, who at age 7 was less willing to get out of his snug bed early on a schoolday, poured orange juice, scrambled eggs, and set the table. Retrieving a meatloaf, made last night, from the refrigerator, she placed it and three baking potatoes in the oven for tonight's supper and set the automatic controls to start cooking at 4 p.m. She checked the start time, cooking time, and oven temperature carefully, not trusting herself to get everything straight before her first cup of coffee.

At 6:00 she was able to pour herself a cup of coffee and take it into the living room. She removed Simi from her favorite corner of the sofa and sat down with the cat in her lap, pulling her bare feet up under the fuzzy robe for warmth. With this, the old Siamese sympathized, and she purred approvingly. "You old hypocrite," Jeannie murmured fondly, rubbing the cat's ears gently. "You'd snuggle up to the Steins' collie if you thought he'd warm you up." From the family room came the voice of Barney the dinosaur, and Jeannie savored the minutes ahead before she would have to wake Rick, get both children started on breakfast, and head for the shower.

She stared out at the gray dawn, stroking the cat absently. It was amazing how little of the workday routine had changed since Carl had moved out, she mused. It had been almost two months now, and from Monday through Friday, her mornings were much the same as they had been throughout the two years she'd been a working wife and mother. Jeannie smiled to herself as she remembered the day nearly two years ago when she'd been offered the job as associate documentary producer at ConnCo, one of Hartford's major insurance companies. After a five-year hiatus in her career, during which she had devoted herself to the needs of two small children, Jeannie had been ecstatic at the prospect of returning to industrial film production, work she found demanding but fascinating. But to her dismay, Carl had been adamantly opposed to the plan. "Laura's only three years old," he had protested. "Can't you wait at least until she's in kindergarten? It's only two more years."

Only two more years. Jeannie's smile faded as she remembered the argument that in retrospect had been the beginning of the end of their marriage. "That's easy for you to say," she had returned angrily, surprising even herself with her vehemence. "I feel like I'm in a time warp, stuck somewhere in the 1950s. I've been cooped up here with two toddlers for what seems like an eternity … with, I might add, precious little help from the other adult in this household. You just pack up your briefcase in the morning and run out to play grown-up cops and robbers every day, coming home whenever it's convenient-or not coming home, as the case may be."

Jeannie drew her robe closer around her and drained the last of her coffee, feeling suddenly chilled. It had been a bitter moment indeed that evening when she and Carl had both realized the resentment Jeannie had been feeling, but hiding, about Carl's job as a Special Agent with the federal Drug Enforcement Administration. For six long years, she had supported his career, swallowing her anger when yet another social engagement had to be canceled because of an arrest that had to be made, a drug buy that had to happen, or a sudden trip that had to be taken to heaven knew where. Before they'd had children, and even when there was just Ricky, Jeannie had had other outlets. There was her job as public relations director for a small college in the early years, and her college courses to complete her bachelor's degree after Rick was born. But with the birth of a daughter 17 months after her son, Jeannie's world narrowed to the confines of nursery, kitchen, and supermarket. And just when she had needed Carl's support most, his career had become his top priority.

Jeannie shivered and returned to the kitchen to rinse her empty cup. "Breakfast, Laura," she called into the family room. As she retrieved a plate of eggs from the microwave and spread peanut butter on an English muffin, Jeannie tried in vain to turn her thoughts to what promised to be a busy day at ConnCo, but the gray morning refused to let her release the past. Once Laura was settled at the kitchen table, Jeannie trudged back upstairs to wake Ricky, buried beneath a tangle of bedspread and blankets, then went into the bathroom to shower. As she soaped and rinsed mechanically, she continued to review the events of the past two years.

Over Carl's objections, she had accepted the job at ConnCo, enrolling Laura in an excellent day care center that featured a progressive nursery school program. Her mother Louise, at loose ends since the death of Jeannie's father, had been delighted to collect both Laura and Ricky, in kindergarten at that time, at mid-day and supervise the children until Jeannie returned from work. It had been difficult to coordinate everyone's schedules, but no more complicated than most working mothers' lives. She had managed it without Carl's help and without his approval. The argument that had begun on the night of ConnCo's job offer had escalated into a full-scale battle, turning their once unified home into an armed camp in which there was no peace, no contentment-only increasing bitterness.

Standing under the pounding stream of warm water for an extra minute, Jeannie again felt the despair of knowing that her marriage was over. It had not turned out at all the way she and Carl had planned it years ago, when they had agreed that their long-term friendship would make a good foundation for a lasting marriage. Home, family and affection had been more than Jeannie had expected after Allan's death.

Abruptly, Jeannie pulled her thoughts back to the present. That much pain she could not deal with on a gloomy November morning. She twisted the shower tap off and toweled herself dry briskly. "Okay, Lady," she chided herself in the mirror, "it's time to switch into job mode." Using the blow dryer and a rounded brush, she fluffed her streaky blonde hair into a becoming chin-length frame for her face. Next came deftly applied eye make-up to enhance the green-flecked brown of her eyes. A smooth coat of deep rose lipstick, and she headed for her closet.

By 8:00, Jeannie was sipping a second cup of coffee in her cubicle at ConnCo Insurance's Corporate Relations Department and contemplating the office party sign-up sheet. Her mood had not improved appreciably, and the prospect of this year's holiday gala filled her with dread. Never very enthusiastic about the contrived gaity of Christmas socializing at the office, Jeannie had nevertheless managed to adopt an attitude of cautious optimism for the huge corporate celebration. Once she got there, she generally enjoyed herself, if the truth be told. But this year, things were very different. Instead of looking forward to catching up on family news with her colleagues, Jeannie cringed from the prospect of having either to reveal or conceal the fact of her separation from Carl. The corporate grapevine being what it was, word had almost certainly gotten around by now. How could she face all that perfectly normal, but nevertheless unpleasant, curiosity?

"I have got to snap out of this," Jeannie mumbled. Deliberately, she stuffed the sign-up sheet into the bottom of her in-basket and turned her attention to the morning's work. First thing today, she would proofread the script for the Group Pensions training film, then get it to the Art Director, who would assign a staff artist to design a collateral flyer. The piece had been written a couple of years ago and required only a few changes to the rate tables. Nevertheless, all the new copy had to be checked for accuracy.

Next, check with Legal about the tax language to be used in a short film promoting ConnCo's newest life insurance product, an innovative concept that promised to put the company on the map and to bury the Sales Promotion unit in requests for new selling aids. Until one of corporate's legal eagles approved the tax language, Jeannie couldn't put it into her script, and the job would be held up. ConnCo's producers served as account executives, responsible for the design and production work on each film's collateral materials, as well as the film itself. The aggressive managers in the life insurance department didn't appreciate delays, and Jeannie made a mental note to press Legal for copy approval this morning.

After that, she would have to hold the fort while the unit heads attended staff meeting. Jeannie groaned aloud. Dennis Maloney, Jeannie's peppery, redhaired unit head, hated these weekly grillings conducted by the senior vice president in charge of all ConnCo's promotional functions, Roger Dalton. Aside from the very real possibility of being caught unprepared to answer one of Dalton's "gotcha" questions, the drinking of coffee was forbidden at staff meetings. And when Dennis couldn't drink coffee, life wasn't worth living, for him or for anyone around him.

Jeannie looked up from her computer as Dennis entered the unit carrying two large paper containers with plastic lids. He slouched toward his desk against the rear wall of the unit. He displayed the gray-green pallor between his neatly trimmed beard and his wire-rimmed glasses that bespoke yet another sleepless night. Dennis was an insomniac, which was either the cause or the result of his excessive coffee consumption. Jeannie had never been able to determine which, but she had learned to leave him alone until both of the paper cups had been emptied. She flinched as petite, bouncy Betsy Pagano, a copywriter who occupied the cubicle next to Jeannie's, bustled into the office and made a beeline for Dennis. "Hey, did you see the Dennis Miller special on HBO last night?" she chirped blithely, unaware, as always, of the pain her early morning cheer caused Dennis, who was wrestling the liff off coffee number one.

"Uhh, Miller," he mumbled, taking a large gulp of his brew. He grimaced, then added a large dollop of creamer from the container at his elbow. "No, I didn't see that one."

"That guy is too funny!" Betsy pronounced, clapping scarlet-tipped fingers to her artfully blushed cheeks. "I laughed so hard I almost … well, he went off on one of his rants, see, about those fake religious orders that are just come-ons for donations, you know, like the one on Channel 38 where the guy with all the white hair sits on a furry divan and tries to guilt you into contributing?"

Rescue time, thought Jeannie as Betsy paused for breath. "Morning, Betsy," she said brightly, butting in. As usual, Betsy didn't notice. "Can you get right over to the art unit? Milly's trying to decide between two photographs for the agents' wall calendar, and she wants you to vote."

"Oh, sure!" Betsy agreed, easily diverted. She bustled off, swinging round hips and patting appealingly shaggy blonde hair. Jeannie gave Dennis a solemn wink in response to the look of gratitude he threw her way as he swallowed the last of his coffee. He flicked the empty container into the wastebasket with practiced ease. By four o'clock, there would be half a dozen others to join it.

The morning flew by in a flurry of phone calls and hurried meetings with the artists and clients with whom Jeannie was currently working. At a little after eleven, just as Jeannie was saying goodbye to Marsale Pierce in Legal, the conference room door opened, and the unit heads filed out of staff meeting, glassy eyed. "Coffee wagon?" Dennis asked hopefully.

"Came and went an hour ago, but I think I saw Milly making a fresh pot in the darkroom," Jeannie replied. The creative staff relied heavily on a steady intake of caffeine, and two pots were kept in service in the art unit. "In fact, I'll come with you."

"So how's it going, Big Girl?" Dennis asked, using his affectionate nickname for five-foot, seven-inch Jeannie. He was aware of Jeannie's separation from Carl, but good friend that he was, he never raised the subject directly.

"Okay, for the most part. The kids seems to be going along fairly normally," Jeannie responded. "In fact, they seem almost too normal. Shouldn't they be throwing tantrums or wetting their beds or something?" She filled Dennis's mug, then her own. "Wow, that's strong," she added after a tentative sip.

"How do you think I grew this beard?" Dennis teased. "That stuff will put hair on your chest-and your chin, if you're not careful."

"In that case, you must look like a gorilla under that shirt," Jeannie returned in the same bantering tone. "And let's not have any more personal remarks about my chest, thank you. I'll tell Rosemary on you."

As he always did when his wife's name was mentioned, Dennis smiled broadly. "You can't tell that woman anything about me she doesn't already know." They began the return walk. "It does seem odd about Ricky and Laura, though. Maybe they aren't reacting because Carl was always on the road so much for the job. They probably figure this is just more of the same, and sooner or later, he'll turn up like he always does."

Jeannie stopped walking and stared at Dennis. "You know, you're probably right. He was gone so much, even when he was technically at home, that they just figure this is another one of Daddy's times when he has to work." She resumed walking slowly. "But with Christmas coming up, it's got to sink in. Whatever other occasions he missed, Carl was always home for Christmas morning. This year, he'll just be dropping by on Christmas Eve. When he puts his coat on and leaves, they'll probably fall apart, and there I'll be, holding the fort. As usual," she added bitterly.

"Well, you never know," Dennis offered. "Kids can surprise you." With four redheaded boys of his own, he spoke with some authority on the subject. "They've said goodbye to Carl under a lot of strange circumstances over the years. Maybe this will be just one more goodbye to them, no big deal." He glanced at his watch. "Oh, no! I've got two minutes to make it down to audio visual." He emptied his cup in one gulp and made a perfect, two-point shot into the wastebasket. "Gotta run." He grabbed his blazer and dashed for the elevator lobby.

Jeannie returned to her desk and reflected on Dennis' comments. As he very often was, he seemed to be right on target. Goodbyes had become a way of life for the kids, first with their father and his bizzare work schedule, then with her going off to work each morning. And when Jeannie's father had suffered a massive coronary nearly three years ago now, they had learned about the final goodbye of death, too. Now they would have to watch their parents saying goodbye, and at Christmas, too.

At 12:30 Jeannie and Milly Sission joined the lunchtime crush in the elevator lobby. Impatient as always, Milly jockeyed her slim figure into an already crowded car and yanked Jeannie in, too. "Good thing we're all friends," Milly observed cheerfully as the doors closed a fraction of an inch in front of Jeannie's nose. "So what's new, Cookie?" she inquired as they followed the crowd to the company's main cafeteria, a gloomy cavern in the basement of ConnCo's main building.

"Not a lot," Jeannie responded, securing tray, silverware, and napkin from the bins before them, "but I'm sure not looking forward to this year's holiday party."

Milly stuck an errant lock of chestnut hair behind one ear and made a face. "You think you've got problems. I'm stuck chairing the committee this year. As if I didn't have enough to do keeping up with my workload!" She wavered briefly in front of the banana cream pie, then marched firmly to the hot beverage dispenser, where she selected tea with a wedge of lemon. Jeannie opted for the same, and the two women maneuvered into the shortest check-out line. "Waterman's driving me nuts with suggestions on the decorations. Huge metallic snowflakes individually suspended on wires from the ceiling so they'll move with the air currents. Do you know how long that will take?"

What's it to him? He's not the one who'll spend all morning on a stepladder, so of course he thinks it's a fine idea." Jeannie spotted two secretaries leaving a small booth and made a dash for it. "Got it!" she said with satisfaction. For a few moments, she concentrated on unloading her tray. Then she leaned forward hesitantly. "Listen, Mill, can I ask you kind of a personal question?"

"For you, my life's an open book," Milly responded promptly. "Fire away." She added an envelope of sweetener to her tea and stirred it with a carefully manicured forefinger, having neglected to pick up a spoon. "Ouch! Wouldn't you know? For once, it's hot."

Jeannie took a deep breath and continued. "Well, you know about Carl moving out," she began tentatively.

"Good lord, woman, who doesn't? Everyone knows about Carl moving out. When David and I split up, I think it was on the tom-toms before he had his bags packed."

Jeannie winced. For a moment, she had forgotten about the ruthless efficiency, if not the accuracy, of the office grapevine. Births, deaths, and divorces were given top billing. "Yes, well, it's that darn party I'm worried about. All those people asking questions I don't feel like answering right now. I know they're just interested, but I don't know how to handle them. You've been through it. Can you help me out?" She looked imploringly at her friend.

"Boy, have I ever," Milly muttered under her breath. "Been through it," she added with a grin, "from A to Z and back again. When it comes to fancy footwork following a divorce, I'm ConnCo's resident expert." She took a forkful of fruit salad and chewed thoughtfully. "Face it, Jeannie. There's no such thing as privacy in a place like this. You'll just have to tough it out. When the dirt-diggers come at you with that avid glint in their eyes, just tell them you and Carl are in the midst of an amicable parting of the ways. Then ask them about their kids or something to change the subject fast."

Jeannie sipped her tea. "I know you're right. It's just that I'm a very private person. I don't mind talking with you or Dennis, but I just don't think it's anybody else's business."

"Ahhhh, but they don't see it that way," Milly returned matter of factly. "Anything that affects one of the flock is a matter of group concern. So give them a minimal nugget of truth and hope they don't distort it beyond belief when they pass it around." She patted her mouth with a napkin and reached for her handbag. To be caught with less-than-perfect make-up was unthinkable to Milly, and extracted compact and lipstick to begin her post-luncheon repairs. "Speaking of the truth," she said wistfully, "this mirror gets harder to face every week."

Jeannie laughed. "You don't look a day over twenty-two, and you know it. I hope I look half as good when I reach the advanced age of thirty-five."

It was the correct response, and Milly allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. "Oh, you'll do," she assured Jeannie, returning the cosmetics to her purse. "But now that you're re-entering the singles scene, you'll have to spiff up the warpaint a bit."

"Don't start on me again," Jeannie pleaded. "I haven't said goodbye to one husband yet, and you're trying to introduce me to another candidate. I'm not interested!"

Milly's face sobered. "That's how you think of it, isn't it? A goodbye, I mean. When I got divorced, I thought of it more as a fond farewell, maybe, or a see you around sometime. With David and me, it was like deciding not to be roommates anymore, probably because we didn't have kids. There wasn't much of a family to break up. This must be tough for you."

"It is," Jeannie agreed, the somber mood of the morning returning in earnest. "When Carl and I got married, it was really because we both wanted to have a family. We had been friends for so long, Carl and Allan and I. When Allan was killed in Viet Nam … well, I thought I'd never get over it. Then Carl told me he had always been in love with me, even though I was engaged to Allan. Carl offered me a home and a family. I certainly never expected anything more. It was only after we were married that I found myself falling in love for the second time-this time with my own husband." The brimming tears threatened to spill over, and Milly hastily produced a clean tissue from her purse. "A lot of good it did me," Jeannie sniffled miserably.

"Now let's have none of that," Milly chided her. "We don't want to provide any more grist for the mill," she added, glancing meaningfully around the crowded cafeteria.

Immediately, Jeannie dabbed at her eyes and straightened up. What had she been thinking? "You're right, I'm sorry. It just seems so ironic that our children, the real reason we got married in the first place, is what's separating us! Or not really the kids. More like who's primarily responsible for them. This is the new millenium, for crying out loud, and I'm married to the last chauvinist on earth."

"They're all chauvinists at heart," Milly stated firmly. "Home and kiddies are the little woman's baliwick, no matter how much lip service they pay to women's lib. That's why David divorced me, you know."

Jeannie couldn't conceal her surprise. "Why David divorced you," she repeated in bewilderment. "But you didn't have children."

"That's exactly right, my pet. We didn't have children because I knew which one of us would wind up shouldering the entire responsibility for them, and frankly, I'm not all that maternally inclined. My opinion is that kids are great if you can afford a full-time nanny and a housekeeper. Me, I'd rather spend my time designing on the computer. Unfortunately, David didn't see things precisely the same way, so he went off in search of more, ummm, fertile fields, so to speak."

Jeannie stared at her friend in amazement. "You never told me that before," she said finally. "I thought you'd just … well, I just assumed that you were the one who …"

"Well, now you have the real skinny, and heaven help you if you breathe a word of it. Can't have you ruining my image as the hardbitten career woman who discards husbands who get in her way." She grinned to take the edge off her words. "Anyway, I wanted you to know you're not the only victim of domestic chauvinism."

Impulsively, Jeannie patted her hand. "I'm sorry, Mill. I had no idea."

"That was the general plan," Milly returned mildly. "And now, back to the salt mine for the working gals, or Waterman will enclose pink slips in our holiday cards this year."

* * * * * * *

At 2:30 that afternoon, Carl McKay and his partner, Special Agent Rob Reinecker, cruised slowly up Boston's Commonwealth Avenue from the Garden in a battered blue van. As Carl maneuvered around an endless succession of illegally double-parked vehicles, a normal obstacle course for this hour on a weekday, Rob squinted through a cold, steady rain at the numbers on the brownstone apartment buildings. "This punk must really be in the chips," Rob commented, taking note of the carefully tended squares of lawn behind tidy wrought iron fences, gleaming brass door fixtures, and old lace curtains at the tall windows.

"Nothing your average, unemployed auto mechanic couldn't swing," Carl observed sarcastically, rumpling his close-cropped brown hair with his left hand. "These guys kill me. If he had two functioning brain cells to rub together, we wouldn't be this close to nailing him after only two weeks. But this guys's so fried, IRS will get him even if we don't bust him for selling dope. I'd love to see his face when he finds out that deposits over $5,000 in cash are reported to the Internal Revenue Service by the bank. He should have a real problem explaining his bank balance to those boys and how he manages to live in one of Boston's high-tone neighborhoods when his only reported source of income is his unemployment check." He snapped the signal on for a lefthand turn and prepared to make another circuit of the block. "Keep an eye out for a space, will you, Rob? Our guy is going to get hinky if I keep circling like this."

"Up there, just before the underpass," Rob said, leaning forward to peer through the streaked windshield. "The UPS truck is pulling out. That should give us a clear view of the townhouse."

Carl obligingly speeded up and darted into the vacant parking space before a senior citizen in an old sedan could claim it. "Sorry about that, old timer," Carl muttered, "but it's all in a day's work in this city." He switched off the ignition, lights, and more reluctantly, the van's heater. "Another glamorous surveillance. We should be frozen to the seats in about ten minutes. Any coffee left in the Thermos?" He shoved the driver's seat back as far as it would go to allow him to stretch the long legs that went with his six feet, two inches in height.

"Yeah, a little. Geez, I hope this guy shows up fast. I've got a date tonight."

"Oh, god, not that silly Sandy or Candy or whatever her name is. The sound of her voice is enough to drive me right up the wall." Carl poured the last of the coffee into the Thermos cap.

"Bambi," Rob grinned, not in the least offended, "and it's not her voice I'm interested in, man. When are you going to learn that you don't have to want to spend the rest of your life with a woman, or even the rest of the night, to enjoy her in bed?"

"The only way to enjoy that woman, in bed or out, is to put a mizzle on her," Carl retorted, black eyes snapping with irritation. "Even you can't spend every minute in bed. What on earth do you two talk about? Hey, open the window if you're going to smoke that thing."

Rob cracked the van window an inch and placidly applied a match to the end of a thin, evil-smelling cigar. He puffed contentedly for a moment before replying. "Talk is plentiful, old man. Talk is what I do with you. With Bambi, silence is truly golden." He snapped half an inch of gray ash out the cracked window and grinned to himself. "By the way, roomie, do you have any plans for tonight?"

"What you mean is, will I clear out of the apartment and give you and Bambi the place to yourselves. Again."

"Yup."

"Yeah, okay," Carl sighed. "I guess O'Malleys can stand me for one more night this week, and they'll probably have Monday Night Football on. Anything to escape Bambi's dulcet tones."

Rob flicked his cigar out the window and turned to look at his partner. "You know, it's been more than two months now, buddy. You can't spend the rest of your nights moping around neighborhood taverns watching football. You are, Bambi tells me, a biscuit. She'd be more than happy to fix you up with a woman who will appreciate you."

Carl looked pained. "Thanks anyway, Rob, but I'm not quite ready to become a swinging bachelor. I mean, Jeannie and I aren't even legally separated yet, and I couldn't … I just wouldn't want to …"

"Oho, one of those, are you? Just can't believe you're a free agent again, excuse the pun, until the final decree is in your hand. Well, let me tell you something. Even if you weren't separated, there are plenty of women in this town who wouldn't give a damn. For a few drinks and a free meal …"

"I give a damn," Carl growled. "Now lay off." He stared darkly through the spattered windshield.

"Okay, okay, pal," Rob placated, "but you've got to face it sometime. By the way, Hal Bernstein left another message for you at the office this morning." At the mention of Jeannie's lawyer, Carl's expression became even more threatening.

"Yeah, I know. He wants the name of my lawyer so he can set a court date. I haven't even retained one yet." Despair filled his dark eyes. "I can't believe two shysters and a judge are going to tell me when I can visit my own kids. How can Jeannie do this to me?"

Rob regarded frankly. "Listen, Carl, you know I'm on your side, but don't lay this off on Jeannie. Even when you were living with her and the kids, you didn't see them all that often. You almost never got home before the kids were in bed, and you were still asleep when they left in the morning. And what with the wiretaps and the constant traveling, let's face it, you'll probably see them more after the divorce than you do now."

Carl had to admit there was some truth to what Rob said. "I guess you've got a point," he sighed. "What I don't understand is how followings scumbags like this punk around the country took over my life. Having a home and a family was all I really wanted when Jeannie and I got married. The job just sort of happened."

"It's the nature of the work, man. It's not just a job. It's a way of life. Nobody ever said that being married to a narc was a picnic," Rob pointed out. "Doing this job right means working a lot of crazy hours. Jeannie knew what she was getting into, and she married you anyway."

Carl smiled bitterly. "It's ironic, isn't it? For the last few years, I've been so focused on the job. But now that I'm free to give it my full attention, I really don't want to. It's just not that important any more. And after complaining about my job for years, Jeannie went out and got a job of her own. It doesn't make any sense."

"Sure it does," Rob insisted, "once you realize that people change. It's unrealistic to commit to something at the age of 20 and think you're never going to change your mind. Jeannie found out that she needed more than full-time motherhood. You found out that your job was a whole lot more demanding than you thought it would be. That's life, bro. So here you are, freezing your butt off in a broken-down van, waiting for some teenage junkie to strut on home so you can have the enormous satisfaction of busting his sorry tail."

"Terrific," Carl agreed, shivering deeper into his fleece-lined trenchcoat. "Grown-up cops and robbers, Jeannie calls it. Maybe she's right. It's all a big game. What's one dealer more or less on the street? What difference is it really going to make?"

"It's not going to end the drug problem in Boston, if that's what you mean, but it might get you a raise this year. You're got child support payments to make now, don't forget."

"I wish I could. Hey, will you look what's coming up the street. Get a load of the coat on him. Ten to one it's real fur."

"Don't he just beat all," Rob agreed. He patted his left hip, checking the position of his regulation .38. "And a bottle of Johnny Walker's best in the brown bag, if I'm not mistaken. What say we go spoil his day?"

"If my legs still work, I'm right behind you." The two agents clambered out of the van and moved swiftly to intercept the flashy drug dealer on front stoop of the brownstone.

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