Cody McFadyen - Shadow Man

"That you're mine, and I'll never take that back. No matter what, no matter how hard things are, no matter if--"

"--the wind stops blowing and the sun stops shining, and the stars stop burning," she'd say, completing the ritual.

It was all I had to do, and she'd relax and be certain. My heart unclenches.

The First Rule of Mom.

I could start with that.

The starbursts stop glittering inside me.

For now.

We all get off the plane. I walk away without saying anything, Bonnie in tow.

The agents in question accompany us home, driving behind us the whole way. The air outside is chilly, just a little foggy. The freeway has only started getting busy, not quite up to speed yet, like a hill of sluggish ants waiting for the sun to warm them up. The inside of the car is quiet the whole way home. Bonnie isn't talking, and I am too busy thinking, feeling, fretting. Thinking a lot about Alexa. It had not occurred to me until yesterday how little I have thought about her since her death. She's been . . . vague . A blurred face in the distance. I realize now that she was the shadowy figure in my dream about Sands. The letter from Jack Jr., and remembering, has brought her crashing into focus. Now she is a vivid, blinding, painful beauty. Memories of her are a symphony turned up too loud. My ears hurt, but I can't stop listening. The symphony of motherhood, it's about loving with absolute abandon, loving without regard for self, loving with a near totality of being. It's about a passion that could outburn the sun with its brightness. About a depthless hope and a fierce, rending joy. God, I loved her. So much. More than I loved myself, more than I loved Matt.

I know why her face has been so blurred for me. Because a world without her, it is-- unbearable .

But here I am, bearing it. That breaks something inside me, something that will never heal. I'm glad.

Because I want this to hurt, forever.

When we get to the house twenty minutes later, the agents don't speak, just give me a nod. Letting me know they're on the job.

"Wait here a sec, honey," I tell Bonnie.

I walk over to the car. The window on the driver's side rolls down, and I smile as I recognize one of the agents. Dick Keenan. He had been a trainer at Quantico while I was going through the academy. Heading into his fifties, he decided he wanted to finish out on the "streets." He's a solid man, very old-school FBI, crew cut and all. He is also a practical joker and a marksman.

"How'd you get this detail, Dick?" I ask him.

He smiles. "AD Jones."

I nod. Of course. "Who's that with you?"

The other agent is younger, younger than me. Brand-new and still excited about being an FBI agent. Looking forward to the prospect of sitting in a car doing nothing for days at a time.

"Hannibal Shantz," he says, sticking his hand out the window for me to shake.

"Hannibal, huh?" I grin.

He shrugs. He's one of those good-natured guys, I can tell. It's impossible to get under his skin, impossible not to like him.

"You up to speed on everything, Dick?"

His nod is terse. "You. The little girl. And, yeah, I know how she came to be with you."

"Good. Let me be clear on something: She's your principal. Understand? If it comes down to a choice between shadowing her or me, I want you to keep an eye on her."

"You got it."

"Thanks. Good to meet you, Hannibal."

I walk away, reassured. I see Bonnie waiting for me, with my house as a backdrop.

I had time in the car to wonder about why I stayed in that house. It had been an act of stubbornness. Now it might also be an act of stupidity. I realized that it's something basic to my nature. It is my home. If I were to relent, to give that up, then some part of me knew that I'd never be whole again. Here there be tygers, true. But I still wasn't leaving.

We're in the kitchen, and my next move comes to me without asking.

"You hungry, honey?" I ask Bonnie.

She looks up at me, nods.

I nod back, satisfied. The First Rule of Mom: Love. The Second Rule of Mom: Feed your offspring. "Let me see what we have."

She follows me as I open the refrigerator, peering in. Teach them to hunt, I think, and then I have to fight back a little hysterical bubble of laughter. Things don't look good in the fridge. There's a near-empty peanut butter jar and some milk that is putrefying past its expiration date.

"Sorry, babe. Looks like we'll have to do some shopping." I rub my eyes and sigh inside. God, I'm tired. But that's one of the truths of parenthood. Not a rule, really. More of a given natural law. They are yours, you are responsible for them. So too bad if you're tired, because, well-- they can't drive and they don't have any money.

To heck with it. I look down at Bonnie and give her a smile. "Let's go stock this place up."

She gives me another one of those frank looks, followed by a smile. And a nod.

"Right." I grab my purse and keys. "Saddle up."

I had told Keenan and Shantz to stay on my house. I could take care of myself, and it was more important to me to know that no one would be waiting for us when we came back.

We're moving through the aisles of Ralph's supermarket. Modernday foraging.

"Lead the way, honey," I tell her. "I don't know what you like, so you'll have to show me."

I push the cart and follow Bonnie as she glides across the floor, silent and watchful. Each time she points something out, I grab it and look at it for a moment, letting it set into my subconscious. I hear a loud, bass voice inside my head: MACARONI AND CHEESE, the voice booms. SPAGHETTI WITH MEAT SAUCE--NO MUSHROOMS, EVER, UNDER PAIN OF DEATH. CHEETOS--THE HOT AND SPICY KIND. The Food Commandments. Clues to Bonnie, important. I feel like something rusty and dusty inside me is starting to get into motion, one screechy gear at a time. Love, shelter, macaroni and cheese. These things feel natural and right.

Like riding a bike, babe, I hear Matt whisper.

"Maybe," I murmur back.

I'm so busy talking to myself that I miss that Bonnie has stopped, and I almost run her over with my cart. I give her a weak smile. "Sorry, honey. We got everything?"

She smiles and nods. All done.

"Then let's get home and get eating."

It's not riding the bike that's the problem, I realize. It's the road the bike is traveling that's changed. Love, shelter, macaroni and cheese, sure. There's also a mute child and there's a new mom who's scarred, talks to herself, and is a little bit crazy.

I am on the phone with Alan's wife, and as I talk, I watch Bonnie wolf down her macaroni and cheese with dedication and intensity. Children have a real pragmatism when it comes to food, I muse. I know the sky is falling, but, hey--you gotta eat, right?

"I really appreciate it, Elaina. Alan told me what's going on, and I wouldn't ask, but--"

She cuts me off. "Please stop, Smoky." Her voice chides, gentle. It makes me think of Matt. "You need time to work things out, and that little girl needs a place to be when you're not there. Until you get things settled." I don't respond, a lump in my throat. She seems to sense this, which is very Elaina. "You will get things settled, Smoky. You'll do the right things for her." She pauses. "You were a great mother to Alexa. You'll do just fine with Bonnie."

A mixture of grief, gratitude, and darkness comes over me when she says this. I manage to clear my throat, and get out a husky "Thanks."

"No problem. Call me when you need me to help."

She doesn't demand more response from me and hangs up. Elaina has always been long on empathy. She'd agreed to look after Bonnie if there were times I needed a sitter. No hesitation, no questions asked. You're not alone, babe, Matt whispers.