Дэвид Балдаччи: The Fix

Jamison whispered to Mars, “How did you score that?”

“Friend of a friend who works at the NFL. They told me that when Manning heard about Joey he wanted to fly out here and meet him. I think he’s actually going to do that.”

“Wow,” said Jamison. She took a book from her bag and opened it to a certain page. “Joey, I’m going to finish reading The Prisoner of Azkaban to you, okay? The last part is so exciting!”

He smiled. “Okay.”

While Jamison started to read, Decker put his hands on the bed rail and stared down at Joey. Every once in a while, Joey would look up at them and smile.

And Decker found himself each time smiling back.

He had lost Molly at about the same age Joey was now.

And he knew that Joey didn’t have much longer to live. It hadn’t been that long since Decker had first met the boy, and Joey already seemed much weaker. Decker could see his body shutting down little by little.

But for now, Decker saw no blue at all. He just saw a boy smiling while holding a football signed by a hero of his.

Decker’s life was complicated, his future probably even more so. But for right now he forgot about having a perfect memory, or the horrific way by which he’d acquired it. He stopped thinking for at least a little while about the family he had lost.

He glanced at the two people next to him, who were his friends. Two people who, despite his many shortcomings, would always be his friends.

Then he looked back down at Joey. The boy’s eyes were closed, but his hand remained firmly attached to the precious football.

Decker reached out a big hand and gently stroked Joey’s head. As he did so he felt his eyes moisten.

But for now, right this instant, things were okay.

Decker had taken to thinking of this now as “his” bench. The skies were growing darker and the wind was picking up. The river flowed in front of him and in the swift currents he could see his own thoughts hurtling along. He put his hands in the pockets of his jacket and closed his eyes.

Yet this time he was not engaging his prodigious memory. No perfect recall was required for what he wanted to think about. For a man who didn’t like change, there was a great deal of it heading his way. A new job at the FBI. Being a “landlord” with Jamison. Mars moving here. Harper Brown becoming a fixture in his life through her relationship with Mars. He didn’t even know if Jamison wanted to continue working at the FBI. She might leave and do something else. For all he knew Mars and Brown might get married and move away. Bogart and Milligan might get transferred.

And then it would just be him.

Amos Decker from Small-town Ohio, transplanted to this very strange land known as Washington, D.C.

Alone.

Again.

He rubbed his eyes and put his hand back in his pocket. The good moment sitting with Joey Scott had been a welcome one, but it was now over. Though he could never equate what he was going through with the terminal illness that the little boy was enduring, Decker knew that his future was crowded with uncertainty. His damaged mind could change at any time. He could morph into yet another person as unrecognizable as the one he was now, eroding even further the person he used to be. The sheer force of his memories could end up destroying him. He could be living in a cardboard box again. He could be... alone, with nothing and no one. As the anxiety he was feeling built, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

Just keep it together, Decker. Just keep it together.

“You look like you could use this.”

He opened his eyes and saw Jamison standing there. She had two cups of takeout coffee. She handed one to him and sat down on the bench.

“How’d you know where I was?” he asked, rubbing his eyes again and not looking at her.

“I have my little sources,” she said, smiling and then taking a sip of her coffee. “It’s pretty here.”

“Is it?” asked Decker.

She glanced at him. “You look like you have a lot on your mind.”

“Just the usual.”

“There is nothing usual about you.”

He drank his coffee and said, “So Melvin moving here? Him and Brown a couple? What about you?”

“What about me what?”

Trying to keep his voice nonchalant and failing miserably, Decker said, “You going to stick with the FBI?”

“Are you?”

“I don’t have anything else in my life, Alex.”

“I think you have a lot more in your life than you think.”

“So you’ll stay?”

“If you do, I do.”

He looked at her strangely. “That simple?”

She nodded.

“Why?” he asked.

“I’m surprised you have to ask, Decker.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s what I meant when I said I had your back.”

She tapped her coffee cup against his, sat back, and closed her eyes.

Decker watched her for a few moments and then turned to look at the river.

This time he kept his eyes wide open.