Sleeping Giants (Themis Files #1)(50)

I swear my head will explode if I have to spend another minute staring at a map. They’re all desert maps, too. I spend hours staring at gigantic beige pieces of paper, squinting to figure out if one little square is ten feet higher than the one next to it.

—I take it you did not ask for that promotion.

—God, no! They called me in one day and broke the news. They said I have good leadership skills. How does that make me fit to look at maps and weather reports?

—People often confuse leadership with managerial skills. I agree with their assessment. You certainly have the ability to inspire people. Minutiae, on the other hand, might not be your forte. That being said, even if you are not the most organized person in the world, it would be a shame not to let everyone benefit from your experience and wisdom.

Can I ask how Mr. Couture is doing?

—You tell me. Last time I heard from him, he’d just gotten back to Montreal. That was also nine months ago. He’s either not taking my calls or he’s gone somewhere else. I guess he could be anywhere by now.

—He is still in Montreal. I take it this is not the high point of your relationship.

—I should have known it wouldn’t last.

—Your relationship?

—No, your asking questions you don’t already know the answer to. I thought something bad might have happened to him. It’s nice to know he just doesn’t want to talk to me. What’s he doing now?

—That is a lot of cynicism to fit into just three sentences.

—I don’t know what to tell you. He just left. After her death…It’s all he could think about. It just ripped apart whatever was holding him together.

—I spoke to both of you after the incident. Unless you hid something important from me, it seems clear that neither of you are to blame for what happened.

—We didn’t keep anything from you. But none of it would have happened if we’d listened to Dr. Franklin. Vincent chose not to. It’s his legs that gave up, his hands that pushed those buttons. I know I’m as responsible as he is, maybe more. I was trained to listen to others. But I can’t blame him for thinking he killed her. He did. I killed her too.

—Everyone knew there were risks involved, especially Dr. Franklin.

—It’s one thing to risk your own life. It’s fairly easy to rationalize the deaths of strangers. To shoulder the death of a friend, someone you know, that’s a completely different thing.

—I would venture with some measure of certainty that she would not want either of you to blame yourself for her death.

—I know she wouldn’t. There wasn’t a mean bone in her body. Somehow, it doesn’t make me feel any better about what happened. At least I know what to expect. I lost people that were close to me before. I lost family, I lost people on missions. I know how long I’ll feel like this, I know what I’ll be feeling later. Denial, grief, resentment. We’re predictable little creatures. But I’m worried about Vincent. He doesn’t know what’s coming. I’d like to know how he’s doing.

—I am not worried for his life, if that is what you are asking. He is…You are right. He is devastated by the passing of Dr. Franklin. That much is obvious. However, you can find some comfort in the fact that it is that obvious. He has no problems expressing his feeling of loss, his guilt, his anger over what happened. His emotions are well-defined, and he is coherent in expressing them. In time, he will come back.

—I’m not so sure. What does he do now?

—I am not certain he has a source of income. He was making model ships when I visited.

—Ships? Like…toys?

—Scaled model ships from World War II. I am not an expert, but some seemed quite elaborate.

—…

—Some of them must have close to a thousand pieces. Building them requires a certain set of skills, a lot of patience, and attention to details.

—…

—Yes. You could call them toys.

—And that’s all he does?

—For most of the day, yes. I realize it does not sound extremely encouraging, but it gives him something to focus on. I would rather see him work on a 1/200 scale USS Arizona than lie in bed all day.

—Does he eat? Does he bathe?

—I believe so. Although shaving seems to have made way for other, more important tasks in his daily routine. We keep talking about Mr. Couture but it is you I came to see. How do you feel?

—I feel…numb.

—What do you mean?

—After something this intense, everything else just…Things that would have had you up in arms before now seem so utterly trivial. Nothing really matters. You start to ignore little things, because they’re little things. You compromise. You rationalize. Soon you look at yourself in the mirror and you don’t recognize the person staring back at you.

But, you know. I’m alive. I’m OK. I wake up every day, and I get out of bed thinking today might be just a bit better than yesterday. Most of the time it is. Show must go on, as they say.

—Do you have any vacation time coming?

—I don’t think a vacation is really what I need right now.

—I was not making conversation. I am inquiring as to whether or not you could take a short leave of absence, not about your predispositions.

—I don’t know. Wasn’t I just on extended leave for about two years? I never really thought about asking for more since I came back.