Page 93 of The Art of Dying

“Yeah,” he said, looking down. For the first time, he seemed unsure. “Yeah, it’s just that… Gina and I haven’t always worked for Tiger, and we weren’t always partners. There were times she’d disappear for months. There were days I felt I was going insane. But once while on assignment, I fucked up. I had to lay low for almost a year, and it was too dangerous to contact her. For eleven and a half months, she didn’t know if I was alive or dead. As much as I wanted to get home to her, I was afraid when I told her I’d caused her suffering, she’d hate me forever. Clearly, she stuck with me, but that didn’t make the guilt go away. I fought with it for a long time.” His voice rushed over his last words like they were hot coals.

“Tell me there’s a life lesson here, because it’s been killing me.”

“She insisted that it wasn’t my fault, that it was the people I was monitoring because, had they not been murdering pieces of shit, I could’ve come home.”

“So, how did you let it go? The guilt?”

“I thought about being in Gina’s shoes, and I knew I’d forgive her if the situation were reversed. To give myself a life sentence wasn’t healthy for our marriage, and carrying guilt around didn’t make one facet of the situation better. It made it worse. A lot worse. I fucked up. It wasn’t okay. I made bad choices. I hurt my wife. Despite all of that, I forgave myself so we could move on.”

I shrugged once, surprised. “Just like that?”

“Just like that. At some point, your partner starts feeling like you’re playing the victim. It’s hard for them to understand it’s a self-imposed punishment. Trust me, if Kitsch doesn’t blame you, you’re doing your marriage no favors if you insist on blaming yourself. Gina was willing to move forward, and I almost lost her because I didn’t feel I deserved to move with her.”

Someone knocked on the door, prompting Grant and Gina to go into protection mode. Gina corralled me closer to the kids while she stood in front of us, ready. Grant stood behind the door, one hand on the knob, the other ready to grab his sidearm.

My heart was slamming against my rib cage. It could be Kitsch. It could be Mason. No one else would be knocking on the Harms’ door at seven o’clock at night.

“Who is it?” Grant asked, listening through the door.

“It’s, uh… it’s Tobin. I come bearing gifts.”

Grant glanced at Gina, who nodded and then he slowly opened the door, still alert.

Tobin stood under the porch light holding a brightly wrapped present in both hands. The busy yellow, blue, red, and green paper was adorned with a red bow almost the size of Tobin’s head. A gift bag with blue paper sticking out the top was hanging from his fingers. When he noted our unsure expressions, he immediately tilted his head and began stumbling over his words.

“I’m just dropping this off. Not trying to intrude. But… you know… kids can’t… kids can’t have too many presents to open at a party.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, come on in,” Grant said, opening the door wider. “You’re just in time for cake.”

Tobin glanced at me, and I smiled.

He mirrored my expression and stepped inside. Grant subtly took note of Tobin’s waistline as he walked past, looking for bumps in his clothing. It was all he could do short of patting him down, but I trusted Grant to know exactly what to look for. No one person would be a match for Grant’s speed and Gina’s intuition and aim. They’d stop him the moment he even thought to pull a weapon.

Gina patted my back to set my mind at ease, and I stepped forward, taking the present from Tobin. “This is so nice of you. Thank you.”

Tobin set the gift bag on the floor and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, smiling at me and then each of the kids. “I saw you bringing balloons over here earlier when I left for errands, and it reminded me you said Emma was turning eight soon. Then I saw her birthday girl shirt when y’all walked over. I thought it was better to bring something for both,” he said, eyeing Dylan before nodding to the bag.

“Thank you,” I said, watching my daughter tear into the wrapping paper.

“It’s a… baby doll,” Emily said. I could tell by her tone she wasn’t exactly thrilled with the present, but by the time she looked up at Tobin to thank him, she wore a bright smile.

“It pees,” Tobin said, his eyebrows pulling together. “My sister, Tavia, said little girls like that for some reason. Not sure why I asked her, she’s not halfway through her first pregnancy, and it’s a boy.”

I breathed out a laugh. “How many nieces and nephews do you have?”

“It was just me and Tavia growing up. She’s naming my nephew after me. She just moved to Anderson.”

“Oh, wow,” I said, even though I had no clue where Anderson was.

“I tried to get her to move here, but she was transferred. I haven’t even seen the new house; she always wants to come here. I guess there’s not much to do there. I always barbeque when she’s in town. Y’all should come next time. I always make too much, anyway.”

“That would be great,” I said.

“We’re in,” Gina said with a subdued smile.

“How’s the research going?” Grant asked, helping Dylan with the knot around the handle of the gift bag. He’d already scoured through Tobin’s life from birth to present, but Tobin liked to talk about his work, and like Gina always said, when others are talking about themselves, they’re not asking questions about us.

Tobin shook his head, waving Grant away. “Don’t ask. It’s pretentious.”

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