But the truth was, she didn’t know what he did every day.
Bennett led her to a quiet corner. “Here’s how it is,” he said. “Joe’s been shot. He lost a significant amount of blood. He’s in surgery right now. That’s all I can tell you.”
“How bad?”
“Bad. The bullet may have nicked his heart. He was in cardiac arrest when they got to him.”
“He was dead?”
“Clinically.”
“Is there another kind?”
“I’m sorry.”
“How long had his heart stopped before they were able to get it going again?”
“I don’t know. The paramedics or the surgeon may be able to tell you. Joe was brought in on a STAR Flight from Dripping Springs.”
“Where’s that?”
“Twenty-five miles west on 290.”
“He told me he was working a case in Bastrop. That’s southeast of town.”
Bennett averted his eyes. “Come on, Mary. You know the rules. I can’t talk about an investigation.”
“Why was he there?” Mary shouted. All faces turned toward them.
“He was meeting a CI,” said Bennett, aware of the attention, leaning closer. “A confidential informant.”
“I know what a CI is.”
“Joe was working alone. I don’t have the details, but from all appearances it looks like the debriefing went sideways. The informant was armed and-”
“Stop,” said Mary. “We’re talking about Joe, not some greenhorn fresh out of Quantico. He’d never let a man he thought was dangerous near him without checking if he was armed.”
“All I know is that Joe got into a car with an informant and neither of them got out.”
“So the informant is dead, too?”
“Jesus, Mary.” Bennett looked away angrily, as if he’d been tricked. “I’ve said too much already. I’ll tell you more when I get the all-clear. Right now let’s concentrate on getting Joe through this.”
But Mary was in no mood to wait. She looked at Bennett, at his tired brown eyes, which wouldn’t quite meet hers, at his perfectly tied necktie and his lovingly shined shoes. She knew when she was being brushed off. “Who’s giving you the all-clear, Don?”
“Mary, please.”
“Who?”
“That’s just an expression. I can’t tell you about something I don’t know. Joe is my friend, too.”
Mary closed her eyes and drew a breath. She was thinking about the call. “He knew before.”
“Pardon me?”
“Joe knew something was wrong.”
Bennett shifted on his chair, alert. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at.”
“He called me. He let me know he was in trouble.” Mary began to cry. There was no stopping it. No amount of will or anger or shame or anything could arrest her tears. “I missed the call, but he left a voicemail. I think he wanted me to help him.”
“He called you to say he was in trouble?”
“It’s my fault. I didn’t take the call.”
“Don’t say that. You’re not to blame.”
“I could have-”
“Joe knew what he was doing.”
The comment offended Mary. Six words to transfer the blame onto her husband’s shoulders. Six words to wipe the FBI’s hands clean of all culpability. “Yes,” she said. “He did. And he’d never put himself into a compromising position with someone who was armed. Not when he was alone. Would you?”
Bennett started to answer, then bit back his words. “This isn’t the time.”
“Who was his backup?”
“He didn’t have one.”
“So who called the ambulance? Who found him? What aren’t you telling me?”
Bennett ignored her question. “What did the message say?”
“Listen for yourself.” Mary looked inside her purse but didn’t see her phone. “I left it in the car.”
But she didn’t need the phone to recall the message. Snippets of Joe’s words still rang in her ear.
Mary. It’s me. Pick up. Please. You there? Oh, Christ. It’s my damn fault. It never made sense coming all the way out here. Listen to me. Everything’s copacetic, baby. You hear me? If you get this, call Sid. Tell him I didn’t get it. Tell him it’s key that he keeps trying. He’s one of the good guys. He needs to know. I love you, Mary. I love you and the girls more than anything. Tell the girls. Tell them…ah hell-
The message ended abruptly and without a goodbye.
“Mary?” Don Bennett stood closer, his gentle voice unable to temper his demanding glare.
“He said that it didn’t make sense coming out there, that he didn’t get it, and that he loved me and the girls.”
“Get what?”
“He didn’t say.”
“That’s it? You said he knew something was wrong.”
Everything’s copacetic, baby.
Copacetic. It was their secret word for when everything was going wrong, when things were not what they were supposed to be, when everything was, as Joe liked to say, FUBAR. Fucked up beyond all recognition.
Mary laughed, a bubble of joy punching through her sorrow as she remembered when he’d first used the term. It was on their honeymoon, a three-day high-speed adventure in Jamaica. They’d arrived at their hotel only to discover that Joe’s reservation had vanished, and so had his wallet, somewhere between the airport and the hotel. Mary had her debit card, but it was good for only $200. They’d ended up at a rundown B &B in Montego Bay, sharing a single bed and a bathroom without towels and dining on mangos and papayas from the roadside vendors, with a few Red Stripes thrown in to help them forget their hunger. Instead of sun there was rain. Halfway through their second day, the manager kicked them out for making too much noise…laughing, not the other kind. She had a picture permanently framed in her mind of Joe standing by the highway next to their pile of bags, thumb out, hitchhiking to the airport in a driving Caribbean downpour. And his words accompanied by a big ol’ shit-eating grin. “Everything’s copacetic.”
Mary’s smile faded. There were other times he had used the expression. Times when things hadn’t been copacetic for either of them.
She came back to the present. There was no mistaking his meaning this time. Fear. Desperation. Anxiety.
“Do you know anyone named Sid?” she asked. “Or Sidney?”
“Did Joe mention that name?”
Mary didn’t like the eagerness in Bennett’s eyes. “I’m confused. It’s something else. I’m sorry.”
“You were saying,” prodded Bennett. “He knew he was in trouble. How’d he know?”
Mary decided that she’d said enough. “I could just tell,” she fibbed. “He sounded scared. That’s all.”
“He didn’t say anything specific?”
“No,” said Mary. “You can listen for yourself later.”
“If it’s not too much of a problem, I’d like to listen now.” Bennett shifted his eyes over her shoulder. “Well, maybe after. The doc’s here.”
Mary turned to see a tall man wearing surgical greens approaching from the hall. There was a splash of blood on his lower leg.
“Mrs. Grant?”
“Yes.”
The doctor looked at Bennett for a second too long, then returned his attention to Mary. “I’m Dr. Alexander. Come with me.”
4
Mary followed Dr. Alexander down the hallway and into the elevator. She listened carefully as he spoke to her of Joe’s injuries and the surgery and his chances for survival. She asked questions. She was the calm, rational wife even as the horizons of her life shrank and her prospects grew bleak, for while she was listening, she was thinking of herself, her past, and how she’d prepared for this moment.