October 2015


"Come on Maggie, please," Carrie cajoled. She was in the kitchen of her flat in Berlin, which after three months of occupation, was starting to feel a little more cozy. Carrie had shipped a few kitchen things, but soon by necessity had started to purchase the things she and Franny would need moving forward. A few towels and dishcloths, bright curtains for the kitchen window. A plastic placemat with A-B-C stenciled on it, and a dry-erase marker for Franny to scribble on it with. Franny was finger-feeding herself pretty effectively these days, so Carrie had piled sweet potato cubes on her tray and let her have at it. About half the food went into the mouth, she mused, the rest becomes a kind of hair treatment.

She cradled the phone in the crook of her shoulder as she pleaded with Maggie. "One more month. Can't you ship it?"

"Carrie, come on. You know you need a local doctor. I can ship your meds, but it's just a band aid. You need to get to know someone, find a counselor, and get your scripts from a local pharmacy."

"I don't like the chemist on the corner, Maggie, he has hair growing out of his ears. Besides, I like seeing your name on my prescription bottles. You don't want me to run out of my meds, do you?" Carrie knew she was losing the battle, but hoped Maggie would bail her out for one more month.

"No, Carrie. I have some names for you. Write them down, and go see one of them. You need a local, English-speaking doctor. And you know it. I can speak to them for you, help pave the way. I have been your doctor in the past, but honey…"

Carrie sighed, and served some macaroni and cheese into a plastic dish, setting it before Franny along with a short-handled toddler spoon, hoping the kid would get the idea. "Yeah, yeah," she said, submerging a cookpot in the dishwater. "I get it. And I will. I just hoped for…"

Maggie cut her off. "You can't put it off, Carrie. Call me when you make the appointment."

"OK, OK. I will. How are Bill and the girls?"

The rest of the conversation was their usual catching up, domestic details, and finally, a warm goodbye. It was funny, she hadn't been that interested in Maggie's life or problems when she was in Islamabad. But being out of the Agency, it gave her time to breathe. Room to be a normal person, ask questions, and make mistakes. Maggie asked if she'd met any fine young men yet. Carrie laughed.

"Not yet. Nor many fine young women, either. I need to brush up on my German." She had a gift for languages, but any learning of that kind required some rehearsal.

"It'll come. Just keep practicing."

"I will, and thank Bill for the Rosetta stone set. I feel bad that I lost access to that when I left the Agency. We used to have any language in the world, on Rosetta stone, for free. Perks."

"I know. But you paid for it in other ways. Listen Carrie, I have to get back to my patients. I'll email you that list of English-speaking doctor's names, and follow up with you in a couple days. OK?"

"Yep. Love you."

She rang off, and Carrie sighed. It was evening on a Friday with a whole weekend of parenting ahead of her. Carrie was learning just how monotonous and grueling parenting – especially single parenting – could be. Every time Franny woke up in the night, Carrie was there. Every time the kid got ill during the workday, Carrie had to go home. Doctor visits, trips to the store, trip on the train to a local park or playground, all of that was arranged by Carrie. It was hard. But she was definitely leaving her past behind, emotionally for sure – other than photos of her Dad, Maggie, and Franny, framed and propped on top the old upright piano that had come with the flat, there were no reminders of her past at all. At least, she was trying.

She got along well enough with her work colleagues, all of whom seemed to be aware that she had had a few strings pulled for her, in order to get this job. Carrie did her best to be a "team player", brush up on her German or use uncomplicated English, and carry her weight in a group where it seemed some people had been in for 20 plus years. Her workmate, Gerhardt, explained briefly one afternoon at teatime:

"It's a government job. A big benefit. People wait for years to get a job like this. And they don't leave it."

It became clear to her that what might have seemed like a comedown to her former self, was actually quite a prize. And as cases were reviewed, information analyzed and her recommendations made, it became clear that Carrie was a valuable asset to the team. She was trying to become invisible, at least socially, at work. Not the best way to make friends, but that was ok for now. She had Franny.

She also had Franny's daytime caregiver, Anna. Anna was a trifle overweight, and a trifle too talkative for Carrie – she used Carrie to practice her English, and Franny too. But she was gentle, kind, and passed all the background screens (which were sent by the nanny agency, and then sneakily duplicated by Max, back Stateside. Anna checked out.). Anna's husband, Jens, was a country boy working a city job, and he was able to tell Carrie the names of all the best gardens, parks and outdoor venues in the city. "Try the Britzer Garden," he suggested. "They have the Makunaima, the best playground. And you must go to the Kollwitz Platz, they have a huge climber on the playground, shaped like garden vegetables. We will take you there, you'll see." Jens Baumann was proud of his adopted city, and the three were fast becoming friends.

The family had had Carrie and Franny to dinner, twice now, and Carrie enjoyed these evenings, basking in the warm glow of familial love with Anna, Jens, and their 13 year old daughter, Brigitte. Brigitte was a good student, a sweet girl who still didn't display any hint of the typical "sullen teen" behaviors Carrie would expect out of a 13 year old American girl – she sat Franny on the floor, showed her dolls and toys, and would have even changed her diaper, if Carrie would let her. "She is ready to babysit," cooed Anna. "I see that," Carrie said, charmed.

Jens looked fondly across the room, first at his wife and then at his daughter. Anna made eye contact with him, and smiled. It made Carrie feel the absence of another person in her life. Anna had probably warned Jens not to ask about Franny's father – during their meet-and-greet interview, Anna had asked about the family, and Carrie had said, "Franny's father passed away." Anna had gained major points with Carrie by acknowledging this sympathetically, and not mentioning it again.

So, Carrie thought to herself, it isn't like I have no one to talk to. But I certainly could use more friends. Some younger, single friends, maybe people who'd want to go out to a movie, or have a drink. And maybe even some male company, she thought. She forcibly willed herself to shove memories of Quinn, thoughts of Quinn, wondering about Quinn, into a dark closet in the back of her mind, stuff it down deep, and shut the door. She tried harder to bury her feelings about Quinn than she ever did with Brody – and that made sense to her. Quinn could have been a current and constant pain. Available, desirable and ready- at least, for one short, glorious moment, he was. Quinn was alive. But Brody was really gone. She remembered him every time she looked at Franny. Regardless of parentage, she had this delightful little girl, who was her own person. And together they were going to make a life for themselves. Wait and see if they didn't, she thought to herself.

Whenever she was tempted to backslide and wax poetical about Quinn, she remembered the way he had Rob deliver the letter. He had just disappeared, gone incommunicado, and at first she had blamed Dar Adal. But now she knew better. Quinn had wanted to disappear. He left her. She tried to get him back, worried herself sick. She had done anything she could think of to contact him, to find out who could. So having his "letter" delivered with a no-contact clause was a slap in the face. She had thought... she admitted it to herself. She had thought that he loved her. What the hell had he been thinking? What had she?

Fuck him, she thought. She would never read his fucking letter. Fuck him.


The next week, Carrie turned up at her first appointment with Dr. Johanna von Haller, a Swiss expat doing a healthy practice with English speaking patients (along with German, French, and Portugese, of all things, her business card said). Dr. von Haller had spoken to Maggie with Carrie's permission, reviewed her list of meds, and they had had a brief chat about the past, the future, and what life held for Carrie. Interestingly, Dr. von Haller was a Jungian, and asked about Carrie's dreams.

"I think they are a window into your mind," Johanna had said.

"I see," Carrie said. She wasn't sure she wanted anyone to have a window into her mind. It still felt like a pretty dirty view, at the moment. Mostly cobwebs and darkness. Still, she had always wished she could confide in those USA counselors and shrinks. Maybe it was time to turn over a new leaf. Part of her plan to start over, be a new person. She could try telling Dr. von Haller what she felt, what she dreamt and thought. And the doctor was sworn to secrecy. If she didn't like the feeling it gave, she could walk. Like any normal relationship, she thought.

"I'm bipolar, Maggie told you that." Carrie stated.

Dr. von Haller was impeccably dressed, about 10 years older than Carrie. She cast a level gaze at her, non-judgmental. If anything, she looked warm, and welcoming. "Yes, I heard. I understand. I agree with the diagnosis. But," she emphasized, sitting forward, "Why are you here?"

Carrie had planned to hold back, but surprised herself by blurting out the truth. "I'm here, because I was a US agent in the intelligence forces. And I got pregnant with the child of a very… compromised person. I loved him. And he died," she finished. Brody's face passed through her mind, fleetingly. In the image, he nodded, approving. She swallowed, and looked at Johanna's face. Johanna nodded.

"And?" she said.

"And, I was posted to Islamabad. I left my baby with my sister. I tried to run my station, but a lot of bad shit went down," Carrie said.

"I see," said Dr. von Haller, nodding.

"And, when it was over, a lot of people got killed. I think it was my fault," she finished honestly. Her face was working and she thought she might cry. The doctor leaned over with a Kleenex box.

"And what else?" said Dr. von Haller. If anything Carrie had said rocked her world, she showed no sign of it.

"And, I got back to the States, and realized that… I wanted to be with… someone I knew from work. Someone I trusted. And he left me."

"Is that all?" said the doctor. She wasn't minimizing, just trying to get the scope of the disaster. Her blue eyes were calm and betrayed not a whit of concern. Anything Carrie said was within the realm of things she'd heard before. It was something they could work through. Carrie looked at her wise face, and understood that.

"There's more," Carrie said. "My father died, my Mom left us. My disease makes me… push people away."

"Yes," said Dr. von Haller. "That often happens. I can help you with that," she offered.

"Can you?" Carrie said, suddenly tearful and vulnerable.

"Yes," said Dr. von Haller. "I can. You have had an interesting, and admirable life. I can help with many things. I can help you be self-aware. I can help you see your motivations. You will have to do the work, of course," she finished, sitting back in her chair. For some reason, Carrie trusted this woman. She had seen a lot. And she wasn't lording it over Carrie, or trying to be her intellectual superior, or treat her like a crazy lady. She was really trying to help, and kindly, too. Carrie sighed.

"OK," admitted Carrie. "I think I can do the work."

"I think you can, too," said Dr. von Haller, with an almost mischievous smile. "But I want to ask you a few questions."

Carrie took a theatrically deep breath, and pushed it out, looking at her hands. "OK," she said, "I think I can answer them."

"Do you ever think about your child's father?" Johanna asked, not unkindly.

"Every day," Carrie admitted. "My daughter looks so much like him, she could be a, um, what do they call them?"

"Doppelganger? Yes, that would be a reminder. And what about the lost work colleagues, that you blame yourself for? Do you think of them?"

"Yes," Carrie admitted to her shoes. "I think about Fara. And Alan. Others, I didn't even know their names. I think about them."

"You feel guilty," Johanna observed.

"Yeah. I do," Carrie said.

"And this other man, the one you worked with. The one you have lost contact with. Do you think of him?" Dr. von Haller asked, quietly insinuating that she knew the answer.

Carrie raised her eyes, and lied to Dr. Johanna for the first time.

"No. Not at all," she said.