Stick with me here. It seems to go kinda slow, but it'll pick up the pace! Promise!
"Waitress! Oh, waitress! Refills, please."
Anna gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to tell these customers if they couldn't bother to learn her name, then they could just take a hike.
But, business was business. Giving them her best fake smile, she carted the tray of dirty dishes to the kitchen, returned with a tray of food for another table and managed to get back to them with their refills in the shortest amount of time she could.
By the looks of them, it wasn't soon enough.
So much for her tip.
Anna sighed when she was sure she was far enough away from them where they couldn't hear. Tonight had been brutal. There was some sort of convention going on, and all the tourists must have received the $5 off coupons Gordo had been distributing on windshields all day long because they were all tromping through here in their khaki shorts, carrying their fanny packs and their appetites.
It was good for business, but bad for her sore leg, that was for sure.
That, and the fact that she was still having a hard time sleeping. Last night was better, just a bit, but not by much. Instead of two hours of sleep, she got four. An improvement, but still not enough.
But, she could do this. It was just the tense situation a few nights before that triggered all these memories she'd tried her best to repress.
By golly, she'd repressed them before, and she could do it again.
Skinner watched her work for a moment as he stood at the bar, ignoring glares from the kid bartender with all the holes in his head.
It was crowded tonight, and she was clearly busy as she fetched and carried for the unappreciative patrons who barely gave her a second glance as she smiled and promptly did as she was told.
Her limp was barely noticeable, although her leg had to be killing her.
For the umpteenth time, he wondered about the injury that caused it.
This was probably a bad time. He should just go, try again later.
He was exhausted himself, and after grilling his shooter for hours, the police still could not find a motive. Just simply robbery was all they chalked it up to.
Skinner wasn't dumb. He had stepped over some invisible line somewhere along the way.
It wouldn't have been the first time, that's for damn sure.
And if his attacker didn't wind up dead in his cell, he'd be surprised. The hit men they hired to do their dirty work always managed to wind up in the morgue if they got caught.
As she was racing to the bar for refills of the beer on tap, he caught her eye, and she paused for a moment.
He would have sworn her face lit up when she saw him, the ends of her mouth turning up in a sweet smile. And that gave him a warm fuzzy feeling that he tried to shrug off as the pain medication he finally downed before he left the office.
She held up her finger, telling him to wait a minute, then pointed at the bar.
Skinner didn't really want to have the bartender glare at him, but he really did want to get off his feet.
But, it wasn't just the bartender. It was the short, fat fellow who apparently ran the place, too. They both stood there behind the bar, arms crossed, frowning at him.
Reluctantly, the bartender sidled up to him. "Wanna order?"
"No thanks. I'm just waiting for A . . . Mrs. Greensburg."
The kid pursed his lips in disapproval, making his lip ring stick out at an impossible angle and went on with his duties as this Gordo fellow watched, just as disapproving.
What was the deal with these people?
It's not like he wasn't a paying customer. A good-paying customer, at that. He never complained, at least not out loud, but these folks kept treating him like . . .
"Hi," she said softly from behind.
He tried not to grimace as he turned around on the stool.
Unfortunately, he couldn't help but notice the dark circles underneath her eyes, marring her white skin, making her freckles stand out even more. She didn't wear a lot of make-up. But, then again, she didn't need to. But, it made her look all the more fragile.
And just why in the hell was he noticing this?
He cleared his throat. "Sorry to disturb you at work."
She gave him a small smile. "It's just good to see you looking better than the last time I saw you. Big improvement."
He couldn't help but return her smile, feeling himself relax. It was infectious like that, especially after the harsh glares he was getting from the other employees.
"Can I have a moment of your time?"
Anna positioned herself where she could see her tables, propping against the stool next to him. "I'm due a break." She turned around and exchanged a look with Gordo. He nodded his grizzled head, albeit reluctantly.
She kept her eye on her tables. "I've been worried about you." It was not an accusation, just a statement.
Skinner didn't know why, but that touched him. It'd been a long time since anyone had worried about him, at least not for their own selfish reasons. "I . . . uh . . .wanted to contact you." But, I didn't know what to say? What was my excuse?
"That's okay," she said softly, "you don't owe me a thing." Her smile broadened. "Especially after the gift."
"You got it?" he asked hesitantly.
"I love it! Practical gifts are sort of my forte, and well . . . that's just about as practical as it gets!" She really did seem pleased.
Skinner thought it was silly when Scully first suggested it, but he made a mental note to tell the agent she was right.
But, wasn't she usually?
"I hope you never actually have to use it. For its original purpose or otherwise."
"I hope to God you're right."
They shared a moment of comfortable silence.
He liked that about her, at least once he got used to it. He didn't have to talk aimlessly or search for anything to fill the void.
She shifted most of her weight off her aching leg. "I take it you're doing much better, then?"
"Except for the fact I feel like I've been run over by a tank."
She knew the feeling, but didn't feel the need to tell him that. "You need to take it easy. I'm sure those . . . sort of wounds require time for recuperation."
There she goes. Worried about him again. He searched her face and realized she wasn't just saying it, either. "It won't be the first time."
She looked startled, her green eyes widening perceptively. "I thought yours was pretty much a desk-job type position."
"Normally. But, lately . . ." He didn't tell her. He couldn't tell her.
But, for some reason, he wanted to tell her.
Making a deal with the devil wasn't something one would shout from the rooftops, either, so he kept his mouth shut.
He got to the point. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Me?" She looked surprised that he would even mention it. "No. Not at all." She smiled as the thought hit her. "Oh, except for maybe don't go getting yourself shot at when I'm around anymore. Kind of rough on the ol' nervous system."
"I'll try my best. But, I can't make any promises," he teased.
"Tell me, did they ever find out what that was all about? I mean, why the guy was after you?" Studying on it later, Anna realized this might not be a random attack after all. They were looking for something. An answer she most certainly didn't have.
He took a deep breath, which was much easier to do nowadays. "The police are saying it was just a random robbery . . ."
"But, he didn't take anything from you."
He studied her closely. She was shrewder than her girl-next-door demeanor suggested, that was for sure. "Maybe he would have after he finished me off."
Anna winced, and he regretted his choice of words. But, she soldiered on. "You don't believe that?"
Careful . . . "Not . . . exactly. But around here, stranger things could happen." He'd leave it at that. She could draw her own conclusions.
Although she'd never in a million years guess the real reason behind the attack.
He studied his hands for a moment, wondering what to say next, his mind occupied with the twists and turns his life had taken in the recent months.
"Walter?"
He looked at her.
"Maybe there is something you can do for me?"
She seemed a little unsure of herself, and he almost put his hand over her own draped across the bar to comfort her.
Now, where did that come from?
Instead, he kept his hands to himself.
"Anything." He meant it, too. No matter what it was.
She chewed on her bottom lip, looking pensive. "You might think it's a little . . . . strange."
Sweetheart, I live and breath strange. He kept that comment to himself. "Try me."
She took a deep breath. "I'd like to learn to shoot."
In his line of work, he never ran across anyone that was not personally familiar with the inner and outer workings of weaponry, so her request caught him off guard for a moment. "You mean, you've never fired a pistol? Ever?"
She blushed, looking a little ashamed.
He back peddled fast. "That's nothing to be embarrassed about."
Some of the color faded in her cheeks. "My father owned rifles and shotguns for hunting, and I've shot those a couple times. But, A -" she stopped for a moment, "my late husband never wanted one in the house. Said they were dangerous."
Skinner raised an eyebrow at that comment, but kept silent. This husband of hers never lived in a big city, that was for sure. And those sorts of comments were common among people who didn't realize what exactly was out there. Personally, he couldn't sleep if his Sig Sauer wasn't on the nightstand next to him.
She fingered a deep scratch in the bar. "I just thought that maybe – after what happened– that I might need to learn how to use one. Just in case."
"I don't think that will be a problem."
"Really? I don't want to be a nuisance or anything . . ."
"Don't even think it." He pulled another business card out of his coat pocket and scribbled something on the back of it. "Are you working tomorrow?" he asked as he wrote.
She shook her head. "No. Wednesdays are usually my days off."
Of course. He should know that. He learned never to come in Gordo's on Wednesdays. He handed her the card, putting the pen back in his coat pocket. "I'll meet you at 10 a.m. at that address. I'll leave your name with the front gate, so you'll be expected."
Anna studied the address. "I hope this isn't an inconvenience . . ."
He held up his hand in protest. "I promise you, it's my pleasure."
Her attention went to one of her tables. By their body language, she could tell they were ready for their check. "I better go. No rest for the weary."
"See you tomorrow?"
"10 a.m. I'll be there." When one last tentative smile, she was gone.
Skinner watched her for a moment before turning to go. Nodding once at the scowling Gordo and his diminutive assistant, he headed towards the door in a whole lot better mood than he was when he came in.
Anna tried not to get too excited.
But, the first thing she did the next morning before she left was dig out her list she made at her therapist's suggestion a few months before.
Things to Do Before I Die
Her therapist thought she needed a list of things to look forward to, to plan and enjoy, instead of constantly living in the past. It might help her get past the fear and indecision of suddenly being thrust into a life she hadn't expected.
Anna wasn't so sure at first and had a hard time getting the list started. After all, just a few months before, she was a wife and mother, her life planned out ahead of her.
All it took was one bad decision to wipe it all away.
But, once she got into the swing of it, she quickly filled the sheet of paper.
Some of them, like 'see a tiger in Africa' and 'swim in the Dead Sea' were a little far-fetched.
But, she had actually crossed a few off. 'Get a photo published' and 'Move to a big city' were the first ones.
She was pretty sure it was on here, and after scanning it, she found it. 'Learn how to shoot a pistol.'
Not only could she cross it off her 'bucket list' as her brother called it, but it was useful, too.
Attempting the things on this list was something that kept her feeling alive. It showed her she accomplished goals, goals that would have never been made if it wasn't for that fateful night on that lonely road, but goals just the same. And, it did give her something to look forward to.
Although it nagged at her that she seemed to be looking forward to this a little more than the others.
She tucked the list back in her pocket. She liked to have it with her. It gave her confidence, almost as if her dreams flowed right through the paper and into her psyche.
Silly, to be sure, but she could use all the help she could get.
Not sure what exactly was proper attire for a firing range, she decided if it were an FBI firing range, she might want to at least look presentable. Rummaging through her closet, she found a pair of black dress slacks and a light green sweater. The neck was a little low for her taste, but it was one of the few dressier-type garments she owned. It was also a little snug. Her doctor would be pleased. She was finally gaining a little weight, losing the hollow look on her face.
Probably all the hot, buttered garlic bread at Gordo's.
She'd actually slept well the night before and the bags under her eyes were not so pronounced. She did opt for a little blush and mascara. But, only for her own benefit. She didn't want to embarrass Walter by looking like a ragamuffin.
Trying to figure out what to do with her hair, she had a brief thought of Dana Scully's stylish cut and sighed. She really needed to do something about her hair.
When was the last time she'd sat in a stylist's chair, anyway?
If she couldn't remember, it was too long.
She brushed it until it shown, tossed on a pair of gold stud earrings and off she went, telling Nero to be a good boy.
Grabbing her camera and a comfortable pair of shoes to change into in case she found something photo-worthy, she rushed to her car.
The address wasn't hard to find. She'd made sure she'd looked it up online, so she would be sure not to get lost.
She gave her name to the guard at the gate, and for one brief moment, she thought it might not be on there.
But, he waved her through.
There weren't many cars in the lot, so she easily found a space, although her older-model Toyota looked out of place among the few Crown Vics, Mercurys and Impalas parked nearby. Screamed government-issue fleet, that was for sure.
For a moment, she wondered if she should wait in the parking lot or go on in. Walter didn't tell her that. If she went in there without him, they might kick her out. But, then, she'd gotten this far, so maybe . . .
She glanced around as she climbed out, deciding if she had to wait, it would be outside in the pleasant spring morning and spotted him standing outside, talking on his cell phone.
Relieved she didn't have to go inside alone, she waved and walked in his direction.
