South America, ten months after Red John

June, 2014

Dear Lisbon,

Hope this finds you gloriously happy and brimming with vitality! And why not? Why limit my wishes for you to ordinary happiness and good health? All is well here.

I haven't lost it. Blame my effusiveness on cool temperatures. A weather anomaly has dropped temperatures 10 degrees below the norm. I'm overjoyed.

Thinking of people I left behind, It's over eleven months since the wedding. I wonder if they are expecting by now or are even new parents. My impression is they both like kids. Fun to speculate.

You once asked, "Do you feel better?" My answer has evolved. I do feel better. The months here have brought me peace. I don't mean to be dramatic, but I'm no longer consumed by the need to accomplish a difficult-if not impossible-task. I knew I would never give up. But all the years of near misses obliterated any notion that success was easy or inevitable. It was wearing. Goal accomplished, I've been able to move on.

That said, I still don't have a good answer to your other question, "Now what?" So far, the honest answer is, "Nothing much." This will always be a foreign culture. The differences are too great for me to settle in and become a true part of the community. That leaves me restless. Even a whole country can feel like a prison and I don't do well feeling confined. (That may be a throwback to my time in foster care, of being forced to stay somewhere. Or maybe just being tied to my father at the carnival till I could break loose and make it on my own.)

The people are warm, generous, gregarious. But we have little in common. I could love a village woman for herself, but the educational and cultural differences are an impossible chasm. Dalliances are out, too. A village doesn't have the anonymity of a big city. I won't mess up some woman's life here by breaking the social and religious taboos. Worse, if I fathered a child I would have to stay, marry, and support and raise my child. Similar factors bar close friendships, too. So far, a solution eludes me.

I know. I'm here by choice so I'll stop whining (to you of all people!). I appreciate your friendship and shouldn't abuse the privilege.

Except for the tiny village, there is unbroken sea and sky with a thin thread of open land. Huge flocks of seabirds wheel and swoop, as exacting as ballet choreography. The vast blue expanse puts my concerns into perspective. Humanity is mere bio-film on the Earth's surface. The sea and sky will endure eons after my petty concerns are forgotten and I am dust. Not eternally, though. (When it evolves into a red giant, the sun will engulf and fry the Earth.) But close enough for humanity's purposes. Comforting. You would enjoy the beauty of this place.

Funny. There are endless ways I miss your company. But I can only come up with a few ways of saying it. As ever,

Me

~.~.~.~

Washington State, June 2014

It was June and school would soon let out. With the cooperation of school officials, Lisbon took advantage of the captive student population to push safety tips for the summer. She first got the local newspapers to run stories about kids and traffic, swimming safety, bike safety, and driving safety. Despite a little grumbling from her PD officers, she had them conduct demonstrations in the schools involving a cantaloupe, bike helmet, and sledge hammer (short handled version). A bit graphic, but it made a big impression on the elementary and middle school students. She won the enthusiastic cooperation of her officers when they saw the impact that a few smashed cantaloupes had on the students. Lisbon hadn't spent a decade with a showoff con man without learning something about dramatic impact.

For the high school crowd, Lisbon had the local junk yard park a car in front of each school. Each mangled and crushed car provided silent testimony to a bad accident. She also used the drivers ed training equipment to pose an open challenge to all driving-age teens. The drivers ed simulators were set to mimic the slower reflexes and impaired perception of someone whose blood alcohol level was above the legal limit. Lisbon offered a free pass to the nearest amusement park for any teen who simulated a perfect driving test under alcohol-impaired conditions. This, with a speech by an officer to the student population, was aimed at teen drivers who fancied themselves invincible and preternaturally skilled, despite limited driving experience. Lisbon had to buy passes for a few students. But the point was made for the hundreds who tried and failed. She found it unutterably sad that each past year was marred by at least one teen fatality. She was determined to do everything possible to reduce the chances of that happening on her watch.

Complaints? Lisbon weathered the few complaints she received with the solid backing of the city council. She looked forward to comparing statistics for this summer with past summers. If her campaign was effective, the numbers would convince any remaining doubters.

Lisbon reminded herself that preventing a death was the same as saving a life, even if the safety campaign wasn't particularly exciting or glamourous. Like Jane, she missed the opportunity to use all of her training, experience, and talent. At the same time, she was glad her team was literally out of the line of fire in the continuing Blake Association clean-up. Not all BA members went quietly. Two FBI agents were killed apprehending several former California police officers who turned out to be BA members.

Returning from a morning of school safety presentations, Lisbon found a pink rose on her desk with a printed note: "Lunch at the diner at noon, please." She drew a blank at first, then realized the flower was a name, not a romantic overture, and hurried to the diner. She finished lunch with Rose Turner with a Jane letter tucked safely inside her uniform's breast pocket, smiling a little in anticipation of the evening.

Wine in hand, parked comfortably on her couch, Lisbon was finally able to read Jane's letter.

What's gotten into you? Who knew cool weather is catnip to Patrick Jane? And, yes, Jane, Grace and Wayne are expecting. She's due next month.

Reading the next paragraph, her smile widened and she flushed with pleasure that he finally felt at peace, was finally ready to move on. It faded a bit at the next. I wondered when you'd think about what comes next, about your future. I can't believe you're suited to life in a small, remote village. Once you decide what you want, you'll find a way of getting it. Find a way to come back to the US, Jane. You've said you want to work with me again. Make it happen! She looked away, the team picture on the mantle catching her eye. Not wanting to cry, she returned to reading the letter.

Lips pressed into a thin line, she read the next two paragraphs soberly. Jane, you're crossing the line. I really don't want to read your ruminations about a love life and fatherhood in your fantasy paradise. Jaw unconsciously clenched, she set the letter aside, sipped her wine, and leaned back. After a few deep breaths, she picked the letter up and reread those paragraphs. A bit calmer, "Okay. So you're telling me you aren't going to get together with anyone there, even casually. It's less insulting to tell me that, but it doesn't do a helluva lot to get us together. If that's even something you want. You're as difficult and confusing as ever.

She read the rest but found less enjoyment in it than usual. Just typical over-the-top Jane stuff. Well, yeah, it is kinda interesting, paints a pretty picture. But you can miss my company all you want. The question is, now what? Are you going to do anything about it?

She folded the letter and added it to the others. She stood a moment in front of the mantle, in front of her favorite photo. This is more troubling than past letters. He's out of the woods, he's done the basic healing he needed to do. After the murders. After ten years of obsession with revenge. After killing McAllister. It was hard to come to terms with all that, but what he needed to do was clear. Now, God help us both, he has to figure out what he wants to do, who he wants to love. That's not clear at all. I have done everything I can, Jane. I know what I want. Do you? And even if you do, is it even possible?

She quietly wrapped up the evening, heart heavier than before she read the letter.