March 2017
Goethestrasse, Berlin, Germany
Carrie walked with her head down, the more swiftly to get home in the deepening twilight. It had been a cool day, overcast, and it was getting colder, the damp breeze seeming to penetrate the weave of her heavy wool coat. She shivered. Carrie hadn't made a habit of working after business hours, so coming home at 6:30 PM felt awfully late to her.
She couldn't wait to see Franny, but wasn't looking forward to the rest of the week – especially Friday night. Since she had found Quinn's letters, she felt something undeniable, something like a reawakening of an independent part of her that had gone dormant for the last year or so. It was not so much that she really ever thought, or even hoped, that she'd see Quinn again – he still felt lost to her, and her life was so different now. Even so, Quinn's words had ignited some quiescent emotion and rekindled her heart, putting her relationship with Markus, such as it was, in better perspective than ever before.
Whatever else Quinn might have been or done, and wherever he might be now, he had tried to be honest with her. Even when he "knew her shit," as they put it, he was fond of her. Looking back on that – it was hard to take. She had decided that legacy of this friendship – latent love-affair, really – must be real honesty with herself, and others in her life, especially around important issues that affected them deeply. And that required that she speak honestly to Markus. For the first time since she'd left the US, she felt strong and purposeful. She had never been a person to feel fear at these kinds of gut-wrenching conversations. If she had been afraid of confrontation, she never would have become an Agent to start with. For better or worse, she needed to air these feelings, because for Carrie, there was no more point in "just getting by." Her lack of enthusiasm for Markus Wagner had been with her for a long time, and she felt she couldn't put it off anymore.
Markus had never been the demanding type, not in the beginning anyway. He'd brought flowers, done some cooking, been thoughtful and pretty reasonable. But as his interest grew, hers faded away to some degree. And every time he'd try to bring up a subject that required commitment, she had shied away from it. She liked her flat, she said. She liked her independence. He thought that she was commitment-phobic, Carrie thought. But the better she felt about herself, her job, her condition, and life with her daughter, the less she felt necessary to "settle" for someone she wasn't really that attracted to, or felt any kind of powerful kinship with. Her withdrawal had made him more edgy, and inclined to argue and pry. She was done with it.
It was possible to be alone without being lonely, she thought. Being alone no longer seemed like the worst thing she could think of. She had been on her own before, in worse situations than this. She would manage.
She pushed the door to the apartment building open, and trotted up the stairs. There, Anna was reading a book to Franny. She stood when Carrie entered, and set Franny on her feet. Franny walked steadily to Carrie, with her arms open.
"Mama!" she declared, her tiny front teeth revealed in her wide smile.
"Hi, Sweetie," Carrie said, and caught the child in her embrace.
"Another gut day, and she loves to read," Anna said. "In Deutche and in English." Carrie made grateful eye contact with Anna.
"I'm glad you're here with her. I need to ask a favor, an diesem Freitag."
Anna smiled. "Was?" she asked.
"I need to go out with Markus. Alone," she said.
"Zo, you need einhüten, babysitting," said Anna. "I would go home, and bring Briggite with me. Is this ok?"
"Sure," said Carrie, taking in Anna's wistful smile a little sadly. She thought it was to be a romantic date. Well, that's what anybody might think. But it wasn't going to be, Carrie thought.
They finalized the arrangements, and Anna left for home. Carrie took off her boots, sighing with relief, and padded into the kitchen to see what was cooking on the stove. Broiled chicken, that was what smelled so good. She had finally gotten Anna to cook a few lighter items. After Carrie had suggested certain recipes might be healthier, Anna had finally gotten the message.
Franny played on the floor with her "little people," her collection of wooden people and animals from Haba, another gift from Bill and Maggie. She talked excitedly to them, while Carrie tossed a salad and steamed some peas. Franny was dressed in a practical outfit for a busy young child, dark green leggings and a yellow long-sleeved t-shirt with a rainbow ironed on. Carrie had finally convinced Anna to dress Franny in practical, machine-washable clothes that weren't so pink and frilly. It was hard enough to be a girl, Carrie thought, without getting the idea that you were supposed to be clean and pretty, even as a toddler. For her part, Franny showed no interest in or preference for twirly skirts or princess gear. She was just as happy to be digging in the sand or going down a slide, or picking bugs out of the grass. Tough and smart, like her Dad. And like me, I hope, Carrie thought wistfully.
For fun that night, mother and daughter had a "picnic," eating cross-legged on the living room floor, and playing with the toy people all the while. During the meal, Carrie had the strangest sensation of being watched. It was so strong that she'd gone to the window, then the balcony, and looked out. There were drapes to draw in the bedroom, but only sheers in the living room. She didn't bother. Where this perception was coming from, she couldn't say. But when she went to undress Franny, and start to bathe off her buttery face and fingers, she closed all the curtains well.
After a story, toothbrushing, pajamas, a drink of water, another story, and another drink of water, Franny finally gave it up and fell asleep on her belly with her butt in the air. Carrie sighed with relief and headed into her bedroom, turning off all the lights as she went. She had lost what she now felt was a paranoid impulse, and reopened her bedroom curtains. She wasn't an operative any more, she reminded herself, looking out at the night, the trees, the dark apartments opposite. She was just a private citizen. With her own boatload of self-made problems, she reflected forlornly. She opened the balcony door the slightest bit, to catch a fresh breeze. Laying down on the bed, she grabbed her iPhone, and texted Markus.
"I'm going to bed early," she said.
"Okay, sleep well :-)" came back a few minutes later. She sighed, and threw the phone on the bedside table.
Carrie stripped in the dark, and when she was washed up, she changed into her favorite comfortable pajamas. A v-neck gray t-shirt and soft dark gray pants, she'd had them for years, even trucked them to Kabul and Islamabad. Then, she sat back down on the bed, and turned on a very low light. She lay at the edge of the bed near the window, her head resting on her hand. She opened the bedside table, and pulled out Quinn's letters. By now, she had memorized them both, but pressing the pages to her heart made her feel closer to him. She turned the lamp to the lowest setting, only 10 watts, barely enough to see by. Closing her eyes, she tried to think of more cheerful thoughts, but was followed into dreams only by a pang of remorse. Something had to give.
Twilight had turned to complete darkness, and Carrie had turned on a very low light in her bedroom. Across the street, Quinn stood down with the the standard equipment, and bending down, retrieved the night-vision scope. He was pretty sure that he could see the lined paper pressed to Carrie's chest. It had a trifold, as if it had been fit into a business-sized envelope.
His carotid pulse grew so powerful that he could almost feel it moving his shirt collar. He felt anticipation and elation, so much so that he was almost impelled to run out the door, cross the street, and reveal himself at once.
But good things took time. He had waited more than 2 years, and he could get a few more night's sleep while getting the lay of the land. What if there was another man? What did he really know about her life? If she was really happy, he needed to back off. With the resolution of the scope, that piece of paper could be a grocery list, he admonished himself. Still, people don't usually fall asleep clutching a grocery list to their breast. He sighed.
The compulsion to watch her through the night-vision goggles was potent, and Quinn sat almost without moving until nearly midnight, when Carrie stirred, and reached up to turn out the light. She laid the papers on the bedside table, but he could only see the shadowy outline in the green light of the night-vision scope. She crawled under the covers in the darkness. After she settled, Quinn turned in himself, aligning his long body on the bare bed, fiercely entreating his mind for dreams that complemented the vision he'd indulged in all evening. A mysterious smile crossed his face as he slipped into unconsciousness.