He sent me flowers; the card said that he was sorry for whatever it was that he said. I dumped them in the garbage can. I knew it wasn't fair to punish him for what he didn't understand, but I was frustrated with everything today. I called all the hospitals again; I called all the women's shelters and clinics. Nothing. I even asked to process all the female corpses brought in.
I began the paperwork for the petition to release Baby Doe into my custody. Lois Carver called me to say that I was doing a good thing; Renee Walcott even promised to push it through within the afternoon. As women . . . as mothers, they understood. I called the charity in California; they said they would be happy to place Baby Doe in their special cemetery. The agreement was that I needed to pay for Baby Doe's transportation; I also needed to name Baby Doe. I could do that; I had already contacted my financial advisor. I planned to send Baby Doe with a substantial donation.
I sat in my office. I scribbled different names on a notepad. Boy names were so much harder; I wrote down my standard favorites, but they didn't seem special enough for the baby in the crypt. Any other time, I would have called my father to ask for advice. I don't think he knew just how much I counted on him. He knew everything about Irish culture . . . the meaning of Gaelic names. Dad would have known the perfect name for Baby Doe.
"Gabriel . . . God is my strength. Maybe Dad's money didn't go to waste when he sent me to Catholic school," I said to the nothingness that surrounded me.
I got up and went to the crypt. It was late at night; everyone else had gone home . . . the Pogue was being watched by a few of my best bartenders tonight. No one would miss me if I spent the evening with Baby Doe. I opened Baby Doe's drawer.
"I hope you like the name Gabriel. I'm not sure what your middle name is . . . do you even want one? I'll think of one," I said to the tiny baby. The wooden angel was still next to him.
"Gabriel Ryan . . . Gabriel Patrick . . . Gabriel Thomas . . . Gabriel Patrick. I think I like Gabriel Patrick. Patrick is very Boston . . . very Irish. I hope you like it. I'm sorry if you don't," I said as I ran my fingers over the wooden angel, "Everyone else might forget, but I won't. Someday I'll find your parents. I'll make sure that they never forget you, Gabriel Patrick."
"I imagined my child looking something like you do. My child wasn't lucky either, but you probably know that because he or she . . . he or she is in the same place you are," I said as I stumbled across the last words in my sentence, "My therapist in Seattle told me not to think of it as a child, but a fetus. I thought of it as a child from the minute that pregnancy test was positive. I wasn't as lucky as your mother . . . my baby was taken away just as fast as it was given."
I took a deep breath.
"I was thinking about it the other day . . . I was thinking about you this morning after I went over all your evidence. I would have taken you into my home, Gabriel. I would have given you the life that I wanted to give my own child," I said as I removed the sheet from the tiny body. I ran my fingers down the tiny arm and across his tiny palm.
"Sometimes, I wonder if having a child would have changed my life. It would have . . . but what would I have become is what I'm interested in knowing," I said.
"You would have been a good mother," Woody said. He was standing in the doorway much like he had twenty-four hours ago.
"You must think I'm crazy . . . I probably am crazy," I replied in reference to the elaborate confession that Gabriel was witness to.
"No, I don't think you're crazy. I think you are lonely . . . I think you are punishing yourself for something that was none of your doing," Woody replied. He remained in the door frame. It was a safe distance. I think that was the closest that I would want him right now.
"Jordan, how long ago were you . . . um," Woody stammered as he looked at the floor.
"Seven years ago . . . February sixteenth at five in the evening. I was leaving work and started to cramp," I explained. My eyes remained glued to the tiny body.
"When you were the mistress?" Woody asked. I almost laughed at how nicely he tried to describe my place in the broken marriage.
"When I was the lying whore that almost broke up a marriage," I clarified.
"It's hard to be mad at you when you are already so damn good at being mad at yourself," Woody replied.
"I've screwed up a lot. I just wanted to do the right thing . . . when I think I'm doing the right thing, I'm wrong. When I actually do the right thing, I'm punished," I replied, "I've given up my mother cold turkey . . . after James, I had I not started the whole mess . . . he'd be . . ."
"Don't take all the credit for that. Malden and James had their hands in there. If I remember correctly, James was the one that got the ball rolling," Woody replied.
"But still . . . I spent Christmas alone in a bar that was open but empty. Dad is in Ireland; I don't really know how to apologize to anyone at work, so I haven't spent time with them for weeks. Even the Christmas after Mom died was better than this Christmas," I lamented as I gently covered Gabriel with the white sheet.
"Is he ready to make his way to California?" Woody asked as I moved the wooden angel closer to the tiny angel. I gently closed his drawer after pausing for a moment to survey the tiny, cloaked body.
"I'm going with him on Monday," I replied. It was four days away.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Woody asked. He was probably trying to figure out if I was going to come back home. That was a subject that I had mentally debated several times; there was a very vocal part of my mind that thought it might be nice to have a fresh start in a city thousands of miles away from Boston. Another part of me would always remain drawn to Boston despite its reminders of my mother, Malden, and James.
"I'm in need of a vacation. I was going to spend a few days out there. I talked to a FBI agent I used to work with; he's going to make sure that I don't get myself into any trouble. It's probably going to be a full-time job for Haley. I was going to spend a few days laying on the beach and relaxing," I replied. I did need a vacation; I could feel my professional exterior beginning to crumble. I needed a few days to regroup.
"Jordan, why are you doing this?" Woody asked.
"I'm spending time with Agent Haley because he was a good friend when I needed him," I replied as I began to put my coat on. That was probably a little too rough; it took me far too long to realize exactly how good of a friend Woody was. Drew was a good friend. He was one of the only people that fought to save my life despite how much I had screwed up the Digger case. We had kept in touch; occasional emails and telephone calls. He had offered to keep me company in California; I had accepted. Garrett told me to take the time to recuperate; he said that he wanted the 'old' Jordan to come home. He said that he missed me. I missed him too, but I wasn't sure if our relationship could be mended. I had changed; Garrett had changed.
"No, not that. Why did you name Baby Doe? Why are you going with him to California?" Woody asked. He blocked my exit from my office.
"Closure. It's time for closure," I replied.
"Are you going to be okay alone?" Woody asked.
"Yeah, I'll be okay. I'll be back in a few days," I replied. He didn't look satisfied with my answer. He stood still waiting in the doorway as if he was waiting for me to say something. I think he wanted me to invite him to California; I think he wanted to believe that watching me grieve would ensure that I would come back to Boston. If I was going to breakdown, I wanted to do it in the privacy of an anonymous hotel in a city so large that everyone is anonymous. Haley would only be a presence for a single day. I would have the majority of my vacation to sort things out and say good-bye to someone that I never really had.
"Be careful, Jordan," Woody replied as he turned to leave.
"I will be," I replied. I watched him walk away. Part of me wanted to run after him . . . the other part was thankful for the solitude. I didn't want to cry in front of him; I didn't want to appear as weak as I felt. I had let him in once before; I stood by passively while Woody dated Devan. That was the little shove that I needed to push me over the edge. It made me feel really lonely because I did believe that Woody was the only person in my life that I could count on. I wasn't sure if I could do that again; not while I was finally beginning to mourn all those that I had lost. I wasn't nearly as strong as everyone wanted to believe that I was.