Chapter Seventeen

McCall slept fitfully on the cot for a few hours that afternoon. Not only was the bed uncomfortable, but he also kept feeling like he should wake up and make sure Barbara was all right. About 4:30 he decided he'd just get up. Barbara was sleeping quietly, apparently undisturbed by the ghosts of her past. As he was standing by the bed, the door opened and Nurse Carson walked in. She gestured silently for McCall to come outside. A few minutes later McCall came back into the room carrying a newspaper and a large purse. He put the bag on the floor, sat down near the window, and read the paper while his wife slept.

At 5:30, Nurse Carson returned, waking Barbara. She checked her vital signs and made sure she was comfortable, then said: "Dr. Williams, it's time for dinner. You haven't had much of anything to eat since you've been here. Now that you've slept a bit, it's time to eat something."

Barbara had wanted to keep sleeping, but when Carson mentioned food, she realized that she was VERY hungry. She couldn't even remember when she had eaten the last time.

"Ummm, you're right. I'm so hungry."

"Good, they'll be here in a few minutes. How do you feel?"

"OK, I guess. I'll have to think about it." She looked at the monitor, blinking away by the bed. She was beginning to hate the monitor. She didn't like the idea that everyone could see just what was going on inside her. She'd spent her whole life hiding what was going on inside her, and this was very uncomfortable.

"Nurse Carson," she began.

"Honey, call me Alva," Carson countered.

"OK, Alva, please call me Barbara," she said.

"Deal. What did you want to ask, Barbara?"

"Can we turn this thing off? I'm OK now, aren't I? Why do you need it?"

"It's not up to me. But I'll ask the doctor."

"Thanks, Alva."

McCall had been listening to this exchange from his seat by the window. He was happy to hear that Barbara was getting back to her old self: Hungry and making demands. All the talk about food reminded him that he was hungry, too.

"Barbara," he said.

"Robert, I forgot you were here."

"Thank you very much," he answered with a smile.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean…."

He held up one hand. "I know, I know."

"What were you going to say?"

"While you're eating, I'm going to go get something for myself. I'll be back shortly. Is that OK?"

"Of course, Robert. I'll be fine."

After they'd finished eating and were settled in for the evening, McCall sitting by the bed and Barbara dozing, he decided it was time for a conversation he had been putting off.

"Barbara," he started, waking her from the light sleep.

"Yes, Robert," she said, stifling a yawn.

"We have to talk." He purposely kept his tone serious.

Uh oh, Barbara thought. This can't be good. She sat up in the bed.

"About what?"

"First, about your leaving, on Sunday."

"Didn't we talk about that already?" she said hopefully.

"Only when you were full of drugs."

"Aren't I full of drugs now?" she asked, half in jest, half trying to get out of this conversation.

"No."

"Oh."

McCall wasn't quite sure how to do this. In the past, he had been the one who had gone away. He had left Kay and Scott to go off to war or to whatever mission was on the docket for that week or month or year. He had not known what it felt like to be left behind. Now he did.

"Barbara," he started, but she broke in.

"Robert, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it. But when Winston called and told me about Costa…," She knew it sounded like an excuse.

"Is that what happened?" McCall asked.

"Haven't I told you?" she replied. Then it all came out in a rush, because she was very nervous. "Yes, Winston, he's a Red Line guy, he called and told me they knew Costa was coming to the Conference. Robert, I never told you about Costa." She repeated the story. "Don't you see, I had to come. It might have been my only chance."

"Your only chance at what?" he asked, keeping his eyes riveted on her face.

"Getting him," she retorted, finding it hard to stand up to his gaze.

"Why?"

"Why?"

"You know what I mean, Barbara." He wasn't going to let her get out of this.

"You also know it's complicated, Robert." She was annoyed. He made it sound so black and white. "I wanted revenge. Is that what you want me to say? OK, it's true. But I also wanted justice for all the people he's killed over the years."

"So you decided you'd play God?"

"Damn it, Robert, it isn't like you haven't done the same thing!" she said vehemently. "And haven't we had this conversation before?"

"Yes, and after the conversation, you said you'd stop doing it." He had put her on the spot, just as he had planned.

She had said that. She hadn't promised, but still, she had said it. Now, she didn't say a word.

He knew what she was thinking. "I know, I know. You didn't promise. Maybe I can't expect you to give it up completely," he said, resignation in his voice.

Could she promise, she asked herself? "I don't know if I can promise, Robert. Things from the past keep catching up with me. I think they're gone, and then they appear again. I don't know if I can ignore them. Do you? Just ignore them, I mean? Really?"

McCall glanced away, reflecting on what she had asked. Turning back to look her straight in the eyes again, he answered: "Barbara, I don't just ignore them." He had as many pasts as Barbara did, maybe more, and they kept coming back, too. "But there are priorities. If something comes up, should I go off and try to get revenge or justice or whatever you call it? Or should I stay with the woman I love? I've made the wrong choice too often. I'm not going to do it again."

Barbara had to drop her eyes, for his words stung. Had she put revenge above her love for him? It hadn't seemed that way when she'd left on Sunday. But she was realizing that she hadn't given it enough thought before leaving; maybe she hadn't really thought about it at all. She'd only thought about the job, getting Costa. And what had she done only a few hours ago? Talked about revenge against the men who had come to her room.

She took a deep breath and lifted her eyes to look at Robert again.

"I don't know what to say, Robert. I am sorry. I didn't think it through when I left. I was so focused on the job that it seemed right." Barbara choked the words out.

McCall recognized that he could have used exactly these words twenty years ago in apologizing to Kay. Was he being too hard on Barbara, he asked himself? He couldn't expect her to know what he knew; she hadn't had the same experiences.

Barbara screwed up her courage to go on: "It's no excuse, but I'm not used to any of this. There's never been anyone to worry about me. I've never had someone to worry about. I don't seem to be very good at it. Please forgive me." She looked down, tears welling in her eyes.

Before he could say anything, she raised her eyes again and said: "I love you, Robert. You know that, don't you?"

How could he stay angry at her? If she hadn't been lying in a hospital bed, he would have taken her in his arms and made love to her. As it was, all he could do was caress her face.

"Yes, I know, Barbara. I love you, too." He bent down and kissed her. Then he took her hand and sat back in the chair, while she closed her eyes and tried to slow her heart rate and breathing. The monitor was showing her emotions, and if she wasn't careful, the whole hospital would be in here, wanting to know what was going on.

They held hands for a long time, comfortable with each other again.

A while later, McCall said: "Barbara."

"Yes, Robert," she replied, eyes still closed.

"There are a couple more things we have to talk about."

"Bad things? Because if they're bad, I don't want to hear," she said grumpily, keeping her eyes closed.

"Not bad things. Good things," he assured her.

"OK, go ahead."

"Garcia was here earlier."

"That's not a bad thing? Sounds bad to me." Barbara never wanted to hear that name again.

"He brought your bag back." After a pause, he continued: "With the gun and the silencer. And your fake IDs. He put them in my hands, no comment."

"Oh, that is good. He's not going to take any action," she said, opening her eyes. It was a relief.

"He also told me that the Cubans have distanced themselves from Costa. They must have figured how it would make them look, letting that man into their security forces. They're not going to take any action, either."

"You're right, that is also good news." She seemed to have escaped any repercussions about the terrorist's death. Justly so, she told herself.

"Garcia also apologized about this afternoon, again."

"What did you say?" She thought she knew, but she was curious.

"Nothing."

"Robert McCall, I'm glad I'm not your enemy," she said, meaning it.

He lifted and eyebrow and shrugged. "I don't think you have to worry about that, my dear."

"Any more good things?" Barbara asked.

McCall had a plan. "I thought maybe you'd like a vacation after you get out of this place. I talked to some people I know down here. One of them has a house he's not using. Right on the water, beautiful. We could add a maid and a cook. All we'd have to do is relax. But only if you feel like it." He didn't want her to think that he was telling her what to do; she hated that.

Barbara uncovered this plan's potential straight away. "Do you think I can get out of here earlier if we do it?" she said hopefully. "I mean, maybe we could get a nurse to come in, if I need meds or anything? Maybe we could hire Alva, she's very nice. Or she might know someone who could do it?"

"Hold on, hold on! It sounds to me like it might work. We'll have to ask Ramirez. But you like the idea of a vacation?"

"Florida in January instead of New York in January? It is a WONDERFUL idea." Now she looked him full in the eyes, took his hand, and brushed it with a kiss. "Thank you, Robert." She didn't just mean the vacation. She meant everything.