Amerikan Eagle

“Tell you the truth, I didn’t care about the President,” Sam said bitterly. “I cared about those poor bastards in Burdick and everywhere else. That’s what I was thinking.”

Hanson took off his glasses, polished them with a handkerchief. “If you say so. Look, you’re beat. Time for you to go home, take a few days off. Then you come back, and we’ll clear all this up.”

Sam was too tired to argue. “Sure. That sounds good.”

As he went to the door, Hanson called out, “One more thing—”

Sam turned and saw something flying at him. He caught it instinctively with one hand. He looked down at the thick black leather wallet, opened it up. The gold shield of an inspector. Not the silver shield of an acting inspector.

“Congratulations, Sam,” Hanson said. “Now get the hell out of here.”

Sam clasped the wallet and shield tightly in his hand and tried to remember when this scrap of leather and metal had once meant so much.

At his desk, he picked up his coat draped over the chair, the sleeve still damaged where that cig boy had tried to cut him the other day. Poor sweet Sarah. Never did get around to mending that sleeve. By his typewriter was the day’s mail. One envelope stood out—from the state’s division of motor vehicles. He recalled the request he had made so many lifetimes ago. He tore open the envelope, read the listing inside of yellow Ramblers belonging to area residents of Portsmouth.

There was only one. He read and reread the name and decided it was time to go home.

* * *

He pulled the Packard into his driveway, and he saw lights on downstairs. Lots and lots of lights.

Sam leaped out of the car, raced up the front steps, and opened the door.

Sarah. His Sarah, standing there, his lovely Sarah, looking at him, staring at him.

It was wrong. Everything was wrong.

She was standing there, arms folded. Her face was pale and looked thinner. Her hair hadn’t been washed in a while, and her pale blue dress was stained and wrinkled. Her silk stockings looked like they had runs, and her shoes were scuffed and soiled.

“Sarah,” he said.

There was a pause. “You got a haircut.”

“Yeah, you could say that,” he replied, knowing nothing could be said about Burdick, nothing at all; that secret was terrible to keep but too terrible to share.

A voice from the kitchen, sobbing. “Mommy, look at what happened to my models! They’re all smashed!”

Sam called out, “Toby! What’s wrong?”

His son ran in, holding a cardboard box in front of him, the smashed pieces of his models sticking out. Sam’s heart ached at seeing the tears on his boy’s face. He said, “Toby, look, I’m sorry, we’ll get you new ones.”

“But Dad, these are mine! We built them together!”

Looking at Sarah stiffly standing there, Sam said carefully, “Bad men came into the house, Toby. Bad men came in and broke your toys. But I promise you, we’ll either fix them or we’ll get new ones.”

“It won’t be the same! It won’t! Why didn’t you stop them, Daddy? Why didn’t you stop the bad men?”

“Toby, please…”

“You promised! You promised! I hate you! I hate you!”

“Toby, back to your room.” Sarah raised her voice, “Mommy needs to talk to Daddy.”

Still sobbing, Toby tore from the room, carrying the broken pieces with him, as Sam looked to his wife.

“How long have you been back?” he asked. I hate you, the little voice had shouted. I hate you…

“Only a few minutes.”

“How did you get here?”

She said, “A Long’s Legionnaire who hadn’t taken a bath in a month drove us back. We got home to this.” Sarah gestured to the broken furniture, the piles of books, the debris of what their life had been.

Sam said, “Long’s Legionnaires broke in, while I was away on the job.”

“And you didn’t have time to clean up so Toby and I didn’t have to look at this when we got home?”

He ran a hand over his hair. “The past couple of days, I haven’t had time to take a breath. I did the best I could.”

“So I’ve heard,” she said, lips pursed. “You saved the life of the Kingfish. Congratulations, I guess.”

Something dark flared inside him. “Not guess, Sarah. You should say congratulations. It’s because I saved Long that I was able to get you and Toby out. Nothing else was going to work. I saved his Cajun ass and in return, he got you and the boy out.”

“Sure, I understand.” Her eyes blazed at him. “Acting like a dictator or a Roman emperor dispensing favors because it suits him. I understand a lot. And I’m sorry about Tony, Sam. I truly am.” Tears glittered in her eyes, and she wiped at them and then refolded her arms.

He stared at her, wondering what was going on behind those sharp brown eyes, and then he heard himself saying, “Why did you do it, Sarah?”

“Do what?”

“You know what I mean,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Why did you give yourself up to the FBI?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Toby and I got picked up while we were walking down one of the lake roads to a neighbor’s house.”