Gwendy’s Final Task

“In that case, you better call me Alan.” He rubbed the gray whiskers on his chin, wishing he’d shaved this morning. This lady is a looker. “And I didn’t figure you came all this way to talk about spies and foreign policy.”

“No, sir, not today.” She smiled and reached over to touch his hand. “But I do have something important to tell you. Something highly confidential that you must promise to never repeat to anyone else.”

He raised his right hand in the air. “So help me God.”

“That’s good enough for me.” She took a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure they were still alone in the sunroom. Mr. Peterson, suddenly feeling as if he were playing a bit role in a James Bond spy film, did the same. When he looked back at his daughter’s old friend, he was surprised to see that there were tears shimmering in her eyes.

“I could lose my job and end up in Leavenworth for what I’m about to tell you, but I don’t care. I loved Gwendy. She was family.”

“Whatever it is, it’ll go to my grave with me.” And probably sooner than later, he thought.

“Your daughter didn’t sneak out for an illicit space walk. Anyone who truly knew her knows that part of the story is bullshit.” She took a deep breath—the kind that says you’re past the point of no return now—and continued. “Gareth Winston was a bad man, Mr. Peterson. And he’d gotten a very bad idea into his head—a dangerous one. Gwendy found out and put a stop to it before it was too late. She sacrificed her life so that others—millions of others—could live. I suppose that sounds awfully dramatic, but I swear to you it’s true.”

Alan nodded. “That sounds like our Gwendy.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine the courage it took for her to do what she did. But she completed the task willingly, and I believe with only one regret: that she would never return home to see you again. She talked about you and your wife all the time. She adored you, Mr. Peterson.”

“The feeling was mutual,” he said in a choked and tired voice.

With the memory of her visit fading, he stares down at the iPhone resting in his lap. And as he has done on so many other occasions, he presses the PLAY button and closes his eyes.

Hi Dad,

I don’t have much time, but I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. Please don’t be too sad, and whatever you do, don’t waste a precious minute on being angry or bitter. And no matter what you hear or see on the news, just remember this: I had a job to do, an important one, and I did it the best way I knew how. A long time ago, back when I was a little girl in pigtails running around the playground at Castle View Park, you told me something I’ve never forgotten: when faced with the choice of doing the right thing or nothing at all, you do what’s right. Every single time. I am so proud to be your daughter. There wasn’t a better father anywhere in the world. Please smile when you think of me. Please remember the good times. How lucky we were—you and me and mom! The Three Musketeers, she used to call us! Okay, I better get going. You know how I hate to be late. Goodbye for now, Pa. I love you with all of my heart, and I will see you again. Mom and I both will. I left you a surprise inside the envelope. It’s yours now. Take good care of it. It’s very special. You might even say it’s …

“Magic,” he whispers in the silence of his dark room.