“I don’t think it would look good if I ducked work right now. If they need me for an interview about the shooting…and find out I’m on vacation in Nebraska…”

“It’s a work trip with your significant other.”

Significant other. She liked the sound of that. But now it made her think about other things the old woman had said.

You are his one true love. But he is not yours.

Bullshit. Offensive bullshit, at that. She couldn’t let that old crone inside her head.

He will take a trip soon. A new man will come into your life.

This is how they get you, she realized. Paradoxes and general pronunciations—one size fits all: You are truly private—no one knows the real you—but once you trust someone…it’s forever! Planting a seed underneath your insecurity, fertilizing it with doubt or praise, and then letting it spread like a thorny weed.

She went up to Linus and kissed him, hard. “I wish I could go,” she told him. Because she did.

Linus gripped her, another kiss. “Vacation sex is the best,” he said.

Odessa nodded, her lips still pressed against his. “How about staycation sex?”

Linus shoved his half-packed suitcase off the bed and they tumbled into it.

She was out of the shower and wearing a towel when she picked up her ringing phone and saw that it was her mother. Due to either resignation or simply a weak moment, she answered.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Oh, you answered! How are you? Where are you? Are you okay…?”

It went on like that for a few minutes, Odessa catching her up and reassuring her at the same time. There followed a recitation of her mother’s luncheon the previous day, what she ate and what her friend Miriam—whom Odessa had never heard of before—ate and what was discussed.

“And how is Linus?”

Linus was a curiosity to Odessa’s mother. Not because she was at all racist, but to her, interracial dating was a young person’s province, like streaming music and Postmates. Odessa made the mistake of mentioning he was going to Omaha.

“He’s leaving you there alone?”

Odessa assured her she was fine.

“What’s going to happen to you?” her mother asked. “The FBI, your career?”

Odessa sighed. “I think that’s over.”

“Oh no. But did you…you didn’t…”

Her mother’s concern always made her furious. Made her feel like a failed child. Her mother knew where all her buttons were. She had, in fact, installed them there.

“Look—it’s not about right or wrong, it’s about how can I go on with this hanging over my head like a flashing neon sign,” said Odessa. “I don’t know what’s next.” Then quickly: “But it will be fine.”

“Your law degree,” said her mother, hopefully.

“Yes. My law degree.”

“Always something to fall back on. Just like your father.”