Shit!
She put a hand against the doorjamb to steady herself as she felt the anxiety build. Another panic attack was coming on, but she fought against it, taking deep breaths, thinking about good things, willing her racing heart to slow the hell down. She felt shame, she felt weak. It made her angry, which didn’t help matters at all.
She walked quickly to the bathroom and washed her face and let her belly settle along with her nerves. Like some working mothers, she worried she was doing them irreparable harm by being away so much. She was missing important moments in their lives. She wasn’t thinking about big things; she was thinking about being around in the morning to make them breakfast, which she planned to do before she left for the airport. But how many other such times had she missed?
Too many.
And hurried late-night catchups were just not going to cut it. But what was she supposed to do? Quit her job? Ask for a nine-to-five desk assignment that would require no travel? That was not how the Bureau worked. Not if she wanted to keep moving up. And she did. Otherwise, what was the point?
She felt an attack coming on again, and she sat on the toilet lid doing meditative breathing and thinking of spending time with her kids, until she got herself back together.
Downstairs her mother was waiting with a pot of tea and a plate of graham crackers. They had been her favorites since White was a kid.
Serena Washington was taller than her daughter and fuller figured, but their features were similar; her mother’s eyes were quick and took everything in, just like White’s.
“Are you coming down with something, Frederica? You look a little out of it.”
“I’m okay, just a little tired.” She turned so her mother couldn’t see her eyes. Her reddened eyes, her unnerved look.
“And did you accomplish what you came back up here for?” asked Washington.
“I accomplished enough. I head back to Florida tomorrow.” She looked around. “I wish I had something stronger than tea.”
“Then I got your back on that.”
Her mother rose and came back with a bottle of scotch and two tumblers. She poured out the drinks and set one in front of her daughter. “My grandbabies are doing fine. But they miss you.”
“I know they do. If I didn’t have bills to pay I’d spend all my time with them.”
“They would hate that. Buffers make the hearts grow fonder. Closeness is a buzzkill.”
“Is that how you and Daddy worked it?”
“Yes, only I had to keep reminding him. Your father didn’t like buffers between him and his kids.”
“You worked, too.”
“But at your school. It was different. I saw quite a lot of you all.” She added with a mischievous smile, “For better or worse.”
“I just want my children to grow up to be good people who will take care of their momma in her old age. Or at least come by and visit me at the nursing home.”
Washington glanced away at this light-hearted remark, and White bit her lip.
“I’m sorry, Momma, that came out way wrong.”
“In baseball, hitting three hundred in your career might get you into the Hall of Fame. As a parent, hitting four hundred just means you failed at everything.”
“Daddy getting killed like that, it messed with Randall and Frank,” White said. “They were younger and went through hell. Half the town hated us and thought the racist asshole that killed Daddy got cheated somehow. And Randall and Frank got the brunt of it. I was nearly out of high school when it happened. Denise and Teddy were already in college. You were suddenly a single parent with five kids. And two of them were getting torn up every day by something they and you had no control over. What could you do about that?”
“I don’t make excuses for myself, Frederica, and you shouldn’t make excuses for me.”
They took sips of their scotch and let it go down slow and smooth.
White felt her anxiety rising again and took another sip.
Smooth and slow, girl. You got this. You have to have this.
Her mother reached over and gripped her hand. The two women’s gazes met, and in that look White knew her mother understood exactly what was going on with her daughter.