Mr. and Mrs. America

There were definitely times when I'd wished I'd gone into intelligence work -- particularly when some new atrocity was reported. There was a strange sort of guilt then. I should have been out there, trying to stop things like that. Not sitting in a classroom droning on about Latin verbs. A couple of times I thought I would call Mike and ask if there was anything I could do. Pass a message along; be a courier; whatever. But I never did. It just seemed stupid, in light of what I was and what he was. They didn't need my help. Although when I said that to myself, there was always a little true disappointment. But then I'd go tuck the kids in and that would make me happy. It wasn't very Jason Bourne, but I wasn't Jason Bourne, and I did my best to remember that.

Now the hard bit. Now I have to explain why you never did what I did. And you'll have trouble with this right now. I know you -- quick to anger, but you get over. Once you've thought about it, you'll understand. I still don't think you'll like it, but you'll at least understand. I hope. You'll understand I could never tell you this in life, too. I just couldn't do that.

Your wife, your father and I conspired to make sure you didn't do it. There was no pregnancy. There was no miscarriage. When you missed that appointment, twice, it wasn't by chance. I made it happen.

Yeah, I can see you pissed right now. Betrayed by your best friend. What. The. Eternal. Fuck. Right?

What? What did he just say? I read it again. Yes, the same words were there. I put the letter down and savagely finished my drink in one gulp. The next one, too. The one after that may have taken two gulps.

I remembered the passion we'd had for being in the intelligence services. For serving our country against enemies domestic and external. We'd spent years training ourselves, going from childhood games to adult games, of a more sophisticated nature. I graduated college in 1992. The Gulf War happened while I was in school. We kicked ass in that one. And it made me more patriotic. It made my dream make more sense.

Our "preparation" has started long before that. We'd tailed each other, trying to spot each other. We'd extended the game to the point were we'd go out in public as someone else, and meet, and get others to believe we really were astronauts or concert pianists or whatever.

We'd even selected our majors and minors with a view to acquiring skills that would be useful once we got out in the world of espionage, and hopefully get us noticed from agency recruiters.

Even when I met Jo, I still maintained the dream. It was still what I wanted. Maybe the path would be a little different, but it was still achievable. Until it wasn't. I had to make choices, and I'd made them. I'd done the right thing, exactly as we said we would. Only the right thing at the time was to give up the dream, at least for a time.

Jo got pregnant. It was about two months before I was due to graduate. I was flabbergasted. My flabber was well and truly ghasted, as the saying goes.

Jo and I were having sex regularly -- very, very regularly - by then, but we had the conversation about birth control, and she was on the pill. The pill is, under perfect conditions and use, 99.7% effective. We were part of the lucky .3%.

So I had to do the right thing. The responsible thing. I had to marry her. Her father was religious, as was her mother, and even though Jo was not, she was still very much her daddy's girl. She didn't want to disappoint him. And to be honest, it was no hardship on my side. I knew damn well I was in love with her and we fully expected to be married at some point anyway. This just accelerated it.

Marrying her was no hardship on me, let me tell you. And her mother was a hottie, so I knew what I was getting into for later years.

And so if I couldn't go off gallivanting around the world right then, so what? The best spies had someone at home anyway. Someone to go home to. A reason to go home. A reason to do all the things they had to. The job would still be there when we had the baby and got settled and it's not like the world was lacking in trouble spots. It wasn't as if Mike would get out there and solve everything before I got there. He was good, but he was only half as good as he could be without me next to him.

So I let it go. I didn't pursue it, or hit Dad up for meetings. I frantically tried to find something to do with the degree I'd gotten given that my plans for the future use of that education were now inactive. Amazingly, I very quickly got a good job working remotely for the British Museum, doing translations of recently discovered ancient documents and tablets. Ironically, I did get to travel a bit in the early years. Jo and I settled into married life.

She miscarried, about five months into the pregnancy. She was just about to start to show, and I was looking forward to feeling the baby kick and all that. I was travelling at the time. By the time I got back, it was all over. She was just released from the hospital and I picked her up, in a panic. She was calm and collected and together - I was the one coming apart.

I got her home and to bed and drank myself into insensibility that night. It wasn't lost on me that I'd given up my dream for something that had been taken away from me, but I had decided I needed to man up about it. This wasn't about me. It was about Jo. So I shut the fuck up, exactly as I should have, and got with the program. Jo recovered quickly, but wasn't quite the same afterwards, for the longest time. I'd catch her looking at me, partially with love in her eyes, and partially something else. She'd look away, and I'd be on my knees, telling her I loved her and it didn't matter and we could try again. It wasn't like we couldn't. There were no complications.

She'd dissolved into tears and cling to me and we'd just rock back and forth, till she calmed down. There was guilt there, and I did my very best to assure her that the miscarriage was not her fault.

A year later, I'd seen Mike exactly twice. He'd told me about this job he'd gotten as a troubleshooter for some oil company. He'd jet around the world, fixing problems with oil production, all the way from broken oil wells to bribing African dictators. I just went, "Yeah, right" and didn't believe a word of it. But I understood how the game was played. Mike had to say these things, as would I, when I finally got into the game as an official player.

By now, I'd started putting out feelers of my own. I didn't tell Jo, but asked Dad for a favor. "Like you did for Mike" I said, and he just looked at me, grunted and said, "I don't know what you are talking about."

In the end, I got to speak to some NSA guys that I connected to via an FBI agent friend who worked out at the same gym as me. They say the relationship between the NSA and the FBI is bad, but these guys seemed very chummy to me. They played racquetball and I played doubles with them a few times.

Eventually I got a meeting with them. I had to lie to Jo about it; one of the only times I did (apart from gift giving, when you've gotta keep the surprise going). But the day I was due to meet them, my car was in an accident. I was shunted at a railroad crossing, pushing me into the car in front. The guy in front was pissed, and I could understand it, and we had to wait for the cops to come and get statements and all the rest of it. By the time we were done, my meeting time had come and gone. I tried calling but if you've ever tried calling the NSA, let me point out that you just don't. They call you. I couldn't get a message to the guys I was supposed to interview with.

I wasn't deterred though. I managed to get in touch with them again, eventually, through my FBI guy, who told them what had happened. They agreed to give me another chance, and then I blew the second time, due a blown fuse. I had been so careful about my alarm clock. I had checked it twice the night before. When I woke up that day, late, Jo was already gone to work and it was 11:30 and there was no power in our bedroom. The circuit had blown somehow. I was half an hour late. I had no idea why I'd slept so late, and the circuit blowing was just ridiculous bad luck. I just knew that was the end. No third chances.

I tried to go through my FBI guy again, and he said he'd try, but not to hold out hope. As it was, I just told him if there was no hope, to at least apologize for me.

He got back to me a week later and told me the NSA was no longer interested in pursuing my application. Two missed interviews was enough. He also added that the FBI wouldn't be interested either, or the CIA. If you blow one, you blow them all.

So it was back to square one. Mike wasn't around to talk to, and I couldn't talk to Jo because she didn't know it had happened anyway. So I just sucked it up, let the dream go, and got on with life.

I was philosophical about it. I told myself "things happen for a reason". If somebody who never oversleeps does so on a day when there is a power outage, maybe that is the universe telling me something.

And now I find it was all bullshit. I was never going to get that job. My best friend, my wife and my father had conspired to ensure it. There was no pregnancy. I'd been tricked into marriage. All the time I'd spent trying to get Jo over what I thought was guilt over losing a baby, it was guilt over lying to me over small stuff like babies and marriage and miscarriages. Small stuff!

White-hot anger consumed me and I picked up the first thing I could reach and threw it against the wall as hard as I can. It turned out to be the glass my Jack Daniels had been in, and it shattered against the wall.

"Fucking ASSHOLES," I shouted, jumping up from the chair, the pages spilling onto the floor.

"So he told you" I heard, said softly behind me. I whirled round, to find Jo in her night gown, with a dressing gown over the top, arms crossed, leaning against the door, her head tilted.

"You are pissed. I can see that. I can imagine why. I imagine he's said some things in there you won't be happy about. I knew this day might come, and I've been waiting for it. So yeah. I trapped you. I stole your dreams from you. So did Mike. So did your dad. But you know what? I'm not sorry. Because your dreams were bullshit from the start. And Mike knew it. He knew it because he lived them."

It was out of the blue, and I was disconcerted. I launched into "Fuck you. You STOLE my dreams Jo. My dreams! Who the FUCK do you think you are? You manipulative shrew. Who the fuck are you? I don't know you at all?"

She pushed off from the door and headed into the kitchen, passing me as she went and saying, "Oh get off your high horse Jake. Yeah, I manipulated you a bit. But the reality is, I manipulated you into what you wanted anyway, and you know it."

She crouched down and pulled out a dustpan and brush from under the sink and returned to the living room, to start clearing up the smashed glass.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want and love what we have. The kids. Our lives. Go on, do it"

She stopped brushing for a second and leaned on the brush, staring at me.

The anger stopped for a second as I actually considered the question. I couldn't say anything. I loved my kids. I loved her. She was right.

"That still doesn't give you the right to..."

"...steal your dreams? I didn't steal your dreams Jake. I gave you a better one. Yes, it was underhanded. But it was necessary. You were going to go off and become as morally bankrupt as Mike became at the end. And it would have broken you, because you are a better man than he was. Yes, I said it. Don't speak ill of the dead, but lets face it Jake. Mike was a spy and he did shit you couldn't have. Not and stayed sane. He was a better spy because he could, but you are the better man. And he knew it, and I knew it and your Dad knew it. Everyone knew it but you. You had that stupid dream to follow and it was going to destroy you and none of us was going to let that happen."

I said nothing for a moment, clenching my fists and my jaw. I was still angry. Monumentally angry. She wasn't even sorry. She was justifying it!

"It wasn't your decision to make," I said, very slowly and softly.

She knew the tone. She knew I was on the bad end of angry. She got up, silently and went to the garbage and dumped the glass into it. For all the studied calm she displayed, I could see her hands shaking. She knew how tenuous this situation was. This was a deal breaker and she knew it.

"No, perhaps it wasn't," she said, wearily, leaning on the garbage can and looking at me. "But I made it anyway. I loved - I love -- you. And you love me. And nothing will change that. You know you made peace with not following in his footsteps. You know you have. You love this life and nothing about it has been phony or faked. Sure, you got tricked into it, but from then on, it was straight and true and built on everything real. Hell, it was built on reality from the word go."

There was silence for a moment.

"Look Jake. I know this is a lot to take in. I know you are going to be pissed at the world for a while. I dread to think what you are going to say to your father, to be honest. But like all things, you will think about it and understand. I never betrayed you. I've loved you and only you. I did what I had to make sure you understood that, but you made the decision to let it go. And I'm not for a moment going to be a hypocrite about it. I'm glad you did. Unless you forgot, you buried your best friend last week. That could have been you. But it's not and it's not going to be, and for that, I'm just going to be grateful, as are your children.

"Yes, you lost a stupid childhood dream, one your best friend got to indulge. But you got the better deal. You got me, children, stability, love and family. Mike got a workaholic attitude, an ulcer, no real relationships that lasted more than 20 minutes and a lifelong envy of you and what you had. He got to compromise his principles and go to his grave having done things done that he can never take back or repair. He destroyed lives Jake. I know you don't want to believe that, but was part of his job. You created lives. And at some point you'll understand that.

"Do what you need to. Go yell at your dad. Scream at me. Go live in a motel or do whatever you think you need to. But sooner or later, you'll understand we all love you, and we did the right thing, even if it wasn't the ethical thing. Your friend, that you were so envious of because he got to do all the things you thought you should, he hated his life, and the only thing that kept him going was you and your friendship and the life you made for yourself and us.

"You think about that. I'm going to bed. Try not to smash any more of the tumblers. Your grandmother gave them to us for our wedding gift."

And she left. Just like that. The bitch. Was she right? Probably. Did it matter? I didn't think so.

I was trembling. I didn't want to read the rest. I was mad. How DARE they decide my life for me? FUCK THEM.

I made a decision. I was going to leave. She dared me to do it, so fuck it. I was going to.

I was out of there in a moment, the letter left on the floor. I'd just take the clothes on my back. Fuck her.

And I did leave. And it was a week before I came back.

I spent two days in a bottle, in a bar near the small airport. I lived in a shitty little motel. Jo could have found me if she wanted to; I'd used my credit card to pay for it. I wasn't hiding from her. I just didn't want to be near her.

I'd called Dad in the middle of getting my drunk on and shouted obscenities at him. He'd grunted and said, "So you found out then. I wondered when you'd do that. For a wannabe spy, you sure couldn't see a conspiracy in front of you."

I put the phone down then. No one seemed to have any guilt or be upset. I'd not heard from Jo at all. I couldn't decide if she was just giving me space or whether she genuinely didn't care.

I called into work and basically told them I had a personal emergency. No one asked what it was, and I sure wasn't going to explain.

Eventually I sobered up. And when I did, I started to think again. I looked at the issue internally and externally. Looked at all the unspoken reasons he -- they -- did what they did. Was it because he wanted Jo? That made no sense. He had never pursued Jo, and if that was his goal why force her to marry me?

Dad, well, he had no axe to grind, apart from not wanting his son in a dangerous occupation. Obviously he had contacts way beyond what I knew about, and he knew what the life was like. He'd been okay getting Mike in, but not me.

Was I not good enough? Jo had intimated that I wouldn't have survived the experience. Was that what Mike thought? I was angry all over again that I'd never get to ask him.

There was really only one way to find out. I had to read the rest of the letter.

Whether I'd believe what he had to say, I don't know. He was, after all, a professional liar. It really depended on whether I wanted to or not, I guessed.

I went home when I knew Jo had a big deposition to preside over, for the company she worked for was being sued over an alleged patent violation, and those depositions take forever, prompting people's memories and generally trying to explore every avenue. I went back at 10am, so I'd have the day to read the rest of it, and decide what to do, without having to confront Jo.

The letter was on the kitchen counter. The house looked the same but there was a note from Jo on the counter, next to the letter..

It read

I know you are angry, and you have every right to be. Yes, we did wrong. But we did the right thing the wrong way. I stand by that. I love you, I love our life and I love the things we've done and memories we've generated. I have no regrets because it was the right thing to do. I got you for a husband and I've only ever been glad and grateful for that. I'm sorry we did the whole miscarriage thing -- we had to get you to stop going for that job, because it would have destroyed you, me, our relationship, and our children would never have been. And even you have to admit, as angry as you are, they are pretty damned awesome.

There's never been anyone else for me but you, Jake. Please understand that everything that happened, everything I did and was a part of, it came from that place. Please stick around. Read what else Mike had to say. You owe him that, at least.

Love you Babe.

Jo

Xxxxxxxxxx

I stood, staring at the note. She even put her smiley face trademark on the bottom of it.

After 5 minutes of clenching and unclenching my fists, I put the coffee pot on, and used the last of our blue mountain coffee we picked up in Jamaica, on our 10-year anniversary. It had been sitting in our freezer for a while, and I just wanted a good cup of Joe to go with the reading material.

Fifteen minutes later, with steaming cup in hand, I sat down at the kitchen counter, picked up the letter and picked up where I left off.

Don't be angry Jake. I can imagine you must be about now. Give me a chance to explain.

All of this was done out of love. From knowledge and experience. From being able to see the life in front of you and making a choice for you. One you probably wouldn't have made yourself. Well, you did make it, but I'm going to be clear, it was me that set up the circumstances for that choice. As did your father and Jo. We set up a circumstance where your inherent decency made you choose the best thing for you. If you hadn't... if you'd gone down the same path as me...well, I barely survived and I'm about as mercenary as they come. I've done things, seen things, been a part of things and planned things that have caused tremendous pain. I'm broken inside, I know. My therapist calls it "post process guilt" -- yeah, we all have a shrink. It's a requirement. Mine comes from some outfit on the east coast that does 'clandestine therapy', if you can believe that. She's a hottie though!