Booktree.ng_Forgotten-Witness

The apology and protestations and laments of Amelia
Francis drifted Josie’s way on a Hawaiian breeze but all she
heard was the sad truth. Under the table Stephen Kyle put his
hand on Josie’s knee and gave her a squeeze. She took no
offense at Amelia’s outburst or Stephen’s touch. It was painful
to realize her mother had chosen another family and harder
still to acknowledge Stephen’s sympathy.
“All right,” Josie murmured.
“I never saw any harm in it. I didn’t know you existed until
a few weeks ago. Maybe calling me her daughter was her way
of remembering she had one.”
“I said, all right.”
Josie shot up and walked away, stopping when she stood at
the edge of the circle of light. Crossing her arms, she rocked a
little on the cushion of her flip-flops. Behind her Stephen
reassured Amelia that Josie would be fine. Josie knew that was
debatable: Fine came in all forms. She might look fine, she
may act fine, but she never would be truly fine. Only Archer
would understand that the mountain of hurt and regret and
pain that was breaking through the crust of her soul made her
not fine. Like a good soldier reluctant to join the battle but
dedicated to the cause, Josie went back to the table.
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
***
Half of Washington D.C. slept and the other half were awake
and watching. The ones who were awake patrolled the streets,
were glued to computer screens, and listened in on telephone
conversations. When mischief was detected, the watchers
called other people whose job it was to stop it. Sometimes,
mischief made their jobs easier because it came directly to
them. Usually it didn’t appear late at night, but there was
always the exception and that night the exception was Eugene
Weller.