Andrea had nothing left to dig. She knew her stomach would probably shit out of her throat if she pushed herself any harder. Her lips parted to suck in some air, but she ended up swallowing a cloud of gnats. She coughed, cursing herself because she should’ve known better. She’d spent twenty weeks killing herself at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center, in Glynn County, Georgia. Between the mosquitos, sand fleas, gnats, palmetto bugs the size of rodents, rodents the size of dogs, and the fact that the Glynco FLETC was basically in the middle of a swamp, she should’ve known better than to try to breathe.
The sound of distant thunder roiled into her ears. She concentrated on her footsteps as the trail dipped down. The thunder turned into a distinctive staccato of claps and shouts of encouragement. The strivers had broken through the yellow tape. They were being cheered on by family members who’d shown up to celebrate their graduation from the grueling, Dante-esque torture that seemed designed to either kill them or make them stronger.
“Holy shit,” Andrea mumbled, her voice filled with genuine astonishment. She hadn’t been killed. She hadn’t dropped out. Months of classroom training, five to eight hours of hand-to-hand combat every day, surveillance techniques, warrant executions, firearms training and so much physical exertion that she’d gained four pounds of muscle, and now, finally, unbelievably, she was twenty yards out from becoming a deputy in the United States Marshal Service.
Thom streaked by on her left, which was such a fucking Thom thing to do. Andrea’s second wind rallied to spite him. Her brain felt dizzy from the burst of adrenaline. Her legs started pumping. She passed Thom and caught up with Paisley. They grinned at each other in triumph—three guys had dropped out in the first week, another three had been asked to leave, one had disappeared after making a racist joke, another after he’d gotten handsy. She and Paisley Spenser were two of only four women in the forty-eight-person class. Just a few more steps and it would all be over but for walking to the stage for graduation.
Paisley nosed just ahead of Andrea as they crossed the line. They both raised their arms in celebration. Paisley’s giant extended family whooped like cranes as they surrounded her in a warm embrace. All around her, Andrea could see similar scenes of joy. Every single face in the crowd was smiling but for two.
Andrea’s parents.
Laura Oliver and Gordon Mitchell both had their arms crossed. Their eyes followed Andrea as strangers congratulated her and patted her on the back. Paisley playfully punched her in the arm. Andrea punched her back as she watched Gordon take out his phone. She smiled, but her father wasn’t trying to take a photo of Andrea’s momentous achievement. He turned his back as he took a call.
“Congratulations!” someone yelled.
“I’m so proud of you!”
“Well done!”
Laura’s mouth was a thin white line as she watched Andrea move through the crowd. Her eyes looked moist, but these were not the tears of pride she had wept after Andrea’s first school musical performance or blue-ribbon win at the art show.
Her mother was devastated.
One of the senior inspectors offered Andrea a cup of Gatorade. She shook her head, teeth gritted as she jogged toward the row of bright blue porta-potties. Instead of choosing one, she walked around to the back, opened her mouth and basically threw up the lining of her stomach.
“Sh-hit,” Andrea sputtered, annoyed that she had figured out how to take down a bad guy using nothing but her fists and feet but she couldn’t control her own weak stomach. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her vision swam. She should’ve brought the Gatorade back with her. If she had learned anything at Glynco it was to hydrate. And also to never, ever let anyone see her throw up because this was the place you got your nickname for the rest of your career. She was not going to be known as Puke Oliver.
“Andy?”
She turned, unsurprised to find her mother offering her a bottle of water. If Laura was good at anything, it was rushing in to help without being asked.
“Andrea,” Andrea corrected.
Laura rolled her eyes, because Andrea had been telling her for the last twenty years to call her Andy. “Andrea. Are you okay?”
“Yes, Mom. I’m okay.” The water was ice cold inside the bottle. Andrea pressed it to the back of her neck. “You could at least pretend to be happy for me.”
“I could,” Laura allowed. “What’s the procedure on throwing up? Do the criminals wait until you’ve finished vomiting before they rape and murder you?”
“Don’t be gross. They do it before.” Andrea twisted open the cap on the water bottle. “Remember what you told me two years ago?”
Laura said nothing.
“On my birthday?”
Laura still said nothing, though neither of them would ever forget Andrea’s thirty-first birthday.
“Mom, you told me to get my shit together, move out of your garage and start living my life.” Andrea held out her arms. “This is what that looks like.”
Laura finally broke. “I didn’t tell you to join the fucking enemy.”
Andrea poked her tongue into her cheek. A ridgeline had formed along the inside of her mouth from clenching her teeth. She hadn’t thrown up in front of anybody. Not once. She was the second shortest student in the class, eking out an inch over Paisley at five-six. Both of them were fifty pounds lighter than the nearest guy, but they had both finished in the top ten percent and they had both just outrun over half of their class.
“Darling, is all of this Marshal bullshit some form of payback?” Laura asked. “You’re trying to punish me for leaving you out of the loop?”
Out of the loop was an understatement, considering Laura had kept it hidden for thirty-one years that Andrea’s biological father was a psychopathic cult leader bent on mass murder. Her mother had even gone so far as to concoct an imaginary biological father who’d died in a tragic car accident. Andrea would probably still believe her lies if not for the fact that, two years ago, Laura had finally been backed into a corner and forced to tell the truth.
“Well?” Laura demanded.
Andrea had learned a very hard lesson over the last two years, and that was that saying nothing could be just as hurtful as saying everything.
Laura gave a heavy sigh. She wasn’t used to being on the other side of the manipulation. Her hands went to her hips. She looked back at the crowd, then up at the sky, then finally turned her gaze back on Andrea. “My love, your mind is so amazing.”
Andrea filled her mouth with cold water.
Laura said, “The willpower and drive you’ve shown to get here tell me that you could do almost any job you wanted to. And I love that. I love you for your grit and determination. I want you to do what you’re passionate about. But it can’t be this.”
Andrea swished the water around her mouth before spitting it out. “Clown school said my feet weren’t big enough.”
“Andy.” Laura stamped her foot in frustration. “You could’ve gone back to art school or become a teacher or even stayed at the nine-one-one call center.”
Andrea took a long swig of water. Thirty-year-old Andrea would’ve taken everything her mother said at face value. Now, she only saw misdirection. “So, more debt, being surrounded by bratty kids, or listening to senior citizens whine about their trash not being picked up for nine dollars an hour?”