Written in Fire

CHAPTER 47

“Daddy!” Kate squealed as she threw herself at him. Cooper hoisted her up, her little-girl bottom resting on his forearm, her face jammed into his shoulder, her arms wrapped around his neck and squeezing. She smelled like shampoo and cereal bars, and immediately began a nonstop monologue, how she’d missed him, even though he’d been here yesterday, how all the kids wanted to be her friends now that he was famous and how she was staying friends with the ones who had been her friends before and . . .

“Hey, Dad,” Todd said. He was trying a grown-up voice that didn’t match his goofy grin. He held out a hand to shake, and Cooper grabbed it, yanked his son into the embrace.

This is what you fought for. Not ideals, not compromise, not some vague notion of tomorrow. These two people right here.

“Hey, you,” Natalie said. There were dark circles under her eyes, but her smile was warm.

Three people.

“Hey, you,” he said, and gestured her to join them in a family hug. They all held on for a long time. Finally, he said, “This is probably a long shot.”

“What?”

“No, I feel silly.”

“Daddy, what?”

“Well, I was just wondering, is there any chance, and it’s okay to say no, but is there any chance that you guys would be interested in burgers and milkshakes?”

The kids ran about gathering their stuff, Todd’s coat and hat and d-pad, Kate’s worn lovey and new book and wasn’t her scarf cool? Cooper let them go, lapping up the warmth of it, answering questions, rifling their hair. Natalie seemed far away, and he glanced sideways at her, almost asked if she was okay, decided against it. Reached out for her hand instead and squeezed it.

The morning after the attack, the two of them had put on a brave face for the kids, saying that things hadn’t been that bad, never mind the burned-out buildings, the uniformed soldiers arriving in heavy trucks, the bodies still being collected, the smell of smoke and blood. It wasn’t until after the kids were in bed that they’d gotten a chance to talk.

Natalie had told him about the siege, calmly at first, then her eyes drifting away, her fingers tracing coffee rings on the table, her voice growing hollow as she described the day and the night. The things she had seen. The things she had done. That she wasn’t sure how many people she had killed but knew it was quite a few. That she had aimed her rifle and pressed the trigger and then done it again and again and again and again and again. That she had thrown flaming gasoline on living men, had heard their screams, smelled their hair scorching away, and then shot their comrades by the light of their burning flesh.

When she had cried, he had held her and whispered that it was okay, though they both knew that was a lie. He was a soldier, always had been, and it wasn’t the killing that wounded him so deeply, it was the idea of Natalie doing it.

“You didn’t have a choice,” he’d said, and she had nodded into his chest.

“I know.”

She wasn’t going to have a nervous breakdown, wasn’t going to question the reasons for her actions. She was fully aware of them. But he could see the change in her, see that her world had become a darker place, and he knew that she would probably carry that forever. Not every moment, not even most. But the weight would never really vanish.

You owe her everything. Every pure thing in your life has flowed from Natalie.

And you have given her nothing but fear and pain. You owe her more.

The things we do for our children, he thought. She had said that to him almost a year ago. He squeezed her hand again, and she blinked and smiled at him.

The diner was a madhouse, full to bursting with construction crews and research scientists and United States marines. But when the hostess saw him, she lit up like a forest fire, said, “Right this way, Mr. Cooper. We’ll make space.” Her voice was louder than he would have liked, and half the restaurant turned to look, pointing and shooting him nods and thumbs-up.

“Ohmygawwwd,” Natalie said. “Is that really you, Mr. Cooper? Can I have your autograph? Please, please, oh pretty please?”

He gave her the finger.

The food was greasy goodness, fries cooked crisp, burgers that tasted the way he remembered from when he was a kid, washed down by rich chocolate milkshakes. The four of them laughed and joked, falling easily into the long-held rhythms of a happy family. It was good; it was more than good.

Afterward, they went for a walk. Columns of dust rose into the cold blue sky in all directions as construction crews demoed damaged buildings. Pillars of dust were an improvement on pillars of smoke, he figured. They stayed near the city center, which was largely undamaged. When they happened on a playground, both kids flashed questioning looks, then raced off to join the other children in a free-form game of tag that operated under elaborate rules he couldn’t parse. Cooper and Natalie took a bench in the sun, sitting close.

“Would you look at that?” She smiled. “I know it’s just a playground. But still. They’re all playing together.”

“Do you think it will last?”

“We can hope, right?”

They sat together, bellies full, watching children play. A simple pleasure, one of the everyday joys that Cooper rarely got enough of, and he could have sat there forever in pleasant, companionable silence. Instead he said, “I spoke to the president today.”

“Ramirez? Really?”

He nodded. “She wants me to join the government.”

“Savvy PR move.”

“Yeah, but I get the sense she’s sincere. Made it clear I could pretty much write my ticket, be an ambassador, an advisor. Though she did have a suggestion.” He paused. “She asked me to come back to the DAR.”

“As an agent?” Natalie’s voice was incredulous.

“No,” Cooper said. “As the director.”

She whistled.

“I told her that I didn’t think there was a place for the old DAR now. She agreed. She wants to completely re-envision it, change it from a monitoring agency to, well, something new. Ethan’s formula is under wraps, but now that everyone knows it exists, there will need to be some sort of policy. Plus, there are still plenty of terrorist organizations out there, and hate groups on both sides. The president said she saw the new DAR not being solely about watching abnorms, but more about the intersection between . . .” He looked at her and trailed off.

Natalie’s spine was tight, shoulders bunched, her hands folded in her lap. One of her surest tells, one his gift had patterned long ago. It meant that she was thinking about their relationship and was about to bring it up.

It was a moment he’d dreaded, because though he loved her, would always love her, he was going to have to tell her that he wanted to be with another woman.

“Listen,” he said, at the same time that she said, “I’m sorry.”

They stopped awkwardly. “Go ahead.”

“I have to apologize. I don’t think I . . .” Natalie sighed. Rubbed her hands together. “Look. I never liked what you did, even though I understood. But it just kept getting harder. While we were together, and even after we split up. I was scared all the time. I’d be sitting in a meeting, or, I don’t know, folding Kate’s pajamas, and my imagination would just serve up these pictures, these vivid little daymares of things that could be happening to you. Ways you could be getting hurt, or . . .”

She sighed. “Anyway. Then you left the department and started working for President Clay. You were still trying to make things better, but you were safe. And maybe it was the worry, or maybe it was that I thought the worry was over, but somewhere in there, I started to wonder if we’d given up too easily.”

“Natalie, I—”

“Just let me do this, okay?” She stared straight ahead. “We’ve loved each other forever. And you’re a great dad, and . . . We were good together. Really good.”

He nodded.

“I thought I knew what your world was like. But I didn’t, not really. I’d been a tourist. The other night I lived there. All on my own. I did what I had to do. To protect the kids, same as you. But I hated it. I can’t live like that. I won’t.”

From the playfield, Kate waved, and Natalie waved back. “I know you’ve always thought your gift was our problem. But mostly it’s the world you live in. When you joined Clay, I pretended that you were leaving that life. But you haven’t. And now I understand that you can’t.” She turned to face him. “You can’t, babe. You’re too good at it. We need you. They need you. The next John Smith is out there somewhere.”

“Natalie—”

“I know I made this messy. I reached out to you. I don’t regret it. And I don’t regret”—she almost-smiled—“making love again. But I’m sorry, Nick. I was wrong. I can’t be with you. Not that way. I just can’t.”

He looked at her, at the face he had kissed a million times, the skin he knew every freckle and line of. The woman who had once been the first girl he’d fallen in love with. A woman who still managed to surprise him, despite his gift and their experience.

“Say something,” she said.

“I was just thinking,” he said, “that you’re amazing.”

“Oh, that.” She shrugged, smiled. “That’s true.”

Her hand reached for his.

Together they watched the children play.