My lips began to tremble. The pressure I'd been feeling for months rose and swelled, and then I couldn't stop it. The world was blurry and my cheeks were wet, and no matter how hard I tried, it was like I'd forgotten how to breathe.
"I'm so sorry, Cammie. I'm so sorry."
"Where were you?" I could hear my voice breaking. "I needed you."
"Cam," my mother said softly. "I knew you were safe, sweetheart. The Baxters are good people - they're great operatives -"
"They're aren't my family. I needed you!"
"Sweetheart, believe me, I wanted to come to you, but it wasn't possible."
I wanted to believe her, but Agent Townsend was like a ghost, whispering in my ear.
They won't hurt her.
"Why didn't you come to London, Mom?"
"I told you, Cammie. I was detained."
It was the same phrase both Townsend and Professor Buckingham had used, but as I looked at my mother, I knew she hadn't missed her flight, been caught in a meeting, lost her passport. They had meant detained as in handcuffs and had cots and facilities run by the CIA.
"Detained how? Detained where? Langley?" I watched the light change in my mother's eyes and I knew that I was right.
"When an operative is accused of being a double agent, it's standard operating procedure for anyone associated with him of her to questioned. It's protocol, kiddo. It's nothing."
"What about the other teachers? Professor Buckingham? Mr. Smith? Why weren't they -"
"They were questioned, Cam. We were all questioned."
"Then why were you late? Why are you the only one just getting back to school now?"
"I've known Mr. Solomon the longest." She drew a deep breath. "I'm the one who hired him and brought him here, so naturally . . ." She trailed off. She didn't look at me for a long time. "But I'm back now." She caressed my hair. "You're safe." She pulled me to her, breathed deeply. "You're safe."
There are things that go unsaid between people lingering under the surface for decades, for lifetimes. I've wondered sometimes if spies have of those things of fewer. More, I think. There are just too many things that even the bravest of people in the world aren't brave enough to say out loud.
"Mr. Solomon came to me," I whispered.
My mother stepped away. "I know."
"He said they were wrong. He said he didn't do it - that they're after the wrong man.
I . . ." I thought about the sadness in him as he'd hugged me. "I believed him."
"Joe Solomon is an amazing operative, sweetheart."
"So -"
"Amazing operatives make the best liars." She sank onto the leather couch, seeming almost too weak to stand. "He's never coming back, Cammie."
In the years since my father died, I've seen my mother cry once, maybe twice, and never when she knew I could see her. But in that moment, tears welled in her eyes, and I didn't know is she was speaking of Mr. Solomon or of my father as she whispered, "He's never coming back."
Chapter Eighteen
Gallagher Girls don't skip class. We don't play hooky and there was never been a senior ditch day. Ever. But walking through the halls the next morning, I wanted to make an exception. I wanted to run - to hide like I'd never hidden before. To crawl back into bed and sleep a million years.
Turns out, I wasn't the only one.
"Good morning, Ms. Morgan."