Her momentary silence was finally broken when she said, “I think that’s the best vacation. Trips that make you feel things, even if I cry happy tears.” Then wanting to know what he was doing, she asked, “How was your day? Did you survive more of my spreadsheets?”
“Barely. I have a newfound respect for your organizational skills. Also, Timothy called from his mission. It’s going well, but he complained that he can’t get real coffee. I promised to have some waiting when he gets back.”
They chatted for the next hour, an easy conversation that ranged from work updates to Mary’s detailed descriptions of the tea room and Diane’s stories. She mentioned Colin too, trying to be kind but honest about his tendency to dominate conversations.
“He means well. Just talks a lot. I think he’s lonely more than anything. But I was hoping for more one-on-one time with Diane. She’s fascinating, and I feel like we could really talk if it was just the two of us.”
“Maybe you’ll get that chance later in the trip,” Bert said. “How’s the ship itself? Is everything still accessible and working well?”
“It’s perfect. The crew is attentive without hovering, and the other passengers are friendly. A few of them have started including me in conversations naturally, which is nice. Sometimes people don’t know how to approach wheelchair users in social settings.”
“It’s their loss if they don’t.” His voice lowered. “You’re one of the most interesting people I know.”
Mary’s chest tightened hearing those words. Bert had a way of saying things that felt significant even when they were wrapped in casual conversation. She stared at their picture for a long moment, trying to decide how to respond. Deciding to be honest, she said, “I miss having you to talk to in person. Talking on the phone is good, but it’s not the same as sitting on your porch with a beer.”
“I miss that too. Your house is dark, and it feels weird not having you there. I keep expecting to see your lights come on.” His voice was rough, his words scraping over her.
She felt tears prick her eyes unexpectedly. This was what she’d been trying to escape, this careful dance where they both admitted they missed each other but never quite said what that meant. The longing that built between them in moments like this, separated by miles but somehow still connected.
“In just a little over a week,” she whispered. “Then I’ll be back, and you can tell me in person how much you missed me.” She held her breath, wondering how he would respond.
He didn’t make her wait. “I’m counting on it, Mary. Sleep well. Dream about Anne and her friends… and me.”
She wiped the tear that escaped. “Good night, Bert.”
She set her phone aside and stared out the window at the dark water beyond. The ship’s lights reflected on the gentle waves, and in the distance, she could see the faint glow of the mainland. Today had been wonderful. She’d visited places she’d dreamed about since childhood and made memories she’d treasure forever.
But her heart kept pulling back toward Montana. Toward a man who told her good night and remembered that her favorite books might make her cry happy tears. Toward a friendship that felt like it should be something more.
Mary closed her eyes and let the rocking of the ship lull her toward sleep. Tomorrow they’d visit more historic sites, explore fishing villages, and experience more of Maritime Canada’s beauty and culture.
But tonight, she let herself miss Bert. Let herself wonder what he was doing, if he was thinking about her, if he felt this same ache of wanting more. Tomorrow she’d focus on the adventure, but tonight, she just missed the man who filled her life with joy.
18
Bert stood in the armory, checking off items on his tablet as he handed Casper the specialized rifle requested for the upcoming surveillance operation. The weapon was perfectly calibrated, cleaned, and tested just that morning, and Bert had personally verified the scope alignment.
“Should be perfect,” Bert said, logging the equipment assignment. “I upgraded the night vision scope to the newer model. Better clarity in low light conditions.”
Casper examined the rifle with his usual methodical precision, his movements economical and silent. After a moment, he nodded once. “Good. Thank you.”
Casper was a man of few words, and Bert had learned to read Casper’s minimalist communication style. That single nod conveyed approval, satisfaction, and gratitude in one efficient gesture.
Frazier was next, collecting gear for a protection detail in Denver. Bert walked him through the equipment list: body armor, communications gear, a standard sidearm and backup, a tactical flashlight, a first-aid kit, and the portable jamming device they’d recently acquired for situations when electronic surveillance was a concern.
“This jammer is new,” Bert explained, demonstrating the controls. “Thirty-foot radius, blocks cell signals, GPS tracking, and most listening devices. Battery life is about six hours continuous use, eight if you’re cycling it on and off.”
“Nice.” Frazier tested the weight and balance of the device, nodding approvingly. “This would have been useful in Mexico last month. I had to improvise with some sketchy equipment we borrowed from the Mexican police.”
“That’s why we invested in our own. Can’t always rely on what other agencies have available.” Bert logged the jammer in his system, noting the serial number and expected return date. “You leave tomorrow morning?”
“Zero five hundred. Should be a straightforward detail, but you know how those go. ‘Straightforward’ usually means something unexpected happens.” Frazier gathered his gear and headed toward the door, then paused. “Hey, any word from Mary? Has she made it to Prince Edward Island yet?”
Bert felt his expression shift despite his attempt to stay neutral. “Yeah, she’s there. She was pretty excited about it.”
“Good for her.” Frazier’s grin turned knowing. “You must miss having her around. You two are pretty tight.”
“She’s a good friend,” Bert said, the words automatic but inadequate.