Single Lady Spy 01 - The End of Me

know a Mr. Wilkes," I said softly.
    "Well, he’s in the office. I'll make them some supper." She pulled the kids in the house and smiled at me.
    "Thanks," I called after her.
    She laughed and walked away, "Worry about the important stuff, Evie." She walked into the kitchen and started making noise. The kid’s spoke to her about their day, she made things normal.
    I placed my coat down and walked down the hall to the office. I swallowed and opened the door to the study. An older man with glasses and a wrinkled face put his fingers to his lips, like he was pretending to scratch, "Mrs. Evans, it's so nice to see you again."
    I didn’t understand, but I went along with it and nodded, "Yes. How are you?" The question felt forced and awkward. I hadn’t played this game in a long time, and just the thought of it made my insides ache.
    He smiled gently and placed a package in my hands. He leaned in and whispered softly, "Meet me outside in five minutes. We can take a walk. Don't bring the package. Leave it in here."
    My stomach sunk.
    He pulled back and spoke in a loud voice, "Everything you need is in the package; the instructions are there. Everything is explained. Have a nice evening." He nodded and walked from the room. He was the first person not to tell me he was sorry for my loss.
    He closed the door and I took a deep breath. I looked around the room and wondered what he was whispering for, who he was, and what on earth I was holding? Was I being brought back in? Could they do that? Could I do it? It would solve my money issues, but I needed to be a mom for my children.
    I sighed and sat in the chair behind me; the government could do anything they wanted.
    His whispering and telling me not to bring the envelope, made me wonder if it was bugged. I could only assume if it was bugged, I was being brought back in.
    I felt sickness rolling around inside of me, as I slid my finger along the taped edge and braced myself for it.
    I stared down into the huge envelope. It contained three small things ; a phone, a Visa card, and a smaller envelope. The name on the Visa was an old name I had used once in Bangladesh, on a mission.
    My world spun. I felt as if I were outside of myself looking in. I stared at the name so long, my eyes fuzzed out on the letter. Macy Green…she was a dead travel agent.
    The door opened, making me jump up as I placed the envelope on the shelf next to me.
    "You want dinner too?" Mom asked, giving me a weird smile. She looked around the room.
    I shook my head and walked past her, "I need some air." I walked down the hall and grabbed my coat. I pulled it on and looked back at her, "Be right back."
    She tilted her head and watched me for a second, before her kind look returned. She knew the routine. I could see it in her eyes. She had played this game for a long time too.
    I leaned in and kissed her cheek, "Thanks." What I didn’t say was thanks for not asking and not needing to know. She never did, even when it had been my dad with the secrets and lies. She smiled and pretended everything was fine. She trusted. I couldn’t help but wonder, which parent had been right. The blind one who smiled through it all, or the one building the wall of bullshit. Having been on both sides, I preferred to know what I was facing.
    Her hands wrapped around my head, squeezing and holding me there, with a tremble. She whispered, "Hurry back. I'll keep a plate warm for you."
    I pulled back and walked through the front door. Mr. Wilkes waited across the street.
    Dressed in a trench coat and dark slacks, he looked like a lawyer, but I didn’t know what to expect from him. He could be one of them.
    My arms crept across my body, wrapping around me before I could even stop myself. I was holding myself together. I was vulnerable. I didn’t need to hide it; he already knew it, if he had been watching me.
    "You’re in a situation," his bold words stunned me.
    I stopped and watched his face for a sign of anger or violence. I would have to run, I was pretty sure I couldn’t fight anymore.
    He waited for me to hear his words and process them before he continued, "I'm not sure what your husband did for a living, beyond his day job. I'm not sure what you know, but I am sure you're in a terrible bind." He started walking away from me but continued talking as he walked, "He has left you a rather large pile to clean up."
    I jogged and caught up, "What do you mean?" Am I not being brought back in?
    He shook his head, "I can't