The Perfect Pieces

Author's note:

Chapter 13 of 13. Thank you Tim413413 for selfless editing.

The Perfect Pieces - Chapter 13

Deputy Secretary of State Singer was having an especially difficult day. Four meetings and nothing resolved, problems piled on her desk and a sinking feeling she was accomplishing nothing of value in her life. The world was no safer since she had joined the State Department twenty years ago. She could no longer find the drive that had driven her up the ranks. Cynicism had quelled her desire.

The meeting with the Iranian ambassador's secretary was especially painful. He was a hardliner and thought the administration was insulting him by providing a female contact. It was all she could do not to slap some sense into him. Half the damn world was women and the idiot thought them unworthy of making decisions. He spent most of the meeting refusing to speak English, though he had attended Stanford, and dropping veiled insults to her gender. She let her anger get the best of her when he demanded water. There was a pitcher right in front of him and he expected her to pour it. He didn't expect it any more. He left in a huff without his glass of water.

She had been teetering on resigning for weeks. Leave the world to its own devices and concentrate on her own damaged life. Her marriage had suffered greatly. It was still hanging on, more due to Byron, her husband. Infinitely patient, he would tolerate her necessary absences and sooth her when things went sour. Lately, she had been less than cordial with him. The weight of the job and its seemingly endless problems made her cranky and Byron was forced to absorb it.

When did the job become more important than Byron? Strangely, it was when she began to lose faith. The less she trusted her work, the more important it became. A weird inverse relationship had developed and she was being sucked into its vortex. She felt wasted. Useless. When was the last time she ravished Byron for the sake of love? She had trouble liking herself anymore.

There was a knock on the door that woke her from her thoughts. More problems she thought.

"Come in," she called out. Sam entered, his red hair hiding his age as usual. It gave him a whimsical look that belied his attention to detail. He was holding an opened postal package. Everything was opened nowadays. The anthrax scares had seen to that.

"More problems?" she asked, indicating the package. Sam smiled, something rare on his face. He was usually overly serious.

"Something not unpleasant, I think," Sam said. He placed the package on her desk and uncharacteristically stayed for her reaction. She pushed aside the protective wrapping paper to reveal a stained glass white bird and a stained glass red rose bloom. She pulled them out, turning them around. They were well done, with small loops at the top to allow them to be hung.

"There's a note," Sam said, indicating the package. He was happily anxious. She reached in and pulled out a handwritten note.

I deserve none of the freedom or love you have given me, so I share it with you. I will do my best to see that your trust is not wasted.

Samantha Amber Winslow

P.S. Lizzy made the rose. She says hi.

Singer held up the freedom dove and the lovely rose again. A smiled crossed her lips. "You're right Sam, not unpleasant at all." It was not what she expected. She had second guessed her dealings with Mark Winslow over and over. One of her failings she had thought. She was sure he brought the child to toy with her emotions and enhance his bargaining power. She allowed it to happen, giving him what he wanted more for the child's sake. He had weakened her opinion of her country and of herself. She had thought it a low point. Now, maybe not so low. Maybe she was exactly where she needed to be. The world needed someone who thought with more than guns and hate.

She took the suncatchers and held them up to the natural light from the window. The light broke through the glass, changed colors and brought a smile to her lips. She mounted them on the upper window, using the groove of the bottom window to hold them in place. "Freedom and Love," she said, "what do you think of them Sam?"

Sam liked the expression on Singer's face. He had feared was she losing hope and he, his mentor. The gift was especially timely. "For this office," Sam said, his smiling growing, "they are the perfect pieces."

The End.