Third Time's the Charm

I.

The first time he meets her, it's her photograph.

...

He's finishing another routine check up when Dr. Chandler asks him what he misses most about home.

Ma'am?, he replies, confused. She's never asked about his personal life before.

I'm just curious, she replies, you don't have to answer if you don't feel comfortable.

He thinks about it for a moment. I miss going out to the corner bar and getting a beer and greasy appetizers.

She laughs loudly and he can't help but smile in response. What's so funny? I'm serious!

That sounds like something Catherine would say, she answers, and then clarifies, my oldest daughter.

Vincent chuckles, she sounds like my type of girl.

He realizes how awkward it sounds as soon as he says it, and tries to apologize. I didn't mean...

Dr. Chandler shakes her head and laughs again, I know.

A silence falls between them and he notices her smile fade away.

You must miss them.

A wistful look crosses her face, and she nods. Every day, she says, then turns to him and smiles. But the work we do here will make the world a safer place for them, so it's worth it even if I have to leave them behind.

He doesn't know what to say to that, he was never very good with words, so he's relieved when a beeping starts coming from her coat pocket. She pulls out her phone and gives him an apologetic smile.

If you'll excuse me, Vincent, there's somewhere else I need to be. I'll see you at your next check up.

She starts to walk away when he thinks of something. Dr. Chandler, he calls after her.

She turns around mid-step. Yes, Vincent?

Does it get easier? Being away from them?

She gives him a small smile, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

No, she shakes her head. It never does.

She disappears into the hall and he sits up, her words ringing in his ears. No, it doesn't get easier, so he can only hope that it'll all be worth it in the end, for her sake, for her daughters'.

He gets up to leave and his elbow catches her purse, sending it tumbling to the ground. Her wallet falls out and when he picks it up, a piece of paper flutters to the ground. He reaches down. It's a photograph of two women - an old picture, judging by the frayed edges - with their arms wrapped around each other, bright smiles on both of their faces. These must be her daughters.

They're both beautiful, but the one on the left - wearing a tiara and holding a bouquet - there's something about her. There's something about her eyes, a brightness that draws him in, and he can't look away.

He sees a crease along the picture and tries to smooth it out, his finger brushing over her cheek.

(Many years later, it's her hand on his cheek.)

He tucks the photo into the wallet and places it back in her bag, but not before noticing the faded ink on the back, the delicate cursive - Catherine's birthday, 2001.

Catherine, he says out loud.

And that was the first time.