Firewatch Ch 2

Flores’s apartment is like her: small and tidy. She emerges from the shower, wraps herself in a towel, then dries her hair in the bedroom as she gazes at her packed suitcase. She doesn’t love traveling at the best of times, and traveling with zero notice is an annoyance. But she knew what she was in for when she chose the FBI over practicing psychiatry.

She puts on clean underwear and a shirt, then slides salmon into the oven and chops a salad. She fixes two plates and covers one with foil, then retrieves her work computer from her bag and reads the missing person report on Hailee Siegel while she eats. There’s very little to it. In fact, the only reason kidnapping comes into it is the insistence of her parents. Hailee lived at home before she disappeared. Local police understandably dismissed it as her running off with someone. The parents mentioned seeing her with an unfamiliar woman. Hailee is young, but she’s still an adult. Leaving home is not a crime, although mutilating cattle is.

Flores picks up her phone and composes a text to Wilde.

There’s a knock at the door. Flores closes the laptop and goes to answer it.

Meghan looks exhausted in her grubby khakis and flannel over a stained white T-shirt. She smells like sweat and sawdust. She’s not as tall as Alice Wilde, but she’s close, and she has muscles. Her tan is deep, her blonde hair is a mess, and she moves a little gingerly because she hasn’t fully recovered from throwing out her back a few weeks ago.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey.” Flores lets her in and locks the door, then gets on her toes for a quick kiss. “There’s dinner.”

They sit at the tiny table in the kitchen. Flores nurses a glass of wine as she watches Meghan eat.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Meghan says, taking a swig of beer.

“It happens.”

“There’s a kid on the crew who won’t wear a mask when he’s doing drywall. I just don’t get it.”

Flores is sympathetic. “My first partner never wore a seatbelt.”

Later, they’re cuddled on the couch, watching Hannibal, which Flores doesn’t mind. It’s an interesting show, although not the most authentic depiction of the FBI. Meghan likes all the gruesome murder, and Flores likes the costuming.

“I have to go out of town tomorrow,” Flores announces with a yawn.

“What? Since when?”

“Since today.”

“Where you going?” Meghan asks.

“Can’t talk about it.”

“Is this the new partner? What’s she like?”

“Picture a tall skeleton addicted to meth.”

“Are you saying she’s skinny or crazy?”

“Skinny.”

“Oh.” Meghan sighs and takes a drink. “How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. It’ll be Oregon, probably. We have to start in Idaho. I’ve never been to Idaho.”

“I thought you couldn’t tell me.”

“It’s OK to tell you that much.”

“Bring me back a mug.”

“A souvenir?”

“Yeah. Then put it in your bathroom so there’s somewhere for my toothbrush to go,” Meghan says, squeezing her.

“Do I get a mug at your place?”

“You’ve never seen my place. I might live in a cardboard box.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Flores says, leaning against her.