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lips.
    I can barely get out of bed on those days. My AA sponsor Marlene, a mother of three with her own troubles, has spent many an hour talking the bottle out of my hand after one of those. Hard to reach her when I'm in Tokyo though. Improvising, I woke poor Shannon to watch TV with me. She had to literally push me into the meeting with the telecom executives. Thank God Lane, our CFO, was there because I sure as hell couldn't concentrate. The Justin dreams are growing more frequent, not the once a month like usual, but twice a week for the past two weeks. I don't know if it's because the anniversaries are coming up or because of my new acquaintances. Both judging from the conversations Justin and I have in my dreams. It almost makes me want to sever ties. Almost.
    The Triumvirate is effective. Been in town two weeks and not only have they arrested Gigantor, stopped Carrion from raising an undead army, and rescued another shipment of sex trafficked children, thus ensuring Oleg Casanov will spend the rest of his life in prison. Nightingale and I cracked that last one just a few hours before I had to leave for Tokyo. I got an anonymous e-mail with the news story and picture of the Triumvirate carrying teenage girls out of a ship container, then another the next day as Feds arrested several key members of the trafficking ring as I stepped off my jet. They also closed down several brothels and a kiddie porn ring. Wished I was there to celebrate with them, that is if they ever celebrate.
    They are a serious bunch, especially Nightingale. It takes a lot to get him to talk, let alone smile. He grew friendlier as the days went on, even laughing when I smeared mustard on my nose and didn't know it. The other two only popped by once each and barely acknowledged me. At least they weren't hostile. I can't tell if they dislike me or think I'm inconsequential. Not that I give a shit but for the sake of being comfortable I hope those trafficking busts upgrades me from nuisance to ally in their eyes.
    I arrive home from the Galilee airfield at seven in the morning after an eighteen hour flight, fall into my bed, and get to sleep five whole hours before Dobbs wakes me. I'm so exhausted I didn't even dream. I have a luncheon for the Restoration Society at one, and I would cancel but it's my friend Bitsy's event, and she takes it personally when I don't show. She's been surprisingly helpful since I "re-entered society" after Justin's death. She was pretty great, not leaving my side for the first few events and politely telling assholes to shove their comments as they came. I'd known most of the people for twenty years, but was considered an outsider, there solely because Justin needed an escort. Once Ward trash, always Ward trash. Not that it stops them from inviting me so their charity/party/event gets press coverage.
    I put on my silk black/white/yellow swirl dress and huge floppy straw hat Isolde selected for this occasion. I'd look pretty damn good if not for the dark circles under my blue eyes. I'm too pale, close to sick looking even which makes my true black hair appear fake. Since it's a luncheon and I'll be sitting the whole time, I put on heels which adds a few inches to my 5"2' frame. I still look and feel like a kid playing dress-up.
    Dobbs fills me in on all I've missed in the three days I've been away on the drive to the Historical Society building. I tune out the story about the repairmen in the west wing as we cross over Pendergast Bridge. I drive over this testament to modern ingenuity twice a day but each time the memories flood back. Understandable though. I did try to kill myself on this bridge twenty-one years ago after my father was murdered. If that wasn't enough, that same night I met Justin and fell head over heels in love with him. He saved my life in so many ways. It's actually good to drive over this thing. Reminds me of why I go to these charity luncheons with those vapid women who thumb their surgically altered