Full Circle: 1980 - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Fifteen

There is no cap and gown. There is no pomp and circumstance. On the surface, it is a day just like any other, but for the five remaining recruits of the Central Intelligence Agency's premier training camp, this day marks the beginning of a new lifetime.

Matt holds his bag in his hand, waiting for the Greyhound. There's something to be said for the idea that he was always going to end up here, one way or another. They say all roads lead to Rome, so maybe all of Matt's roads lead back to Hay Springs, Nebraska. He'll kiss his mama on the cheek and eat all of her leftovers straight from the Pyrex. He'll swing by Mr. Wilson's store and help string up the lights before Thanksgiving. He'll milk the cows in the morning, stop by Levi's bar at night, and most importantly, he'll tell his parents that after his long, hard months of training, he's finally being promoted.

They won't know everything, of course. From this point on, they never will, and the realization adds a bitter taste to sweet accomplishment. As far as Joy and Andrew Morgan are concerned, their son will rise through the ranks as an Army Intelligence officer, translating transcripts and writing reports until the end of his days.

His pops will be so proud.

His mama will be so relieved.

And it ain't like he's got a say in the matter. There's an envelope in his hand that lays out every lie he has to tell back home. For his own safety. For theirs. For the sake of national security.

A new lifetime, indeed.

"Second thoughts, Morgan?"

It's amazing how even with his graduation papers in hands, Lincoln's voice still strikes all kinds of doubt into Matt's soul. He stands a little straighter, holds his head a little higher, trying with all of his might to impress a man who no longer holds the future in his hands. "No, sir," he says, all strict and Army-like, but then he softens. "In fact, I've been meaning to thank you. For passing me. I know this wasn't an easy decision, and I won't let you down."

Lincoln shakes his head, long and slow. It's a new lifetime for him, too. Matt wonders if he changes with every new graduating class. "Don't thank me," he says, and he means it. Matt can see it in his stance. "If things went my way, you'd be back in the Army. But you've got some powerful friends who are rooting for you."

Matt's shoulders drop, and he looks to this grumpy old man at his side. Watches every tick of his lip, every squint in his eye. "You don't think I'll make a good agent," he says, and it's not a question.

Lincoln turns to him, too. "I think you'll make an excellent agent," he says. "Just as long as you're alive to do it."

It ain't the first time Lincoln has foretold Matt's death. It ain't even the second or third. But it's the sort of prediction that doesn't fade with frequency. Each time Lincoln says it, the possibility lands in Matt's chest as though for the very first time.

"Just promise me this," Lincoln goes on, and he lays a hand on Matt's shoulder. "If ever there's a time when it doesn't feel right—if ever there's a time when your gut is telling you that you need to quit, or that you shouldn't be doing this—you listen to that instinct, and you run. You run and you don't look back, do you hear me?"

Lincoln is a man of many solemn expressions, but this severity feels foreign. It takes Matt a moment to realize it's not an order. It's a plea.

But before he gets the chance to promise, the pair of them are interrupted by a bright, smiling voice over Matt's shoulder. "Look at you, hot stuff!"

Lincoln lets his hand fall and, entirely on accident, their conversation is over, surrendering instead to the undeniable presence of Abigail Cameron. "Bona fide field agent Matthew Morgan," she says, as though she can hear it ring. "Never thought I'd see the day."

Rachel is just at her back, far more covert than her counterpart. They both carry their duffles to the curb, and Matt spots a pair of envelopes that are identical to his own. He wonders what lies they'll have to tell when they get home.

"The Cameron sisters," says Lincoln, with more distinction than he has ever granted Matt. "They warned me about you two, and I still wasn't prepared."

Abby lands a hand on her hip, smile wide. "Could've used a little more challenge," she agrees. "Maybe step it up for the next round of recruits."

"We have notes," Rachel chimes in, just before she blows a big, pink bubble and lets it pop in her lips.

"I'm sure you do," says Lincoln, and he's smiling. This, more than anything, confirms that the sisters have superpowers, because when he looks back up at Matt, the smile is gone. "Take care of yourselves. And take care of each other."

"Yes sir," they say in unison, but Matt doesn't get the chance. By the time it occurs to him, Lincoln has already turned on his heel, leaving the three of them to face the world on their own.

When he turns, Abby's grinning at Matt like he's her favorite person in the world. It's a stark contrast to the last time he saw her, furious and paranoid. Righteousness seems to have faded just as easily as the bruises along his arm and it's as though nothing ever happened. "Look at us," she says. "We're gonna show them who's boss, Matt. Mark my words—the three of us will be the best that the CIA ever had."

He wants to smile with her. He wants to celebrate with her. But there's a hollow sense of something in his chest, and she's the only one who can fill it. "Abby—"

But he's cut off by the sound of tires turning across gravel. It's not his bus, but rather a sleek black Town Car. It acts as a trigger for the sisters, and the two of them spring into action with their duffles, and their backpacks, and the world at their feet.

"That's our ride," says Abby, and he doesn't understand. She's flipped a switch so fast that he hasn't had time to keep up with her. There are no apologies. There is no conversation. The two of them are simply supposed to be back on the same page, dear friends once more.

"Abby, wait—"

"Let me know when you're settled in Virginia again," she says, chucking her bag into the backseat. "We should finally go see that new Star Wars movie together."

"Are we okay?" he blurts it out. He can't help himself, no matter how silly, and clumsy, and overt it sounds. She won't let him get a word in, and they can't leave on bad terms. It would crush him, to exist in a world with Abigail Cameron and not be her friend.

She's still smiling at him, which must be a good thing, but he still can't be sure. Matt speaks five languages, but he still has a hard time decoding girl. As she closes the distance between them, he braces for the worst.

But the worst doesn't come. "You're sweet, Matt," she says. "You really are."

She leaves him with an easy, innocent kiss on his cheek, sweet as a song. Soft as a sigh. And maybe everything is alright after all.

Rachel whistles at her back, piercing the air. "Abagail," she says. "Let's go. We're going to be late."

Abby rolls her big brown eyes. "I'm coming," she says. Then with one last smile—that faint little grin that he so deeply adores—she waves her fingers at him and starts off toward the car. "See you around, hot stuff."

His bus pulls in around the corner, turning into the loop. Matt's bags are still at his feet and he watches the sisters as they leave. "Yeah." The bus door swings open for him. "See you around."