1:00 pm
San Jose
Finally a little vacation time! Got up early to hit the beach for some early-morning surfing instead of a run. Dean, Dave, Matt, and Ryan went along. Dean set it up yesterday, got the boards and gear and everything so we could hit the waves early. Was beautiful—nice waves, peaceful, quiet. Well, except for all the cursing and yelling ‘cause we suck at surfing, ha ha. I haven’t surfed in years—decades. I was a kid last time I really tried. Boogie boarding doesn’t count, apparently—longboard is totally different. It’s fucking hard! We were out there two hours, and I finally managed to hold on to a wave and ride it all the way in a couple times by the end. Had a blast though the water was COLD. Even the wetsuit didn’t help – my nuts sucked up so far inside my body cavity when that first wave hit I swear they still haven’t come back down. I’ll be half an octave high at the show tonight, ha ha.
Costa Rica is such a beautiful country, amazing beaches. Southside comes here all the time. He has a place on the beach north of San Jose. Maybe I should take him up on his offer to use it, maybe this winter during the break. Kids would love it, especially Jess. Jess and I could take surfing lessons – not sure Jake and Romey would be ready. Steph wouldn’t be interested – she’d want to shop or hang out on the beach. Cate may actually want to surf—don’t know if she can or not. Wouldn’t surprise me if she’s done it before. She’s had lots of adventures I’m still learning about.
Actually, this might be the perfect place for Cate and me to slip away and finally enjoy that honeymoon I’ve been promising her for almost a year now. I wanted to take her to Italy in August but she insisted I spend the break with the kids. She could tell how much I missed them. What she said made me almost choke on the lump in my throat: “Jon, we have the rest of our lives to live our honeymoon. You only have a fleeting moment to watch your kids grow up. Be with them, I’m not going anywhere.”
How did I get so damned lucky to find her? I always thought Dorothea was my forever, the only woman who would understand me. After we split I figured I would spend the rest of my life with female companions, not a soulmate. But Cate – it’s like she and I are two halves of the same whole. Together we’re complete, apart we’re both a little empty. I’m the luckiest man on earth – I’ve had two great loves. I just keep rubbing that horseshoe in my ass and saying my prayers. I’m one Lucky Fuck.
6:45 pm
Cate called when we were finishing soundcheck. I was working so she left me a voicemail. She’s on a plane now, I can’t reach her. She’s on her way to fucking Bogota, Colombia. She can’t tell me why, just that it’s for work, it was a no-notice trip for a case. She’ll be at the Embassy tonight.
She says she’ll call me after the show and not to worry, but FUCK, how can I not? What the hell is Cate doing with this case that she has to jump a plane to the fucking Cocaine Capitol of the World with a couple hours’ notice?
I HATE HATE HATE her job. I hate that she has to run off to these dangerous damned places. The NY field office seemed like the perfect solution when she moved there after Cali – she could still be a cop and work cases and keep her career, and we could be together. She could come home to me, to OUR house.
The guys at the NY office were great at first, letting her do leave without pay to travel with me when she wanted to. They had her working financial crimes, plenty of that in NYC. She could tell me a little about that—no names or details or anything but she admitted she’s one of the agency’s leading experts when it comes to asset tracking and money laundering. I was glad—that sounds pretty safe.
I guess it’s not when you think about it. Who do cops try to catch by following their money trails? Not just the fucking Bernie Madoffs of the world. They track terrorists and drug kingpins, and with Cate’s military experience she’s obviously damned good at it. She got more and more into these cases, started working longer hours and weekends. Wasn’t such a big deal when I was on the road, in truth I was glad she had work to keep her busy. She’s not the kind of woman who can just sit around or wander around the city or shop her way up and down Fifth Avenue. Then she started going away more and more to places she couldn’t tell me, chasing terrorists or narcs or who the fuck knows who else.
She always tries to let me know where she is and she checks in with me when she can, but sometimes its days between her calls. Like when she does surveillances. That drives me fucking insane, waiting for her to call and tell me she’s okay. And when she does call half the time she has to leave a message because I’m in a meeting or onstage or sleeping or on a damned plane myself. I try not to let her see how much that bothers me. I don’t want her worrying about me or being distracted from what she has to do. I want her to be focused on her safety, not on my feelings. But it kills me to know she’s potentially in danger and there’s nothing I can do to protect her.
And God forbid, if something ever happened to her how long would it take for me to find out? She assures me somebody is always watching, always monitoring her when she’s operational (she talks about it so clinically, so detached), and that there would be lightning-quick response if something ever went bad. But how long would it take for somebody to let ME know what happened? What could they even TELL me? Just that my wife is in a hospital somewhere and that they’ll keep me posted? “Sorry, we can’t disclose what happened?”
I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to her. I can’t comprehend that, can’t wrap my head around it. I pray to God I never have to find out. God, just keep her safe, bring her home to me. I believe that she’s not taking any unnecessary risks. She’s too good at what she does to be stupid. But there are necessary risks—it’s the nature of the business. That’s what scares the fuck out of me. These are not stable people she deals with out there. They are criminals, with an utter and complete disregard for life. For the life of MY WIFE.
I wish she was still teaching. She was safe at the Center, and she loved her job. She was brilliant at it. It’s my fault she’s not there anymore. She gave up so much for me. She says it doesn’t matter, that she did it for US, not for me. That’s not entirely true – it DOES matter. She was on her way to the top. She gave up a promotion and a Branch Chief position and an instructor job she loved, all because I asked her to. I don’t regret it, but I feel guilty about it. How can I not? We all have to make sacrifices in our life, but the one she made for me is huge. I didn’t offer to give up anything about my career for her, she had to change her life to fit mine. I don’t thank her enough for that. I should thank her every day for loving me and for putting up with me and for being brave enough to take a chance on me.
Okay, I’m a selfish bastard. I want her to stop. I want her to quit. I want her to travel with me so I don’t have to leave her behind every time I get on a plane. I want her to see me at work, to really see what I do, to be part of the team. I want her to be there to fill the emptiness of those hotel rooms and these fucking tiny stadium dressing rooms. I want to be able to look at her and catch her eye and see her smile. I want her to hold my hand when I’m tired and to kick my ass when I’m being a prick. I want to show her the world in a way she’s never seen it. I want to give her anything her heart desires; I want to give her EVERYTHING.
But I can’t give her everything. I can’t give her her career. If she quit for me, I would be taking away something that is a part of her. I know how that feels – I was once on the other end of that type of ultimatum. I couldn’t walk away from music, even for my family. I can’t ask Cate to give up a part of herself for me, even for love. I love her too much to ever do that to her.
So I get to just sit here and worry myself stupid and scribble in this damned journal and count the minutes until I can talk to her and know she’s safe. And then I have to go out on that stage and pretend like everything’s okay and I’m happy to be here singing for all these strangers when the only place I want to be is locked away in my house with Cate in my arms, where it’s safe and we’re alone.
It’s so fucking unfair.
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