“I’m sorry, honey, but I’m going to be late.”
“I thought your shift ended at three?” Joyce said.
“There’s some Air Marshal going bananas down at Gate 12,”
“What?”
“She’s in custody. The FBI and Homeland Security said none of us could leave.”
“Is it some kind of terrorist thing?”
“No, but the Feds made us sign NDAs and they don’t want anyone who’s had contact with the Air Marshall to leave.”
“You TSA guys are Feds too. Why’re they in charge? Have you been exposed to something?”
“Naw. Nothing like that. I’m not even supposed to be on the phone. When they collected them, I gave them my burner. I’m sorry about our anniversary dinner. We can reschedule for this weekend.”
“Can’t you just write a statement and come on home?”
“No. I’ll explain everything when I get there. It’s just that…” Joyce heard a muffled voice in the background, then it sounded like the phone was being handled roughly before the call ended. A few moments later, her phone vibrated.
“Hello? Shirley?”
“This is Agent Barnes with the FBI. Who am I speaking with?”
“Where’s Shirley? Why are you on her phone?”
“Agent Crane is being remanded for non-compliance with an NDA,” he responded with peevish professionalism. “What information did Agent Crane share with you, Ms. Conrad?”
“She didn’t tell me nothing except that she was going to be late. It’s our anniversary. Why are you taking out whatever that Air Marshal did on her? Shirley’s good people.”
“A good person who divulged classified information, if your comment about an Air Marshal is anything to go by.”
“She’s a TSA agent. That’s her whole job – dealing with passengers and Air Marshals. There ain’t nothing secret about that.”
“Looks like you’re going to get to see your wife on your special night. Congratulations, by the way. I’m sending an agent to pick you up. Bring a change of clothes.”
Shirley slumped in a cold glass and steel cell in the airport’s TSA office. In an adjoining room a crisp haircut stared into Joyce’s soul.
“How long have you known Shirley Crane?” the haircut asked.
“We’ve been married three years. I dated her for four or five years before that and we ran in the same circles for a while before that. So, probably ten years or so.”
“How well do you know her family?”
“Her mama passed right after Christmas before last. Her daddy ain’t talked to her since he found out she was gay.”
“Siblings?”
“None. She’s an only child.”
“Then who’s this?”
The haircut signaled to the guard outside the door who brought in Shirley, but she was dressed differently and her hair was styled in a way that Joyce hadn’t seen before.
“Shirley, where’s your uniform?”
“I’m undercover. Who are you?”
“I’m your wife,” Joyce said.
“It’s against Federal law for two women to get married,” Shirley said.
Haircut signaled again. The other Shirley entered.
“Looks like a universe without you sucks,” she told Joyce.
Literature in Small Doses 