text: The breeze tickled an uncovered area of my neck, and I pulled my scarf tighter. The only sounds of the forest were the rustling of leaves and birds chirping happily away in the branches. The Smokey Mountains rose and fell before me, the bright array of autumn colors on full display. I inhaled deeply; the crisp fall air tainted with smoke from some far-off chimney. This was my favorite time of year, a time when things changed, and the mountains painted a landscape that summoned people from all corners of the nation. The crunch of gravel and the low whine of an engine drew my attention. The crunching grew louder, and the familiar squeak of tired vehicle engine told me what I needed to know. A door shut quietly, and a loud knock brought a slow smile to my face. “Sandy?” “Out here,” I beckoned, taking a small sip from my honey whiskey that warmed my insides. The back screen door squeaked open and shut with force. The old rocking chair next to me groaned as weight settled onto it, followed by a long sigh. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” “You have the best view for miles,” my old friend Veronica agreed. “I picked up your mail on the way in.” “Anything interesting?” “A letter from the FBI. They want you to do another in-person training on criminal behavior and trends.” I scoffed, taking another small sip from my short glass. “Only if they let me do it virtually. Traveling is tiring.” “They should offer it as the sole method,” Veronica said through her teeth. A crooked smile graced my thin lips. We had worked together for years, former agents, now retired. Veronica lived not far from my small home in the mountains, opting to live closer to town. I opted for quiet and isolation, having my fill of people from eighteen years of federal service and dealing with the horrors of what people could do to one another. My porch and rocking chair and my small, rustic cabin suited me just fine. Veronica was the feisty one, always looking out for me. She wasn’t mothering or smothering me, it was more like a protective older sister. She had served her full twenty-five years, something I had not been able to do. “How’s the head?” Veronica pried, casually sipping from her own small glass of whiskey. I brought the bottle out, not knowing how much or how little I wanted this evening. The thought ticked up the corners of my mouth. It was great to be retired. Or so I told myself for the last twelve years. It’s good today,” I replied, and I wasn’t lying. My head throbbed most days, a fact that I soon came to accept. At least I could walk, and I had no serious illnesses, although Doc had scolded me about my whiskey drinking. “Glad to hear. I got more Ibuprofen and put the bottle on your counter.” “Thank you.” There was no sense in arguing or fighting her. We had gone round and round for some time over her contributions, but she always brought stuff anyways. Besides, her friendship was something I valued above all else, and if she wanted to do these things for me, then hell, let her. “Next doctor’s appointment is in two weeks,” I answered, anticipating her next question. I saw Doc twice a year and would do so for the rest of my existence. I reached to the right side of my head, facing away from Veronica and her position on the back porch. The concaved area was no longer sensitive to the touch, but it had been the shot that ended my career, and my life, for thirteen seconds. I retired medically, both by choice and not by choice. It took another fourteen months of physical therapy and speech therapy to regain the majority of my old self, although my speech still slurred from time to time. Maybe that was the whiskey , or so I joked with myself. The comfortable silence stretched between two old friends. The birds quieted their chatter as the sun found its bed below the horizon. “I have chili in the crockpot,” I offered. “Why do you think I’m here?” Veronica joked. I cracked a laugh that echoed down across the hills. The wind picked up and smell of chili wafted from inside. The whiskey settled, and I could feel my cheeks warm, even though the evening breeze bit through my scarf. “Can you respond for me and tell them I’ll do it, but only virtually?” “Of course. I don’t know how you do it. You’re the bravest women I know, you know that?” I chuckled, knowing what she said she meant, but also knowing that the whiskey loosened her lips. “ You are dear, and you know why,” I retorted. She had shot the bastard that shot me, the end of four years of stalking a serial killer. She was my hero. “You know what I mean,” she sighed, reaching across to pat my hand. “It’s almost as if you never lost your sight. You’re strong, capable--the same you were when I met you.” I shrugged. “Losing one thing means gaining another. Life has a balance, a force that must be reckoned with.” I thought back to my divorce. He had lasted only a few months after the shooting. Although I wasn’t completely surprised as our marriage was already rocky, I was surprised by the timing. He couldn’t deal. He had never been able to deal with anything remotely uncomfortable or stressful, the very definition of the job I did. We had just not been compatible, blinded by the excitement and lust phase and too young and naive to see what it truly was. And he had left me in my most vulnerable state. The loss was just that, a loss. It poured acid on the already disastrous mental and physical state of, well, me. But as time went on, I healed, and realization eased it way in, along with the understanding that we were not meant to be. One night years later, I forgave him and let it go, and he simply vanished from my heart and mind just as the smell of chili hitting the mountain breeze. Veronica drew me back to the present. “And what have you gained?” Her voice grew closer, and I knew she was looking at me. I thought for a moment, the answer immediately springing into my mind. I thought of the trees, the rustling of their leaves that would soon be frosted with white snow. The mountains stretched on and dipped down into the valley, a sight I had seen but once before my sight dissolved into a great abyss. But once was all I needed. “Peace,” I answered, taking my last small sip of honey whiskey.