It was a close shave.
Very close, actually.
It was the sort of touch-and-go moment in a person’s life that, in shaving terms, left razor burns on your cheeks where the blade scraped sensitive skin too close and at the wrong angle.
I had been prepared to give up my wife so she could have a better life.
Claire had saved our marriage, and for that, I was eternally grateful.
In denying my sanctimonious self-pity, she probably saved me from a slow, miserable death as a homeless person or something far worse… suicide.
That night, I met the real Buckley. Discovering Diana Von Rigg was the start of something new for Claire and me. The next morning after a fateful night, my wife gave up her shitty job, and we had money from which she could make a new, comfortable home for us in the apartment Diana loaned.
Diana Von Rigg was on the rise, Erin’s favored ally, and, as a result, I was happy to be on a stakeout late at night in freezing cold horizontal rain, doing her bidding. I wasn’t complaining at all, unlike my beat partner, who shivered like an early newborn lamb in the freezing winter.
“What the fuck are we doing out here, Trevor?”