by Mike Lupica
Only Zach didn’t think of them as regulation business trips. No one did. His dad worked for the government—worked for the president, actually—and Zach would often see him described as a “troubleshooting diplomat” in the newspapers or when he was being introduced on one of the TV news shows.
Zach didn’t quite know what his dad did on these trips, but he had a feeling his dad was saving the world one bad place at a time. One time Zach had asked him what it was like, working for the president, and his dad had said in a quiet voice, “I work for the good guys.”
He had gone off to Europe this time, some top-secret location Zach and his mom weren’t allowed to know.
“That darned national security thing again,” his dad had said, almost trying to make a joke of the danger he was probably going to be in.
But it was never a joke to Zach.
People—adults mostly, but kids at school, too—seemed to think every day was like some kind of holiday if you had a famous father. And Zach had to admit, no way around it, that it was a pretty cool deal, being Thomas Harriman’s only child.
Except, it was way more cool when he was actually around.
A few months ago, his dad had been in Africa, and the news reports had showed him celebrating with some people he had led back across the border from South Africa into Zimbabwe. At the time, a commentator on CNN had said, “When this country needed him, there he was. Maybe Tom Harriman’s real job is hero. And he goes wherever that job takes him.”
But, see, that was it right there. That was the problem, to Zach’s way of thinking.
The job kept taking his dad. He seemed to belong to the world.
And when you were fourteen, as Zach had just turned, the world that mattered the most to you was your own. Zach Harriman’s world was his dad and his mom. It was Alba, Zach’s nanny when he was younger, the family’s housekeeper and cook now. And it was Kate, the fabulous Kate, Alba’s daughter, because she and her mom lived with the Harrimans in their amazing apartment on Fifth Avenue—the top three floors of the great old brownstone Zach’s eyes were fixed on now as he crossed the park.
Any kid wanted to have a dad who was brave and respected and famous, no doubt. And a hero, throw that in, too. Yet more than anything, Zach just wanted his dad to be home.
And he would be home tonight, flying his own plane as usual, landing it at Teterboro Airport over in New Jersey. Then he’d head back to the city by car.
Back home, Zach thought.
So Zach should have been happy. Like over-the-moon happy, not a care in the world. He should have been killing time the way he usually did, because it was still only five o’clock and his dad wasn’t scheduled to walk through the front door until seven at the earliest.
Only Zach wasn’t happy. He was in a hurry, and a big one.
Starting to run.
And the thing was, he never rushed through the park unless he got caught in some kind of storm and had to beat it home. Other people might think of Central Park, built right in the middle of Manhattan, and think of the trees and green grass, the tennis courts, summer concerts, softball fields, skating rink, more water than most people knew about. And the zoo. And Zach was cool with all that.
But for Zach, Central Park was his own backyard.
The park was a place where he could be alone and not feel alone, where he could run the reservoir or kick a soccer ball around or just wander aimlessly and never be bored. Or stop and watch kids play touch football and pretend that he was in the game with them, that he was just a regular kid.
Sometimes he would walk over to the West Side after school—by himself—and spend an hour at the Museum of Natural History. Go hang with the dinosaurs who used to roam the earth the way his dad did now.
But not today.
Today he was running.
Running like he was being chased. Scared of something without knowing what.
Running hard.
He was close to Fifth Avenue now, could see he was going to make the light, didn’t slow down as he crossed the avenue, nearly clipping a nanny he recognized from the neighborhood who was pushing a baby stroller.
He waved and yelled, “Sorry, Veronique!”
Then he slowed down just a little, like his dad downshifting one of his sports cars, as Lenny the doorman opened the front door for him.
“We need to talk about those Knicks,” Lenny said.
“Later!” Zach said.
He took a hard right in the lobby, nearly skidding into the wall, heading for the elevator, the one that opened right up into the first floor of the apartment. Knowing the elevator would be waiting for him.
It was.
He took one last look over his shoulder, feeling totally whacked doing it, because he realized what he was doing. Looking to see if the Bads were gaining on him.
The elevator dinged and groaned and began to rise. Zach felt his stomach flip, as though the short ride up was a roller coaster.
The doors opened. Zach walked into the apartment, rounded the corner to the living room. Stopped dead in his tracks.
And he knew.
He knew before he saw all of them. Everyone staring at him with big eyes.
Sad eyes.
The saddest of all belonging to his mom, who clearly had been crying. His mom, who never even wanted anyone to see her crying at the movies.
The whole family was there. Alba. Kate. And John Marshall, the family lawyer, Uncle John to Zach his whole life, even though they weren’t actually related.
With them were two policemen, staring at Zach along with everybody else.
Right there and then, Zach knew his dad wasn’t coming home tonight. Wasn’t coming home, ever.
He’d had it wrong, as it turned out.
The Bads hadn’t been chasing him across Central Park after all.
They had been waiting for him here.
3
ZACH couldn’t sleep that night.
He was cried out by the time he went to bed. Hugged out. Worn out.
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t sleep. He was alone now. No one to tell him he was going to get through this, over time. He knew the truth. That even when he did get to sleep, even when it was tomorrow, nothing was going to change. Nothing was going to make him feel better.
Nothing was going to bring back his dad.
Finally, a little past one in the morning, he slipped out of his room and quietly walked down the stairs, happy to see that all of the lights were out on the main floor of the apartment.
Zach opened the door to his dad’s office, next to the den, where the two of them would watch games on the big-screen TV.
There was a huge desk in there, what had seemed to be the size of a battleship to Zach when he was younger. On the walls were photographs of his dad with famous politicians and other celebrities. One wall had nothing but photographs of the family. All of them smiling. All of them happy.
There was his dad’s Harvard football jersey mounted in a glass case, a gift from Zach’s mom.
The first varsity letter he’d gotten in football.
Two of the walls had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves built into them, with so many books Zach had always wondered how his dad fit them in here.
He could still smell his dad in here, feel him. Could still hear his voice, his laugh, the jazz music he always had going when he was sitting behind the desk.
He remembered the last time the two of them had been in here together. It had turned into perhaps the most painful memory of all.
I barely had time for him.
Me, Zach thought. The kid who was always complaining about my dad being away.
And the last time I saw him?
I practically blew him off.
It had been a Thursday night. A school night, of course. But both Zach and Kate had two free periods to begin their Friday morning schedule, meaning neither one of them had a class until ten-thirty. So they’d hatched a plan at dinner to go to the movies.
No big deal
at the time. There was no reason to feel as if he were ditching his dad because his dad wasn’t supposed to be leaving for Europe until Saturday morning.
He’d poked his head into his dad’s office to say good-bye. His dad was on the phone and he’d held up a finger to Zach. I’ll be just a moment.
Zach checked his cell for the time.
“Piece of cake,” his dad was saying.
The tone of his voice was pure Dad, the usual quiet cockiness Zach would hear when he talked business, even when Zach knew it was the president of the United States on the other end of the line.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tom Harriman said, clearly wanting to wrap things up. But sounding hot at the same time. “No, you listen to me: sometimes the ones who tell you not to fight are the ones you should fear the most. The ones who say they want me to sit something out for my own good.” Then he nodded and said, “Talk to you when I get back.”
He placed the receiver in its cradle, calmer now, and said to Zach, “Hey, big boy. You off with Miss Kate?”
“She really wants to see this one. Swears it’s funny.”
“That’s what your mother always tells me.” Then his face turned serious. “Listen, I might have to take off earlier than I thought. They just sprang it on me.”
Zach said, “Dad, you just got back. Now you gotta leave . . . when?”
“Dawn’s early light. The boy with two frees to start the day will be sound asleep.”
Zach didn’t say anything. But his face must have told his dad everything. Tom Harriman said, “I know we haven’t seen much of each other the past few months.”
Before Zach could respond, they both heard Kate from upstairs calling Zach’s name. The movie wasn’t starting for another forty-five minutes and they were only a ten-minute walk from the theater, but Zach knew by now that Kate operated on her own timetable.
His dad said, “So I’m guessing the Knicks-Celtics game on TV tonight is out of the question?”
“Aw, Dad, you’re killing me. But Kate will kill me if I bag on her now. So I’d better bounce.”
“I get it,” his dad said. “And you know why I get it? Because I’m a guy, that’s why. We’ll catch a real game at the Garden when I get back. Many games.”
They were words that Zach’d heard plenty of times before from his dad. Maybe once too often.
“Yeah,” he said to his dad, “sounds like a plan.”
“Next time I’m back, I promise it won’t seem like just another quick break from being gone again. Swear on our lucky coins.”
Something else Zach had heard before.
“Okay,” Zach said.
He could hear Kate in the foyer now, calling his name again. Time to go.
“You can wake me before you go if you want. I won’t mind, promise.”
“Wouldn’t think about it,” his dad answered. Zach started to move out the door, but his dad stopped him. “Hey, Zacman?”
“Yeah, Dad?”
“Be good.”
“Always, Dad. Gotta roll now, though.”
His dad was asleep when Zach got back from the movies. Gone when Zach woke up in the morning.
Gone for good.
4
IT had been a full month since his dad had died in the plane crash, nowhere near Teterboro Airport. Instead, the Learjet had gone down on the eastern end of Long Island, closer to the Harrimans’ summer home in East Hampton than to Fifth Avenue.
Three weeks since the big funeral.
Two weeks since Zach had gone back to school.
Sometimes Zach could go a whole ten minutes without thinking about it.
Sometimes not.
Accepting it, that’s what the grown-ups said he had to do. Even Kate said he had to find a way to deal with his dad’s death and start moving on, which sort of figured, since Kate seemed to know more about things than most grown-ups Zach had met.
So he was: dealing with it, accepting it, coming to terms. All the different ways of saying it he got from the grief therapist his mom had sent him to see.
Absolutely, he wanted to say to the woman, Dr. Abbott. I think I’ve pretty much got it now. A month ago I’m strolling through the park, literally, with one life—one life and two parents—and now I’ve got another one.
Life, that is.
Yeah, no worries, Doc.
The kid who’d wanted his dad to be home more now had one who wasn’t coming home ever. The kid who just wanted to be regular was never going to be regular again. The kid who didn’t want to feel so alone felt more alone than ever. Check, check, check.
Zach knew these were the things Dr. Abbott wanted to hear from him when she was telling him in her soft voice that it was all right for him to open up to her. But he never said any of them out loud, not in the six sessions with her he’d had in the two weeks before he went back to school. Because by the end of the second week, it was mission accomplished, at least in his mind. He’d convinced her—and his mom—that he was dealing and accepting and coming to terms enough that he didn’t need to see her anymore, at least for now.
That was key, telling them that he’d go back to therapy on the dead run if he thought he needed to. But he had other needs at the moment.
“I gotta stop talking about this now” is the way he’d explained it to his mom.
“Not talking about it every day is one thing,” she’d answered Zach. “But that doesn’t mean you get to bottle things up.”
“Mom,” he’d said. “I pretty much emptied that bottle for Dr. Abbott. If I want to talk about Dad from now on, I’ll do it with you. Or with Kate. Nothing against the doc, but the two of you are way smarter about me than she is.”
His mom had smiled then. “Kate being the smarter of the two of us, of course.”
“Didn’t say that.”
“Didn’t have to.”
She’d gone along, though. Then Zach was back in school, getting back into his normal routines, going to class, waiting for basketball to start, even throwing himself into doing his homework. Actually doing it early every day so he could get back on his computer for what he considered his real homework:
Finding out every single thing he could about his dad’s plane crash.
Which Zach believed was no accident, no matter what everyone said. There had been no evidence of terrorism or tampering. No distress call from his dad to air traffic control.
But no reason why the engines had just quit, either.
His dad would have figured something out, Zach was sure, if he’d had any kind of chance. . . .
So this was something else he hadn’t said out loud to Dr. Abbott, or his mom, or Kate.
They’d all told him to stay busy, keep occupied. Okay. He kept himself busy reading up on the crash, on planes like his dad’s, on other crashes like this one that nobody had ever explained.
When his mom would poke her head inside his door and ask him what he was working on so late, he’d say, “School project.”
“What subject?”
“History,” he’d say, and not feel as if he were lying.
Then he’d get up in the morning and he and Kate would make the twenty-minute walk up Fifth and then one block over to the Parker School. Once he was there, he would try to get through another day, even though it now felt like the Bads were with him all the time.
And the other kids at school weren’t helping, even though Zach could see them trying. He had two other buds besides Kate at school, both of them kids from basketball. Josh Morris was his best friend on the team, and its biggest player. And Zach usually loved hanging around with Dave Epstein, the team’s second-string point guard, because Dave was probably the funniest kid at Parker. Like Family Guy funny.
Zach loved playing ball with them, loved the fact that he was just good enough as an outside shooter and a defender to crack Parker’s starting lineup. He was always happy to see the start of basketball season coming up on him and sorry in the spring to see it end.
But even Josh and Dave didn’t k
now how to act around him now. They treated him like he was sick or something.
So now Zach felt like even more of an outsider at school. Even with people going out of their way to be nice to him.
Even Spencer Warren had stopped torturing him for the time being.
Zach knew in his heart that Spence—president of their class, captain of the football, basketball and baseball teams, pretty much the captain of the whole school—was putting on an act, trying to act as concerned as everybody else. Because up until the crash, Zach had always considered his relationship with Spence Warren give-and-take:
Spence gave grief and Zach took it.
Not the kind of grief his mom and Dr. Abbott were worried about. No, this was the kind of grief that kids had given other kids at school since the beginning of recorded time.
Zach had never thought about it this way until now. But after being with Dr. Abbott, he was convinced that there really ought to be grief counselors for the kind Spence gave him.
And always for the same reason.
Kate.
Spence wanted Kate for himself, simple as that. He hated that Zach and Kate were so close. He hated how much time they spent together, took every opportunity to make Zach pay for it. He told Zach over and over that the only reason the prettiest and smartest girl at Parker paid any attention to him was because her mom worked for Zach’s parents.
“Kate’s mom may be the paid help at your house,” Spence said to him one time, “but Kate is your paid help everywhere else.”
Even though Spence was bigger and stronger than Zach by a lot, even knowing a fight would get them both suspended from Parker, Zach knew he shouldn’t have let that one go. He should have thrown down right there, thrown a punch. Getting just one solid punch in would have been worth it.
Zach knew that if you took something like that and let it go, then you were going to be taking it for as long as the two of you were in school together.
But he took it anyway. The way he always had.
Just said, “Yeah, good one, Spence, you got me again,” and walked away. But not before he heard Spence say, “By the way, freak boy? I ever find out you’re telling Kate about any of our conversations about her? You go to the top of my smack list.”
