The Last Hour

by Charles Sheehan-Miles

  Ray shook his head. “I’ve got tickets for a show tonight. We’re going to have to hit the road soon if we’re going to make it in time.”

  Michael looked disappointed, and Kate looked … put out. Irritated. I wasn’t going to spend any more time worried about that. It was awkward enough that I was going to be staying here for four nights. Ray was taking the couch and I was sleeping in his room. Which was already irritating me. But it was their home, and God knows my mother wouldn’t have let us sleep in the same room either.

  We finally got out of there, and it was a relief. Ray took me out to dinner that night, and then we went to see a Broadway show. The next morning, he woke me up early and we drove to the Hamptons, had breakfast in a small village and then walked along the ice-cold beach, huddled together for warmth.

  I’d been in New York, of course. Six years at Columbia University. But Ray took me to see his New York. The clubs and other spots he’d hung out in high school and college. Out of the way places where tourists didn’t go. We went ice-skating and to see classic films at The Film Forum, and Ray took me out for a wonderful birthday dinner, even though it was a week early.

  I took him to my favorite haunts from college. Most of them in the Morningside Heights neighborhood, the coffee shops and bookstores and bars where I’d grown from a teenager to an adult.

  It was bliss. Because mostly, we talked—in coffee shops and restaurants, at bookstores, and just walking around the city. Ray was courageous, sexy and funny, and more than anything else, he was becoming mine.

  Just a Guy from Southie (Ray)

  “Okay,” I said. “I agree, you were right about the car.”

  Carrie smiled, which was something I always like to see. She had a purple cap on, and wore a matching purple coat. Velvet? I don’t know ... some kind of fuzzy looking fabric. I’m not really up on that sort of thing. She was driving at the moment, but she glanced over at me with that smile and tapped her cheek with one gloved finger. I snickered a little, then leaned over to the driver’s side and kissed her on the spot she’d indicated.

  “You can tell me I’m right any time you want,” she said.

  “I’ll let you know when it happens,” I replied, grinning. “So help me out here, I don’t want to embarrass myself, and I still don’t have your family straight. Who exactly are we meeting tonight?”

  She grinned. “Well, there’s this guy Dylan. He used to be in the Army….”

  “Oh, come on. Seriously, help a guy out here?”

  Carrie laughed. “All right. Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. Okay. Julia is my older sister. Last time I saw her she had blonde hair, but that may have changed by now. She wears a stud in her nose, and you’ll know her because of her husband.”

  “That’s Crank Wilson. The guy from Morbid Obesity.”

  “That’s right. And one of my younger sisters is coming, Sarah. Julia picked her up at the airport today. You’ll know Sarah because she’ll be very conservatively dressed.”

  “Okay. And Alex I know.”

  “Right.”

  “You have ... how many more sisters?”

  “Two more. Jessica is Sarah’s twin, she stayed in San Francisco, and Andrea is the youngest. She’s in Spain right now.”

  “Okay. I think I got it. Sarah, conservative. Julia, won’t be. Crank, I know what he looks like. So I’ve got a semi-serious question for you. How the hell did your sister get involved with a rocker?”

  She shrugged. “They met when she was at Harvard, he’s from Boston.”

  “Strange world.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “It’s no more unlikely than me being involved with a soldier.”

  “Former soldier, Doctor Babe. I’m all done with that.”

  “That seems reasonable,” she replied.

  By that time we were almost there. I’d reserved a room at a nice hotel near Madison Square Garden, but the plan was to drop the car off there first, then walk over to Mustang Sally’s on 7th Ave and 28th, where we were meeting everyone for dinner, then over to the Garden. Morbid Obesity was playing a New Year’s Eve concert there.

  So, we got checked in at the hotel, left the car with the valet and dumped our bags off, then walked hand in hand the two blocks to Mustang Sally’s. Even through my gloves, I loved the feel of her hand in mine. It had only been three weeks since I’d been in Texas, but it felt like an eternity.

  Look, I’m not an idiot. I knew we were moving too fast. You don’t make lifetime commitments when you’ve known someone just a few days here, then a few days there, with lots of phone calls and emails in between. But the thing is, there’s one thing I learned in Afghanistan. Life is fragile. Screw all that hesitant bullshit. We were going to go for it.

  As the thought ran through my mind, I tugged on her hand and pulled her to me. Her cheeks flushed red and I said, “I couldn’t walk another step without kissing you.”

  Then I leaned in and our lips touched. People were all around us, jostling us as traffic rolled by on our right. But at that moment all I could see was Carrie. The kiss was intense, but even more so looking in her eyes. Her pale eyes, blue-green, with the dark iris surrounding them, made me feel like I was slowly falling off a cliff. She closed them as our kiss deepened, and her mouth slowly opened, our lips exploring each other, our tongues just barely touching.

  My whole body came alive at that touch, urgent sensation, and I pulled her to me and whispered, “I love you, Carrie Thompson.”

  She caught her breath and said, “I love you, Ray Sherman.”

  We may have stayed there for five minutes, or maybe it was forever. But when we separated, I felt like something had changed. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. And I felt like I’d do anything, anything in the world, for her. It was overpowering, wonderful.

  We slowly separated and started walking again, but at a pace which probably drove the New Yorkers around us insane. I had an arm around her waist, and I wasn’t letting go no matter what happened.

  “I want to tell you about something,” I said, my voice low.

  She just raised an eyebrow. I loved that her cheeks were still flushed.

  “When I turned eighteen, my parents asked what I wanted to do for my birthday, and I told them I wanted to go skydiving. I think my mom had a small heart attack. But my dad and I went. We sat through the safety briefings and all that, and then we went up.”

  “Skydiving? Jumping out of airplanes?” For a woman who had stalked mountain lions, her voice had a suspiciously fearful squeak to it when she mentioned skydiving. I made a note to take her up sometime. She’d love it.

  I nodded. “Anyway, the first time ... it’s hard to capture the feeling. There’s fear, when you’re looking out the door of the plane, and knowing it’s thousands of feet to the ground. And then, out the door, the wind is buffeting you, and there’s this moment of incredible terror. Will the parachute open? Will you flap screaming to your death? Is this it? But then ... everything went calm after a few seconds. The wind was intense. But there was this feeling of absolute freedom. No gravity ... flying. Absolute exhilaration. I could see hundreds of miles of land below us. I could touch the sky. It was the most amazing moment of my life.”

  “Did your parachute open?” She had a wry smile on her face when she asked the question.

  I grinned at her. “It did. But the thing is ... that feeling that I could touch the sky? That’s exactly how you make me feel.”

  Her smile just grew, her white teeth gleaming, her eyes prominent and beautiful, and she said, “That’s the cheesiest thing I ever heard in my life.” Then she giggled and stopped and kissed me again. Which is exactly what I wanted at that moment.

  Our lips parted and I said, “Would you be upset if I said I want to skip the dinner and the concert and run off to the hotel with you right now?”

  “No,” she said. “But we can’t do it. I don’t get to see my sisters enough as is.”

  “And I can’t wait to meet them.”

  “You don’t ac
tually have to wait. We’re here.”

  I looked up, and she was right. The sign for Mustang Sally’s was three doors down from where we stood.

  “Well ... I get a kiss first? To tide me over?”

  She bit her lip then smiled again, and we were kissing, and I was in free fall all over again.

  Then, barely at the edge of consciousness, I heard the words, spoken in a clear, loud New York accent, “Isn’t that Crank’s sister-in-law?”

  Next thing I knew, there were flashes, several of them, and I flinched. Both of us whipped our heads to my right, and there was a crowd of photographers with cameras pointed at us. What the hell?

  “Oh crap,” she said. “Come on, let’s get inside.” She actually gave the photographers a friendly smile, which is a lot more than I could do, because I wanted to punch one of them. The flash had thrown me off, making my heart race, as I instantly became aware of everything around me. Every bit of trash on the sidewalk that might hold a bomb, every coat that might have a gun hidden underneath. My breath sped up and I said, “Let’s get inside now.”

  I never let go of her hand as we pushed our way through the crowd to the front door of the restaurant. A bouncer stood at the front door, which was pretty unusual for a restaurant. Carrie said something to him, I don’t know what, because my mind was still focused on the photographers, and he let us in.

  “Jesus, what was that about?” I said.

  She shrugged. “Part of the cost of having a celebrity in the family. You get used to it.”

  You get used to it. I wanted Carrie, badly enough to get used to anything. But that would take some serious getting used to. I didn’t realize I was shaking until Carrie turned and put a hand on my shoulder.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, a look of concern on her face.

  “Yeah,” I said, knowing I didn’t sound it. “The flash startled me.”

  Understanding dawned on her face instantly. She wrapped her arm around mine and said, “Come on. Let’s get the introductions out of the way and relax for the night, okay?”

  I nodded. “Sorry. I’ll try not to be too much of a spaz.”

  “Relax,” she said. “I get it. I really do, okay? It’s going to take some time before you’re ... completely home. And that’s normal, and it’s okay, and I’m here with you. You hear me?”

  Okay. I’m not a guy who breaks out in tears at the drop of a hat. I’m not terribly sentimental. Sad movies don’t evoke anything from me but an order for more popcorn. But I’ll admit that her bald, open declaration that she was with me through this? It brought an unfamiliar prickly feeling to my eyes, which were blurring.

  “I love you, Doctor Babe,” I said.

  She grinned. “Come on.”

  So we turned, and the hostess took us to a large circular booth in the very back of the restaurant.

  “Weed!” called Dylan, and then he was up and out of his seat.

  “Hey, man,” I said, grinning, and we bumped chests and growled. Some things you can’t explain. Then Alex broke off from her embrace with Carrie, and came over and folded me into a hug. Alex is a pretty girl, with remarkable green eyes, and it was always painfully obvious why Dylan had fallen for her the way he had. And while I was being maudlin about Carrie’s declaration that she was with me, I have to admit I was proud of how Alex stood by Dylan while he was being a complete dickhead earlier this year. They’d gotten through it and looked as happy as I’d ever seen them.

  A couple in their late twenties, maybe early thirties, approached. Of course I recognized the guy, everyone on earth with any awareness of pop culture would. Crank Wilson was the lead singer of Morbid Obesity, one of the most popular alt-rock bands of the last decade. He was tallish, but only in comparison to normal people, not anything like my or even Carrie’s height. His hair was bleached pure white and spiked, and he wore black jeans and a t-shirt saying, “Chew on this.” His wife, about Alex’s height, maybe five-four, had long and lush brown hair and very pale blue-green eyes almost exactly like Carrie’s.

  With a lopsided grin, Crank held out his hand and said, “I’m Crank Wilson. You must be Carrie’s soldier.”

  “Ray Sherman,” I said, and we shook hands. Then the woman came up and grabbed me in a hug. “I’m Julia. I’m so happy to meet you, finally. Carrie’s had a lot to say about you.”

  “Mostly good stuff, I hope?”

  She smiled. “Sorry. What’s between me and my sisters goes to the grave.”

  I chuckled. Then I saw the tiny pixie. Five-two, jet black hair with a bleached white stripe in it. Turquoise stud in her nose. Torn black jeans, and a belt made of linked, polished bicycle chains. Black top that revealed just enough to be tantalizing, and icy blue eyes.

  “You must be Sarah,” I said. “You look exactly like Carrie described you,” I said, raising an eyebrow at Carrie. She just grinned, the minx.

  “Hi,” Sarah replied.

  “We ready to eat?” Crank asked. “Julia and I are going to have to bug out early to prep for the show.”

  So we all took our seats, and immediately Julia, Alex and Carrie started talking with each other. A couple of minutes later, a waitress appeared and took our orders.

  Dylan leaned forward and said, “You been all right, Weed? Haven’t heard from you in a few days.”

  I shrugged. “I’m still getting visits from our friends.”

  He grimaced then said, “Let me know if there is anything I can do.”

  I nodded. “I will.”

  Alex must have been listening with an ear, because she reached out, almost unconsciously, and took Dylan’s hand. It was sweet and reminded me how lucky I was to have Carrie.

  Crank must have noticed the grouping ... he and Julia, Alex and Dylan, Carrie and me, leaving Sarah in a sort of odd-girl out position. He leaned forward and said, “What have you been up to, Sarah? Still working on guitar?”

  Sarah got a huge grin on her face and nodded proudly.

  “I want to see your guitar later. Julia said it was an old one?”

  Sarah got a sly look on her face and said, “It’s a ‘69 Les Paul custom.”

  Crank raised his eyebrows. “Where did you find that? And how did you afford it?”

  “Antique shop, believe it or not. The neck was cracked, so I was able to get it for two grand. And then I had to save for six more months to get it repaired.”

  “Worth it,” Crank said. “But where did you get two grand?”

  “Oh God,” Alex said.

  Crank raised his eyebrows, so Alex leaned forward and said, “Sarah sold her viola. And half her dresses. And her jewelry. And her laptop.”

  Julia burst out, “Mom must have gone ballistic.”

  “A little bit,” Sarah said. “But I have that effect on her.”

  “Trust me, I get that,” Julia said.

  An uncomfortable look passed between all four sisters. Carrie had told me a little about her mom, but not much. I chimed in, mostly to change the subject, turning to Julia and asking, “Where did you two meet?”

  She grinned and said, “I don’t know if I should say with two soldiers at the table.”

  I raised my eyebrows, and Crank said, “We met at an anti-war protest, back in 2002.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t have any problem with that. Even if we don’t agree politically, at least you were engaged in it. Most people don’t even know there’s a war going on.”

  Dylan met my eyes, and it was an uncomfortable moment. And then he did something that I never expected. He lifted his glass toward me and said, “Fallen comrades.”

  I winced and lifted mine to his. “Fallen comrades,” I muttered.

  The rest of the table went utterly silent. But Carrie slid her arm around my side, and it was all better.

  Dylan and I had just waded into a minefield, so I quickly changed the subject. “So I gotta say, I’m looking at four brilliant, beautiful women. Your parents must really be something.”

  Sarah snickered, and Julia said, “Well, th
ey’re um…”

  Crank said, “Control freaks,” at the same moment Dylan said, “Intimidating.”

  “Oh,” I replied.

  All four of the women broke into laughter.

  “On the other hand,” Crank said when the laughter died down, “Ambassador Thompson seems to have warmed to me over the years. A little. Although the first five years, I thought for sure he was going to get the Secret Service to hunt me down and kill me like a dog.”

  “Mom’s mellowed a lot,” Julia said. “We’ve made peace with each other.”

  They looked at each other with warm smiles, and Julia leaned forward and said, “The first time they met Crank, I thought they were going to have heart attacks right then and there. Especially Mother.”

  “I remember that,” Sarah said.

  Crank raised his eyebrows. “Really?” he said. “You were wicked young.”

  “I growled at you.”

  Crank chuckled. “It’s true.”

  “Should I be worried?” I asked.

  Carrie shook her head. “Just be yourself. I don’t imagine you’ll actually meet them until Alex and Dylan’s wedding anyway. And as much as I might like to have it, I don’t need their approval.”

  Julia looked at her and said, “While true, I wouldn’t put it past Dad to threaten to cut you off financially if he’s not happy.”

  “We’ll see how much I care about that. I’ve got a job, I can live without their money if I have to.”

  “Dad did it,” Julia replied. I was having trouble keeping up at this point. Except, did Carrie just tell her sisters that she’d risk financial ruin for me? Holy shit.

  “Dad did what?” Alex asked.

  “He told me years ago, that grandfather disinherited him when they got married. Grandfather changed his mind when the kids came along.”

  “I had no idea,” Alex said. “That explains why he didn’t make any similar threats with me.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “Why would he do that? You’re perfect! Law school ... you’re everything he wants.”

  Alex gave a wistful smile to Sarah, and Dylan said, “Um ... let’s just say, they aren’t too excited about our wedding. Or me.”