by Brad Meltzer
“It must’ve been a painful loss.”
Sitting on the white Formica desk in the corner of the room, Ben explained, “It was really terrible. He was diagnosed with childhood diabetes when he was ten. And that just led to complications when the leukemia came. He was a medical mess.”
“How old were you when he died?”
“Fourteen,” Ben said, propping his feet up on the chair below the desk. “It was the worst time in my life. I couldn’t sleep for months—I had to start speaking to one of my dad’s friends who was a family psychologist. My mother was a wreck. In fact, if it wasn’t for my father, we’d probably all be in the nuthouse at this point. He really kept it together then.”
“Your parents are great,” Lisa said, sitting on the bed.
“They definitely are,” Ben admitted.
“I’m just surprised you turned out as well as you did,” Lisa added. “I mean, lassoing Earth’s favorite satellite—that can make you a little nuts.”
“Ho-ho. You’re a riot.”
Lisa kicked off her sneakers. “So tell me what happened with you and Eric on the plane. He didn’t say a word the whole way here.”
“Nothing. I told him off. I don’t want to have to deal with his crap anymore.”
“Good,” Lisa said. “I was worried you were going to actually forgive him over time.”
“No way,” Ben said. “I love my friends. I’d do anything for any of them. I’d do anything for you. But life is too short to waste your time on assholes.”
“I don’t even think it’s about being an asshole. I think his actions were a violation of your trust. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the single worst thing you can do to a friend.”
“Listen, you don’t have to tell me. Between Rick and Eric, trust has been the Problem Virtue of the Year.”
At noon the next day, Ben came down to the kitchen, where he saw Lisa and his mother talking. “Well, well, look who finally decided to join us,” Ben’s mother said as she cut vegetables for the following night’s Thanksgiving dinner. Not fooled by Ben’s recent shower and his close shave, she could see the still-tired look in her son’s eyes. “What time were you two up until last night?”
“Probably around four,” Lisa said.
Ben’s mother dropped her knife on the cutting board and stared.
“Mom, calm yourself,” Ben said, rolling his eyes. “We were just talking. Is that okay?”
“It’s none of my business,” his mother said. “I didn’t say a word.”
“You didn’t need to.” Turning to Lisa, he said, “How are you so awake?”
“I can’t sleep late,” Lisa explained. “I’ve been up since seven.”
In mid-yawn, Ben stretched toward the ceiling. “You’re crazy. Sleeping is the source of life.”
Suddenly, the telephone rang. “Hello?” Ben’s mother said, turning away from her vegetable slicing. Pausing for a moment, she responded, “Yes, he’s right here. Hold on one second.” She turned to Ben. “It’s for you. It’s someone named Rick.”
The color drained from Ben’s face. Surprised at her son’s reaction, Ben’s mother handed him the phone. Ben stretched the phone cord so that he was almost standing in the other room. “Hello?”
“Hey, Ben,” Rick said. “How’s everything at home?”
Pulling the cord even farther, Ben moved into the dining room. “What do you want?”
“Nothing,” Rick said. “I just wanted to make sure everything was okay there. And I wanted to wish you and your family a lovely Thanksgiving. Is that okay?”
“No, it’s not okay,” Ben said, struggling to keep his voice low. “I’m hanging up the phone now. If you want to talk to me, call me when I get back to D.C. Otherwise, stay the hell away from my family.”
“Ben, I just want you and your family to have an enjoyable Thanksgiv—”
Ben hung up the phone and forced a smile as he walked back into the kitchen.
“Is everything okay?” his mother asked. “Who was that on the phone? Who’s Rick?”
“It’s just a friend from the Court,” Ben said. “We were having this argument about this case, and he wanted to talk about it. It’s no big deal.”
“Benjamin, don’t lie to me,” his mother said.
“Mom, I’m not lying!” Ben insisted. “It’s this jerk from work that I always disagree with. It’s fine. We’ll work it out.”
Before she could say a word, Ben was out of the room. “Lisa, c’mon!” he yelled from the front door.
Getting in his mother’s car, Ben was silent, his lips pursed in anger. He was already inching the car out of the driveway by the time Lisa opened the door and jumped inside.
“Don’t worry about stopping,” Lisa said as Ben pulled out of the driveway. “I’m fine.” Getting no response, she asked, “So what’d he say?”
“Nothing. He was just being an asshole.”
“I assumed that,” Lisa said. “Now tell me what he said.”
“I really don’t want to talk about it,” Ben said. “I just want to enjoy myself today.”
“Just tell me…”
“Please,” Ben pleaded. “Let’s just forget about it.”
Lisa was silent until they turned onto the Massachusetts Turnpike. “Are you at least going to tell me where we’re going?”
Taking a deep breath, Ben said, “First, we’re going to Beacon Hill, where you will not only see some of our fair city’s best architecture, but you will also partake in a Vito’s upside-down pizza.”
“An upside-down what?”
“We’ll be eating at a restaurant called Vito’s, where they serve two slices of pizza facing each other. Now stop ruining the story.” Resuming his calm, narrating voice, he continued, “After that, we will walk through the Boston Common and into the heart of downtown.”
“Are we going by the Cheers bar?”
“No, we are not going by the Cheers bar. This isn’t the Freedom Trail. You’ll see this city like a native. Naturally, that will mean that you’ll miss the U.S.S. Constitution, the Cheers bar, Faneuil Hall, and all the other touristy nonsense that people love to snap pictures of, but you’ll be a better person for it.”
“I feel enlightened already.”
“And if you’re lucky, I’ll show you my favorite spot in the whole city.”
“We’re going to the library?”
“I can stop the car anytime,” Ben said.
“I’ll be good. I promise,” Lisa said, pulling an imaginary zipper across her lips.
At four-thirty that afternoon, Ben pulled the car into a small, graveled lot off Memorial Drive. Theirs was the only car in the tiny lot. Lisa looked around suspiciously. “If this is your old make-out place, I’m gonna be sick.”
“It’s not my old make-out place,” Ben said, turning off the engine. “I told you, I’m bringing you to my favorite spot in the city. Did I lie to you about anything so far?”
“There were no skateboarders at Copley Square.”
“It’s freezing out,” Ben said. “Besides that, though.”
“The performers in Harvard Square sucked.”
“The best ones come out at night. Besides that.”
Thinking for a minute, she eventually said, “No, you have not lied about anything else.”
“Then follow me,” Ben said, getting out of the car. He walked against the cold wind that blew off the river and headed toward a narrow bicycle path that ran along the lot. The view from the concrete path was obstructed by a fence of aged and rotted wood currently covered with various spray-painted slogans. At a corner on the path, the wall ended, and Lisa could see that they were walking toward the Charles River. The walkway turned from concrete to wood, leading to a medium-sized boathouse next to the Charles. “This used to belong to Boston University,” Ben explained. “It housed all the equipment for the crew team. All the schools have them up and down the river: Harvard, MIT, Boston College, Northeastern, they’re all along here somewhere. And when B.U. raise
d enough money, they abandoned this shack for state-of-the-art headquarters closer to their campus.” As he walked to the edge of the dock, he pointed to his right. “From here, we’ll be able to see the sunset bathe the city in light. And that makes this the best spot in the city. The tour is finished. Tah-dah!” he said, turning around and taking a bow.
Lisa sat down and let her feet dangle off the edge of the dock. “You were right. This place is fantastic.”
“Eric’s older brother found it, and he showed it to us,” Ben said, sitting next to Lisa. “This is where I was when I wrote my college essay to get into Columbia, and it’s where I wrote my essay to get into Yale.”
“We should’ve brought the Grinnell decision with us.”
Ben glanced at his watch. “We’ll be able to see the sunset in about twenty minutes.”
“This city gets dark too early. It’s only four-thirty.”
“Wait until the dead of winter,” Ben said. “It’s pitch-black by four-fifteen. By having the country’s earliest sunset, we also get the highest winter suicide rate.”
“Now that’s something to be proud of.” Silent for the next few minutes, they waited for the sun to descend on Boston’s gray horizon. When she saw Ben staring at her, Lisa raised an eyebrow. “You’re thinking about kissing me, aren’t you?”
“You wish,” Ben said, drawing back.
“Oh, please,” Lisa said. “You have that fawning look in your eyes.”
“Lisa, I realize I’ve brought you to a magical place, but not all fantasies come true here.”
“Don’t pull that crap with me,” Lisa said, pointing at Ben. “You have the same look you had the night we worked on the death penalty case.”
“That severely-tired-so-my-exhaustion-is-mistaken-for-passion look? I think you’re right—that’s exactly the same look I had then.”
“Forget it,” Lisa said, shaking her head. “You’re right. Let’s just enjoy the sunset.”
Leaning back on his elbows, Ben stared at the golden-orange hue that colored the top of the State House. After a few minutes, he asked, “Do you really think we’ll be able to catch him?”
“I’m not sure,” Lisa said, shrugging her shoulders. “I mean, I hope we can. He just always seems so prepared for us. Why?”
“Forget I asked.” Ben sat up straight and brushed the dirt and pebbles from his hands. “Just drop it.”
“C’mon, Ben. Is that your answer every time you get upset? Just tell me what you’re thinking. I know you’re scared shitless by this whole thing.”
Ben was silent.
“And you ought to be.”
“What do you want me to say?” Ben finally asked. “Of course I’m scared. My whole professional career is on the line. And at the one point when I’m finally calming down about it, the lowlife calls my house for no purpose except to unnerve me! Let’s see, what else do you want to hear? That I have nightmares about it? That I can’t get it out of my head? That I think I’m way out of my league? Washington is one thing, but it’s different at home.”
“How is it so different?” Lisa asked.
“My parents are here,” Ben said. “That’s it. Period. I don’t want them involved in this.”
“That’s probably why Rick called,” Lisa pointed out. “He knew it’d make you crazy.”
“No? Really?” Ben said sarcastically. “And here I thought he was trying to establish a real friendship between us. After that nice ride in his limo, we have a ton of memories to look back and laugh about.”
Lisa didn’t respond.
“I’m sorry,” Ben said, taking a deep breath. “Can we please start over?”
“Absolutely,” Lisa said with a small smile. “So tell me; what’d Rick say?”
“He said he just wanted to wish me a happy Thanksgiving. I’m sure it’s his way of saying, ‘Don’t forget what we talked about in the limo.’”
“We really should find him and beat the snot out of him,” Lisa said, dangling her feet off the dock.
“You are so right,” Ben said, leaning back on his hands.
“Y’know, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m an open ear.”
“I appreciate it,” Ben smiled. “Now, can we just enjoy the sunset?”
“Is everyone ready to eat?” Ben’s mother asked at precisely seven the following evening.
“What about Dad?” Ben asked, putting out a pitcher of cold water and two bottles of soda.
“He called a little while ago. Someone slashed his back tires, so he’s stuck at work.”
“Slashed his tires? Is he okay?” Lisa asked.
“Do you want me to pick him up?” Ben asked.
“He’s fine,” Ben’s mother said. “He said the tow truck would be there soon enough.”
As Ben and Lisa took their places around the table, Ben’s mother brought out a huge bowl of Caesar salad. “Pass me your bowls.”
Suddenly, the door opened and Ben’s father stepped inside. “Hi, everyone,” he announced. He kissed everyone before sitting at the head of the table. “Good timing by me.”
“That was quick,” Ben’s mother said.
“You won’t believe what happened,” Ben’s father said, pulling off his tie. “Right after I called the towing company, I went outside to change the first tire. I figured that would save me time when they eventually came. Anyway, as I’m in the middle of putting on my spare, this guy drives up and notices that my other tire is flat. He offers me the spare in his car and even helps me put it on. And then when I offered to pay him, he said he couldn’t take money for it—that it was Thanksgiving and all.”
“What’d this guy look like?” Ben asked, hoping to sound casual.
“Blond hair, kind of preppy. Nothing special.”
Lisa and Ben exchanged a look.
“Did he say anything else?” Ben tried to remain calm.
“Nope,” Ben’s father said, shoveling a mound of Caesar salad onto his plate. “He said he recognized me from my columns. And get this: He knew that you worked at the Supreme Court. He remembered that story Cary wrote about you—when you first got your clerkship.”
As his palms grew slick with perspiration, Ben dropped his fork, which crashed against his plate.
“Are you okay?” Ben’s mother asked.
Ben wiped his hands on his pants, picked up his fork, and quickly pulled himself together. “I’m fine. I just haven’t eaten all day.”
Surprised by the casualness of Ben’s father’s reaction, Lisa asked, “Are your tires slashed often?”
“Every once in a while. Whenever I write a column about corruption in the city government, my tires are slashed, my windows are shattered. That’s the life of a columnist. Too many enemies.”
“So this is probably no big deal,” Lisa said, hoping Ben was listening.
“Not for me,” Ben’s father said proudly.
In no mood to hear Michael’s speech about the life of a columnist, Ben’s mother asked, “Anything else happen at work?”
“Not really,” Ben’s father said. “It was a pretty slow news day. Someone was shot downtown. There’s a new police corruption exposé that’s running tomorrow. And my son got engaged. Other than that, it was quiet.”
“What?” Ben asked, snapping back into reality.
“Didn’t you see today’s paper?” Ben’s father reached into his briefcase and pulled out a section of the newspaper. “It’s on page twenty-seven,” he said, handing it to Ben.
Opening the paper, Ben turned to the metro section. At the top of the first column was a large picture of Lisa. Underneath the picture, it said: “Margaret and Shep Schulman of Los Angeles announced the engagement of their daughter, Lisa Marie, to Benjamin Addison, son of Sheila and Michael Addison of Newton. A March wedding is planned.” Ben yelled, “What the hell is this?”
“Let me see,” Lisa said as she grabbed the paper. “Who would do this?”
“Idiot roommates,” Ben whispered.
“Does this mean you’
re not getting married?” Ben’s father asked.
“Oh, this is funny,” Ben’s mother said when Lisa passed her the paper. “Who did it? Ober? Nathan?”
“Who else?” Lisa said.
Ignoring his family’s reaction, Ben couldn’t get Rick out of his thoughts. “Ben, are you okay?” his father asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Ben said, turning to his father. Motioning toward the newspaper, he added, “I’m sorry about this. I didn’t have a thing to do with it.”
“No, it’s fine,” Ben’s father said. “We like it when we’re completely humiliated. Every self-respecting paper likes to be the victim of a mindless joke every once in a while.”
“You didn’t get in trouble for this, did you?”
“Of course not,” Ben’s father said. “But all day, people were asking me how come I didn’t tell them you were engaged.” As he finished his salad, he continued, “By the way, the president apparently has his short list to fill Blake’s seat on the Court.”
“Who’s on it?” Ben asked, trying to put Rick out of his mind. “Kuttler. Redlich. Who else?”
“Your old friend Judge Stanley is rumored to be on it.”
“It’ll never happen,” Ben said, waving his hand. “That’s the fish he throws to the liberals. I’ll bet a hundred bucks Stanley doesn’t get it.”
“Have you heard any rumors at the Court?” Ben’s father asked.
“Nothing really feeds through there,” Ben explained. “The president’s staff calls some justices for recommendations, but that’s just out of courtesy. Otherwise we hear what you hear.”
“Oh, c’mon now,” Ben’s father said. “You work there. You must hear some rumors. Just this once—feed your dad some inside info.”
“I said I don’t know anything,” Ben insisted. “And don’t put me in that kind of position. Even if I did know something, I couldn’t tell you.”
“Relax,” his father said. “I was only kidding.”
“It was just a joke,” Lisa said.
“Fine,” Ben said, picking at his salad. “It was just a joke. I get it. Har har.”
“Is everything okay at work?” Ben’s mother asked.
“Everything’s fine,” Ben said. “Everything’s wonderful.”
