Getting It Right

by Karen E. Osborne

  He lifted his chin toward one of the photos. "That her?"

  "Before she got sick."

  Danny flipped the album over and glanced down at the song list. "My dad was a jazz fanatic too." He slipped the record out of its jacket, careful not to touch the playing grooves. "Mind if I put it on?"

  "Please do."

  Soon, the ambient sounds of "Misty" filled the room. Look at me. I'm as helpless as a kitten up a tree. And, I feel like I'm clinging to a cloud. I can't understand. I get misty just holding your hand . . .

  Kara sat down; she loved this song. She closed her eyes. When she opened them, Danny was watching her.

  "Tough day, right?"

  For reasons she didn't understand, Kara felt uncomfortable as Sarah sang about her longing. Kara tried to sound in control. "I've had better." And to move the conversation to safe ground, she asked, "What about you? How are things going? Mrs. E. said they caught the murderer."

  He leaned forward and rested his chin in his hands, then scrubbed his face with his palms. "Yeah."

  "You don't sound happy about it." Sarah's musical tale of being too much in love, plus the darkness with only two lamps providing focused light, made the setting feel intimate. This made Kara nervous, but also bold. "Is something else going on?"

  Again, he seemed to hesitate. Then, not meeting her eyes, he said, "This morning I interviewed the foster parents of that kid who got shot."

  "Barry."

  "Yeah. They didn't seem . . . I don't know . . . as broken-up as I thought they would be. Should be."

  "There are good foster parents out there."

  "I guess."

  They fell silent, listening to the piano riffs and Sarah's deep soprano. But the love song didn't change the mood in the room.

  Breaking the silence, Danny said, "I didn't get to say goodbye to my dad before he died."

  This caught Kara by surprise. First, she knew nothing about Danny's family. Until now, he'd never mentioned them and no relatives seemed to visit. "When was that?"

  "A few years back."

  "How?"

  "Alone."

  Sarah's love song ended. Kara waited.

  Danny got up, lifted the needle from the record. "The last time I saw him alive, we had a fight. I screamed at him, asked him why he hadn't been a better dad. You know, been there for me more." Danny had his back to Kara as he spoke. He returned Sarah to her jacket. Absently, he shuffled through the rest of Kara's albums. "I wanted to know why he hadn't taught me how to throw a baseball, or dunk a basketball, or catch a fish—stuff like that."

  Kara tried not to disturb the air.

  "He said he did the best he could." Danny faced her. "But his best wasn't good enough. I wanted him to be the dad I needed, not the one he felt he could be."

  Did everybody have a terrible childhood? Was anyone ever happy?

  "Next thing I know, he's gone. He called me, said he wasn't feeling well. I was still mad and he didn't make it sound serious. My dad wasn't a complainer, he was a self-sufficient person. I told him if he wanted me to, I'd take him to his doc first thing in the morning."

  "What happened?"

  "He died."

  "You can't blame yourself, Danny. It sounds like you do."

  His mouth twisted. "It's not rational, but yeah, I do." He paced in front of her for a second or two and then stopped. "The man worked two jobs, sometimes three, so I could get an education, live in a decent apartment, go to summer camp upstate, not grow up in the streets. Worked for the sanitation department during the day, cleaned and polished office floors in the evenings. Caught odd jobs on the weekends. He was gone all the time, and I was alone. He was strict: I had to come straight home after school and call him, do my homework and leave it out for him to check, cook us both dinners and save his. When he could, he called me while I ate alone. You see what I'm saying?"

  "He sounds like a good man." Kara could feel the inadequacy of her words.

  "He was."

  "Where was your mother?"

  "When I was ten, my dad came into my bedroom. I was already in bed. He said, We can't stay here anymore. It's not safe. We have to go. I hated leaving my mother, but even at a young age I knew she was crazy. I stuffed everything I owned into a backpack and duffel bag, took my dad's hand, and that was that."

  Kara thought about her mother. One of the things that stayed with her, one of the things Marci Nye helped her hold onto, was what a loving mother she'd had—even if it was only for a few years. "You're lucky. You had someone who loved you, you had family."

  Danny nodded his head. "He loved me and I loved him."

  "Do you know where she is now, your mother?"

  "Yeah, I hear from her sometimes, but I haven't seen her for years. She didn't come to my dad's funeral." He sat down in front of Kara. "Here's the thing." Fingertips steepled, Danny continued: "What if she dies? Will I feel bad like I do about my dad? He was a good dad, raised a son alone the best he could. Came home every night; never brought women over. I should have told him before he died."

  "I'm so sorry, Danny. I bet he knew. I bet he knew how much you loved him and appreciated him. It was only one day, one fight."

  Danny shrugged, his eyes shining with moisture.

  She reached out and touched his fingers, and Danny gathered her hands into his. She said, "People feel love; they don't always have to hear it."

  Several beats passed. Then, he pulled her gently up and close to him. She could smell spearmint and feel the heat of his breath. Danny brushed his lips against hers and she leaned into the kiss. His arm circled her waist and tugged her closer, his tongue slipped into her mouth. For a second, she let it happen. Then she pulled away.

  "I'm sorry," he said, but it came out like a question.

  She should say something, but she felt confused.

  "You okay? I mean, was it okay I kissed you?"

  "I kissed you back." What kind of woman was she, barely through with Zach and now kissing another man? "We're both overwrought," she added, trying to give it a safer spin.

  "Right."

  She looked away from his intense stare.

  "Except that's not why I kissed you."

  "All this stuff going on," she waved her hand in the air, wiping it all away, "it's just not the right time."

  "Okay." Danny stepped back and edged toward the door. "The reason I told you about my family is that I've been thinking about going down to Virginia where my mom lives. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, maybe you should take Alex up on her request. Make sure you have no regrets."

  "Are you going?"

  "You want me to?" Her confusion must have showed on her face, because Danny said, "Oh, you mean go to Virginia?"

  She nodded. Several seconds ticked by.

  "Yeah, I'm definitely going to go."

  It wasn't that she didn't understand Danny's advice—she did. Her conclusion, however, was different. His mother could come to New York, and her father could have found her sooner. Only now that he was dying had Kara become important. His search was selfish and had nothing to do with caring for her. Well, Danny was right: she didn't want any more regrets. She had to deal with the FBI and then move on with her life. She had to take charge.

  Danny eased closer. "What are you going to do?"

  Now it was her turn to step back. This was no time for whatever had just happened between them. "Thanks for your advice and help, Danny."

  He seemed hurt.

  "Really, I appreciate everything, but I have to do what's best for me."

  "I get it." For several seconds he just stood there, as if expecting her to change her mind or to say something more.

  "I'll think about what you said."

  Danny backed out of the room, his eyes still on her.

  Marty wound around and between her legs, so she picked him up. "You, Mr. Marty, are the one constant in my life." She touched her lips with her other hand. She had to admit, Danny's kiss had felt good, safe. No, no more of that.

  T
he phone rang. Still holding Marty with one hand, Kara picked it up.

  Tuesday's voice was panicked: "It's Flyer, Kara. You've got to get over here fast."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Flyer stood on the narrow ledge of his apartment building, his arms splayed wide with his palms pressed against the brick, his overcoat flapping and billowing around his ankles.

  Kara and Danny arrived on the scene less than fifteen minutes from the time Kara had hung up the phone. Tuesday had been almost incoherent. "He's out there and I think he'll do it. He said he wants to die."

  "I'm coming."

  She'd called for Danny and he appeared in seconds. "Flyer is trying to kill himself."

  They wove through the traffic, Danny at the wheel. When they arrived, the crowd in front of the building was thick; one woman munched on popcorn as if she were at the movies. With her hand in his, Kara and Danny dodged through the crowd to the police barricade. Danny wasn't in uniform, but on the way, he'd hung his badge around his neck. Now he flashed it at the cop barring their way. "She's family," he said. The officer parted the posts and let them through.

  They ran up the steps to the fourth floor. Kara tried to clear her mind. When they were children, she could send Flyer mental messages—get him to choose a certain card when they played bid whist, get him to turn around and look at her. At the time, they thought it was funny. As they matured, she realized it was the manifestation of the powerful bond between them. She prayed she could make him come off the ledge.

  The building was located on 145th Street on the west side of Harlem. Flyer shared the two-bedroom apartment with two other men—Joseph and his partner Darrel. Both of them were in the living-dining-entranceway space, along with Tuesday and a police officer, when Kara and Danny arrived. Tuesday ran to Kara the minute she saw her.

  "He's gone crazy or something. Joseph called me right after he phoned 911. I tried to get him to talk to me but he won't." Tuesday's round head barely reached Kara's shoulder.

  "Where is he?"

  She pointed to Flyer's bedroom.

  Kara, Danny, and Tuesday entered the room. A man in a suit leaned out of the bedroom window. "Son, you don't want to do this. Why don't you come inside and we'll sit down and work through whatever's bothering you." He extended his hand. "It's cold out there. Just take my hand and come in, we can all get warm."

  The muscles of Kara's thighs trembled; her heart beat erratically. "May I try?" she asked the man's back. "We grew up together, he might listen to me."

  In a tear-clogged voice, Tuesday said, "Let her speak with him, let her try."

  The man didn't seem to hear. "Can I get you something, Flyer? That's what your friends call you, right? Is it okay if I call you Flyer?"

  A female officer joined them and approached Kara. "What's your name and relationship to Mr. Dresden?"

  "We're practically siblings; please let me help."

  Danny stepped forward. "Ms. Lawrence and Mr. Dresden grew up together. Why not give her a chance?"

  The man leaning out of the window had evidently heard this because he said, "Ms. Lawrence is here, Flyer. Can she talk to you?"

  "Kara?"

  The man turned and Kara nodded.

  "Yeah, Kara is here. That okay by you?"

  Flyer must have indicated assent. The man pulled his head back in and welcomed Kara to the window with a gesture. "Keep your voice low, don't spook him. The goal is getting back inside. Got it?"

  "I understand." She could feel the blood pounding in her head. "Flyer, hey, it's me. What's going on with you?"

  At first, he didn't answer her. She focused on his sharply drawn profile, dreadlocks pointing in different directions. With deep concentration, she tried to connect the way they did when they were children. The wind stung her face. Nearby, a pigeon cooed and then swooped away. Kara put every ounce of energy she had into sending him a message.

  Finally, Flyer spoke: "He didn't do anything to me, you know."

  It was all her fault. She leaned farther out, her right hip on the ridges of the window frame, her left hand pressed against the closed portion of the window. With her right hand, she reached out toward Flyer. "I know. It was just Tuesday and me."

  "I tried to make him leave you girls alone. If I had a real sword, you know, not the toy one, but a real one, I could have stopped him."

  "You were just a boy."

  "I prayed night after night that he'd stop. I prayed until I stopped believing."

  "God heard you. He sent Liz."

  "Took too long."

  "There was nothing you could have done. It wasn't your fault."

  "Sometimes I called on the devil and asked him to help—I promised him things."

  "Flyer, we were children."

  "Do you know why they call me Flyer?"

  Kara was crying now. He'd been too little to save her, just as she had been too young to save him and Tuesday. She hadn't let herself remember the overwhelming helplessness she'd felt when she couldn't rescue them.

  "You told me you wanted to be a pilot when you were a kid, isn't that how you got your name?"

  "That's what I said, but it's not the truth."

  "Come in and tell me the real story."

  He seemed not to hear her or notice her hand reaching for him.

  "When I was real small, I jumped out the window of our apartment."

  Kara covered her mouth to keep her sobs unheard.

  "Broke both my legs and cracked a few ribs. When they asked me why I jumped, I told them I wanted to fly."

  Oh dear God, why didn't we talk about any of this before?

  "The truth was I wanted to die."

  She took a deep breath to steady her voice. "I know. I used to think about dying all the time, but I didn't do it. Do you want to know why?" He didn't say anything. "Because of you and Tuesday."

  Flyer still didn't seem to hear her. Desperate, Tuesday's words came back to her: that Flyer used to do everything Kara told him to do. "Flyer, I want you to come inside and be with me and Tuesday. We're alive and Big Jim is dead."

  She waited, but he still did not respond.

  "We need you—I need you. Please come in."

  Kara sensed, rather than saw, Danny standing behind her. He circled her waist and braced himself so Kara could lean out as far as possible. "Please take my hand, Flyer. I love you so much. You and Tuesday, you are the only family I have."

  It was true. All her life she had held on to the dream of her father and sister, her "real" family—but they weren't. Her family was here. "Please, Flyer. We were kids. They were the grown-ups. It wasn't our fault."

  Flyer's tortured eyes burned into hers. "He never did anything like that to me."

  "He never did."

  It seemed as if he was going to come in. He nodded to himself and said, "Okay," several times. Then he inched to the side toward Kara. Farther along the ledge and out of Flyer's sight, Kara noticed a police officer easing along the ledge. A heavy rope secured him to a cop leaning from what must have been a neighbor's window. The officer on the ledge placed his finger on his lips and nodded meaningfully at Kara.

  Either sensing someone's presence or reading Kara's face, Flyer jerked his head to the left. The motion caused him to lose his balance.

  "No."

  As if in slow motion, Flyer began to topple over.

  The officer flung out his arm and caught Flyer by his left forearm midair; Flyer's momentum pulled the man with him.

  Kara broke free from Danny's hold and scrambled out the window on her knees. "No, Flyer, no."

  Now both Flyer and the police officer dangled from the window, forty feet above the ground, as two other cops grabbed the rope.

  "I'm going to drop him," the first officer shouted. "I'm losing my grip."

  The two officers inside tugged. "Hold on, Tony, we've got you both."

  Kara crawled out as far as she dared and watched Flyer's hand slip, second by second, along the officer's forearm, his topcoat still billowing aroun
d his lean frame. She could hear isolated voices from below.

  "Let him die if he wants to."

  "Hold on to him, don't drop him."

  Behind her, she heard Tuesday sobbing.

  They hung, suspended in air, Flyer dangling from the officer's hand as the officer gripped the rope in a deadly tug-of-war.

  Kara held her breath. The two officers hoisted first the cop named Tony, and then Flyer, to safety.

  Crawling, she backed up and climbed in through the window. Once inside, she stepped into Danny's arms.

  He held her, her face mashed against his neck, as shudders convulsed through her body. He stroked her hair, patted her back, and rocked her. "It's okay, Kara. He's safe now."

  It felt like the safest place she'd ever been.

  She stopped crying and pushed away. "I have to go to him."

  Tuesday, however, stood in her path. "Satisfied?" Spittle sprayed Kara's face. "This is your fault."

  It was. "I'm so sorry."

  "You're the one he liked the best. You're the one who got everything while we got shit."

  "What?"

  Tuesday hammered Kara's chest with her fists. "We said we'd never, ever say anything to anyone. Now look what you've done."

  The blows rocked her, but she didn't even feel them. "What are you saying?" It felt like everyone in the room was watching them.

  "Leave her alone," Danny said, catching Tuesday's fists.

  "You think we didn't notice you were Big Jim's favorite?" Tuesday wriggled free from Danny's hold. "You and your white skin and light eyes. You think it didn't matter he made sure you ate the best, got the best, while we ate shit and got nothing but his belt?"

  What was Tuesday saying? Big Jim cared about Kara? "He did the same to me that he did to you." The blank face of a flat-screen TV stared down at them from its perch on a wire organizer. "Same as you."

  Tuesday ran into Flyer's bedroom. Kara followed.

  She stood outside the door with no way to process what she'd just heard. Where to begin? She searched the faces around her, each as blank as the television screen, except for Danny's. He walked over to her.

  "Don't think about it now," he said. "There's time enough later."

  Tears pooled and slid down Kara's face. She squeezed Danny's hand and stepped into Flyer's room.