Flyer, curled in a fetal position on his bed, had visible tremors moving through his body. Tuesday had flung herself next to him. What could Kara say? What was the truth? What did it matter? Danny was right—think about it later. She looked at her brother and sister curled together. Tuesday's silent cries made her muscles tremble under her blouse. Kara went to them, lay down on the bed, and put her arms around them both. "I love you," she said. "Nothing happened, nothing ever happened."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Michael and Alex sat opposite each other in a Japanese restaurant on West 56th Street; its authentic motif was marred by the faux-celebrity photographs scattered across the walls. When he'd asked if she liked Japanese food, Alex had said yes. In fact, she'd never had it before. She liked Chinese okay, would it taste the same? It didn't.
"Tell me about your family." Alex, mirroring Michael's move, poured her Sam Adams down the inside of the tilted glass. She was usually a drink-from-the-bottle girl, but not today.
"Not much to tell." He took a long pull and then wiped his mouth with his napkin.
"Siblings?"
"I'm the baby. My brother Matt is eleven months older; Rebecca and David are ten, and eleven years older than I am."
Alex liked the sound of Michael's voice, his Brooklyn accent softened by education and probably from practice as well. As hokey as it sounded, his chestnut-brown eyes had amazing depth. Not to mention those eyelashes—women strive to achieve that length with mascara but rarely do. What had he just said? She lifted her glass, sipped, and swallowed. Oh yeah, ten and twelve years older. "Second marriage?"
The amused way he watched her made her think he knew two separate conversations were going on: the one out loud about his family, and the other with her imagining him naked beside her in bed.
"Nope, Sid and Estelle have been bickering happily for forty-five years. Rumor has it Estelle cut him off after David was born and only let him back in the bedroom after David stopped raising hell."
Alex laughed. "With all the fights my parents had, I can't ever remember a time when my father slept on the proverbial couch." Not that she had any clue about her parents' sex life, or wanted to for that matter. It was just hard to imagine Judy, or anyone, saying no to Worth Lawrence.
"They're affectionate, so maybe that wasn't it."
A comfortable silence followed. Their food came and they both dug in. Between forkfuls, Alex asked, "Are your brothers and sister around? Do you see them often?" She was thinking about Pigeon who was clear across the country.
"I see Becca a lot. She has five kids, so I'm Uncle Mike. My parents live in West Palm Beach, the land of the seventy-year-old Jewish gentry from New York, the sixth borough. I try to get down there a couple times a year."
"Is your family religious?" She hoped her question wasn't too abrupt. She knew what Judy would think about "a nice Jewish boy," but what would her father say?
"Culturally, if that makes sense."
Alex nodded and took another forkful of her rad na, which was rice noodles in gravy with chicken and shrimp. "This is yummy."
"Glad you're enjoying it."
"So, you were saying about being culturally religious?"
"We celebrate the major holidays—Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Passover—but it's more about being Jewish than about God." He took another bite. "I think I might feel differently if I had kids."
This time the silence felt awkward, or maybe that was a result of her carnal thoughts from earlier.
"Tell me about you."
"Like what?"
"I don't know, stuff."
Alex shrugged. How could she explain in a coherent way what it was like growing up in her family, or why at thirty she was still alone and, in fact, hadn't had a committed relationship with anyone, ever?
"What's your happiest childhood memory?"
The question caught her by surprise. "Happiest?" Hadn't she tried to remember happy times on Sunday with her mother? The ant invasion had been the only one that came to mind. Surely, Judy-drama hadn't filled every moment of their lives. Finally, she said, "I guess the year we didn't have a Christmas tree."
Michael's eyes glinted. This was crazy, she barely knew him, but she felt herself opening up.
"What happened?"
Alex searched for the details. "Christmas was important to our family—a time for reunion and sharing more than a religious occasion, like for your family. For my sisters and me, however, it was magical."
Michael put down his fork, kept his focus on her face.
"My mom would take us to the local Italian bakery and let us pick out all of the pies and cakes."
"No home baking?"
"She was only good at meat and potatoes." Just thinking about it brought back images of Judy pulling out the hardly used cookbooks and making roast lamb and beef with Yorkshire pudding and gravy. "Grandma Colonie, my mom's mother, loved to cook."
"Did you grow up with all of your grandparents alive?"
"The grandmothers outlasted the granddads."
"What's that about?" He was laughing at her again, but not in a mean way. "You ladies like to kill us off early and inherit the loot?"
"You guys never go to the doctor when we tell you to or take vitamins or—"
"I give, I give. Besides, I do take vitamins."
Of course he did.
"We've gotten sidetracked. You were telling me about the no-tree Christmas."
"This Christmas I could sense something was wrong. Usually, my dad would take us to a tree farm to get a freshly cut Scots pine, his favorite. He also took us shopping for Christmas presents for the rest of the family. It was already Christmas Eve and he hadn't been home for a week—no tree, no presents." Once again, images filled her mind's eye of how much she'd loved shopping with her father and finding the perfect present for everyone. Sometimes, he would drop off the younger kids and take just her along with him to find something special for her mother.
"How old were you?"
Alex tried to remember. What year would that have been? "Little, I'm not sure."
"So far, this is a sad story. How does it end up being your happiest memory?"
The waiter came over and took their empty plates.
"Want another beer?" Michael asked.
Alex nodded yes, then continued: "My middle sister Vanessa saved the evening. She'd made a tree at school out of evergreen branches and aluminum foil."
"Cool."
"For once, my mother said and did the right thing. We decorated it, acted like it was the best tree ever." Vanessa had been so proud and Alex was distraught—where was her daddy and the real tree? "But that's not the best part. The best part was when sleigh bells woke me up sometime in the middle of the night. I was positive it was Santa, and it was."
"It was, huh?" He was laughing again.
"Absolutely," Alex laughed too. "I climbed out of bed and crept downstairs, like in a movie, and there were silver bells hanging from red ribbons all over the living room. And in the center of the room was the most spectacular tree ever, with presents packed under it, and my parents—both of them—were holding hands and drinking eggnog."
"What happened to Vanessa's tree?"
"It had its own place and there were presents under it too."
"What a great story."
For a few minutes they just watched each other; they hadn't yet noticed that the waiter had brought them two beers and clean glasses. Eventually, Alex said, "My dad could always pull things together at the last minute." That's what he was trying to do now with Kara. A new thought suddenly occurred to her. "Now this Christmas memory doesn't feel the same."
"What do you mean?"
"I was about six that year, which means so was Kara." Michael nodded as if he already understood. He knew it was the year Kara's mother had died, the year her father chose Alex over Kara and put Kara up for adoption. Alex's voice dropped to a whisper. "I wonder what kind of Christmas memories Kara has from that year."
Michael reached
across the table and took her hand. After a while he asked, "How did your visit with Kara go?"
Alex had pushed it to the back of her mind. For the first time since her father's request, she had been really enjoying herself. Now, the conversation with Kara came back like a too-spicy meal. "Awful. She said no. I did everything I could, but she wouldn't budge."
"I can't say I'm surprised, but I'm sorry."
Someone pushed past Alex and Michael's table heading for the restroom in the back. They both steadied their bottles and glasses, and simultaneously accepted the urgent diner's apology.
"Well, I was surprised. I could see my story touched her." Alex poured her second beer and took a sip. "She told me my father didn't know what he was sorry for."
Michael responded with a noncommittal noise.
"I asked the people she lives with—a cop who I think has a thing for her and a grandmotherly person in a wheelchair—I asked them to try and persuade her, but I'm not too hopeful." She took another pull. "Why aren't you surprised?"
"He abandoned her."
"I get it." She wiped the beer foam from her mouth with her fingers. Then, embarrassed, grabbed her napkin and redid it. Although she was unsure how she felt about Kara, Alex knew she had to see this through. Her father had asked, and she had to give him peace. But now she had met Kara; Alex saw another sister who needed her help, even if Kara didn't know it—everyone needs family. "Do you think Liz will help me?"
"Help with what?"
"Persuading Kara."
He shrugged. "You can ask her, but I don't know if Liz will go any further than she has. There's a lot about Kara's story you don't know."
"You think?" Then, regretting her tone, "Everyone keeps hinting at things but no one is telling me anything."
Michael pulled at his mouth with one hand, pinching his lower lip, his eyes moving across her face, and then he looked away.
"Please, Michael, what happened?"
"I can't tell you anything. It would be unethical."
Alex winced. Did he think she was asking him to commit some wrongful act? That's not what she meant.
"However, I will ask Liz if she'll help persuade Kara. I don't think it will work, but I can try."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome." He signaled to the waiter that he wanted their check. "I'll talk to her in the morning."
"I'd never ask you to do anything wrong. I know you hardly know me."
"I didn't think you were."
The waiter brought over the check and Michael peered at it.
"How much is my half?"
He had that amused expression again, which was starting to irritate her. "I got it."
"You're sure? Because I can pay my way."
"No need."
"Thanks." Well, not exactly irritating. "Thanks for dinner, and for listening and helping me."
Michael scratched the back of his head, his brow creased.
"We should probably get going," Alex said.
"I guess."
Neither moved. Finally, Alex grabbed her bag from the seat next to her and Michael jumped up and helped her into her jacket. He was close enough that she could smell the beer and onions, but it wasn't unpleasant.
Her cell phone rang. She didn't recognize the number but thought it might be Pigeon. "Excuse me," she said, then answered the phone. "Hello?"
It was a familiar voice. "Kara?"
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Kara stood on the corner of 145th and Frederick Douglass Boulevard waiting for Alex to pick her up. She shifted from one foot to the other, both to keep warm and to help relieve her anxiety. The purple-and-white scarf wound around her neck helped keep the night chill out, but her nose and fingers felt frozen. Every few seconds, she glanced up and down the wide avenue searching for Alex's red Jeep.
It was almost eight p.m. and the street was crowded with people moving in all directions at a New York pace. The sky was dark, but the light streaming from the street lamps and storefronts helped illuminate Kara's vigil.
This was it. She was going to meet her father after all of these years. She stamped her feet and blew on her hands before shoving them back into her pockets. What would she say to him, ask him? What would he look like now? Would he even be able to speak? Alex said he was gravely ill. For that matter, maybe visiting hours were over and she wouldn't get to see him at all.
This was probably a bad idea; she should be with Flyer. She glanced at her watch again: 8:03. It had only been an hour ago when she had lifted her head from Flyer's bed and asked the policewoman what would happen next.
"They'll take him to Bellevue for assessment," she'd said, her face a professional mask.
Kara heard sirens approaching. "And then what?"
The officer shrugged.
Two paramedics from the city's largest psychiatric hospital had crowded into the bedroom and lifted Flyer onto a gurney. His eyes remained closed and she could hear his shallow breathing, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession.
Danny had put his arm around Kara's shoulder. "He'll be okay, it's not a bad place."
Tuesday watched from across the room. Although Danny's supporting arm felt good, Kara stepped away and approached her. "We have to talk."
"I was acting crazy," Tuesday said. Her normally smooth brown cheeks were mottled.
"Not crazy." Kara could still feel the sting of Tuesday's accusation that somehow Big Jim treated her better—better than what?
"I don't want to talk."
"Okay, but later, after . . ." Since Kara had no idea what would happen next, she'd been unable to finish the sentence.
Danny said, "I can give you both a lift home or to the hospital, but I don't think there's much you'll be able to do for him tonight."
That's when she'd made up her mind; the words came out before she really processed her thoughts: "Thanks, Danny, but I have to go somewhere tonight."
At first she didn't understand Danny's hurt expression, but then she realized he thought she was going to see Zach. "I've decided to take your advice and meet my father."
Tuesday said, "Your father?"
Kara nodded to Tuesday, but directed her words at Danny. "What you said about your dad and about going to see your mother—that all made sense to me after seeing Flyer on that ledge." She'd wanted Danny to know that she'd changed today.
Danny asked, "Can I help?"
Tuesday jumped in: "Help do what? What's going on?" She eyed each of them.
Kara leaned down slightly and hugged Tuesday. "Nothing—I mean a lot, and I'll explain everything. It will all be okay." She'd smiled at Danny but guessed from his expression that the result wasn't convincing. "I have to do this alone."
Clarity arrived at odd times. As she'd watched the ambulance drive Flyer away, with blinking lights and wailing siren, she'd seen the road ahead: meet her father and put the past to rest; deal with Zach and the FBI; help Flyer get better; move on with her life.
Now, as she stood on the street corner waiting for Alex, Kara didn't feel as sure as she had an hour before. A heavyset man walked past her; he appeared to check her out under the guise of looking into the shop window behind her. He could not be the FBI. Tonight was the deadline and they were awaiting her answer, so why follow her? The man rounded the corner. A group of teenagers in an illegally parked car blasted music and laughed on another corner. At that moment, Kara's eye caught the gaze of a woman standing just as Kara was, as if she too was waiting for someone. The way the woman kept peering up and down the street seemed exaggerated. This was a bad idea. Kara should have gone home with Danny or stayed with Tuesday. As she was about to abandon her vigil, a red Jeep Cherokee pulled in front of her. Alex opened the door and Kara climbed in.
The Jeep was warm. A vintage U2 album, The Joshua Tree, played on the car stereo. Alex lowered the volume. "I'm glad you called."
Kara watched the scene outside the window and squinted at the side-view mirror.
"What's wrong?" Alex asked.
"I think we're being followed."
"Followed?" Alex swiveled her head toward Kara and then back to the street traffic.
"I'm sorry, I'll get out if you want me to."
"Why the hell would any follow you?"
"You won't get in trouble or anything."
Alex's frown was deep. Kara decided that she had to explain about the FBI and Zach. She owed Alex in case she was putting her in danger. Keeping it simple, brief, and not mentioning her affair with Zach—or that he was married—Kara ended with, "I don't think he meant to get me into trouble, but here I am."
"Are you sleeping with this idiot?"
"I have until midnight to help them, or they'll prosecute me."
"Do you love him?"
They were going sixty-five miles an hour on the West Side Highway, heading north to Westchester County. Kara felt humiliated. She and Alex had only just met, and now Alex knew about her sorry history. From the side-view mirror, Kara saw a black sedan pull two cars behind them.
Alex said, "I thought you and the cop were a couple."
"Did you? Why would you think that?"
"He's crazy about you, anyone can see that."
"Danny and I are just friends."
They were speeding along the mostly empty highway with soft curves and three lanes. The faint sounds of U2 eased the tension.
Alex took her eyes from the road for a fraction of a second. "So, you love this Zach guy?"
It was a strange turn for the conversation to take. After all, Kara was about to meet her father for the first time since she was four years old, and the FBI was following her. Plus, Alex was practically a stranger. Yet here they were discussing Kara's not-so-great love life.
"It's complicated," Kara replied. "I mean, I thought I loved Zach, but he betrayed my trust."
"Tell me about it . . . I just met this man for the first time tonight and I already have these crazy feelings I don't understand. Life is strange, that's all I can say."
Kara welcomed the diversion. "And?"
It was funny how easy it was speaking with her—it was as if they had known each other for years. In fact, Alex already knew more about Kara's current life than the people to whom Kara was the closest. Kara glanced at Alex's profile; it was like looking in a mirror.
Getting It Right Page 17
