"What are you going to do?" Danny stood in the doorway, his arms hanging at his sides, his expression filled with empathy. "I'll take you to the funeral if you want to go."
"He left me, Danny. He left me to be raped and beaten." Her voice faltered. Tears came so quickly now. She reached for a tissue and stemmed the flow.
Danny stepped into the room, walked over, and squatted beside her. "Do what feels right for you." The sound of his radio voice blended with the strands of Dave Grusin's piano easing from the speakers in the corner. "What did Alex say when she called?"
The message was on Kara's cell. Alex had begged her to come to funeral.
"What you'd expect. I feel bad for her, this has to be hard."
"Maybe go for her sake?"
Kara stayed quiet for several seconds. Danny lowered his frame to the floor. Grusin's piano filled the room.
"I went to see my therapist." She liked the way Danny listened; his whole body appeared to pay attention and he didn't seem to mind the long pauses. "I think I'll make a few more appointments—you know, to get through all of this."
"When my Dad died, I spent some time with my pastor. Talking can help."
"Mrs. E. has her own answer," Kara chuckled. "She said I'm an old soul, a soul who has been around for thousands of years. Everyone in my life, even you, has always been with me."
"I thought she was Catholic."
"Very Buddhist sounding, right? Anyway, I asked her why. I mean, do we all just keep coming back over and over again, living the same pain, making the same mistakes for eternity?"
"Ouch."
"Exactly. She said when you get it right, it's not only about being a good person, it's also about learning the lessons you need to learn, living out those lessons. Once that happens, you've lived your last life and you find peace."
"If that's true, then I'm counting on this life being my last one."
"Me too," Kara said, this time with a genuine smile. "I'm going to figure out those lessons and get stuff right this time around."
They stayed quiet. Once again, Danny seemed fine with the stillness. Yesterday's visit with Marci Nye centered on Kara's father and Alex, but they also talked about Danny. Take it slow and see how things unfold, Dr. Nye had advised. Trust yourself.
"Speaking of lessons," Danny said, "how's Flyer?"
Kara's face brightened. "Better. Well, maybe not better, but coming along." Tuesday and Kara were with him when Alex called. Even though Tuesday was still chilly around Kara, they worked together to make sure Flyer had company during every second of visiting hours. That's why Kara hadn't answered her phone. "His color was better and I like his doc. She asked me a lot of questions about our past and seemed to understand." Grusin's album ended. The only remaining sounds were muffled traffic from three stories down.
Danny asked, "What's happening with the FBI?"
It was funny, but she had barely given them a thought since she walked away from Zach's building. "All's quiet," she said.
"That's good, I guess."
"Thank you for being here." Danny and Mrs. E. had taken turns staying with her whenever she wasn't with Flyer, letting her cry when she needed to, watching funny movies, and listening when she went on talking jags. Kara reached out her hand and touched his. "I don't know how I would have made it through all of this without you and Mrs. E."
"You're welcome."
For a few seconds, he just stared at her. Then he unfolded himself from the floor, stood, took Kara's hand, and gently pulled her up from the chair. He stepped closer and wrapped his long arms around her. She rested her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and tried not to think about tomorrow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Somehow, it didn't seem right to Alex that the sun was shining or that daffodils, bent over like old men, had poked their heads through the thawing ground. This morning, Alex saw a robin building a nest under the overhang of her apartment building. Spring had finally come and her daddy was dead.
She let the minister's words of comfort ease the ache. With her left arm around Pigeon's shoulders, her own eyes cried dry, Alex let his words about the better place her father had gone to seep into her consciousness. Worth Lawrence was with God. Still, she felt so sad.
Filled to overflowing, the church was decorated with white lilies tied with white ribbons. Reverend Strong's father had married Worth and Judy. The original Reverend Strong, now close to eighty, sat with her mother while his son led the congregation in prayer. Ten women and ten men, all dressed in white robes, made up the choir, their soaring voices calling for the celebration of a soul now with Jesus and at peace.
When the hymn ended, Reverend Strong said, "We'll now hear from Worth's family. His eldest daughter, Alexandra, will speak on their behalf."
Vanessa had loaned Alex a black sheath with three-quarter sleeves and a lace scarf for her head. Judy contributed a strand of pearls and a pair of pearl studs. Even Alex's shoes were new, thanks to a girlfriend who'd gone shopping for her. Now, standing in front of everyone, her feet cramped in pointy-toed black pumps, Alex longed for her cowboy boots. It was funny, but for the first time since she quit, the thing she didn't crave was a cigarette.
Alex walked to the podium with a crumpled page from her notepad clamped in her damp fist. Over the past few days she must have rewritten what she would say a half-dozen times. The usually efficient Vanessa had collapsed, sleeping on and off on Alex's couch. Despite keeping a watchful eye, Alex couldn't tell if Vanessa was clean and sober or not. When Alex suggested her sister might be more comfortable at her own apartment, Vanessa had turned her back, pulled the covers up over her head, and appeared to go back to sleep. Pigeon tried to help, but Alex had trouble letting go and trusting that Pigeon would get things right. Judy and Aunt Peggy stayed stashed away at the house. Neither offered a suggestion or asked a question. Therefore, once again, it fell to Alex to manage it all, from funeral arrangements to flowers to notices—every detail. Their father's longtime administrative assistant was helpful. The family had no idea how many people Worth knew, how many people cared, but his assistant did.
Alex looked out at the standing-room-only crowd, the high and low, so to speak. Sean, his handlebar mustache carefully groomed, sat several pews back next to Gracie, their receptionist. Michael had come. Of course Martin Dawes was there, as well as almost every member of the firm of Hobbs, Austin, and Lawrence. Alex recognized several local politicians, the mayor, state assemblymen and -women, and one of New York's two senators. Someone from the State Department had given her condolences. The senator read a message from the president. There were several Bedford neighbors who Alex also recognized, and a bevy of Alex's friends—some from high school, and others from Smith. Sonja came. (Kara and her question about Alex's black friends jumped to mind.) To look at this crowd, you'd see that Worth Lawrence knew people of every stripe. Even a few of Alex and Sean's current and former clients had shown up. The biggest surprise was Jonas Frankel. Through all the misery, Alex had pulled together his package and hand-delivered it. Now, here he was.
Who were the rest of these people who had come to mourn her father? There was a woman in the fifth pew weeping audibly, her narrow shoulders shaking. A whole row of men in dark suits and white shirts sat shoulder to shoulder, grim-faced, like capos at a crime-family funeral. In the very last row, a large woman in a bright floral dress and floppy straw hat, as if this was an Easter Sunday service, blew her nose. Each of them was a stranger, a stranger who must have known her father and had come from some corner of the country, perhaps of the world, to say goodbye. There were whole chapters of her father's life, and actors in it, about which Alex knew nothing.
She cleared her throat and began: "My father would be so appreciative that all of you joined us today. On behalf of my mother, his beloved sister Peggy, and his other daughters, Monica and Vanessa, we thank you for coming, and for caring. We are also thankful he didn't suffer at the end. In fact, he was feeling better, optimistic, right before slippin
g into the coma from which he never returned. His thoughts at the time of his death were of his family and friends. His last deeds were to right wrongs from his past. I can carry with me forever his final words to me: I love you, kitten."
Alex drew a calming breath before continuing. "Worth Lawrence was a good man—not a perfect man, but a decent human being. He did the best he could, and sometimes he did extraordinarily wonderful things." She paused again. Her mother and sisters sat together in front, white ribbons marking the pews occupied by family members—Kara should be there with them. Alex had begged her to come, to be a part of the family and sit with them. Just that morning, Alex had reached her on her cell and repeated her request. Kara had refused. I am sorry for your loss, Alex, she'd said. You've been good to me, and I appreciate all you've done. Thank you for finding me. Alex could hear the but that was about to come. He was not my father. This is a terrible day for you and your family. I will always be your friend, but we are not family.
Tears threatened, so Alex wrapped up her remarks: "I know he would want this to be a dignified affair, so I'll save my tears for a more private time. Please join us for the burial and later at the house for refreshments. Come share your happy memories with us. I know it will help us move through this difficult time, and I hope it will also ease your personal loss. God bless you all, and thank you."
Reverend Strong returned to the podium to conclude the service with a prayer. The choir sang "Amazing Grace," and then it was over. More than five hundred mourners piled into cars and headed for the cemetery for the brief burial ceremony.
By the time they left the historic Sleepy Hollow Cemetery and got to the house, things were a little easier. Family, friends, dignitaries, and Worth's colleagues crowded into the great room of the colonial house Alex's parents had raised a family in, its vaulted ceiling reverberating with voices no longer hushed or sad. It was warm enough to sit outside on the wraparound veranda. Alex had hired a catering service and valet car parkers. Housekeepers picked up dirty glasses and plates and kept the bathrooms fresh.
Alex greeted and thanked guests, listened to stories, and solved problems as they arose. Several hours into the gathering, just as things were winding down, she joined her siblings. Hours earlier, she had shed the offending shoes and put on more comfortable flats. Now, she sat on the couch, her feet tucked under her.
Aunt Peggy was in the middle of one of her stories: "There we were, huddled in Judy's bedroom, scared to death," she said, patting her neck with a damp hanky, tortoise-shell glasses sliding down her nose. "All we could hear were the splashes from the pool." She paused for dramatic effect. "Someone or something was swimming at two in the morning."
Vanessa, her blond hair swept up, wearing a tailored black suit and patent-leather pumps, nodded ever so slightly as if she didn't want to encourage Peggy but couldn't help herself. Her eyes were bloodshot, but from what, Alex wasn't sure—maybe she'd been crying.
"We were going to call the police," Peggy went on, "but suppose it was Worth coming home unexpectedly."
"A common occurrence," Vanessa said without humor.
"Or a neighbor kid. We decided to creep downstairs, flashlights in hand. Practical Nessie," Aunt Peggy said, pointing to Vanessa, "had Worth's five iron in her hand and, of course, our Alex was holding the wireless phone, ready to call the police if needed."
"What was I doing?" Pigeon asked.
"You held onto Alex's robe as tight as you could."
Alex did recall this night—not just from a million retellings of the story, but the actual memory. There had been a full moon, and the cicadas were making a racket from the surrounding trees.
Peggy had the audience in her hands. "Shining the flashlight, we peered toward the direction of the splashes."
A second cousin on her mother's side asked, "So what was it?"
Peggy laughed. "Pigeon's raccoons, swimming away, thank you very much. Doing the backstroke as if they were at a raccoon resort."
Pigeon said, "They were my friends. You scared them away."
"You made us scramble eggs and fry bacon for them," Vanessa said, this time without her usual disdain.
Peggy was still laughing. "Only our Pigeon would make friends with a family of raccoons." She pulled off her glasses and polished them on the hem of her suit skirt.
Vanessa made a derisive sound. "One more night in the Lawrence household minus the wayward Worth."
"Shame on you," Aunt Peggy chided.
Alex uncurled and got up. No drama today, she couldn't bear it.
"May I go with you?" Without waiting for a reply, Michael jumped up from his spot on the couch. He reached for her hand and she took it.
"I thought she'd come," Alex said. They navigated the people-clusters saying their final goodbyes. She and Michael went out the front door onto the veranda.
"I spoke with Liz, who sends her condolences, by the way. She hasn't heard from Kara."
"I think she's hurt, you know, about Liz suspecting and not rescuing her sooner."
"Liz appreciates that. She's called her and left messages."
"Want to take a walk?"
The two strolled down the winding driveway, past the rocks from which the builders had carved out the Lawrence property, and onto the road. The crunch of their heels on the asphalt, pebbles, and twigs mingled with birdcalls and the thrash of deer in the woods. Alex stopped.
"Isn't that Danny's car?"
"Kara's friend?"
A battered Toyota had sailed past.
"Do you know what's happening with the FBI and Kara?"
Alex stared at the empty road. She could have sworn it was Danny's car.
"Alex?"
She faced Michael. "They're not going to prosecute her."
"Really?"
They had come to the end of the street on which Alex had lived her whole life until she left for college. The intersection, marked by four-way stop signs, was devoid of traffic. She looked again for the Toyota, hoping Kara had changed her mind. Across the street, on both corners, wooded lots hid five-bedroom, six-bathroom mansions. To their left, a ten-acre horse farm. On their right, an open lot sprouting a field of wildflowers. No sign of the Toyota.
"Where are you?" Michael asked.
"Sorry, I keep hoping."
"You have to let that one go, Alex."
A young male deer loped across the lot to their right, his budding antlers announcing his age and sex.
"I didn't say it in church today, but the last good thing my father did before he died was square things with the SEC for Kara. I wanted to tell her when . . . if she came today."
"How did he pull that off?"
"He had a knack for eleventh-hour miracles. It seems he contacted our family lawyer, Martin Dawes, and had him call in some of Worth's favors from the powerful and connected. The FBI is not going to bother her anymore."
"Wow, that's great."
"He knew a lot of people and a lot of them owed him, liked him, and made gobs of money because of him. I'd told my dad about Kara's mess, and at the time he didn't seem to care. I guess, in the end—before the end—he decided he did."
"What happens to Zach Lowe?"
"Don't know. Martin thinks Kara was gravy. The FBI had lots of evidence. Zach will probably lose his license, maybe get some jail time."
They moved to the shoulder of the road as a Mercedes SUV barreled past.
"Maybe it is better Kara didn't come. I could tell her when things are less emotional."
"You could write her."
"I don't think so." She'd put together a photo album of family pictures for Kara including grandparents, second cousins, and great aunts, plus lots of pictures of Vanessa, Pigeon, and Alex. Her plan was to give Kara the album and the FBI news today. "In person feels better. Plus, I don't want her to worry about the FBI. Maybe I should text her about that now?" She wasn't asking Michael for advice. Mostly, she was thinking aloud. Alex dug out her phone from her pocket and typed.
"You could still t
ake the album to her later. Give her some space now."
Alex finished her message and hit Send. "I'll definitely find a way to give it to her, no matter what." She was determined for many reasons, but the main one was to let Kara know that as his final act, their father had gotten it right.
* * *
Kara and Danny sat in his car several driveways down from the Lawrence home, Danny at the wheel, Kara beside him, the engine running.
Earlier, Mrs. E., Danny, and Kara had sat down to a comfort-food feast: macaroni and cheese, fried chicken, greens slow-cooked with ham hocks, and chocolate cake with vanilla-cream icing. Kara had pushed the food around her plate.
"Regret is bad enough." Mrs. E. heaped another serving on Danny's plate. "But holding onto anger, guilt, and blame eats you up."
Kara stirred her greens. "Flyer's doing better. He could be released on Monday."
"Good," Danny said, his voice muffled by his last mouthful. "I have to agree with Mrs. E. Learned the hard way, forgiveness sets you free." He mopped up the juices with one of Mrs. E.'s buttermilk biscuits.
"Including forgiving yourself," Mrs. E. said.
Danny spoke in a quiet voice: "I bought a ticket to see my mom."
The night before, for the first time in weeks, Kara had slept for nine hours with no nightmares. She woke up feeling strong. Didn't Kara want Tuesday and Flyer to forgive her? Shouldn't Kara forgive as well? "I'll do it, I'll go."
"Give me a few minutes." Danny hopped up. "I need to change." He bounded up the stairs.
Getting It Right Page 22
