Danger Zone

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “He wasn’t too keen on it at first but he’s getting used to it,” Grace replied.

  “I can’t wait to see him,” Karen said. “Does he still look like Aunt Elizabeth?”

  Grace grinned. “More than ever. She’ll never be dead as long as Tom is around to stare at me with those district attorney eyes. I swear, sometimes I think she’s come back in that little body to tell me to clean up my room and do my homework.”

  “I know what you mean,” Karen sympathized. Grace’s son resembled their aunt in an uncanny, almost supernatural fashion. It was difficult to look at him and completely dismiss the theory of reincarnation. “And how is Mary? Charming everybody at nursery school?”

  “Sure,” Grace said. “She’s charming as long as she gets her way. Cross her and the charm fades very fast.”

  “She’s only three, Grace.”

  Grace shook her head. “You indulge that girl too much.”

  “My godchild, after all.”

  Karen settled back in her seat and watched the exits pass in a blur of off ramps and overpasses. Grace lived in the Passaic County suburb of Wayne in a development of ranch houses and split levels, built twenty years earlier, when Wayne was still rural and the township mostly farmland. Now it was a crowded, bustling hodgepodge of shopping malls, professional offices and industrial complexes, and the house Grace and Ken had purchased when they were first married was worth four times what they’d paid for it. Ken worked as a chemist for a pharmaceutical company in one of the corporate parks, and their two children attended local schools. Grace was on the PTA and took exercise classes with her neighbors; Ken was a member of the Elks and played golf. They were the perfect nuclear family and always made Karen feel as if she had traveled backward in time and landed on “Father Knows Best.”

  “It’s been a while, huh?” Grace said.

  Karen turned to look at her. “What?”

  “It’s been a long time since you passed through here.”

  Karen nodded. “It’s busier than I remember it.”

  Grace grimaced. “It gets busier every day. Ken says if any more New York commuters relocate to this area he’s going to write his congressman about moving Wall Street to North Jersey. It would save everybody a lot of traveling.”

  “Do you remember Alice Dunphy? Her parents had a farm just outside of Oakland. I wonder if it’s still there.”

  “I doubt it. Probably ten colonials are sitting on it now.”

  “Her father used to say it was just forty-five minutes from Broadway, like the song.”

  Grace snorted. “That was never true. The only thing that’s forty-five minutes from Broadway is the corner of Broadway and Thirty-Third Street.”

  “I love New York,” Karen sang softly, like the tourism advertisements, and Grace laughed.

  Conversation flagged and Karen put her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes and thinking about her forthcoming job search. She would get the Sunday papers with the full classified sections that weekend, and type up a resume to be printed for distribution. As Grace drove she made her plans, unaware that her employment prospects would turn out to be much narrower than she had suspected.

  In the weeks that followed, Karen discovered that getting a job was a problem. With no local references and little demand for a Spanish language translator in affluent suburbia, she sent out a lot of unanswered queries and made quite a few fruitless phone calls. She continued to respond to want ads and finally got a written referral from the Almerian attache´, but the opportunities presenting themselves were still few. She came to see that her skills would be more in demand in an urban environment with a bilingual population, and she expanded her horizons to include cities like Paterson and Passaic. She resolved, regretfully, to include a car in her increasingly alarming budget calculations, and routinely sent resumes to people she had little hope of hearing from in return.

  More than a month passed and she was still unemployed. She helped Grace with the kids, read, took long walks, composed what she hoped were riveting cover letters, and meditated on the meaning of life. Nothing worked. She still couldn’t forget Steven Colter.

  One afternoon Grace came into the paneled rec room with the mail and handed Karen a letter.

  “England,” she said, indicating the postmark. “Must be from your friend Linda.”

  It was, and Karen put it in her jeans to read later, staring out at the lawn and the turning October trees.

  “What’s the word on the job search?” Grace asked, sitting down and glancing at her watch. She had to pick up Mary from the nursery school’s morning session in twenty minutes.

  “Discouraging,” Karen replied. “I’m thinking of buying a pistol and holding some of these personnel people at gunpoint.”

  Grace smiled slightly. “I wouldn’t adopt such drastic measures just yet.” She paused thoughtfully and then said, “Karen, tell me if I’m being too nosy, but I get the definite impression that something is still wrong.”

  “Of course something is still wrong. I can’t get a job.”

  Grace shook her head. “That’s not what I mean.” She twisted a lock of hair around her finger and went on cautiously. “Maybe you should see a counselor.”

  Karen stared at her. “What?”

  “I’ve read about people having delayed reactions to these hostage situations,” Grace added hastily, in a rush now to get it all out, “and I think maybe it would help you to talk to somebody, a professional who would know what to do.”

  “Grace, have you been raiding the local library and playing psychologist again?”

  Grace’s pale complexion turned pink. “I’m only trying to do what’s best for you,” she mumbled.

  Karen got up and hugged her sister, then sat on the floor at her feet. “I know I haven’t been my old self, Grace, and it’s sweet that you’re concerned about me. But the problem has nothing to do with my captivity in Almeria. It’s not even the job situation, really, though I must admit that feeling I was accomplishing something would help to take my mind off it.”

  “Off what?” Grace said. She looked down at her with the dark eyes that were the mirror image of Karen’s own, and their mother’s.

  “I met a man on Almeria.”

  “Oh,” Grace said softly, nodding. “I see. Was he one of the government workers?”

  “No.”

  “Then who? A native?”

  Karen shook her head. “The leader of the team who rescued us. An American.”

  Grace studied her. “Well?”

  Karen shrugged. “I haven’t heard from him since I left.”

  “Does he have this address?”

  Karen nodded. “I gave it to him.”

  Grace stood and walked to the sliding doors, rubbing at a finger mark on one of the glass panels with the tail of her shirt. “Did you think you would hear from him?”

  “Not really,” Karen sighed. “But I guess somewhere inside I must have been hoping or I wouldn’t be this disappointed.”

  Grace turned and faced her. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  While they went to get Mary, Karen filled Grace in on what had happened with Colter. Grace listened carefully, asking few questions. It wasn’t until they had returned to the house and Mary had settled in front of the television to watch “Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood” that Grace asked, “Are you sure you want to get involved with a man like that?”

  “A man like what?” Karen asked, looking up from the latest version of her resume, which made her sound like a cross between Joan of Arc and Joan Lunden.

  “Well, he must be about as far from Ian as anyone could possibly imagine,” Grace said reasonably.

  “Maybe that’s a good thing,” Karen responded. “Ian and I weren’t exactly compatible if you recall.”

  “But a man who traipses around the globe putting himself into dangerous situations all the time, a man who could be killed at any moment?” Grace said. “Why set yourself up for that?”

  “It’s a pu
ll I’ve never felt before,” Karen replied quietly. “There’s just something about him.”

  “Oh, no,” Grace said, holding up her hand. “Don’t tell me. I know what this is. I remember all those wild boys you were always trying to ‘help’ before you settled down with Ian. This guy Colter is just an older version of Billy Sykes.”

  “I didn’t settle down with Ian—I just settled. Into boredom. And Billy Sykes has nothing to do with this.”

  “Maybe not as an individual,” Grace said, “but the pattern is still there. You always felt sorry for the lost and lonely ones. You were always going to change their lives. And all you ever got from it was trouble.”

  “There wouldn’t have been any trouble with Billy if Aunt Elizabeth had been reasonable. Reporting him to the juvenile authorities just put him on the wrong path, and it went downhill from there.”

  “He would have wound up on that path anyway and finished in prison just like he did. And this Colter has all the Sykes trademarks: no family and no friends, combined with the good looks and that aloof personality you seem to find so irresistible.”

  “He’s not aloof. He’s actually quite charming.”

  “You know what I mean; personally aloof, hard to get close to, withdrawn. I don’t know why that type fascinates you, Karen. Anyone else would have appreciated Ian and still been with him. He’s really a good person.”

  “I know he’s a good person!” Karen said heatedly. She would never be able to make her sister understand. Grace valued having a family above all else and thought anything was worth enduring to achieve that goal. Her husband Ken, who was also a good person and the proverbial “good provider” their aunt had always recommended to them, put Karen to sleep. She could no more imagine being married to him than she could imagine still being married to Ian.

  “I don’t want to fight,” Grace said, lowering her voice and glancing at her daughter, who had turned to look at them when their voices rose. “All I’m saying is that I don’t think you should chase after this... whatever he is. Adventurer.”

  “I’m not chasing after anybody,” Karen said darkly, looking away.

  “Probably because you don’t know where to find him.”

  “I know where he lives. Saint Augustine, Florida.”

  “Oh, so you’re planning to fly south for the winter?”

  Karen shot her sister a disgusted look. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

  “What’s the problem? You don’t think he’s there, right?”

  “I don’t think he spends a lot of time at home, no.”

  “So what are you going to do? Sit around here staring into space like a catatonic?”

  “I have not been sitting around!” Karen protested, standing up abruptly and letting her papers slip to the floor. “You know very well I’ve been trying hard to find a job, and I’m sorry if I can’t seem to get interested in all the suitable bachelors you’ve been parading through here during the past month. If I hear one more word about the stock market or insurance rates or municipal bond funds, I am going to throw a screaming fit at your next cocktail party and start pelting your neighbors with the hors d’oeuvres. Now leave me alone.” She stormed up the stairs and slammed the door of the guest room behind her, perilously close to tears.

  It wasn’t long before Grace was tapping at the door. “Karen, let me in. Come on—I want to talk to you.”

  Karen got up resignedly and opened the door, going back to sit on the edge of the bed as Grace followed her inside.

  “I’m sorry,” Grace said. “The last thing you need right now is your sister giving you a bad time.”

  “It’s all right,” Karen replied. “It’s just that I want you and Ken to see that arranging these little get togethers to find me a husband is transparent and embarrassing. I feel like the prize mare at a horse auction.”

  “We were only trying to help,” Grace said in a small voice.

  “I know, I know,” Karen said. “You think that if I could find a suitable husband I wouldn’t need a job or anything else. But Karen, I’m not like you. That didn’t work for me with Ian and it won’t work for me now.”

  “But then what are you going to do?” Grace asked. “Employers aren’t exactly lining up to engage your services.”

  “You noticed that,” Karen said dryly. “I guess I’ll keep trying, maybe go back to school for some further training. I’m not sure. But I’m certainly not going to rush into marriage to cure what ails me. I made that mistake once and I will never do it again.”

  “All right,” Grace said flatly. “No more parties, I promise. You’re on your own. But if you need any help, just ask, okay?”

  “I will. And thanks, Grace. I do know you mean well.”

  Grace nodded and left the room, pulling the door closed quietly behind her. Karen rolled over on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a while, then remembered Linda’s letter and took it from her pocket, unfolding the scented pages to reveal the Englishwoman’s patrician scrawl. It seemed that Linda was doing a good job of enlivening the Sussex countryside, and when Karen finished her letter she was even more depressed than she had been after arguing with Grace. She felt sorry for herself for about five minutes, then dug in the drawer of her bedside stand for the list of job calls she still had to make. Preparing herself to deal with the blandishments of obstructionist secretaries, she lifted the receiver and dialed the first number.

  * * * *

  Karen was sitting in the kitchen after breakfast several days later when the phone rang. Ken was at work, the kids were at school, and Grace was making a second pot of coffee at the counter so Karen answered it.

  “Hello?” she said absently, filling in the crossword puzzle on the back page of the newspaper.

  “I’d like to speak with Miss Karen Walsh, please,” a female voice said. Startled, Karen didn’t respond for a second. The caller had an accent and she couldn’t place it immediately. Then she realized that the woman sounded like a relative of her father’s who’d died when Karen was small; the caller had a brogue.

  “This is Karen Walsh,” she replied.

  “Miss Walsh, this is Mrs. Schanley from Mercy Hospital in Belfast calling.”

  “Belfast, Ireland?” Karen said loudly. The line was crackling.

  “Northern Ireland,” came the crisp reply.

  Karen’s mind raced. Did her father have any long lost family member who might have surfaced across the water and wanted her for some reason? She couldn’t think of anybody.

  “Yes, what is it?” she said. The line calmed down suddenly and she could hear clearly.

  “We’ve a patient here on the critical list. He’s in a bad way and seems to have no relations, poor man. He’s been in the intensive care unit since he was brought in several hours ago, and in cases like this we try to contact whoever the patient requests.”

  “Yes?” Karen murmured, closing her eyes.

  “Well, just before he lost consciousness he asked for you, miss.”

  “Me?” Karen said faintly.

  “He said your name and told me your address was in his wallet, and so it was.”

  Karen’s fingers tightened on the receiver. “Who is it?” she whispered.

  “A Steven Colter, U.S. citizen, miss. Resident of Saint Augustine, Florida, by his papers.” She pronounced the state Flo-ree-da.

  “Is he... What’s wrong with him?” Karen asked shakily.

  “Gunshot wound to the chest. We had a bit of trouble hereabouts last night, and he was mixed up in it somehow.”

  Karen could guess the rest. “Did he say anything else?” she asked, swallowing.

  “Yes, miss. Said you were to have his effects if he passed on.” The woman’s voice dropped an octave, took on a confidential note. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone else, if you take my meaning.”

  “Is he dying?” Karen could barely get the words out.

  Mrs. Schanley resumed her official tone. “I don’t know as to that, miss; it would be for doctor to say. There
was massive bleeding according to my notes, but he’s a young buck, isn’t he, hale and strong.”

  “Yes,” Karen agreed. Very strong, but in a moment of weakness he’d called for her.

  “It would help if we had someone to consult about his case,” the woman said gently. “He’s right out of his head and may be that way for a good while.”

  “I’ll get there as soon as I can,” Karen said firmly, making an instant decision.

  “Will you take responsibility?” Mrs. Schanley asked eagerly, anxious to dump her problem in Karen’s lap.

  “Yes, yes,” Karen said impatiently. “I’ll be on the next plane and I’ll sign anything you want.”

  “Just as you say, miss.” Relief was evident in her delivery. “For my records,” she added, “what is your relationship to Mr. Colter?”

  Karen thought for a moment. “Friend,” she said. Then she turned the newspaper she still held in one hand to find the blank margin. “What is your address there?”

  “Mercy Hospital in Donegal Place. All the cabbies know it; you can come straight through from the airport or the quay.”

  “And what is your position at the hospital?” Karen asked, scribbling madly.

  “Oh, beg pardon, didn’t I say? I’m the administrative assistant here. You’ll find me on the first floor just forninst the admissions office.”

  Forninst? Must mean nearby, Karen thought. “Thank you, Mrs. Schanley, thank you very much. I’ll be seeing you within a day or so.”

  They said their goodbyes. As Karen hung up the phone she caught sight of her sister, who was frozen with the unfilled coffeepot in her hand, the water running in the sink behind her.

  “Please tell me that wasn’t what it sounded like,” Grace said.

  “It’s Steven. He’s been hurt in Belfast and I have to go to him.”

  “Now wait a minute,” Grace said, reaching behind her to turn off the water. “Wait just a damn minute. You’re not going anywhere.”

  “He doesn’t have anybody else, Grace,” Karen said, ripping off the corner of the newspaper page and putting the scrap into her pocket.

  “For heaven’s sake, Karen, he doesn’t have YOU either. By your own admission you went out with him ONCE in Caracas, and now you’re ready to run off to Europe after him like some... camp follower. It’s insane.”