A Knight in Central Park

by Theresa Ragan

  And that’s what love was all about, wasn’t it?

  For the first time in Joe’s life he felt as if he knew what love entailed. Love made breathing that much easier. Love made the moon brighter and made the water taste fresher. All those love songs suddenly made sense.

  Love was like oxygen.

  Love lifted you higher.

  He felt downright giddy. It was all true.

  Love had somehow eluded him all of these years because he had been looking for scientific jargon or a theory. Love could not be described in any sort of accurate, logical, specific way. His love for Alexandra was far from ordinary.

  It came to him as an epiphany. As long as he was with her he would always be home.

  He couldn’t leave her if he wanted to.

  He pulled his arm back to toss the stone into the air, fling it toward the heavens and out of his grasp. But the moment he clutched the rock tightly within his palm, everything changed. His surroundings became a hazy fog of darkness. It was as if the moon’s gravitational force was pulling him, energy formed between earth and moon, sweeping him ashore like an ocean’s tide.

  “Alexandra!” he called before disappearing completely. “I love you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Though no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending.

  —Carl Bard

  New York, Present Day

  The time had finally come for Joe to stand before the Academy. His dreams, his wishes, his goals, all tied up in this one glorious moment.

  And he was miserable.

  His crisp white shirt beneath a dark gray vest and tuxedo felt confining. He tugged at the collar, tried to breathe. His jaw was cleanly shaven, but he hadn’t the heart to cut his hair, as if it were his last connection to Alexandra, and so it was tied back instead.

  He wasn’t listening to a word Jared Katz was saying. The President of the Academy spoke about the Academy’s mission and how they needed to expand understanding and appreciation of humanity’s past through systematic investigation. They needed to promote research, stewardship of new members...and so on and so on.

  None of it mattered any more, at least not to Joe.

  His father sat to his left, while Jared Katz droned on behind the podium to his right. On the other side of the podium sat last year’s president and the one before that. Before him, sitting at round tables that glittered with polished silver and crystal glasses, were the rest of the members. Most looking bored senseless.

  Not his father though.

  As if enraptured by every word, his father sat tall and rigid. The Academy was indeed his father’s life’s blood, providing him constant nourishment, for his body as well as his soul.

  Twice, Joe had tried to pull his father aside, tell him he had amazing news. During his first attempt his father had been called away before Joe could get two words out. The second time Joe cornered him his father suggested they wait until after the ceremony to talk. Without waiting for a reply his father had walked away. Always walking away.

  Just like Joe had walked away from Alexandra.

  His stomach knotted. One week ago he’d returned to Central Park. He hadn’t slept since.

  He hadn’t wanted to return, dammit!

  He had changed his mind, tried to throw the damn stone as far away as he could, but it had been too late. A moment too late.

  A day late, a dollar short.

  Who the hell said “better late than never?” Never was much better than later. Why hadn’t he seen it all along? Why did he have to be so damn blind? How many times had Alexandra tried to tell him that people had become stilted in his world, blind to that which mattered most? Nothing would blind Alexandra. She knew what was important: Family, love, honor, loyalty. She knew.

  And now he knew.

  And it was too late. “...too bad, too late, the ship had sailed...”

  “And with each new finding,” Mr. Katz rambled on, “we serve the public interest, seeking the widest possible engagement with governments, educators, and indigenous peoples, in advancing knowledge and enhancing awareness of the past.”

  The members applauded.

  Joe realized he was clapping, too. Like a robot, programmed to react without any thought. His father, though, applauded with great vigor. He pushed his chair back and came to his feet, his eyes bright with excitement.

  Joe had already accepted membership. Less than two hours ago he had accomplished his supposed life’s dream. But the saddest part of it was that it wasn’t his dream after all.

  It was his father’s dream.

  All this time he’d wanted his father’s approval and acceptance. And for what? Joe had a piece of paper, nicely framed, ready to be hung on his well-textured wall back home. What now? The Academy’s elite lined up to shake his father’s hand, and his. Before arriving at the luncheon, Joe had decided not to share the sword he’d brought back with the Academy, deciding it would raise too many questions. Questions he was not willing to answer.

  The King of England bestowed it as a gift to me for saving his life, using its sharp blade to dub me The Black Knight.

  What would they say to that?

  The Black Knight had always been Joe’s enemy, an invisible nemesis, which in retrospect, was exactly what he was. Had he not, in the end, proven to be his own worst enemy?

  All the questions going round and round within his mind were making his head ache.

  His father walked toward Joe now. His face well-lined from the years spent in the sun, searching, digging. It was as if Joe were looking at an enigma instead of directly into the eyes of his own father. Standing before the King of England had been less awkward.

  “So what is it you wished to talk to me about?” his father asked.

  No hug, no pat on the back. Joe peered into the deep blue of his father’s eyes, endless in their enormity and mystery...cold and vast, and never still.

  His father might not be the man Joe wanted him to be, but he was a man with a calling, perhaps a man with dreams and goals not unlike himself. The man before him reached his same height. Joe guessed his father to be in his sixties, but he had no idea when or where his father was born. His father’s hair was still thick and fairly dark, his temples silver. His posture no longer held the vitality of moments before when his eyes had been filled with life.

  Joe snapped out of his trance. “Nothing,” he said. “It was nothing.”

  His father looked at him then, curious perhaps. Maybe, maybe not. It was hard to tell.

  For as long as Joe could remember his father had been searching for the Black Knight. That thought kept coming back to the forefront of his mind. I am the Black Knight. He almost said the words, almost told his father the truth. Inwardly, Joe became amused at the irony of it.

  I am the one you have been searching for your entire life. I am he, he is I. Your son. I am the Black Knight.

  Who would have guessed that the one thing his father had spent a lifetime searching for was right before his eyes, waiting desperately for him to find him.

  Alexandra was right when she’d said people were blind.

  As he watched his father turn to walk away, he sighed. No pat on the back, no handshake. Nothing. “Wait,” Joe called out.

  His father waved off a young man who had been patiently waiting to talk with him and turned back to face Joe instead.

  Joe went to him, took his father in his arms, embraced him fully. He held him for a moment longer than appropriate being that they were in public before his father’s string of elite and prestigious friends. His father’s cheeks pinkened as he gaped at Joe in stunned silence. Probably the most emotion he’d ever seen on the man’s face. Joe smiled. “I’ve got to go. It was good seeing you.”

  And then before his father could turn away, he turned away first. And then he just walked away.

  “Look in the mirror for God’s sake!” Shelly said. “You look like shit!”

  “Doesn’t anyone kn
ow how to say hello anymore?” Joe asked before taking another swill of gin or beer or whatever the hell was in his cup. “And don’t use God’s name in vain. It’s not nice.”

  Shelly ignored him as she picked up some of the clothes scattered across the floor. “How long have you been back?”

  “Let’s see.” Reaching back into the crack of the chair, he grimaced. Then he pulled out a wrinkled calendar. His eyes narrowed and his lips moved as he counted the days. “Twenty-nine days, give or take a few hours.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I did. I think.” He pushed his hair out of his face, then leaned his head back against the padded cushions of his Lazy Boy. “Yeah, I did call you. I talked to a Katy.”

  “No wonder I didn’t get the message.”

  “Hmmm, yes, you can’t trust anyone named Katy.” He took another swallow.

  “Professor,” she said, dumping the pile of dirty clothes she’d collected on the couch. “What has happened to you? Did you really go back in time? Did it happen?”

  He looked about at the sensible bookshelves, neatly stacked CDs in the shelves across from him. “Everything so organized,” he said. “Order. It used to give me a sense of peace.” He used a folded newspaper to scratch his leg. “Now I look at it and wonder what good is any of it if you have nobody to enjoy it with?”

  Shelly kept her gaze locked on him, waiting for an answer to her question.

  He leaned forward and said in a serious tone, “It happened, Shelly. For one blessed, wonderful month I lived in another century.”

  Her jaw dropped. “What was it like?”

  “Beautiful chaos.”

  “What about that guy? That man who was after Alexandra’s sister? Did you find him?”

  He nodded, took another swallow of his warm drink.

  Shelly did a little hop, startling him. She seemed to be seriously angry with his glass because she took it from him and growled as she took his cup to the kitchen. He heard the cupboards banging open and closed. A moment later she was back with a plastic bag, throwing empty cans and bottles and trash into it.

  She tried to grab the doll from his lap, but he stopped her in the nick of time. “Touch my baby and you die.”

  She stepped back, her eyes wide. “This is not like you, Professor. This mess,” she said throwing her arms wide. “My boyfriend’s place looks better than this!” She slid a finger across his coffee table and held it up for him to see. “You have dust motes, Professor. Doesn’t that bother you anymore?”

  He shrugged.

  “Look at your hair. You’ve practically got a beard. I can’t believe this. Oh, my God.”

  He wagged an admonishing finger at her.

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, my God, does not constitute using God’s name in vain. So give it a rest. It’s her, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Professor McFarland, king of bachelorhood and one night stands has fallen for a woman. And when the stubborn fall, they fall hard, don’t they, Professor?”

  “Yeah, sure, they fall hard.” He looked at the doll. Rebecca probably wouldn’t be pleased with the arms he’d sewn on her baby doll. He’d stopped at Target to buy a Barbie doll. It had taken him over an hour just to drill holes into the plastic arms and then another hour to sew them to the rag doll’s tunic. Rebecca’s baby looked like an alien.

  But at least it had arms.

  Shelly winced. “That doll is scaring me.” She scooted his legs off of the coffee table. Then she took a seat beside him. “That bad, huh?”

  “I can’t stop thinking about her,” he admitted. “I was holding the last stone when I realized I didn’t want to leave her, couldn’t leave her. But it happened anyhow.”

  He sat up and laid his face in his open palms. “I took the rock, Shelly. I drew back my arm, ready to throw it toward the horizon, then zap! I was back in Central Park.”

  He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.” He shook his head. “Central Park is safer than people think. I wanted to be mugged. I didn’t want to be here. It was cold, but it felt good to be cold because at the very least I wanted to feel numb. But then some guy gave me his coat. Can you believe that? A complete stranger; a homeless guy with nothing gave me his coat. All those years I walked through that park and not once did I ever think to give a stranger my coat.” He pointed to a stack of coats and blankets and sweatshirts at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m going to give those away.”

  Shelly nodded, but she didn’t say anything, just listened.

  “It’s my own fault I’m here. Stubborn, close-minded. That’s me,” he said jabbing a finger into his chest. “I was so stuck on love being something you could see and hold, something concrete, something I didn’t deserve, that I didn’t figure it out until it was too late.”

  He looked intensely at Shelly, and fiercely hoped her boyfriend deserved her and loved her.

  “I’ve given up the one woman I’ve ever loved.” He closed his eyes. The aching in his gut felt like a dozen knots pulled tight. He needed to hear Alexandra’s voice, see her face, touch her, feel her hand in his.

  “Professor. Was it true what she said about the stones? Were there two stones missing when you and Alexandra arrived in her century?”

  His eyes remained closed, but he managed a slight nod.

  “Listen to me carefully. Do you remember when the three of us...you, Alexandra and I, were in the kitchen? Your kitchen?”

  He nodded again, opened his eyes. “What about it?”

  “Alexandra had been upset that day,” Shelly said. “She was troubled that morning because she had lost one stone in Central Park and one stone while she was here.”

  Shelly peered wildly about the room. “Maybe, just maybe the second missing stone is here somewhere.” Shelly jumped to her feet and ran into the kitchen at about the same time her words sunk into his thick skull.

  By the time Joe managed to get to his feet and to the kitchen, Shelly was on the computer, her fingers clicking away on the keyboard. Each second felt like hours as he waited, not quite sure what he was waiting for. Hope was thick and tangible, and definitely in the air.

  “Yes!” Shelly shouted, jumping to her feet, giving him a heart attack. “Tonight is the night! We don’t have much time. Oh, crap, look at you. Oh, forget it, we don’t have time to fix your hair, or your...” She plugged her nose. “Professor, what is that smell? When was the last time you took a bath? Never mind. We’ll spray you with a hose if we have to. What are you doing just standing there? Start looking for that stone!”

  The tiny ray of hope expanded, its power soaring through his body, renewing his energy like nothing else could. Shelly was already in the living room, flipping cushions from chairs and turning end tables upside down.

  Tonight. Shelly had just said. “Tonight was the night.”

  He caught up to Shelly in the bathroom where she was dumping garbage to the floor, searching through old tissues and magazines.

  “What did you mean when you said tonight is the night?”

  Shelly stood tall. Between her high-heeled boots and his bare feet, they stood eye to eye. “Do you love Alexandra?” she asked him.

  “More than life itself.”

  “Do you want to be with her forever?”

  “More than anything.”

  “Then why are you just standing there?” She glanced at her watch. “We have less than three hours to find that stone and get you to Central Park. There’s a full moon tonight. You need to hurry!

  “How would you know?”

  “Let's just say that ever since meeting Alexandra, I've learned more about the moon than I care to know,” she said with a smile.

  Two hours later, Joe emptied the last of the kitchen drawers, letting its contents spill across the table and onto the floor. They had searched the entire house. “It’s no use,” he said. “Maybe there never was another stone.”

  Shelly’s shoulder’s sagged. But that didn�
�t stop her from waving at Mrs. Peacock through the kitchen window. “What’s she doing out there at this hour?” Shelly asked him.

  Joe winced. “Why did you have to go and wave? Look. Now she’s coming this way.”

  Shelly ignored him and went and opened the door that led from the kitchen to the tiny yard he shared with Mrs. Peacock. It was less than fifty degrees outside, but the old lady had pink-flowered gloves on her hands. She was holding a trowel, looking ready to bop Joe in the head with it.

  “Hello Mrs. Peacock,” Joe said. “A little cold to be outdoors, don’t you think?”

  Mrs. Peacock glared at him, waved her trowel at him. “I’ve been looking for you. You owe me one hundred and fifteen dollars and twenty-nine cents for the flowers your girlfriend ruined.”

  Joe was not in the mood to be chewed out, especially by a cantankerous old woman. He stepped past Shelly. “How could a handful of flowers possibly cost that much money?”

  “They were rare blooms, Mr. McFarland. They bloom once every two years.” Mrs. Peacock tried to look past him, into his kitchen. “I have a good mind to call the police and have your friend arrested for trespassing.”

  Joe stepped outside and peeked through the greenhouse window suddenly curious to see what the old lady did in there day after day. Myriad colors were in full bloom. He could see where the rich soil had been turned over and loosened. He followed the panels until he came to the small door leading into the greenhouse.

  “Don’t go in there. My flowers are extremely sensitive!”

  Joe was already inside. Gingerly, he sifted through the soil where Mrs. Peacock’s flowers had been plucked to their deaths. And that’s when he saw it. The stone. The very last stone. Alexandra had unknowingly left him a stone so that he could return to her. His heart pounded. He stepped out of the greenhouse, his blood racing through his veins. “Alexandra, I’m coming!” he cried out, scaring poor Mrs. Peacock half to death.

  Shelly ran to his side, grinning when she saw what he had in his hand.