He realized he had been horribly mistaken the other day, when he thought he was free of Gwen and her power over him. He thought he had emerged from the fog and had used his logic to command his heart to cease and desist. The absence of pain he had felt was a charade, merely a temporary reprieve as the devil repositioned the talons that pierced his heart. Any real or future attempt to remove or resist them would surely shred his heart to useless ribbons. And the rustling of the trees in the park that day, when he had made his plans to end it with her? He now knew that had been the devil’s voice whispering in his ear, “Don’t think this is over.”
His feelings for Gwen surged out of control now, and he felt as if his heart might burst. Tears streamed freely down his face. It took the breaking of his heart for him to finally realize how hopelessly in love with her he really was. He loved her with an intensity he had never experienced before, and perhaps this explained why he had been so slow to recognize it. It was uncharted territory for him—he who’d thought he had known what love was all about.
There was only one thing he could do. Hands shaking, Rob swiped the tears from his eyes and dialed her number, knowing she wouldn’t answer. He heard her message and visualized her speaking. At the tone, he spoke. “Hey, it’s me. I have to see you—I need to. I’m hurtin’ bad, real bad. Please, call me when you can. Please.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 8:00 A.M.
Luke shivered a bit as he walked down the driveway to get the Sunday paper. It was a brilliant November morning with high fluffy clouds and a slight breeze that cut through his jeans and t-shirt, but he could tell it was going to be a gorgeous day after the sun had a chance to warm things up. He had to search a little before finding the thick paper tucked under the mugo pine at the end of the driveway. He could make out the headline through the clear plastic wrapper—Pierce to have Gallbladder Surgery—Senator Suffers Second Attack in 2 Weeks.
Straightening, paper in hand, Luke surveyed his little patch of front lawn. He wondered if the grass needed one more cut for the season. The weatherman had said the Indian summer was still going strong and it would get up into the mid-sixties today—“So get outside and enjoy it.” Luke’s dad used to say you could count on one hand how many days you’d get like this for the whole year in central Pennsylvania.
And that memory led to a disturbing thought—this morning was a dead ringer for that awful day in September when his life had changed. Twelve years had done nothing to blunt his recollection—he remembered clearly the video game he had been playing and could still see and hear his dad as if he stood there.
Immersed in the make-believe world of video games in the third-floor playroom his parents had added to their house, Luke hadn’t given much thought to what he would do today. It did look pretty nice out, but first things first—there were castles to conquer and demons to battle. Today he was playing Myth: Soulbiter and the game play was very absorbing for an eighteen-year-old male.
Time slipped by unnoticed until a yell from downstairs interrupted his fantasy world: “Luke! Are you up there?” The voice belonged to his father and he sounded pretty P.O.’d.
“Yeah,” Luke called down. He paused the game, irritated that he had to stop so close to beating the level. His dad sure sounded like he was in a yelling mood.
“Get down here! I want to talk to you.”
“Coming.” Luke sighed, unpaused the game, and saved it. He set down the controller and rose slowly from the chair, reminding himself that he was counting the days until he went to college next fall—although almost a year away seemed like forever.
Luke met his father in the kitchen. His dad was looking out the back window so Luke couldn’t see his face to gauge his anger. “Do you know what time it is?” his father asked.
Actually, Luke didn’t have a clue, so he answered truthfully. “No.”
His dad turned to face him. “Well, I’ll tell you, smart boy. It’s frigging eleven o’clock and you haven’t done a goddamned thing all day!”
Oh, so that’s it, Luke thought. The laziness lecture. His dad’s cursing didn’t actually mean he was extra mad or anything—he’d pretty much fallen into that habit several years back. Luke didn’t really feel like having it out with him right now. He’d been perfecting the art of avoiding the old man this past year, biding his time until he made his escape to college.
He used to get sucked into arguing fairly easily. In fact, it seemed his dad actually provoked arguments to serve as twisted training/toughening-up sessions. But Luke eventually figured out that they didn’t earn him much other than an occasional grounding. Luke had also perfected the art of sneaker-inspecting—he could describe to you every square inch of the tops of his Adidas Stan Smiths.
He could tell his dad wasn’t finished. Best to let him run his course.
“When do you plan on cutting the grass? Can’t you see how friggin’ long it is?” The big man gestured out the French doors to the backyard and paused to take a breath. He seemed short of breath already.
Luke glanced out to the backyard and had to admit the grass was long. He was also surprised that it was eleven o’clock already. But he had been planning to get to it, just not immediately. Luke played with the tail of his Dallas Cowboys football jersey and re-eyed his Stan Smiths.
“Your mother’s gone up to some stupid church thing. One person wasting time around here is bad enough. I’m not going to stand around here and raise a pack of lazy kids, too!”
Luke knew better than to remind his dad he only had one kid, not a pack. His dad’s face was getting red and you could hear his breathing now. Luke hated when he dragged his mother into it—that meant he was getting mad. “Dad, I’ll cut it.”
“You know what the only thing worse than dumb and lazy is?”
Ow—this one hurt. This one really hurt. Luke could feel his father’s stare bore into him. He knew the answer to the question because he had heard it a hundred times before—but it still stung. He also knew better than to say it. That would push his dad over the edge. He just waited, turning his foot on its side, trying to glimpse the cool tread pattern on the sole.
“Well, I’ll tell you. Smart and lazy, like you. Now that’s a real waste.” His dad paused again to breathe, then shook his head and seemed to try to calm himself down a little. “You’re a smart kid, Luke. You could really go places. I’ve spent my whole life trying to teach you stuff about success and how to get ahead and self-reliance.” Amazingly, his tone seemed to mellow a bit, the anger replaced by a hint of sadness, almost a defeated quality. “But sometimes I feel like I’m talking to the friggin’ wall.”
“Dad, I’ll get the grass.” Luke didn’t appreciate the lecture. He hadn’t seen eye to eye with his dad for a while, but he hated to disappoint the old man. There was something deep inside him—some stupid, fundamental fiber-of-his-being crap, that longed for his dad’s approval. Being an only son was tough.
Luke remembered when he used to look up to his father, wanted to grow up to be just like him. He was impressed by all his business achievements, his knowledge and worldliness and his razor-sharp mind. He had already internalized a lot of the man’s teachings. But over these past two years their relationship had deteriorated. Luke didn’t know if it was all his own fault—his needing to break away and establish his identity as he made his way out into the world? He didn’t think so.
His father’s worsening health had to be a contributing factor. He wasn’t dealing well with the new limitations imposed by his recent heart attack and bypass surgery. It had to be hard on the guy, who had always been a take charge, pedal to the metal kinda guy, someone who prided himself on being in complete control of his destiny. Maybe Luke should cut him some slack. He started to make his way to the garage.
His father stood up and followed him. “Why do you make me yell at you like this, son?” He spread his palms upward, his expression pained. “You know I don’t like to. We used to be so close.”
Luke didn’
t relish the heavy emotional turn the conversation seemed to be taking and figured it was time to bail. Recently his father had become more weepy, too, and Luke definitely wasn’t comfortable with that. “Dad, I’ll get the grass,” he said and purposefully avoided eye contact with him, afraid of what he might see. Luke opened the door to the garage.
As he walked into the garage, he realized on some level, he was experiencing a tangled mix of emotions—guilt, love, anger; you name it, he felt it. What a pain in the butt. Killing demons in Myth was a whole heckuva lot easier than this.
Looking around the garage, Luke couldn’t help smiling a little. It was neat and tidy—a place for everything and everything in its place. His dad believed that how you kept your garage was a metaphor for your life. Neat and tidy garage equaled an orderly life. Sloppy garage meant an out-of-control, misfit life. Luke pressed the button to open the overhead door. As it noisily cranked open, he was vaguely aware that he could still hear the sound of the TV inside—kinda loud. He didn’t pay it much attention.
Luke grabbed the gas can and sloshed its contents into the mower’s gas tank, spilling a little in the process. Shit, he thought, can’t even do that right. When the garage door finally clattered to a stop overhead and things quieted down, he was surprised that he could identify the sounds of Nickelodeon coming from the TV. What was his dad watching that for? Who cares? Luke didn’t give it another thought as he muscled the heavy rider mower out into the driveway.
The day was spectacular—dazzling bright sunshine, high wispy clouds in a blue sky, and a nice comfortable temperature, to boot. Mix in the smell of gasoline and suddenly the prospect of several hours of lawn mowing didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Might even help him clear his head. He sat on the rider and reached for the key. The starter cranked and whined loudly and the engine sputtered but didn’t catch. Even out here on the driveway he could still plainly hear the TV—it was ridiculously loud. He went to turn the key again.
Suddenly, Luke sat bolt upright. Something wasn’t right—things just didn’t add up here. The TV shouldn’t be that loud. He went cold and his heart lurched a beat.
He ran back into the garage and into the house. What he saw inside froze him to the core and changed his life in an instant.
His father was sprawled facedown on the family room carpet. The TV was blaring so loud it was hard to think. “Dad!” he screamed.
No response. Luke was momentarily paralyzed as he struggled to process it all. What should he do? What should he do first? Check his dad? Call for help? Luke didn’t really know how to do CPR—there had only been that basic run-through in health class. Should he try it?
Then something else grabbed his attention. His dad had the TV remote clutched in his right hand. Now the TV volume made perfect, horrific sense—his father had obviously tried to signal Luke that he needed help. Awful, suffocating questions quickly came to mind. Why had he, Luke, been so slow to respond to his dad’s desperate cry for help in the first place? How many minutes had he wasted screwing around with the mower? Was it because he was mad at his father?
Luke shook free of these paralyzing thoughts even as he knew these questions would haunt him forever. He clicked the TV off, silencing the dreadful noise. He knelt down beside his father and searched for any sign of breathing. His father’s face was ashen and had an expression on it Luke was not used to seeing—fear. There was no sign of movement or breathing. Luke ran for the phone in the kitchen and dialed 911.
He returned to the family room and started to roll his father over so that he could do CPR while waiting for the ambulance. This proved difficult—his dad’s massive body was totally inert. It took him two tries before he finally got the big man on his back. Luke was now breathing hard.
However, before Luke started CPR, he had one more thing to do. He grabbed his dad’s hand and tried to get the remote out of it. This part was also hard—the remote was jammed in there tight. He had to pry his dad’s beefy fingers off it, one by one, to release it. Finally he tossed the remote onto the sofa as if it were a poisonous snake. No real point in telling anyone about the part where his dad called for help while his lazy son ignored him. Tears welled up in his eyes as he started CPR on the big man.
The side door opened and Colby bolted out and ran up to him, bumping into his leg.
“You okay?” Kim asked, appearing at the doorway. “I thought you just went out to get the paper. I wasn’t sure you were coming back.”
“Sorry,” Luke said, bending down to pet Colby. “I was just looking around, taking in the gorgeous day. Looks like the grass could use one more cutting, though. I’ll take care of it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1:00 P.M.
The instrument of the devil rang again. Rob Gentry glanced at the number on his cell phone and smiled. Right on time—it was 1:00 pm. She was very reliable.
“Hey-hello,” he said, while turning down the volume of his Porsche’s radio.
“It’s me.” Gwen’s voice was musical. “I’m just leaving. I’ll be on 81 in a few minutes.”
His heartbeat quickened. “Great.” He could picture her face in his mind and pretended he was staring into her liquid eyes. “I can’t believe you called off work, sick! You’re crazy, you know.”
“I know,” she said.
“Certifiably insane.”
“Stop it,” she said. “You’re making me feel guilty.”
“I’m surprised you even know the word.” They both laughed. “There’s only one person I know who’s crazier than you—that’s me!” She laughed some more; he found the sound adorable. “Where are you?” he asked.
“Crossing the river.”
Shit—still a long way. “Hurry! I’m in the parking garage already. Do you know the way?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Call me if you get lost, okay?”
“Okay, see you soon.”
Rob got out of his car, locked the door, then spun around once, almost stumbling on clumsy feet. He laughed out loud—God, he really did love her, and the feeling was intoxicating. He shot several glances around the Strawberry Square parking garage to see if anyone was staring at the crazy man by the Porsche. He was alone. Still chuckling, he made his way to the main hallway and followed the signs to the Harrisburg Hilton. His feet seemed to barely touch the ground.
The lobby was tastefully decorated with paintings, large potted plants, and an assortment of comfortable-looking leather chairs. Rob plopped down in one and haphazardly flipped through a magazine for a few minutes before tossing it aside and moving over to the bank of elevators. Soon he was on the top floor, gazing out a large window at Harrisburg and the picturesque Susquehanna River. He could make out people walking and biking across the Walnut Street Bridge toward City Island. Just off to the right was the Harvey Taylor Bridge, one of the main thoroughfares to the West Shore and Camp Hill. The far bank of the river was mostly tree-lined; the foliage was past peak, but the colors were still vivid in the soft afternoon sun. His senses always seemed sharper when he knew Gwen approached.
Twenty minutes later, he saw her coming down the hallway from the parking garage, looking trim in a fuzzy yellow sweater, navy-blue slacks, and black high heels. Her long dark hair shone, seeming to flow as she walked gracefully toward him. She’d pushed her sunglasses up onto her hair.
He opened the door leading into the hotel for her. “Staying at the Hilton, madam?” he asked with a phony French accent.
A huge smile lit up her face as she recognized him. She laughed loudly. “No,” she said, “I’m here to meet some pervert for lunch.” She giggled and put her arm around his waist.
He laughed and started walking, thinking how easy and natural it was to be with her. And yet he was still vaguely uncomfortable, being in public with her. She stood out like a beacon, so they didn’t have a prayer of going around unnoticed. And he knew full well he’d never be able to fake this one. No one looking at the two of them would believe for a se
cond they were just having a business lunch, or that they were just friends or coworkers out for a bite to eat. He pulled away from her arm and said, “You look amazing.”
“You’re looking pretty good yourself,” she replied, and wrapped both arms around him in a big hug. She let go of him quickly, but not before he caught her scent; it was intoxicating, as usual.
“This way, madam.” He led her along the hallways of the hotel, Gwen’s heels clip-clopping loudly on the shiny tile floors or muffled on the carpet, until they came to the Golden Sheaf Restaurant. Rob quickly scanned the small eatery. There were about ten tables and only two were occupied; luckily business was slow at this hour. He didn’t see any familiar faces, but still asked the maitre d’ if they could have a more private table toward the back.
They sat down and smiled at each other. The waiter, a young man who looked barely twenty, came by and Rob ordered a bottle of Napa Valley Cabernet. Neither said anything for a few moments.
“Thanks so much for agreeing to meet me,” Rob said.
“After your sweet phone call, I figured I owed you that much.”
“Well, I do appreciate it.”
“I’m glad you called,” she said.
“Me too.”
“Was it really bad for you, like you said—the last two weeks?” she asked.
“Horrible. I thought I would die.”
“Come on, be serious.”
“No, I am,” he said. “I was barely able to survive without you.”
She looked away, a faint blush rising on her face. “That’s nice of you to say.”
“How was it for you?” he asked.
“Rough. But I’ve been burned by men before. They’re not real reliable. I just figured you were another in a long line of scumbags.”
“Ouch. I guess I deserve that.”
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