by Frank Perry
forest of headlights. Jules said he’d work with me, but I think he’s really relying on you.”
His headache worsened. Had he made a mistake? Did he misunderstand Lorne? Worse, was there some diabolic plan to lure him back by using Kelly as bait? Anything was possible. But, he was also sick of the idea of hiding out. If Kelly were in some kind of jeopardizing position, he couldn’t be sitting idling on an obscure dock five hundred miles away filling bait bags. “Alright, look, I don’t believe that nobody has missed me for three days, but I’m coming back. In the meantime, be watchful and stay away from the outer lab workstation. I’m sure they can track who’s been accessing files, and I don’t want you getting on their hit list. They may already know we’re an item – at least I hope we are – and that could put you in some kind of danger. I don’t know what it is, but Lorne was serious.” Who was “they?”
“You’re scaring me.”
He softened his tone. “Sweetheart (he’d never used the term before), you’ll be safe if you don’t do any detective work. It may get a little precarious when I get there.”
“When will you be here, John?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as possible, tomorrow if I can get there.” Island transportation to the mainland was the main issue.
With that, he heard Gort leaving through the front door, walking in his direction. John finished. “Hey, I gotta go, call you soon. I love you!”
Gort called to him. “Get your ocean gear, boy, we’re heading to the mainland.”
He needed to be completely honest with the man that had taken him in, “Gort, I have a problem.”
Gort kept walking toward the dock. “Get your gear, and we got a couple ‘a hours to talk. It’s gonna be rough tonight, so bring all your foul weather stuff.”
John ran to the house, directly to the bedroom, stuffing his personal clothes into his travel bag and grabbing his computer bag. Mary was standing near the foot of the stairs when he came down. He could hardly look at her when she spoke. She said softly, “You leavin’?”
He could see the tears forming as he began to speak. “I … I’ve got to, Mary. Something came up, and I can’t stay here any longer.”
“You in danger here?”
“No, not me. Someone close to me; someone I love.”
She’d known he had someone, somewhere. “Will you come back? Will I ever see you again?”
Without thinking, he pulled out his wallet and gave her his GHI card. “I’d like to keep in touch, but it’ll never be the way you might want. You helped me at a tough time, Mary and, well, I’ll always owe you.”
She looked at the card for a long time then looked up. “Does Daddy know you’re leaving?”
“Not yet, he’s waiting on the docks to haul lobsters to the mainland, I’m going with him, and, hopefully, he won’t throw me overboard half way.”
Impulsively, she kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you again, John. Think about me next time you’re alone in bed wondering who might sneak through the door.” She tried to smile.
He grabbed the boat gear as he passed out the front door. With everything bundled under both arms, he couldn’t walk fast. He was dreading telling Gort.
Interview
Jules was working late. He was at an age and seniority that he should be able to assign work to subordinates, but this was private. The Chief Financial Officer came into Jules’ office. “Look Jules, these are the latest figures. The P&L hasn’t changed since the meeting with Hawk.” Hawk, Goodwin and Manchzec was the investment company managing the latest opportunity with a Saudi Arabian government agency. He laid a summary sheet on the desk.
Jules didn’t look at it. “That’s fine Matt. That CBS reporter will be here tomorrow, and I just want to be up to speed. I don’t expect to get into this, but you never know.”
“Okay then, Jules. I’m headed out if you don’t need anything else. I had Marie (their shared Executive Assistant) set up the charts in the board room.”
Jules waived him off. “Okay, Matt. Thanks for staying late.”
Matt Hanson was one of only three people, including Jules and Charlie, who knew the plan to sell the Institute. Even if they decided to merge with another firm or to go public, his shares, amounting to four percent of the Institute, would be worth enough for him to retire well at forty. He’d really lucked into the job. Eight years before, he was an Audit Manager at a big-four public accounting firm, tired of working extraordinary hours for steady pay. He wanted more. He wanted to be CFO or at least Comptroller at a private company, offering an equity position. GHI had given him that chance. When he joined, he filled all financial roles with a junior accountant for support. Back then, the three principal owners and he shared a common office suite with used desks and second-hand office equipment. Since then, with a healthy influx of debt and equity money, they were living high; higher than any small companies that he knew about. Because of the leverage and outside investors, they had semi-annual audits by a mid-sized CPA firm, and Matt’s prior background proved invaluable, keeping the burden off the scientists running the Institute.
Jules was as prepared as he could be. The meeting in the morning would not be aimed at investors directly. A national TV network wanted to do a story on the Institute that had cured the last Ebola outbreak in Zaire, almost before it started. He shut off the light and walked past the security station. “Goodnight, Israel.” The uniformed guard smiled and buzzed the door, which had locked automatically at seven o’clock.
His reserved parking spot was the closest of any to the lobby door. He sat in his car for a moment without starting the engine, thinking about how nice it would have been if Nancy had lived longer, and they could share retirement together. Being wealthy had always been his dream, a dream they shared, but cancer intervened. He sat sullenly, reflecting, as he had every day for two years, on how things might have been different if he had pursued a cure to that cursed disease. The answer was always the same: billions were being spent already and progress was being made by dozens of institutions; maybe hundreds. What could he have done?
Anyway, it was all history at this point, a dark history for him. She’d died only six months after the diagnosis. There was never a favorable prognosis. They’d shared as much time as possible in her last month’s, travelling and enjoying life as much as he could get away. It wasn’t enough, he knew, because it was the same time as their reputation at GHI started growing exponentially, and he couldn’t get home often. Hell, he was out of the country for weeks at a time or away at prospective investor meetings. He’d only made it back in the morning on the day that she died, at home. The home health aide met him outside of the den, which had been converted to be her hospital room. She told him that Nancy probably wouldn’t respond any more, but might know he was there. Might know I was there?
Nancy had looked wilted and shrunken, yet he could still see the vibrant young woman he’d married more than forty years earlier. He sat alongside her bed and gently reached for her hand. It was cold, but the monitor still showed a pulse, and the respirator cycled with a familiar rhythm, pumping life into her lungs. Her eyes were closed, and she no longer moved. The IV gave a steady morphine drip. He had cried with his head on the edge of her bed until falling asleep after twenty four hours of anxious travel to be with her.
Sometime during the night, the nurse put her hand on his shoulder, and he awoke to silence. The machines were all off. He willed it to be different, but there was nothing to say, nothing the nurse could do, nothing anyone could do. Nancy had passed that night two years ago. He only reflected on it for a moment, then started the car and drove to their empty home. Since she had passed, the house had grown sterile, lifeless. It was Nancy’s home. They built it together, but it had always been hers. The furnishings, the décor, the textures, her casual flinging of little projects scattered about, the smell of dinner when he arrived home … this had been her house, and now it was lifeless.
Their home life had gone with her. He dreaded being there alone now. At the same time, he couldn’t ever move away. It was so much of her, and he couldn’t imagine ever leaving it or changing a thing from the day she died. The hospital equipment was gone now, and the house was otherwise exactly as she had lived in it. It always would be. His drive home was always filled with dread. He should have appreciated the surroundings that were so much of her in life, but it had the opposite effect. He hadn’t been there enough for her in life, and now he never would be. The house was a constant reminder of his neglect.
The guilt surrounded him. It dominated every private moment. He was driven for success at the Institute. She probably understood that he loved her, but did she? He’d never really shown it overtly. No kids, no extended vacations. Hell, she’d never been outside the country with him despite loving to read and dream about visiting Europe, the orient, the tropics. She sometimes talked about getting away for a long vacation, maybe a river cruise in Europe, whenever they had a quiet moment together. There hadn’t been many
