“Pennsylvania. How about you?”
“Jersey.”
“Oh, which part? New Jersey’s a lovely state.”
The girl rolled her eyes.
“Not the part I’m from,” she said, describing an area near Newark, just over the river from New York City. Jo had flown in and out of the Newark airport many times in her life, and she had to agree that the general region was not the best Jersey had to offer, by any means.
“Are you here with Winnie?” Jo asked, glancing at the end of the table to see her aunt taking her last bites of breakfast and then wiping her mouth with her napkin.
“Nope,” Alexa replied, “but we’ve been getting to know each other. She’s been teaching me about horticulture. Right, Pixie?”
“Pixie?” Jo and Eleanor asked simultaneously.
Alexa and Winnie both smiled.
“That’s my nickname for her,” Alexa said, “’cause she’s always eating Pixie Stix—you know, those little straws with the flavored sugar powder inside?”
“Oh I haven’t had those in years,” Jo said, smiling. “Probably not since I was your age, Alexa.”
“I keep them in a jar in the guest house, Jo, if you’d like some,” Winnie said.
“Should you really have that much sugar, Winnie?” Eleanor asked. “That can’t be healthy.”
“It’s either that or go back to cigarettes, Mother. Take your pick.”
Jo winked at Alexa, who looked as though she felt bad for bringing it up.
“Alexa will be helping me with the hardening of the seedlings,” Winnie continued, returning to the original subject. “But speaking of seedlings, I’ve got to get out to the greenhouse. I’ll see you folks later.”
Winnie dropped her napkin on top of her dirty plate, pulled out her chair, and headed for the kitchen, which had an exit to the outside.
“She really does look good,” Jo said softly to her grandmother after she heard the back door close.
“May has always been Winnie’s best month,” Eleanor replied. “Something about all that gardening seems to keep her quite occupied and content.”
“Is there something wrong with her?” Alexa asked. “She seems cool to me.”
“Usually she’s very…high-strung,” Eleanor replied in answer to Alexa’s question, “though I know that seems hard to believe right now. She’s like a different person this time of year. The more she can keep her hands in the dirt, the happier she is—which is odd, considering that the rest of the year she can’t tolerate dirt of any kind.”
Jo cleared her throat, hoping to change the subject.
“So tell me more about you,” Jo said to Alexa. “If you’re not here with Winnie…”
“Alexa is my guest,” Eleanor said. “She’s been staying here for a few months.”
A few months? How come Jo didn’t know anything about this? And what was she doing here?
“I’m sorry if I seem surprised. I just hadn’t heard.”
Jo wondered if perhaps the girl was here in some sort of foster care situation—but the thought of that was almost laughable, considering that her grandmother was the last person on earth who might take in some needy child out of love or compassion. Maybe Alexa was one of those “Fresh Air Fund” kids? Again, not really a credible thought, considering Eleanor’s personality and temperament. Perhaps Alexa was the daughter or granddaughter of one of the staff.
“How did you two meet?” Jo asked.
Mrs. Bosworth glanced at Alexa and then back at Jo.
“Alexa is a patient of Dr. Stebbins, my neurologist. She’s staying here to help with her stroke recovery.”
“Stroke recovery? But you’re so young!”
“I didn’t have the same kind of stroke old people have,” the girl said, gesturing toward Jo’s grandmother. “Mine was a ruptured cerebral aneurysm.”
Jo didn’t know what that meant, but her grandmother explained, apparently not offended by the “old people” remark.
“There’s more than one kind of stroke, Jo. What I had was an ischemic stroke, where a blood clot moved into my brain and caused a blockage. In Alexa’s case, a blood vessel burst in her brain, causing internal bleeding. Dr. Stebbins treats both kinds.”
“What caused it?” Jo asked Alexa.
The girl shrugged.
“Dr. Stebbins says I was probably born that way, with a little bulge in the artery wall that was bound to rupture sooner or later. I was just lucky they got me to the hospital so fast when it happened. They say every second counts in a situation like that. I was double-lucky that Dr. Stebbins helped treat me. He’s a really amazing doctor.”
Jo watched as the girl poured herself more coffee. She certainly seemed agile enough now. In fact, she seemed so normal that Jo was having trouble believing what she was hearing.
“So how did this houseguest arrangement happen?” Jo asked, looking from one to the other. “Did the two of you meet in the doctor’s office and just hit it off?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jo,” her grandmother said, pushing away her plate just as Consuela appeared from the kitchen with fresh coffee for Jo. She set the insulated pot on the table, cleared the dirty plates, and returned to the kitchen. Once she was gone, Eleanor continued. “Dr. Stebbins told me about his young patient and the particular…needs that she had. We both thought it would be a good idea for her to live here during her convalescence and recovery. I must say, I was a little reluctant at first, her being so young, but I think it has worked out swimmingly. Alexa’s a delight and simply no trouble at all.”
“How old are you?” Jo asked, studying the girl. She was sure there was more to the story than either of them was saying.
“I’m fourteen,” Alexa said shyly, glancing down at her plate. As she did, a few locks of hair fell across her forehead, and Jo could see that in and among the black strands were red and blue highlights.
“Fourteen? Wow, you must really miss your friends and family.”
“Yeah, I do,” she said. “I miss my friends a whole lot. My mom too. I don’t really have any other family.”
“Do you get to see your mother much?”
“Alexa knows she’s free to visit her mother at any time,” Eleanor answered for her. “And she knows Fernando can bring her to see her friends too, if she wants.”
Jo could just imagine that—this poor kid having to pull up to her modest little New Jersey school yard in a fancy limo. Yeah, that would go over well.
“What about schooling?”
The girl shrugged.
“I have tutors who come here,” she said, a hint of Jersey accent in her voice. “It’s not bad.”
“They teach her in the studio. At some point, Jo, you’ll have to go out and look at the changes we’ve made.”
“Oh?”
“As you know, after my stroke, we converted the carriage house to a workout center for my physical therapy. Since Alexa came, we’ve added even more equipment along with several small offices for the therapists and the doctor.”
“Impressive.”
“And the studio is delightful now. It almost looks like a classroom. There are desks and tables and an art area with a sink. We even put in a piano out there.”
“A black baby grand,” Alexa added wistfully. “It’s beautiful.”
A black baby grand? Tutors in the studio? This all seemed so strange. Later, when they were alone, Jo was going to ask her grandmother some pointed questions about the whole situation.
The kitchen door opened and Consuela emerged with Jo’s breakfast. She set the steaming plate in front of Jo and set down a tiny pitcher of fresh cream for the coffee before returning to the kitchen.
As Jo began eating, Eleanor excused herself from the table, reached for a nearby cane, and stood.
“Just so you know, Jo, Fernando and the limo are at your disposal all day if you want to go back to Pennsylvania to get your things. First, however, we have to talk to your father. Why don’t you join me in my office in half an hour?
”
“Sure.”
“And as for you, Miss Alexa, don’t be late for your piano lesson.”
Alexa stood up awkwardly, for a moment looking very young and earnest. Despite the tough exterior, there was something endearing and almost innocent about her.
“No, ma’am. I won’t. I’ll go out there right now.”
Jo glanced up at her grandmother, who was looking at Alexa, and for a moment there was a flash of an emotion Jo had never, ever seen on the woman’s face before. In fact, if she didn’t know any better, Jo could have sworn that what she witnessed was a moment, albeit brief, of tenderness.
Go figure.
“I believe that is our hotel over there,” Luc said, gesturing toward a five-story building at the end of the block. “Too bad we do not have time to check in now.”
The men were squeezing in several quick errands between destinations, the most important of which was to drop Danny’s passport off at a travel expediter service, where they would do the footwork for him to secure a last-minute visa to the Congo. The only other requirement—a yellow fever vaccination and certificate—would be taken care of tomorrow afternoon by one of the doctors at GMM. After that, assuming the expediter had no problems getting the visa, Danny would have everything he’d need to go on to Africa.
The woman in the travel service office did not speak English, which was a bit disconcerting, considering that her job was to handle international issues. Except for taking Danny’s picture and showing him where to sign on the dotted line, she dealt exclusively with Luc, who assured Danny once they left that she seemed as though she knew what she was doing and that all should go well with his visa.
“I got her phone number too,” he added with a grin. “But I am not sure I will use it. She was pretty, yes, but a bit, how do you say, bucktooth, non?”
“I didn’t notice,” Danny replied as they walked. “I was paying more attention to that cool, retro twin-lens camera. I wonder how old that thing was.”
“Ah, Danny,” Luc said, throwing an arm over his friend’s shoulders. “What am I going to do with you and your tunnel vision? Women are the spice of life!”
“I thought variety was the spice of life.”
“Variety in women, oui!”
Laughing, they made their way toward a delicatessen-like restaurant, called a gaststätte. When planning the shoot, Georgette had said that she wanted many of the Switzerland photos to include food to further show the contrast between the haves and the have-nots. Though several of the doctors were willing to cooperate, it was up to Scene It to provide the actual fare. Danny and Luc entered the deli, paid for their order, and carried various platters and containers back to the van.
Their next stop was the home of one of the GMM doctors, an infectious diseases specialist who lived in a fancy condo situated right along the river in Zurich. When they arrived at the condo, the doctor’s beautiful young wife used the food they brought with her own fancy serving pieces to set up an elaborate buffet on the balcony.
The spread was sumptuous: colorful fruit, Swiss meats on German breads, and hearty sides of pickles and potato salad. Once the scene was set, Mr. Bashiri began photographing the doctor and his wife pretending to dine al fresco with an incredible view of the city behind them. Danny helped with the lighting and Luc with the screens, and as they worked, it felt to Danny as though they were quickly becoming a creative and efficient team.
Finally, once they were finished, they all made a late lunch out of the food for real. To Danny, it was even more delicious than it looked, and he was glad that Mr. Bashiri had not needed to tamper with the food artificially to make it “pretty” for the camera, something many professional photographers did. This was, after all, a journalistic endeavor, not a hamburger billboard.
As they relaxed and ate, the doctor told them more about the refugee camp where they would be going in the Congo. He had just come back from there six months before, and he was already eager to return. His English was so difficult to understand that he ended up speaking in the local Swiss German dialect instead and getting translated by Luc; but just from the man’s voice and body language, Danny could see that despite the difficult conditions there, he seemed to have found an enormous amount of joy and purpose through his work in the sub-Sahara. As the doctor described his work among the refugees, he gestured broadly with his hands and he had a happy, excited gleam in his eye.
At one point, the doctor asked Danny a question, something about “schutzimpfungen,” and Danny looked to Luc for translation. Smiling ruefully, Luc told him that the good doctor was asking about vaccinations, suggesting that when Danny got his required yellow fever shot, he should also ask for vaccinations for hepatitis A and hepatitis B as well, which were not required for travel to the Congo but were highly recommended.
“Ja,” the doctor said, counting off on his fingers. “Die shutzimpfung der gelbe fieber, die shutzimpfung der hepatitis A, und die shutzimpfung der hepatitis B.”
The next doctor they went to photograph added even more shots to the list, telling Danny he would also want to get boosters of all of his childhood inoculations—tetanus, diphtheria, even polio. Danny didn’t like shots, but he was willing to do whatever it took to stay healthy on this trip.
This doctor lived in a beautiful villa a half hour outside of the city, toward the distant Alps, and with such a lovely home, Mr. Bashiri had much to work with. Danny unloaded the equipment from the van, and then they got busy shooting photos in several different places around the property. The only problem was Luc, who had to excuse himself several times to take calls on his cell phone. Danny couldn’t imagine what was so important that it was worth interrupting the photo shoot for, but apparently something was going on with Luc that simply couldn’t wait.
The weird thing was, every time a call came the Frenchman would quickly answer, tell the person to hold on, and then walk far away out of earshot before speaking. Danny supposed Luc was just being polite and trying not to disturb the creative process, but more than once, Danny had glanced up to see Luc looking directly at him as he talked.
Danny hated to seem paranoid, but if he didn’t know better, he could almost swear Luc was talking about him.
Once Jo’s grandmother and Alexa had both left the room, Jo felt a little strange eating by herself as the bodyguard stood nearby. A bit self-consciously, she tried to make conversation, even offering him breakfast, but his answers were short and monosyllabic. Finally he reminded her that she was supposed to ignore the fact that he was there and go on with her day.
She tried, finishing her meal quickly, thinking about her father and how this encounter was going to go. More than anything, she wanted to talk to Danny. Besides the simple fact that hearing his voice would help to calm and ground her, he needed to know what had happened, to help her figure out how to proceed. If she hurried, she would probably have time to call him before her father arrived.
Upstairs in her room with the bodyguard stationed just outside, Jo used her cell phone to dial Danny’s office. Instead of getting Danny, however, she was connected with Danny’s boss, who told her that Danny was currently out of the country.
“Out of the country?” Jo asked, for a moment daring to hope that he was on his way home. Maybe he found out about what had happened with Bradford and he was rushing to her side. Maybe he had even left last night and would be here soon.
“Yes,” the woman said. “He is on a photo shoot to Switzerland and Africa. One of our staff members had to cancel at the last moment and Dah-nee was able to take his place. Right now, they are in Zurich.”
Jo inhaled slowly, feeling more alone and adrift than she’d ever been in her life. Switzerland? Africa?
He might as well be on the moon.
The woman was nice enough, and she obviously knew who Jo was. She gave her the name and number of the hotel where Danny would be staying in Zurich, suggesting that Jo leave a message there. Jo thanked the woman and hung up, sitting there for a moment, feeling h
urt that Danny hadn’t tried to call and tell her in person about his big trip, even if he had been pressed for time.
Of course, there was always a chance that he hadn’t been able to reach her and had simply left a message on her home phone. Jo dialed her house in Pennsylvania and accessed her machine remotely, pleased to find that he had done just that. Much to her surprise, the very sound of his voice made tears spring into her eyes.
“Jo, hi,” Danny’s voice said, “I can’t believe I can’t reach you in person! I’ve been racing around like crazy but right now I’m on a train, calling you from my friend Luc’s cell phone. I’ll try to talk fast. Listen, you won’t believe what’s going on. Have you ever heard me talk about the photographer Kalunga Bashiri? I actually got to meet him today, in person. Anyway, he was leaving tonight on a photo shoot and our guy who was supposed to go with him had to cancel because his wife went into labor a few weeks early. Jo, they let me take his place! And I’m a nobody! Just an intern!
“The best part is, according to Luc, Mr. Bashiri asked for me specifically. You can’t imagine what this means. Luc had to come too, to translate, but then he’ll be going back to Paris once we’re finished in Switzerland. The whole trip is supposed to take about seven days, three in Zurich, one in transit, and three down in the Congo, in Africa. Africa, Jo, I’m going to take pictures in Africa with Kalunga Bashiri! That’s, like, the biggest dream of my life come true! Okay, I guess my time is up and now I’m sounding stupid, I just wanted to tell you my big news and to let you know where I am in case you needed to reach me.”
He rattled off his friend’s cell phone number and said for the next few days, at least, she should feel free to reach him that way if she wanted him.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I wish you could be here with me right now. It’s a dream of a lifetime, and in the whole world you’re the only one who would understand that. I love you so much! I’ll talk to you soon. Love you. Bye.”
Jo pressed the button to save his message and disconnected the call.
Elementary, My Dear Watkins Page 11
