Come Fly With Me (6 page)

"I
know,
but
it
would
be
okay."

"What
would
be
okay?"

"If
you
allowed
yourself
to
be...fragile."

"I
can't.
Don't
you
know?
I'm
the
strong
one."

*****

After
her
long
walk
around
Rockland
Lake
later
that
evening,
Allison
came
back
into
a
house
filled
with
sympathetic
visitors.
She
quickly
took
her
place
next
to
her
mother
on
that
cursed
low
chair.

Her
mother
leaned
over
to
whisper
in
her
ear,
"All
the
work
people
came
by,
you
just
missed
them:
Natalya,
Paul
Franklin,
the
new
guy,
Alexander."

"Who's
that?"

"Shh,
we'll
speak
later,"
she
said
as
they
turned
their
attention
to
a
young
man
who
sat
down
in
front
of
them.

"You
don't
know
me,"
he
began,
"but
I
felt
I
needed
to
come
by
to
pay
my
respects.
I
owe
a
lot
to
your
father—my
whole
career
actually."

"My
father?
You're
talking
about
Daniel
Ross?"
Allison
asked
and
turned
in
irritation
as
Jeremy
poked
her
from
the
side.
"Nice
of
you
to
show
up
Jeremy,"
she
whispered.

"I
could
say
the
same
about
you,"
he
said.
"I
could
only
switch
out
of
two
shifts
on
such
short
notice."

"I
know,
so
inconsiderate
of
Dad
not
to
give
us
advanced
warning
of
his
sudden
death."

"Allison,
Jeremy,
Mr.
Prescott
here
was
telling
me
a
fascinating
story
about
your
father
you
might
want
to
hear,"
their
mother
chided
gently.

Allison
smoothed
her
expression
and
gave
her
attention
to
Mr.
Prescott.
Her
mother
was
taking
this
Shiva
thing
way
too
seriously.

"I
would
see
your
father
every
morning
at
his
early
run
in
the
park.
Finally,
one
time,
I
got
up
enough
courage
to
ask
him
his
advice
on
a
business
matter."

He
shook
his
head
as
he
continued,
"'Son
you're
not
cut
out
for
business,'
he
said
to
me.
'I've
seen
you
in
this
park
for
months
now,
making
cautious
eye
contact
with
me
waiting
for
the
right
moment
to
approach
me.
Being
successful
in
business
is
about
creating
those
opportunities.
You
have
the
head
for
it,
not
the
balls—go
teach
somewhere.'"

He
smiled
as
he
continued,
"I've
been
teaching
business
management
at
Columbia
for
the
past
two
years,
and
I
love
it."

"Now
that
sounds
like
Dad,"
Jeremy
whispered.

Allison
nodded.
She
found
herself
nodding
an
awful
lot
the
rest
of
the
week.
In
the
end,
she
was
glad
she
had
stayed—her
mother
had
been
right,
of
course.
One
of
the
more
important
things
she
learned
was
that
many
people
come
by
to
make
themselves
feel
better
about
a
sudden
tragedy.
The
whole
week
had
struck
her
as
an
odd
combination
of
voyeurism
and
real
shock,
but
the
experience
of
actively
mourning
did
lend
itself
to
a
shared
sense
of
grief
that
she
found
surprisingly
helpful.
She
also
learned
that
tuna
casserole
can
be
made
in
a
myriad
of
ways—all
of
them
awful.

Herbert
Woods
peered
kindly
at
them
over
his
glasses.
“I'm
very
sorry
for
your
loss,
Vivienne,
Ms.
Ross,
is
there
anyone
else
that
is
supposed
to
be
present
for
the
reading
of
the
will?”

“Thank
you,
but
no,
it’s
just
us,”
Allison
responded
as
she
pointed
to
her
mother
and
herself.
Jeremy
had
an
emergency
and
her
mother
did
not
wish
to
include
Uncle
Martin
and
his
son,
Bradley,
in
this
very
private
moment.

Everything
went
smoothly
until
the
lawyer
handed
a
property
deed
to
Allison.

“What’s
this
for?”

“It’s
for
the
summer
house
in
Maine,”
he
responded.

Allison
sat
frozen
for
a
moment.
“I
can't
believe
this
is
happening!
I
thought
that
was
sold
after,
um,
after
Uncle
Joey
died?”
She
looked
at
her
mother.

“No,
your
father
always
meant
for
you
to
have
it.”

“I
don’t
want
it.
Sell
it.”
She
directed
her
attention
to
Mr.
Woods.

“I’m
afraid
I
can’t
do
that
Ms.
Ross.”

“Oh,
of
course,
there’s
probably
a
stipulation
that
says
I
have
to
hold
onto
it
for
a
year
before
it
can
be
sold.”