Crisis (17 page)
"As if I wasn't aware of that, considering how long it's taken you to feel comfortable marrying me."
"Let's not get nasty" Jack said with a smile. He waited to be sure she understood he was joking, because what she had said was true. For a number of years, Jack's guilt and grief made him feel it was inappropriate for him to be happy. He'd even felt it should have been he who died, not Marilyn and the girls.
"It would be small of me to try to talk you out of going," Laurie continued in a serious voice. "But I wouldn't be honest if I didn't tell you I'm not happy about it, both from a selfish point of view and for what it could do to your mind-set. We're getting married on Friday. Don't call me from Boston and suggest that it be postponed. If you do, it would be a cancellation, not a postponement. I hope you don't take that as an unreasonable threat. After all this time, it's how I feel. With that said, do what you have to do."
"Thank you. I understand how you feel, and for good reason. It's been a slow road to normalcy for me in a lot of respects."
"When exactly are you going?"
Jack glanced at his watch. It was close to four p.m. "Right now, I guess. I'll cycle back to the apartment, grab a few things, then head out to the airport." Currently, he and Laurie were living on the first floor of Jack's old building on 106th Street. They had moved down from the fourth floor because the building was under renovation. Jack and Laurie had bought it seven months previously and had made the mistake of trying to live in it while the work was being done.
"Will you call me tonight when you get settled?"
"Absolutely."
Laurie stood up and they hugged.
Jack didn't waste time. After cleaning up a few odds and ends on his desk, he descended to the basement floor and got his mountain bike from where he stored it. With his helmet and bicycle gloves on and a clip on his right trouser leg, he peddled up 30th Street and then headed north on First Avenue.
As usual, once he was on the bike, Jack's problems faded. The exercise and the attendant exhilaration took him to another world, especially during his diagonal transit of Central Park. Like a verdant jewel plopped in the middle of the concrete city, the park afforded a transcendent experience. By the time he popped back out onto Central Park West at 106th Street, the tension that his conversation with Laurie had caused was gone. It had been worked out of his system by the otherworldliness of the park's flower-filled interior.
Just opposite his building, Jack pulled up at the edge of the neighborhood playground. Warren and Flash were on the basketball court, shooting baskets in anticipation of one of the neighborhood's fast, furious, and highly competitive evening games. Jack opened the gate in the high chain-link fence and wheeled his bicycle into the playground.
"Hey, man," Warren called out. "You've come early. You running tonight, or what? If you are, get your ass out here cause it's going to be a party tonight." Warren's impressively muscled, youthful body was completely hidden beneath his oversized hip-hop outfit. Flash was older, with a full beard that was beginning to gray prematurely. His biggest asset other than his jump shot was his mouth. He could argue any point and get most people to agree. Together they made an almost undefeatable team.
After brief hugs and ritualized handshakes, Jack told Warren he couldn't play because he had to go to Boston for a couple of nights.
"Beantown!" Warren remarked. "There's a brother up there who's cool and plays hoops. I could give him a buzz and let him know you're in the neighborhood."
"That would be terrific," Jack said. He'd not thought about taking his gear, but a bit of exercise might be just what the doctor ordered if things got emotionally dicey.
"I'll give him your cell and leave his on your voicemail."
"Fine," Jack said. "Listen! Is everything okay with your tux for Friday?"
"Not a problem. We're picking it up Thursday."
"Great," Jack said. "Maybe I'll see you guys Wednesday night. I could use a run or two before the big day."
"We'll be here, doc," Warren said. He snapped the ball from a startled Flash and drilled a long three-pointer.
6
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS MONDAY, JUNE 5, 2006 7:35 P.M.
Jack deplaned from the six thirty Delta Shuttle and allowed the clutch of people to carry him along. He assumed they knew where they were going. In short order, he found himself curbside of the Delta terminal, and within five minutes the Hertz rent-a-car bus pulled up. Jack boarded.
He'd not been in Boston for some time, and thanks to the interminable construction of the airport, he didn't recognize a thing. As the bus wended its way among the various terminals, he wondered what kind of welcome he was going to find when he arrived at the Bowman homestead. The only person he could count on being hospitable was Alexis. As far as the others, he had no idea of what to expect, particularly Craig. And even Alexis he'd not seen in person for more than a year, which was going to make it some-what awkward. The last time he'd seen her had been in New York City, where she'd come solo to attend a professional psychology meeting.
Jack sighed. He didn't want to be there in Boston, especially since he knew his chances of accomplishing anything were minimal, other than to pat his sister on the back and commiserate with her, and also since his going had upset Laurie. He was confident Laurie would get over it, but she had already been under stress from her mother for the previous few weeks. The irony was that she was supposed to enjoy the wedding ceremony as well as the lead-up to it. Instead, it had become more of a burden. Jack had had to bite his tongue on several occasions when he'd been tempted to tell her she should have assumed as much. If it had been up to Jack, they would have scheduled a small, private affair with just a few friends. From his cynical perspective, the reality of major social events never lived up to romantic expectation.
Jack and his fellow passengers were eventually dropped off at the Hertz facility and without too much stress he found himself behind the wheel of a cream-colored Hyundai Accent that reminded him of an old-fashioned Minute Maid juice can. Armed with a poor map and a few slapdash directions, he bravely ventured forth and immediately got lost. Boston was not a city that was at all kind to a visiting driver. Nor were the Boston drivers. It was like a rally as Jack struggled to find the suburban town where Alexis lived. On his rare previous visits, he'd always met his sister in town.
Shaken but not down-and-out, Jack pulled into the Bowman driveway at a quarter to nine. It was still not completely dark, thanks to the approaching summer solstice, but the interior incandescent lights were on, giving the home what Jack assumed to be the falsely cozy appearance of the happy family. The house was impressive, like others in the immediate Newton neighborhood. It was a large two-and-a-half-story structure made of brick and painted white with a series of dormers poking out of the roof. Also, like the other homes, there was an expansive lawn, lots of shrubs, towering trees, and extensive flower beds. Below each window on the ground floor was a window box brimming with blossoms. Next to Jack's Hyundai was a Lexus. Inside the garage, Jack knew from one of Alexis's earlier conversations there was the de rigueur station wagon.
No one came flying out of the house waving a banner of welcome. Jack turned off the engine and for a moment entertained the idea of just turning around and leaving. Yet he couldn't do that, so he reached into the backseat for his carry-on bag and got out of the car. Outside, there were the familiar noises of the crickets and other creatures. Save for those sounds, the neighborhood seemed devoid of life.
At the front door, Jack peered in through the sidelights. There was a small foyer with an umbrella stand. Beyond that was a hallway. He could see a flight of stairs that rose up to the second floor. Still, there were no people, not a sound. Jack rang the bell, which was actually chimes that he could hear distinctly through the door. Almost immediately a small, androgynous figure appeared bounding down the stairs. She was dressed in a simple T-shirt and shorts and no shoes. She was a lithe towhead with milky white blemish-free skin and delicate-appearing arms and legs. She threw open the door. It was obvious she was strong-willed.
"You must be Uncle Jack."
"I am, and you?" Jack felt his heart quicken. He could already see his late daughter Tamara.
"Christina," she declared. Then, without taking her greenish eyes from Jack, she yelled over her shoulder, "Mom! Uncle Jack is here."
Alexis appeared at the end of the hallway. As she approached, she exuded major domesticity. She was wearing an apron and wiping her hands on a checkered dishtowel. "Well, ask him in, Christina."
Although looking appropriately older, Alexis appeared pretty much the same as Jack remembered her back in their childhood home in South Bend, Indiana. There was no doubt they were siblings. They had the same sand-colored hair, the same matching maple-syrup eyes, the same defined features, and the same complexion, which suggested they'd been in the sun even when they hadn't. Neither was completely pale, even in the dead of winter.
With a warm smile, Alexis walked directly up to Jack and gave him a sustained hug. "Thanks for coming," she whispered in his ear. While still embracing Alexis, Jack saw the other two girls appear at the top of the stairs. It was easy to tell them apart, since Tracy at age fifteen was more than a foot taller than Meghan at eleven. As if not sure what to do, they came down the stairs slowly, hesitating at each step. As they neared it was easy for Jack to see their personalities differed as much as their height. Tracy's sky-blue eyes burned with a brazen intensity, whereas Meghan's hazel eyes flitted about, not willing to make eye contact. Jack swallowed. Meghan's eye movement suggested she was shy and introverted just like Jack's Lydia.
"Come down here and say hello to your uncle," Alexis ordered goodnaturedly.
As the girls reached the floor level, Jack was surprised at Tracy's height. He was regarding her at nearly eye level. She was a good three to four inches taller than her mother. The other thing he saw was that she had two obvious piercings. One was on her nostril, topped with a small diamond. The other was a silver ring tucked into her exposed navel. Her attire included a cropped sleeveless cotton top that stretched across precociously impressive breasts.
On her lower half, she wore low-rise billowy harem pants. The outfit and accessories gave her a saucy sensuality as brazen as her stare.
"This is your uncle, girls," Alexis said as a way of introduction.
"How come you've never visited us?" Tracy demanded right off. She had both hands defiantly thrust into pants pockets.
"Did your daughters really die in a plane crash?" Christina asked almost simultaneously.
"Girls!" Alexis blurted, drawing the word out as if it were five or six syllables long. Then, she apologized to Jack. "I'm sorry. You know children. You never know what they are going to say."
"It's all right. Unfortunately, they are both reasonable questions." Then, looking into Tracy's eyes, he said, "Maybe over the next day or so we could talk. I'll try to explain why I've been a stranger." Then, looking down to Christina, he added, "In answer to your question, I did lose two lovely daughters in a plane tragedy."
"Now Christina," Alexis said, butting in. "Since you're the only one who's finished her homework, why don't you take Uncle Jack down to the basement guest room. Tracy and Meghan, you two head back upstairs and finish your work. And Jack, I assume you've not eaten."
Jack nodded. He'd wolfed down a sandwich at LaGuardia Airport, but that had long since disappeared into the lower reaches of his digestive tract. Although he hadn't expected to be, he was hungry.
"How about some pasta. I've kept the marinara sauce hot, and I can throw together a salad."
"That would be fine."
The basement guest room was as expected. It had two high windows that looked into brick-lined window wells. The air had a damp, cool feeling like a root cellar. On the plus side, it was taste-fully decorated in varying shades of green. The furniture included a king-size bed, a desk, a club chair with a reading lamp, and a flat-screen TV. There was also a bathroom en suite.
While Jack pulled his clothes out of his carry-on bag and hung what he could in the closet, Christina threw herself into the easy chair. With her arms flat on the chair's arms and her feet sticking straight out into space, she regarded Jack critically. "You're skinnier than my dad."
"Is that good or bad?" Jack questioned. He put his basketball sneakers on the floor of the closet and carried his shaving kit into the bathroom. He liked the fact that there was a generous shower stall rather than a generic bathtub.
"How old were your daughters when they crashed in the plane?"
Although Jack should have expected Christina to return to the sensitive issue after his inadequate response, such a direct, personal question snapped him back to that disturbing sequence when he'd said good-bye to his wife and daughters at the Chicago airport. It had been fifteen years ago almost to the day that he'd driven his family to the airport to take a commuter flight back to Champaign while a band of rogue thunderstorms and tornadoes were approaching through the vast midwestern plains. He'd been in Chicago, retraining in forensic pathology after a health-care giant had gobbled up his ophthalmology practice back in the heyday of managed care's expansion. Jack had been trying to get Marilyn to agree to move to Chicago, but she had rightfully refused for the children's sake.