The Warning (13 page)
“I'll bet that went over like a lead balloon.”
“Don't. You'd lose your bet,” Alex happily replied.
“Up to now, all have agreed. There are a few scheduling difficulties, but not many. The response has been, well . . .”
“Miraculous,” Alex offered. His grin threatened to split his face. “No other word for it.”
“One meeting per city,” Agatha said firmly. “And the timing set up so your driving is kept to a minimum.”
Alex said, “Now tell him the good part.”
“Lionel and Clarke met yesterday afternoon with the coordinators for a series of nationwide revivals, where they bring in big music groups and a number of big-name speakers and lay it on all day long.”
Buddy felt his legs go weak. “The ones where they rent a whole stadium?”
“We're talking forty thousand people,” Alex cried. “Can you get your mind around that?”
“No.” Buddy made his feeble way to the nearest chair and plopped down. “No, I can't.”
The pair stared at him. Alex said, “I thought you'd be pleased.”
“Well, I'm not.”
“Your word is getting out,” Agatha said. “This is a big opportunity.”
“This is terrifying, is what it is,” Buddy replied.
Alex and Agatha exchanged a glance. “Look,” Buddy told them. “We've got to get one thing clear right up front. What is absolutely necessary among us is total honesty. Nothing else is permitted in this little circle. Is that understood?”
His sharp tone sobered them both. Agatha answered, “Yes, Buddy.”
“Total honesty,” he repeated. “Utter openness. We can tell one another everything, and do so with the assurance that our words will be met with love and support. This is far more important than any planning we might do, or any meeting you set up for me. Out there is a world of woe and discord. In here, among us, we need to be able to retreat and cast off the masks, and show one another exactly who we are.”
Alex nodded somberly. “A team.”
“Precisely. And I'll tell you with all the honesty I have that I do not want to do this. I don't want to travel. I don't want to sleep in strange beds. I don't want to eat packaged food. I don't want to shake the hands of people who will look at me like I've fallen out of the sky. I don't want people to think I wear wings and a crown.” He felt the events-to-come crowding in on him until he drew short of breath. He grabbed his chest, willing himself to relax. “And I do
not
like the idea of standing up in front of forty thousand people.
Forty
strangers are enough to give me the shakes.”
“Take it easy, Brother,” Alex said.
Agatha asked, “Can I get you something?”
“No. What you can do for me is pray. And let me come in here and unload. And give me absolute honesty in return. Will you do that for me?”
“Anything,” Agatha replied.
“You just name it,” Alex agreed.
Buddy's shoulders slumped. Forty thousand people. The number was too big to comprehend. “Sometimes I feel that it's all just a dream. That I'll wake up tomorrow and it'll all be over, that I can go back to just being Buddy Korda. Comfortable and happy with my little life in my little town.”
“You know what Pop used to say. âGod comes to comfort the troubled and trouble the comfortable.'”
“Do you know, I had forgotten that.” Buddy found it nice to have a reason to smile. “Pop would be proud of you, Alex.”
His brother's features slipped into hollow sadness. “Shame I had to wait until it was too late.”
“It's never too late.” Buddy glanced at his watch and rose slowly to his feet. He walked over and took his brother's bulky form in a firm embrace. “Never too late.”
He released Alex and turned to the stiffly erect woman. It seemed so natural, so correct to sweep her up as well, and enfold her in his arms and say, “I owe you more than I could ever say, Agatha.”
Her rigid form relaxed enough to hold him fiercely. “You don't owe me a thing. I'm not doing this for you at all.”
He released her, smiled, and said, “Good.”
It was fitting that a daughter-in-law and two of their granddaughters would be there to see them off that afternoon. Sad, but fitting. Anne stood with Molly by the car, while two little blond girls scampered around the big front lawn. Meredith was five and wise enough to let her younger sister catch her from time to time. Macon was four, and her progress was slowed because she insisted on running about while holding on to her floppy-eared bunny.
Buddy walked over, saw how the open trunk was full of suitcases and bags, and had to turn away. He watched the girls. “I don't believe I've ever seen a bunny as dirty as that one.”
“It used to be pink,” Anne agreed. “But that was six hundred washes ago.”
Molly leaned over and allowed the little one to run squealing into her embrace. “That's all right, my darling. Your bunny likes to play in the dirt with you, doesn't he?”
Macon shrieked as though the hug tickled and then wiggled until Molly released her. Sunlight fell between the two grand elms and turned Macon's hair to sparkling platinum. Anne said, “I've told her that four years old is too big to be sucking her thumb anymore. Now I go in at night and find she's stuck one of those bunny ears in her mouth.”
Buddy protested, “Look how the ears drag on the ground like that.”
“I've given up worrying about where that bunny has been,” Anne said.
Molly told her, “Your husband used to want to touch everything with his tongue. Learning to walk meant being able to get more to his mouth, and get it there faster.”
“I remember that,” Buddy said.
“Bugs, snakes, lizards, anthills, turtles, every puppy on the block, even the tires on Buddy's car. It went on for years.”
“That man will never kiss me again,” Anne declared seriously.
“They're little angels on the outside, but the dear Lord gives all children tummies of tungsten carbide.” Molly wore a stiff blouse of dark ivory, with a lace collar that almost touched her chin. Her grandmother's cameo closed the neck, and from her pocket dangled her old-fashioned watch-pin. She lifted it to inspect the time and said to Buddy, “It's less than two hours to your talk.”
Anne called out, “Come give Gram and Grandpa hugs.”
The two little ones ran over, accepted the embraces with squeals and giggles, and then raced off to chase the sun. Buddy rose and saw the solemn light in Anne's eyes. His daughter-in-law said, “Paul told me to tell you that we're all proud of you, and that we'll be praying you through this, every step of the way.”
Buddy started, “I wishâ”
“Give everyone our love,” Molly said, breaking him off. “We'll call once we get to the hotel tonight.”
“Okay, Mama Korda.” Anne hugged them and watched them climb into the car. When they started backing out of the drive, the two little ones waved and called and danced. Sunbeams and sorrow mixed in Buddy's eyes until he could not tell where the girls ended and the light began.
“Mr. Dorsett? This is Larry Fleiss.”
Thad sat up straighter. “You're kidding.”
“You've heard of me, then.”
“Who hasn't.” Larry Fleiss was a legend in his own time. A self-made trader, rising out of nowhere as all top traders did, going from strength to strength. “Is this really Fleiss?”
“The one and only. Have you seen today's
Journal
?”
“Afraid so.” Thad gave a silent sigh. To be called by Larry Fleiss because of Buddy was the worst kind of insult. “Mind telling me why you're interested in Korda?”
“It's not the man, it's the article. If this talk of his is a fluke, it's a passing curiosity. But if it continues . . .”
“He could affect the bank's standing,” Thad finished, loathing Buddy Korda anew. “If we can't control the ravings of one of our own, how can we be trusted to handle money on the Street?”
“I see we think alike.” The voice sounded like a string plucked and sent buzzing over a tin plate. Of course. It had to be Larry Fleiss. His voice was as much a trademark as the man's ability in the markets. The metallic drone was a product of ten thousand market forays, putting hundreds of millions on the line and then watching the market spin. An adrenaline junkie. Fleiss went on, “I've heard some good things about you.”
“You have?” Fleiss was one of the reasons Thad had joined Valenti. Here was a trader who was both fund manager and chief aide to the chairman of the board. Fleiss was the clearest possible signal that the sky was the limit. And the man had heard about
him
. “Heard what?”
“You're a trader with moxie. And you've got what it takes to rise to the top.”
“Like you.” Keeping his voice level, fighting down the excitement.
“Sure. What's your attitude toward this assistant manager of yours?”
“More fruit fly than manager. A wimp who's found his place in life.” Thad cataloged the small-time habits, going through the recent conflicts and ending with the letter to the bank's top clients about refusing to accept new bank policies.
Fleiss's asthmatic breathing continued when Thad was finished. Then, “Sounds like somebody living in the past.”
“The man is a throwback to horse-and-buggy days,” Thad agreed.
“What do you suggest we do?”
“Strike directly.” Thad did not need to think that one out. “Give Korda an ultimatum. Shape up or else. And if he doesn't drop this, we drop him. Chop him off at the ankles.”
“I like your attitude, Dorsett. Think you can pass on the message from the front office?”
“With pleasure,” Thad said with savage glee. “You can count on me.”
Buddy drove up and over the hills west of Aiden. The change in altitude was just enough for the first hints of autumn to touch a few trees. They shone out from among their brethren, hinting at changes to come. Buddy took the drive slow and easy, trying to get used to the way things were. Hoping to find some breath of rightness to the new beginning.
Molly allowed him space and silence until they started down the slope's other side. “How do you feel?”
“Do you remember what your mother used to say when something riled her? She said she felt put upon.” He took a steep curve. “That pretty much sums it up for me too. I feel put upon.”
“It's funny,” Molly said. “I was just thinking about Momma too.”
He glanced over. Her face was tilted slightly, so that she could look out both the front and side windows. The scar that ran from her left ear downward was displayed in all its angry fullness. Molly went on, “I was thinking about the accident.”
“Oh, Molly.” This had to be a very bad day for her. Molly had not spoken about the accident in thirty years, not since the year before they were married.
“I was five, the same age as Jennifer and Meredith,” Molly said, repeating the story he had heard just once before. “Momma was boiling bones on the stove to make marrow soup. The pot was boiling over. It was making such a mess. I had no idea how heavy it was until I tried to lift it off. It spilled all over me. Down the side of my face, down my neck and shoulder.”
“I'm so sorry,” he murmured, hurting anew for her. And not just because of the accident. Buddy ached over how the journey was already causing her such grief that she relived the worst time of her life. He was inundated with a desire to turn around and go home. Let the whole thing pass them by. Take the days left to them and just enjoy what was theirs. The temptation was so strong he felt little tremors run down his fingers and through the steering wheel.
“Momma was such a proper woman,” Molly said in her own soft way. “She was a good person and a good Christian. But she was too concerned with what the world saw.”
As suddenly as the tremors came, they passed. Buddy glanced over once more. This was something new. He had often thought the same things about Molly's mother, but had never spoken them out loud.
“Momma was devastated by what I had done. And so angry. I knew she was trying to hide her anger from me. But I knew. She was
furious
. She shouldn't have been, and it didn't make any sense, so she refused to even see it herself. But she was so very angry.”
One finger reached up and touched the scar. Buddy slowed so he could keep his gaze on her. Molly never touched her scar, except to powder it in the mornings. Watching her trace one finger lightly down the edge where healthy skin met the red-tinted scar tissue brought a lump to his throat.
“Momma stayed angry for such a long time. Probably not being able to admit she was furious even to herself made it last longer. At the time, all I knew was that I had done something terrible. And in my own way I understood better than she did. Momma was a
proper
lady. She was so concerned that the world thought good of her. And now her daughter had a scar that told everyone who looked at her that Momma was not a good mother, that she didn't look after her own daughter.”
“You don't know that, Molly.”
“I know the way she taught me to use makeup, long before other girls even knew what face powder was. I watched her take all my blouses and sew in embroidered collars that almost reached my ears. I learned from her how to set my hair so it would gather and spill over my left shoulder and hold it in place with bright ribbons, so attention would be taken away from my scar.”
Molly dropped her hand, gathered it with the other in her lap. “I was so ashamed. I had disgraced my mother.”
Buddy put on his blinker and pulled over to the side of the road. “You haven't disgraced anyone. Not then, not ever.”
“But I did, you know.” Her eyes were pools of grief. Deep inside, a little girl was still crying tears the woman no longer shed. “I saw it every time she looked at me. I was a scandal.”