Never Too Late, page 6
“Maybe they knocked the towers down too. Are you calling locally?” She shook her head.
“No, Africa and France.”
He looked surprised. “Where are your daughters?”
“One is in the south of France, the other’s in Mozambique, Africa.”
“On safari?”
“No, visiting a relative. And I can’t get hold of either one.”
“The lines will clear up soon, this isn’t 9/11 after all,” he reassured her.
“It sure looked like it last night,” Kezia said in a tired voice, and leaned her head back against the seat.
“You were running around like crazy every time I saw you,” he said, impressed.
“So were you.” She had seen him with the body bags all night. It was backbreaking work, and hard to stomach, as well as grueling emotionally. “Thank you for coming with me.”
“I’d have gone even if you didn’t,” he said. “I’m glad we both did. I don’t know about you, but most of us lead such useless lives. What I do is like playtime compared to something like this. It’s embarrassing. At least last night, I could do something to help. What made you give up nursing?” he asked, curious about her. “You look like you’re good at it.”
“I loved it. My father was a country doctor. I worked with him for several years until I married and moved to San Francisco. My husband supported me, and we traveled a lot. My working as a nurse didn’t fit with our life.”
“Was your husband a doctor?”
“No, but he was on the board of some big medical companies, pharmaceuticals, and other things.”
“You’re divorced?”
“Widowed,” she said simply.
“That’s its own special kind of hell, isn’t it? If you had a good marriage,” he said quietly.
“We did. He got Covid-19 on a trip to China at the beginning of the pandemic. He was gone in five days.”
“I remember that year distinctly. We actually had a nice time sheltering in place as a family. But it made hash of everyone’s life for two years. And then it finally got less dangerous than it was in the beginning,” he said.
“Viruses do that,” she confirmed.
“When are your daughters coming back?” he asked.
“One of them next week, the one in France. The other one, in Africa, I’m not sure. Maybe a week. It helped me feel less useless, taking care of people last night. I’d forgotten what that’s like.”
“Would you ever go back to nursing?” She thought about it for an instant before she responded.
“It’s been a long time. I think it’s too late now, and I’d have to go back to school, to do it right. My girls would certainly be surprised.”
“It’s never too late to do what you love. I love what I do. It’s very rewarding. I lost my wife too. I bought the penthouse after she died. I couldn’t stand staying in our apartment. I kept looking for her every time I opened the door. I finally decided to move. It helped make my peace with it. I think now that people’s lives happen the way they’re meant to, timing and all.”
“I wasn’t ready to lose my husband,” Kezia said. “It was so sudden. But we’ve managed without him. I still miss him. It’s been five years. You get used to it.”
“It’s been two years for me, and I’m just figuring out how to live with it now. The first year was incredibly tough. Loss is a strange thing. They take a part of you with them, a big part.” Kezia nodded agreement.
They had gotten to their building by then, said goodbye, and went upstairs, each in their own private elevator. Kezia almost stumbled into her apartment. All she wanted to do was sleep for a few hours, and she’d go back later, if they needed more help.
When she let herself into her apartment, she walked out on her terrace for a minute and looked at the charred hull of the Empire State Building in broad daylight. It looked shocking. She heard a noise behind her, turned and saw Sam, peering cautiously through the part of their hedge that he had moved the night before.
“Tell me if you go back. I’ll go with you. I don’t have your number. I didn’t know if you’d want to give it to me,” he said shyly.
She walked toward him, exhausted. “What’s your number? I’ll call you and then you’ll have mine.” He told her, and she performed the necessary maneuver.
They’d just been through an incredibly difficult night together. It created a bond between them. They had seen life and death and terrible tragedy. “I just want to get some sleep, and then I’ll go back if they want me.”
“I think they will.” He smiled at her. “It’s been nice to meet you, Kezia.”
“Thank you, Sam,” she said, and walked back into her apartment, smiling. It was certainly an odd way to meet a famous movie star. But whenever she talked to him, she forgot all about who he was. And with that, she headed for her bedroom, and as soon as she lay down, she passed out before she even got undressed, with her boots on.
Chapter 4
By the time Kezia woke up at noon, stiff all over and still in her clothes from the night before, New York had been shut down, and so had the whole country. Cities nationwide were braced for terrorist attacks like the one in New York. And as long as no one claimed responsibility for the attacks, no one had any idea who the enemy was, or if they intended to strike again. There had been no attacks in other cities.
She took a shower, put on a robe, and turned the news on while she made coffee. She hadn’t realized the physical efforts she’d made, while running from one victim to the next, and helping to put some on stretchers while she offered comfort. Her body felt as if she’d run a marathon or had been beaten, and she was stunned to see on TV that every major city in the country was under lockdown, all airports were closed, the planes grounded. International flights scheduled to fly into the States had been canceled, and those that had been in the air when the multiple attacks happened were turned back across U.S. borders and had landed in Canada or Mexico, or returned to their countries of origin. Domestic flights had landed immediately at the nearest airport. No one was getting in or out of the country until the perpetrators were found and the responsible government or terrorist group was identified. The news reported that intelligence sources were following several leads, but no conclusions had been reached yet. And no one had come forward.
More than four thousand people had been killed in the three explosions, most of them at Hudson Yards when two enormous apartment buildings exploded, a third caught fire along with the shopping mall, trains were crushed beneath five blocks of the structures, and half of the huge mall was destroyed. Another three thousand people had been critically injured, and several hundred had suffered less severe injuries. Countless cars parked close to the bomb sites accounted for more victims. All the hospitals in the city were sharing more than their load of victims. Hundreds of medical and nonmedical personnel had come to assist the first responders and law enforcement. Medical workers had driven in from New Jersey and Connecticut to volunteer. The news anchor said that martial law was being considered. No final decision had been made yet, but residents of every major city, particularly those with iconic landmark structures, were being told to stay home, and all events honoring the national Independence Day weekend had been canceled. The entire military was at the ready for an attack of nuclear proportions. Since the military didn’t know who had done it, all eventualities were being considered and prepared for. It was clearly carried out by foreign nationals, but no one knew which ones.
It was a sobering summary of the situation and what it could lead to. It was by far the worst and most destructive attack on American soil ever, and everyone was warned to be careful. Security measures had been set in motion to protect television and radio stations in the event of an enemy attack or military takeover by a hostile nation. Intelligence services and the Pentagon were hard at work to find out who was responsible. And the death toll was still climbing.
The news report showed a military presence visible in every major city to protect both monuments and people. Most bridges had been closed, federal buildings were under heavy guard, and state and national parks were closed to the public. A second attack was feared in the coming hours. The president and cabinet were meeting that morning, and the nation would be addressed from an underground safe room in an undisclosed location that night. America was braced for another deadly assault.
* * *
—
Kezia tried to reach Felicity again after she watched the news, and couldn’t get through. The circuits were busy, but at least she was safer in France than in the U.S. She was with Blake and Kezia knew he’d take care of her. They couldn’t fly back to the U.S. now, but she’d be safe with him in the south of France. And Kate was in Africa with Jack, out of communication anyway, so Kezia couldn’t reach her either.
There were worse places for Felicity to be stuck than the Hotel du Cap in the south of France, the most luxurious hotel in the world. Kezia wasn’t worried about her. She didn’t like not being able to reach either of her daughters to reassure them that she was okay, but it couldn’t be helped. Kezia couldn’t do anything about it. They were cut off from the rest of the world.
She sent both girls texts and emails, hoping they’d get through eventually, reassuring them that she was fine, which was the best she could do for now. They were both sensible adults. She was sure they were worried about her.
* * *
—
In France, Felicity had called her mother again and again, and couldn’t get through. The United States appeared to be cut off, with its borders closed and sealed tight, and there was no access by phone for the moment. The phone lines were overloaded.
Blake came back to the bedroom from the living room of their suite.
“Did you get through to your mom?” he asked her, and she shook her head with tears in her eyes and looked very young as he put his arms around her. “I’m sure she’s okay. The city’s locked down. She’ll stay home. And this is probably the worst of it, like 9/11.”
“What if they bomb New York, or there’s a war and we can’t get home?”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen. And we’ll be able to get through and you can talk to your mom in a day or two.”
She hoped he was right. “Did you get through to Jen?” Blake’s ex-wife, Jen, and his son, Alex, were in the Hamptons with friends for the Fourth of July weekend. He no longer wanted to be married to her, but she was sensible and responsible and a good mother. He knew his son was in good hands, and he was glad they were out of the city. And Jen’s apartment was on the Upper East Side. They would be far from the damaged areas, when they were able to go back to the city.
After the holiday, Jen was going to stay with her parents in Greenwich, Connecticut, for the month of July, with Alex. And Alex was coming to stay with Blake and Felicity in the Hamptons for August. So he’d be out of the city, away from the damage and the tragedy in the aftermath of the attack.
Blake and his ex-wife were both good parents and he knew Alex would be safe with either one. They had managed to have a decent, respectful relationship despite the divorce. And she had no serious objections to Felicity so far. Jen had a boyfriend, so she didn’t care what Blake did. It had been a relatively amicable divorce, and Blake was a good guy, and had been generous with her. He wanted more children, but Felicity was too young to even consider it. If he wanted her, he knew he’d have to wait.
He was the youngest of four, and his two brothers and one sister were all married and had kids, and he saw them and his parents frequently. He had gone to Yale, and Harvard Business School, and his father was in investments, as he was. His father was extremely successful. His brothers had good jobs too, and his sister stayed at home with her three kids, but she had a law degree she’d never used. They were a high-achieving but close family, and Felicity had met them all and liked them. His siblings all thought she was great but too young to take seriously, and it was a shame he hadn’t met her ten years later. It seemed unlikely to them that the romance would last with a young woman her age, and she had every man she met at her feet. But she was faithful to Blake, and very much in love with him.
Blake had tried to call his family too, and couldn’t get through to them either. He was less worried than Felicity. She was younger and close to her mother.
He comforted her gently and convinced her to go to the cabana with him. He knew the hotel well and came often, and she’d been there with him once before, after the Paris haute couture shows. Blake liked spending time in France and Italy. His family had a rambling vacation home in Maine, where he’d spent his boyhood summers, but he was more sophisticated than his older siblings, who were married with kids, and he preferred vacationing in Europe.
The setup at the Hotel du Cap was perfect for them. The cabanas were entirely private, and they could sun and spend the day there, where no one would recognize her or gawk at her. They could have lunch privately in the cabana and swim in the Mediterranean, or in the infinity pool. And they dined at the hotel at night. It was the most romantic hotel in the world.
He finally got Felicity to put her bikini on and they went to the cabana and lay in the sun. He tried to keep her from obsessing about what was happening in New York. The photos on the internet were terrifying, and he promised her that as soon as the planes started flying again, they’d go home. The friends they were supposed to meet had gotten stuck in New York, so they had time together alone.
She relaxed as they lay in the sun and talked. She always felt safe with him. They were both strong with positive personalities. They enjoyed life. He was tall and blond and athletic, as she was. They were a beautiful couple.
They swam that afternoon and made love when they got back to the room at the end of the day.
It was still only noon in New York then, and Blake wondered what was happening, but he didn’t say anything to Felicity about it. She was sleeping peacefully in his arms, and he let her sleep as he watched her, before they dressed for dinner in the hotel’s elegant dining room.
As long as they were locked out of the United States, he couldn’t think of a better place to be while they waited.
* * *
—
Sam sent Kezia a text, which she saw after she tried unsuccessfully to call Felicity. “Are you going back today?” he asked her. She called him after she read it.
“Hi, how are you feeling?” she asked him.
“I hate to admit it, I haven’t done that much heavy exercise in years. I could hardly get out of bed this morning. I feel like an old man.” But he wasn’t—she had looked him up on Google and he was fifty-seven, two and a half years younger than she was. And he looked great. She laughed at what he said.
“You’re not an old man, and I felt that way this morning too.” The stress of the situation all night didn’t help. They’d both had a few hours’ sleep and it was early afternoon. Kezia had a number to call for the woman who was organizing the volunteers, and she said they’d be grateful for some help, but would understand if she didn’t come down. They were still digging people out and finding people alive. When she said it, Kezia knew she wanted to go back to the bomb sites. She felt an inexorable pull she couldn’t explain. She said as much to Sam, and he agreed.
They decided to meet in half an hour, and had been assigned to the World Trade Center downtown. It was shocking that the new building had been severely damaged, although it hadn’t fallen down like the last ones. But there was a risk of collapse in all three locations. And if that happened, it would cause untold damage to the buildings around them, and claim more lives. Kezia hoped that wouldn’t happen, as she and Sam shared a cab heading downtown.
“Do you know any of the people in our building?” Sam asked her.
“No, I just arrived a week ago, and didn’t know anyone there before.”
“I knew several people before I moved in, which was how I heard about it. One of my favorite people lives there, Louise Smith.”
“The photographer?” Kezia was impressed.
“Yes, and documentary filmmaker.” He smiled. “I’ve known her for years.”
“She must be very…” Kezia tried to find a polite word and couldn’t, and Sam laughed.
“Old? In years, yes, in mind and energy, no. She’s the youngest, most exciting woman I know. She’s turning eighty-nine, and fully active. She’s always traveling somewhere for a shoot, or a book, or to make a film. She’s at every natural disaster, and every war. She knows every head of state. I’ll introduce you to her if you like. If she has time!” Sam said, and Kezia smiled. For seventy years, Louise Smith had been taking photographs that were works of art. They sold for a fortune now, which didn’t matter to Louise. “I met her when I first got to L.A. She was living there then, and then she moved back to New York. She flies all over the world constantly. She’s given me some beautiful photographs. She took a photo of my son, John, when he was a little boy. She blew it up and gave it to me for Christmas. It’s on the wall in my office.” Kezia hadn’t explored his apartment, so she hadn’t seen it. Louise Smith had a unique style that was easy to recognize. She would have recognized the photographer if she’d seen the photo of Sam’s son.
“I’ve always wanted to buy one of her photographs. They have such an incredible range, from joyful to tragic. I especially love her photographs of children.”
“I’ll show you the one of Johnny. He was about four or five.”
“How old is he now?” she asked him.
“Thirty-three.”
“He’s ten years older than my youngest, and four years younger than my oldest. That’s a good age. You can be friends with them then, although I have an easier time with my younger daughter.”
