Gateways, page 2
Deal with that later, he told himself. First find out what happened to Dad.
Jack replayed the message, writing down the phone number. He used his Tracfone to return the call. That same voice answered.
“Tom? Jack.”
“Well, I’ll be. The long lost brother. The prodigal son. He lives. He returns a call.”
Jack didn’t have time for this. “What’s the story with Dad?”
Jack had never particularly liked his brother. Hadn’t disliked him either. They’d never had any sort of a relationship growing up. Tom—Tom, Jr., officially—was ten years older and seemed to have viewed his little brother as an inconvenient pet, one that belonged to his parents and his sister but had nothing to do with him. He’d always been self-involved to a fault. Kate had said he was on his third wife and hinted that the latest marriage was headed for the same fate as his others. Jack hadn’t been surprised.
Tom had been a Philadelphia lawyer for a couple of decades and was now a Philadelphia judge. Which meant he was an officer of the court, a cog in the wheels of officialdom. All the more reason for Jack to keep his distance. Courts gave him the creeps.
“Pretty much what I told you. I got a call from this nurse at the Novaton Community Hospital that Dad was involved in an MVA and—”
“M-V—?”
“Motor vehicle accident—and that he’s in bad shape.”
“Yeah. A coma, right? Jeez, what do we do?”
“Not we, Jackie. You.”
Jack didn’t like the sound of this. “I don’t get you.”
“One of us has to go down there. I can’t, and since Kate’s not exactly available, that leaves you.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
“I—I’m in the middle of a bunch of legal business…judicial matters that have me tied up.”
“You can’t get away to see a comatose father?”
“It’s complicated, Jackie. Too complicated to go into on the phone at this hour of the morning. Suffice it to say that I can’t leave the city now.”
Jack sensed a lot more going on here than Tom was telling.
“Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“Me? Christ, why would you ask something like that?”
“Because you sound funny.”
Tom’s tone took on a sharp edge. “How would you know what I sound like? We haven’t spoken in, what, ten years, and you’re going to tell me how I sound?”
“It’s been fifteen years”—not quite long enough, Jack thought—“and yeah, I’m telling you you sound funny.”
“Yeah, well, don’t worry about me. Worry about Dad. He gave me your number before he moved to Florida. ‘Just in case,’ he said. Well, ‘just in case’ just happened. Tag, you’re it.”
Jack sighed. “All right. I guess I’ll go.”
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”
Jack shook his head. First off, he hated to leave New York for any reason, period. Plus, this wasn’t a good time for him to be heading for Florida or anywhere else. He had another fix-it in the early stages of development, but he’d have to let it wait. Worse, an emergency trip like this meant that driving and Amtrak were out. He’d have to take a plane. He didn’t mind flying itself, but all the extra security since 9-11 made an airport a scary place for a guy with no official identity.
But then, it was his father down there.
Tom said, “In a way you’re lucky he’s in a coma.”
Strange thing to say. “How’s that?”
“Because he’s pissed at you for not showing up for Kate’s funeral. Come to think of it, so am I. Where the hell were you?”
As if he’d tell a judge, even if that judge happened to be his big brother.
Big Brother…judge. How Orwellian.
“Suffice it to say,” he said, deciding to give Tom a dose of his own medicine, “that it’s too complicated to go into on the phone at this hour of the morning.”
“Very funny. I tell you, though, I can’t say I was unhappy about him taking a turn on you. All we heard for years from him was how he wanted to reach you and bring you back into the fold. That was how he put it: ‘Bring Jack back into the fold.’ It became his mantra. He obsessed on it. But he’s not obsessing anymore.”
Jack felt he should be glad to hear that—he’d had no intention of ever returning to any fold anywhere—but he wasn’t. Instead he felt a pang of regret, as if he’d lost something.
A decade and a half ago, when Jack had dropped out of college, out of his family, and out of society in general, his father spent years tracking him down. Somehow he found someone who had Jack’s number. He started calling. Eventually he wore Jack down to the point where he agreed to meet him in the city for dinner. After that they got together maybe once a year for a meal or a set of tennis.
A tenuous relationship at best. The get-togethers were always uncomfortable for Jack. Though his father had never said it, Jack knew he was disappointed in his younger son. Thought he was an appliance repairman and was always pushing him to better himself—finish college, get a pension plan, think about the future, retirement will be here before you know it, blah-blah-blah.
Dad didn’t have a clue about what his younger son was about, the crimes he’d committed, the people he’d had to kill while earning his living, and Jack never would tell him. The old guy would be devastated.
“Where’d you say he was?”
“Novaton Community Hospital, and don’t ask me where that is because I don’t know. Someplace in Dade County, I’d imagine. That’s where he had his place.”
“Where’s—?”
“South of Miami. Look, the best thing to do is call the hospital—no, I don’t have the number—and ask for directions from Miami International. That’s where you’ll have to fly into.”
“Swell.”
“If he wakes up, explain to him that I’d be there if I could.”
Sure you would, Jack thought. And then it hit him.
“‘If he wakes up’?”
“Yeah. If. They say he’s banged up pretty bad.”
Jack’s chest ached. “I’ll leave as soon as I tie up a few loose ends here,” he said, suddenly tired.
He hung up. He had nothing more to say to his brother.
4
Semelee awoke alone in the dark. She opened her eyes and lay perfect still, listenin. She heard the breathin sounds of her clansmen around her, some soft, some rough. She heard the creak of the old houseboat timbers as it rocked gentle like, the soft lap of the lagoon water against the hull, the croakin of frogs and the chirpin of crickets among the night sounds of the other Everglades critters. She jumped as someone nearby—Luke, most likely—made a coughin sound that turned into a snore.
The thick hot air lay like a damp sheet on the exposed skin of her arms and legs, but she was used to it. This September was provin to be a hot one, but not like August. That had been a hot one, hottest she could remember.
Why was she awake? She usually slept straight through the night. And then she remembered the dream—not the details, for they had vanished into the night like mornin mist before a storm, but the overall feel of movement…movement toward her.
“Someone’s comin,” she whispered aloud.
She didn’t know how she knew, she just did. This weren’t the first time she’d had a second sight. Every so often, without warnin, she’d get a sense of somethin about to happen, and then it did, it always did.
Someone was comin her way. A him, a man, was on his way. She didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Didn’t matter. Either way, Semelee would be ready.
5
“Such bounty,” Abe Grossman said, staring down at the half dozen donuts laid out in the box before him. “I’ve done what to deserve this?”
Jack said, “Nothing…everything.”
Abe’s raised eyebrows sent wrinkles like sets of surfing waves up his brow and into the balding bay of his scalp to crash on the receding gray shore of his hairline. “But Krispy Kremes? For me?”
“For us.”
Jack dipped into the box and extracted one of the crustier, sour-cream models, heavy with grease and glazed to within an inch of its life. He took a big bite and closed his eyes. Damn, these were good.
Abe made a face. “But they’re full of fat, those things.” He rubbed his bulging waistline as if he had a belly ache. “Like ladling concrete into the arteries.”
“Probably.”
“And to me you brought them?”
The two of them flanked the scarred rear counter of Abe’s store, the Isher Sports Shop, Jack on the customer side, Abe across from him, perched like Humpty Dumpty on a stool. Jack made a show of looking around at the dusty cans of tennis balls, the racquets, the basketballs and hoops, footballs and Rollerblades along with their attendant padding shoved helter skelter onto sagging shelves lining narrow aisles. Bikes and SCUBA gear hung from the ceiling. If the Collyer brothers had been into sporting goods instead of newspapers, this is what their place might have looked like.
“You see anyone else around?”
“We’re not open yet. I should see no one.”
“There you go.” Jack pointed to the donuts. “Come on. What are you waiting for?”
“This is a trick, right? You’re trying to pull one over on your old friend. You brought them for Parabellum.”
As if in response to his name, Abe’s little blue parakeet peeked out from behind a neon-yellow bicycle safety helmet, spotted the donut box, and hopped across the counter to it.
Jack spoke around a mouthful of donut. “Absolutely not.”
Parabellum cocked his head at the donuts, then looked up at Jack.
“Better not deny him,” Abe warned. “He’s a fierce predator, that Parabellum. A raptor in disguise, even.”
“Oh, right.” Jack tore off a tiny piece and tossed it to the bird, who leaped on it.
“What happened to the fat-free Entenmann’s and the low-fat cream cheese?”
“We’re taking a vacation from all that.”
Abe rubbed his belly again. “Nu? I shouldn’t be worried about my heart? You want I should die before my time?”
“Jesus, Abe. Can we have one breakfast without you complaining? If I bring in low-cal stuff, you bitch. So here I bring the kind of stuff you always say you wish you were eating instead, and you accuse me of trying to kill you.”
Abe was past sixty and his weight ran in the eighth-of-a-ton range, which wouldn’t have been so bad if he were six-eight; but he missed that by a foot, maybe more. Jack had become concerned last year about his oldest and dearest friend’s potential lack of longevity and had been trying to get him to lose weight. His efforts had not engendered an enthusiastic response.
“Such a crank he is this morning.”
Abe was right. Maybe he was feeling a little short. Well, he had his reasons.
“Sorry,” Jack said. “Look at it this way: Think of them as a going-away present.”
“Going? I’m going somewhere?”
“No, I am. To Florida. Don’t know how long I’ll be there so I figured I’d pre-load you with some calories to tide you over.”
“Florida? You want to go to Florida? In September? In the middle of the worst drought they’ve had in decades?”
“It’s not a pleasure trip.”
“And the humidity. It seeps into your pores, heads for the brain, makes you meshugge. Water on the brain—it’s not healthy.”
“Swell.” Jack drummed his fingers on the counter. “Eat a damn donut, will you.”
“All right,” Abe said. “If you insist. A bisel.”
He picked one, took a bite, and rolled his eyes. “Things should not be allowed to taste this good.”
Jack had a second donut while he told Abe about his brother’s call.
“I’m sorry to hear this,” Abe said. “This is why you’re so cranky? Because you don’t want to see him?”
“I don’t want to see him like that…in a coma.”
Abe shook his head. “First your sister, and now…” He looked up at Jack. “You don’t think…?”
“The Otherness? I hope not. But with the way things have been going lately, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
After hanging up with Tom last night he’d called the hospital and learned that his father was stable but still on the critical list. He got directions from the airport, then tried to watch a movie. He’d started a Val Lewton festival, watching The Cat People Sunday night. He’d been looking forward to seeing I Walked with a Zombie, but after starting it he couldn’t get into it. Thoughts about his father in a coma and getting through airport security proved too distracting. He’d shut if off and lain in the dark, trying to sleep, but thoughts about an indefinable something pulling the strings of his life kept him awake.
So this morning he was tired and irritable. The chance that the accident might not have been so accidental put him on edge.
“You have any details on what happened?”
“Car accident is all I know.”
“That doesn’t sound too sinister. How old is he?”
“Seventy-one. But he’s in great shape. Still plays tennis. Or at least he did.”
Abe nodded. “I remember when he roped you into a father-son doubles match last summer.”
“Right. Just before all hell broke loose up here.”
“Another summer like that I don’t need.” Abe shook himself, as if warding off a chill. “Oh, I may have something for you on that citizenship matter.”
“Yeah? What?”
Since he’d found out last month that he was going to be a father, Jack had been looking for a way to sneak up from underground without having to answer the inevitable questions from various agencies of the government as to where he’d been and what he’d been doing for the last fifteen years, and why he’d never applied for a Social Security Number and never filed a 1040 or paid a cent in taxes in all that time.
He’d thought of simply telling them he’d been ill—disoriented, possibly drug addled—wandering the country, depending on the kindness of strangers, and now he was better and ready to become a productive citizen. That would work, but in these suspicious times it meant he’d be put under extra scrutiny. He didn’t want to live the rest of his life on the Department of Homeland Security’s watch list.
“A contact in Eastern Europe called and said he thought maybe he had a way. Maybe. It’s going to take a little more research.”
This bit of good news felt like a spotlight through the gloom that had descended since Tom’s call.
“Didn’t he give you even a hint?”
Abe frowned. “Over an international phone line? From his country? He should be so foolish. When he works out the details—if he can—he will let me know.”
Well, maybe it wasn’t such good news. But at least it was potentially good news.
Abe was staring at him. “Nu? You’re leaving for Florida when?”
“Today. Haven’t booked a flight yet though. Want to talk to Gia first, see if I can convince her to come along.”
“Think she’ll go?”
Jack smiled. “I’m going to make her an offer she can’t refuse.”
6
“Sorry, Jack,” Gia said, shaking her head. “It won’t work.”
They sat in the old-fashioned kitchen of number eight Sutton Square, one of the toniest neighborhoods in the city, he nursing a cup of coffee, she sipping green tea. Gia had been letting her corn-silk-colored hair grow out a little; it wasn’t so close to her head anymore, but still short by most standards. She wore low-cut jeans and a white scoop-neck top that clung to her slim torso. Although into her third month of pregnancy, she had yet to show even the slightest bulge.
Gia’s discovery last month that she was pregnant had thrown them both for a loop. It had not been on the radar, and they hadn’t been prepared for it. It meant changes for both of them, most drastically for Jack, but they were dealing with it.
Jack had told her about his father as soon as he stepped through her door this morning. Gia had never met him but had been upset by the news and urged Jack to hurry down to Florida. Jack didn’t share her sense of urgency. All he could do down there was stand next to his unconscious father’s bed and feel helpless; he could think of few things in the world he hated more than feeling helpless. And if and when his father awoke, how long before he started in on why Jack had missed Kate’s funeral.
So Jack had sprung his plan on Gia and she had shot him down.
He tried to hide his disappointment. He’d thought it was a sure thing. He’d offered to fly her and Vicky down to Orlando and put them up in Disney World. He’d shuttle back and forth between his father and Orlando.
“How can you say no?” he said. “Think of Vicky. She’s never been to Disney World.”
“Yes, she has. We went with Nellie and Grace when she was five.”
Jack saw a cloud pass through her sky-blue eyes at the mention of Vicky’s two dead aunts.
“That was three years ago. She needs another trip.”
“Did you forget school?”
“Let her play hooky for a week. She’s a bright kid. How much of a challenge can third grade be for her?”
Gia shook her head. “Uh-uh. New year, new class, new teacher. She just started two weeks ago. I can’t pull her out for a week this early in the year. If it was November, maybe, but then”—she patted her tummy—“I’d be far enough along to where I wouldn’t want to fly.”
“Swell,” Jack said. He took a turn patting her tummy. “How’s Little Jack coming along?”
“She’s doing just fine.”
This had been their tug-of-war since learning she was pregnant. Jack was sure it was a boy—had to be—while Gia insisted it was a girl. So far the fetal doppler had been inconclusive as to sex.
“Hey, I just had an idea. What do you think about hiring Vicky a nanny for a week and…”
Gia’s azure stare stopped him. “You’re kidding, right?”
He sighed. “Yeah, I guess so.”
