The Shoebox

by Lisa Fernandez

  Peter’s eyes took on a shade of desperation, but he laughed and leaned back against his desk, his arms folded.

  The reporter re-crossed her legs and pulled out her notebook. “That was pretty impressive. No wonder they’re calling you Boston’s savior in a hardhat.” She had a nice smile, perfectly forgettable.

  “Oh, God!” Peter laughed out loud. “Please don’t write that. I have colleagues in this town. Seriously, I’ll get raked over the coals like you wouldn’t believe.” Peter shook his head. “It isn’t any more than what other architects deal with.”

  “Modest, too.” Her pen moved quickly across her pad. “They’re going to eat this up back in the bullpen.”

  “I’m only doing my job. When you love what you do, that makes all the difference.”

  “I can see that.” She twisted her ankles around each other. “Now, what about your big wedding coming up? What can you tell me about that?”

  The photographer knelt at the reporter’s elbow as he continued to shoot.

  “I have a few weeks yet.” Peter’s tone changed, and he pulled the knot of his tie loose.

  “Exciting! I hear your fiancée is a dead ringer for Caroline Kennedy. I want all the details.” The reporter’s eyes opened wide as she shifted in her seat.

  “Not exactly Caroline, but she’s a lovely woman with excellent taste. The truth is I’m so immersed in this job I wouldn’t know what to tell you about anybody’s wedding. Ask me something about the Library Compound. On that subject I wax quite verbose.”

  The reporter glanced at her watch and clicked her tape recorder off. “Tell you what—I’ll give you a call.” She dropped her tape recorder in her over-sized bag and snapped it shut as the photographer began capping his cameras. The reporter stood and shook out her skirt. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”

  “The pleasure’s been mine.” Peter shook her hand and the photographer’s. “Give my best to the gang in the bullpen.”

  The reporter laughed. “You’re a charmer, Mr. Michaels, and no mistake.”

  Peter smiled and stood at the door watching the two cross the site and climb into a minivan with the Boston Tribune logo painted along its side.

  The photographer was just pausing at the door to the van and raising his camera for one last shot when a German shepherd ran into the construction site between security guards and sawhorses. Carpenters stopped work and yelled while the dog ran in circles, and an assistant tripped maneuvering through the debris toward it. The dog made a circuit of the site to Peter’s trailer and stopped running directly in front of Peter, panting with its tongue hanging out.

  “Hey, there. Steady, buddy.” Peter stroked the dog’s proud head and took it by the collar. The security guards watched as the dog allowed Peter to guide it around the side of his trailer and off the construction site.

  It might only have been his imagination, but as he led the docile dog Peter thought he noticed an uncanny resemblance to Boxer.

  “Does that happen often?” The reporter called across the building site to Peter from where she stood with one foot on the running board of the minivan.

  “Not at all,” Peter called back. “I’ve never seen that dog in my life. But then again, things have been pretty crazy lately. Mysterious signs do not shock me. I take them as positive omens for the job!”

  At lunchtime hours later, Jake and Peter sat side-by-side on a bench outside the Mason Street Café watching traffic. Peter was taking a short lunch, but he needed at least a brief break from the constant noise of jackhammers and bulldozers. The ruins of the old fire hadn’t been cleaned up as well as the city records had showed. It was going to be a long, slow process, and now it was all his responsibility.

  Peter leaned back and stretched his legs, his hands around his paper cup. “Jake, do you believe in true love?”

  “Yes.” Jake smacked his lips over his scone.

  “Really? It was that easy for you to answer?”

  “Call me a romantic, my friend, but everything that’s happened with me and Amanda felt planned.”

  Peter swallowed. “Okay then. Do you believe I’m destined to be with Maddy?”

  “I believe you’re going to work hard to make it happen. The better question is, ‘What do you think?’ ”

  “I believe we’re being drawn together somehow. Even after all these years I can’t stop thinking of her. It feels like I’m surrounded by hints of things to come.” Peter stopped.

  A man passed by with a boy of eight or nine years old, the boy with a walking stick and the man helping him count his steps. Peter and Jake watched the boy count along with the man, focused and intent, without any sign of fear. The man stopped and watched the boy walk ahead of him right to the corner and stop. They watched as he ran to the boy and kissed his cheek.

  “Good job!” The man took the small hand, and together they crossed the street.

  “Do you see what I mean?” Peter turned to Jake. “I’ve been coming to this place for years, and in all this time I have never seen those two. I’ve never seen anyone blind walking around here. This morning there was a German shepherd running loose at the job site. I swear they’re signs. The entire universe is tapping me on the shoulder.”

  “Peter, have you thought about what you’d be giving up? That’s if Maddy even wants you. She’s settled there, you’re settled here. What would you do? Live together in a city halfway?”

  “I don’t care. I’ll do whatever I have to. If it means leaving here, then the minute the library’s rebuilt I’ll leave everything. This is my window.”

  Jake laughed. “Your what?”

  “My window of opportunity. Like in space, the only way to re-enter the earth’s atmosphere is through what they call windows.” Peter shook his paper cup in Jake’s face until he grinned and snatched it out of his hand. “Jake, this one is mine.”

  Chapter 26

  Uncle Hero

  It was evening, and a fire danced in the big stone fireplace, reflecting off the polished cherry wood of Amanda’s grandmother hutch in the dining room. Peter leaned back on the couch before the flickering television, and Jake lay sprawled in his armchair. They were laughing so hard they could barely hear Amanda singing ‘Puff the Magic Dragon’ as she fed the girls dinner at the dining room table.

  “I can’t believe you remember that, Peter.”

  “Who could forget? That surfboard, man! What made you think just walking around with it would get you chicks? You know, you have to learn how to ride those things.“

  “Excuse me, Mister Chick-Magnet. It worked for a while.”

  “Yeah, right up until—” Peter began laughing so hard he lost control of himself. He and Jake leaned forward, gasping for breath.

  “What are you two laughing so hard about?” Amanda called out from the dining room.

  Jake waved a hand to shush Peter. “You’re getting me in trouble with the boss.”

  “What was her name?” Peter whispered. “That surfer chick you kept making excuses to?’

  “Laura. Man, she was something.” Jake whispered. “ The most muscular legs I’ve ever seen on a girl.”

  “Jake the Rake!”

  “Shut up.” Jake took a swing at Peter. “I didn’t have girls hanging all over me like you did. I had to be creative.”

  “You paddled out there looking so scared and pathetic.”

  “My teeth were chattering so hard I thought you could hear them clear back on the beach.”

  “Am I going to have to separate you two?” Amanda called above the renewed laughter.

  “Stop it!” Jake waved his arms at Peter. “It’s Peter’s fault, babe,” he called over his shoulder. “Dude won’t be quiet so I can watch my movie.”

  Peter couldn’t remember how many times he had seen The Jerk, but it didn’t matter. Jake’s reactions always made him laugh so hard his side
s ached.

  Peter missed living in the midst of a noisy, laughing family. While he was growing up in Chatham, his mother had always been singing or listening to music in the kitchen. Friends were in and out of the house all day. Sometimes he stopped on his way home from hockey to say hello to his father and the neighborhood men in their huddle at the end of the cul-de-sac. Sometimes it was his mother’s canasta friends who greeted him when he came through the door after school. The ladies always fussed over him, crying out over the silkiness of his shoulder-length hair, while Sheila leaned back in her folding bridge chair and laughed with pride.

  “Jake!” Amanda called from the dining room table. “I could use some help with Janie. She’s getting squirmy, and she won’t eat.”

  “Sorry, honey. I’ll be right there. Just let me see this part.” Jake clutched Peter’s arm, still watching halfway out of his armchair.

  Peter glanced up at him, smiling.

  “Jake!” Amanda screamed suddenly from the dining room. “Janie!”

  Jake bolted from his armchair, and Peter threw himself off the couch after him. Amanda was squatting by Janie in her high chair, banging her between the shoulder blades as the baby gagged.

  “Jake, she’s choking! Oh, my God! Do something!”

  Hope burst into tears and clung to Amanda’s neck, pulling her off-balance. Janie’s eyes were huge, her little face turning blue. Jake yanked Janie from the high chair and began slapping her back frantically

  “It’s not working!” Jake cried up at Peter, his face drained of color. “Janie, baby!”

  Hope screamed and struggled against Amanda.

  Peter snatched Janie out of Jake’s arms, and fell into a chair. In a quick motion he laid Janie facedown over his knee and gave her one swift, perfectly placed tap. A wad of bread shot out of the baby’s mouth and hit the leg of the table by Peter’s foot, and Janie burst into hysterical screams.

  Amanda cried out and swooped Janie off Peter’s lap into her arms. “Janie! My darling! My sweetheart!”

  Janie sobbed uncontrollably into Amanda’s face, her small, wet arms tight around Amanda’s neck, while Jake picked up Hope and she leaned her head on his shoulder, crying and shivering.

  “Daddy, Daddy,” cried Hope. “Janie was a scared baby!”

  Peter put his arm around Hope and kissed her cheek. “It’s okay, honey. She’s all better now.”

  Jake took Janie from Amanda and kissed her all over, checking her face. Amanda lifted Hope from Jake’s other arm and hugged her tightly, burying her face in Hope soft hair.

  “Mommy.” Hope pulled back. “Janie scared me.”

  “I know, sweetie. We were all scared.” Amanda looked up at Peter; her cheeks wet, and put out her arm. He stepped forward and held her close. “Uncle Peter,” Amanda laughed and cried as she reached up to press her face to his. She pulled away and looked deep into his eyes, smiling through her tears. “I will never be able to thank you enough.”

  “She was going to be fine.” Peter stroked the hair back from Amanda’s face while Hope watched with her thumb in her mouth.

  “No, Peter, you saved her.” Amanda kissed his cheek and spoke in a low voice into his ear. “You’re a super-hero.”

  Peter’s heart leapt, and for a brief, shining moment he heard another voice echoing the same words to him, so many long years ago.

  Late that evening, Peter sat in his car in front of Tara’s house. Tired and heartsick as he was, he knew it was time. He stepped out of the car and climbed the stairs, carrying a cheesecake in a bakery box under his arm. He had climbed these stairs so many times with a heavy heart. This would be the last time.

  Tara opened the door before he even rang the bell. “You’re on fire,” she whispered in his ear. “How do you know exactly what I’m thinking? It’s as if we’re on the same wavelength.”

  “Were you thinking about cheesecake?”

  “I don’t even like cheesecake.” Tara almost knocked it out of his hands. She pulled him inside and tossed the cake box on the table, and before Peter could take another step she was holding his face in her hands and kissing him greedily.

  Peter pulled away.

  “What’s wrong?” She pressed herself against him.

  “I’m sorry. You just took me by surprise.”

  “It’s been forever, and I need to get my hands on you, to touch you, to kiss you—to do things to you.” She pulled him into the living room and tugged off his jacket. “Make love to me.” She began unbuttoning his shirt. “Right now.”

  “Where’s your mother?”

  “My aunt took her to dinner. They wanted me to go with them, but I needed a break. I’ve been with her every second of the day ever since Dad died. I can’t take it anymore.”

  “Tara, I’m so sorry for what you’re going through.”

  “Drop your pants, Peter.” She was working on his belt buckle.

  “Slow down, slow down.” He put his hands over hers. “Tara, you’re a strong woman. I know you’ll get through this.”

  “It’s not that. It’s having you, making plans for our wedding. In fact, I’m glad you came over. We need to talk.”

  “I need to talk to you about something, too.”

  Tara stopped undressing him. She pulled him to the couch and sat him down. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to postpone our wedding.”

  Peter breathed slowly. “I thought you said it wouldn’t be wise to celebrate so close to your father’s passing.”

  “I’m not talking about a party. I’m talking about the wedding, the vows. I want to be Mrs. Peter Michaels. I know that’s what Dad would want for me, too.”

  Peter sat quietly, his face drained of blood.

  Tara paused and looked at him. “Are you still with me? Because you don’t look so good.”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He waited and waited for the words to come.

  “Peter, what?”

  “No,” he blurted. “Listen, Tara, I don’t think it’s right for us to get married.”

  “Because of my father?” Tara sat back on her heels.

  “I can’t marry you because I’m not in love with you. I’m sorry, Tara. I do care about you and want you to be happy, but not in the way I should. I’ve done quite a bit of soul-searching. I wanted to be certain before I said anything. But I believe you deserve more than what I can offer, more than I can give.”

  “What?” Tara’s voice was furious. “I don’t believe this. Why did you play me along if you weren’t serious?”

  “But I was serious—”

  “Then I don’t get it—” As the words came out of Tara’s, mouth, and her eyes widened. “It’s her isn’t it? It’s that stupid shoebox.”

  “I don’t want you to have the wrong idea. I told you the truth. Nothing happened in Denver—”

  “How dare you!”

  “Tara after being around her I realized she’s always been in my heart. Tara, I have tried, and I can’t let go of her. Even if she doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

  “Did I do something?” Tara flexed her fingers with their long, polished nails. “Was I not attentive to your needs?”

  “You did nothing wrong, Tara. You have everything any man would want.”

  “Except you?” Tara laughed harshly. She was breathing hard, one hand on her chest. “You would actually rather be alone than with me?”

  “No. I would rather be honest with you. I’m in love with Maddy, and I always will be. She had my heart first and I think you’ve somehow always known.”

  Tara lifted her face to Peter. With anger in her eyes she stared at him. “I know!” she finally cried out loud, bursting into tears in her hands.

  Chapter 27

  Intentions

  What had started as a quick stop to check his office messages the next morning turned out to b
e a four-hour ordeal? There were permit forms to fax, building inspectors to call, and a pile of paper on his desk to be sorted. Peter buried himself in work, haunted by the crack in Tara’s voice when she had cried out at him the night before.

  Now as he walked up his stairs to his apartment in the twilight he thought of calling Maddy and felt jittery all over. He remembered when they had first dated, how their long talks on the phone had always excited him, and how there hadn’t been anything they couldn’t say.

  He opened his front door and dropped his briefcase on the counter, hung his coat on the back of a chair, and looked around. The apartment was cold and empty. He sighed as he went down the hall to his bedroom. He pulled his shirt opened as he kicked off his shoes and stared at the phone. His heart fluttered in his chest, anticipating the sound of her voice.

  “Shower.” Peter said out loud. “Shower first.” He laughed at himself for caring how he looked before he called her.

  He clicked the light on in the bathroom and dropped his pants and shirt on the floor. Before pulling off his T-shirt, he opened the glass shower door and turned on the water. The sound of the shower spraying on tile woke Peter up. He turned to his mirror and looked at his reflection. His face was a bit scruffy, as he hadn’t shaved since morning. His hair was a tad overgrown. He glanced at his abs and stomach, and although he wasn’t exactly out of shape he wasn’t as trim, as he knew he could be.

  Peter smiled.

  “Hello, Maddy. It’s me, Peter. Is this a bad time?” He turned the other direction. “Maddy, hi! It’s Peter. Can you talk?” He smoothed his hair back with both hands and faced the mirror directly. “Maddy, it’s Peter. It’s so good to hear your voice.” He laughed out loud at his own reflection.

  Peter stepped out of his underwear and opened the glass door. The instant his foot touched the tile, he leaped backward out of the shower. He turned the knobs frantically as he sheltered naked behind the shower door, and ice-cold water sprayed across his chest until he cursed aloud and turned both the knobs with a bang.