by Jack Davis
By the time the two were married, she had gotten used to him having it. Maria had seen Alvaro use it hundreds of times to cut ropes, open packages and lids of cans, any number of useful tasks. She had come to view it in the only context she had seen it used—as a handy tool. It had become as familiar to her as Alvaro’s worn wallet or comb. She knew it would always be in his pants pocket or next to the bed. That was why it stood out to Maria when she didn’t see it after the trip. When she asked her husband about it, he explained he couldn’t take it in the courthouse in New York. He said he hid it in a stall in a nearby bathroom, and when he went back to retrieve it, it was gone. Maria actually felt sad the knife was lost; for her it had come to represent a part of Alvaro she had known since their courtship.
Alvaro felt it represented a part of himself too, but that he was glad it was gone. Before he had thrown it into the Susquehanna River, Alvaro had vowed to God that along with the knife went the part of him that would use it on another human being. He hoped that was true.
On a blustery winter day in early January, Alvaro attended his first parent-teacher conference. He made a point of getting home from work early to shower and put on his Sunday church clothes.
As he walked through the doors of St. Leo the Great Elementary School, he knew he was by far the most nervous person in the building. With Maria holding his hand, he beamed when the teacher said Rose was at the top of her class in reading and math. He nodded in earnest agreement when Maria assured the teacher the two would make sure Guillermo spent more time on his spelling words. Both teachers in the ESL program were effusive in their praise for the Lopez children and their potential. Alvaro walked out of the school with a sense of pride he’d never felt before.
Later that night as Maria lay sleeping, Alvaro thought about alternatives again for the first time in a very long time. He was surprised when he realized things were the same, but different. He still didn’t feel he had any alternatives; his only path forward was the one he was on, to work hard for the rest of his life for the only thing that mattered to him, his family. So really his lack of alternatives hadn’t changed; what had changed was that he was happy with his lack of alternatives.
In a moment of clarity, Alvaro saw there were other alternatives, a world of alternatives, and they belonged to his family. Alvaro realized his alternatives didn’t matter at all, his family’s alternatives were all that mattered, and they were limitless.
A warm satisfaction washed over him. The thought of alternatives dropped from his consciousness when he noticed Maria had forgotten to close the curtains…again.
With as little movement as possible, Alvaro slid out of bed. When his feet found their slippers, he moved across the room to the window. As he grabbed each side to bring them together, he stopped for a second and looked out of the third-floor window at the city of Dayton.
The lights of the small Ohio city all seemed to blend together into one panoramic scene. The closer buildings were almost indistinguishable from the ones farther away at night. None of the buildings stood out from any of the others. They were a jumble of rooftops, with a steeple thrown in every so often for good measure. From what he remembered of their drive to get to Dayton, it seemed typical of all the towns they had driven through. They all had a similarity, a similarity that seemed comfortable. Not for one second had Alvaro worried when the family stopped for gas or food. The people they met were friendly and smiled, and while Alvaro didn’t understand what they said, it was always in a pleasant, unhurried manner. The tone, cadence, and friendly faces made him feel at ease, comfortable, and safe.
As Alvaro stood and stared at the lights of the city, he noticed that nothing stood out; it truly was indistinct. He closed the curtains and as he turned to go back to bed thought how much he liked the skyline of Dayton.
The Service
With one exception, for the Secret Service, the cases came to an end with a dizzying array of interviews (Inspection Division, DHS OIG, and FBI), conference calls, emails, and Everest-sized mountains of administrative paperwork.
There was finger-pointing, recrimination, and animosity up and down the chain. Almost every previous champion of the case now tried to distance themselves from it. What had been the most celebrated case in the Secret Service in the past one hundred years was quietly closed as quickly as possible. There was a rush to get back to business as usual.
A key part of that process was the personnel transfers. SAIC Ferguson put forth all of Kensington’s recommendations as his own. They were approved and orders were cut within two weeks.
84th and York
The lone exception took place at a small apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan the day after the conversation in Ferguson’s office.
Morley wasn’t sure he could endure his final trip to the tiny apartment he’d grown to love because of the woman it represented. He sat up the street in his car for an hour besieged by conflict. What would he say? Could he perpetuate the lie and see devastation, or worse, loathing, in those dazzling blue eyes? Warm tears coursed down his face as he pictured the hurt in those eyes. He couldn’t bear it, but he had to. He had to give Pencala closure, and do it in person.
As he ascended the last stairs to her floor, he saw an apartment-for-rent sign. There was a pile of wood in front of her door. It was the rocker, in pieces.
Morley gathered the fragments in his arms, backed against the wall, and slid to the floor.