The man who greeted Alex in the waiting room was as tall as Alex would be in her stocking feet. Damn, he was good looking. The softness of his brown eyes, fringed with eyelashes women must envy, worked for him. That and the way his smile reached his eyes before his lips caught up.
"Liz asked me to meet with you until she can join us," Michael had said.
The room was sparse. Wood floors, white walls, and glass partitions made it feel cool rather than a welcoming place for potential parents or women giving up their children. Michael's well-modulated Brooklyn accent, however, made Alex feel warm nevertheless.
"Thank you." Alex could see her reflection in the glass. She should have combed her hair after her shower. Drip-drying left it an explosion of curls. She smoothed it down as best she could.
Michael led her into a small conference room. "How can we help you?"
Alex launched into her story, speaking faster and less coherently than usual. With each sentence, she twisted a strand of hair around her fingers. By the time she came to the trip to the Bronx, she was sure he saw through her juvenile nervousness.
"I know information about adoptees is confidential. I'm hoping, however, that Ms. Kennelly, if she is the same person, will give me some clue about what to do next."
Michael had listened attentively, occasionally nodding encouragement. He was beautiful in a non-movie-star way. Crooked, bright-white teeth contrasted with his Mediterranean complexion. Every time Alex looked at him, she got flustered.
"The information is confidential," he said at the end of her story. "However, Liz knows your sister very well. That's why she agreed to see you."
Eureka! Not only had she found the right Kennelly, but she was also still in touch with Kara.
"Have you worked with Liz for a long time?" She wanted to ask if he was married. There was no ring on his finger, but that provided scant comfort. The thickness and length of his lashes gave his features an almost feminine quality. Please don't be gay.
"Since college, about eight years ago."
"I graduated eight years ago as well. Maybe we met at some keg party on a campus somewhere?"
He laughed. "Could be. I went to City." He was referring to CUNY, the same system from which Alex's mother graduated. "Where did you go?"
"Smith," she said, almost apologetically. Smith College was a small liberal arts school for women and one of the "seven sisters"—an elite and expensive higher-education club.
"I doubt we ran into each other." He seemed amused by the conversation.
So taken by Michael, Alex was disappointed when a short, curvy woman entered the conference room. That feeling changed quickly, however, as Liz Kennelly held out her hand.
"You must be Kara's sister."
With a firm handshake, Alex said, "Thank you for seeing me."
Liz perched on the edge of the conference table. Michael sat catty-corner to Alex.
"As I explained to Michael, my father is critically ill and wants very much to see her before . . ." She couldn't say it. "I hope you can help us."
"Do you have identification?"
Alex pulled out her driver's license from her overstuffed backpack as loose change clanged onto the tabletop.
"Kara will have to want to meet you," Liz said as she scrutinized the license. "All I can do is share your request."
"If I could just speak with her, make my case. Impress on her how important this is to him."
"To him? Kara is thirty years old, Ms. Lawrence. His urgency is rather late, don't you think?"
Of course it was. Alex realized how selfish she must sound. She glanced at Michael and chose to read his expression as sympathetic. "I would like to meet her as well. She has sisters, two others, who didn't know she existed until a few days ago. We're not late."
It was true. Somewhere along the way, the search had become personal. After all, it could have just as easily been her or one of her sisters. What made Alex more his daughter than Kara? What made it okay for Kara to grow up in foster care and Alex to live with her parents in Bedford? Was it all about race, or the illegitimacy, or both? "What's she like?"
"Why don't I call Kara and then we'll see where we go from there." With agility, she hopped off the table. "You can wait for me if you like." Liz left the room.
"You okay?" Michael tilted his head. "Want to get something to eat while we're waiting?"
"I'm not really hungry, but something to drink would be terrific." Alex heard how high-pitched her voice sounded and brought it down an octave. "It's been a bizarre couple of days."
"I can imagine. I'll let Liz know we'll be in the cafeteria."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Agent Boyd looked just as he had on Saturday: same navy-blue suit, same cropped hair sprinkled with gray, same truth-seeking eyes.
"Good morning, Ms. Lawrence."
Kara stuffed her trembling hands into the pockets of her coat. "Aren't you a little early?" She tried for a confident tone but wasn't sure she was pulling it off. "As Mrs. Edgecombe explained, I'm unwell and off to the doctor."
"I can understand why you're feeling poorly."
"So?" At least her bravado sounded authentic this time.
"I came by to remind you about the deadline, and to see if you've figured out yet that our deal is your only way out."
"My lawyer is on his way over."
Mrs. E. wagged her finger at the agent. "Be here any second."
"Besides, I have nothing to say to you and harassing me won't change that."
They were facing each other, almost toe to toe in the long living room with its high ceiling and dominating fireplace. The baby grand stood to Kara's right, the family photographs that graced it a counterbalance to the tension in the room.
"You may not believe this, Ms. Lawrence, but I'm not here to hurt you." He relaxed his stance. "In fact, I believe you."
Kara pulled her hands out of her pockets and put on her gloves. She knew Zach was guilty. She knew he wanted her to lie for him, which she would not do. But that didn't change her determination not to trap him for the FBI. What kind of person would that make her? Moreover, Agent Boyd using psychology and telling her he believed she was innocent was not going to work.
Agent Boyd did not back away; nor did Kara. Finally, he said, "It's not like he hasn't used women like you before as his illegal couriers. Why do you think we were following you?" He never blinked. "Some people call you mules."
Kara reached out her hand in search of the edge of the piano and, finding it, moved closer and sank onto the piano stool.
"What? Did you think you were the only one?" His eyes tracked hers. "Scum stays scum, in all aspects of life—that's been my experience." The implied question, Hasn't that been yours? hung in the air. "Listen to me, Ms. Lawrence: covering for this crook is stupid, and you're not a stupid woman. I can tell." He glared at her. Then, bending his knees, he squatted in front of her. "We'll make it easy for you, Kara. May I call you Kara? We'll be with you every step of the way."
It was all she could do to keep from screaming.
"Even if I believe you, which I do, I still have to do my job."
Kara stared at the tip of his nose.
He rose. "If you don't cooperate, we're talking jail time."
Mrs. E. made a distressed sound. "Jail?"
Kara couldn't focus. She wasn't the first woman Zach had used. Was she so hungry for affection she had become some kind of bag woman? Her stomach rumbled a metaphorical answer. Zach and Agent Boyd were both threatening her and both had promised protection; both claimed they didn't want to hurt her while doing just that. She couldn't trust either one of them.
The front door opened just as the grandfather clock began to chime. Dressed in a rumpled 1970s corduroy jacket and shiny black pants, the type only seen at funerals, Norman Green came in with Danny right behind, his keys dangling from his hands. The civilian clothes and the books in Danny's hands reminded Kara that he was studying for the sergeant's exam. She had been so wrapped up in her own
personal issues that she had forgotten.
Mrs. E. made introductions as if they were at a social gathering. "Have you met our lawyer, Mr. Green? Do you remember Officer Waters?"
Norman Green said, "Are you charging my client with something, Agent Boyd?"
Mrs. E. jumped in: "He threatened Kara with jail."
"Not yet," Agent Boyd replied, his lips barely moving, eyes never leaving Kara's face.
With his cultivated accent, Norman Green said, "Then we have nothing to discuss, do we?" He pointed toward the door. "Shall we leave these good people?"
"Ms. Lawrence, lawyers get in the way," Agent Boyd said in much the same way Zach had. Then, in a softer tone, "Talk to me, Kara. Help me help you."
Kara almost laughed except she was so near tears. He sounded like Tom Cruise in Jerry Maguire. Danny cough-laughed into his hand.
"Remember what I said," Agent Boyd continued, unaware of the comic relief. "He's not worth it. You can get out of this mess unscathed."
"Sir," Norman Green said with pointed emphasis.
Boyd walked in front of the lawyer to the door. "Until tonight, Ms. Lawrence."
The minute the two men left, Kara jumped up from the piano bench. "I have to go out for a little while." She buttoned her coat. When she looked up, she saw the puzzlement on Danny and Mrs. E's faces. "To the doctor," she added. The tremor was now in her voice. "Thanks for calling Mr. Green," she said to Mrs. E., then turned to Danny. "I'm sorry"—but she wasn't sure what for.
Danny stepped forward. "Let me drive you."
That sounded appealing, but since she wasn't really going to the doctor, she couldn't accept. "No need, but thanks." She snatched up her tote.
"Let me help you." The minute the words came out of his mouth, he laughed. "Help me help you."
This made Kara laugh as well—not a healing laugh, but it still felt good. Yet it didn't change anything. She had to see Liz and she had to do it alone. Besides, she needed time to think. Beyond Norman Green's assurances and Zach's meaningless promises, she needed a plan of her own, and time was running out.
* * *
Kara hadn't seen Liz Kennelly since Christmas. They had each sent the other a card and met in Midtown for high tea as a holiday treat. Today, they were in the Starbucks near Liz's office. Located on a corner in Rockefeller Plaza, the coffee shop was crowded with professionally dressed men and women, the grinding hum of the coffee machines mingling with conversation and laughter. The aroma of ground beans mixed with a woman's perfume and the wet-wool smell of the man closest to Kara.
Kara and her former caseworker sat opposite each other at a table jammed against the front window.
Liz's nail polish matched her fiery hair and lipstick. She'd gained a little weight over the years, but her classic Irish features and flawless skin were the same as Kara remembered from childhood.
"It's been too long," Liz said, taking a sip of her black coffee. "Didn't we say after our Christmas get-together that we'd do this at least once a month?"
For the first time in days, Kara felt safe. "I've been sick."
"Sick, or is something else going on?"
Liz always had a way of getting directly to the problem. After she had rescued Kara, Flyer, and Tuesday, she'd stayed in touch, checking on all of them weekly while they were in the group home. Once Kara was on her own, Liz provided practical help. When children aged out of foster care, usually there was little support—no family to help an eighteen-year-old find her way, no job placement, housing, assistance to finish high-school diplomas or get into college. Nothing. But Kara had Liz.
It was through Liz's efforts that Kara got a scholarship to Pace University after graduating from Bronx Community College. Liz took Kara, Tuesday, and Flyer out to celebrate the year Kara graduated. Afterward, Liz drove Kara to her grandmother's old home in the Bronx. Kara had wanted to see it, go inside, she wasn't sure why. Once she got there, however, she was too overwhelmed to go in.
Liz helped Tuesday and Flyer too, but she took a much stronger interest in Kara. Perhaps because Kara returned her affection. She remembered Liz's birthday, talked to her on the phone several times a year, and, on occasion, visited Liz's Brooklyn home. Liz's questions brought her back.
"Has something happened?" Liz's eyes reflected the color of her teal suit.
"I've been having flashbacks." Kara stirred her tea with the supplied wooden stick.
"From your childhood?"
"Yes, about what Big Jim did to me." Kara surprised herself with tears, which silently slid down her face.
Liz came around the table, pressed Kara's face against her bosom. "I didn't know when I placed you there. The minute I found out, we came to get you. I'm so sorry."
Kara didn't know for how long she cried against Liz's chest. When she pulled away, the silk teal suit was stained with tears. She blew her nose. "How did you find out?"
Liz cleared their table, threw the paper cups into the trash. Her eyes were wet. "This is not the time or place for this—you're not feeling well, and we need to sit somewhere more private."
"Tell me now."
Lines of sadness etched Liz's face. "We thought he was molesting you and the other kids. We had no proof, but the circumstantial evidence was compelling."
"Like what? It had been going on for a long time. What finally made someone . . . ?" Kara hesitated. "What finally made you realize?"
It was Liz's turn to cry, the tears rolling down her pink cheeks. "We should have noticed sooner. I'm so sorry, Kara."
"Flyer too?"
Liz raised her wet eyes. "Yes."
Flyer said that Big Jim had used Kara and Tuesday like whores. Now Liz was telling her he used Flyer too. Kara had let Zach use her. Was that what she was, a whore? In her mind, she heard Marci Nye's voice tell her no, she wasn't.
"Say something, Kara. What are you thinking right now?"
Instead of voicing her true thoughts, Kara patted Liz's hand. "Thank you for telling me."
"Are you still seeing Dr. Nye?"
Kara nodded. "Big Jim died."
"When?"
"Last week."
"Does that help at all?"
"Not really." In fact, things had gotten worse ever since she'd heard. Maybe she could turn things around now. Maybe the ugly truths, all out in the open, would let her move things in the right direction.
* * *
Kara and Zach sat in Mrs. E.'s living room; Kara in the rocking chair and Zach on the edge of the sofa. He was waiting for her when she'd arrived home from her meeting with Liz. Dark smudges edged his eyes and his normally sleek beard looked like a lawn in need of mowing, with gray roots she'd never noticed before. He wore an open-collar shirt and his usually pressed slacks were rumpled. Only his shoes hinted at the Zach she knew, each polished to a glass finish.
As Kara rocked, she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She decided to take the offensive. "I need your help: I want you to tell the FBI that I had nothing to do with whatever it is you are involved in. I had no knowledge; I made no money."
"I can't do that." His voice was flat, his arms crossed.
"If you love me, as you say you do, you'll do this."
"Not possible."
"It's the right thing. It's the truth."
Zach unfolded his arms and leaned forward, his legs spread wide, his forearms resting on his thighs. "Listen to me—you know I love you, but this is business and it's serious." He stood up and stared down at her the same way Agent Boyd had earlier that day. "I'm the target of a baseless SEC investigation. Despite the case's lack of merit, the FBI is still dangerous. We have to hang together."
In that instant, Kara knew she had to cooperate with the FBI and clear her name. Zach didn't love her, he never had. Here was the evidence smack in her face. Why did she fall for bad boys? Dr. Nye said her "family-of-origin messages" were powerful, meaning her mother had made the same kinds of choices. In addition, childhood trauma ate away at self-esteem. Okay, but now she had to make her own w
ay, be the master of her fate—Marci Nye's favorite phrase. It had merit. It was time for Kara to embrace it.
She stood up. "Of course I'll help you," she said in a deadpan tone. Almost as tall as Zach, she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.
"When they come back, you'll tell them there was a contract in the envelope?" He didn't sound convinced.
"Don't worry about me. I'll do my part."
He blinked several times. "They have nothing on me."
"I'm tired, Zach."
"Okay, Kara, I'm going to trust you. Just remember: if I go down, you go down."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Kara's phone vibrated in her pocket. She dug it out.
"Hey, Liz." The shawl slipped from her shoulders. "Thanks for checking up on me, but I'm doing okay." They had parted only a few hours earlier.
"I'm glad."
Kara heard something in Liz's voice. "Are you okay?"
"I have some news you might find startling, upsetting, or maybe wonderful, I don't know."
"What is it?" Kara's stomach rumbled.
"I have a visitor who says she's your sister Alex. She's asked for your address and phone number."
At first, Kara was too stunned to comprehend what Liz was saying. Alex had finally come for her after all of these years? She was with Liz? The timing of this was bizarre. Curled up in a chair in her sitting room, her legs pulled under, a cup of tea on the table next to her, Kara tried to sort out her feelings. "What's she like?" Kara finally asked. "Do you trust her?"
"I think so. She seems genuine."
"Are you sure it's my Alex?"
"She has your eyes, just a different color, the same cheekbones, and a head of curls. I'm sure."
Kara closed her eyes. She pictured the laughing four-year-old Alex in the picture, reddish-blond tangles spilling down her back. Her sister had finally come for her.
"Why now?"
"Do you want to see her?"
"Yes." The answer came from deep inside. "Please tell her to come today, right away. Liz, my family has finally . . ." She couldn't finish the sentence or thought. All these years of pretending and waiting. Maybe Alex had been searching for her all along.
Getting It Right Page 14