Danny nodded in acknowledgment. "Do you ladies need to talk?"
"We do," Alex said, then turned to Kara. "You're welcome." She meant it.
Danny took charge: "Alex, you drive Kara home and I'll lead the way. Mr. Green, Kara's lawyer, promised to be waiting for us at the house. We'll all talk things through and come up with a workable plan."
As they made their way south, Kara let her new emotions sink in. For the first time in her life, she felt hopeful.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Alex kept Danny's car in view, changing lanes when he changed, slowing and accelerating in tandem. Knowing he was a police officer gave her a measure of comfort as they broke the speed limit. She glanced to her right to change lanes and caught Kara watching her. "Crazy night."
Kara nodded.
"I'm sorry about the meeting with our father, I'm sorry it went so poorly." The hospital scene came back to her. "I didn't know."
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Kara said. "I wanted to go, and I'm not sorry. Now I know."
Alex couldn't think how to respond.
"I used to look for you," Kara continued. "Not at first, but by the time I was eight or nine years old."
"So you said."
Kara shifted her body toward her sister. "I'd be on the playground and see a child with wild strawberry-blond curls and pretend it was you. Sometimes, I'd think you were someone I saw in a magazine or on TV. We'd have pretend conversations." She made a funny sound in her throat. "Did you ever have an imaginary friend?"
"Is that what I was?" Alex had been gripping the steering wheel so tightly her fingers were cramping. She took them off for a beat and flexed.
"Sort of."
They were doing seventy miles per hour, the Toyota ahead by two car lengths. As they hit the New York City limits, Danny's car slowed to sixty, so Alex followed suit.
"I had imaginary parents instead of friends," Alex said. "Parents who didn't fight; a father who came home every night; a mother who wasn't nuts."
"Your parents fought?" Kara sounded incredulous and maybe a little disappointed.
"Constantly. We moved through maids and nannies at a record pace. Unfortunately, we kids had no such escape."
"Maids and nannies?" This time Kara sounded almost amused.
Alex shrugged apologetically. "I had a privileged life in that sense." Maybe in every sense. Listening to Kara's life story, Alex's family didn't seem so bad. "Did you look for our father also?"
"No. I was counting on him to find me."
Alex glanced at Kara, once again struck by the familiarity of her profile. She sounded so sad, as if the pain of her childhood was as real today as it was then. For that matter, that's how it seemed for Vanessa and Pigeon as well.
They pulled off the highway at 125th Street. There was so much more Alex wanted to know about Kara's life, the sexual abuse and its effects. She wanted to ask about the Christmas when Kara was six years old. Just as she formed the next question in her mind, Kara startled her: "Do you have any black friends, Alex?"
"Yes," she replied without thinking about it. But then, Alex reflected, maybe it wasn't really true. Her answer had been reflexive, almost defensive. Why should Alex feel defensive about the race of her friends? The truth was, she only had one black friend—Sonja, her roommate from her freshman and sophomore years at Smith, a friend she hadn't seen in two years and with whom she only exchanged e-mail updates, and birthday and Christmas cards.
"Why do you ask?"
They were heading east on 125th Street, Danny's car just ahead. In spite of the late hour, there was still activity on the streets. She could see people filling several bars and others exiting the Magic Johnson movie theater, heading home after a late show.
"No reason." Kara paused. "Well, a reason, but I'm not sure how to explain it."
Alex waited.
"All my life, I thought of myself as half-black, half-white; half-Lawrence, half my mother's child. I always knew I was different, that I didn't belong anywhere. Now . . ." Her voice trailed off.
"Now what?"
"Don't mind me, it's late and I'm exhausted. Thanks again for helping me."
They completed the remainder of the drive in silence.
* * *
By the time they arrived at Kara's home, Mrs. E. and Mr. Green were waiting for them in the kitchen. It was after midnight and everyone, with the exception of the dapper lawyer, appeared tired and frazzled. They listened to Kara's story, Danny and Alex jumping in now and then with a fact or impression. Mrs. E. clicked her tongue and Mr. Green took notes with his pencil stub. She told them about the FBI's threat to go to her school, and to make things harder for Flyer.
Kara was glad Mrs. E. was there for support but her presence kept Kara from mentioning the agents' threats about her insurance and Danny's chances of becoming a sergeant.
"I don't know what else to do except help them," Kara said as she ended her recital. Earlier, she had felt optimistic, but now, after saying everything aloud, the situation felt impossible, just like life in the group home, just like life with the Smyths. Go along, or get iced.
The faces around her reflected her feelings back at her.
Kara asked Mr. Green, "What do you think I should do?" He'd promised to take care of things and make it all go away. Well, that hadn't worked so far. She examined his weathered face. For how long had he been practicing law? Maybe he was the wrong person to represent her. Maybe she needed some young hotshot with lots of connections.
"I think you are doing the right thing," Mr. Green said. He closed his notepad, his faux English accent high and nasal. "The only thing you can do. I tried reaching Agent Boyd's superiors earlier today but to no avail."
On Saturday, he'd made it sound so simple. Now, he was giving up on her.
"We'll just have to do what they want," he went on. "Get it over with and then you can get on with your life. I'll go with you, of course." He stood up but he didn't turn to leave.
Alex said, "I'm sorry you're in this mess, and I'm sorry our father was so shitty to you, and I'm just plain sorry."
All Kara could do was reach across the kitchen table and squeeze Alex's hand. The list of things for which Kara was sorry would fill one of Mr. Green's notepads.
Leaning against the refrigerator, arms crossed against his chest, Danny said, "Maybe, by cooperating, you can get rid of the mess and the bastard who dragged you into it."
Kara flinched.
"I'm just saying," he added in a softer tone, "you deserve better."
The grandfather clock chimed one time, reminding Kara it was now Tuesday morning and she had to be ready by nine a.m. It was time to say good night. She rose from the table, shook Mr. Green's hand, and kissed Mrs. E. on the cheek with a thank you. She walked over to Danny and thanked him as well. She intended to kiss him on his cheek, but he turned his face and her kiss landed squarely on his mouth. Brief as it was, it was enough to taste the hot chocolate they'd shared and feel the softness of his full lips and the heat of his breath.
Feeling awkward, Kara spoke to Alex: "I read somewhere that children either make all of the mistakes of their parents, or they break the cycle—maybe you and I can break our cycles." She hoped Danny was listening as well.
* * *
Kara might be right about cycles, but Alex wasn't sure she was wise to take the advice of that useless lawyer. The FBI's plan felt like a big mistake, though Alex didn't have any ideas to counter it.
It would take her another forty minutes to get home. She checked her gas gauge—she'd need to fill up soon. Ahead of her, angled on the corner, was an open station. Reluctant to get out of the car, she pulled into the full-service island and asked the attendant to fill it up with regular. While she waited, she grabbed her phone and scrolled down the list of recently called numbers until she found Michael's number.
After several rings a sleepy voice said, "Yeah?"
"It's Alex. I'm sorry to call you so late, but you said you'd be waiting."
> "Where are you? What time is it?"
"I have so much to tell you."
"Is Kara okay?"
"It's after one."
"Damn."
She could hear him moving around.
"So, what's the deal?" He sounded more awake.
"She's in a lot of trouble."
"What kind?"
In her mind's eye, she pictured him naked on top of the coverlet on his bed. Of course, it was thirty-seven degrees outside according to her car display, so that was probably unlikely, but maybe he kept the heat high in his apartment.
"Alex, are you still there?"
Embarrassed, she said, "Must have hit a dead spot. Yes, with the FBI."
"You're with the FBI?"
"No, I'm not with them, but she's in trouble with the SEC and FBI."
"Wow. Can I help?"
"She has a lawyer and the cop friend I told you about." Plus, she has me. "I'll fill you in tomorrow. I'm pooped and you don't sound awake. I'm sorry I bothered you."
"I'm not."
"It's late."
"Still glad."
"Me too."
They hung up after Alex promised to call Michael as soon as she got home, just so he knew she'd arrived safely. The gas station attendant stood by her window; she rolled it down and paid him.
Alex played the tape of the day over in her mind. She felt confused about her father. She loved him so much, but he had hurt his family. Her mother was right—he was selfish and self-absorbed—but there were also many good things about him. And he loved her, maybe more than he loved anyone else in his life. She felt equally confused about Kara. Tonight had been wild. In her gut, she didn't think there was a happy ending ahead. What if Kara helped the FBI and they still prosecuted her, or Zach incriminated her on the tape? It was hard to think through all the possibilities. Besides, she was exhausted. Her mantra from earlier in the evening came back to her: Focus. Tomorrow was another day.
Finally, she arrived. She pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building, locked up the car, walked to the lobby, and took the elevator to her floor. She opened her door and climbed over the piles of dirty laundry. The apartment smelled liked neglect—soiled clothes, unwashed dishes, unemptied trash. What a day, what a night. The blinking light on her answering machine told her she had messages.
"You have two new messages and no saved messages. Main menu."
She hit the play button.
"First message, received today at three p.m." It was from Pigeon. Her voice had a wet quality, as if she'd been crying. "Daddy's okay, I guess; I mean for now. Aunt Peggy tried to explain about the half-sister thing but I don't understand why you're helping her." Several beats of silence followed. Alex waited. "I guess I don't understand anything. Cool Breeze called and he's on the red-eye. I told him not to come. Alex, I'm so mixed up." The click of a hang-up followed.
It was too late to call Pigeon back. The muscle under Alex's left eye pulsed; she rubbed above her brow to soothe it. Then she pressed the button for the second message. She played it three times before dialing his number.
"Hi, Alex, it's Michael. Don't forget to call me, no matter what time it is. We don't have to talk if you're too tired. I just want to know you got home okay."
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Danny and Mrs. E. hugged Kara goodbye when she left on Tuesday morning. They watched as she and Norman Green climbed into the black sedan that would ferry them downtown. It was nine a.m. The sun was out and the weather report had said that it was going to be in the fifties. Spring felt possible.
Like a kid reluctant to leave for summer camp, her nose pressed against the car window, Kara waved goodbye and Mrs. E. did the same. Danny gave her a thumbs-up. Knots tied up Kara's insides. She rubbed her belly to ease the pressure. Forty minutes later in the FBI offices, however, the knots persisted.
"Just get him talking," Agent Boyd repeated for the umpteenth time. Kara watched the technician slip a listening device into the lining of her raincoat and another into her tote. "Promise you'll help him, but tell him he has to tell you the truth so you can appreciate the entire situation."
Boyd made it sound easy, but of course it wasn't. Mr. Green nodded, but the pulled-down corners of his mouth contradicted his assent.
The agent picked up Kara's cell phone and handed it to her. "Call him."
They were in a conference room in 26 Federal Plaza—Kara, Mr. Green, the technician, Special Agent Boyd, and the female agent from the night before. Agent Woo was posing as a potential client at Zach's office to ensure his presence there. The room was well lit, with beams of sunlight filtering through dried rain spots and dust on the windows.
Kara dialed his office. Zach's usually protective gatekeeper put Kara through immediately.
"Baby, thank God. I've been frantic. Where are you? We need to talk."
"I'm sorry I've been so distant, Zach." She closed her eyes in an effort to focus but she could feel the agents staring at her.
"No worries, what's important is that you've called. When can we meet?"
"I can come now, if that's okay."
"Absolutely. I'll clear my schedule."
"I'll be there in about—" she opened her eyes and looked to Boyd, who flashed the fingers on both his hands twice, "twenty minutes."
"You're alone, right?"
"I've been scared and worried."
"You're coming alone?" he asked again. It sounded less like a question and more like a demand.
It was strange. A few days ago, hearing his voice sent shivers of anticipation down her spine—not today. Still, she knew there was something there. Just as the morning air made her believe spring was near, a piece of her wanted it to all be a mistake; maybe the conversation she was about to have with Zach would clear everything up. Some of his story was plausible. Living in Harlem, Kara knew how often law enforcement grabbed the wrong person for the wrong reasons: some witness pointed the finger at an innocent man. The police, some all too quick to assume guilt, shoved his face into the sidewalk, locked his hands behind his back, and dragged him to the station, only to find out later it was another man—taller, lighter-skinned, heavier build. This could be like that. She'd ask her questions and it would become clear they had the wrong man. Then what? Zach would know she had betrayed him. Their relationship was over, no matter what happened today, but she still wanted him to be innocent.
"Yes," she lied, "I'll be alone."
As soon as she hung up, Boyd handed her the bugged coat and bag. "Keep them near you, we'll do the rest."
Kara took her possessions with her fingertips.
"There's nothing to worry about," Agent Boyd assured her as he helped her into the raincoat. "Try to relax."
Maybe she could bolt down the hall, down the stairs, and get outside before they could catch her. She'd hail a cab to the airport and take the first plane to anywhere. Fat chance.
The two agents walked her out, with Norman Green bringing up the rear. By the time they got to the black sedan, Kara was sweating. She tried to concentrate and think through her lines but she could feel the perspiration beading her nose and making her blouse damp. Better to leave on her raincoat throughout the conversation lest he see the evidence of her betrayal.
When they reached Zach's building, Kara took the elevator to the twenty-fifth floor. The receptionist checked Kara's name on a list and Zach's administrative assistant came out to meet her.
"He told me to send you in the minute you arrived," the woman said without any words of welcome or introduction. "May I get you a cup of coffee, tea, a glass of water?"
Kara declined.
Zach's corner office was spacious. A walnut desk devoid of paper dominated the center of the room. Behind it were windows on two sides. The views of New York Harbor were splendid, although Kara's nervousness made it hard for her to appreciate them. She could see the Brooklyn Bridge crossing the East River. A barge chugged north. The greenish-blue patina of the Statue of Liberty glinted in the morning sun
as a tour ferry sailed by. The new Freedom Tower soared straight up, a reminder that bad things happened but good could prevail. Kara turned away.
"It's beautiful. How do you concentrate with such a grand vista calling you?"
Zach moved close to her. "You're the only sight I find distracting." He put his arm around her waist. "I'm glad to see you." He pulled her to him, kissed her cheek, and nuzzled her neck. The soft hairs of his beard stroked her skin. There was no hint of the trouble he was in or of the unkempt man who had visited her the day before.
"How are you? You seem stressed." He motioned toward the couch and wing chairs in the right corner of his office. "Let's get comfortable. Shall I ask Dottie to get you some tea, water?"
"Nothing, thanks." She tried to slow her rapid breathing. With her coat still on, she sat down where he indicated and placed her tote by her side.
"Give me your coat."
"I can't stay long." She raised both hands palms up. "My students . . ." She let him fill in the blanks.
Zach sat in one of the wing chairs, leaned back, and crossed his legs, his argyle socks peeking out below the cuffs of his slate-gray suit. "I haven't heard a word from the FBI or SEC."
Kara stayed quiet.
"Have you?"
"No," she said, shaking her head for emphasis.
"Maybe we should go on the offense," Zach said. "Call their bluff." He peered at her, as if he were trying to read her mind.
We was encouraging—he believed she was there to help. "I'm happy they aren't bothering you." She tried not to shift around and to keep her gaze steady. "That's probably a good sign."
"Perhaps." Now he sounded suspicious, or was she overanalyzing every word and gesture?
"Anyway, what happened? I mean, you did say this was going to be your home run. Was it?"
For the first time since she'd entered his office, his attitude became enthusiastic. "We did get lucky."
Kara plunged in, her tone light and flirtatious: "Lucky? You're too smart for luck, Zach."
He laughed. "Let's say fortunate—a combination of strategy and luck."
"So?"
Getting It Right Page 20