Getting It Right

by Karen E. Osborne

  He eyed her but didn't respond.

  How could she make him talk? "Zach, I've been thinking: I know you said you need my help if the authorities come snooping around, and frankly, I think they will. After all, they've been following me." She didn't wait for a reaction. If she stopped now, her courage would fail her. "So, let's say I help you. What's in it for me?" The last question just came out; it was not part of the plan.

  At first, Zach seemed startled, but then his expression turned amused. Had she gone too far? Agent Boyd had told her to keep it simple.

  "This is a surprise. Since when have you ever taken anything from me? I can barely give you cab fare."

  "Maybe it's time for me to start looking out for my future." To her ears, Kara sounded like a B-list actress in a third-rate movie.

  There was a definite shift in his demeanor as several seconds ticked by. Finally, he said, "If you help me get out of this, I can provide you with a very comfortable future."

  It was happening. She leaned forward, covering his hand with hers. "Life's been tough—you know, financially—and now my friend Flyer tried to kill himself."

  "I'm sorry, Kara. Jeez, is he okay?"

  "He's in Bellevue. I'm going to need money to help him." Which might well be true.

  He squeezed her hand. "Poor baby, I can help you."

  "How?"

  "We hit the big time with this deal. It was sweet and easy."

  In a few more minutes, he would tell her everything. She'd be free. The FBI would have the proof they needed and she could go back to her life. No harm would come to Mrs. E., Flyer, or Danny. Now all she had to do was encourage him to tell her everything, listen, flirt, and applaud his acumen. But the words did not come to her. Instead, all she could think about was what kind of person would do something like this—hurt someone else to save herself? Once again, she thought about her father and the choices he had made. She wasn't like him; she couldn't do it.

  In a quick motion, she reached for her tote with one hand and put her fingers to her lips to silence Zach with the other. She ripped the lining of her bag and pulled out the electronic ear, then she did the same with her coat.

  Zach stared at her. "What the hell?"

  She spotted a wet bar in the corner, walked over, and ran water over both devices. "The FBI said they have a strong case against you. If I were you, I'd be worried."

  She put on her ripped coat and slung her tattered tote over her shoulder. Zach moved toward her. "Don't touch me, Zach. I won't help them, but I'm not helping you either."

  They really were through—not because she had betrayed him, but because she didn't want him. She'd rather be alone than be with someone like Zach, someone like her father. She deserved better.

  Zach's faced twisted with anger. "Don't think they're going to let you off this easy."

  Kara moved to the door.

  "Wait." He tried for a smile that didn't quite work. "Are they out there, waiting for you?" He gave up on charm. "Shit, Kara, sit down and tell me what the fuck is going on." Much as he had done in his corporate apartment, he moved toward her with aggressive motions.

  "Do not come near me," Kara said.

  He stopped.

  Kara walked into the carpeted corridor and hurried back the way she'd come. In spite of not knowing what would happen next, she felt good. No, not good, but satisfied. She had done the right thing. Somehow, she would protect her family and friends, but not like this. She got on the elevator and rode to the lobby.

  They were waiting for her. Special Agent Boyd blocked her path, his eyes the blue-black of a storm, his jaw moving as if he were chewing an enormous wad of gum. "What happened in there?"

  Maybe he'd believe her and maybe he wouldn't, but she was done. "He figured it out."

  "Bullshit."

  "He did. He was searching me the whole time we talked. After he found the device, he ripped it out of my coat lining. Then he searched my bag and found the other one. He poured water on them." She offered the torn lining of her coat as proof.

  Several beats went by. Agent Boyd, still blocking her way, stared at her. Kara never flinched.

  "We will not forget this," he said. "Ever."

  "You do what you have to do." She moved around him.

  For the first time in days, Kara wasn't afraid. The powerful feeling she'd had when she'd confronted Agent Boyd in front of her home the night of the murder was back. Terror no longer colored every thought, every action, every decision. She walked away knowing she had made a choice with consequences, though they were not in her control. Her actions were.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Alex woke up late. It was almost eight a.m. and she was supposed to be at work by nine. She'd have to hurry. It had been close to three in the morning before she'd fallen asleep and now she felt it. She rubbed her eyes and kneaded her scalp with her fingertips. Last night's events came back to her and she realized Kara was meeting with the FBI and Zach in less than an hour. Alex rolled over and dialed her father's private number at the hospital.

  "Daddy, are you awake enough to talk?"

  "Sure, kitten." His voice was stronger than it had been since his first heart attack; he sounded glad to hear from her.

  "After you're better, could we talk more about what happened with Kara and everything?" She heard him exhale. "I need to understand, because I'm really mad at you." She'd never said that to him before. All the times he had asked her to hold it together, to call Aunt Peggy, to take care of the girls, she had never let herself be angry or let him know how much more she had expected of him. She had never told him he had let her down. Now, she decided to say it. "I always thought you were better than this, that you could be better."

  "I know, kitten. I screwed up. Can you forgive your old man?"

  "I want to, Daddy, but—"

  "I never meant to hurt you."

  "I know." She tried to think how to say what needed saying. Coffee would help. "Can you hang on for a sec?"

  Alex swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded into the kitchen. She hooked her cell to the waist of her pajama bottoms and inserted the hands-free device into the phone and the buds into her ears. "Daddy?"

  "I'm still here."

  "Can I tell you something important?" Although she knew she shouldn't burden him with more worries, she also thought it was important for him to know about Kara's troubles. It was time for Kara to become a part of his life.

  "Sure," he said. "Anything. I want you to know you can count on me to do better."

  Alex told her father about Zach, the SEC's suspicions, and the FBI investigation. "I've been trying to think how I can help her, but I've run out of ideas," she concluded.

  There was a long silence on the other end. Alex waited it out as a pot of coffee brewed. The whirring noise the coffeemaker made reminded her of the monitors in his room. She knew he was deathly ill, and that what she was doing was unfair. Still, she waited.

  "I don't know either, kitten," he said finally. "Sounds like you're doing all you can."

  Alex didn't respond.

  "Sweetheart, I want you to know I'm going to beat this thing. I feel better than I have since it happened."

  "I know you will." This didn't sound very convincing, but she couldn't hide her disappointment. Why wasn't he more interested in trying to figure some way to help Kara?

  "Alex, you're a good person and I love you very much."

  "I know you do, Daddy. I love you too." And she did, in spite of all of his failures.

  After Alex hung up, the buzzer to her apartment sounded, making her jump. "What the heck?" It couldn't be Sean; it had better not be. She pushed the intercom. "Yes?"

  "It's me, Pigeon."

  Alex buzzed Pigeon in. At first Alex started to clean up, and then she thought she should get out of her pajamas, but it felt like more effort than she could muster, so instead she just waited for Pigeon to ring her bell.

  When Pigeon came in, her bloodshot eyes were pleading with Alex—but for w
hat, she couldn't tell.

  Alex hugged her sister tight. "What's going on?" She wanted to be welcoming but she'd depleted her reserves. The mug holding her coffee felt heavy in her hand.

  Pigeon stared. "It's so wild to find a new sister." She rubbed her hands on her jeans. "It's disgusting and humiliating."

  "Unsettling is probably a better word." The only thing humiliating and disgusting was their father's behavior. "Dad screwed up big time. Besides, I like her."

  "You like everybody."

  Of course it was hard for Pigeon. All her life she'd only ever gotten the last sliver of their parents' attention, and now there was a whole other person.

  "What do you know about her?"

  Alex pulled Pigeon down onto the love seat in her living area.

  "Is she hoping for a payday, you know, after or if—"

  "She's not like that."

  "What is she like?"

  "Her life has been hard—harder than ours for sure." Alex told Pigeon everything she knew about Kara Lawrence.

  After Pigeon left, instead of drinking the fresh cup of coffee she'd just made or getting ready for work, Alex crawled back into bed. Justifying Kara to Pigeon, explaining their father's behavior without condemning him, worrying about Vanessa, work, her crazy mother—it was all too much. She pulled the covers up to her chin, rolled on her side, and closed her eyes. A few minutes of rest would help her get her energy and focus back.

  * * *

  The shrill ring of the phone brought Alex fully awake. As she reached for her cell, she glanced at the clock. She'd been asleep for three hours.

  "Hello?"

  "Alex." It was Pigeon. She sounded panicked. "You have to get over here right away. Daddy's in a bad way."

  "That can't be. He was fine a few hours ago."

  Pigeon was crying.

  Falling back into her old role, Alex tried to comfort her. "It's going to be okay. Is Mom with you?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Let me talk to her."

  Several seconds ticked by.

  "Are you on your way?" Judy asked.

  "Do you know how bad it is?"

  "You need to get here, quick."

  "I'll be there in thirty—" She wasn't even dressed. "Forty-five minutes or less." She thought she heard her mother sob. "Mom, are you okay?"

  "How could I be?"

  Now it was clear her mother was openly crying. Alex couldn't hold it in any longer. "Oh, Mom. Is this it? What are the doctors saying?"

  "I didn't get a chance to tell him how much I still love him," Judy said in a quiet voice. "He's in a coma."

  "He told me he's going to make it, and I believe him."

  "I prayed, Alex. I don't remember the last time I did that, but as they took him, I prayed to God."

  Alex realized she had no idea how to comfort her mother. "I'll be there as fast as I can."

  Judy's voice reverted to its more natural tone: "You're coming alone, Alex. You won't bring that awful person with you."

  Again, Alex was at a loss. "Is Vanessa there?"

  "Of course not."

  "I'll see you soon."

  For a few seconds after she hung up, Alex just sat there. She took several deep breaths. He could not die. Not like this. Their last conversation was unresolved, there was so much more to say, to experience. This could not be the end. She picked up the notepad and ballpoint pen that she kept on her nightstand for middle-of-the-night ideas and tried to think—making lists often calmed her. Alex felt confident she could find Vanessa, so she wrote down her sister's name and put a check mark next to it. She could always count on Vanessa. No matter what was going on with her, she always pulled it together and helped. Should Alex call Kara? She wrote KARA in block letters. Despite her mother's admonishment, didn't Kara have a right to know? She put a question mark next to Kara's name. Sean would need a call as well, so she wrote him down. Her father's partners—had anyone called them? Mr. Dawes? For a fleeting second, Michael crossed her mind. Wouldn't he care? Tears pooled. Her father was not going to die.

  Alex put the pad and pen down, looked up, and caught her reflection in the mirror: her eyes were red and puffy, hair going in every direction, and she was still in her pajamas. She spoke to the woman in the mirror: "Maybe you need to start your list with, Get up and shower."

  * * *

  Kara sat on a metal chair next to Flyer's bed. There were straps tied to his wrists and a railing on the bed like he was an imprisoned criminal. The ward was crowded with patients and visitors. The five other men in the room all had family and friends surrounding them. Kara had taken the subway straight from Zach's office to the hospital. She felt weightless. Not the way she did as a child, hovering above the body Big Jim violated, pretending she was with her mother in heaven. This was more about relief than escape. She'd stood up to Zach and the FBI. Whatever happened next, she knew she wouldn't regret her decision.

  Yet her elation was short-lived. Tuesday had left the minute Kara arrived, her exit pointed.

  Flyer was awake. The sedatives the nurse had given him left him groggy but able to speak.

  Kara leaned in close. "I'm sorry, Flyer."

  "Not your fault."

  "Not yours either."

  He closed his eyes.

  "I don't know if Tuesday is ever going to forgive me."

  Flyer didn't open his eyes and Kara thought that maybe he'd fallen asleep. She touched the top of his hand just below the restraint.

  "Not your fault," he said again quietly.

  A song by India Arie popped into her mind, "The Heart of the Matter"—But I think it's about forgiveness, forgiveness; even if, even if, you don't love me anymore . . .

  If Marci Nye were here, Kara knew she would agree with Flyer's verdict and the song's message.

  "We were all just kids," Kara said more to herself than to Flyer.

  It was the truth. The guilty people were Jim and Nora Smyth—Jim for what he did, and Nora for standing by. In her heart, she knew Liz and her grandmother weren't to blame. Was her father? Not for the rapes; but yes, he was guilty for abandoning her. Could she ever forgive him? Even if, even if, you don't love me anymore . . .

  A nurse with a cheery voice came by. "How are we doing, Mr. Dresden?" She pulled the privacy curtain around Flyer's bed. "I need to take his vitals, if you could step outside for a few."

  "I'll just be in the hall," Kara said to Flyer.

  "I'm okay."

  "I love you."

  Flyer opened his eyes. The whites were yellow and the skin underneath was black. "Tuesday still loves you. She's just scared."

  * * *

  The prognosis was bleak. The attending surgeon, a man with a sunken chest and an egg-shaped head with wisps of gray hair decorating odd spots on his otherwise bald scalp, spoke to the Lawrence family in hushed tones. "He's unable to breathe on his own. We'll just have to wait and see, but I think you should prepare yourself for the worst."

  How does one do that?

  They gathered in the waiting room—Judy, Aunt Peggy, Vanessa, Pigeon, and Alex—huddled together, everyone's eyes red from crying. Alex forced positive thoughts. She listed in her mind every good thing she could think of about her father: he loved her, he believed in her, and he made her believe in herself; he laughed at all of her jokes no matter how many times she told them; he taught her how to ride a horse, drive a car, ski, play poker, and down a shot of whiskey on her twenty-first birthday.

  "Alex?" Pigeon interrupted her list.

  "I'm so glad you're here."

  Pigeon sat down in the seat next to her.

  "When are you going back to California?"

  "I'm not."

  Alex was surprised.

  "I figured something out."

  "What's that?"

  "I went from you taking care of me to Breeze taking care of me. I need to learn how to take care of myself."

  Alex hugged her. "Cool Breeze seems to love you."

  "Yeah, but I gotta get me straight—you know,
before making any commitments."

  That got Alex thinking. Was she herself straight? Was she rushing into Michael's arms without knowing enough, being healthy enough?

  "Do you think he's sorry?"

  "Dad?"

  Pigeon bobbed her head.

  "For Kara?"

  "For everything."

  Was he sorry? Alex felt and then saw Vanessa's emotionless stare. With effort, Alex tried to gauge her sister's sobriety, but she couldn't tell. What was going to happen to Vanessa?

  "There's a lot for him to regret."

  * * *

  The sisters stayed quiet as Pigeon rested her head on Alex's shoulder. A fluorescent light above flickered on and off with an insistent buzz.

  A footfall followed by a small cough. Alex raised her head. The attending physician, his eyes cool and knowing, stood before her.

  "Is there news?"

  Her mother let out a stifled sob.

  "Please tell us," Alex said, although she knew—they all knew.

  "We did everything we could," he said. "I'm sorry for your loss."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  For the third time, Kara read the obituary in the New York Times:

  Worth Jackson Lawrence, prominent New York lawyer and friend to powerful political figures in New York and Washington, DC, died Tuesday of massive heart failure. He was fifty-eight years old.

  Mr. Lawrence spent his entire professional career in the Fifth Avenue law firm of Hobbs, Austin, and Lawrence, a respected international practice established in 1945 by his father, the late Jackson Lawrence.

  Colleagues described Worth Lawrence as a confidant of senators, governors, and presidents, an adroit deal maker and generous philanthropist, who made well-placed connections in each political party and enemies in none.

  "He was a man who wielded power with compassion and finesse," said long-time associate, Martin Dawes.

  Mr. Lawrence is survived by his wife, the former Judith Colonie, and his three daughters, Alexandra, Vanessa, and Monica. His remains will be interned at the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Sleepy Hollow, NY.

  * * *

  In spite of the sunlight filling her sitting room, Kara felt cold. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders and reread the obituary. He was dead. She thought about Alex and the pain she must be feeling. She thought about Pigeon, the sister she had barely met. They must be devastated. Would a lifetime of memories comfort them? Kara had met him once in her adult life, and now she'd never get to know him, ask her questions, find a path to a relationship. For a few seconds, she let her mind wander back to the day at Rock Creek Park, the day she only remembered as a photograph. Then, just like all the other times Kara fantasized, reality jumped the line. Survived by three daughters, not four. Even in death, no one wanted to claim her. His death didn't end the possibility of a relationship, reality did.