“What did you say?”
“I said what a parent is supposed to say. I guess I wasn’t all that convincing. Have you heard anything more?”
“No. The brass has been so tight-lipped. I did see some bird trapping on the way home, so I guess they’re throwing a lot of resources at it. We should have some new information soon. In the meantime, we’re supposed to reassure everyone.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to take Deb to my mother’s for a few days.”
“You don’t think that’s a bit overreacting? It’s only been a handful of kids out of how many? A few thousand living in Riverside?”
Ellen moved her hand away. “One of whom died.”
“Unfortunately, kids die of the flu every year. Lots of kids, actually.”
“Not like this, Jim. Not just in one neighborhood. Not in my school. You’re not totally creeped out by this?”
“Yeah, sure I am.”
“Then come with us. You’ve got loads of vacation and personal time due.”
“I can’t. I have a responsibility to—”
“Your wife and your daughter.”
“And to this community that I serve.”
“I know how you feel about your job, Jim. I love that about you, but you’re not the mayor. You’re just a cop. And when the shit hits the fan—and I believe it will—the brass and the mayor are not going to hesitate to throw people like you to the lions.”
“I can’t go. I need to face these people. I’m not going to run out on them.”
“You really think they care?”
“Yeah. Actually, I think some do.”
“When are you going to wise up and stop being so selfish?”
“How’s that?”
“You wanted us to move to this neighborhood. We did. You wanted me to switch schools. I did. You wanted to go on the street instead of taking a desk sergeant job and expected me to hold my breath every time the damn phone rings when you’re on the job. I do. Now I ask you for one thing to help give me peace of mind and you act like I’m asking the president to step down.”
Like all married couples, Kendall and his wife knew how to argue, but this fight felt different to him. “What’s with you?” he asked.
Ellen buried her face in her hands.
“What is it?” he repeated.
When his wife looked at him again, anguish had distorted her normally beautiful features. “I don’t just teach these kids fractions and verbs. I escort these kids to the bathroom. I wipe the snot from their noses. I give them my lunch when they come to me hungry. I comfort them when they are scared, or at least I try. For seven hours every day, five days a week, I am their mother, teacher, and friend. And today… today I had to look into little faces terrified by this invisible monster called the Riverside Virus and answer all their questions about what it means to die.”
Kendall took her in his arms because he didn’t know what to say.
“Mommy? Are you OK?” Deb had stepped into the kitchen behind them.
“Of course, sweetie,” Ellen said, and pulled away from her husband. “Some water just went down the wrong way.”
Kendall held his arms open. “Come here, baby.” Deb collapsed into him and he squeezed her until she giggled. “I would like the privilege of putting you back to bed, young lady.”
Deb allowed her father to lead her out of the kitchen. When he looked back at his wife, she was cleaning off the kitchen table, but her eyes were lost in troubled thoughts he couldn’t decipher.
13
Gabriel stood before the dusty Riverside Church sign with a box of tiny white plastic letters. It had started to rain, and Gabriel hoped there would be enough of a downpour to rinse the sign clean by morning. He stuck a plastic D on the sign and stepped back to review his work: “Isaiah 65:25: ‘And the lion shall eat straw like the ox; and dust shall be the serpent’s meat. They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain, saith the Lord.’”
He thought it seemed appropriate for the day.
“Nice.” Sid stepped behind him, an open umbrella in his hand. “But it would look better if the sign was about two feet larger. I’m thinking white backlighting, black block lettering. Size does matter, you know?”
“If people don’t want to take the time to squint to get some meaning, well then screw them,” Gabriel answered.
“Just let me show you some options—”
“I’m really not interested in a new sign, Sid.”
For years Channa had tried to convince Gabriel that he should love the man behind the hardware store counter. Channa had made sure there were many opportunities for the two men to interact, including Shabbat meals, casual dinner parties, and a weekly book club meeting at her store. Although she was one of the most perceptive people Gabriel had ever known, Channa had never discovered the truth behind the priest’s ambient hostility toward her husband.
When Channa had succumbed to cancer a year ago, she had taken a significant part of both men with her. But it was what she had left behind that made dealing with Sid so difficult. Sid had become a widower, entitled to the sympathetic nods of friends and strangers alike. Sid had his memories of kisses, long evenings under the blankets, children—all those transformative elements of a married life that made two souls forever something greater by their combination. Gabriel, in stark contrast, had only his books, some photos, and a pathetic dream of a shameful future that had been impossible even when Channa was alive.
“I will drop the subject… for now,” Sid agreed. “I’m heading over to the diner for a late dinner. Would you like to join me?”
Gabriel gave Sid the same answer he had given to the twenty previous offers. “Sorry. Can’t tonight. Too much to do.” Gabriel was getting tired of being made into the bad guy. He just wanted everyone to leave him alone.
Sid sighed at the rejection. “You know, Channa would have—”
“Channa’s gone, Sidney,” Gabriel snapped. He regretted the words as soon as he’d said them.
Sid chewed his lower lip as his eyes became wet. “Of this fact, Father, I assure you I am well aware.” Sid turned away.
“Sid, wait! I’m sorry. That was—”
Sid ignored him and continued down the street.
“I’m sorry!” Gabriel called after him.
Sid either didn’t hear him or didn’t care.
Gabriel punched the church sign and all of his carefully placed lettering fell to the bottom except for one T and one L.
14
The rain was punishing by the time Sam and Beth left the diner. Neither carried an umbrella, although it was the type of city rain that quickly made such devices useless. Beth jumped on the subway to her mandatory AA meeting and Sam ran back to the shelter, where Nick and her contacts list waited.
Sam was at the reception desk working the phones even before she dried herself. She first called people she knew at the other animal shelters in Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island, and the Bronx. They were all fourteen-day kill centers—“no exceptions.” Then she tried the emergency numbers at the suburban shelters in Westchester, Nassau, Rockland, and Suffolk. The few that were no-kill were already overfilled and not accepting any transfers. Her contacts in the animal rescue world were hugely sympathetic about her situation but entirely unhelpful. Too many lost, abused, and abandoned dogs and too few willing and able hearts.
After ninety frustrating minutes on the phone, Sam lowered her head to the desktop. After ninety-five minutes she was banging her head on it to the refrain of “Stupid… stupid… stupid,” while Nick looked on curiously. Stupid because somehow she had convinced herself that things were going to be OK when in reality she had known beyond any reasonable degree of doubt that things never turned out that way. Stupid because she had assumed that someone—at least just one person—would care as much about her dogs as she did. Worst of all, stupid because she had totally ignored the rule of “Sam’s Razor”—when
things go wrong, and they always do, animals are the first to take it in the neck.
She might have gone on smacking her head until she drew blood, but the loud knock on the front door startled her. Nick growled and took a protective position in front of the desk.
Sam checked her watch—9:35—and reached for the baseball bat leaning against the wall. At this hour and in this neighborhood, it could be the police looking for help with an injured stray, a junkie looking to score drugs, or just a drunk banging on the wrong door. She had dealt with all of those situations more than once.
Sam crept to the door with the bat in her hand. The banging became more insistent, almost panicked. She was a few seconds away from calling Kendall, but didn’t want to appear like a wuss, so she slowly lifted the blinds covering the closest window for a peek.
A face suddenly pressed against the window, the features distorted by the glass and the rain. In her exhausted state, Sam thought of the last stupid scary movie she’d watched on Netflix. Her heart raced in the face of the obvious fight-or-flight scenario. Nick snarled and lunged forward.
“Dr. Lewis?” the deep voice called over the rain. “Can I come in, please?”
At least it was polite. “We’re closed.”
“Yeah, I can see that. And in thirty days I know you’ll be closed for good.”
That answer threw her. “Who are you?”
“I’m the bastard who’s shutting you down. My name is Tom Walden. I’m the assistant deputy mayor.” He held up his identification card to the window. “I just want to talk to you.”
“That’s why I have a lawyer.” Had a lawyer, she mentally corrected herself.
“Yeah. We’ve done that. I was hoping we could maybe talk like rational people.”
“This is still my place for thirty days.”
“I’m asking, Dr. Lewis, not demanding. But you really don’t have anything more to lose.”
Sam figured he was right about that. “OK. But I’ve got a mean dog right next to me. He’s very protective.”
“I’m really wet and I actually like dogs. I’ll take my chances.”
Sam unlocked the door and let the man in. He shook his umbrella out onto the sidewalk and entered.
Tom Walden looked tall, wet, and very tired. He had a mop of black hair that hung damp in his eyes. Sam guessed he was a few years older than she was, but that was hard to tell between the dripping water and her seething anger.
Nick eyed him warily, but Tom immediately dropped to a knee and let the dog sniff him. “Who’s this beautiful guy?”
“His name is Nick, and I’d be careful.”
“Who’s a good boy? Nicky’s a good boy.” Tom said these words with just the right tone and pitch so that Nick finally wagged his tail. Tom rewarded the dog with a rub on the ears and a scratch under his chin, all the while repeating, “Such a good boy.” Nick glanced back at Sam for approval, but something about her demeanor must have translated into the word traitor in canine because Nick guiltily slunk back to her side.
Tom rose. “Well this is awkward, right?” There was a self-conscious boyishness to him. Sam assumed it was all an act and found it instantly irritating.
“What are you doing here, Mr.…?”
“Walden. Tom Walden. I would offer you my hand, but I’m assuming you wouldn’t take it.”
“You would be correct, sir.”
“Your dog seemed to be OK with me.”
“My dog drinks from the toilet. We have different standards. Are you here to gloat? Is that what assistant deputy mayors do in their spare time these days?”
“Actually, no. They try to save the lives of little girls and boys.”
“How do you do that? By shutting down shelters and killing old dogs?”
“This isn’t about the shelter… at least not directly. I’m here because I need your help.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“I wish.”
“This is absurd on so many levels.” Sam made a point of looking around the room. “You have a camera hidden here somewhere? This video is going on the ‘Practical Jokes in Seriously Poor Taste’ blog?”
“No joke. Here’s the deal. I’m just going to be straight with you.”
Sam couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “I have no doubt.”
“The Riverside Virus is spreading. The CDC has hit a roadblock in its investigation and the state agencies are, well… not as far along as the mayor would like.”
“You do realize that I am assuming everything you are telling me at this point is a lie, right?”
“A kid died from the virus. That’s not a lie. Another kid probably won’t make it through the night. Also not a lie. Four new cases reported. Not a lie.”
When put that way, the virus was no longer abstract; Sam thought of dark dirt holes surrounded by families in unimaginable despair. “What do you want?”
“The city needs a consultant to work with us. Someone who can give us some independent advice about handling this situation without—how can I put this?—other agendas. We need someone of our own.”
“Let the CDC do its job. I’m sure they have the best people on it.”
“The fact is that the CDC doesn’t have the best person to put on it,” Tom said. “I’m here because the city needs you.”
“Needs me? Me?” Sam scoffed. “Now I know you’re full of shit. I’m just a vet. I’m not even a zoonotic virologist like—” The realization suddenly hit her. “You bastard!” Nick stood at her tone. Sam’s entire body shook with rage. “The thirty-day notice… telling Bill he couldn’t take my dogs? And now you just stroll in because you happen to need this favor?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Bill was right: this is personal, but it isn’t about the appeal at all, is it? You set me up.”
“You’ve got it wrong. The decision to close the shelter was made over a year ago. You brought the timing on yourself. And I had nothing to do with the decision about the transfer to the East Side shelter.”
“Then why do you know about it?”
“I was briefed. That’s all.”
“So this is all a happy coincidence. Right? Go peddle your bullshit somewhere else, Walden. I’m not buying. You’re just an extortionist.”
“You don’t need to believe me. Kids will still die whether you believe me or not. I’ve been to the hospital. I’ve seen the children… I’ve seen what the virus is doing… what it can do. We need your help and I’ve been sent here to get it.”
Sam thought that Walden really could do the “genuine” thing well. But she had seen better performances. “I can’t help you.”
“He’s one of the world’s leading authorities on responding to zoonotic illness in urban environments. He was the leader in the Legionnaire’s disease investigation. He is credited with preventing a SARS epidemic in this country. He has worked on the creation of innumerable vaccines for animal-borne illnesses. He—”
“I know exactly what he’s done. I’ve lived through it.”
“OK, so I get he wasn’t Dad of the Year, but this is bigger than your family issues.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re right. I don’t. All I know is that you two were—what’s the polite word for it?—‘estranged’ at one point.”
“So now you’ve been looking into my family? You really have no boundaries, do you?”
“Very few when it comes to saving kids.”
“If you know so much, then you know you’re talking to the wrong person. Why don’t you just go and ask him? Call Cornell yourself.”
Tom frowned at that answer. “He’s not at Cornell anymore.”
“You’re wrong. He’d never leave Cornell. That place was his life and he’s got nothing else now. He’s just playing hard to get. Big egos. I’m sure you know how that is.”
“He’s not there anymore. Left. Gave up his tenure and left.”
“He must be at some other vet school then. He didn
’t just disappear.”
“Actually he did. He’s completely off the grid. No schools, no publications, no active research grants. No one can find him. That’s why I came to you. I thought you might at least know where he is.”
“Not a clue. Of all people, why would you think I’d know?”
“Because you are still his only child. In my experience—”
“I don’t really give a rat’s ass about your experience, Walden.”
“May I be blunt with you?”
“Is blunt different than straight?”
Tom ignored the jab. “It’s just very important that I reach him and get him involved in this before… um… well, as soon as possible. If you help me secure his assistance, I can get you another thirty days on the lease. That will give you more time to find homes—”
“Thirty days is meaningless to the crowd I need to place.”
“That’s the best I can do. I don’t have authority for anything more, and even that’s pushing it.”
“I said no. Your little setup isn’t going to work. I’ll find homes for my dogs. Are we done now?”
Tom took out a business card and placed it on the reception table. “This has work and cell. Call me if you change your mind. Whatever you might think of me, I promise you I’m trying to do the best for those kids.”
“I don’t believe you even a little.”
“Wow. Someone really must have done a number on you to allow you to believe I would lie about saving kids.”
“I sorta find it hard to trust that someone who is so willing to kill a bunch of dogs for a little extra city revenue has such a golden heart.”
“That’s not—”
“But even if I did believe you, I couldn’t help you. I didn’t even know my father left Cornell. If you can’t find him with your vast resources, I certainly can’t. Now if you don’t mind, I need to get back to doing what I can do to save my dogs in the limited time that I’ve still got.”
Tom raised his hands in defeat and walked out of the shelter into the rain.
Wait! she wanted to yell as she watched him go. Wait until I can find someone to tell me I’m making the right decision. Wait until I know for certain that I can’t help those kids. Wait until the soundtrack kicks in and I can hear whether the music is sad or upbeat and full of promise. At least wait until I really know you are full of shit, Tom Walden, because the thought that you are telling me the truth is too overwhelming to bear.
Just Life Page 7