The Real Michael Swann

by Bryan Reardon

  From there, her obsession grew. Julia took to investigating the house prices in the neighborhood. Then the taxes, and the school district. With everything she looked up, she hoped to find some silver bullet that might kill the idea. She couldn’t move to Pennsylvania. It was that simple. Until her mind drifted again, and the proverbial picket fences called to her like a siren.

  Things took a turn for the worse when, less than a month later, she got a call from Tara.

  “There’s a house going up this weekend. You have to see it. It’s beautiful.”

  “Well,” Julia said, “I’m not sure we’d want to move out of Delaware.”

  “Just come see it.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “I’ll let you know.”

  When Julia told her husband, he looked into her face. After a pause, he nodded. “Let’s go see it.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yup.”

  So that Saturday they crossed the line out of Delaware and came to a stop outside the house on Glen Meadow Drive. It sat on a slight hill with two young maples out front. The sun shined down on the peaked roofline and large, sparkling windows. Even the air seemed to smell fresher, crisper as they got out of the car.

  When she stepped foot into the house, Julia already knew. And every room they looked at felt more and more perfect. At one point, Julia lost Michael as the Realtor talked to her about the Shaker cabinets in the kitchen. She turned and saw him standing on the back porch, hands on the railings, looking out at the fenced-in backyard.

  “Excuse me,” she said.

  He didn’t turn around when she opened the sliding door and approached from behind. So she sidled up next to him.

  “You can’t live in Pennsylvania,” he said before she could say anything.

  She couldn’t, not and keep her job. She had known that all along. And so had he. They also knew that they couldn’t afford to live there on Michael’s salary with the baseball team. It’s funny how so much is left unsaid when the biggest decisions are being made.

  “And you love your job,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I love you and Junior more.”

  “Me, too,” she said, rubbing her belly.

  “Well, then it’s decided. Mitch was talking to me about medical sales. Good money, and they love athletes. He thinks I’d be perfect.”

  She nodded. Though Julia felt a ping of sadness, she knew he was right. And so was she.

  “So?” he added.

  “Let’s go for it,” she said with a smile.

  They put an offer on the house the next morning. It was negotiated and accepted within a day. Inspections followed, and before they could come up for air, Julia and Michael sat at the settlement table across from the owners of what would, in moments, be their new home. The nice couple in their fifties mentioned how much they loved the house and how great a childhood their kids had. Julia and Michael smiled as they signed their mortgage papers. A blink of an eye later, they stood on that same deck, looking out over their new neighborhood, their concerns for the future outweighed by a beautiful setting sun.

  “We did it,” Julia whispered.

  And Michael seemed happy when he nodded and hugged his wife.

  38

  Stupid.”

  It all started with the move, she thought. Julia squeezed the steering wheel as she drove south on the Jersey Turnpike toward exit 6, back home toward Glen Brook Acres and her children. Home. It was perfect, but maybe for someone else. Maybe she, they, needed to redefine the word. The last year had been rocky for them. When Michael got home, they should talk things through. Those moments when she thought she had lost him changed everything. It shifted priorities. Julia knew that nothing would be the same, yet she was okay with that. Almost excited as she exited onto the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

  Once she was home. Once they were both home . . . Julia’s thoughts shifted. Michael should have tried to call her. But maybe he did. Why would he get on a bus to Philadelphia, though? Could he have lost his phone? The woman said he had been injured. Was it bad? How bad?

  Any plans that had started to form in her head had completely vanished. Her grip on the wheel tightened again as her thoughts whirred. She grabbed her phone and, while traveling at over sixty miles per hour, found the number that Marci Simmons had given her. She dialed. When the dispatcher at the station answered, she asked for Marci.

  “This is Dr. Simmons. How can I help you?”

  “Uh . . . hi, this is Julia Swann. We spoke this . . . last night.”

  The therapist paused, like she might not remember who Julia was.

  “Mrs. Swann. How are you? Have you heard from your husband?”

  “I did, well, I mean . . .”

  Julia felt inordinately confused. For no discernible reason, something about the conversation itched her worries. Maybe the pauses, or something more.

  “You heard from him?” Dr. Simmons asked.

  “I called . . . and I think he answered.”

  “You spoke to him?”

  “Not . . . The call dropped. I guess cell service is bad right now.”

  “Okay,” Marci said, her tone sounding dismissive to Julia.

  “No, listen. I went back to the city . . . and put up flyers. Someone called me. They said Michael was in their lobby.”

  Marci cut in. “Sometimes in situations like this, people do, or say, strange things. They—”

  “No,” Julia said. “She had my husband’s name tag from his interview.”

  “His name was on it?” she asked, quickly.

  “Yes. He—”

  “Do you have the address of the building?”

  “No,” Julia said, somewhat frustrated. “I just . . . I wanted to know if you heard anything.” She paused waiting for a response. When it didn’t come, she continued. “And I just . . . He hasn’t called me. I . . . wondered if that was normal?”

  “Are you sure it was really your husband?”

  “He used his credit card,” Julia said.

  “Really?”

  “He bought a ticket on an express bus to Philadelphia. I’ve contacted the police.”

  “So you’ve talked to the authorities already?”

  “Yes,” she said, flustered. “I’m on my way back from New York, but my friend will be at the station when he gets there. I assume the bus will arrive any minute.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes!”

  “And you said you called the authorities there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you for letting us know. I’ll contact you if I hear anything else.”

  Julia’s cheeks burned. “Wait. I called . . . I wanted to ask you what it means. That he just got on a bus . . .”

  “After something like this, survivors can tend to be disoriented. Don’t worry at all. I’m sure the police will handle it. Thank you for calling, Mrs. Swann.”

  Marci Simmons hung up. It wasn’t until that instant that Julia thought she might have heard a strange tone in the woman’s voice. It was easily explainable, though. Her station had to be swamped. So many people commuted across the river into New Jersey. Hundreds had to be in Penn Station. Julia knew that she had been one of what felt like countless people trying to find their loved ones. She also knew that, within the hour, she would.

  Julia pictured Evelyn’s car pulling into the driveway. She could almost see Michael climbing out, and how it would feel as she ran to him, taking him into her arms. So she let anything strange about her conversation with the therapist go. Now that she knew where Michael was, she suddenly craved more information about what happened.

  She turned on the radio.

  “. . . large trucks still being stopped on the turnpike. The Department of Homeland Security recently confirmed earlier reports stating that no biological or chemical agents were used in
the attack. It is believed that the initial bombing injured hundreds, but the subsequent rupture to the gas line near the station caused catastrophic damage to life and property. We go now to Jennifer Hart in Manhattan with a breaking report.”

  A woman with a strong but urgent voice took over. “This is Jennifer Hart reporting outside the mobile headquarters for Homeland Security, just a block from the corner of the heavily damaged Madison Square Garden. I’ve just spoken to an unofficial source inside the department. At this time, the FBI, CIA, and Homeland Security do not feel like this was an attack by foreign terrorists. Once again, this is by no means official, but according to multiple people I’ve spoken to, they are narrowing in on a suspect as we speak. And at this time, they believe that the attack was carried out by one or more American citizens.”

  Just as the original newscaster questioned Jennifer Hart, Julia’s phone rang. It was Evelyn’s number. She fumbled for the button on the wheel to answer the call through the car’s Bluetooth. She found herself out of breath when she finally connected to the call.

  “Hello, Evelyn?”

  “He’s not here,” Evelyn said, her voice cracking.

  “What?”

  “The bus arrived. He’s not on it. The police checked twice.”

  Julia’s heart sank.

  “No, he’s on that bus!”

  “He’s not, Julia . . .”

  “No . . . he has to be.”

  Michael, she thought. Her car slipped out of the right lane. When the front tire ran atop the rumble strip, Julia’s body shook. She could barely breathe. A rasping whisper slipped out from between her thin lips.

  “Something’s horribly wrong.”

  The rumble shook the steering wheel hard enough to snap her out of it. She swerved back into the lane. It took her another mile, however, to realize she was still shaking.

  NOT YOUR FATHER’S COMPANY

  Not long after moving into Glen Brook Acres, Julia stood in her new kitchen arranging coffee cups in a half-filled cabinet. Evan slept in his car seat on the floor. The phone rang and she checked the number. It was Tara. Julia answered the call, thinking her new neighbor was just calling to say hi. Immediately, though, she knew something was wrong.

  “Are you okay?” Tara asked.

  “Um, yeah,” Julia said. “Why?”

  Tara paused. “Oh, I just . . .”

  “What, Tara?”

  “Nothing.”

  Another pause stretched out. Julia’s tone grew sharp. “What?”

  “I just heard . . . about the layoffs.”

  Julia’s stomach flipped. Michael had just started his new job. They had everything riding on his salary at that point. If he got laid off . . .

  “What layoffs?”

  “At DuLac.”

  Julia didn’t even think about her father. Not at first. Instead, all she could think about was Tara’s husband. “Kevin?”

  “Oh, no. He’s fine. But I heard the composites division got hit hard . . . especially the chemists.”

  “Oh,” Julia said. “Oh.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said, distractedly. “I better go.”

  “Okay.”

  As soon as she hung up, Julia called her mother. The phone rang seven or eight times without the machine picking up. So she tried a second time, though the results were the same. Then she called Michael.

  “I think my dad just got laid off,” she said to her husband.

  “Are you serious?”

  “I’m not sure. But, I mean, why would they lay off a fifty-eight-year-old chemist?”

  “That’s crazy. Did you call?”

  “I tried, but no one answered. I think I’ll run over and see if they’re home.”

  “Okay, call me back.”

  “I will, I love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Julia hung up. She looked out the window, feeling disjointed. For just that moment, she felt strangely relieved. Michael was okay. His job was okay. She’d never admit that thought to anyone, but she would always remember it.

  * * *

  —

  Julia rang the door of her childhood home. She would have walked in, but the door was locked. Strangely, her mother’s car was in the driveway. She took a step away from the door and checked out her father’s front garden. As usual, it looked perfectly tended. When the door opened, it startled her.

  “Julia, and my little Evan,” her mother said, opening the screen and putting her hands out for the baby. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hi,” she said. “Just checking on you guys. Everything okay?”

  Her mother’s head tilted. “You heard?”

  That’s when it first hit Julia. As bad as it might sound, up until that moment, she’d thought only of herself and Michael. Seeing her mother’s face, the concern so clear in the creases around her eyes, Julia realized that everything was not okay.

  “Did he . . . ?”

  Julia couldn’t say the words, but her mother knew what she asked. She nodded.

  “Crap,” Julia said. “Are you guys going to be okay?”

  “Why don’t you come in?” her mom said.

  Julia barked out an awkward laugh. She hadn’t realized that they were having the conversation on the front porch. She walked through the door as her mother held it open with her foot, and the two women walked into the kitchen.

  “Do you want some coffee?” her mom asked. “I just brewed a pot.”

  “Sure,” Julia said. “Is Dad here?”

  “No.”

  Julia waited, but her mother didn’t add any more detail. So she left Kate cooing at Evan and poured herself a cup. She grabbed her mom’s off the counter and brought it with her back to the table.

  “Is he at work?”

  Her mother shook her head. “No.”

  “Where is he?”

  She shrugged. “Out.”

  “Oh.”

  They sipped their coffee in silence for a moment. Julia had no idea what to say. Her whole life, her father had been a workaholic. His brain worked like a chemist’s, so his penchant to remain working 24/7 never seemed all that odd. To be honest, she’d had a few conversations with her mother already about how retirement might not work out for them. But they had just laughed it off, really.

  “Is he okay?” Julia asked, breaking the stillness.

  Her mother shrugged again. “I don’t really know. He found out today. He had a sense it might be coming, but he wouldn’t talk about it. This morning, they came into his office, handed him a folder, and told him he could leave right then. He called, but I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “Should we look for him?” Julia asked.

  “No,” her mom said.

  Julia blinked. Something seemed off. She’d never seen her mother like that before. She seemed detached. Or maybe resolved. It unnerved her.

  “Should I stay until he gets home?”

  “I’d love the visit,” her mother said. “But I don’t know when he’ll be home.”

  “And you don’t know where he is?” Julia asked.

  “No,” her mom said, looking at Evan. “I don’t.”

  * * *

  —

  An hour later, the front door opened. Julia stood, but her mother remained sitting, watching Evan in the bouncy seat she had found at their neighborhood garage sale. Her father walked into the kitchen, his cheeks a little rosy but otherwise looking like his normal self. He stood straight as the wall with his gray hair cut close and his broad shoulders belying the profession he’d held for over thirty years.

  “Jules, how are you?”

  She hugged him. “Good. Are you okay?”

  He looked into her eyes for a second, and then turned away. “Of course I am.”

  Her f
ather poured himself a cup of coffee and left the room. Julia watched him go. Then she looked at her mother, who said nothing, though the smell of alcohol had been so strong that Julia was sure she had noticed as well. Glancing back in the direction that her father had gone, Julia sensed something far bigger than she expected. And when she turned back around, she found her mother silently crying.

  39

  The rest of the drive passed as if Julia floated through a thick haze. She had spoken to the police, who verified that her husband had bought a ticket for that bus. They told Julia that they would work with Greyhound and the transit police to find out what happened. There would be surveillance video, eye witnesses. All she could do after that was wait and drive.

  She turned onto her street and, for a second, thought she had taken a wrong turn. Six cars lined the curb in front of her house. As she pulled up, Tara walked out the front door and down the walk to the driveway. When she saw Julia, she hesitated, but then rushed to meet her. Her friend’s hug wrapped Julia up before she could fully get herself out of the car.

  “Are you okay?” Tara asked.

  Julia nodded.

  Tara seemed agitated. “Did you hear? The CEO of DuLac is dead. She was in the station. They found her body.”

  “What?”

  “My husband called and . . .”

  Julia stared at her. Tara went silent. She began to fidget.

  “Is Evelyn here?” Julia asked.

  “Oh . . . ,” Tara said, stepping away. “She just got back. Lyndsey and Sara May are here, too.”

  Julia felt like crying. “Thank you so much.”

  Tara shook her off. “No. Just focus on you.” Her friend smiled, sheepishly. “We’ll take care of the rest.”

  Evelyn rushed out of the house next. She, too, hugged Julia.

  “It’ll be okay. They’ll find him. He’s out there, Julia. They know that. There’s no doubt. Okay?”