On Tenterhooks

by Greever Williams

None of them spoke again. The flight attendants paraded and demonstrated the aircraft’s safety features. Steve stared out the window, scanning the tarmac for a distraction. Veronica flipped viciously through the pages of an in-flight magazine. Both she and Steve had flown enough times to be able to chant along with the attendant’s voice over the PA system. Martin paid close attention, having only flown occasionally.

  After several minutes, they rolled into line, taxiing for takeoff. Twenty-four minutes after they’d boarded, they were off the ground. Steve settled back into his seat, eyes closed. He was beginning to feel a weight of responsibility to which he was not accustomed. He had started out alone, looking to find answers and a black-and-white resolution. And now two more people were involved.

  He didn’t have a solid plan. In fact, it seemed comical to him that he was on a plane to try to pick up yet another stranger to add to his band of merry wanderers. He had started this thing, so that meant he had to lead the way, right? Every time he turned around, he failed to get answers. The questions were mounting on him at an alarming rate, faster than he could resolve them.

  The argument with Veronica had hit him hard, because he knew she was at least partially correct. The preacher was beginning to be more than a wrinkle in the progress. There was something about him, lurking beneath the reach of the light, like a splinter embedded under the skin. Do you leave it alone, trying to forget it, or do you dig it out with the sharp point of a knife to be sure it was truly gone?

  For someone used to troubleshooting amongst the systematic rules of technology, the nature of this quest was unhinging.

  How far can I take this?

  Two days into the search, and he was already bickering with his companions. Preacher or no preacher, the three of them were in this together. If they didn’t stand together, none of them might ever get any resolution. And to Steve, resolution was all that mattered.

  He looked across the aisle, wondering if he needed to apologize to Veronica. She was already deep into an article, so he left it alone.

  Chapter 29

  The threesome nervously scanned the gate area when they deplaned in San Antonio, but there was no sign of the preacher. Despite the long flight, they had agreed to head directly to Abby’s house, in case the preacher happened to be following them on the next flight. Veronica and Martin collected their bags at the carousel, while Steve rented a car.

  When they walked out of the airport, Martin assumed the role of rear guard, and every few minutes he’d pause and scan the area behind them. There was still no sign of the preacher. As they reached the rental vehicle parking lot, Veronica caught up to Steve.

  “So, any progress on what you’re going to say when we get there?”

  Steve scanned the vehicles, looking for the red SUV he had selected back at the rental desk. He spotted it near the end of their current row and beckoned his traveling companions on.

  “There it is, the red one at the end of the row,” he said, pointing ahead. “No, not really. I guess we’ll try to fill them in with as much as we know and hope they don’t toss us out or call the cops.”

  He popped the lock on the rear hatch, lifted it open and put his bag and Veronica’s in the back. When Martin caught a few minutes later, Steve took his bag and hoisted it into the back as well.

  “Thank you, sir,” said Martin. “No sign of any company back there.”

  “Good,” said Steve, heaving the hatch closed. “Okay, I’ll drive. One of you want to take care of the GPS?” he asked.

  “I can do it,” said Martin. “I’ve got one back home. Don’t use it much to get around Suffolk. When you grow up in a place, you learn your way around. My daughter got it for me two Christmases ago, so that I’d be sure to have directions to come visit her at college, although she was only about 45 minutes away.”

  There was an awkward pause, as Martin trailed off into silence and memories.

  “Okay,” said Steve, “Martin, take shotgun and plug in the address.”

  He handed Martin the paper with Abby’s home address on it. Martin nodded, and they climbed in. Steve started the engine, and they slowly moved out of the parking lot, following the airport exit signs and the commands issued by the GPS.

  “There’s the hotel that the rent-a-car clerk mentioned,” Steve gestured out the side window. “A good place to stay if we don’t leave tonight.”

  The GPS route took them across the north side of the city onto I-35, and then northeast toward New Braunfels.

  “When we get there, we’ve got to remember that they are still grieving, just like we are,” said Martin. “It hasn’t been that long since their son died. And think about how defensive you were at the beginning of this. We’ll need to tread lightly. They’ve lost a son, and we want to get close to their daughter. We need to be careful.”

  “So how do we do it?” asked Steve. “We’ve been going round and round since we got on the damn plane this morning trying to rehearse this! I’ve still got nothing good to go on.”

  “Let’s try this,” said Veronica. “In advertising, when you are trying to come up with a marketing campaign, the first step is to identify what it is you ultimately want. Once we do that, it may be much easier to work backward to get us a solid first step.”

  “Okay,” said Steve. Martin nodded.

  “Right,” said Veronica, “so what is it that we want from them?”

  “We want to talk to Abigail,” said Steve.

  “We want to talk to her. Okay. But do we want to talk to just her or to her parents too?”

  “You mean ultimately?” asked Martin.

  “Yeah. As in, if things go completely our way, what do we want out of it?”

  “Yeah, alone, I guess,” said Steve.

  “Okay, good,” said Veronica. “So we want her alone with us. And we want her to let down her guard and trust us enough to tell us the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. And, we don’t even know if she has any idea what’s going on.”

  “Yeah,” said Steve.

  “Wow, guys,” said Veronica, sighing. “This is a tall order.”

  “True,” agreed Martin. “However, it was only about 24 hours ago that you thought we were a couple of escapees from the local loony bin.”

  Veronica smiled, “Oh, I still think that, but I am starting to feel more and more like I belong there with you.”

  “I am thinking we just have to roll with it,” Steve said. “I have never been much of a gambler, but I feel like we’re in a spot now where we need to let it ride, at least until we can get something solid to stand on.”

  Martin was impressed. “Well, well, well. Will wonders ever cease, Mr. Skeptic?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, Mr. True Faith,” Steve replied in kind, “but I’ve already seen and heard enough to make me think we’re in for a few more revelations before all is said and done.”

  Martin smiled and clasped Steve’s shoulder.

  “Okay!” said Veronica. “So it’s settled then. We go in with the goal in mind and a plan to have no plan! I love it!”

  They took a few turns off the interstate and arrived at the neighborhood of Santo Karma. Thirty minutes after leaving the airport, Steve pulled the truck up in front of a stucco, two-story home with an immaculately-trimmed lawn. Curved edging and smooth green hedges flowed around the corners of the house. The address stenciled on the mailbox confirmed the GPS’ announcement that they had arrived at their destination. The open garage housed a silver minivan. In the driveway were a black pick-up truck and a purple compact with a Southwestern Texas Tech decal adorning the back window.

  “Well, folks,” said Steve, “this is it. Any last minute suggestions?”

  “Sure! Don’t suck,” said Veronica, patting him on the shoulder.

  “Nice.”

  Steve cut the ignition and surveyed the neighborhood around them. The sun was setting behind the houses across the street from the Nikko’s. Through the truck’s open windows, they heard the distant sound of a lawn
mower. Three houses down, children were playing in a sprinkler on the front lawn. Across the street, an elderly couple walked a tiny black, white and brown fuzzball of a dog. They held hands and chatted as they passed. Steve was reassured to see that so much was still normal, even if he didn’t fall in step with it right now.

  It was as if he were back in grade school. He was at the end of a diving board high above the water. Below him, parents sunbathed, reading their magazines and paperbacks. Lifeguards watched over everyone, securely scanning the water below from their elevated perches. Laughter, splashing, shouts of “Marco” and “Polo” rang in his ears. From down there, the board had not looked this high. The pool was safe. The steps leading up to this platform were safe. But here, the end of the board, was not safe. It was too high and too far out of his control.

  From the pool, his closest friends called to him, encouraging him to jump. But from the line at the base of the platform came a steadily rising tide of shouts.

  Hurry up, chickenbreath!

  Your momma’s calling you home!

  Put on your big girl pants and jump, man!

  He relived those horrible minutes now. He stood on a tiny little bit of chaos, surrounded by infinite normalness. Eventually, he’d made that jump—a splash, a laugh, and an on-with-life whoop when he reached the surface. Same thing here, except he was jumping for two, maybe soon to be three, other people as well. Then again, nobody was forcing them to be here. They’d go with him or they’d climb back down the ladder and take the easy way out. He opted for the jump. It would get him to the “whatever it might be” much faster.

  “Let’s do it.”

  He opened the door and stepped into the cooling San Antonio evening. Veronica and Martin followed him up the stone driveway, past the manicured lawn, across the curved pathway and up to the front door. Steve rang the doorbell and stepped back to join the others.

  From the kitchen, Susan Nikko heard the bell ring. She turned off the faucet and walked through the den to the front door. Peering through the side window, she thought back to the phone call they’d received several days earlier about the mysterious preacher. She saw the three strangers on the sidewalk, but none fit the description of the man who had been asking for Abby at school. The sound of pounding water told her Jack was still in the shower upstairs. She walked back to the den and picked up the cordless phone before she walked back to the door, opened it and asked, “May I help you?”

  “Hi, are you Mrs. Nikko?” queried Steve.

  “Yes,” Susan replied, nodding slightly.

  “Ma’am, my name is Steve Connor. I am from Charlotte, North Carolina. These are my, uh, colleagues: Martin Abingdon from Virginia, and Veronica Ryder from New York City.”

  Martin smiled a “hello,” and Veronica gave a brief, awkward wave.

  “We were hoping we could talk to you and your daughter, Abigail.”

  At the mention of Abby’s name, Susan turned and looked behind her, before stepping out on the porch, pulling the door closed behind her. “I’m sorry. Can you please tell me who you’re with?”

  “Well, it’s very complicated. All of us here recently lost a loved one. Veronica lost her mother; Martin, his daughter; and I lost my wife, Julie. I am very, very sorry for your loss too, Mrs. Nikko. Do you know if Abigail happened to get a letter from a company called Say Goodbye to Me?”

  Susan ignored the question. “I am sorry, but I do not understand you. What is it that I can do for you?”

  “We just want to talk to you, and to Abigail, about what’s going on with us, and see if she is having the same problems we are. We’ve just come from the airport, and if we could have a few minutes of your time, we want to talk with you about the letter, the responses, and things.”

  “I am very sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I do.” Abby pulled the door open from the inside.

  “Abby?” said Susan, clearly confused.

  “I know about the letter,” she said, stepping out onto the porch. She turned and faced Steve and the others. “They answered you too, didn’t they?”

  Steve and Martin nodded.

  “I figured you would show up here.”

  “Abby, what are you talking about?” Susan demanded, obviously concerned.

  “Mom, look, you have to let them in. I need to talk to them. It’s fine. Trust me.”

  Susan turned to Steve. “Clearly, my daughter knows what you are talking about, but I don’t. I don’t think—”

  Abby interrupted. “Mom, I am sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I wasn’t sure how to explain it.”

  Susan turned back to her daughter. “Explain what, Abby?” Fear now replaced her concern and made Susan’s voice tremble at the edges. “I don’t understand what’s going on. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. What is it that you have to ‘explain’?”

  “Mom, please believe me. I didn’t mean to keep it from you and Dad. There is something going on and I —I didn’t know how to explain it. But they—”

  “But they are good enough to explain it to?” Her voice was raising in pitch the way it always did on the rare occasions when Abby made her angry.

  Steve stepped back from the argument.

  “You want to tell them what is going on,” Susan asked, pointing to the porch, “instead of me?”

  “No, Mom,” Abby replied, tears welling. “Please. I don’t need to explain it to them. They already understand it, probably better than I do. I promise. Let them in, and we can all sit down and talk about it. They can fill in the gaps, and then everything will make sense.”

  Susan marveled at the way in which Abby could so gracefully disarm the situation and lead it to a brighter place. Once again, her 18-year-old daughter was teaching her about the value of communication and the power of serenity. She reached out and pulled the girl to her, all too aware that the days of lingering in a hug with Mom in the front foyer were numbered for Abby, and therefore for her. She squeezed harder, trying to push the knowing ache out of her heart.

  “What’s going on out here?”

  In the doorway stood an imposing man whom Steve took to be Abby’s father based on the resemblance to the picture in Zack’s obituary. They had the same strong jaw, the prominent forehead and the close-cropped blond hair. They also shared the wide shoulders and deep barrel chest of a long time athlete. This man’s muscular bare arms and face were well-tanned, and his sturdy frame all but blocked the doorway. To Steve, his expression was too hard to read. He could be mad or scared. Regardless, he was imposing.

  “Dad,” Abby said. “These are my, uh, friends, from out of town.”

  “Jack,” said Susan. She let go of Abby and stood in front of her husband. “It’s okay.”

  “Hello, sir. My name is Steve Connor.” Steve stepped forward, hand extended.

  Jack looked at Susan and then back at Steve. He accepted Steve’s hand, and Steve felt the rough calluses across his palm. The grip was strong. Steve did his best to return the grip with equal force. He knew this man was used to dealing eye-to-eye and that, for him, a handshake was a bond.

  “Jack Nikko.” He looked at Susan and Abby. “Can someone please fill me in?”

  “Jack, we need to invite them in. Apparently Abby has something to tell us.”

  Jack looked at Steve and his companions with a cool gaze.

  “Come on, Dad!” said Abby. When she pulled on Jack’s arm, he stepped out onto the porch to let Steve pass, before shaking hands with Martin and Veronica as well.

  Susan and Abby gestured them into the back of the home, past the stairs and a wall of photos of their family. As they shuffled down the hall, Steve saw several pictures of Zack. He tried to avoid looking at them. It made him feel like he was prying into a family’s private sadness. He recalled Martin’s warning about their grief.

  They rounded the corner into a large great room. On one side was a stonework fireplace with a massive, rough-hewn beam for a mantle. The back wall was glass an
d looked out onto more of the same stonework set into a patio with wrought iron furniture. The floor was hardwood with wide dark planks, most of them covered by a plush tan rug. Two oversized couches and a matching loveseat of cream-colored crushed leather occupied the middle of the room. Abby and her mother stood to the side as they entered.

  Abby smiled and gave them a small victory wave, a trace of embarrassment crossing her face. Jack gestured toward the couches in the middle of the room.

  “Please, have a seat.”

  Steve and Veronica sat on the loveseat and Martin took to a chair next to them. On the opposite side of the table, Abby sat on the couch, flanked by her parents.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?” asked Susan.