Eleven
Page 9
“Bobby always had a thing for planes. We used to build them together when he was a kid. We’d go up to the Palisades and fly them off the bluffs.”
Alex walked slowly through the garage, staring up at the planes overhead.
“Sikorsky Flying Boat. P-51 Mustang. That’s a Tiger Moth.”
Mac was impressed. “You know your planes.”
“I love planes,” Alex said simply.
Mac laughed. “Mrs. Mac hated them! When Bobby moved to the city, she told me to clear out the planes so she could park her car in here. I told her the only thing I’d be clearing out was her side of the bed. Then she called me a big fat loser, and I called her a tight-lipped biddy. That’s when she threw a skillet at my head.”
“Her?” Alex glanced at the house, with the frail little woman inside.
“She was a corker,” Mac explained.
“Did it hurt?”
“Only my feelings.” Mac smiled at the memory. “I ducked. The wall didn’t make out so good.”
“Does she still…um….”
“Still what? Remember me?”
“Hate you.”
Mac laughed. “She doesn’t hate me! Never did. She’s always loved me, and I love her right back.”
“But she called you a big fat loser!”
“Listen to me, son. You can be mad at someone and still love ’em.” Mac looked over to make sure Alex was listening. “Even when you say things you don’t mean.”
Alex thought of what he’d said to his dad. He hoped Mac was right.
Mac reached out to the nearest plane and spun the propeller.
“Hey. Wanna fly one?”
Out on the street, Mac guided the little gas-powered plane through a series of complicated aerial maneuvers. He did barrel rolls and wing-over-wing spins and even flew the plane straight down the street above their heads, inverted, then landed smoothly and taxied the plane right back to where they stood.
He held the controls out to Alex. “Your turn,” he grinned.
Alex froze. He’d logged tons of hours on Screaming Eagles IV, but this was real. What if he messed up and wrecked Bobby’s plane?
Mac leaned over to him. “Tower to Alex.”
Alex came to. “A-Dawg.”
“A dog?”
“It’s my call sign.”
Mac nodded and put the remote control into Alex’s hand. “Tower to A-Dawg. You’re cleared for take-off.”
Alex throttled forward. The plane bumped along the pavement. He pulled back on the yoke. The plane lifted its nose and rose into the air. He trimmed the flaps.
The plane went into a nose-dive.
Mac never flinched. He reached over and flicked a lever to right the plane, then stayed next to Alex’s side. Before long, Alex’s flight-sim training kicked in, the wobbly plane straightened out, and he sent it circling overhead, soaring straight and true.
When it came time to land, Mac stood back and let him have the controls. Alex justified his vote of confidence with a picture-perfect one-touch landing. He gave the plane just enough juice to cruise to a stop and turn a 180 right at Mac’s feet.
“Nice flying, A-Dawg.”
“This is so much better than video,” Alex grinned.
He stretched his arms and looked around and was surprised to see how late it had gotten. The shadows were getting longer, and the light was starting to fade in the east. He’d been so absorbed in flying that he’d even forgotten to be worried.
“Thanks, Mr. Mac.”
“For what?”
Alex shrugged.
“My pleasure, son.”
“I better get going.”
“Already? You’re welcome to wait here. You don’t take up much room.”
“I promised I’d get Nunu home.” Alex checked the time on his cell phone. “Six hours ago.”
Mac sighed. “I understand,” he said quietly.
Mac bent over to pick up the plane. Alex could tell he was disappointed. For a while, they’d been able to forget their troubles and just have fun, and neither of them wanted it to end just yet. As Mac stood up with the plane, Alex put a hand on his arm.
“One more?”
Mac broke into a broad smile.
The model aircraft sped down the street for one last run. Then with a dip of the flaps, the wheels left the ground, and Alex shaded his eyes and stared up into the sky as the little plane found the wind and began a slow, steady climb.
CHAPTER 34
The Man in the White Shirt
6:02 p.m.
The Man in the White Shirt saw it first, streaking in from the northwest. He watched it bank sharply and head straight for them. Within seconds, people around him saw it, and before long, everyone on the bridge had turned to look.
An anxious murmur ran through the crowd.
A woman beside him gave a frightened gasp. “Oh no,” she whispered.
The Man in the White Shirt put a comforting hand on her elbow.
“It’s okay,” he reassured her. “It’s an F-15. It’s one of ours.”
The needle-nosed jet rocketed past, twin engines screaming. The roar was deafening. The woman threw her hands over her ears. They watched as it flew straight down the length of the island, so low it seemed to barely skim the tops of the skyscrapers.
As it cleared the tip of Manhattan and raced out over the harbor, the woman finally breathed a sigh of relief.
“How did you know?” she asked.
“I know planes,” he shrugged.
The woman left him with a grateful nod, then fell back in with the crowd making its way across the George Washington Bridge, the massive suspension bridge connecting Manhattan to New Jersey. Normally, the bridge delivered thousands of cars and trucks into New York every day. Now, all traffic into the island had been blocked; everyone on the bridge was headed away—headed home.
The Man in the White Shirt lingered a moment on the bridge, staring after the plane as it continued on beyond the skyline, dragging a white vapor line behind it like a string. It was the first plane he’d seen all day, and he couldn’t take his eyes off it. He watched as it receded into the distance, growing smaller and smaller until it seemed to just float there, frozen in place, like a model plane hanging from a wire.
Just like home, he thought. He felt a twinge of guilt; he had no business staring at planes when the ones who depended on him were still waiting.
He turned away and continued his long march home.
CHAPTER 35
Faces
6:37 p.m.
Alex stared out the bus window, searching the faces on the street. He was looking for his father, hoping to spot him in the crowd, making his way home. He knew it was a long shot. Right now, his dad could be anywhere.
Even at Ground Zero.
He couldn’t stop thinking about it: the planes hitting; the billowing smoke; the towers as they fell. He closed his eyes, but that only made it worse. The fireball. The smoke. The collapse. Over and over on a constant loop in his brain.
He blinked and wiped a tear off his cheek.
He heard sniffling and looked around. He wasn’t the only one on the bus crying quietly.
Something cool and wet brushed his hand. It was Radar, licking the salty drop off his fingers. Alex gazed down at Radar.
Greatest. Dog. Ever.
When Alex looked back up, he caught eyes with a woman across the aisle. She wore a hotel maid’s uniform, gray with a white collar. Her shoulders were hunched, her brow creased. But when her gaze connected with Alex’s, her eyes went soft, and she gave him a tiny smile.
Alex looked around at the other passengers. He and Nunu rode the bus all the time, and he was used to seeing what they called “bus face,” the blank stare most riders wore to avoid making eye contact with the people around them. He sometimes played a game with Nunu where they’d each put on their best bus face and see who could hold it the longest, staring ahead like wide-eyed zombies until one of them (usually Nunu) lost it and got the giggles.
But today was different. Everyone looked kind of sad; some kept their gaze on the floor, others watched intently out the window. But there was no sign of bus face anywhere. Then it happened again: he caught eyes with a man in a suit; the man nodded and gave him a little smile. Incredible. Four times in one day. And that didn’t even count the bus driver, who didn’t give him any trouble about bringing Radar on board.
Alex felt a tap on his shoulder and jerked around, startled. It was the lady in the seat behind him, a middle-aged Hispanic woman in a flowered dress. She was holding up his Gameboy.
“It fell out of your bag.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
She gave him a kind smile and turned away.
That makes five, Alex thought to himself.
Nunu watched him put away the Gameboy and then went back to reading the picture book in her lap. Alex turned back to the window. Down a side street, he saw a boy about his age burst out his front door, sprint down the sidewalk, and jump into the arms of a man getting out of a car.
Alex watched for as long as he could, until the bus went through a short tunnel. For a brief moment, there was nothing but darkness beyond the window, and Alex’s face was suddenly reflected back to him in the glass.
He saw the wet streak on his cheek and looked away, embarrassed.
The bus pulled over at the next stop. Radar stiffened, back straight, ears pricked. He growled.
Alex followed Radar’s eyes: it was Calvin, one of Jordan’s goons, coming down the aisle. Alex sat up. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t feel scared. Something was different about Calvin. Then it hit him: Calvin wasn’t smirking or cracking his knuckles or trying to act tough. He just looked like a regular kid.
Calvin froze when he spotted Alex. Alex stared back. Calvin broke his gaze and looked away, then down at Radar, whose bandaged ear twitched back and forth.
“Uhhh…he okay?”
“Yeah.”
Calvin shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes on the floor.
“We didn’t mean to hurt him.”
Alex shook his head.
“Yes, you did.”
“Yeah.” Calvin nodded. “Sorry.”
Seriously? thought Alex. An apology? From Calvin? He considered pinching himself to see if he was dreaming, but he played it cool and just nodded.
Then Calvin surprised him again. “Jordan’s a jerk sometimes.”
“All the time.”
“Yeah.”
Alex noticed a purplish bruise on Calvin’s cheek and remembered something from earlier that day. Just before Jordan threw the bottle, Alex saw him take a swing at Calvin and shove him aside. A completely crazy thought occurred to Alex: had Calvin been trying to stop Jordan from throwing the bottle?
Alex pointed at Calvin’s cheek. “Jordan give you that?”
Calvin was silent a long time. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “I, uh, tried…” said Calvin, his voice trailing off.
Amazing.
“Why do you hang out with him?” asked Alex.
Calvin shrugged. “Who else am I gonna hang out with?”
Alex knew it was true. He studied Calvin’s face. Calvin’s gaze was still glued to the floor; he couldn’t look Alex in the eye. Both of them were unsure what the next move should be. They might’ve stayed that way all night if Alex hadn’t suddenly noticed the street signs outside. He reached over and yanked the bell cord, then nudged Nunu, who put away her picture book.
“My stop,” said Alex.
Calvin stepped aside to let them pass.
“See you tomorrow, I guess,” said Calvin.
Alex shrugged. “Whatever.” Then something inside him made him stop. He didn’t like the way that sounded. He turned back towards Calvin.
“Hey, Calvin. Your family okay? After...you know….”
Calvin looked surprised; then he nodded. “Yeah.”
Alex hustled Radar and Nunu to the door while Calvin continued down the aisle. Halfway to the back, Calvin turned around and called to Alex.
“What about yours?”
But Alex was already gone. The doors closed with a hiss, and the bus moved on.
CHAPTER 36
The Man in the White Shirt
7:12 p.m.
The Man in the White Shirt picked up as his pace as he saw the buses lined up in the commuter lot, engines idling at a low rumble. He walked down the row until he found the one he was looking for: Jersey City. Home.
But as the doors to the bus hissed open, the Man in the White Shirt held back.
Next to the parking lot stood a pay phone, with twenty people waiting to use it.
He’d been trying to call home all day but hadn’t been able to get through. He was anxious to reach his family, to let them know he was okay.
Passengers jostled past him and climbed onto the bus, eager to get home. The Man in the White Shirt stood there. He’d been moving all day, on the run, never stopping. Now he was paralyzed, unable to make up his mind.
“You comin’?” the bus driver asked sharply. He sounded impatient and tired. It had been a long day for him, too.
The Man in the White Shirt looked from the bus to the pay phone.
“On or off, mack. I ain’t got all night.”
The Man in the White Shirt made up his mind. He headed for the phone. There would be more buses.
“STOP THE BUS!”
The Man in the White Shirt saw an older, heavyset woman limping towards him and waving her arms like a broken windmill. He turned and sprinted after the bus, which had just edged away from the curb. He caught up with it and smacked his palm on the door. The bus jerked to a halt. The door flung open, nearly hitting him in the face.
“Wait,” he told the driver.
The bus driver scowled. But he waited.
“Thank you,” the limping woman gasped, out of breath, as the Man in the White Shirt boosted her up the bus steps and helped her down the aisle to an empty row.
The instant she was settled, the bus lurched and pulled away. The Man in the White Shirt staggered and turned to glare at the driver, who shot him a challenging look in the mirror. The Man in the White Shirt felt the blood rise into his face. After all he’d been through, why should he have to put up with this jerk?
But then he took a deep breath, exhaled, and settled into an empty row. He’d kept it together this far; no reason to lose it now. The phone call would have to wait. He sat back, closed his eyes, and let the bus carry him south.
CHAPTER 37
Sunshine
7:12 p.m.
The sun was just going down as Alex turned the corner onto his block. By the time he reached his front door, his legs were quivering and his arms were about to fall off. Nunu had completely run out of steam a half block from the bus stop, so Alex carried her the rest of the way home. With his backpack on his back and Nunu in his arms in front like a papoose, he looked like an apple with legs.
Radar trotted beside them carrying Nunu’s backpack, the handle clenched in his teeth, always careful to keep his head up so it wouldn’t scrape the ground.
As Alex fished in his pocket for his key, he noticed little details around the porch: the broken front step where he’d fallen and knocked out his first baby tooth; the loose rail Nunu loved to climb on to jump into her daddy’s arms; the bushes in front where he and Dougie and Kwan had piled up used Christmas trees last winter to make a fort. He noticed the peeling paint on the shutters that his dad had repainted just last year, and the brown stain on the driveway where his mom had tried to refinish an old table. He took it all in, the big elm tree and the dying rosebush, the freshly mowed lawn and the missing shingle by the chimney, the darkened windows and the warm glow of the porch light.
It felt good to be home.
Nunu roused as he lowered her to the ground. She rubbed her eyes with one hand and her nose with the other.
Alex eased the front door open. Inside, the house was dark.
“Anybody home?” he called out.
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Silence answered back.
Nunu took her backpack from Radar and dropped it in the front hall. “Where’s Mommy and Daddy?” she asked.
“Not home yet.”
Alex was halfway to the bathroom when he realized that Radar hadn’t followed them inside. The dog hung back on the porch, skittish and unsure of himself. He kept approaching the doorway and then jumping back. Alex waved him in.
“C’mon, boy. That’s it.”
Radar whimpered and paced back and forth but wouldn’t come in.
Nunu reappeared. “What’s the matter with him?”
Alex thought about the house that Radar came from, or what was left of it. No wonder the dog didn’t trust houses.
“He’s just a little scared,” said Alex.
“There’s nothing to be scared of, Radar,” Nunu said. Then she walked onto the porch, put her hands on his butt, and gave him a great big push.
Radar shot through the door and skidded across the floor. While he scrambled to get his footing, Alex quickly shut the door behind Nunu so he couldn’t run away. Radar stood stock still, nose twitching as he sniffed the air.
“What do you think?” asked Alex.
Radar gave one loud bark of approval, whacked the wall three times with his tail, then bolted straight for the living room, sniffing everything he passed on the way.
“I think he likes it,” Nunu smiled.
Alex made a beeline for the bathroom because, well, they’d been gone a really long time. When he came back out, Radar had made himself right at home and was stretched out across the big lounge chair in the living room.
“Hey, that’s my dad’s chair. Out.”
Alex motioned for Radar to move. The dog climbed up over the arm and dropped onto the couch.
Nunu flopped down next to him and reached for the remote. Alex realized what would be on every channel that night. He stepped quickly in front of the TV.