“It’s an Old Fashioned. Old, as in the past should be left where it is, and fashioned, as in a grown man should never wear an aqua suit.”
“When exactly did you start using metaphors to make your points?”
“Don’t let Fernandez get under your skin.”
I nodded, but it was easier said than done. “Christina is looking for you,” I changed the subject.
He sighed, and swigged the remainder of his drink. “She’s a great kid, but she doesn’t understand the boxes. At this rate, she’ll be burned out before she hits twenty-five.”
Thanks to a rigid upbringing by his military father, Carter could separate the different aspects of life into boxes. He understood when it was time to work, and when it was time to let down his hair and have fun—or in his case, when to shine his bald dome and style the goatee that hung halfway down the front of his neck.
“I’m getting too old for this shit,” he continued. “Maybe it’s time to get out while I’ve still got two functioning legs.”
Thoughts of Byron were everywhere tonight, to the point that I think it was making us all say and do things we didn’t mean. But I did recall broaching the subject of leaving the business last summer, and Carter responding with something along the lines of, “What’s wrong, sweetheart, too rough being a rich television star?”
I smiled, pushing my luck. “Maybe you could become Kate’s manager, and you could take a, dare I say, more submissive role?”
He shook his head in disbelief. “Last I checked, you’re the one who gave up being Batman to be Gwen’s Robin. And besides, I’ve got a few things to take care of before I check out.”
After the Officer Jones ordeal, Batman was kind of a bad subject, so I moved on, “Speaking of Gwen, have you seen her? She came here to get a drink some time ago.”
“She was, but then she and Kate went to go do some girly stuff or something like that.”
A vision of Gwen in full leather, whip in hand, popped into my head. I pushed it out of my mind, somewhat reluctantly.
“Tonight’s goal is to raise money, not drink up all the profits,” came a familiar, high-pitched voice from behind us.
When I turned, my vision instinctively went to where Byron’s face would be if he were standing. It always made me feel like crap when I did it, until my eyes would descend to his chair and see his optimistic smile. Feeling sorry for himself wasn’t even in his vocabulary.
“You want a drink?” Carter greeted Byron.
“No—last time I had that stuff you drink, I had to chase it with a fire extinguisher. And besides, I got to give a speech later, and I don’t want to be falling-down drunk.”
He laughed at what he believed to be a joke, but it really wasn’t funny.
“I like this place,” I showed off my subject-changing skills once more. “You must be a pretty big deal to be able to book it on short notice.”
Byron smiled. “I had to promise them that JP Warner would hold his wedding here. It will be the event of the year.”
“You’re the one who’s engaged,” I said. “Not to mention, I think hosting the nuptials of Coldblooded Carter and Mistress Kate is their true motivation. It will be the spectacle of all spectacles.”
“I wouldn’t book JP’s wedding just yet. He seems to be in the doghouse,” Carter said, showing off his usual perception.
It didn’t sway Byron. “As my college coach used to say, confidence comes from your history, and history tells me that JP and Gwen will always find a way. It will take a lot more than an embarrassing video on Celebrity Meltdown to get between them.”
Has everyone seen that video?
Two women entered the bar—Byron’s fiancée, Tonya, and his mother, affectionately known as Mama Jasper.
When I rose off my barstool to greet them, Mama came at me like a blitzing linebacker. The politically correct term to describe her would be plus-sized, but luckily her heart was equally large, and forgiving. Not only did she not hold me responsible for what happened to her son, but she wrapped her arms around me in full support. And when Mama Jasper wraps you in her arms, breathing becomes a predicament, as it was tonight when she encased me in a big bear hug that squished the air out of my lungs.
Tonya followed with a much softer embrace, as one might expect from a former Miss South Carolina. She and Byron had been dating since college, so the engagement had been a long time coming. It was shaping up to be a big year for the Jasper family—not only would there be a wedding, but Byron had been inducted into the Charleston Hall of Fame. The ceremony was scheduled for April, and we all planned to be there for it. Not that Mama Jasper would allow us to miss it, even if we wanted to.
Mama announced, “I came to inform you that dinner is being served, and they can’t start without the guest of honor.”
This got Carter to his feet. “My work is never done.”
“I think she was referring to Byron,” I said.
Mama let out a hearty laugh. “I was actually talking about myself, and I can’t be in the dining room if I’m having to chase down you three, now can I?”
She was not a woman to be argued with. I moved behind Byron’s chair and began pushing—Carter walked beside the chair like he was Secret Service. The three of us together again on assignment—for a moment it felt like old times.
Chapter 8
Through the skylight above the dining room, I viewed the light snow that was still falling. And when I took my seat next to Gwen, I took note that it was also a little frosty inside.
She pulled her attention away from her conversation with Mistress Kate to acknowledge me, “I thought you were planning to off yourself?”
“Why does everyone sound so disappointed?”
“Carter is the one who’s upset, he had dibs on your meal.”
“For the record, the only woman I would ever leap to my death for is you.”
“Is that an offer, or are you just speaking in hypotheticals?”
“I acted like an ass today … I get it. If I could take it back I would.”
“Don’t make this about you, JP—it’s Byron’s night.”
And on that note, our conversation ended … for now. The awkward silence hovered until the food was served. The meal had been delayed, mostly because the foundation had to hire a taster to check the safety of the food. This was due to the recent Huddled Masses killings, which were targeting the wealthy; a group that made up most of tonight’s guest list.
It began with a shooting at a mall in Arizona just before Christmas, followed by a fatal poisoning at the wedding of the richest man in Atlanta. The group claimed they would commit one act a month until their demands were met, and with the days of February dwindling down, there was much uneasiness. It even caused a few possible donors to withdraw from tonight’s event.
The basil-ferret water I was drinking wasn’t doing the trick, so I attempted another Old Fashioned, which either I was starting to acquire a taste for, or had completely numbed my tongue. After my third, I felt like I could run the New York Marathon in tuxedo shoes, even with my damaged knee.
The lone drawback was that I had the sudden need to make the long journey to the bathroom. I stumbled across the dining room, surprised I didn’t fall down. But the way my day had been going, things were bound to take a turn for the worse. And sure enough, primping himself in the bathroom mirror was Aqua Suit Man himself, Tino Fernandez.
“You missed a spot,” I said and brushed underneath my nose. “Even a pathetic reporter like myself could spot the cocaine residue.”
He took a closer look in the mirror, but found nothing. It seemed that my friend Tino was a little paranoid—gotchya.
His cocky smile returned. “I guess that’s as close as you can come to winning against me these days, Warner. But I understand your desperation—you must be really tired of always losing everything to me.”
“No different than you having to take all my hand-me-downs—career, women … well, I take no credit for your wardrobe. Th
at’s all you.”
“I think the term you’re looking for is upgrade. I’m a better reporter than you ever were, and I’m the best Lauren’s ever had. At least that’s what she screams out in the heat of passion.”
He once told me that he would take away any possession of mine that I cared about, no matter how small. I had to stifle a laugh, as I believe he thought Lauren was one of those things. But when I thought of Nora, any humor was swept away.
“It didn’t work out so well for the last woman you made those claims about. So is that the plan—get Lauren hooked on that stuff and then ruin her life too?”
“They are both grown women, able to make their own decisions. And if I treated Nora so badly, then how come she still calls me in the middle of the night and begs me to come over.”
“Because you’re her drug dealer.”
He held up his phone and played a voice mail from last night. It was Nora’s voice, telling him that they needed to talk, and they should meet up at her place.
Tino smiled again. “She sounds very clear and sober to me. She knew exactly what she wanted … and she got it.”
There was part of me that actually felt bad for Lauren at that moment. A small part.
He looked intently at me, his eyes narrowing. “All the excuses in the world can’t hide the truth that women tire of you. And I can tell this Gwen is already losing interest.”
It took all the serenity I could muster not to send my fist through his nose.
He smiled condescendingly. “It’s not even fun anymore … when you just take it like that. You could never beat me, so you have just quit. It’s sad, really.”
“I would rather quit than embarrass myself by becoming a studio anchor. Reporters report, talking heads talk. You’re all talk, no action these days, Fernandez.”
I did find it odd that a correspondent of his level would leave the field for a “desk job” in the comforts of the studio. What we did in those dangerous places was not a job, but part of our DNA.
He laughed mockingly. “That’s the best you can do? Chide me for being successful? If you saw how much they pay me to be a talking head, I think you’d understand.” He moved up as close as he could get, and whispered, “Say whatever you want about my career, but nobody ended up in a wheelchair because of me.”
He patted me lightly on the cheek, gave me one last cocky smile, and left.
I was burning up as I stepped back into the dining hall. And when I heard Byron’s familiar voice being amplified throughout the room, my anger further intensified.
I stood in the back and listened to his speech. He started with the grim statistics—over 250,000 living with spinal cord injuries in the US, and 11,000 new SCIs each year. And that most of those afflicted are young and live a normal lifespan, or as Byron put it, “There are too many of us sitting on our butts when we could be contributing more.”
He spoke with excitement about new potential breakthroughs—things way over the audience’s head like precursor cell implementation, genetic engineering, and embryogenesis. But then took it back to a human story, telling how this once world-class athlete now needs assistance for the simplest of life’s tasks. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
Between seeing Byron in that chair, and Tino’s comments still ringing in my ears, I felt like I could explode at any moment. As if Carter sensed this, he made his way back to me.
“When I said I have something to take care of before I leave,” he spoke as quietly as he was capable. “It’s the same unfinished business you have.”
“I’m not sure what you mean. All my business is finished—I’m retired.”
“I found him.”
“Found who?”
“Uncle Al.”
He had my attention—Uncle Al was Carter’s pet name for the terrorist groups like Al Qaeda and Al Muttahedah. He says they’re like everybody’s annoying drunken uncle who always overstays his welcome.
“They’re not hard to find—every time there is an act of terror around the world, they’re the ones taking credit for it,” I said.
“I mean I found Az Zahir. I’m leaving tomorrow, are you in?”
I was completely caught off guard, and now stone cold sober. I looked at Carter, who was as serious as I’d ever seen him. I then viewed Byron, who sat behind a podium in a wheelchair. A chair Az Zahir put him in. “I don’t know.”
“Sleep on it, and get back to me in the morning.”
I nodded, but knew that I wouldn’t get any sleep.
Chapter 9
Rockfield
I stood frozen in a quandary, watching Gwen fidget with the zipper on the back of her dress.
I was at a dangerous crossroads. If I did the proper boyfriend thing, offering help, I would be swatted away. But if I did nothing, I would be branded uncaring and self-centered. Luckily, she was able to locate the zipper and drag it down her back.
She stepped out of the dress, and removed her heels—now standing only in lacy panties. She folded the dress neatly and placed it on the bed. She then slid her panties to the floor. There would be no slow, seductive striptease like on Valentine’s Day.
I stood mesmerized, like a knee-knocking fourteen-year-old. This never got old—Gwen Delaney was standing naked in my bedroom! But the fantasy would be brief. She quickly tossed on a sweatshirt and a pair of boxers.
I walked up behind her, as if in a trance, and lightly wrapped my arms around her waist. She wriggled away. “That’s so not happening tonight.”
“I hear that make-up sex is the best part of fighting.”
“We’re not in a fight.”
I figured at some point the prosecutor would let me know exactly what I was being charged with. But for now, all I could do was throw myself at the mercy of the judge. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately—it’s like I have these out-of-body experiences.”
She breathed in the tense air between us, and slowly blew it out. “Listen, JP—you haven’t had time to process things. You’ve had more happen to you in six months than some people have to deal with in a lifetime. You rode in on the white horse, got justice for Noah, and rode off with the girl. It was a happy ending … and that’s the problem.”
“You have something against happy endings?”
“In the movies … no. But in real life there’s no such thing. If it was happy it wouldn’t end. Real life always has a next chapter, and you need to figure out where this story is going. I think we need some time apart so you can do that.”
I felt a punch to the gut. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“I never breakup with anyone while I’m wearing their boxer shorts.” She flashed her comforting smile. “Before he left, Carter mentioned that he’s going down to Charleston for a few days to spend with Byron, and he thought it would be good for you to go … and I agree.”
I recalled Carter mentioned something about leaving on a trip tomorrow, but nothing about Charleston. Must have been the alcohol.
Gwen turned off the light and slipped under the covers, leaving me with one thought—the last time we decided to spend time apart it lasted for fifteen years.
Chapter 10
I didn’t even attempt sleep. I threw on a heavy coat and slipped out of the house.
I drove out of Skyview, passed through a sleepy Main Street, and turned onto Zycko Hill Road. I followed the winding, and often treacherous, road to the Samerauk Bridge.
It’s amazing how one event can change your entire view of something. The bridge was always one of my favorite spots in town. The picturesque symbol of this fortress of happiness we called Rockfield. But now all I could see was Noah’s accident, and the place where Officer Jones, aka Grady Benson, took his life. I remembered coming here as a little boy, my dad holding me up so I could see over the railing and view the rushing river below. But now when I looked down, all I saw was Noah’s bloody body lying on the rocks.
I parked the Jeep and got out. I maneuvered down the snow-covered hill. When I reach
ed the river’s edge, I took a seat on the cold ground and looked out over the frozen river that was lit only by a pale moonlight. I noticed that Noah’s Red Sox cap, which I’d left in tribute, was still there, half embedded in a snowdrift. I figured some creature would have carried it off by now, but it seemed as if even the animals were Yankees fans in these parts.
I’d delivered on my promise to get him justice, but in the whirlwind that followed, I didn’t meet my other promise—that I would say a proper goodbye to him when I did. I didn’t know exactly what that entailed, so I just talked to him tonight, something we didn’t do enough of while he was alive. I first told him about the undefeated season, and how proud he would be of his favorite niece, Ella—those two had a special bond. I told him about his brother’s meltdown today, which I’m sure gave him a good laugh. And how Gwen and I had finally gotten back together, but not to get his hopes up, as we were already taking time apart. A sharp wind blew through the river valley, as if it were some kind of response from him, but maybe it was just wind. Nothing was clear to me at the moment.
I told him of the dinner for Byron, and the offer Carter made to get justice, just as I had for Noah. Didn’t I owe Byron the same? I thought of how both Noah and Byron were felled by different men in different parts of the world, but with the same zealotry in their eyes. I felt the anger cut through me.
I had thought a return to my roots, and reuniting with Gwen, would put an end to the battle that had raged on inside me. But perhaps I would never be at peace until this last piece of unfinished business was taken care of. And when I closed that chapter, and only then, I could write the ending that never ends with Gwen.
But isn’t that what gamblers and alcoholics always say? One last score and then I’ll stop forever … it’s just one drink.
There was no response from Noah, probably because he wasn’t here. Why would he spend eternity in the place that caused him the most pain? He was likely off with Lisa, cruising through the pearly gates in his Mustang, laughing at me as I froze my ass off talking to an empty river.
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