by Bill Walker
“Oh, I had my fill of that, too, that’s for sure,” Brian said, remembering his poopy diaper days with Joey.
“I just had a thought. Would you mind if I brought Zack to your signing tomorrow? He’s a real big fan of yours, too. In fact, he says he wants to be a writer someday. He’s pretty talented.”
“I’d be honored if you would. I’d like to meet him. Has he written anything?”
“Just some short stories. I think they’re pretty good, but I’m just his mother.” She gave Brian a smile and a shrug.
“Tell you what. Have him e-mail me the best story he’s got. Tell him I’d be happy to read it over tonight and offer any pointers I can.”
“You don’t have to do that, Brian.”
“I want to. I wish I’d had someone help me along earlier in my career. Might have saved me a lot of time, assuming I would have been smart enough to listen. And I have a feeling your Zack is one on-the-ball kid. Like his mom. And I promise...only encouragement.”
Joanna beamed. “He’ll be thrilled.”
“If you two have the time, I’ll even spring for a birthday lunch, that way he and I can talk a bit. How’s that?”
“It’s a date.”
The rest of the meal was consumed with more small talk, the main question that hung between them remaining unspoken.
After coffee for Brian and herbal tea for Joanna, Brian paid the bill and they left, heading back towards his hotel.
The air had turned colder, but Brian didn’t even feel it. Instead, as they strolled back down Charles Street toward the Public Garden and the Commons, Brian fought a war inside his heart.
He was still in love with Joanna, maybe always had been, but those feelings had been suppressed, put on a shelf like a favorite toy, only to be discovered years later and appreciated in a new light.
Watching her now, while she walked beside him, he wanted to laugh with joy and cry in anguish. The anguish seemed to be winning. All those years wasted, years he could have spent with her, had he not folded like a bad poker hand. His father had believed he’d done the right thing, but many times, like now, he wondered if he had. That Joanna bore no ill feelings was obvious, but was she happy now? He’d wanted so much to ask her that, pin her down—get to the truth. But what if that truth ran counter to his innermost wants and needs? What if she was truly happy? Could he live with that?
“Do you mind if we cut through the Gardens?” Joanna asked, when they reached the corner of Beacon and Charles.
“Sure,” Brian replied, hating the catch in his voice.
They struck out across Beacon through a break in the traffic and that’s when his inner alarm went off, the emotions of the past few moments replaced by a chill colder than the night surrounding them.
They were being followed.
Brian was sure of it. He’d had inklings of it from almost the moment he’d met Joanna at the school, but had shoved them to the back of his mind, only wanting to revel in the joy of seeing her again. Now, as they made their way past the lagoon where the swan boats plied the waters of spring, he knew someone was behind them dogging their every move.
He’d learned the skill five years ago, while conducting research on a novel about snipers he’d been writing at the time. And it had been a difficult one to master. He could almost liken it to Joanna’s meditations, the opening of the mind, tuning oneself into one’s surroundings.
Joanna slipped her arm around him, hugging him close. He turned, and she smiled up at him; it also gave him the chance to peer behind him.
There he was, fifty feet back, strolling along as if he had no place in particular to go.
And it didn’t fit. Not at 7:45 at night.
They emerged from the Public Gardens onto Arlington Street and walked toward the hotel. Joanna slowed when they came abreast of the hotel’s side entrance, a questioning look in her eyes.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” Brian said.
Joanna smiled and slipped her arm through his. She led him to a parking garage behind the hotel, handing a ticket to one of the attendants.
Brian looked for their tail, but the man seemed to have melted into the night. He was out there; Brian knew it. The question was what would happen next, after Joanna left? Whatever it was, he was ready for it.
Joanna’s car arrived a few moments later, a black Volvo SUV.
Brian laughed and Joanna frowned. “What?”
“Looks like you finally got your Volvo.”
Joanna smiled, looking relieved. “My husband saw the light, a rare occasion, to be sure.”
She came to him then, hugging him. “I’ve so enjoyed this evening, Brian. You can’t know how much. I wish we could have done it sooner.”
Brian nodded. “Me, too. Guess neither one of us was really ready for it, until now.”
“Guess not,” she replied, gazing into his eyes.
It was an awkward moment. He wanted to kiss her, and almost did, but held himself back, afraid to spoil the moment. And maybe more than a little afraid that it wouldn’t.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“I’m looking forward to it. I’ll tell the store to expect you. That way you won’t have to wait in line.”
“My God, I didn’t even think of that. You must get mobbed at these things.”
“You could say that,” he said, nodding, a twinkle in his eye. “It goes with the territory, and as I said earlier, I really love it.”
She squeezed his hand, kissed him on the cheek and got into her car. Brian closed the door and watched her drive off down Stuart Street. At the end of the block she turned the corner and was gone from sight.
He walked back to the hotel, his emotions welling up within him. He fought back the tide until he reached his room where it all came crashing down upon him.
He sat on the bed, covering his face with his hands. It had been a terrible idea to come. And yet it was a wonderful one, too. Joanna had been everything he’d expected her to be...and more. She’d barely aged and yet possessed the self-assuredness that only came with maturity. He didn’t think it could be possible to love her more than he had so many years ago, but he did. And that was what made it so wonderful and so terrible.
Brian went into the bathroom and threw cold water on his face. God, he was so tired, yet his body was all wound up. The man who’d been following them—he was sure it was the same black man who worked for Ruby back in 1991. What was his name...Moser? Mosley! That was it. He looked older and heavier, but he’d walked with the same confident stride. So, Ruby knew he was back. Well, that was fine. Let him stew in his vitriol, let him choke on it. Ruby had nothing to offer him now, and no control over his actions or desires.
Feeling the walls closing in, Brian put on his leather jacket and left the room. Outside the hotel, he walked up Arlington, grabbed a latté at the Starbucks just as it was closing then strolled back on Newbury, checking out the merchandise in some of the store windows. A moment later he found himself standing across the street from Joanna’s school, a five-story red brick building in the Georgian style.
Lights were illuminated in a few of the windows on the upper floors, and he wondered which one was Joanna’s classroom. He imagined himself a fly on the wall during one of her classes, watching her take command, hearing the enthusiasm in her voice as she outlined a new concept, and feeling the thrill of seeing understanding dawn in those bright young eyes.
Brian smiled. This woman was a rare jewel, indeed.
“All right, Ruby. You want another round, you’ve got one.”
27
JOANNA REACHED THE GROUNDS of Newton High School just after 8:00, pulling the Volvo into a space near the curb with a clear view of the entrance. Zack was nowhere in sight, and she almost got out to go look for him, but decided against it. He was at the age where he didn’t want his mother making a spectacle of herself over him. She shook her head, feeling a pang of nostalgia for the little boy who wouldn’t leave the house without a “Big Hug” from Mommy. Sh
e’d wait. He’d be along any moment.
She kept her eyes on the door, her thoughts turning to her evening with Brian. She’d been so apprehensive, had been from the moment she’d first e-mailed him weeks ago. She recalled something he’d said in his first reply that had haunted her ever since.
I’ve often thought about you over the years, wondering what you were doing at a given moment, and if you were happy.
And that was the thing. She hadn’t been happy, not for a long time. Yes, she had Zack and her art, two things that were very dear to her, but once their son was born, Erik had withdrawn into his world of deals and seemed to care less about her from day to day. Sometimes she wondered if he was even aware that she occupied any space in his life.
And now she could just kick herself. After all these years of wondering, promising herself over and over again, she’d chickened out, had left the one burning question in her mind unasked.
What happened, Brian? Why did you leave me?
And there it was again.
It had hung in the recesses of her mind all throughout their dinner. She’d started to ask it half a dozen times and stopped herself, feeling the moment wasn’t right. And then the opportunity was all but lost when the conversation turned to his family. God, how could she be so insensitive to give voice to her worries about Zack, when his own son—
Joanna bit back the tears. How much she wanted to go to him now, comfort him, tell him that everything would be all right. But would it? How could she say something like that with her own life in a shambles?
Something out of the corner of her eye made her look toward the entrance to the school.
It was Zack. He moved toward the car with that loping gate that tugged at her heart, reminding her once again that her boy was growing up. He saw the car and picked up his pace.
She sat up straighter and checked herself in the rearview mirror. Nothing looked amiss. Her eyes were clear.
Zack opened the door and climbed in.
“Hi, Mom,” he said, smiling.
Joanna ruffled the curls on his head. “Hi, Sweetie.”
The boy squirmed in his seat. “Mom, come on....”
“Zack, there’s no one here but us.”
He looked around, saw that she was right then cracked a shy grin. He leaned over and gave her a hug. “Is that better?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Joanna threw the car into gear and headed down the street.
“So, how was your day?”
“Okay,” he said, staring out the windshield.
“Just okay?”
The boy nodded and Joanna rolled her eyes. Teenagers! Masters of the monosyllabic.
“Are you excited about turning fifteen tomorrow?”
Zack smiled. “Yeah.”
“Well, I’ve got a surprise for you.”
He turned to his mother, a quizzical look on his adorable face.
“How would you like to meet Brian Weller?”
The boy’s eyes widened. “You kidding me, Mom?”
Joanna crossed her heart. “I kid you not. He’s an old— friend of mine,” she said, her heart pounding. She’d almost said old flame. “And he’s going to be signing his books at the Prudential Center tomorrow. Thought you might like to go. Of course, if you’re not interested....”
“Awesome! How did you find out about this?”
“Like I said, Brian’s an old friend. We had dinner tonight.”
“Cool.”
Joanna laughed. Everything was either awesome or cool at this age. “I told him you were a writer, too.”
The boy looked horrified. “No, Mom, you didn’t!”
“What’s wrong with that? You are aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but he’s like the greatest. I’m just a kid.”
“And so was he...once. He told me a story a long time ago about how he used to write stories as a boy. And how much he loved telling stories. You feel that way, too, don’t you?”
Zack nodded.
“Well, don’t be angry, but he’s offered to read one of your stories. All you need to do is e-mail it to him tonight.”
Zack didn’t say anything, but Joanna saw the gleam of excitement in his eyes.
“Do you have one in mind?”
The boy nodded. “Yeah, I do. It’s the one I finished last week. I feel really good about it.”
“So, you’re not mad?”
Zack shook his head. “Nah, not really. I was just kind of blown away, is all. I hope he likes it.”
Joanna patted his thigh. “If I’m any judge of talent, I’m sure he will.”
They arrived home at 8:30, pulling the car into the garage. Joanna frowned, noticing the split-window Corvette was missing. Erik drove it infrequently, always concerned about the mileage, and he almost never did so at night.
Inside, she checked her voice mail then remembered Brian’s offer. She grabbed a pen and paper and jotted down his e-mail address.
“Zack?” she called out.
When she got no answer she walked to the back of the house, finding him in his bedroom already at his computer, waiting for it to boot up. She stood in the doorway, watching his intent expression and feeling a rush of pride, love...and sadness. He looked so like his father, just now. She also noticed his room was neater than usual. The bed was made, covered with his version of a bedspread: a huge black flag. In the center was a white arm holding a bleeding red heart that resembled a hand grenade. Next to it emblazoned in red block type were the words: GREEN DAY. His guitar rested on top of the bed. When he wasn’t writing he was playing. He practically slept with that guitar. She shook her head, wanting to cry and smile at the same time.
“Hey,” she said.
Zack turned, an excited look in his eyes. “You really think he’ll like my story, Mom?”
“I’m positive.”
“What about Dad?”
She knew what that question meant. And it brought back an ugly memory from a vicious fight she and Erik had over Zack attending a special writer’s camp the previous summer. She’d given in and the boy had stayed home. Another time her husband had gotten his way. Well, no more. No more disappointments.
“You let me worry about your father, okay?”
She entered the room and handed him the note. The boy glanced at it then opened up his AOL account, bringing up a blank e-mail document. He began typing, his fingers a blur. Joanna was amazed by his speed. With her it was a wonder she managed with one finger. In a moment, he was done writing. He attached his story and was about to hit the SEND button.
“Wait,” she said, “I want to add a PS....”
Brian took his second shower of the day, trying to relax, but even the hot luxurious spray failed to take the edge off his case of nerves. Turning off the water, he toweled himself dry and put on a white terry-cloth robe with the hotel’s logo embroidered onto the breast pocket and left the bathroom. He went to the desk where his laptop sat glowing. The little mailbox flag was blinking.
There were two e-mails, one from AOL and one from an AOL member named “MadZack.” Brian smiled. Joanna’s boy.
He double-clicked on it, opening it up.
November 10, 2006
Dear Mr. Weller:
My Mom told me that you were willing to take a look at one of my stories. I really want you to know how much I appreciate that. Just hope it doesn’t bore you too much. I also wanted to thank you for inviting us to your signing tomorrow. I’m really looking forward to that, as I think Mom is, too. I can tell she really thinks the world of you. That makes two of us. Thanks again.
Sincerely,
Zack Ruby
PS—Just wanted to wish my favorite writer a good night.
Joanna
Brian downloaded the story and brought it up onto the screen. The first thing he noticed was that Zack knew proper format. That was something so many aspiring writers either assumed they knew or didn’t care to learn. Good for you, kid. He wished he could print it out, as he’d learned long
ago that the eye missed things on the screen that they picked up in a hardcopy printout. Couldn’t be helped. He scrolled down and began to read. Twenty minutes later he sat back, letting out the breath he’d been holding. He shook his head, awed. This kid was good, so good that Brian knew he’d be selling his stories to the top markets very soon, if not already.
This story, in particular, a tale about a boy trying to relate to his distant father, really rang with truth, anguish and beauty. It was the kind of writing that would have the critics falling all over themselves. Brian suspected it was more than a little autobiographical and it brought on a wave of sadness. Although he had the best of relationships with his own father, Brian could feel the loneliness and despair coming through this boy’s words and that was a major accomplishment. And it humbled him.
Brian brought up his AOL account and replied to Zack’s e-mail.
Dear Zack:
I just read your story and wanted to let you know I’m looking forward to talking to you about it. I just realized I’ve been up for nearly twenty-four hours, so rest is what these tired old bones need. See you tomorrow.
Best,
Brian
PS—And good night to my favorite professor.
The 1963 split-window Corvette rocketed through the night, its powerful V-8 engine roaring.
Twelve hours.
He’d been with those inspectors for twelve hours and they still weren’t finished. And the list of repairs and changes that needed to be made to the building to meet code filled a sheaf of papers that rivaled a phone book in thickness. And there were still ten floors left. Fortunately, he had another week before they would return, giving him time to check out those floors himself and beat the bastards to the punch.
Ruby downshifted the Corvette, barely slowing to take a sharp turn. The building was only part of his problems. He still didn’t know what to do about Weller. The file with all the old surveillance, background information and their signed agreement still resided in the locked file cabinet at home, but all of it was meaningless, now that Weller was going back on his word. That was the real crux of the issue. With every deal he’d ever made, Ruby toed the line, delivered the goods—kept his word. Now, the one deal that meant more to him than all the others was going up in smoke. Weller was back, he was rich and famous, and there wasn’t a damn thing Ruby could do to stop him—at least, nothing legal. And he’d be damned if he’d let Weller push him over that line, not when he’d spent his whole life building his impeccable reputation. Ruby cursed and struck the wheel with the flat of his palm. There had to be a way....