After Annabelle had tucked the kids into their beds for the night and cleaned up the kitchen, she looked forward to a good long soak in the bathtub. She wished she had some exotic, luxurious concoction to pour beneath the spigot, but Mr. Bubble and Epsom salts would have to do.
As she slipped off her bathrobe, Annabelle winced. Her shoulder was aching. The tote bag had been pulled away from her with great force, yanking her arm along with it. Thank goodness, at least whoever it was hadn’t gotten her purse as well. Alerting all the credit card companies and getting a new driver’s license was a headache she was glad to avoid.
The thief was probably cursing his choice of target. Perhaps the bag had already been tossed in a trash can. There were only papers in it, nothing of any apparent value to someone else, only things that mattered to Annabelle and Jerome. Annabelle closed her eyes and sank down beneath the hot water as she thought of Jerome’s precious manuscript lying exposed in a garbage can on some dark city street.
Well, she wouldn’t have to explain the theft to him now.
There was a soft tapping at the bathroom door.
“Come in,” she called, fully expecting to see Thomas or Tara up for a glass of water or to tell her that a bad dream had woken them. Instead, the door opened and Mike stood before her. She looked at him inquisitively.
“Just checking to see if you’re all right.”
“A little sore, but otherwise I’m fine.”
He lowered his tall frame to sit on the edge of the tub.
“I don’t know what we’d do, what I’d do, if anything happened to you, Annabelle.” His eyes welled up as he reached down and brushed her face with the back of his hand.
This was the first sign of affection he had shown her in such a long time. He’d been so enmeshed in his dark thoughts, incapable of focusing on what was going on outside his tortured inner world. What she and the children needed was beyond his concentration. They had been living in parallel worlds: Annabelle’s rooted in the reality of young children’s schedules, keeping a house, going to work, paying the bills; Mike’s twisted with the memories of carnage and death and helplessness.
“Nothing is going to happen to me, sweetheart. I’m right here, and you can’t get rid of me.” She brought his hand to her lips.
Maybe this was a good sign. Maybe he was starting to come around. Maybe, please God, the old Mike was coming back to her. She missed him so.
“Some guys from the firehouse came over today,” he offered.
Annabelle’s face brightened. “Really? Great.”
Mike frowned. “No, it’s not so great. There’s talk that the mayor wants to close our firehouse to balance the budget. They want me to help them fight it.”
“What did you say?” Annabelle held her breath, waiting for his answer.
“I told them I’d think about it.”
At least he didn’t outright refuse. Another good sign. Maybe that medicine was beginning to work.
Chapter 52
It was after midnight as Linus poured himself another glass of vodka. He wasn’t the least bit tired. There was no use going to bed, where he would only toss and turn.
Walking into the library, he played with the idea of giving Lauren a call but thought better of it. Her boyfriend was coming in from Chicago this weekend. Lauren and Linus had an unspoken rule. During the week they could flirt their little brains out, but when the investment banker beau came to town, Linus was not to interrupt. Besides, he would look lonely and pathetic if he called this late.
Lauren was a shrewd one. She had sized up the situation with Linus from the start. He was married to his work, and everything else was merely a distraction. His widower’s status made him the treasured extra man at dinner parties, but matchmakers had tried repeatedly and unsuccessfully to make him part of a long-lasting couple. He enjoyed the cat-and-mouse games of flirting and dating, but another marriage was the last thing on his mind.
Why would he ever want to marry again, he wondered, as he popped a cassette into the video deck and settled back on the bloodred leather sofa. He had gotten everything he wanted the first time around. Suzanne had been attractive, energetic, and smart, although too sensitive. Her family had vaults of money; her father was heavily invested in Manhattan real estate. Here he still sat in the gift Suzanne’s dad had given them, to get them out of the suburbs afterward, to make them forget. A three-floor apartment in the Majestic, facing out over Central Park. The old man had been generous when he died as well, leaving them enough money to take care of his beloved grandson for the rest of his life, at home, not in some impersonal, uncontrollable institution.
The beginning years had been good ones. The twins were born just a year after they were married. Suzanne was content with double motherhood and playing Susie Homemaker in the suburbs while Linus worked on his television career. That he was constantly on call and traveling all the time didn’t seem to bother her. The kids were her world.
And when the world came crashing down, Suzanne never really got over it, he thought, as he leaned down to stroke the thick fur of the Irish setter who sat at his feet. She went through the motions, continuing to raise Wayne and tend to Seth, getting involved in the parental activities at school, trying to make birthdays and holidays festive occasions. But Linus couldn’t remember ever seeing her laugh again. Smiles, yes, but full, hearty laughter, never.
It was as if she had held on just as long as she could. After Wayne went off to college that first time, Suzanne had given up. The quiet apartment left her too much time to think. She’d stare out the picture windows, not seeing the glorious riot of color in Central Park that autumn. By Thanksgiving she was dead.
The medical examiner’s report had listed coronary failure. How appropriate. Her heart had finally just given up.
Nine years ago now.
Linus took a long swallow of his vodka and forced himself to concentrate on the giant screen as Lee’s anthrax segment replayed. Watching Lee hold up the test tube, Linus felt himself growing as angry as he had when he first heard that the powder was sugar instead of anthrax. Lee was a fool. A stupid, arrogant fool.
No one got away with making Linus Nazareth look like an ass.
Linus shook his head groggily, awakened by the noise coming from the hallway.
“Wayne?”
“Yeah, Dad. It’s me.”
“Come on in here, son.”
Wayne stood in the library doorway, still wearing his overcoat, his hair tousled from the cutting wind outside. His eyes were red-rimmed.
“Have a good time?”
Wayne shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
“What’d you do?”
“Went out with some friends.”
“Anyone I know?”
“I don’t think so.” His son wasn’t giving up much.
“Well, I’m glad you went out and had some fun. You should do more of that, Wayne. You’re young and free. You should be enjoying yourself.”
“Okay, Dad. I’m going to bed now.”
Linus listened to the sound of the footsteps going down the spiral staircase. He waited a few minutes before following, the dog shuffling behind him. He passed Wayne’s closed bedroom door before stopping at the other.
As Linus entered the dimly lit room, the night-duty nurse switched off the pencil light trained on the book she was reading.
“How’s it going?” Linus asked, peering toward the single bed at the other side of the room. Tucked secure beneath the warm blankets, the thin form was barely visible.
“Fine, Mr. Nazareth.”
What did he expect her to say? Nothing ever changed. There was never any good news to report. Seth slept here, in the room beside his brother’s, day after day, month after month, year after year.
It was always the same.
What would this son have been? Linus asked himself the question that he had been asking for over two decades now. Would Seth have been a concert pianist or a football star? A writer or a doctor? A clergyman or a
cop?
Would they have had a good relationship, closer than the one Linus had with Wayne? Would they have shared the same interests and passions? Would Seth have been a son Linus could be proud of?
He tried to shake away the wistful sadness. There was no use going over it again. Seth was what Seth was. Wayne was the only egg in Linus’s basket.
Saturday
November 22
Chapter 53
When the network had decided to replace the weekend edition of KEY to America with cartoons, Annabelle had started watching The Saturday Early Show on CBS. As the kids ate their pancakes and drank their orange juice, she went to the living room and switched on the set, keeping the volume low. There would surely be coverage on the anthrax victim at KEY News, and Annabelle didn’t need Thomas and Tara hearing about it on TV. When there was any explaining to be done, she herself would tell them.
Rubbing her shoulder, Annabelle sat on the couch, waiting with a heavy feeling in her chest. Sure enough, the anchor was leading with the story.
“Earlier this week, on the KEY News morning broadcast, KEY to America, Medical Correspondent Dr. John Lee, in what he claimed to be an example of the availability of anthrax, produced a vial of what he purported to be the deadly white powder. But tests by health officials determined that the substance was not anthrax, and Dr. Lee was subsequently fired by the network.
“Now, in a terrifying twist, a KEY News employee has been diagnosed with anthrax poisoning. Thirty-six-year-old Jerome Henning, a producer for KEY to America, lies in a New Jersey hospital in critical condition. Hospital officials have scheduled a news conference for later this morning, and police are investigating.
“At the KEY News Broadcast Center, KEY to America offices have been closed and employees are being tested for exposure.”
The bedroom door opened. Mike, bleary-eyed, shuffled into the living room, his bathrobe open, revealing the rumpled boxer shorts and T-shirt beneath. The stubble on his face could practically be considered a beard, Annabelle thought as she looked at him. It had been over a week since he’d shaved. She knew because she had been counting the days.
“Hi, sleepyhead,” she said with affection.
He grunted his response.
“We have pancakes, Daddy. Want some?” Tara called from the kitchen.
Mike didn’t bother to answer.
“Mike, honey, Tara is talking to you,” Annabelle urged. “Do you want some pancakes?”
“For God’s sakes, Annabelle, I don’t want any damned pancakes. Just leave me alone, will you please.”
Last night’s warm hopefulness was replaced with the morning’s cold ration of truth. One step forward, two steps back.
She could tell it was going to be another great day in the Murphy household.
Chapter 54
The metal folding gate that cordoned off the entrance to Station Break was down but not locked. As the Saturday morning worker pulled it up, he wondered who had forgotten to lock it the night before.
He busied himself, switching on lights, firing up the grill, and getting the coffee urns going. He started a pot of oatmeal cooking and sliced two dozen bagels. Next, he went to the walk-in refrigerator to get out the eggs and the big tub of cream cheese.
“Oh, man. Edgar!” He whistled as he saw it. He knelt down, shaking the lifeless body that lay on the frosted floor.
“Wake up, bro. Wake up,” the food-service worker urged frantically while sensing full well that it was too late.
Chapter 55
As they took the subway uptown, the kids bounced in their seats. It was the day they had been waiting for over the last months, their trip to the Claremont Riding Academy. Children from six years on up could learn how to walk, trot, and canter their quiet beginner mounts. The horseback riding program stressed patience and concentration along with physical coordination, strength, and agility. Children also developed a sense of responsibility in caring for their animals. Annabelle mostly liked the idea that it would be fun.
When her parents had called from Florida, asking what they could give the twins for their birthdays last summer, Annabelle had suggested the lessons. They’d had to wait until now for an opening in the private instruction schedule. There was no way she wanted to disappoint them.
As she stood over the twins and hung on to the subway pole, Annabelle wished that Mike was taking them to their lessons. Once upon a time, he wouldn’t have missed this. And she could have gone out to see Jerome again.
Not that it would make any difference to Jerome whether she came to visit or not. As Annabelle thought of him, she quickly wiped away the tears that formed at the inner corners of her eyes. She didn’t want the kids to see how upset she was. She had to appear as normal as possible for Thomas and Tara. They’d had enough to worry about lately.
Annabelle checked her watch. Jerome’s brother had taken the red-eye in from Los Angeles. He was probably at the hospital by now.
“I want a girl horse,” declared Tara.
“A mare, Tara. A girl horse is a mare.” Annabelle spoke loudly to be heard over the subway clatter.
“And I want a boy horse,” Thomas added, following his sister’s lead.
“That’s a stallion, but I don’t think you’d better count on that, Thomas. I think when you begin riding it’s better to have a mare. They’re gentler.”
She watched the boy digest the information, knowing he was torn between pride and prudence.
“Don’t worry, you can get a good ride from a mare,” Annabelle reassured him.
With mittened hands in her gloved ones, mother and children walked the few blocks from the subway stop to the stable. As was true everywhere in Manhattan, space was tight. Like an apartment building, the barn was laid out compactly on several floors. The indoor riding ring was on the ground floor, the horses billeted in stalls upstairs and down. When they arrived, a man at the front door called through an intercom. Within a few minutes, two well-cared-for horses were escorted down ramps by grooms.
The comforting smell of the horse barn wafted through the air while Annabelle watched with pleasure and a tinge of apprehension as the twins went into the ring and began their lessons. An orange cat picked its way across the ring floor, dwarfed by the gentle horses. The children, wide-eyed and earnest, were listening to their instructors. In this moment, all felt right with the world.
“Annabelle? Annabelle. What are you doing here?”
Turning in the direction of the voice, Annabelle spotted Lauren Adams, dressed in caramel-colored jodhpurs, gleaming black leather riding boots, and a velvet-covered hard hat. Annabelle was suddenly conscious again of her four-year-old coat. One of the cuffs was actually starting to fray. She wished she had worn the fur jacket.
“Oh, hi, Lauren. How are you?”
“I’m fine. I didn’t know you came here.”
“The kids are starting lessons.” Annabelle gestured toward the ring.
“Oh, that’s nice for them. It’s something they can enjoy their whole lives. I started when I was just a kid too. Even though I’m a city girl now, I come every weekend to ride on the bridal paths in the park. I never miss it. Even on a weekend like this, when my boyfriend is in town.”
Annabelle had seen people riding horses in Central Park and always thought they seemed so entitled. That was Lauren. To the manner born. Or at least she appeared to be.
“You’re lucky.”
“I don’t know that luck has anything to do with it. I just make it a priority in my life. I need to have this time to myself. I deserve it.”
What was the point in trying to explain to Lauren that the breezy observation was only small talk? Besides work, Annabelle didn’t think she and Lauren had much in common, and she knew that they would never be friends.
“It’s terrible about Jerome, isn’t it?” Annabelle changed the subject.
“I’ll say. And I think KEY News should have one big lawsuit on its hands. I’m thinking about calling in sick next week, ’til they
get that place cleaned up and can guarantee me that there isn’t any danger.”
It’s always about you, isn’t it, Lauren? Annabelle thought, turning away to watch Tara and Thomas.
“Will I see you at Linus’s tomorrow?” Lauren asked.
Annabelle sighed with quiet exasperation. Linus’s party. How could Linus be having a stupid party when Jerome was lying deathly ill?
“I’m not sure yet. Is Linus even still having it?”
“Oh, yes. I spoke with him yesterday before I left the office and he’s not canceling. Life must go on and all that. You should come, Annabelle. Have a little fun. I’m looking forward to it.”
You might be the only one who is.
Chapter 56
Linus woke up late, last night’s vodka producing the dull throb pulsing in his head. Walking into the master bathroom, he opened the medicine cabinet and pulled a bottle of aspirin from the shelf. He swallowed three, then grabbed his electric toothbrush and squeezed the peppermint-flavored paste on the bristles. As he brushed, he stared at the open cabinet.
Something was different. He could swear things had been moved.
He tried to recall what had been in there. The aftershave, the mouthwash, the razor, and the shaving cream all were where they should be. So were the Tums and the Viagra.
The Cipro. That was what was missing.
He had been keeping it ever since the episodes at the other networks. The pharmacist had told him that it had a three-year shelf life. He still hadn’t begun taking it, nor did he intend to—unless the nasal swab indicated that he should. The side effects of the drug were said to be lousy: vomiting, diarrhea, headaches, and dizziness. He didn’t need that for sixty days.
But now, even if he needed it, the antibiotic wasn’t here.
Wayne must have beaten him to it. The hypochondriac.
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