by Richard Bard
***
It had been a mistake to bring Alex along today, Jake thought as they turned down another corridor. When Francesca had received a phone call this morning with an unusual last-minute request to attend a Saturday meeting at her school—and Sarafina and Ahmed had already gone to grab breakfast burritos at the cafe down the street from the house—he’d figured there’d be no harm in letting Alex tag along.
He should have known his son’s empathetic nature would tug at him under the circumstances. When Alex saw a problem he could fix, he went for it, which was fine when they were in the privacy of their home, but not in a public situation that could draw undue attention to the boy’s gifts. Jake and Francesca had drilled the warnings into Alex ever since they’d returned to the US, and for the most part their son had complied. But in the case of Mississippi Mike, where a quick connection on Alex’s part might not only help the man walk again, but also alleviate some of his emotional pain, the temptation to reach out had been irresistible.
Jake wasn’t angry. He was proud of his son and admired the boy’s instincts. After all, it was that same aptitude that prevented nothing less than the apocalypse, a fact Jake was desperate to keep secret.
If the truth ever got out…
“You know better, son,” Jake said, squeezing his hand.
Alex didn’t say anything. It wasn’t necessary. Jake’s physical connection with him was all he needed to feel his son’s remorse, as well as his pride for what he’d accomplished. Jake picked up the pace. He wanted Alex out of the building. Only then could he take the time to finish his discussion with Doc.
They were three steps into the lobby when Alex came to a sudden stop. He let go of Jake’s hand and spun on his heels.
“There you are!” Francesca said as she emerged from a separate corridor. Jake’s wife wore sandals and a flowing white peasant dress that accented her thin waist. Her thick mane of auburn hair was pulled back, and Jake smiled at the sight of her.
“Doc?” she exclaimed, rushing to give the man a hug. As she pulled away, she patted the chest of his herringbone sport coat. “I see you’re still armed,” she said with too much exuberance. Jake’s brow furrowed.
Doc was flustered a moment and then smiled, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out his meerschaum pipe. It had a hand-carved face of the wizard Gandalf from The Lord of the Rings. “Don’t leave home without it!”
“You’re half an hour early,” Jake said, trying to put his finger on what was different about his wife.
She averted her gaze, pulling Alex toward her. “The meeting ended sooner than I expected.” She turned back to Doc. “I didn’t know you were in town,” she said, her Italian accent coloring her words. “Are you here for a while? Will you join us for dinner?”
“I-I flew down for a symposium at UCLA,” Doc said. “It’s just across the freeway. But I’m only here for the day.”
Jake knew from Francesca’s expression that she’d sensed the lie in Doc’s words. But she didn’t call him on it and that’s when Jake knew something was wrong. He stepped forward and captured her gaze. “Are you okay?”
“Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?”
“It’s just that—”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she said, pulling away. “Why don’t we all go to lunch, yes?”
Jake let it slide. Right now there were more pressing issues. He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Something’s up.” He motioned subtly toward Alex. “Doc and I need a little time alone to talk about it.”
Francesca’s jaw tightened. The mask she’d worn a moment earlier vanished, replaced by a look of concern. Her nod was barely perceptible as she took Alex’s hand. “Will you be long?”
“Nah,” Jake said casually, knowing full well the facade he wore wasn’t likely to play any better than hers had—not to their gifted son. “I’ll be home before you know it.”