Water from Stone - a Novel (30 page)

Seventy-Six

Jack.

“What do you mean you didn’t talk to her? Isn’t that why I left you alone with her last night?”

“Don’t start, Sy. I tried. It just wasn’t the right moment.” Jack looks around the room wondering what else there was to pack.

“Moment? Of course it wasn’t the right moment. There isn’t  a good time for that conversation. You just gotta do it.”

“No. I don’t. What I’ve got to do is get back to New York and hire an attorney.”

“Jack…”

Jack points a shoe at Sy. “Don’t you get it?” he asks. “The longer I’m around her, the more I get sucked into her sad, sorry life. Look, I’m sorry. She’s a nice lady. For her sake, I wish this wasn’t happening. But it is. It is and I want my daughter back and I’m going to get my daughter back. End of story. Besides, in case you’ve forgotten, I’ve got to tell Shaheen about this.”

“No, you don’t. This isn’t part of his investigation.”

“Yes. I do. We still don’t know if that Myrna lady was working alone or if she was part of the ring of kidnappers he’s been looking for.”

“Ah, come on. The lady was a fruitcake. She did it on her own.”

“OK, I think so, too, but Shaheen’s still got to look into it.”

“Can’t you just drop it? Man.”

“No, I can’t. I could be disbarred for withholding evidence in a federal investigation. Besides the fact that this could help Shaheen find other kids and bring them home.”

“How, if Lizzie’s not a part of that?”

“Because Shaheen’s been spending time wrapping her up with the other cases and, if she doesn’t belong there, she’s muddying up his information.”

There is a knock on the door and Jack shoots a questioning look to Sy who shrugs. “Can you get that?” Jack asks and goes into the bathroom to gather his shaving kit.

“Hey there, you got a present,” Sy tells him, handing Jack a large, flat package.

A slow burning begins in Jack’s stomach and spreads quickly.  “No. No, no, no. I don’t want it.”

“Open it. What is it?”

Jack takes the package and peels back a corner of the heavy wrapping paper. “Shit.”

“Holy crap! Is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“You musta made a big impression on her.”

“I can’t take this. Here, give it back to her.”

“Me? No way.”

“I’m on the way to the airport.”

“You want to run away, fine. But I’m not giving that back.”

“Crap. I don’t need this.”

“There’s a card. What’s it say?”

Jack hadn’t noticed the card taped to the front of the package. He pulls it out and opens it. “Thanks for the campfire chat. You taught me that letting go can be a good thing, and now I think it’s time I let go of what this painting represents for me. It’s time for happier thoughts. Mar”

“What’s it say?”

Jack rubs at the headache that is quickly forming behind his eyes. “It says I’m going back to New York.”

Seventy-Seven

Mar.

“You gave him your painting? You gave him
Mother & Child
? Mar, what were you thinking? You just met him.”

Mar smiles. “It’s OK, Dee. It was the right thing to do.”

“Listen, I’ll get Sy to get the painting back.”

“No. I want Jack to have it.”

“Mar, look, I have a list, a long list, of people who wanted to buy that painting.”

Mar takes a sip of her coffee and smiles. “Nope. That one was never for sale.”

“But why?”

“Because.”

“Because?”

“Because, Diane, that painting was all about fear. Last night I realized I don’t have anything to fear anymore.” She laughs. “Come on, Dee, sit down, drink your coffee. It’s a good thing.”

“A good thing.”

“Yep. A real good thing.”

“Oh, my god! You slept with him!”

“Did too,” Mar grins.

“You just met him!”

“Yep.”

“Mar!”

“It’s the new me, Dee. I’m going for it. There’s something about him that just feels right. It’s like I’ve known him forever.”

“He lives in New York, Mar.”

“I know.”

“So?”

“Diane, what did you tell me about Kevin? You told me to go for it, to take a chance. I didn’t, and look what happened. This feeling, this attraction to Jack is strong. Really, really strong and I’m not going to sit on the sidelines anymore. If it doesn’t work, if we only have a few great days together, fine. But, I’m going for it. Whatever it turns out to be.”

Diane drops to a seat across from her. “Wow.”

“It’s OK, Dee.”

“OK, then, tell me this. Was it good?”

Mar thinks back to the night before, to the way their bodies had seemed to melt together, how Jack had caressed her in all the right places and how his urgency matched her own. Her eyes sparkle brightly as her face lights with a grin, “The best, Dee. The best.”

Seventy-Eight

Jack.

“Tell me you didn’t just do that.”

Jack ends the call. “She’ll know how to handle this.”

“Jack, you never mix your personal life with business.”

Jack closes his eyes and wills the car to go faster. Sy has been harping at him non-stop on the long ride to the airport. “Caroline’s a family attorney. She’ll know how to handle this. Besides, it was over between us a long time ago.”

“Fucking hell,” Sy grumbles. “It was bad enough, the situation. Now it is royally screwed. Can’t get any worse.”

“It’s done, Sy.”

“How about if I tell her?” Sy asks. “Let me explain it to Mar, clear the air.”

“No!” Jack’s response is harsher than he’d intended. “No,” he begins again. “When the time is right, I’ll talk to her. I screwed up by coming out here in the first place and I need to straighten it out.”

“So, you’ll call her?”

“I’ll call her.”

“Shit. Mar’s gonna bloody freak.”

“It’s not personal,” Jack says

“With Mar? About Lizzie? It’s all personal.”

***

Grabbing his bag from the carousel, Jack strides into the frigid New York cold to look for his driver. A man is waiting for him, waving a sign with his name printed on it. Jack waves back and heads in his direction. Just then, a flash goes off in his face. And then another, and another. Jack covers his eyes. “What the hell!?”

“Mr. Westfield, Darren Fry,
New York Post
, how is your daughter? How is Mia?”

“What? Who the hell are you? Get that camera out of my face!”

“Darren Fry,
New York Post
. I heard you’re coming back from Colorado, that you found your daughter. How is she? Where is she? Are you bringing her home?”

“Listen, I don’t know who the hell you are, or where you get your information, but I don’t need this. Now, leave me alone!”

It is all happening so fast, Jack doesn’t have time to wonder or to think. He looks around, hoping to spot his real driver and make a getaway.

“Have you told Lindsey’s parents yet? Does your family know?”

“Leave me alone!” Jack pushes past the reporter and photographer and through the crowd that has gathered around, watching him. He gets to the curb and spots the driver standing in front of the limo. Jack pulls the door open and slams it behind himself before the driver has the chance to react. “Get me the hell out of here!” he yells.

Seventy-Nine

Jack.

With shaking fingers, Jack dials the hotel in Colorado and asks for Sy’s room. “Come on, come on, come on,” he intones, but the phone just rings and rings. Finally, an answering machine kicks in to ask if he wants to leave a message. “Shit, shit, shit.”

It is dark in New York, but, on a long shot, he dials Sy’s office and catches Dora just as she is leaving.

“A cell phone? Sy? You gotta be kidding. The man uses an abacus. What’s this all about anyway?” And so, he gives her the brief version.

“Holy crapola, Sy’s gonna be pissed. He’s gonna be there when that woman goes nuts. He’ll be lucky if she doesn’t kill him.”

“Yeah, I know. Listen, does he ever call in?”

“Sometimes, but not on any regular basis. There’s something weird going on out there. First, it’s the mountains is all he wants to talk about, and lately he hardly calls at all. Is something going on out there, Jack?”

Jack can hear the jealousy in her voice and suspects she thinks of Sy as more than her boss. No way is he getting involved in that mess. “He’s stressed. He’s been waiting to hear what I’m going to do,” he evades.

“Yeah, but what’s he still doing over there? Can’t he wait here?”

“I guess he decided to stay there in case we were going to ask for DNA testing.” It sounds lame even to his own ears.

“I don’t know, Jack. He could do that by phone. Besides, it’d be the FBI that would take over in that case.”

“Yeah, well, listen, Dora,” he changes the subject, “I really need to get in touch with him before a reporter finds Mar. If he calls the office, can you please ask him to call me on my cell phone, no matter what?”

“Can do. But are you sure there’s not something else…” she begins.

“I’m sorry, Dora, I’ve got to make some other calls. I’ll talk to you later.” He hangs up, already exhausted.

Jack looks at his watch. Diane will still be at the gallery. He takes a deep breath and dials, afraid Mar will answer, wanting her to answer.

“Mar Delgado Gallery, how may I help you?” Diane answers.

“Diane! Thank god. It’s Jack.”

“Jack! Where are you?”

“I’m in New York. Listen, is Mar there? I really need to talk to her.”

“No. She and Lizzie went out with some friends. Why’d you go back to New York? Mar was expecting you all day.”

“It’s, look, something came up. Can you ask her to call me? No matter what time she gets in?”

“OK, but…”

“Thanks, Diane. I’ve got to go.” Jack ends the call and looks out the window. Sy was right. He shouldn’t have called Caroline.

Eighty

Jack.

Jack sets the glass down on the counter and heads for the front door.

“Hey, DeJon, how have you been?” Caroline asks as he holds the door open for her.

“Good. Things’re good.”

“I’m glad. Is Jack here yet?”

“Yeah, but, man, is he pissed.”

Caroline stops. “At me? He’s mad at me?”

“For calling the press.”

Jack stops at the foyer entranceway. “Caroline…” he begins.

She holds up her hand. “No, Jack, stop there. DeJon told me you think I called the press. No way. I didn’t.”

“Well if you didn’t, who the hell did?”

“I don’t know, but it could have been anyone. It’s the talk of the office.”

“How the hell do they know?”

“Oh, please, Jack. It’s gossip. It happens.”

Jack rubs his hand down his face and nods. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thought…”

“It’s OK. I understand.”

“Christ.” He turns away from her and heads back to the kitchen. There, he pours a shot into the glass and looks at her, frustrated. “What am I going to do?”

“For starters,” Caroline smiles warmly, “you can say hello nicely and pour me a glass of wine.”

Jack laughs. It is good to see her. “Hello, Caroline.”

“Hello, Jack. I’m glad you called me.”

“Thanks for coming.”

Caroline takes a sip of the wine he hands her. “You’re welcome. You know that, Jack.”

“I know.” He lets out a long sigh, dreading the question but having to ask it anyway, “So, what do you think?”

“About Mia? I think you should decorate her room. She’ll be home within a month.”

Eighty-One

Mar.

Mar forces herself to look in the mirror. “You are a total, bloody idiot, Mar Delgado,” she tells herself. Images of opening her heart to Jack, of telling him about Joaquin and Max and even Kevin, come to her and she feels the crippling embarrassment begin to return.  Worse, she’d slept with him. God, he must think she’s a slut. “No,” she says and shakes her head for emphasis. “Get over it.”

She’d given him the painting. What an idiot. The man listens to her and she hands him a valuable painting. Next thing, he’s on a plane and doesn’t even bother to call. He probably has a girlfriend. Or a wife. She sighs and bites her lip. Yesterday, she’d paced the floor, waited for his call, finally gone out with Shirley just to put an end to the waiting. No way is she going to do that again today. No way. “Lizzie, honey, come on, time to go to school,” she calls out. Today, she’ll keep busy.

Her first stop after dropping Lizzie off at school is to look over the retail space Diane has been harping about. She can see it, can imagine the walls covered with paintings, the lights spotlighting the sculptures. An hour later, she walks out with a binding two-year contract and a blueprint. Later that week, she’ll meet with the contractor to lay out the gallery’s design.

Next, she drives out to her favorite bookstore and spends another couple of hours looking at art books, filling her soul with the great Masters, with architectural splendors that give her a great deal of graphic inspiration. She avoids the gift aisle where card sets of
Mother & Child
will just piss her off, ruin the day.

After choosing several books for Lizzie, Mar heads to Pearl Street, the outdoor walking mall in the heart of Boulder, where she eats a delicious lunch and enjoys the sight of the mountains rising up around her, reminding her to be strong. At a shoe store, she forces herself to buy a pair of strappy heels and promises herself she’ll find occasion to wear them soon. And, finally, with just enough time left before she’ll have to pick up Lizzie, she finds herself at the art store, where she buys paper she doesn’t need, new brushes, tries eighteen colors on the back of her hand before settling on nine of them, and wanders through the aisles, dreaming of all the beautiful things that can begin there.

Mar is pleasantly tired as she makes her way home. And quite a bit poorer. She’d written the deposit checks for the rent and for the contractor from her personal checkbook and she is reminding herself to tell Diane to make the account adjustments, when she pulls into her street and her heart stops. News vans are parked up and down the street, a crowd gathered in front of her door, and policemen are busy directing traffic around the mess.

“Lizzie!” Mar slams on the brakes, dimly aware that she can’t get closer. She opens the door and, slipping on a patch of ice, goes down, hard. Getting up, she begins running, fear tearing at her mind, clutching at her throat. She doesn’t notice that she hasn’t put the car in park, that the Explorer is slowly, but steadily, making its way toward a patrol car. She doesn’t notice that the mob, sensing her, turns and begins its own marathon to reach her first.

Finally, blocked by the human wall, engulfed, her forward progress halted, Mar begins to cry, “Lizzie, let me through, Lizzie, my daughter, let me through.”

Through the roar of her terror, she doesn’t hear the voices that shout at her, doesn’t understand their cries. Doesn’t register the questions, “Why did you kidnap the Westfield baby?” “When are they taking her away?” “What did Mr. Westfield tell you when he was here?”