“You’re going to use the old Nazi excuse, that you were just following orders? That would’ve made Grandma proud, wouldn’t it!”
That was a low blow considering how my mom lost almost all of her family in concentration camps. I tried joking it off, though, telling him there wasn’t a thing I could ever’ve done to have made my mom proud. Michael sat staring at me, unmoved.
“This was so long ago, Michael,” I said. “I was a different person back then, and so much has happened since. But even still, I always cared about you, Allie, Paul and your mother. I never wanted to do anything to hurt any of you. Can’t we move on from all that?”
“So your explanation is that you have no explanation,” he said, more to himself than to me.
“That’s not it,” I said. “I tried the best I could for all of you. There’s got to be a way we can put what I did in the past and talk about other stuff.” I stopped for a moment, still tongue-tied, still feeling like I had a mouth full of marbles, then more to change the subject than anything else, asked him what he did for work.
Michael shook his head, said, “That’s not something I want to tell you.”
He didn’t say this peevishly or with anger, just matter-of-factly, his eyes lost as he stared off into the distance. Awkwardly, I asked him about Allison and Paul, whether he kept in touch with them and if he could tell me how they were. Almost as if he were waking up from a dream, he looked at me and shook his head. “I’m not telling you about them either,” he said.
“Is there anything about your life I can ask you?” I said.
“No, I don’t think so.”
He got up to leave, took several steps, then stopped, his lips twisting into an uneasy smile.
“Yeah, there is something I’d like to know,” he said. “After Mom died, how’d you keep getting my phone numbers?”
“I used a service,” I said.
He thought about that, nodded to himself. “Did you get more than just my phone numbers? Like maybe my addresses and pictures of me and my wife and kid?” he asked.
“No, all I could afford was your phone number. Allison’s also.”
“What about Paul’s?”
“I tried, but the service I used couldn’t find him.”
He nodded again, a distant look on his face. “Good for Paul,” he said. He turned his back on me and started to walk away.
“This isn’t healthy for you, Michael,” I called out. “We should talk this through.”
He waved his hand angrily as if swatting at a swarm of gnats, and kept walking. I watched him until he was out of sight and knew I’d never see him again. I wondered briefly if there was any chance I’d ever see Allison or Paul, but accepted that that wasn’t much more than wishful thinking, especially after the way Michael had acted. Of the three of them, he was always the peacemaker, the one who would try to smooth out hard feelings and get people talking again. If he couldn’t forgive me there wasn’t much chance the other two ever would.
I sat for a long moment feeling a weakness in my legs and an emptiness filling up my chest. For a moment it was as if I were drowning in it. Then I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself. I don’t know what else I could’ve been expecting from him, not with the way he ignored my calls when I was in prison and left those early letters of mine unanswered – the ones I wrote when Jenny was still alive to forward them to him – and not with the way Jenny would change the subject whenever I’d bring up Michael or the other two kids.
I got myself to my feet and decided to walk the four miles to the bus stop. It wasn’t as if I had any place to be, and I figured the walk could help clear my head and maybe loosen some of the stiffness I was feeling in my shoulder. I thought about Michael’s comment about me being “emotionally distant”. I certainly wasn’t when my kids were young. Maybe later there was some truth to that, especially when I started becoming paranoid that they’d be able to smell the stench of death on me. Or maybe it happened later after they became teenagers – maybe that was when I felt like I couldn’t relate to them any longer. I don’t know.
I glanced upwards for a brief moment towards the sun before looking away. Christ, I wished I had worn my baseball cap and sunglasses, especially with the way the sunlight made my skull feel like a vise was being tightened around it. I thought about seeing if anyone inside the coffee shop could spare some aspirin, but decided against doing that, thinking that someone there might’ve overheard part of my conservation with Michael and not feeling up to facing any of those people right then. Instead, I took off on foot to retrace the path that the cab driver had taken.
I waited over an hour for the first bus, then close to another hour for the second one. The day so far had worn me down, and at some point while riding back to Waltham I dozed off. The next thing I was aware of was a presence taking the seat next to me. A familiar voice then asked me for my autograph. I opened my eyes a crack and saw Sophie Duval, a brightness in her eyes and her lips curved into a thin smile while she studied me. Once I realized who she was I turned away quickly to wipe off some drool that I felt running down the side of my mouth, then I told her that I charged more than she could afford.
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” she said. “Especially after your heroics from yesterday. That was quite a video they showed on TV.”
“I haven’t had a chance to see it yet,” I lied.
“You should. It’s impressive. Vintage Chuck Norris-type stuff. And best of all, you left the talking heads on TV baffled. They don’t know what to make of you any more.”
Any other beautiful young woman sitting next to me would’ve sat tensed and compact in their seat, making sure there would be no bodily contact with me. Sophie, on the other hand, sat relaxed with her arm and leg lightly touching mine. As I mentioned before, part of her con required her to hint at a vague promise of sex, or at least intimacy.
“It’s a pleasant surprise seeing you on this bus,” I said.
“An even bigger one for me,” she said. “I thought I was seeing things when I walked onboard and saw you back here snoozing away. I would’ve thought reporters would be all over you for interviews.”
“They probably would be if they knew where to find me.” I glanced out the window trying to get some sense of bearing but was unable to recognize where we were. It wasn’t rural like Medfield, but we weren’t in Waltham either, at least not so I could tell. “What are you doing out here?” I asked.
“A job prospect,” she said.
“Did it go well?”
“We’ll see.” She leaned in close to me and rested her hand lightly on mine. The feel of her skin was electric. With her brow furrowed and her voice low, she whispered to me, “Leonard, you should be more careful about falling asleep in public. I’m sure that car was following you a few days ago. And I’m sure you have more than your share of enemies.”
I nodded, acknowledging her concern. She relaxed back in her seat, still keeping her arm and leg touching mine. Even though there was fabric separating our skin, the touch of her made me lightheaded. We sat making small talk, mostly her joking about how I should get a set of action figures marketed for myself; that with enough publicity I could be the next Rambo. After we entered Waltham, I caught a glimpse of a calculating shine in her eyes, and I waited for what I knew was coming. We were maybe two blocks from our stop when she mentioned about how when we first met I had asked her if she was a writer.
I nodded slowly.
She said, “I don’t have any training as one, but your story is amazing, especially after what you did yesterday. Leonard, with the two of us working together I’m sure we could still write a kickass book, one that we could get paid a lot of money for. I mean, how hard could it be? And who knows, maybe we’d even be able to get a movie deal for it. So what do you say?”