John Rourke stood up. There should be quite a lot of the cigars remaining—he started, his legs still weak, across the great room, toward the kitchen and the freezer where he kept them. Behind him he heard Natalia’s voice, “I love you— not someone the age that you were, not someone who looks like you, not your son.”
Rourke stopped at the height of the three steps leading to the kitchen. He leaned against the counter. “I did the only thing I could do. Now leave it alone,” he almost whispered.
Q
Sarah’s voice—he didn’t look at her. “Which god are you, John?”
His voice welled up inside him and he shouted without looking at her, “Leave it alone!”
“Which god are you? Which god are you, John Rourke! Should I fall on my knees to you?
Should I burn a goddamned sacrifice to you? If you make me pregnant again, should I sacrifice our first born to you—you already made me sacrifice two children!”
“Alone! Leave it alone!”
“No!”
“Momma!”
“Stay out of this, Annie—“
“Mrs. Rourke, Sarah—“
“No. You worship him—it’s written all over your face. He’s your big macho hero—taught you how to ride a bike, how to shoot a gun. Well, nobody goddamned taught me. He wasn’t there with me.” Rourke turned around, watching Sarah now as she turned toward Natalia. “And you love him because you’re like him—you’re both better than human beings, better than anybody at anything. You were made for each other. But he didn’t steal your children from you. You don’t have the memories of them inside you, of caring for them when the world was going to hell, of smuggling them past Russian guards when they were naked and shivering under blankets, of fighting and killing to keep them alive. I went through all of the hell—and now he took them!”
John Rourke watched his wife’s eyes. “You did an this all because you know what’s right for everybody, don’t you? You’d stay away for days building this Retreat. You’d keep at it and at it making this—this place. Well, what good did it really do? We’re alive and to keep the damned human race going you played god and made the children grow up so your son could marry your mistress and your daughter could marry your best friend. How fucking noble!” She turned away, walking into the bedroom he had built with his hands for them to share.
The door slammed.
He felt something—a presence and he looked away from the closed door. Annie stood behind him, on the lowest step. She wrapped her arms around his waist. “We started to raise tobacco, and in the encyclopedia and in the other books, I learned how to make cigars for you. I’ve been freezing them for years. You can smoke all you want. Just like the Cuban ones—rolled on the lips of—“ She licked her lips, looking over her shoulder at Paul Rubenstein. Paul stood there, his hands in his pockets, Rourke watching as the younger man stared down at his feet. He’d never seen Paul Rubenstein’s face so red before. “I love you, Daddy. I know what Momma meant. I’d hate you if you took away my children, but I’m not Momma. And I love you. Hold me,” and she rested her head against his chest as she ascended the steps.
John Rourke held his daughter close against him and closed his eyes. A long time later, he smoked one of the cigars and the taste— different than his other cigars—was somehow better.
Chapter Eighteen
He was still stiff and his muscles sore, but on the trail in pursuit of Michael there would be time to regain his strength from his long sleep. At least Paul Rubenstein told himself that as he stood in the workroom, fieldstripping the Brown-ing High Power. The magazine out, he drew the slide back and locked the safety in the forwardmost notch. He began working the slide stop out until he could pluck it from the left side of the frame with his fingers. Slowly, he lowered the safety on the worn 9mm, letting the slide move forward and dismounting it from the rails. He removed the recoil spring and guide from the inverted slide, then jiggled out the barrel. He heard the rustle of clothing beside him. He looked to his left—it was Annie. “I guess your mother was kinda angry,” he told her, not looking at her but looking at the pistol again. He took the Break-Free CLP and began to pour some of it— the cap removed—onto a rag to degum the pistol. “You’re the only eligible man in the world. But that’s not why I fell in love with you, Paul.”
He swallowed hard. “Hey, don’t make fun of me.”
“What did you look like with your glasses on?”
“I don’t know. Maybe my eyes being normal is just temporary. Maybe—“ “Daddy—my father—he had scars from old wounds and they healed.” “My left arm—there isn’t any scar from that spear. You’ll have to get your father to—“ “He told me. You’re a very brave man.”
Paul Rubenstein laughed. “Bullshit. I’m just— well, I pick things up quick. Your father—he’s the one—“ “You’re a brave man. He told me you saved his life more than once.” “No, I never did that. I just—and anyway, God, John saved me—I mean, your father, he—“ “When Daddy told you about your mother and father—what that Colonel Reed told him—I wanted to hold you.”
“Annie, you’re a little—“
“I’m a woman—and I fell in love with you while you slept. Not because Daddy made things so I would. I just did. Like girls falling in love with movie actors or rock singers—never meeting them. I fell in love with you.”
“That’s not love, that’s—“
“He told me about the girl in New York once— one night. He was up very late and I was ten years old and I sat up with him and he told me all about you.” “The Eden Project—there’ll be lots of guys, guys a lot better—“ “I’ll be a spinster then, if you won’t have me.” He realized he was moving the cleaning rod in and out of the barrel and he thought she might think he was thinking something he shouldn’t think and he set the barrel and the cleaning rod down and he looked at her. “I, ahh—“ “You want to say you don’t love me yet—and I understand that.”
“Gimme a chance to breathe—“
“I know that—but I wanted you to know before you go off after Michael. I couldn’t just not tell you,” and she leaned up toward him, Paul feeling her hands touching at his face. She was very pretty—the deepness of the brown of her eyes, the hair was unimaginable, like something from a fantasy about a mermaid or a goddess, he thought. The white blouse—it showed the bareness of her shoulders where the shawl she wore fell away from her.
“You’re the daughter of my best friend. He—“
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“You’re a gentile, I’m—“
“That has nothing to do with it—there aren’t any rabbis and there aren’t any ministers.”
“But—“
“But?”
He licked his lips. “Annie—you—Annie—“
“I fell in love with you. I used to fantasize what your voice was like because I couldn’t remember it. It’s soft—I like it.”
“Annie—“
“When I was seven or so and we played poker that night, you told me I was pretty.”
“You’re beautiful. You’re the most beautiful woman I ever—“
“I’m your woman. I don’t expect you to do anything. But when you want to—just—I never talked like this. I’m your woman.”
“You’re—“
“Almost twenty-eight.”
“You’re—“
“You’re almost five hundred and twenty-eight,” and she laughed.
“I’m not that—“ and he laughed.
“Daddy told me you were kind of quiet. I think he meant shy.”
“Aww, dammit, look—“
“All I wanted was for you to know—that I’ll be here when you get back, Paul.”
“Annie—look—“