If Bertrand was correct about the flu shot program being the dissemination mechanism, its delay was the best news Jeffrey had ever had in his life — and he had no reason to doubt the scientist. But a part of Jeffrey felt empty, hollow, like he’d won a pyrrhic victory.
He couldn’t account for the sentiment, but it was there, and very real. Perhaps it was because he was done with his new life and hadn’t yet decided what was next. Maybe it was his head injury, which had finally stopped hurting six days ago. Or maybe it was that he’d lost everything, and had nothing to hang onto.
Jeffrey had told the firm that he needed more time due to his injury, and the response had been polite but distant, as if they didn’t really care what he did. Which was fine by him — he’d hung around in Paris, ostensibly for the doctor, but in reality because he didn’t want to go back and face the shambles of his existence. And it had worked — Monica had seemed less and less interested when he called, which had gone from daily, to every couple, and on the last call she’d seemed as uninterested in talking as he. Maybe she’d finally sensed that he wasn’t under her spell anymore; or more likely, she’d been told that her assignment sleeping with Jeffrey was over, so there was no more pay in it. Whatever the case, he was almost positive that her phone wouldn’t answer when he got back into town, which was fine. At least he had closure there.
Of a kind.
The taxi rolled to the curb and the bellman held the door open for Jeffrey as he climbed into the car, the sky blue as spring arrived in force. A trio of pretty girls bounced provocatively down the street, chatting with each other, laughing, seemingly without a care in the world, and he watched them with a trace of melancholy, then leaned forward and told the driver in a quiet voice to take him to the airport, away from Paris, to a future that was as uncertain his past.
FORTY-SIX
Home
Monica’s phone was disconnected when he got around to returning her latest three-day-old message on his answering machine. He wasn’t surprised, and realized as he listened to the automated voice that the only thing he felt was relief at not having to go through a protracted act to wind down their relationship.
When he arrived at the condo he was tired from the flight, and he barely stopped at the refrigerator to retrieve a beer before tossing his bag onto the couch and popping the top. He savored the first icy swallows with relish, then set the bottle down and powered on his phone and called into the office to see what messages he had. His secretary had told him that Fairbanks wanted to speak to him as soon as he was able to come in, and he sensed the other shoe getting ready to drop — again, with a sense of relief. The lie he’d been living, the fantasy world that had been created to keep him under wraps, was disintegrating around him, and he was glad. It meant he was no longer of interest, no longer a target. At least, that was his hope.
His client messages had dwindled to nothing, which he interpreted as another sign. The word had gone out from the partners that he wasn’t long for their world, or would be out of the office for the duration as he grappled with his injury. He knew the firm would have to be careful about how it proposed that he leave, so that it didn’t seem that he was being let go as a result of the mugging, but he didn’t really care how they went about it. He wasn’t going to challenge them. He just knew that he didn’t want to stay in Washington any longer. There was nothing for him there. It was now just a place his brother had lived — too briefly.
Jeffrey glanced at the beer and realized it had somehow emptied itself while he’d been preoccupied, and he belched as his eyes roved around the room, wondering if all the eavesdropping equipment had been removed in his absence. As his eyes came to rest on his brother’s Stratocaster sitting on the stand in the corner, he realized it didn’t much matter. At that instant, he knew that he would be calling the realtor and selling the condo, probably early the next day. There was no point in delaying the inevitable, and it would be the first step on the path to a new reality.
Jeffrey picked up the guitar, plugged in the amplifier next to it, and strummed a chord. He fiddled with the volume and tone knobs and then tuned it, plucking the harmonics and listening for the slight dissonance. Satisfied that it was close enough, he reached down and grabbed a pick from the green vinyl amp top, and played a few quick riffs, arpeggios that his rusty fingers struggled with at first, but quickly adapted to, like riding a bike. As the speed increased, he broke into “Little Wing,” the soulful wail of the guitar a keening lament, a protestation to an unjust universe that robbed the innocent and rewarded the wicked.
Drums and a bass rift, brooding and roiling, accompanied him in his head, and a tear ran down his face as he played, his heart breaking with every note, a silent prayer to his brother, a final eulogy and farewell, repeating in his mind.
Goodbye, Keith. You will be missed. I’m sorry I never had the time. Maybe someday we will, in a better world than this.
The haunting melody reverberated off the condo walls, the tortured notes painting an auditory landscape of love and loss, a spontaneous requiem for the departed — a man that through his final brave actions had managed to save the world from itself, at least for a time.
Two days later, the condo was listed with Jodie, who was already weaving her spell on potential buyers. He’d packed up his personal effects and put most of them back into storage, to be dealt with at some future time when he was more motivated. The discussion with the firm had gone about as he’d expected, where they mutually agreed that things weren’t working out as planned, and that he should take the necessary time off to literally set his head straight. The only pang of regret he felt was when he handed the keys to the BMW back, but it was fleeting — there were millions of cars in the world, and he would soon find another one.
In the interim he negotiated a deal with Jakes to take the Taurus for as long as Jeffrey wanted it, a couple of hundred bucks a month for as long as he maintained it, which as far as Jeffrey could tell amounted to cleaning the ashtray out and topping off the oil every few weeks. He took it in to get it detailed, and the staff at the car wash regarded him as though he’d walked in wearing a clown costume. Still, after four hours of attention, at least the pungent stink and sticky feeling to everything had been purged, and it was without regret that he bundled his bags and the Strat into the creaky trunk and rolled into mid-day traffic, eager to be rid of the city once and for all.
When he arrived at the familiar gate the sun was well past the midpoint, and the trees cast long shadows on the grass, which was taller than the last time he’d been there. The car door closed with a clunk, the hinges squeaking in protest, and he locked it before squeezing past the fence post and onto the ruts leading to the house. As he approached the porch, the front door opened and Kaycee appeared, a look of concern on her face, the shotgun clenched in both hands, and then her expression softened to one of astonishment, and if he wasn’t imagining things, pleasure.
She came down the wooden steps, taking measured strides toward him as he loped up the rustic drive.
“This is a surprise. What are you doing here?” she called, her brow furrowed, a scrunching that Jeffrey found instantly endearing.