Desperate Measures

24

Pittman had hoped to borrow money from Brian, but that had obviously been out of the question. With a dollar bill, a dime, and a nickel in his pocket, he proceeded dismally toward where he could catch the train back to Manhattan, although he didn’t know why, since he didn’t have enough cash to buy a token. The more he walked, the more tired and hungry he became. He felt defeated.

Ahead, cars at a funeral home caused him to suffer the depressing memory of Jeremy’s funeral-the closed coffin, Jeremy’s photograph in front of it; the mourners, most of them classmates from Jeremy’s school; Burt next to Pittman (and now Burt was dead); Pittman’s argument with his soon-to-be ex-wife. (“It’s your fault,” she’d insisted. “You should have taken him to the doctor sooner.”)

Pittman recalled how, after the funeral, there’d been a somber reception back at the mortician’s, coffee and sandwiches, final commiserations. But Pittman had been so choked with grief that he hadn’t been able to force himself to respond to the condolences. He had taken a sandwich that someone had given him, but the rye bread and paperlike sliced turkey had stuck in his throat. He’d felt surrounded by a gray haze of depression.

A similar gray haze weighed upon him now. Instinctive fear had propelled him into motion. Adrenaline had fueled him. The strength and endurance that adrenaline created had finally dwindled, however. In their place were lethargy and despair. Pittman didn’t know if he could go on.

He told himself that he’d been foolish to believe that he could disentangle himself from the mess that he had fallen into.

Perhaps I should go to the police. Let them try to figure things out.

And if someone gets through police security to kill you?

What difference does it make? I’m too tired to care.

You don’t mean that.

Don’t I? Death would be welcome.

No. You’ve got to keep trying, a voice inside him said. It sounded like Jeremy.

How? I don’t even have enough money to take the train back to Manhattan.

Come on, Dad. All those years of running. Don’t tell me you don’t have what it takes to do a little more walking.