Half-Past Dawn

CHAPTER 7

If that guy preferred jumping off a bridge into a tractor-trailer, if that was the only alternative in his mind…” Frank said, but he never finished stating what Jack was already aware of.

“I know,” Jack said, more to himself than to Frank. They were back at his house, trying to regroup. With the death of the man on the bridge, they were thankful no one had seen them.

As much as the man’s suicide scared Jack, his fear for his children was far worse. He had lost the only link to them, the only link to Mia.

Standing in the foyer, he looked at the cell phone he had smashed in anger, wondering if he had destroyed a crucial piece of evidence that would have led him to her. He leaned down and picked up the blue bear. He remembered giving it to Hope last October. He had been working late on a racketeering case for weeks, spending most of his weekends in the office. He had missed them terribly but knew they missed him even more. When the trial finally ended in victory, he had stopped at the toy store and grabbed the blue and brown bears. After arriving home after ten to find Mia sound asleep, he crept into the girls’ room and sat in a desk chair watching over them. He had missed them as if he hadn’t seen them in months. Knowing that the next day would only bring more routine-school, work, dinner, bedtime-he had leaned over Hope and kissed her cheek, then quickly turned and kissed Sara.

The two girls had awoken, sleep dripping from their eyes until they saw their dad. They had leaped into his arms, holding tight so he couldn’t escape.

“Daddy,” Sara had said, “it’s the middle of the night.”

And Jack had held out the bears. They had snatched them up, hugging them close, but soon returned to hugging their father.

“Thank you,” Hope had said.

“I just want you to know I love you.”

“Is that what the bear’s for?”

Jack had nodded.

With a warm smile, he had picked them up, carried them downstairs, pulled out a box of Oreos, and poured three glasses of milk. They had headed into the den, cuddled up under a blanket, and watched Willy Wonka until four in the morning, when they all finally fell asleep. Needless to say, Mia hadn’t been happy when she found them at 6:15 but soon forgave them, allowing them to sleep, everybody taking the day off and spending it together.

And now, as Jack stared at the bear, the wellspring of his subconcious reopened, flooding his mind with images, thoughts, and sounds. But it was last night, early this morning… all of the pain, all of his emotions from twelve hours ago, building up. His life shattered, the rage and anger and fury filling him as Mia was torn away into the night; the wound in his shoulder once again sharp with pain; he was keenly aware of the cut above his eye. He felt the pounding of the rain on his face, his body soaked through and bloodied.

Then he finally burst through it, all of the pain gone, his mind clear, as if he had to travel through hell to venture into the recesses of his mind.

• • •

Five days ago. Sunday’s drive out to his parents’ house was suddenly as clear as if it was five minutes ago. They had dropped the girls off for the week. He and Mia needed alone time, time to talk, to reconnect, time for Jack to explain some things that were happening in his life and career.

Jack could still hear Mia’s voice as she calmed the girls, standing in his parents’ driveway, wiping the tears from Hope’s and Sara’s eyes as they cried about leaving behind their pillows, their stuffed animals, and how much they would miss them.

“Honey.” crouching down, she took each of them into her embrace, “both of you, give me your hands.”

The two girls held out their right hands, which Mia gently grasped. She warmly kissed their palms and then closed their small fingers around the kiss so it wouldn’t escape.

“Do you know what that is?”

The girls shook their heads in unison.

“That’s a kissing hand. Whenever you miss me, need me, or are scared, you place it against your cheek.” Mia placed her palm against her cheek in demonstration; both the girls followed her lead. “Do you feel it?”

The girls smiled and nodded.

“I do,” Hope said.

“You both hold on to those.” She pulled them close and whispered in their ears, “They last forever.”

With the girls now smiling and their eyes focused on the beach, Jack and Mia handed them and their bags to his mom and were back on the road. They loved their children more than life but realized that they had sacrificed so much of themselves to the point of forgetting about each other.

All of their money went into their house, their government salaries not affording them the luxury of vacations. And so they embraced those moments of slowing down, turning their lives around, modifying their day to make it a vacation of the mind.

Their conversation on the way home had nothing to do with play dates, juice boxes, or Fineas and Ferb. It was about each other, catching up on things missed as a result of work and children.

After walking through the door of their home, they reveled in the silence. It was like the peace of walking into a hotel after a long journey, dropping the bags onto the floor, and collapsing on the bed. They read the paper, walked around in their underwear without care, talked for hours, and fell silent for long spells, taking pleasure from simply being in each other’s company. There were things Jack wanted to talk about, things about life and the future, but in the recaptured feeling when one first falls in love, Jack decided that things could wait, that some secrets could hold for a few more days.

Mia made garlic mashed potatoes and green beans while Jack seared the steak. They made love on the sofa like teenagers whose parents were out for the evening, watched movies, and lost themselves in the moment. At eight o’clock, they piled a sea of pillows and comforters on the floor of the sunroom and fell sound asleep in each other’s arms.

Besides the night before, it was the last full memory of the week he could form. He looked again at the blue bear, leaned down and picked up the brown one. He knew where he would take them.

Frank drove them up the Merritt Parkway, heading north, the glare of the early-morning sun filling his Jeep.

Jack dialed his cell phone. His mom had always been an early riser, so he felt no guilt about calling so early. He needed to hear that the girls were OK, needed to know they were safe. The phone rang.

He had given his mom a cell phone, taught her how to use it, insisted that she always carry it in case of emergency, but he knew she had tucked it into the back of a drawer where the battery died and had forgotten all about it.

The phone rang again. And again. Four times now. No answer. He cursed her for not having an answering machine, for not keeping up with the times.

On the sixth ring, Jack began to panic, and Frank hit the accelerator.