First Class Killing

Chapter 19

ON MY WAY BACK INTO THE CITY, I CALLED information on my cell phone and asked for the number of Jamie’s firm in Manhattan. Then I paid the outrageous fee to have them connect me, because I was afraid if I did it myself, I would crash my car.

After one ring, a woman with a soft voice and a prim tone answered.

“Mr. Shanahan’s office. Can I help you?”

Mr. Shanahan. How could that kid who used to leave his coat on the floor be Mr. Shanahan? I wondered if he still did that, if he waltzed into his office, walked out of his cashmere overcoat, and left it lying in a heap where it fell. Did his assistant come in behind him and hang it up for him?

“Is he in, please?”

“May I say who’s calling?”

“I’m his sister.”

I saw him through the window, and it stopped me. Jamie sat on a stool at the street-facing counter, bathed in that mellow, hip-and-happening-but-not-adequate-for-reading Starbucks lighting. It was dark out, so he couldn’t see me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had made room for the possibility that he wouldn’t show, that he would leave me waiting for him, watching the clock with a sick feeling in my stomach. But here he was, and he was waiting for me.

I walked through the door behind a large man who took up a lot of space. Jamie didn’t see me, so I surprised him when I put my hand on his shoulder.

“Hi, Jamie.”

He did a pirouette on the stool and stood up, all in one graceful motion. “How did you…I didn’t see you come in.”

Unlike when we’d met on the plane, I felt like hugging him, so I did. He was only a little taller, so neither one of us had to bend down. It felt comfortable, the way it used to, but when he started to pull away, so did I, making the parting seem as mutual as the embrace.

I started but not well. “Um, I wanted to apologize for-”

“Watch out.” He took my arm and guided me away from the door. It kept opening and closing with each new latte-starved customer. He reached up and scratched the back of his head. “Can I get you something? Do you want tea?”

“I’ll get it. Do you need a refill?”

“No, thanks. I’ll just…” He reached around for his wallet. “But let me get this.”

“Don’t be silly. Tea costs all of a dollar here. I’ll be right back.”

I didn’t have to go far to join an ordering line that snaked almost to the back of the store, and it didn’t take long to figure out that waiting for a cup of hot tea behind the venti caramel soy macchiattos and grande decaf nonfat with whip white chocolate mochas was a bad idea. Given the sound level, it also occurred to me that I had not picked the best place for a reconciliation discussion, not if we actually wanted to hear each other.

I bailed out of the line and walked back. “Do you want to get out of here? Maybe go for a walk?”

“Let’s go.” He was off his stool before I had even finished the question, which reminded me of how much Jamie liked being in motion. Not in the hypercompulsive way Dan did but because he had always thought he was better at doing than thinking.

We stepped out onto the sidewalk, which was crowded with workers who had fled the surrounding office towers when the white-collar whistle had blown. I directed us toward the Common and, as we walked, practiced in my head all the things I had thought of to say.Jamie, I’m sorry about what happened on the flight to LA, and I’m really sorry about last Christmas. If what I did hurt you or Gina-

Wait.If I hurt you? I sounded like every rap star, movie star, sports star, or ex-president who ever offered a conditional apology, one designed to shift responsibility to the victim for having the audacity to feel hurt. What I mean is…what I meant was…damn, this was hard.

“Jamie.”

“What?”

“On the flight to LA the other day, I wasn’t nice to you. I was surprised, and I didn’t handle it well, and I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

“I was sorry not to spend the time together.”

“Yeah, well…of course. That, too. Me, too.”

We walked for a ways without saying much and ended up at the traffic light in front of the State House. I looked up at the dome. It was beautiful, especially at night when it was all lit up. It looked as if it had been covered in gold tin foil.

“That’s nice,” he said.

I turned to see that he was looking also, gazing at it the way he used to peer into the sky at the fireworks on the Fourth of July. He was always trying to see them before they exploded.

“Jamie, I want to talk about last Christmas. I’ve been thinking about things…everything…and I’m sorry about the way I reacted.”

The light changed, and I followed him across the street, over the sidewalk, and down the steps into the Common, trying to talk the whole way. “I was wrong. What I did was wrong, and…I was…I think I was angry about being out of work for so long and not having any money and…none of which matters, because the end result was I took it out on you, I guess, and I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry.” It was getting harder to keep up with him, and not because I was slowing down. “Do you mind if we stop?”

We did, but I should have asked for us to stopand look at each other, because all he did was stare over my right shoulder at one of the dozens of memorial statues scattered about the park.

“I’m sorry I backed out on you. I should have explained myself better or maybe come after Walter had left. I missed seeing you. I missed being with you guys. I screwed up, and I’m sorry.”

I felt myself saying the wordsorry a lot, and I wanted him to look at me, to give me some sense of how this was going, but he seemed to be enduring me, which really pissed me off, since I was the one who had broken radio silence and called this meeting. And then he took off again. I didn’t.

“Jamie.”

He turned and doubled back. “You’re sorry. I got that. What else do you need to hear?”

“It’s generally good to acknowledge an apology when one is offered. That way, I know that I wasn’t talking to myself.”

“What good is an apology if you don’t mean it?”

That was totally out of the blue. “Why would you say that?”

“If we had the same set of circumstances today, would you make a different decision?”

I had to stop and consider that, and when I did, for about two seconds, the answer was no. “I still wouldn’t come, but I would try to see your side of things, and I wouldn’t get so angry and bitter and emotional and reactionary and…” I needed to stop, because I was getting angry and bitter and emotional and reactionary.

“I knew it.”

“You knew what? That I didn’t want to sit across the Christmas turkey from Walter? You knew that before you ever invited him, and yet you did it anyway. Just because you’ve decided to go all buddy-buddy with him doesn’t mean I have to. Things don’t change just because you want them to, Jamie. People don’t change.”

“So you would.”

“Wouldwhat?”

“You would do the exact same thing again. You would bail on me, because that’s what you do, Alex. If the situation is not perfect for you, you bail.”

“I have never bailed on you, Jamie. Never. You bailed on me when you invited him. Did you think for one second about how I might feel? I hope you two had a great time together and I hope-”

I could feel myself getting pulled back onto the grooved tracks of attack and defend and attack and defend, and all I had wanted to do, goddammit, was apologize, and now I couldn’t even keep my voice steady. I stared at the ground, at a cluster of rocks alongside the walking path, and I tried to will the conversation in a different direction. “I called you because I miss you, Jamie. I miss you, and I thought there should be a way for us to get through this. Someone had to make the first move, and-”

“And since it was you, I should be thankful? That makes you the bigger person?”

“JesusChrist.” I looked at him. He stared back with so much darkness in his eyes that I had the terrible thought he wanted to hit me. “Why are you so angry with me?”

He jammed both hands deep into the pockets of his coat, turned away, and began a slow, aimless meander toward the Frog Pond. Feeling suddenly exhausted, I found a bench and sat on it. The walking paths were busy with walkers this time of the evening. Some had the brisk heading-home-from-work pace. Others strolled leisurely, taking their wool sweaters and anoraks out for the first spin of the season. Soon they found the widening path between my brother and me.

I sat on the bench and watched Jamie and wondered how it was that we could get to this place so quickly. Maybe fighting was better than dead silence, but in that moment, it didn’t feel that way. I wondered if he would care or even notice if I got up and walked away. I wondered how I would feel if I did that.

Before I had a chance to wonder long, he came back. He sat beside me, but only on the edge of the bench, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees.

“When you didn’t come for Christmas, I felt like…you just should have been there.”

“Why? To fulfill some fantasy you have of a happy family? We don’t have one of those. We never have.”

“Because I…wanted you there.”

I started to barrel in with another defense but stopped. His voice had cracked. He had tried to raise it in anger and swat me down, much as our father used to do, probably still would if given the chance. But Jamie didn’t have it in him. He hadn’t figured out how to turn his fear into bluster and insults. He wasn’t quite able to hide his human frailty and I loved him for that. I also realized for the first time that maybe he had wanted me there because he was still scared of Walter. Maybe he still did need me. That felt different from being judged a failure of a daughter and a sister for not wanting to be there.

I dropped my head back and stared up into the trees. “Why did you invite him in the first place?”

“He’s our father.”

“Since when does that make any difference?”

“Since I had kids of my own. Gina and I have talked about it. He’s their only living grandparent. I wanted you to be with us and I knew you wouldn’t come if I told you he was invited. I was just trying to give you a little push.”

“I don’t like to be pushed.”

“No shit.”

“And it’s my choice whether I want to see him or not.”

“Mine, too.”

“I know, but why would you-” He was right. He was right, and I was right. We were both entitled to our choices, and we had to respect each other’s. It was just that I wanted his choice to be the same as mine. “Just make sure you want him around for the right reasons.”

“What does that mean?”

“I think you’re still trying to prove yourself to him and what better way to do it than to show him all your stuff?”

“My stuff?”

“Your cars and your big house and your big job.”

He stared across to the Frog Pond. It was still too early, but within months, it would be frozen over and used for a public skating rink. I didn’t skate, but I still thought that was one of the nicer things about winter in Boston.

“Sometimes,” he said, “I think the reason I have all those things is that he made me want to work harder.”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me that’s what you think. What he did to you was-” I put my hands on my knees and waited until I didn’t feel as if my face were on fire. “Parents are supposed to make life easier for their children. You know that. You have your own now. All he ever did was make yours harder.”

“Yours, too, Za.”

I looked at him, and he was grinning. Za was my family name, and Jamie was the only one who ever used it anymore. He had given it to me when he was learning to talk, because he could never get all the way to the end of Alexandra, which was what he heard my mother call me. In that strange and magical alchemy that exists only in the minds of toddlers, Alexandra begat Zandra, which became Za. He could be pretty damned disarming when he wanted to.

“Jamie, you are a good person, and you are what you are in spite of him. I can’t stand for you to give him credit for all of your hard work.”

He leaned forward again and stared into the ground. “It doesn’t mean I give you any less.”

“I’m not…it’s not about…” But it was. He was right. He’d gotten me again. I put my hand on his back and let it settle there, and that felt about right. “Jamie, I’ve got my own issues with Walter, and someday when I grow up, I’ll deal with them. If you want him around, then you have to deal with him on your own. But I give you a lot of credit for trying. It’s more than I’m willing to do.”

He nodded. We sat for a few minutes in silence. It was nice to be able to sit quietly together. I had so much I wanted to tell him, but not tonight. I wanted to stay in the space we were in right then. He might have felt the same way, because I knew he had questions, but he didn’t ask any.

“Where do you live?” Not the hard ones, anyway.

“Down Beacon.” I pointed west. “A few blocks that way. Not far. Where are you staying?”

“In a corporate apartment downtown.” Which meant we were walking in opposite directions. Speaking of home and directions seemed to be the cue to stand. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a snazzy business card holder and a pen and started jotting. “These are all my numbers. Call me when you’re free. Gina and the kids want to see you. You can come down and spend the night with us. We have plenty of space in the new house.”

“So…” I took the card and looked it over. “How was it, anyway?”

“How was what?”

“With Walter at Christmas. How did it go?”

He looked toward a streetlight, and his shoulders dipped just enough to make me angry at my father all over again. “It was…complicated. That’s a longer conversation.”

“Jamie…”

“What?”

“Please don’t make me have to forgive him, or be with him to be with you.”

It seemed like a long time before he answered. “I’m glad you called,” he said, and hugged me tight.

As I walked home, the evening felt fresh and promising, like a shiny new CD that hadn’t been played yet. On my way there, I saw things-a beautiful bay window with Irish lace curtains, a building’s delicately sculpted façade that featured a pineapple theme, a lavishly landscaped yard. I had noticed none of these things in the year I had lived there. It was as if I were seeing my own neighborhood through new eyes.

Inside my apartment, the red message light on my answering machine blinked. I punched it up and listened.

It was a woman’s voice but not Angel’s. I didn’t know who it was, but I knew what it was. Flight 1807. Chicago. Tomorrow afternoon. Code wordsSaturn andMercury. The swap had been arranged for both outbound and inbound flights. I played it again and saved it; then I called Harvey.

“Hello?” He sounded sleepy.

“ Harvey, the date is on.”

“For when?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?I am not ready. I have had no time to prepare. You said it would not be for a day at least.” Now he was awake.

“Yes, you are ready, and this is good for us. The sooner, the better, right? The flight is not until three in the afternoon. I should get in around five-thirty, and I’m sure the date wouldn’t be until quite a bit later than that. That gives us all night tonight and most of tomorrow. I’ll help you. I’m heading out to the airport right now to pull the reservation records. I’ll bring them over to you, and we’ll get started. Don’t worry. You’re ready.”

He might have been ready, but he was not happy when we hung up.

I put the phone aside and went in to change my clothes. This thing was happening. It was really happening, and I couldn’t help but feel that I was about to pass a point of no return.