Six Seconds

48

Seattle, Washington

Samara’s concentration bounced from her printed Internet map, to the van’s GPS, then down the street. “There it is.”

She pointed for Jake, who was driving.

“I’m not blind.”

“I wasn’t implying you were.” She folded her papers.

“You’ve been so reticent. What’s troubling you?” “I’ve got a headache coming on,” he lied. And she knew it.

The strip mall came into view.

It was a plain, single-story square, sheltered by two tall madronas. It offered half a dozen glass storefronts: a nail salon, a pet shop, a check-cashing outlet, a res taurant, a chiropractor’s office and Samara’s objective:

Top Line Men’s amp; Women’s Alterations.

Earlier that week, Samara said she needed a break and wanted to get away. At the same time she’d con cluded that she didn’t have anything appropriate to wear for the papal visit and she pressed Jake to take her to

Six Seconds 297

Seattle. Top Line was known for designing and making the best handcrafted suits on the west coast. Rush orders were their specialty.

Given that he drove all over the country for a living, the prospect of a long jaunt from Cold Butte through the Rockies to Seattle and back on his time off didn’t appeal to Jake. But the trip to Seattle was not the real problem. His doubts about Samara, about what he’d done, were slowly eating away at him.

Samara was intent on going to Seattle and had offered to share the driving. She suggested they make a holiday weekend of it, see some sights, take in a ball game.

Logan jumped on that.

Anything to escape his boring prairie prison.

Jake was outvoted.

Samara made an appointment and they set off to journey through a time zone so she could get a tailormade suit.

Was the fuss about clothes a British thing?

What the hell, Jake shrugged it off. We’re talking about meeting the pope. And the school had sent out a notice re quiring children, families and staff to wear their “Sunday best” for the pope’s event in the school. They’d stayed at a motel last night. Got up early, and now, here they were.

“I’m just going in to be measured. You two wait at the restaurant. If I’m not out in forty-five minutes, come for me. Then we’ll spend the day seeing the sights. Go to Pike’s, then the game.”

“Sure,” Jake said.

Samara looked at him for a moment then left.

“Dad.” Logan’s attention was on the pet shop win dow. “Before we go to the restaurant, can we go to the pet store and look at the parrots?”

“Okay, pal.”

After the pet store, which reeked, Jake and Logan sat in a booth in the diner, where Logan drank chocolate milk and read the comics in the Seattle Times. Jake had coffee while pretending to read the sports pages.

The truth was he was wrestling with discontent that verged on resentment. The fire between Samara and him had cooled. She’d grown distant, preoccupied with work, her online correspondence courses, her late-night calls to her friends all over the world. Even on this trip, she’d devoted much of her time to her laptop, as if he and Logan weren’t there.

Peering into his coffee, he again questioned his deci sion to leave Maggie. Had he thought this deal through? What sort of future did they have with Samara?

He didn’t know.

“Dad, is it time for us to go get her?”

“Not yet, son, we just got here.”

Bells chimed over the transom when Samara en tered the shop.

A man in his forties was on the phone, behind the counter. A U.S. flag was pinned to the wall above the counter. The man was wearing a navy vest and a white shirt with rolled sleeves; a measuring tape was collared around his neck. He interrupted his call for his customer.

“I’m Samara,” she said. “I have an appointment.”

“Oh, yes. Please look around, I’ll be with you shortly. My daughter will help you. Jasim!”

A pretty young girl emerged from the back to guide her through the shop’s offerings. It was crammed, floor to ceiling with bolts of fabric, Egyptian cotton, Italian and British wools, cashmeres, silk charmeuse, chantilly lace. Samara flipped through sample books until the man ended his call.

“Apologies, Samara, I’m Benny.”

He was a master tailor, originally from London, where his father had created suits on Savile Row.

“I understand you were also born in London. I believe we have mutual friends.”

“That’s true. Our uncles know each other.”

As they shook hands, she noticed his sharp, brown eyes.

“You’d like us to create a suit for a very big occasion.”

“Yes.”

“A rush job, you said?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Not a problem. It’s my pleasure to help. Allow me to show you what I’ve started since your call.”

Benny opened a well-used notebook to show her sketches of a three-piece suit-a jacket, skirt and camisole ensemble.

“Simple understated elegance,” he said.

The jacket would have princess seams, and ribbontrimmed faux-flap pockets. The skirt would be cut below the knee, fully lined, with side zipper and ribbon detail. The camisole would be satin.

“All in taupe.” He held up a sample. “Yes, it works for you. Come to the mirrors and I’ll get some measure ments.”

During Benny’s measuring, note taking and small talk about life in Montana, their eyes found each other in the reflection.

“This is a monumental event, Samara.” He’d lowered his voice. “Are you nervous?”

“No. Are you?”

“No. I’m honored to be part of it.”

“What fabric are you suggesting?”

“A new import I just got in via New York from Africa. It’ll be excellent.”

The transom bells chimed as Jake and Logan arrived.

“Be right with you, gentlemen.”

“They’re here for me,” Samara said. “That’s Jake and his son, Logan.”

Benny greeted them.

“Welcome, welcome.”

Jake appraised Benny, then the large U.S. flag and framed photos of U.S. troops in desert combat dress above the counter caught his attention.

“You know people overseas?” Jake said.

“Friends. Clients for graduations and weddings. Got to support the guys,” Benny said. “As you and Samara know, it’s difficult for the people still over there.”

Jake nodded.

“So, Logan, Samara tells us you’re going to meet the pope. You must be thrilled beyond measure?”

“It’s cool, I guess.”

“Very cool. Jake, you must be so proud.”

“It’s a once-in-a-lifetime deal, for sure.”

“Would you like us to make you a suit for the occasion, Dad?”

“Me? No, I mean I couldn’t afford-”

“I’ll give you a very deep discount, out of respect for your contribution overseas.”

“How did you know about that?”

“Samara and I were chatting.”

Jake nodded, glanced round the shop.

“That’s kind of you. But I’m good in that department. Got a suit that does the job. I’m not inclined to wear one much.”

“I see, but a hand-cut suit would fit like a dream. Are you certain you wouldn’t like one?”

“I’m sure.”

“How about young Logan? How would you like to be the sharpest dressed kid to meet the pope in Montana?”

“I don’t know.” He looked to his dad. “I got a shirt and a tie. I don’t like to get all dressed up.”

“Permit me. Let’s try something.” Benny assessed Logan, then selected a small blazer from a rack and held it open so Logan could slip it on.

“Now that fits nicely,” Benny said, then positioned Logan for some quick expert measurements. “Tell you what. I’ll make Logan a suit at no charge.”

“Free?” Jake asked.

“Free.”

“Why?”

“To have my work be part of history would be payment enough,” Benny said, smiling.

Jake looked to Logan.

“Would you like a free suit made just for you, son?”

Logan shrugged. “Guess that would be okay.”

“Terrific.” Benny got more measurements. “I’ll start work on your outfits immediately. We’re very fast here.”

Samara hugged Benny.

They spent the rest of the morning downtown at Pike Place, Pioneer Square, then they went up into the Space Needle. It was about six when they made it to Safeco and got tickets behind home plate, above the press box, for the Mariners’ home night game against Cleveland.

Nine innings and several hot dogs later they returned to the motel. They were exhausted from a long day of fun and were just settling in when Samara’s cell phone rang.

It was Benny. The suits were done.

Within thirty minutes he’d delivered them personally to the motel, apologizing for the late hour.

Logan was exhausted but Jake helped him try the suit on. It was perfect. Then, in the awkward moments Samara was in the bathroom trying hers on, Logan fell asleep watching Jaws on TV and Jake thanked Benny for going out of his way to save them driving time in the morning.

Samara’s suit also fit perfectly.

It looked good, in fact. Samara grabbed her purse before she stepped outside to see Benny off.

Jake could hear them outside the door.

As they talked in low, serious tones in Arabic, a tiny wave of suspicion rippled through him.

Something felt wrong.

Was he jealous at the way she smiled at Benny? Was it something he thought he’d detected in their body language? Or was it his imagination?

He didn’t know.

The next day during the long drive through the mountains back to Cold Butte, Jake ruminated on Samara and Benny.

Samara spent much of the return trip on her laptop, coping with an erratic wireless connection as she worked between taking her turn at the wheel.

As the miles rolled by, Logan sensed the unspoken tension mounting from his dad’s dark mood.

It scared him.

He knew that something was getting wound tighter and tighter. Sooner or later something was going to happen.

Now, more than ever, Logan needed to call his mom.

As they ascended and descended through mountain passes, he saw Samara’s purse.

It had opened a crack.

Logan saw her cell phone and returned to an idea that he had been forming.

If he was going to act on it, he’d better do it soon.

Time was running out.