 
# Taking Chances

a novel by T. J. Silverio

Copyright 2017 T. J. Silverio

Smashwords Edition

ISBN 9781370515981

**License Notes:** Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. Thank you for your support.

# Chapter 1

In the time a butterfly takes to flap its wings everything in life can change - light and darkness falling in new places. For Alex Frasier, shadows invaded his world when two police officers knocked on his door to inform him that an accident had just taken his wife, mere blocks away from their home in suburban Philadelphia.

The cloying sweet smell of flowers permeated the funeral home as Alex greeted stunned friends the following evening. Despite the unseasonably warm spring temperatures, the room felt cold. His oldest friend Chad Willis had flown up from Macon to help him navigate the unexpected terrain.

In a moment between well-wishers, his thoughts drifted back to an evening, just days earlier, when the world still made sense. He and Sylvia were in the bedroom getting dressed for a dinner engagement.

"Do we have to do this?" she asked. "You know how much I hate these business affairs."

"Don't look at me. When the Old Man says be there, we're there."

"You know I don't care for it when you call him that."

"Okay then, _your father_ claims this is an important potential customer. Need to make a good impression. Besides he likes to show you off."

"He does not," she said.

"Absolutely does. Thinks you're the perfect accessory."

"That's not funny."

He straightened his tie. "Sorry. But you have to admit, even though he could never picture you as part of the family business, he likes to have you around to charm the customers."

"He can't help it; he's just old school. Besides, you spend your life there, that's enough for both of us."

"That's not the point."

"Okay, he still thinks a woman belongs in the kitchen or on a man's arm," she relied. "It's just Papa's particular take on life."

"Probably all that pasta and spicy Italian sauce."

"And two thousand years of tradition." She zipped up her dress.

He looked at his watch. "Hey, we better get a move on."

"What? Did your day timer go off?"

"Just don't want to be late."

"Late to you would mean not being early." She kissed him on the cheek then entered her closet. "Stop pacing around. Go on down and get the car keys. I'll be there in a jiffy."

His eyes watered at the memory. Could that have been just three days ago? He realized someone was talking to him.

"...and we're so sorry, Alex." The face of Martha Simpson came into focus. "The whole Women's Club wants you to know how much we thought of her."

Martha moved on, replaced by another sad-face. "We're so sorry. We miss her already."

On and on the evening went. He noticed how bravely his daughter Sara was handling the situation. She looked so poised in her dark blue suit, patiently smiling despite the tears tracing her cheeks. His call to her at college to give her the shocking news was the most difficult conversation he thought he would ever have.

The line seemed endless, as did the sentiments. Eventually the evening drew to a merciful close.

An overcast sky bathed the scene in grays and shadows, matching his mood of gloom and sadness. A bright sun would have seemed out of place, irreparably cracking his already delicate façade.

The line of limos stretched around the block outside the Gothic cathedral. Inside, a sea of black filled the church as Antonio Colianni and his wife Maria walked behind the draped casket of their only daughter. Father Daniels stood at the front of the church faced with an impossible task - to speak words that would explain to this stricken man and his family how any god of mercy could take away something so precious, so necessary.

Alex held his daughter's hand as they walked behind Sylvia's mother and father up the aisle to the designated pew. He had lost his wife, a sad thing, and Sara at the vulnerable age of nineteen had lost her mother, equally sad, but no one who knew this family mistook the epicenter of the tragedy.

Antonio was a revered man, a shimmering jewel within the small but determined Italian community still clinging to the territory from 8th Street to 16th Street in south Philadelphia. He was adored for all he had done to keep the community vibrant, even though he no longer lived among them. Only one so beloved could have held their admiration even after abandoning the neighborhood to build his grand home on the mainline. He endowed scholarships to the St. Paul's Catholic High School, was a big contributor to the annual Italian Festival, and continually used his influence in the corridors of city hall on behalf of his people. People who knew him respected him and were sad with him on this, the most awful day of his life.

On the right side of the church, halfway back, sat rows of men in business suits, many of whom owed their success to Antonio's mentorship and guidance. Others were customers and competitors, honoring one of their own in his time of need. The Colianni medical supply business was relatively small when measured on the scale of the IBM's and Motorola's of the world, but in the Philadelphia area it was well-known and respected. A family business that the locals around the Italian Market pointed to with pride, "Local Boy Makes Good."

The long day concluded with a gathering at the Colianni home where final condolences were offered. Alex arrived back at his house near ten, drained and numb. Sara went to change her clothes in her old room where she had taken up residence since the accident. He appreciated having her close by.

He walked through the living room, empty for the first time in days, amazed how orderly the place looked despite countless visits of neighbors and friends with casseroles and cakes. Evidently healing began with the chewing process. Then he remembered the trim figure of Angela silently, almost invisibly, bustling around managing things. His sister-in-law seemed to have appeared in the midst of the chaos to take care of things.

He collapsed into a chair in the kitchen. Glancing around, it felt as though Sylvia was just out for an errand and the house waited expectantly for her return.

As he had done each evening of his adult life, Alex thought about tomorrow. But his day timer was filled with things that no longer held any meaning for him. He gazed at the calendar on the refrigerator door. The rest of the month had various scribblings in Sylvia's hand, events and appointments that would go unattended, reminders that would fall on silence. "April 2000" it announced. But now, what was tomorrow for?

# Chapter 2

The date on the unread newspaper claimed two weeks had passed. Alex had lost track. This must be what the concept of time relativity is all about, he concluded. There existed a time before the accident - a time filled with the unnoticed rituals of daily life, a time for planning trips and dreaming about the future, the illusion of unchangeable sameness. And then there's the time after, a period of extended blurriness. No need for days or hours. Just then - and now.

Loss is like sunburn. You may be caught by surprise when it happens, but once it sets in the pain takes over. It goes everywhere with you, present in every moment of your day and throughout the long empty nights. There's no escaping, the ache is pervasive and persistent. In spite of well-intended suggestions and bromides, there is no cure, no mitigation, just endurance.

Your system reacts to the injury by trying to purge itself; blisters begin to appear, bursting with grief. Eventually the surface dries up and starts flaking off. Your whole protective layer has been peeled away. Everything feels raw.

Alex struggled to recognize what was left. His identity had been erased like an etch-a-sketch. In the mirror he saw little that was familiar. The features were still there, his wavy light brown hair, the small scar on his chin from falling in the creek as a kid, the slender but slightly crooked nose, some graying at the temples, all there. Features that had always been described as attractive and friendly, the blue-green eyes that stared back at him now were vacant and oddly unfocused.

Slowly through some awful grace, healing begins. A new membrane emerges, tender and pink, unprepared for much exposure. And whatever damage lies beneath the surface remains concealed. He wanted to stay covered up as well, hidden from view.

Sara had returned to classes at the university but stopped by with bagels and a concerned expression, suggesting it would be good for him to get out some. Losing her mother had made its mark on her, but she kindly worried about him. He studied her sad brown eyes and sandy blond hair, feeling a secret pride for having his hair shade sneak through the genetic maze dominated by the dark coloring of Sylvia and the Colianni family. But Sara possessed that same expression as her mother in the curve of her nose and the crinkle of her smile. He wondered why he had never noticed that before.

With her encouragement bordering on insistence, he agreed to return to work. He could find no concrete reason to do so except to ease Sara's mind. There had been a time, not long ago, when work drew him like a magnet, taking great pride in the work he did as the finance manager for the family business. He had a knack for it. Just as a gifted golfer had a way of seeing the specific shape a shot required to find the green, Alex had a similar feel for what was needed financially along the complicated corridors of business. He understood the layered world of complex ledgers and financial statements as if they were clearly marked maps to his inner eye.

But like everything else in his life, that passion had now fallen away. He felt lost in a valley between two large mountains, with no energy to climb either. One side was carpeted with melancholy, robbing him of any interest in what the next moment offered. And the other side – draped with the curse of memory - haunted his dreams.

He drove the twenty minute route from Rosewood Park to the office in suburban Philadelphia, the same scenery he had passed for the past ten years since they followed Sylvia's wish to move to the plush suburban development. The ride itself proved therapeutic, the tall green-leafed trees lining the streets seemed to serve as anchors in his suddenly structureless world.

Once at work he offered a brief hello to his surprised secretary Agnes. Despite the antique gold plaque on his door indicating that this office still belonged to Alex Frasier, a very different person was now entering the room; still broad-shouldered and trim at five-nine, with a small pouch beginning to gather around his middle, his middle-age slump Sylvia called it, but a suddenly fragile person struggling to find his way. He sat down in the high-back leather chair to reacquaint himself with his desk, as if seeing it for the first time. On the corner sat a picture, Sara and Sylvia smiling with their arms around him. He reached over, picked it up, stared for a moment, then opened the desk drawer and slid the memory away.

Agnes appeared at his door, mug of coffee in her hand. "Good to see you."

He motioned her in. She set the coffee down on the stone coaster next to the blotter on his desk. "Thanks," he muttered.

"Would you like to see the mail?"

"Not just yet. Let me sort through some stuff for a while."

She left.

The rest of the day proceeded with awkward politeness, people trying to act normal in an abnormal situation. He appreciated the effort and struggled to put them at ease.

The next few days Alex went through the motions mostly out of habit, making decisions out of a routine long established, applying no real analysis. He heard the Old Man was missing. Antonio Colianni's big office, the center of activity for the company, remained dark and empty. This made no impression on Alex; he was absent in his own way. Colianni, here or there, was the last thing on his mind.

The rhythm of business surged on like the tide, moving with unseen relentless force, regardless of the circumstances. He knew he should just turn things over to his staff. He had good people, but at the moment he resisted delegating, couldn't bring himself to let go of anything else. He felt compelled to grasp onto whatever familiar controls still existed.

"I'll just make the necessary corrections to the monthly summary," his peppy second-in-command Amy said, after discreetly pointing out a few inconsistencies Alex had overlooked.

"No, I think I'd best attend to it."

She set the sheets on his desk. "You sure?"

"Yes, thank you."

His sense of trust had disappeared, a strange bookend to his indifference. Whatever logic of faith his previous life had taught him had been shattered by his wife's sudden death. He held no confidence in the next moment. He obsessed about Sara, calling her apartment, checking in perhaps too often to see how she was doing.

"I'm fine, Dad, really."

"Just wanted you to know I was thinking about you."

"I know," she replied. Then added, "I miss her too."

The evenings seemed empty and the nights long and lonely. Chad Willis continued to call from Macon, providing moments of relief from the shadows inhabiting the house. Despite the thousand miles of separation, the invisible thread of friendship suddenly seemed more like a life-line.

They had remained close since being roommates in college, enjoying the comfortable bond of true friendship, picking up on the last sentence of their previous conversation no matter how long since they had spoken. Sylvia had never warmed to Chad. While he had built an impressive series of car dealerships across Georgia, she continued to refer to him as a used car salesman and considered his failed marriages and 'southern airs' indications of a questionable character. "He's had more southern belles than Bret Butler," he recalled her saying.

But he knew Alex better than anyone. And when Sylvia died, Chad was his rock, and particularly sensitive to what Sara was going through. Unlike her mother, Sara was very fond of "Uncle" Chad. During her junior year of high school, as she sorted through the litany of possible colleges to attend, Alex had persuaded Sylvia to allow Sara to accept Chad's invitation to spend some time with him so she could visit the campuses in the south she had expressed interest in. She seemed to have had a wonderful time and while she decided to attend college right in Philadelphia, the bond she had established with Chad endured.

Chad's voice sounded deep and resonant, his "lawyer voice" he called it, capable of swaying little old ladies to pay full sticker price for new sedans. "Maybe you need to get away for awhile, a change of scenery," he suggested one evening. "Come on down here and enjoy some southern hospitality."

"I just feel empty. Don't think where my body is located matters much."

"You have no idea the curative power of sweet tea. People claim it's the bright sunshine and palm trees that accounts for our cordial disposition, but it's really the sweet tea." Chad paused. "I know this is hard to imagine, old buddy, but it'll get better. After my last divorce, not that I'm comparing my indiscretions with your loss, mind you, but I'd lost my appetite for 'bout everything. But it came back, full bodied. Just takes time."

"I'll take your word for it, but at the moment, nothing tastes very good."

Alex wanted to work, to fall into the world of numbers. No one ever died in a pool of numbers, everything operated just as directed by the rules of logic and the equations of predictable outcomes. There would be no surprises.

But there was a surprise. Antonio Colianni's office still stood vacant. No one had seen him since the funeral. Whispered conversations circulated that the sudden loss of his daughter had forced him to his bed. The senior staff met to address the immediate tasks of each day, but everyone anxiously waited for the Old Man to reappear.

Alex's inquiries met with obtuse responses, so he approached Ira Mosher, Antonio's close friend and although now semi-retired, still the financial icon of the firm.

"I don't have to tell you how difficult it's been," Ira said. "For Antonio to lose his only daughter, must seem unimaginable to him. He worshipped her, his princess, and now...the light seems to have just gone out for him." He paused. "How you holding up?"

"One day at a time," Alex replied. "Can we talk to him?"

"I've been over to see him a couple of times. He doesn't respond much. Doctors are calling it melancholic depression. They say it's a sadness so profound it's robbed him of his energy and his interest in most everything. Maria says he's not eating, not even his sacred pasta. And he's having trouble sleeping, constantly irritable..."

"That doesn't sound much like him."

"I guess that's the illness at work. Anyway, they're giving him a bunch of medications, hoping he'll come out of it."

"What about the business? What should we do?"

"We carry on. I'll be spending more time in the office. You and the rest of the staff can keep things going." He paused. "You up to it?"

"Don't know. Guess we'll find out."

# Chapter 3

Alex arrived home from work undecided about what to do for dinner. With a beer in hand he opened the sliding glass doors and stepped onto the patio, letting the warm air wash over him. Soon the hot weather would arrive. He thought about all the yard work he probably should be doing. He turned and went back into the house leaving behind the demands of the yard.

His stomach told him he was hungry, but he lacked appetite. While never much of a cook, he was a particular eater. Living alone presented many challenges, one of the severest residing in the culinary department. Frozen dinners and prepared entrées disappointed him. Gradually, out of desperation, and to the amusement of Sara, he was developing a limited repertoire of simple, mostly one-pot meals that satisfied him. He was staring into the refrigerator pondering his choices when the doorbell rang.

He opened the door, surprised to find Angela standing in the evening light. Sylvia's younger brother Tony had deserted Angela three years ago. She remained a fringe member of the extended family mostly because Sylvia's mother and father insisted on seeing their grandchildren. So Anthony and Marco were at all the gatherings and Angela sometimes along with them.

Generally reserved, she displayed a playful affection for Alex, claiming "us out-laws need to stick together," that always annoyed Sylvia. But Alex felt flattered by her attention and claimed she just needed to be around people once Tony had been such an ass and gone off with his secretary, leaving Angela to raise the kids alone.

Tony's bad behavior always stumped Alex. With Angela's dark flowing hair, sultry features, and soulful eyes, what did he need to be chasing skirts for? And when she touched a piano, which unfortunately she rarely did, Alex felt transported to another world.

When Sylvia died Angela just appeared in the midst of the chaos and did the little things to make those difficult days more manageable for Alex and Sara. She quietly picked up around the house and coordinated the massive avalanche of food that showed up, all part of creating a space for the family to grieve. She seemed her best as a caregiver.

During those blurry days Angela had become an intermittent fixture then gradually faded from view. Alex hadn't given it a thought, just gratefully accepted her assistance. Now, a month later, she was at his door.

"Hi, come on in." He stuck his head outside as she passed by. "The kids with you?"

"Anthony's at music lessons and Marco's chasing a soccer ball around at practice."

"So what's up?"

"Just wanted to stop by, see how you're doing."

"I just came in myself. Got a beer going. Want one?"

"Boy, I could use one, but maybe some ice tea? Still have to pick the kids up."

"Sure." He went to the kitchen returning with his beer and a glass of ice tea. "It's not sweetened. Do you want some sugar?"

"No, this is fine." She took the glass and settled herself on the sofa. They clicked in silent toast. Alex sat in the chair next to the couch. "So what's new?"

"Not much. Sorry to stop by unannounced. As I said, just wanted to see how you were doing..."

"And?" He noticed her hand shaking. "What's wrong, Angela?"

She looked at him through shiny eyes. "We're a pair aren't we? Couple of sad cases." She took a long sip. "The great Colianni family giveth and they taketh away. Now that Tony is living with that chippie, I'm persona non grata with the grandparents. Even the kids aren't getting the attention they used to." She rushed on. "Who the hell do they think is going to take care of them? Him? No way! His 'father of the year' days are long over."

Alex was shocked. He had never heard her talk this way.

"Damn him!" She started crying.

Alex moved next to her on the sofa, took her glass and set it on the table. "Come on, talk to me. What's the matter?"

She turned toward him burying her face in his shoulder. "Oh, Alex, I'm sorry. You have your own problems. You don't need this."

"Nonsense. I'm happy you dropped by. So what gives?"

She tried to quiet herself. "Why does life have to be so messed up?"

He rubbed her shoulder.

She lifted her head. "It's just so unfair."

The ringing phone suddenly cut through the awkward moment. "Probably just some telemarketer. I'll just ignore it," he said.

"No, get it," she replied. "It'll give me a chance to pull myself together."

Alex went into the kitchen and picked up the phone. A recorded message began to play in his ear. He hung up and slowly walked back into the family room grabbing the box of tissues off the refrigerator as he went.

Angela was still sitting on the sofa, her cheek shiny with tears. His mind raced to find words to console her.

He sat next to her, handing her a tissue. "Come on, it can't be that bad. You have two great kids...."

She picked her head up, pushing her hair away from her face. "Thank you." She wiped the tears from her cheek. "I just don't know how much more of this I can take. Life really sucks at the moment."

He had always known her to be poised and refined. This behavior seemed such a dramatic departure for her. "I wish there was something I could do to help."

"I'm just so miserable," she said. "Tony's being an asshole about the divorce and the kids hate me, and there's never enough money...my life is pretty ugly. You'd think there would be some sort of justice. He ran off taking all the money, leaving us to fend for ourselves, and he still gets to dictate everything."

"I guess I just didn't realize how bad it had gotten."

"After three years of haggling it's still not settled. Every time he says he'll do something...he never comes through. And the lawyers! They're scum!"

"Expensive scum I imagine."

She smiled a bit for the first time. "Yeah, very expensive. Every time I go in it's something else, another delay, another reason to cut the child support. That bastard cries poor-mouth to the judge while he tools around in a new sports car. And he gets away with it. Men!"

"Whoa, don't lump us all in that category," he said with a smile. "But you have every right to be angry."

"I keep asking myself, how can this be happening?" Angela said. "How could he throw everything we had away? Everything he promised? How can people treat each other this way?" She took a deep breath. "No one deserves this; no one should have their hearts torn open by betrayal." She dabbed the corner of her eye. "And to make things worse, I'm made to feel like it's my fault."

"Your fault?"

"Yeah, to friends and family, I'm the bad guy. What have I done to mess up this wonderful life? And I agreed of course, at first, once I got over denying such deceit was even possible. I thought, okay, what can I do, how can I negotiate his love back? What can I change, or do differently? I debased myself in that attempt, which makes me only hate myself more."

She crumpled the tissue up in her hand. "Those eyes, those goddamn eyes, they held such tenderness, and promised so much, and now they look at me coldly and speak with such harshness. It's like I've been dumped into another dimension. Who is this person?"

Angela looked up at Alex. "So yes, I'm angry. But they tell me that's just the next phase. I suppose I've become just a cliché. But if the final step is acceptance, I won't go there. I will never accept what he's done, what he's doing. Life is shit. And he's shit."

Suddenly she stood up. "And I need to go before I make an even bigger fool of myself." She dabbed her eyes. "I guess I just needed someone to vent to."

Alex got to his feet. "Anytime. Just wish I had known."

"That's the Colianni way, ever the bright faces, right?"

"True enough," Alex replied. "Whenever there's a family drama, I'd ask Sylvia why no one ever talked about it. Everything just kept going on as usual."

"And God forbid anyone say something bad about the anointed one – the son, mister heir apparent. But now even that seems to be changing, ever since...." She hesitated.

"Yeah, it's strange, the Old Man seems to have completely disappeared."

She turned back toward the sofa and picked up her purse, pushed her hair from her face. "Let me get going before I start blubbering again." She looked at Alex. "Sorry, I've really embarrassed myself. But thanks for listening."

He put his hands on her shoulders. "Angela, things have been pretty difficult for me, and you've been a wonderful friend, done so much for Sara and me. I want you to know how much I appreciate it."

"Give Sara my best." She went to the door and out into the dim evening light. "Goodnight, Alex. Take care of yourself."

He watched her walk to her car. As she pulled away, he leaned against the door jam, letting out a sigh. "You're right about one thing," he said out loud. "Life sure sucks."

Angela Russo never had a chance. Once Maria Colianni's only son Tony focused his charm on her, his attention overwhelmed her innocence. He romanced her with the intensity of an all court press, and in doing so, fulfilled one of Angela's two childhood dreams. The nightmare waited until after the wedding pictures settled into the album.

Brought up in a deeply religious, conservative environment, she was inexperienced in many things, including the intricacies of serious relationships. Even at twenty-seven, her sheltered life provided no preparation for the whirlwind of Tony's courtship. Her father owned a small construction firm in Wilmington, Delaware, where she had attended Padua High School for girls, and then went on to St. Mary's College to study music.

She had dated from time to time, but nothing serious. Her love had been reserved for her passion, music. Since she was eight years old she'd spent all her time practicing the piano. She excelled at it, dreaming of one day playing on a grand concert stage. She loved the thrill of the keys dancing under her fingers. Seating in front of the keyboard was the one area of her life where she felt in control and free to express the feelings that stirred inside. She was, however, less enamored with the pressure of competition.

Although disciplined and relentless in her practice, absorbing concerto after concerto into her slim young fingers, Angela shrank from the stress and tension of the endless competitions that most of the other young pianists she encountered thrived on. The soft elegant images that colored the fantasy in her head stood in stark contrast to the hard cold reality of the life of an aspiring concert pianist. She won several small events at the edges of the fiercely contested world of prodigies, but experienced numbing fright in the big, more intense settings. She managed to get through but never enjoyed the ordeal. Eventually, in her late teens, much to the disappointment of her father, she let it go, gave up that dream, and decided instead to become a music teacher, rather than a performer.

She was teaching in a Catholic middle school when Tony swept into her life. He began hanging around with her older brother and one evening at the Italian Festival he surprised her by asking her to dance. He whirled her around till she became dizzy, a state that endured for the next several months as he frequently sought her company. Her family took to him immediately, falling under his spell as quickly as she did, and not unaware of his well-to-do family in Philadelphia. When he began formally asking her out, they were more than pleased. He had the ability to make everyone feel comfortable, flattering her mother and even engaging her usually stern father. To much anticipation and rejoicing, the prospect of marriage loomed in the wings.

Though naïve, she did recognize they were very different people. She, shy and reserved, while he totally outgoing and a bit of a showoff. She noticed there was also a dark side of Tony that displayed itself every so often when things didn't go his way. But that facet of his personality seemed minor as Angela succumbed to a tidal wave of activity and attention. When he finally proposed she found herself strangely conflicted. But swept away in the well wishes and delight of her family, she accepted. This must be love, she told herself, and the proper thing to do.

Her parents gave them a grand piano as a wedding gift. And his father helped them buy a house big enough to properly display it. They settled down in West Chester, close enough for her to continue teaching in Wilmington, and for him to commute into Philadelphia. It seemed like a fairy tale come true.

Tony's father loved to listen to Angela play the piano, sitting quietly while she entertained him with melodies of old Italian lullabies. She grew quite fond of the old man, and he of her. And several years later, after two miscarriages, the first grandchild further solidified her position in both families.

During this time tension grew within the marriage. Their differences began to create problems. When they were dating he would tease her through her hesitancy, but after they were married, when she held back, he bullied her into submission, into doing things she was uncomfortable with, socially, recreationally, and sexually, without a bit of understanding or subtlety. In addition, he didn't like classical music. The passion of her life was shoved aside as he insisted she not play the piano when he was in the house. She managed to play once in a while when he was away, or when they visited his parents, but the joy was gone. Playing the piano became a symbol of her previous life, foreign and detached, out of tune with her new married existence.

# Chapter 4

As time passed his wife's absence still surprised him. Sometimes Alex woke in the dead of night and reached over to touch her sleeping body. Wondering if his snoring had disturbed her slumber, confusing the empty space with her having taken refuge in the den to sleep. Then the threads of reality flooded into his head chasing away dreams and any possibility of rest.

Sara demonstrated a resilient pragmatic approach similar to her mother's, suggesting they clean out the closets. "It's time," she said, tears welling up in her eyes. "She would want us to move on."

He wondered where one so young found such courage?

"I know you're right," he told her. "I just can't do it yet."

She relented, insisting they would have to do it eventually.

Eventually - another word holding no current meaning for him. The closets could wait. The hardest housekeeping chore remained in his head.

The absence of the Old Man in the office still left Alex dazed. During the months that had elapsed since the terrible accident, Alex had thought several times about visiting him, each time allowing other matters to postpone the trip. The routine pattern of family gatherings at the Colianni home had been suspended, perhaps forever, but Alex wanted to see for himself what had happened to this man who had been such a strong force in the firm and in Alex's life.

Although Antonio was relatively short in stature, Alex viewed him as a giant of a man, commanding respect and loyalty through a mixture of insightful vision for the business and compassion for the people he surrounded himself with to carry out the work. The employees treated the business as their own and honored the trust the Old Man bestowed upon them.

When Alex finally mustered the courage to go, the visit proved depressing. His mother-in-law Maria escorted him to the grand sun room that ran across the back of the majestic Colianni home.

"Thank you for coming over," she said as they walked. "Seeing a familiar face might get him to brighten. He's so sad all the time."

"I can understand that. I haven't felt much like a party boy myself."

She put her hand on his arm. "Yes, I know. It's been hard for all of us. Maybe a little business conversation will stir him up."

Alex tapped the folder under his arm. "I brought the latest figures."

"How's my Sara doing?"

"She says she's doing fine. Been able to distract herself with all the activities on campus."

"I'm glad. Tell her to come see us."

Afternoon sunlight bathed the room in a golden glow highlighting the southwest colors in the ceramic tile floor. Alex saw the Old Man sitting quietly in a chair, looking out the window at the manicured garden.

Maria went to him and kissed his forehead. "Look who's here to see you."

The Old Man's gaze moved to Alex.

He sat down in a white wicker chair across from the Old Man. "Thought you might like an update on what's going on at the office."

No change occurred in the Old Man's expression. A cluster of medicine bottles sat on the table and a series of framed pictures of Sylvia dominated the coffee table. Alex's heart jumped to this throat. There were pictures of her at every age, including one of her looking radiant in her wedding gown. He tried to look away. "I, ah, brought the monthly summary for you to look at." He pulled out the papers and handed them to Antonio.

The Old Man took the papers and laid them in his lap without looking at the numbers.

Alex studied his face. The usual intense gaze seemed slack and unfocused. The laser-like energy, normally gathering every tidbit of information to bring to bear on a business problem, dissipated in a flittering of his hands in his lap.

"Can I do anything for you?" Alex asked.

The Old Man looked at him and then turned back to the gardens. "What is there to do?"

Alex looked at Maria. Her eyes were moist as she gently ran her hand through her husband's hair.

Alex took the papers back and sat waiting for the Old Man to say something else. Minutes passed in silence leaving Alex feeling out of place, almost claustrophobic. Finally he stood up. "Maybe I should come back another day."

He left the house shaken. He couldn't square the picture of that sad old man sitting in the chair with the vibrant leader he so respected.

Later he tried to describe the feeling to Ira. "I don't know. He seemed bored and anxious at the same time. It was weird being with him like that. And all those prescription bottles. I just had to get out of there."

"And all those pictures of Sylvia. It's like a shrine," added Ira. "That had to be difficult for you."

"I tried hard not to look." Alex paused. "Maria said the doctors were disappointed that he's not responding to the medications."

"Seems like they try one for a while, then watch. If he gets better they give him more. If not, they add another."

"Well, the situation is clearly distressing her."

Ira said, "Yes, the other night she told me she thinks the doctors are as lost as her poor Antonio."

At the office everyone operated as if their leader was just on an extended vacation, even though he had never actually taken anything more than short periods of vacation interlaced with frequent calls into the office. But the senior staff pulled together as best they could. And Ira provided intermittent helpful guidance.

In early October Maria began appearing at the office, sitting in on staff meetings and listening to reports. A woman of mature build but intense brown eyes, she took in everything without comment. Her sudden presence made everyone a bit edgy.

She appeared at the door of Alex's office after one of the staff meetings.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

Alex rose and offered her a seat. "Fine." He picked up a spreadsheet from his desk. "These are the figures I mentioned at the staff meeting..."

"I don't want to look at those right now. I want to know how you're getting along."

He tried to hide his surprise at seeing her sitting in his office, and the even greater surprise she had expressed interested in his well-being. "I don't know. The sun comes up every day. Everything is back to normal, except..."

"Except nothing is the same."

"Yeah."

"I talked to Sara yesterday. She's worried. Said you're not eating well, or doing much of anything except work."

"And just what am I supposed to be doing?" he blurted, more loudly than he intended. "I'm sorry."

"Alex, this is very difficult, I know." After a moment she added, "I've lost a daughter...and maybe a husband..." He could see her eyes glistening. "I don't want to lose the business too. We need to keep everything going properly until he's ready to..." She choked up.

He came around the desk and put his arm around her shoulder. "I know, I know."

She composed herself. "I think we need to get Tony more involved in what's going on."

Alex didn't suppress his surprise. "Tony?"

A stern look came across her face. "Yes, Tony." Her eyes were perfectly dry now. "No matter what happens, he is going to be the head of this company. If my husband recovers, fine. If not, then Tony will assume control - with me."

"I understand. It's just that..."

She cut him off. "My son will do just fine. Your job is to help him. So I need for you to pull yourself together."

He should have known. Her sudden concern for him represented her pragmatic need to have him help Tony. A lot may have changed but some things are always the same.

"I understand."

"Thank you." She got up and left the office.

Later at home Alex sat in the den staring at the bubbles in his warming beer and reflected on the conversation with Maria and what had happened to the Old Man. So much had occurred in such a short period of time. When Sylvia died, darkness swept over Alex like the dust cloud from a huge volcano, burying his thirst for work.

Gradually, he found his interest in the world of numbers rekindled, like some sort of grittiness finally being removed from his eyes. Now when Amy brought him the reports he genuinely listened to her reasoned comments, looking attentively at the stylishly written notations in the margins.

But the rest of his life remained in limbo. The sad memory of the Old Man sitting quietly in his chair was forcing Alex to confront some of the meatier issues, things he had successfully pushed to the side for a long time. He remembered classes way back in college debating the exact nature of life - sages had tried to name it, poets and artists struggled to capture the essence in words and images. These musings never appealed to him, and the whole concept still appeared murky and beyond comprehension. But this he now knew for certain - one moment a person radiates life and warmth. Then suddenly death invades – and the light goes out - and that person is gone. Dust to dust.

The persistent image of the Old Man fidgeting with unseeing and uncaring eyes made Alex wonder if maybe the spark could depart prematurely, long before the end of mortal life. Perhaps such a fate had come to Antonio Colianni. A good part of his life-force seemed to have accompanied the spirit of his beloved daughter, leaving behind a shell of a man, caught in a limbo between meaningless life and awaited death. Alex could see that possibility, as clearly as the empty chair across from him.

He thought hard about it, stared into the cold darkness. And despite his own sadness, he realized he did not feel called there. He missed her, missed 'them' together, and he didn't know exactly how he was going to manage the emptiness he felt. But he knew at that moment, deep down, there was still life to be lived. It may be more fragile and more temporary than he had ever thought before, but still precious.

# Chapter 5

On paper business is business, and every business exhibits similar characteristics. But a family business, in subtle but important ways, wanders outside the lines of logic. A familial code sometimes transcending all rational thought.

One manifestation of this phenomenon is the degree to which family members exhibit patience for each other's foibles – a characteristic outsiders sometimes think stretches imagination and even good judgment. The blood rushing through the veins of kin carries not only similarities in DNA but a particular binding agent able to hold sometimes unlikely characters in close association.

Alex's own family experience was quite different. In small-town Pennsylvania he grew up with his brother and parents - far removed from any wider family. Grandparents were seen once a year, uncles and aunts were talked about like colorful characters in a story, but held no real-life quality. He knew he had cousins but would hardly recognize any of them if they showed up on his doorstep.

When he first started dating Sylvia and she drew him into the orbit of the Colianni clan, he witnessed for the first time the close kinship of a large extended family. He was forced to learn the intricacies of relatives - uncles and aunts and countless cousins – who held regular roles in the complicated family melodrama constantly being played out on-stage and unfolding in a variety of households in the Philadelphia area and beyond.

In addition there existed a structured and subtle formality that had been absent in his family: an old world quality of deference, veiled references and unspoken allegiances – all woven into the family relationships like the secret codes in a mystery novel. The Colianni family was foreign territory to Alex, a landscape often salted with hidden landmines.

Nowhere was that more evident than in the triangle of Sylvia, her mother and her brother Tony. Alex accepted that he would never fully understand the strange juxtaposition of these relationships. He just attempted to find safe ground to inhabit, trying to be accepted and avoid confrontation.

Alex most admired the Old Man. Antonio Colianni appeared to float above the drama, radiating humor and love along with the same dynamic force he brought to the business. Certain facts appeared self evident. Sylvia, his only daughter, held the starring role as his princess, probably from the moment of her birth. And when Sara came along she inherited a similar rank and nearly as much adoration. A marvelous site to behold - the Old Man melting into the doting grandfather whenever Sara entered his presence.

Alex remembered musing to Sylvia after one of the many family gatherings, "I should take a video of him around Sara and bring it to one of the staff meetings. No one would believe it was him. You've always been his princess. And now your daughter has assumed the role."

"Our daughter."

"Technically true. But in your father's mind, Sara is all yours. I'm merely an inconvenient biological necessity."

Another perplexing relationship existed between the Old Man and his former daughter-in-law Angela. He seemed genuinely fond of her and appreciated her amazing talent and stewardship of his grandchildren. Yet his son had cast her aside, creating an awkward situation. Here again he managed to rise above the tension, embracing Angela in spite of Maria's not very subtle disapproval.

Succession planning for the Colianni family business had never been a topic of conversation. Certainly, someday, someday way off in the future, everyone acknowledged Tony as heir to take over the company. The Old Man wasn't getting any younger, despite his incredible energy and drive. Someday, everyone expected Tony would grow into the job, at least grow up enough to do the job. But that was for someday. In the meantime, everyone reluctantly accepted his insincere efforts to play at being a businessman, ignoring his inadequacies and steering clear of his tantrums.

Alex remembered a short conversation with the Old Man about that very subject, the 'what will happen someday' topic, wondering out loud what would happen if "someone got hit by a truck," and the need to prepare for that possibility. He also recalled the Old Man's amused reaction.

"Let's not distract ourselves," he had counseled. "If we don't stay focused on business, a truck will be the least of our worries."

Alex had accepted this advice as the Old Man deftly navigated the turbulent waters of the business according to his explicit and often ingenious plan. But chaos seemed to have a way of stepping around the best assumptions. Losing his only daughter wasn't part of the plan. And now it was taking its toll. Not gradually, but with the suddenness of thunder breaking glass.

As the color of the trees waned and Tony assumed the helm, Alex quickly perceived the desperate straits Tony found himself in. Unprepared to take over so soon, or so suddenly, he was forced to assume a role he had demonstrated neither talent nor passion for, either of which would have served the business suitably well, given the other personnel assets in place.

Alex clearly saw the dilemma as Tony looked around the landscape of the enterprise in search of comrades to help him through the maze. Most of the senior staff had been condescending in one way or another, and junior staff people were bruised by previous encounters. So Alex was not totally surprised when Tony reached out to an old friend, someone he had confidence in, at least around a pool table or at the bar, if not in the trenches of business warfare. He brought into the firm a longtime friend from college, Kevin Lassiter.

For his part, Alex committed to doing whatever he could to keep the business successful and support Tony in his new challenge. He would continue the role he knew best, being the good soldier.

Alex's relationship with Tony had always been cordial, but stiff. Being married to his dear sister, as well as in the confidence of his father, Alex occupied an awkward position. Tension existed without needing a cause.

Now Tony was in charge and that strain promised to play out.

Tony did not wait long to impose his forceful manner. After a couple of months he decreed that the pace of business was accelerating, claiming the decisions and methods employed by the business needed to accelerate accordingly. Having been accustomed to the thoughtful and considered methods of the Old Man, this sudden change in approach caught the staff by surprise.

"This is a time of great importance," Tony announced at a senior staff meeting. "We stand on the precipice of opportunity. We can either go forward embracing our future – reaping the benefits that await us. Or we can step back, letting others assume our rightful place. In order to achieve our potential, we will need to do things better and more quickly." He turned to Kevin, "Pass those around."

After the three-page document reached each person's hands, he continued. "To meet the challenges of this exciting time we will need to alter some of our practices. You will notice that at the top of each page is our new slogan: Cash is king. This will become our most sought-after commodity. Cash helps us reduce costs – not needing to borrow from banks - and it also provides the funds necessary to upgrade our equipment and become involved in acquisitions. These are all important elements in our overall business strategy."

He did have a way with words, Alex thought. Hope he's also thought through how the business is going to live up to that promise. He looked around the room as each department leader studied the document, interpreting how the new initiatives would play out in his particular area.

The rest of the meeting revolved around the details of the policies Tony had just laid out. Over the next several weeks the aggressive new tactics listed, and many more not listed, were put in place in the areas of marketing and operations – areas Tony was somewhat familiar with. But some splashed over the boundaries into the accounting world as well. These Alex viewed with a closer eye.

Soon it became apparent that numbers held little value for Tony except as a measuring stick to display the success of his initiatives. One of his targets was inventory.

"We're going to 'write down' some of these slow moving items," he explained to the staff. "Kevin says that will drive up the turnover ratio."

Marketing director Stan Ferguson leaned toward Alex and whispered, "What's that mean?"

"Declaring that some items no longer have financial value," Alex replied. Then to Tony he said, "We'll need to make arrangements to remove those items from the warehouse."

Tony smiled. "I didn't say we're getting rid of them, just doing a..." he looked over to Kevin Lassiter.

"Asset revaluation."

"That's it, just doing an asset revaluation."

Alex tried to understand the logic. "But inventory isn't an asset class you can..."

"Alex, please, you can debate the finer points of financial gamesmanship with Kevin later. All I know is we need to reduce the drag of some of this inventory on our cash flow."

Alex fell into silence. More and more Tony appeared to be depending on Kevin to support his efforts. Like many products of the modern finance education world, Lassiter seemed very accomplished with spreadsheets and could creatively manipulate computer models to generate numbers supporting most any view of the world. Finance as a video game. In Alex's mind, the only things standing between these artists of pseudo-finance and serious trouble were seasoned professionals like himself in responsible positions who understood accounting practices and the rules governing the fiduciary responsibilities of financial reports. It was one thing to play out elaborate game theory using sophisticated models in business school, but quite something else to properly represent the actual value of a company's worth and income to stakeholders and governmental agencies.

To him the entire credibility of any firm rested on the quality of the financial roots buried beneath the giant trees of commerce. Poorly laid-out root systems provided a shallow foundation that could topple in the stiff winds of corporate weather. And worse yet, poorly conceived practices could act like menacing rot within the roots, silently weakening the structure. Perfectly healthy-looking trees could be on their way to collapse due to internal decay.

Often there was a thin edge between a proposed business practice that sounded good in the colorful offices of the marketing teams - and the dry unromantic realm of accepted accounting practices. As the new millennium began, the assault on the bastions of credibility was becoming fiercer as more and more executives felt pressured to continuously drive up company value and emboldened by the increasing power of computers.

Alex had been taught that the best defense was a carefully designed and rigorously followed financial protocol, a system protecting the company from unwarranted trouble. Where others found dullness, he saw elegance. What others claimed was staid and overly rigid, he maintained was critically important to the ultimate health of the system.

Now he felt certain that these new tactics Tony was implementing could undermine that well established system.

He tried to practice what he had learned in business school but also what he had been taught by his mentor Ira Mosher, the first financial officer of the Colianni business. Ira had also been the first non-family board member. He had patiently instructed Alex on the subtle ethics of accounting and guided him through the labyrinth of the root system of the then rapidly growing company. As Ira began spending less time in the business, a sort of gradual retirement, the Old Man had come to view Alex as his eventual replacement. This made Alex both humble and proud.

Being brought into the firm through his marriage to Sylvia left Alex with the vague feeling he was viewed as an imposter. Wooing the boss' daughter represented the classic path into a family business. But in the matters of importance he felt he had gradually demonstrated over the years, at least to Ira and the Old Man, that he deserved the role.

As he witnessed Kevin Lassiter become more and more ensconced in the financial affairs of the firm, he concluded this might not be a sentiment shared by Tony. He decided he should consult Ira. After lunch one day when he knew Ira was in, he went to his office. He wasn't there. His secretary Jeanne pointed toward Tony's office. Then Alex heard raised voices, muffled but angry, coming from the closed door. He started back toward his office when the door flew open and Ira rushed out, his face crimson. He went directly into his office and slammed the door.

Alex distracted himself with busy work for an hour then went back to see Ira. Jeanne had a concerned look on her face, but waved him in.

"You okay?" Alex asked from the doorway.

"Twenty minutes ago I thought I was going to have a stroke, but I guess I'm okay now." He let out a deep sigh. "What can I do for you?"

"I had intended to talk to you about Kevin, but this may not be the right time."

"What about him?"

Alex shared his concern about the inventory revaluation and how involved Lassiter was becoming in the financial side of the business. "I guess I'm a little confused," he concluded.

"You and me both," said Ira. "Looks like the kid is going off in his own direction."

"You've seen the way Kevin operates. Don't you think that could get to be a problem?"

"Could be? Probably will be. But I for one don't have the energy to fight with Tony anymore." Ira smirked. "As he put it, not very subtly, without the Old Man around, and with his mother's absolute support, he's pretty much free to do what he wants. Lord save us."

"What should we do?"

"Let's just keep an eye on him, see if we can keep him out of trouble."

# Chapter 6

The expanse of ocean stretched to the horizon, grey water mingling with the overcast sky forming a seamless vapor. The smell of salt tickled Alex's nose, a fresh scent but tinged with the decay of crabs and sea weed repeating the cycle of life and death in the grains of sand beneath his feet.

Out of the mist a row of shadows emerged, waves marching silently toward the shore, cresting with foam, dull and pale for lack of sunlight. Suddenly three pelicans swooped along the edge of the wave, bellies almost touching the surf, disappearing back into the mist like old ships lost in the fog. The scene carried an eerie tone, reminding Alex of what was once beautiful... now dark and foreboding.

His friend Chad had insisted he go away for a couple of days. "The change in scenery will do you good, old buddy. If you won't come down here at least get out of town. Blow the stink off, as my mother used to say."

At that point the idea had appealed to him. So he drove down and checked into a small hotel on the boardwalk in Rehoboth Beach, a resort town on the Delaware shore where they had honeymooned and often vacationed as a family over the years. On a balmy weekend in late February getting a room right on the ocean proved a simple task. After he settled in and put his clothes neatly in the drawers, he crossed the boardwalk and walked out to the sparsely populated beach where the moisture from the mist quickly coated his face.

A series of scenes came to mind, scenes of summer weekends at the beach getting away from the heat of the city and the pressures of daily life. Sylvia liked the Delaware shore better than the Jersey shore even though the drive was a bit longer. She felt it was less crowded and she had plenty of space to stretch out on a blanket and lie in the warm sun reading a book.

When Sara was little, she would splash in the surf, running toward the incoming waves before retreating in giggles as the foamy water chased after her. Later, as she grew older, she claimed her independence.

"Dad, I can go by myself. I'm not a little girl anymore. You don't need to be with me."

Alex looked to Sylvia.

"You stay on the boardwalk young lady," Sylvia said.

So Sara would get lost for hours in the arcades along the boardwalk. These were good memories, lazy days spent in playful board games, quiet walks and good seafood. Jake's Seafood was Sylvia's favorite restaurant. She claimed these were the best crab cakes she had ever tasted. "That hint of mustard really brings the sweet crab to life," he recalled her telling the waitress. Sara preferred the little Italian place around the corner where they served delicious stromboli.

On some remote level he realized those "idyllic" days were never as wonderful as his mind replayed them. When he forced himself to poke through the nostalgia he knew actual life with Sylvia had never been as serene or as peaceful as he chose to recollect.

But he refused to dwell on the more difficult times - as if that would somehow disgrace her memory and extinguish what small thread of connection he still had. They had always lived according to her compass. He had accepted his part of the partnership – as provider and protector.

While the product of conservative Catholic brainwashing about things like sex and modesty Sylvia was also the princess of a large prosperous Italian family that raised her to stand strong and confident. This led to a litany of rights and wrongs, shoulds and oughts that populated their relationship and family life. Mostly he didn't mind, he wanted to make her happy, which often translated into what she wanted, the way she wanted it. That was what being a good husband meant.

Now that compass was gone and he struggled to find direction without her, floating like a raft without a sail, drifting aimlessly in uncharted currents. He lived with a constant echo of what Sylvia would have thought of a particular notion, be it his new tendency to leave unwashed dishes in the sink or what tie to wear with his suit. Would she approve? Would she be disappointed?

Glancing down he realized he was standing in the surf with his sneakers on. He smiled. She certainly would have had something to say about that. He looked out at the grey ocean one last time, turned away and walked back to his room. Maybe coming here wasn't such a great idea after all. He packed his things, putting his wet sneakers in a plastic bag, and tossed them into the trunk of the car. After grabbing a sandwich at Jakes, he headed back toward Philadelphia. Even the crab cake wasn't as good as he remembered.

Driving back on Route 1, Alex tried to sort through one of the issues gnawing at him. Ever since the darkness had fallen, he felt the burden of being a single parent. Gone was the parental partnership Sylvia provided, the guidance they gave Sara. Now it was only him, and although Sara was now in college he felt a pressing need to insure she was all right, to cushion the fateful blow of losing her mother, and to fulfill the dreams and aspirations Sylvia had had for her. But he felt unsure how to carry out that responsibility. In fact, it seemed like Sara was doing a better job of attending to him than he was to her.

His thoughts turned to Angela and the challenge she faced of raising Anthony and Marco by herself. What an unfair and awesome task that seemed. When someone accepts the joy and the obligation of creating life, of bringing children into this world, how can it be so easy to relinquish that duty? As he thought about the dismal statistics of marriage, he could not help but wonder. Angela appeared to be doing her parenting job well. From his contact with the boys they seemed bright, well-mannered, yet still exhibiting the playful antics of young boys. Given the circumstances, he marveled at how well she seemed to be pulling it off.

Alex felt uneasy with the way the emotional, and for her probably embarrassing, conversation had ended that night with Angela. He was fond of her and felt the need to reach out, though he was unsure how to approach the matter. She had been so helpful to Sara and him and was now in obvious distress herself. It had been many weeks and he hadn't seen her. He decided to give her a call when he got home. Maybe something positive might still come out of the weekend.

He arrived home and unloaded the car, unpacking the still fresh clothes back in his drawers. When he was done he reached for the phone. The idea of talking to her again after that revealing evening proved easier to contemplate while driving in his car. Now his mouth went dry. But he figured the longer he waited the more awkward it would be. He dialed her number.

"Hi, Angela."

There was silence on her end.

"Come on, talk to me."

"I'm so embarrassed," she finally said. "I'm so sorry to have blubbered all over you."

"I understand. And I'm just sorry I wasn't more tuned in." He waited a few seconds. "So let's forget about it. Listen, you and the guys want to get some pizza tonight?"

No response.

"Please, Angela."

"Well, I know the boys would love it. You sure?"

"Absolutely. I'm kicking around with no plans. How about I come by around six. Okay?"

"Yeah, that would be great. See you then."

Anthony and Marco shuttled back and forth between the noisy arcade games and the pizza cooling on their plates. Chuckee's Pizza Parlor was overrun with hordes of children between the ages of four and ten.

"Wipe your mouth," Angela said, grabbing Marco before he ran off again. She turned to Alex. "I'm glad you called. After I made such a fool of myself, I figured I'd never see you again."

"Listen, you mean a lot to me. We've always been friends, and I need friends now more than ever."

"Me too. I promise I'll never..."

"You don't need to say that. I'm flattered you felt you could vent to me. Everyone else seems to think I'm too fragile to be real with." He looked away. "It also felt good to experience some real emotion. I don't feel much of anything anymore. Just dead inside."

"I'm sure that'll pass. It's just such a shock. All of a sudden, everything you planned for, and lived for, your whole life thrown up in the air. And there's nothing to take its place. You walk around in a perpetual fog."

He took her hand. "It's been real hard, hasn't it?"

She started to cry.

"Why's she always crying?" Marco had arrived back at the table.

"She's lousy at arcade games," Alex said. "Really breaks her up."

Angela started laughing through the tears. "Yeah, you want to show me how to do it?"

"Sure, Mom. But I've used up all my quarters."

Alex pulled a dollar from his wallet. "Here, go get some change."

Marco started to leave.

"What do you say?" she called after him.

"Thanks, Uncle Alex."

Several quarters later they finished dinner and he drove them home. The boys ran into the family room while she made coffee. "Sorry I got all teary back there. Whenever I think about what Tony did..."

"You don't have to explain anything to me," he said. "Unless you want to talk about it."

"It's all I seem to be able to think about lately. The divorce is becoming final, that probably set me off. Anyway, I'm finally beginning to make sense of the whole thing." She poured two cups. "I've come to realize it was just a game for him, like everything else, even from the very beginning. I was just too naive to see it." She opened the refrigerator. "You take milk?"

"Just a bit, thanks."

"It's funny, my mother once asked me if I knew when it started to fall apart." She handed Alex the milk. "But sometimes I don't think it was ever together. I figure when Tony met me he must have decided I was the answer to his problem, like a missing piece in a puzzle."

"His problem?"

"Yeah, I think he needed a girl from an acceptable Italian family, someone he knew his parents would be willing to accept. Oh, I'm still foolish enough to think he probably loved me on some level, but mostly to gain favor with his parents, especially his mother. And eventually when the kids finally came along, that provided the all-important heirs his father was so obsessed with. That made Tony a legitimate adult - properly married with sons."

"That's pretty harsh. Makes you sound like some sort of a mail-order bride."

"Well, there I was - innocent, docile, and stupid. And when he turned his bright lights on me, I was just swept away...." She used her sleeve to wipe the tears from her eyes. "God, I must have been blind, I didn't really see him. Those proverbial rose-colored glasses, if you know what I mean." She paused. "But when I woke up from the big wedding and all that attention, I gradually began to notice - like watching paint starting to peel on a beautiful painting - the ugliness slowly emerging. I was devastated. He wasn't ready to settle down, and certainly wasn't ready to stop charming women. I felt like such a fool - to be taken in by his shallow attentions."

"There must have been good times. It brought you two great kids, who love you and you obviously adore."

"You're right. They are my life now...even if it's difficult, and lonely, and bitter." She sipped her coffee. "After Marco was born, Tony's little indiscretions began to appear. He didn't even go to great lengths to hide them. Either he was a terrible liar, or he just didn't care if I knew." She dabbed a tear from her cheek. "And I'm not sure which was worse."

"Angela, you don't need..."

"He was much more concerned with maintaining the image of a happily married couple for his parents. We lived sort of a double life: his public face as attentive father and good husband, and the private face we lived with in the privacy of this house - where he was demanding, fidgety, always in need of something new, of pushing the limits. New stereo equipment, fast cars, dangerous things like bungee jumping and sky diving. You name it, if it was risky, he had to try it. He has this insatiable appetite for crossing boundaries." She took a deep breath. "And I cowered in the wake of his excesses."

Alex stirred his coffee, unable to meet her sad eyes.

"I always blamed myself for not being what he needed. Only lately I've realized there was no way I could have met his needs, that anyone could meet his needs. He's possessed by demons – and they get played out in his relationships with the people around him. I really think he's sick, not in any physical way, not an organic disease, but like a spreading decay deep inside."

"But from what? He had everything growing up."

"Maybe that's all part of it. I think it all stems from a family history of high demands but little compassion. He was spoiled by their attention, but drowning in their expectations - a rather terrible bargain, if you ask me. He got so he could morph into whatever they wanted, but outside of their view he lived another existence entirely, in almost constant rebellion, always experimenting, risking. If it went fast, he pushed it faster, if it kept score, he bet on it, if it was loud and raucous, he wanted it louder and more obnoxious."

"That had to be hard to live with. Wonder why his parents never saw that part of him?"

"I guess somewhere along the way his mother adopted the 'boys will be boys' attitude toward her precious son. But that blindness allowed him to grow up living without consequences, as long as he maintained the proper appearances."

"You seemed to get along well with Maria and Antonio."

"He's a sweetheart. In spite of everything, I always enjoyed being around him. And he's so good with the boys." She looked into the family room to see if they were still watching television. "And it was fine with her in the beginning. I was used to the rigid patriarchal lines of the traditional Italian family. I grew up with my own. Maria subtly passed judgment and commented on everything I did or said, either to Tony or the children. I accepted it as well-meaning and just a protective devotion to her son. And then there was his equally blind sister." She suddenly looked up at Alex. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I know Sylvia had a real soft spot when it came to him. Go on."

"There was a definite reluctance toward me, like I wasn't quite good enough for her precious brother."

"I had no idea." He thought for a moment. "You never complained about any of this."

"Who was I going to complain to? In my naïve stupidity - I just accepted all the blame. Until it came to the children. Then I found the courage to fight back. That's when our disagreements drew even more critical responses. Suddenly I was the villain, rebellious and ungrateful in this perfect marriage."

"I remember that pretty clearly. Everything got real tense."

"Just after Tony became fascinated by his administrative assistant."

"Too bad. Cindy was a good worker."

"And evidently smart enough to demand more than just an office fling," she said.

"I guess we thought it would just blow over. But then it got ugly."

"Yeah, when he agreed to abandon his family - leaving me and the boys." She gripped the mug tightly. "Those memories seem so unreal, like I'm watching a movie or something, standing outside seeing it all unfold. It was like he was daring someone to stop him."

"I don't know what to say, Angela. I feel ashamed we could all be around and not see what was happening...how hard it must've been for you."

"I felt like I was living in some parallel universe. I could see what he was doing, the risks he was taking, but everyone else only saw the great family heir, wonderful in everything he did."

"I guess we were too preoccupied with our own problems. And I can't tell you how shocked everyone was by you guys breaking up."

"When he moved out everyone looked to me for an explanation." Her face took on a pained look. "His mother came here, stopped by one afternoon as if she were concerned about how I was doing. Over coffee, sitting right in these chairs, she says it's up to me to do whatever is necessary to hold the marriage together – and maintain a peaceful home for her grandchildren." She put down her mug. "Talk about a shot to the gut."

"Wow. But I shouldn't be surprised. I've had a couple of those conversations with her myself." After a long pause, he said, "Angela, you're still young and attractive. You have to put that all behind you, and start living again."

She smiled. "Looks who's talking."

"Well..."

"Look, I know you're right. I just feel so inadequate, and vulnerable. It's not just the money, as bad as that is, but I don't know who I am anymore, like some toy with the tags removed." Tears ran down her cheeks. "I'm not that young innocent girl he swept up with his charm, but I'm no longer the married woman that came next. Now... now I just don't know...I'm forty-four and don't recognize this person I'm staring at in the mirror. I don't know who she is."

She used a napkin to dry her face. "And I'm blabbering again. Sorry. I just feel so comfortable talking with you. And being able to say some of these things out loud actually makes me feel less crazy."

"Then let's hang on to that." He got up. "Listen, it's getting late. I should be going."

"Thank you for tonight. I know the boys had a good time." They walked toward the door.

"Well, I really enjoyed tonight, too. We should do it again sometime. What do you say?"

"They...we'd really appreciate that."

# Chapter 7

Impossible as it seemed, a year had passed, filled with nothing and lasting forever. Alex and Sara had gradually removed the visible reality of Sylvia's memory from the house. Left were some pictures, a few special trinkets, a small box of things Sara wanted to save, and Sylvia's nightgown that he insisted remain hanging in her closet, just as it had awaited her return that terrible night. The calendar on the refrigerator now read 2001, but with very little on it.

The list of people he used to count as friends had dramatically cleared out as well. Many had been attached to 'them' as a couple or to Sylvia personally. By himself he no longer fit into the coupled social context. He didn't really blame them; he hadn't been much of a friend to anyone over the last twelve months.

But he had taken up some new activities that would have caused Sylva to raise an eyebrow. The joy of fishing had come to him, of being near the water matching wits with clever fish. There was peacefulness to the exercise he found disarming and refreshing at the same time; even the cleaning and cooking of the catch carried a certain celebration that bordered on the sacred, at least to fishermen.

Jeff Wingate, a new supplier Tony had brought to the firm, took him out the first time. Jeff was divorced, in part because of his passion for fishing, he conceded. He talked about the sport in almost hushed reverent terms. He lured Alex with an invitation to go to his new cabin in the Poconos one weekend. Set in a primordial pine forest, the cabin seemed to guard the shore of Lake Willow. The sounds and smells were delicious, even startling to a city boy like Alex. The whole experience washed over him like a fresh shower - aided by catching a full string of lake trout his first time out. As they fished Jeff talked excitedly about his plan to develop the shore line around the lake. Soon he had Alex interested as well.

Meanwhile Sara had a new boyfriend, his word not hers. No surprise to Alex, she was dating another struggling artist. But the good news from Alex's perspective was that this gave Sara less time to worry about her father.

Amy stopped by his office late one afternoon to show Alex an e-mail from Kevin Lassiter requesting information for the upcoming forecast. "Sort of caught me by surprise. Aren't we supposed to prepare that?" she asked.

Alex was at a loss. He and Amy prepared the forecast regularly. Now Kevin wanted to be in the middle of that too. He knew Ira wasn't about to get into it. Reluctantly he concluded he needed to go to Tony directly and discuss the matter.

The next morning he went to Tony's office. Tony greeted him with his usual charming way. "Alex, how are you doing? Listen, I know you've been through a tough time. But I appreciate everything you've been doing to help out around here."

"Thanks. And I appreciate having had the time and space to deal with...it." He still struggled to find words to describe what "it" was.

"It's still hard to believe she's gone. She was the best." Tony sat back in his chair. "So what can I do for you?"

"Well, I think we've managed to keep things on a pretty even keel around here."

"Yeah, I guess. As you know I've asked Kevin to watch over some things for me. I was sure you and Ira wouldn't mind Kevin helping out. Things needed to move forward."

"Ira's a little concerned..."

"Ira's an old fuddy-duddy, don't worry about him. He's ready for the rocking chair. We need action – need to breathe some life into this old business."

Alex didn't know what to say. "But the forecast is..."

"Yes, the forecast. I think Kevin can add a little something to that whole process. He's bright, and has some dynamite ideas. We're at a critical place right now, some of the new procedures and all, so rather than disrupt things, why don't you let him help Amy with the forecast and you stick with some of the other things you've been doing for awhile."

Alex felt unsure what he was hearing. His constant tiredness sometimes played tricks in his head. "You're saying you want Kevin to replace me?"

"Oh no, of course not. You and Ira have been the rock around here for a long time. It's just - we're doing some new things. And I'm working closely with Kevin on them." Tony checked his watch. "Look, I'm late for a meeting. Great to talk with you. Glad you're okay with all this. Let's get together again in few weeks. Meanwhile, try to help Kevin." With that, Tony rose, grabbed a folder off his desk and called to his assistant, "Michele, call Ferguson. Tell him I'm on my way."

Later in the week just as Alex returned to his office from a staff meeting Chad called from Macon. "Well, at least you're at your desk and not out waiting for some poor old fish to commit suicide and bite your hook."

Alex smiled to himself. "You just can't appreciate the delicate art involved."

"Listen old buddy, I've credited you with a number of talents over the years, but I have to confess, your sudden fascination with 'wetting a line' goes beyond anything I ever imagined."

"And it may turn profitable. This guy Jeff, the one who got me interested in fishing in the first place, anyway, he's formed a small partnership to develop some land around the lake we go to. I think it might be a great business opportunity."

"Somehow doing business with good old boys who tell fish stories would give me pause."

Alex laughed. "Coming from a car salesman, that's a fine line to draw. Anyway, he's making all the arrangements. I'm just looking forward to having a place up there."

"Well, while you're in such a good mood, the reason I called is I need your help. And this won't cost you anything near whatever you end up putting into that land deal."

"Do tell."

"I've gotten myself into something and you gotta help me get it done."

"Nothing seems to change. I've always had to bail you out of tight spots."

"Nothing you didn't have a hand in in the first place."

"I don't recall me ever wanting to sabotage old Professor Miller's car. That was you, pure and simple."

"Well, there might have been one or two times..."

"So what have you gotten yourself into now?"

"The charming Christine Taylor, alumni president for our class, recruited me to coordinate part of the upcoming reunion. She's still a real looker, old buddy. And very persuasive. They've got some mighty fine things planned for our 30th. Class of '71's gonna be having a grand time."

It amused Alex how his New England bred friend had reinvented himself as a southern gentleman, trading tweeds and striped ties for short sleeves and iced tea. Having sweet-talked some investors into helping him start a dealership for foreign cars in Macon back in the late seventies when most people still insisted on purchasing Chevy's and Fords, he had since parlayed that into six dealerships as foreign cars gobbled up a larger and larger share of the market. But beneath the corny phrases of his adopted southern home, he was still the same guy, maintaining an air of surprised satisfaction with his success.

"Chad, what's this got to do with me? I've never gone to any of those things."

"Well, it's about time you did." He paused. "Besides, Sara says you've got too much time on your hands. Need to get involved in something."

"Oh, so my daughter thinks I should."

"Yes, and she's right. I don't want to be insensitive, old buddy, but it's been over a year. The cotton's grown, time to rejoin the living."

There was a long silence. "Easy for you to say, my friend." Another pause. "Maybe I'm not interested."

"Well, I need the help. Don't make me look bad in front of the enchanting Christine Taylor."

"Wasn't she the snobby blonde who wouldn't give you the time of day?"

"That was a long time ago. Maybe I've grown on her."

"Yeah, with all that southern charm you now possess."

"All you Yankees are just jealous of the finer things in life we enjoy down here," Chad replied. "So think on it. I'll call you in a few days."

"Don't hold your breath."

A few nights later Alex relayed his conversation with Chad to Sara, accusing her of conspiracy.

"Yes, I talked with Uncle Chad, nothing wrong with that. He's concerned about you." She quickly added. "You're going to help him, aren't you?"

"No. We never went to those class reunion things. Your mother hated the idea. She knew none of those people; it would have been uncomfortable for her. Always thought it would be a lousy way to spend a weekend."

"But you've stayed friends with some of your old classmates, right? Like Uncle Chad."

"True. People who were close in college seemed to be bonded together for life. Maybe sharing all that lousy food."

"That's why I joined the sorority. I hope we stay close - forever. I would never miss a reunion."

"Well, maybe you should go help Chad," he said.

"He asked you, and there's no reason for you not to go."

Alex sighed.

"I miss her too, Dad, every day." He could hear the emotion in her voice. "But you know Mom wouldn't have wanted you sulking about."

"I'm not sulking."

"Maybe not," she replied, "but you're not doing anything, either."

# Chapter 8

The class reunion turned out to be every bit as tedious as he had imagined. Name tags saved embarrassed introductions, but in most cases Alex found the faces still remarkably familiar, just aged, like images on milk cartons. And behaviors proved just as familiar. There were some surprises. Gerald Conway, who used to be an irritating, rather awkward young man, had emerged as a gracious and soft-spoken district judge. And "Squeaky" Monroe, he didn't even remember her real name if he ever knew it, had grown from a skinny tomboy into an attractive statuesque woman with a deep throaty voice.

Another surprise was Lana Weinstein, the femme fatale of his group - who knew how to use her great body to get her way, always the drama queen. She had ballooned into a rather portly woman. Perhaps the universe handed out justice after all.

After a few cups of spiked punch the "remember when's" became louder and more obnoxious. Alex wasn't a social animal by nature. Small talk eluded him. Without that skill, these events were slow torture. Having some official duties to accomplish for Chad at least allowed him to circulate without being drawn into endless remembrances.

On his way to drop off more name tags at the Welcome Table, he passed once more by the punch bowl. A familiar figure caught his attention. Perhaps it was the way she was standing with her hand on her hip, or the bend of her neck, but he stood watching her engrossed in conversation in a circle of people, few of whom he could identify. That had to be Grace. Those startling eyes, still absorbing everything and everyone, drawing attention just by being there, seeming even more enchanting now with tiny wrinkles running away from the corners.

He couldn't help himself, his eyes wouldn't leave her. Suddenly she glanced his way.

"Hello," she mouthed.

She excused herself and came out of the circle, gliding with effortless grace. She wrapped her arms around him in a warm hug, and stood back with a smile of accepting appraisal.

"Why, Alex. How wonderful to see you. Didn't think you would be here. Everyone always said you weren't 'into' reunions."

"They're right, but Chad roped me into..."

"Your old roommate? I remember seeing him at the 25th. He persuaded you?"

"Let's just say it's dangerous to negotiate with someone who sells cars for a living."

"I'll try to remember that."

"You look wonderful."

"Thank you. After all these years I'm surprised you even recognize me." She looked around the room. "Time does funny things to us."

"Perhaps, but it doesn't seem to be catching up with you nearly as fast as the rest of us."

She smoothed the front of her skirt. "Good genes and a long term affair with the gym. Plus a support group to keep me away from potato chips."

"When did you arrive?"

"This afternoon. How about you?"

"Came in this morning. Had a few things to get ready...with Chad."

"Well, the place looks great." She glanced around. "Is your wife here?"

The words fell like cold water splashing him back to reality. He couldn't find the words; the whole idea of Sylvia seemed so out of place among these people. His mind was suddenly fuzzy, a mental vertigo.

"Alex? You all right?"

"Sorry, Grace. It just that...my wife died and...

"Oh, Alex, I didn't know. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. It happened over a year ago. Every once in a while...it still catches me by surprise."

She placed her hand on his arm. "I understand."

He cleared his throat. "I should be getting these over to the Welcome Table."

"Maybe I'll see you later. Will you be at the dinner tonight?"

"Yes."

"Save a dance for me?" she asked.

"Uh...Sure."

When he reached the Welcome table, Chad was surveying the crowd. "Having a good time?"

"If one more person asks me what I've been up to, I think I'll spit."

"Relax, old buddy. It's all part of the dance, you know, checking each other out, seeing who's done well and who's ended up about where you figured or hoped they would." Chad turned away to give a big welcome to a newly arrived couple Alex didn't recognize. He wrote out their name tags and made the introductions. "You remember Phil Jankowitz, Alex. And this is his very lovely wife Irene."

"Good to see you again," Alex said with outstretched hand.

"What you been up to?" Phil asked.

Without waiting for an answer, Phil launched into a recitation of the highlights of his life over the past five years, like lines from a Shakespearean farce. Then Phil and Irene moved into the swelling crowd of overdressed alumni.

After they had gone, Chad asked, "Did you see Miss 'Prim and Proper' Ursula Wilson? She's still a knockout."

"Is that all you ever see in a woman?"

Chad rubbed his chin. "Well, old buddy, it's the first thing I ever see, I must admit. It's like when you're looking for a car, there are lots of performance issues, horse power, acceleration, gas mileage, option packages and the like, but the thing that really closes the deal is how it looks. The pizzazz! Women are the same way."

"Thank you for that helpful analogy."

"Look, I sell more cars that anyone in the southeast. I know what sells. And all I'm sayin is - she wouldn't stay on the lot very long." Chad looked around the room. "Was that Grace Neilson I saw you talking to?"

"Yeah."

"Now there was a wild one. Had sort of a pent up energy about her, coiled, like she was ready to strike. Know what I mean? You dated her for a while, didn't you? Pretty serious as I recall...before she went off the deep end."

"Deep end?"

"All that anti-war stuff. She was really into it."

"As I recall, a lot of us were against the war – 'into it' as you say."

"There was 'into it' and then there was ' _in-to-it_ ,' like they were majoring in insurrection or something."

"Those were pretty confusing times."

"It was just hard for us ole boys who ended up slogging around in rice paddies to hear about people like her blowing up buildings."

"I don't think she ever blew up any buildings."

"I heard she got hooked up with that group...you remember the one led by those Jesuits, what were their names?"

"The Berrigans?"

"Yeah, those guys."

"She was pretty passionate about it." He could see Chad's expression, his chin set in that headstrong way Alex vividly remembered, signifying he was building up steam. "I'm not saying she was right..."

"But you're not saying she was wrong either."

"Looking back, maybe if more of us did what she did we would have lost fewer friends in those rice paddies." He knew this wasn't going anywhere. "Look, why don't we get something to drink before this turns into one of our famous all night bull sessions?"

Chad slapped him on the back. "Good thinking, old buddy."

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of banal conversations, one blending into the next as each new classmate joined the reception. Chad mercifully dragged him away just as the stories of grandchildren, new boats, possible early retirement schemes and vacation plans were about to make his head explode.

Every once in a while he caught a glimpse of Grace. She would smile when she saw him. He couldn't help but notice her in the crowd. She had always dressed dramatically, not flashy necessarily, but clothes just seem to fit her trim figure correctly. Back in college people thought her choices were nearly inappropriate, but now they were simply striking.

By late afternoon most of the new arrivals were over and people started wandering up to their rooms to unpack and get ready for the evening ahead. As Alex approached his room the idea of a nap seemed irresistible. He felt drained. How did he ever let himself get talked into this? A long evening of empty chatter stretched ahead like a dry empty desert.

When the elevator opened, the lobby was filled with people in varying degrees of glitter. The women appeared anxious to show off their shiniest jewelry and finest outfit in a pageant of alumni one-upmanship. Alex got lassoed into a conversation with a group who were part of an intramural basketball team he had played on. After several rounds of remembered episodes, he managed to excuse himself and escape to the ballroom.

He ordered a beer at the bar, taking a deep soothing slug as he glanced into the mirrored wall behind the bar. He saw a familiar face. Don Sherwood stood leaning on the bar staring into his drink. Alex walked over to him.

"Don, it's good to see you."

He turned with a surprised look. "Alex, right? I didn't know you were here." Next came a crushing hug. "Never saw you at one of these before."

"Well, you know..."

"I wouldn't be here either, except Eileen's class treasurer and always keeping in touch with her sorority sisters."

"What've you been up to?" Alex found himself mouthing the reunion mantra; as if thirty years of life could be summed up in a twenty second sound bite.

"Just trying to survive," Don responded. "Listen, I heard about your wife. I'm so sorry. You getting along okay?"

"Thanks, Don. I appreciate the thought. I'm fine...it's still hard sometimes."

"I heard about it sometime later, from Chad actually. Just want you to know how sorry we are." He turned around facing away from the bar. "What a group, huh? Most of them would have hated this sort of thing thirty years ago. All we could think about was the war and when the next Peter Paul and Mary album was coming out...the important things."

"Heh, you're sounding like me."

"Eileen loves it, though. Gets to catch up and swap gossip, tell outrageous stories about what everyone's children are doing, and who has grandchildren."

A woman approached. "Honey, will you get me another white wine?"

"Sure," Don said. "You remember Alex."

"Oh yes, hi Alex. Isn't this marvelous? So much fun seeing everyone! No one's changed one bit." Don handed her the drink. "Thanks, Honey." She took a sip. "Alex, why don't you come sit at our table?"

"Thank you very much, but I have to sit with Chad over there."

"Well, stop by and see us," she said. "Come on, Hon. There's someone you just have to see."

Don disappeared with Eileen into the crowd gathering around the tables.

The dinner began with a series of numbing speeches about the generous class gift to the university and a plaque for the distinguished alumni. The annual Distinguished Alumni Award seemed like a noble thought but Chad claimed it was just the school's way of recognizing someone who gave gobs of money to the building program.

Finally the food was served, lukewarm at best. Toasts were offered and the conversation over dinner settled into a mindless banter about who was going where on vacation.

Once the music started Alex excused himself from the table and wandered toward the bar. He noticed Grace sitting on a stool with three men close by. It was pretty obvious they had been drinking more than fruit punch and seemed to be hitting on her. She saw Alex and nodded her head slightly. He walked toward her, stepped between the three men and offered his hand to Grace.

"Excuse me, gentlemen. I think this is my dance."

Amid their protests, she slipped off the stool and followed him through the tables to the dance floor.

He stopped near the edge of the floor and she stepped into his arms.

"Thanks for saving me. Those guys were getting a bit rowdy."

"I didn't recognize any of them. Friends of yours?" They started to dance.

"Same old party crowd from thirty years ago. You can take the boy out of the frat party, but you can't take the frat party out of the boy." They listened to a few bars of the music. She nodded her head toward the head table. "I see you're sitting at the grownups table."

"Yeah, no fun at all. Miss 'I'm in charge' Winslett's been holding court all night."

"Why don't you slip over to my table? Sally Reed has all the latest gossip."

"Doesn't that sound like fun. But compared to the scintillating conversation I've been listening too, it might be a step up."

When the music stopped she led him to her table. She introduced him to the people still sitting, who quickly fell back into swapping stories about various divorces, remarriages, career changes, and short-hand life stories.

After another turn on the dance floor he returned with Grace to the table.

"You're very accomplished on the dance floor," Grace commented.

He mentally thanked Sylvia for insisting they take ballroom dance lessons many years ago. "As long as they stick with standards, and avoid the chicken dance, I'll do okay."

Grace looked at the group on the dance floor struggling through the Electric Slide. "Don't know. That could be next."

"Time to shoot the band," he said. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Some white wine would be nice."

He went to the bar and retrieved two white wines. She accepted hers with an appreciative nod and took a sip.

The band began a series of old favorites from the sixties. "Now that's music," she said, as the first strains of "Hey Jude" were struck.

"Really takes me back."

"Around '68 I'd say. Shall we?"

They merged onto the crowded dance floor. The music and the feel of Grace in his arms made Alex feel like a time traveler, being drawn back thirty years to late nights in a small smoke-filled bar just off campus where they would take their books but spent most of their time talking and dancing to Simon and Garfunkel and the Beatles on the old jukebox.

"Doesn't seem so long ago does it?" she whispered in his ear.

"Another lifetime."

"Remember how anxious we were to grow up, couldn't wait to get on with our lives. So sure of ourselves."

"You certainly were."

"Do you think young people today have that same sense of destiny? We found ourselves at the center of a critical world issue."

"I would imagine college kids always feel they're at a special moment in history. It's part of the arrogance of youth."

"And I suppose they are. Their energy feeds the rest of us. I see it in my classes. I think they're way more conservative today than we were, but there's a lot of them still committed to making change."

"They seemed to have found a more peaceful way of going about it."

She looked at him. "Different times call for different methods. Especially with the Internet. Imagine what we could have done with that."

The music ended and they returned to the table.

"I've been noticing the crowd is thinning out," she said. "Guess the old crowd isn't up for late nights anymore."

"I'm usually asleep by eleven myself."

"I hope you won't turn into a pumpkin on me."

"Maybe I should switch to coffee."

"It's not flattering to think my mere presence wouldn't keep you awake."

He wasn't sure if she was kidding, serious or just making a little fun of him.

"Oh, now I've made you blush," she said. "Sorry, sometimes I can't help myself." She took another sip of wine. "So tell me, what keeps you busy before you fall asleep at eleven?"

He recited the now practiced capsule version of his life, but she seemed sincerely interested and before long he was telling her about the family business and the difficulties they were experiencing. The next hour effortlessly danced by.

"This Tony fellow sounds like those guys over at the bar," she observed. "Don't expect he'll change his stripes, regardless of the situation."

"I keep hoping he'll just grow up. Become more responsible."

"Can't grow into something that's not there to begin with. Spoiled is spoiled."

"Maybe you're right. I just keep hoping. I want to help him, and the business. Least I can do for the Old Man."

"Now _he_ sounds like a real character."

"Was. Smart, tough, yet generous and sensitive, all at the same time."

"Doesn't always rub off."

He looked at the mostly empty tables. "Well, I've managed to bore you all night with my dull life."

"No, I've enjoyed it. And the dancing was wonderful."

He gazed into her amazing hazel eyes; saw the brown flecks and a twinkle he remembered from so long ago. His mouth was suddenly dry. He muttered, "Thank you."

After an awkward silence, Grace stood up. "Well, I need to get my beauty sleep. This has been lovely. What time are you leaving tomorrow?"

"Afternoon flight, about two-ish I think. Told Chad and his cronies I'd help break down the welcome table and stuff."

"Then this is goodnight and goodbye. I'm leaving first thing in the morning."

He stood, not moving, unsure what to do next. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, Alex" she whispered. "Take care of yourself." Then she walked away, her gown swishing in her wake. He took a last sip of wine and headed for the elevators.

# Chapter 9

Alex looked closely at the spreadsheet on his desk. The fiscal quarter was drawing to a close and the slight increase in operating revenue was encouraging, but he didn't see a corresponding bump on the bottom line. Where was the promised profit leaking out? He studied the numbers. Amy had highlighted some areas in yellow. One appeared to be the cash balance.

He pulled the last quarterly summary out of his drawer and flipped through to the final cash position. His fingers deftly punched numbers into his calculator. She was right. The cash balance was understated. And therefore the bottom line suffered.

Next he studied the current quarter payables \- the money spent by the operation - and the receivables - the money others owed to the business. These both seemed in order.

Absently he played with the soft rubber ball that always sat on his desk. Over the years he had found that squeezing the ball, and often bouncing it off the wall seemed to stimulate his thinking. He had developed the habit as a youngster trying to develop his pitching arm. He had seen a movie – couldn't even recall the title - but the hero squeezed a ball every day until he had the best curve ball around.

"Amy," he called.

The young woman appeared at his door.

"You able to track down why this cash balance is so low?"

"No. Looked odd, which is why I marked it."

He squeezed the ball. "Must be off the balance sheet somewhere. Maybe one of the miscellaneous expenses. Run a blowup of those entries, and compare them to last quarter."

She made a note. "Anything else?"

"No. Probably nothing, but let's check it."

Later he sat at his computer deleting accumulated spam from his e-mail. He was surprised to see one marked "Hi from Grace." He opened it.

"Hi Alex," it read. "Great seeing you at the reunion. You turned what promised to be totally boring into a nice evening. Grace." There was a smiley face next to her name.

He thought about replying. Then decided against it.

Several weeks later at home in the evening he sat flipping through channels when the phone rang.

"Alex?"

He knew immediately it was her. Even after all the years there was no mistaking her distinctive throaty voice on the phone. "Grace, what a surprise. Ah, thanks for the e-mail," he added, suddenly embarrassed he hadn't answered.

"Wasn't sure you got it."

"Been pretty busy, sorry. How are you?"

"Fine. But I have a thing."

"A thing?"

"Yeah. A while back I did an article on William H. Wadsworth, old money here in Baltimore. One of the big honchos behind a lot of the cultural projects in town. Anyway, I guess he was pleased with what I wrote because he sent me two tickets to the Fall Carnation Ball."

"That was nice of him," he replied, not connecting the dots.

"Well, that's the thing. And I was wondering if you'd be my escort?"

The request was so out of left field he was speechless.

She filled in the silence. "It's next month, the twenty-third. Black tie, the whole works. So just think about it and let me know, all right?"

"Sure, Grace. Thank you...ah, I mean thanks for inviting me. I'll check my calendar and call you. Twenty-third you said?"

"Right, it's a Saturday night."

In the morning he stopped by Amy's office first thing. "Any luck with the cash balance? Ira's coming in today. I'd like to brief him on it."

"Not sure. Having trouble getting a clean look at some of the payments. Kevin has them all rearranged."

"The general ledger?"

"Well yeah. And particularly the things tucked away under 'miscellaneous board expenses.'"

"That's odd. Maybe someone just miscoded it."

"I'll keep checking."

As he settled in and reviewed his planner for the day, the phone rang. Chad was on the line. "Hey, old buddy. Been meaning to call and thank you for all the help at the reunion. Wasn't as painful as you thought it would be."

"That's your opinion."

"Didn't I tell you Christine was a looker? Now if someone would just stick a sock in her mouth."

"She does know how to dominate a conversation."

"No kidding, she never finished a sentence, just started another one right in the middle. Poor Arthur, he's been listening to her rattle on for years now." Chad paused. "You looked to be having a good ole time with lovely what's her name."

"You know damn well who it was...and yes, it was nice to see her again."

"That's all? Ya'll looked pretty chummy out there on the dance floor."

"Will you ever grow up?"

"Hopin' not."

"Well, the rest of that weekend was pure torture. Why do people do that?"

"Sociologists claim it's a feeble attempt to stay connected. How many people asked for your phone number and said they would be in touch?"

"About a thousand."

"Never fails. You'll never hear from any of them."

"Actually, I did hear from Grace. She called, just yesterday, and asked me to take her to some fancy formal ball down in Baltimore."

"Whoa, this sounds mighty interesting."

"Now I've got to think of something to tell her."

"You tell her 'yes.' Least that's how we do it down here. Lovely lady comes a callin –'yes' would be a right nice reply. Besides, you'll look great all decked out like a penguin. Though with her on your arm no one will be noticing you anyway."

"Very funny."

"I'm serious. What's the harm? She must have had a good time at the reunion, appreciated the fact you didn't step on her feet too badly. So it looks like she's willing to be seen in public with you."

"But I'm not interested..."

"Alex, you'd turn down the next breath if it wasn't automatic. It's just a date...with a gorgeous woman, no less. Get over yourself."

"I don't know."

"So what's new?"

"Chad. I can't tell you how unsettling it was...you know, being with her."

"That's just your system readjusting to real life. Part of the process. After my last divorce, it felt like I was having my skin removed just asking someone out again."

"Don't think it's the same as..."

"Look. You got two choices. Be a hermit the rest of your life, or dive into the pool. Down here we have a saying, 'shuck the peanuts or bury them.'"

"Quaint."

"It makes the point. Look I gotta go make a buck, just wanted to say thanks for the help. Call Grace back and tell her you'll be there with bells on. Get a cool vest with the tux. Matter of fact, have Sara pick it out. Speaking of Sara, give the princess my love."

The question hung around the edges of his mind all day. By the time he got home he just wanted it to go away. He couldn't get his head around the idea of taking her to a ball – or anywhere. But he also didn't want to hurt her feelings. And maybe Chad was right, what was the big deal? He used to like dressing up in a tuxedo. Still...

Finally he decided he'd call her back in the morning, then concluded he'd get cold feet if he waited. He went to his computer, found the email she'd sent him and responded.

He didn't know how to discuss it with Sara. He feared she would feel betrayed. Once again his daughter surprised him.

"That's great, Dad. And she's someone you knew way back in college? Totally cool."

Over the next few weeks Alex and Grace talked several times on the phone. She made arrangements for him to stay at the Hyatt overlooking the Inner Harbor. He would drive down Saturday morning and meet her for a light lunch. She suggested they go see the National Aquarium for the afternoon.

Once the plans were set he was surprised to find himself looking forward to the trip.

Things at the office proceeded less smoothly. A tightly strung bow came to mind as Alex found himself left out of conversations he thought he should be a part of. Tony claimed he just didn't want to bother him. That got old fast. Finally he stopped in Tony's office.

"Look, this is my job. I'm never too busy to do what's needed."

"That's great, Alex."

"So why is Kevin in those meetings instead of me?"

"Kevin's doing a fine job, don't you think? No harm done, he's helping me a great deal."

"I'm not so sure. I've been looking over the cash balance, and frankly, I think it may be misstated."

"Can't be. I went over those figures myself with Kevin. They're fine, really. Maybe he used a different model than the one you're used to using."

"We have procedures, Tony. Ways of doing things that have worked well for a long time."

"Things change. You know what they say, 'if you're not movin', you're losin.' Got to be nimble, ready to seize the opportunities."

"Perhaps I should run the numbers over again."

"No time for that. That report needs to go out by the end of the day."

"What's the big hurry?" Alex could sense there was something Tony wasn't telling him. "Is there something I should know?"

"No. Just routine." Tony ran his hand through his hair. "Look, leave the damn numbers alone and concentrate on receivables. We need to get those accounts cleared. There are too many lagging."

"I'll get Amy to run down the list. Some of these guys are frequently late, but they come through. Mostly small businesses, with tough cash flow positions."

"Well, pull their chain. That's my money they're playing with."

Alex was taken aback by Tony's aggressive attitude. The Old Man would never have spoken that way about the small businessmen who had supported the firm during the tough years \- when things were tight. Many of these business owners had become personal friends of the Old Man.

As he walked back to his office, he had to admit there was a harsher edge to everything. Amy had been the first one to mention it.

"Got a call from Gerry Sabatino yesterday," she had said one afternoon. "Looking to talk to you or Ira. Something about a rather unpleasant conversation at Rotary with Tony about the expansion plans. Wants you to call him back."

"Why would Tony be talking to Gerry? Ira has that loan all set."

"I'm just passing on the message." She hesitated a moment. "But it's not the first comment I've heard..."

Alex looked up. "Yeah?"

"Well, about people getting bruised, you know, by Tony."

"He's just trying too hard. Tough situation. He'll get better at it." He went back to the papers in front of him.

She stood at the door as if she wanted to say more.

Amy wasn't given to gossip or exaggeration. Alex had to admit he noticed signs of this new attitude affecting various aspects of the business. Even the mood of the office staff was changing. The light jovial exchanges that once marked the workplace were being driven underground by stern oversight by Kevin and outbursts by Tony. Whispered conversations began migrating to the water cooler.

Alex looked up. "It's no big deal. When there's a leadership change people always take a little time to get used to a new style, that's all it is," he counseled. "We've been through a lot in the past year. Things will return to normal eventually." Part of him didn't really believe that, but he felt it was his place to stick up for Tony. "Let's get back to work, Amy. Thanks for passing on the message. Let me know if anything else pops up."

# Chapter 10

The water of the Inner Harbor glistened with speckled highlights. After spending most of the afternoon touring the National Aquarium, Alex and Grace sat in the courtyard outside drinking lemonade and eating a pretzel while enjoying the last rays of sun that were struggling to warm the chilly autumn day.

"This place is a treasure. What an incredible variety of exhibits. And that dolphin show..."

"Wasn't it spectacular?" Grace said. "Always my favorite part."

"Can't believe I've never been here before. Thanks for suggesting it." He took a bite of the pretzel. "By the way, it occurred to me on the drive down that at the reunion you got me to tell you all about my life the last thirty years, but you never mentioned anything about what you've been doing."

"I've been living, just like everyone else. What do you want to know?"

"Well, for one, how did you end up teaching? I thought you were going to be the next Edward R. Murrow."

"You're right. That's what I started out to be, with all due modesty." She gave a slight bow.

"And?"

"I thought you were the one who couldn't stand all those 'what have you been up to' conversations?"

"This is different. I'm really interested."

She pulled her sweater tight around her. "Okay, but do you mind if we walk? Too chilly to just sit here." They got up and started walking toward the street. "Well, let's see, after we graduated I went to Berkeley to get a masters in journalism." She stared out over the blue sparkly water. "In many ways that was a difficult time for me."

"With the war protests and all?"

She hesitated for a moment. "Just a lot of stuff. Anyway, after that I landed a job with a newspaper here in Baltimore. I wanted desperately to cover hard news, to be a real reporter. But as it turned out, all they wanted me to write was the society page - cover the flower show, who was pouring tea on whom." She took a sip of lemonade. "I suppose on some level I knew it would all change eventually, but I was impatient. Got pretty pushy about it."

"Now that's a surprise," he kidded.

"Yeah, well I ended up having this terrible argument with my editor, actually a pretty nice guy, except for being a hopeless chauvinist. It was around '74, just after the Watergate fiasco. I demanded to go down to D.C. to cover some of the fallout. He refused. So I went anyway."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. After a couple of those I guess I'd worn out my welcome."

"You left?"

"Let's just say we mutually agreed I should look for another opportunity. He said maybe those underground newspapers back in Berkeley might benefit from my rebellious spirit."

"So what did you do then?"

"I tried a couple of other newspapers, even small ones. But no one would take me seriously. I got pretty frustrated. Didn't make a lot of friends in the business." A frown wrinkled her forehead. "So, since I wasn't able to do what I really wanted, I decided to go back to grad school - get my PhD - so I could at least teach it. Tried to get in several places, ended up at the University of Wisconsin in Madison. In some ways it felt like I was back in Berkeley. Anyway, they had a great journalism program back then."

"So you never went back to reporting?"

"Actually, in recent years, I've reduced my teaching load to allow myself time to freelance. I do a periodic column in the local newspaper and articles for a couple of magazines."

"What kind of stuff do you write?"

"Mostly issues behind the headlines. Today's twenty-four hour news cycle has focused the spotlight on every possible angle of the day's news, but few journalists have the patience or interest in digging into the whys and wherefores that drive the endless stream of headlines. I enjoy unwrapping the underbelly of these stories. Not the sensational ten-minute exposition for television news magazines that have proliferated, but revealing analysis into how the man next door could have ended up in such a mess. You know, well-intentioned citizens who find themselves seduced into taking actions no one would have considered them capable of." She smiled. "Now I'm starting to sound like the first day of Journalism 101."

"Where do you find the stories?"

"I had a professor once tell our class that on the front page of every newspaper there was a lesson in the endless human struggle between good and evil, right and wrong, and worse. A little soapy, but true. And that's my gig, to listen closely, then find a way for those stories to be heard. I think of it as a deeper, often unsettling look into the shadows."

"That's a long way from the flower garden club and tea pouring."

"Yes it is. Only problem is the magazines willing to accept that type of writing reach a limited audience. I long for a broader group of disbelievers, like my junior year seminar students - they pretty much discount nearly everything they're told. Seeing them light up when they finally get it – that's one of the true joys of teaching. But many magazines hesitate to publish my stuff, claim it's too liberal, too outspoken, too something. They say their advertisers would be upset if they printed some of the articles I send in. Editors often call it too edgy, or hard-nosed. One said to me recently, 'Don't you know any soft words?'" She hesitated. "Now, aren't you sorry you got me started?"

"Not at all." Alex enjoyed listening to her talk. Her voice created music of tenor quality. He figured she would sound mysterious reciting a grocery list. He looked at his watch. "But we better get a move on, don't you think?"

Dressed in his tux, he picked Grace up at her apartment. She looked stunning.

"That's a pretty spiffy vest, young man," she commented when he arrived.

"Sara helped me pick it out. Said it was the 'now' look, whatever that means." He helped her with her coat and extended his elbow to her. "Shall we go?"

The affair was held in an elegant ballroom in one of the old refurbished downtown hotels. The ornate high ceiling and gold chandeliers provided a Gatsby-like backdrop to the jeweled women and monochrome men. The evening quickly became a whirl of hasty introductions and small talk. But since he knew no one and had no role to play, Alex was able to sit back and observe Grace operate. She could work a room with the best of them: chatting brightly with the women, but quietly whispering to the men, with a hand on their arm, clearly using her charm and beauty to hold their attention.

"You really ought to be a politician," he commented as dinner was served.

She turned toward him with arched eyebrows. "I'm not sure whether to be flattered or insulted."

"I meant it as a compliment. You have these men eating out of your hand."

"Don't let them fool you. They'd cut me off at the knees if it suited them. But they always respond to a pretty smile and warm touch. It's all surfaces."

"You seem to enjoy it."

"I like getting things done. So if playing to their fantasies helps get the hospital wing built, so be it."

It was his turn to look at her. "My, haven't we changed. Not something I would ever have heard from that tie-died wide-eyed soldier of yesteryear."

"Live and learn, isn't that what life's all about?" She gave him a weak smile, and put her hand on his. "Stone-cold truth seems a lot harder to find these days."

"Yeah. And sometimes when you least expect it." He returned the smile. "Like raising children. Now that's a real education. I never felt so incredibly inept as when I had to deal with Sara's teenage mood swings. She could be so bright and funny one minute, full of the sugar and spice of young daughters, then off she would go in a fit about something that totally escaped me. You think you're ready for parenthood, but then you realize it's all on-the-job training." He paused. "I shouldn't complain, she's a delight. Couldn't have asked for a better kid."

"Sounds like a proud father."

"And objective," he added with a smile. "She's the best thing I've ever done. Maybe every parent feels that way. I'm sorry, I should give you equal time to brag about yours."

The light went out of her eyes, like a dark cloud suddenly blocking the sun.

"Don't have any," she replied, but said no more.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to pry."

She hesitated, as if trying to decide whether to go on. "All that 'free love' back in the seventies didn't turn out to be free after all." Grace took a sip of wine, then went on in a soft voice. "At Berkeley there was a group of us, shared life pretty freely - protested every convention we were brought up with, from dress to politics to sex. But biology wasn't sympathetic, didn't care if we were trying to save the world. I was careless and ended up getting pregnant." She sat very still looking down into the liquid in her glass, her voice a husky whisper. "It's so simple and safe today. Back then, before Roe, you couldn't just see a doctor and get it taken care of. Had to sneak around and find some back alley specialist." She paused. "This one turned out to be a butcher." Using the edge of her finger she brushed a tear from the edge of her eye.

He sat stunned, unsure of what to say.

"Ended up in the emergency room, lost a lot of blood, developed some sort of nasty infection. It was touch and go for a while. A few days later the doctor strolled into the room telling me I was fine, ready to go home. Fine, except I'd never be able to get pregnant again."

The stern silence of so many years of regret hung around her shoulders.

Then, in a small voice she said, "It's the _worst_ thing I've ever done."

He hesitated, then placed his hand over hers. "I'm so sorry, Grace. I had no idea."

"Well, just another of those life lessons, right?" Her eyes glistened. "Look, Harold Cramer's coming this way. Would you mind taking me out on the dance floor? I don't think I can deal with him right now."

"Sure. You all right?"

"Yes. Just dance with me."

He stood up. "Think they'll be starting the Chicken Dance soon?"

She managed a smile. "Not to worry. I don't think this overly dignified group would stoop to that."

On the dance floor Alex felt her cling to him tightly. He thought about the trauma she must have gone through, and wondered what other scars might lurk below her radiant surface.

The rest of the evening went smoothly. William H. Wadsworth himself came to the table and gushed over Grace, thanking her for her article and claiming she was a great credit to the local art scene.

"I think he likes you," Alex said after he had left.

"As long as I praise him. All surfaces, Alex. Nothing of substance."

In the car on the way back to her place she said, "Thank you for coming down for this. It made the evening bearable."

"The whole day has been fun. I really enjoyed the Aquarium. Felt like we didn't even see it all."

"You'll just have to come back."

He walked her to the door.

"Want to come in for some coffee?"

He hesitated. "Think not. That's more dancing and drinking than I usually partake of. I'm beat. Think I'll call it a night, if you don't mind. I've got to head back early tomorrow."

"Well then, thank you again." She stepped forward and kissed him.

Her move surprised him. He didn't return the kiss.

"Good night, Alex. Have a good trip home."

The drive up I-95 the next day was filled with mixed images and conflicted emotions. Her voice, holding her in his arms dancing, and her soft luscious lips rekindled a sensation of longing in him as surprising as it was disturbing. What was he thinking?

Shortly after he got home he called Sara's apartment.

"So how did you do, Dad? Get the tie on right?"

"Yes, smart mouth. And I didn't dribble on my sleeve. By the way, Grace was very taken with your selection of a vest."

"She has good taste. Did you 'cut a rug' like Mom used to say?"

The mention of her mother in the conversation about Grace startled him. "Ah, yeah, we danced, quite a bit actually."

"Great."

"Oh, and we spent the afternoon at the National Aquarium. What an impressive place," he said. "You would have loved the seals and the dolphin show, and the sting rays, and there were..."

"Okay, Dad. Sounds wonderful. Glad you had a good time. I've got to go meet Neil."

"I assume that's the name of the librarian."

"Yeah, right." She laughed. "I told you about Neil, didn't I? He's a guy I've been seeing."

"Not that I recall. So when am I going to meet this fella?"

"Oh, Dad..."

"Okay, okay, have a good time. Talk to you soon."

He struggled with the blurring of two worlds. It was jarring. Here he sat at home, talking with Sara and surrounded by his life with Sylvia. But memories emerged of his life long ago - with Grace...and now she was here...and Sylvia gone...and...it all seemed too...too what?

He opened a beer and retreated into the den to escape into some business papers. Soon the phone rang. "Curiosity got the best of me, old buddy." Chad's voice came over the line.

"You just have to get a life."

"Had a couple and it's still costing me a bundle. I think it's cheaper to listen in on yours," said Chad. "Anyway, it's a slow day on the lot. Sunny days are always the pits. I pray for wet and cold rain."

"No one likes to spend money in the sunshine?"

"Gives them an excuse to go do something else. People like to seriously shop on dreary days. Makes them feel better. So how was the big dance?"

"Not much to report," replied Alex. "Had a good time. I looked pretty good in the tux. Especially with the spiffy vest Sara picked out."

"How is my girl?"

"Fine. Talked to her just a while ago. But she's lost in her own world. New boyfriend it seems."

"Have you checked him out? Asked his intentions?"

"Not really," Alex said.

"What kind of car does he drive? I can usually tell by that."

Alex laughed. "I don't know, and anyway, we don't get a vote in who she goes out with."

"Told you, you should have put her in a convent years ago."

"Well, that boat's left the dock."

"Meet any foxy unattached ladies at the dinner?" asked Chad.

"Is that all you think about? You never ask if I've run into some interesting men."

"Actually, I find women generally more interesting than men, present company excluded of course."

"And more attractive."

"That too."

# Chapter 11

Sanity returned on Tuesday. What started out as just a chance to apologize to Angela had turned into an infrequent but fun dinner experience for Alex. And she claimed it was a great relief for her, being able to go out with an adult, have dinner, and bring the kids. Anthony and Marco were great. Well behaved, yet still mischievous, always pushing their mother's patience and each other's buttons. Especially the little guy. Alex remembered his own younger brother Eric, always egging him on when they were little. He couldn't help but smile as he witnessed Marco do the same to Anthony.

The kids never seemed to tire of Chuckee's pizza but Alex insisted that once in a while they go someplace to eat that their mother would enjoy as well. This particular night it was Moe's Burrito Barn. Good food and the restaurant still had arcade games for the kids to play and have fun with the chips and salsa.

It was an unseasonably chilly evening for early November. Alex opened the door to the restaurant for Angela and the boys to get out of the cold.

"Does this mean it's going to snow soon?" Marco asked Alex as he struggled to get his coat off.

"They can't wait to play around in the white stuff." Angela helped Anthony pull his sleeve out.

"I can still remember how excited I was each winter when the first snow showed up. My brother and I would be out there trying to pack the snow down," Alex said. "We had this back yard that ran away from the house. Great place for sledding. First sign of snow - every kid in the neighborhood would show up at our house. There'd be sleds everywhere."

The boys slurped salsa while they studied the menu of burritos. After much discussion they finally made their selection before heading over to check out the arcade games.

"Hard to believe it's nearly winter." He munched a warm chip covered with salsa. "Seems to arrive sooner every year."

"Then it's like chutes and ladders, first Thanksgiving, then the rush of holidays, and before you know it, next year is here." She turned and stretched her neck to check on the boys. "So what are you and Sara doing for Thanksgiving?"

"She's going skiing with her friend Marcia over the holiday weekend. Up in Vermont I think. How about you guys?"

"We're going down to my family in Wilmington," Angela said. "Say, would you like to come with us? Hate to see you all alone for the holiday."

"That's very nice, but I don't want to crash your family gathering."

"It wouldn't be any big deal. There's always a few friends there with my family. That was the rule when we were growing up. We couldn't make plans to do anything else on holidays, had to be with family. But my mother always said we could bring our friends along."

"That might be fun. Maybe I'll take you up on that. Thanks." The burritos and drinks arrived. "I'll go grab the kids."

Alex ushered the boys back to the table. While experimenting with the various sauces, the conversation returned to family gatherings. "I have to admit, I miss those gatherings at the Colianni's," Alex said.

"I guess part of me misses them too. Especially for the boys. They loved how Nuno would make such a fuss over them, didn't you guys?"

They both nodded. "He picks me up and spins me around," Marco said with his mouth full.

"I like it when Nuno makes a quarter appear," Anthony added, "like out of my ear." He turned to Alex. "How does he do that?"

"Guess it's magic," Alex replied.

"We're going down to Gram and Gramps this year." Angela helped Marco who was struggling with his burrito. "Maybe you should ask Gramps if he can do it."

The smile left Marco's face. "Gramps isn't much fun.'

"He just watches football," Anthony added.

Angela tried to hide her smile behind her hand. "But he really loves you guys too. And Gram is making apple pie. Besides, your cousins Robin and Tommy will be there."

"Okay," Anthony replied, as if resigned to his fate. "Can we be excused now?"

"Sure." And off they went.

"Guess they have their favorites," Alex said with a smile.

"Yeah. They really love their Nuno. Too bad none of that loving playfulness passed on to his son."

"Sara liked being there too. I always felt like a visitor."

"You just never figured out the secret code." She laughed. "I guess to some degree all big families are like that. They're open and friendly on the surface, but when the going gets rough, blood always wins. And take it from me, you never want to come between a brother and sister."

"That had to be tough."

"It was. But at the same time I understood it."

"Why? They could be so bratty."

"I guess there's something endearing about the blind devotion of a sister and brother. We live in a world filled with people ready to judge us and criticize us. It's nice to have someone you mean so much to - that no matter how stupid you are, no matter how much trouble you get yourself into - he's there for you, ready to open his arms and give you a hug. Give you a little grief along with it perhaps, but the love's always there."

"Is that what your brothers are for you?"

"You bet, both of them. So I never really resented Sylvia and Tony. It hurt sometimes, but ...." Her voice trailed off.

"My family was never like that."

"Catty and cruel?"

"No, never close," said Alex

"You have a brother, right?"

"Yeah, Eric. I think you might have met him at the funeral."

"He was the one you used to pack snow with?" asked Angela.

"Right. I guess when we were young, like Marco and Anthony, we were probably close, you know, playmates. Eric's younger than me."

"So you got to be the big brother."

"Guess so."

Nothing more was said for a few moments. Then she asked, "So what happened?"

"It's a long story."

She looked over at the boys working one of the arcade machines. "They don't look like they're in any hurry to go anywhere."

Alex gathered his thoughts. "Well, Eric was a funny kid. Less than three years separated us, but we were as different as two species could be. When he was really young he would keep getting in trouble. The kind of kid who was always pushing the limits. Couldn't sit still, impulsive, had difficulty in school."

"Sounds like a classic ADHD child."

"Maybe he was. But back then they didn't know much about that sort of stuff. Just thought he was rambunctious," said Alex. "My dad was a dentist, a man of science. He had read Skinner and those guys, the big behavioral science people of the time. So he tried to control Eric with what was called 'behavioral modification.' Treated him with what he referred to as constructive criticism and strict discipline. Meanwhile, I was doing everything I could just to stay clear, heeding every rule. So I got showered with positive stuff, and he would make these comparisons between us. 'Alex does such and such, why can't you?' "

"That had to be ugly."

"Embarrassing actually. I never thought of myself as particularly good or anything. Just did what I was told. Parents, school, church, whatever, I just did what I was supposed to. Anyway, this stuff with my father went on for a long time."

"Did that create problems between you and Eric?" asked Angela.

"Sort of. I would try to talk to him, but it was no use. He'd get all bent out of shape about me butting in. Like I'd encourage him to clean up the yard like Dad said, so he wouldn't get in trouble. So one time he just said, 'Everything I do gets me in trouble with someone. It's just the way I am.' I guess he was just undisciplined." Alex dipped a chip in the salsa. "Like with sports. I worked my ass off practicing to make the basketball team. Finally earned my way on and lettered. He comes along, probably a better natural athlete, but he never could be bothered practicing. Got bored, he said. And anytime it came to rules, no way. He ended up getting himself kicked off the team because of grades and goofing off in practice."

"So he did poorly in school?"

"He was bright enough, I think. Real quick wit and great at putting words together. I remember hearing Mom and Dad talking one night. Sounded pretty frustrated. Teacher told them Eric seemed to find school boring. He was more interested in the birds outside the window than what she had to say in class. That really bummed them out." Alex took a drink of soda. "That salsa has some snap."

"Yeah, I love it," said Angela. "So how did your parents deal with it?"

"They did their best, I suppose. But there was always this tension. Like you were waiting for the next shoe to fall. Anyway, the two things I remember most about Eric were his knack for dressing oddly, you know, dark colors all the time, sort of the James Dean style. And his fondness for deadbeats and animals."

"Deadbeats?"

"He befriended outcasts and nerds," said Alex. "But it's funny. That never seemed to hurt him in attracting the constant attention of girls. Although he was a couple of years behind me in school, you couldn't help notice the steady stream of hot babes who seemed to fawn all over him, like they were intent on taking care of him, and protecting him."

She smiled. "That sounds like a little bit of envy."

"Probably. I wasn't so hot in that department myself, so maybe it did get under my skin a bit."

"And did you say animals?"

"Yeah. That was his big thing. He couldn't be bothered cleaning up his room, but he always took great care of the pets. Used to fix the wings of hurt birds. Then we had a puppy, then he got some rabbits, and eventually he collected a whole menagerie - until my father pulled those out of his life too, in the continual battle of behavior modification," said Alex. "In retrospect, I suppose that wasn't such a great idea. That put Eric in a real funk. I asked him what was so special about the animals. 'They don't put on any airs,' he said one afternoon while he was cleaning out the rabbit cage 'They're just there, trying to please you with no strings or demands.' Except you have to feed them and clean up after them all the time, I said. 'Yeah,' he comes back with, 'but they make no judgments. Better than those so called friends of yours - who'll drop you if you just have a bad pimple day.' "

"Doesn't sound like such a bad take on things," said Angela.

"No, like I said, he's pretty smart, and not a bad kid, not like some of the bullies that populated the corners of the school yard. He just didn't seem interested in currying favor with anyone or even being popular."

"Did they ever treat him for anything?"

"Eventually a doctor friend of my father's suggested subtly that Eric might be a child with a condition then called hyperactivity. He prescribed Ritalin which was pretty new back then. It calmed him down, and he started acting better. For a while. But he complained to Mom that the medicine made him feel like a tweeb."

"What's that?"

"Don't know, but that was his word for it. Anyway, she told him to keep taking the pills; doctor said it would help him study better. 'It's a real downer. Let _him_ take them,' Eric replied. Then about a week later I saw him crushing a pill and throwing it in the toilet. He begged me not to tell."

"That's sad. He must have felt terrible on the medication."

Alex clearly remembered the conversation he had with his brother.

" _I'm better off without them," Eric had said._

" _How do you know? The doctor said you need them."_

" _I can control it...on my own."_

Eric had been pretty insistent. Alex didn't know what to do. Then a few days later he got into some trouble at school. Alex went to his mother. "I think Eric's stopped taking his medicine."

" _What makes you think that?" his mother asked._

" _I saw him...throw them away. But he made me promise not to tell."_

She looked at him for a long moment. He saw tears in her eyes. "And so why did you?"

" _I was afraid, you know, of something happening." Alex fell silent. "What are you going to do?"_

" _I don't know."_

Alex remembered feeling bad about telling on his brother, but what could he do? Eric was supposed to be taking the damn medicine and would most likely start acting crazy again if he didn't.

A week passed with no mention of the pills. Then on Saturday morning Eric walked into Alex's room and slammed the door. "Okay, asshole, why'd you tell them?"

Alex could still clearly remember the hurt angry look on his brother's face.  
"You had no right!" Eric yelled.

Alex didn't know what to say. Then Eric's face dissolved into an anguished cry. "I hate you," he said, and left the room.

Angela's voice brought him back. "So what happened?" she asked.

"Eventually they got him back on the pills. But he was pretty upset about it, didn't speak to me for weeks. Meals were quiet and tense. Mom tried to interject a normal flow of conversation but it was obvious no one was happy." He paused a moment. "I later learned my parents had gotten a call from school saying Eric had gotten into a fight with a classmate. So they sat him down and insisted he start taking his pills again. Eric claimed he was just protecting Emily Watson, that one of the older kids was messing with her. He pleaded with them, saying it didn't have anything to do with the pills. But they insisted."

"Did you patch things up?" Angela asked.

"Not really. Eventually I went off to college and he struggled along. I got lost in my new world and happy just to be out of that situation. I figured he probably went off the pills from time to time, from the things I heard about him. Then one night, guess he must have been a junior, there was this accident. He and his best friend were out driving. The police said he tried to pass someone but witnesses claimed he just slowed down in the passing lane. Head-on-collision. He was hurt - but his friend was killed."

"Oh, that's terrible."

"It was pretty bad. Everyone blamed Eric. The kid's parents were devastated. In a small town you can imagine how hard that was on everyone. Some people wanted Eric charged with manslaughter. Anyway, about a week later when he got out of the hospital he ran away. Just left town. Hitchhiked out to my grandparent's place in Ohio."

"Did he ever get charged?"

"Actually, about a month later some kids were caught vandalizing a police car. They had put a ping-pong ball in the gas tank. It was a prank back then."

"What was the point of that?"

"When the police tried to accelerate hard, the ball would be sucked up into the fuel intake line and cut off the gas, killing the engine. Turns out these kids confessed to doing the same thing to several people's cars. Eric's turned out to be one of them."

"You mean – that's what happened in the accident?"

"Yeah. They tore apart the wreckage and checked the fuel tank. Found the ball lodged in the intake line."

"So it had nothing to do with him," said Angela.

"No. But the damage was done. He wouldn't come home, stayed with the grandparents, went to summer school and finished high school out there."

"That's so sad."

"Things eventually got better. Since his grades were so bad he had to go to junior college, but he did well, worked his way through and ended up getting a scholarship to finish at Ohio State. He told me later that during college he found some other medication. I think he said it was some sort of a stimulant."

"I think that's what they use today for kids who have ADHD."

"Well, this stuff seemed to do the trick and didn't make him feel like a tweeb. He eventually got into veterinary school at Virginia Tech, one of the best schools in the country."

"That's a great ending. Where is he now?"

"He moved to the northwest and joined a practice. Ended up marrying a woman out there and settling down in a small town just outside Seattle. Sylvia and I went out for the wedding."

"Do you talk?" she asked.

"Hardly ever. I guess the strain of those years growing up left a gulf between us. And being so far away..."

"That's tragic. Sounds like he struggled his whole life. Shouldn't blame him for it."

"We saw each other when my father passed away. Talked about how things had gone astray. He actually brought it up. Said he was sorry about everything that had happened between us. And for all the craziness he had caused the family."

"That was nice of him."

Alex looked at her. "Well, that's my story. Guess all brothers aren't alike."

She put her hand on his. "Deep down they are. If you ever really needed him, I'll bet he'd be there for you."

"You are the biggest Pollyanna I've ever met. Anyway, enough about me, what's going on in your world?"

Angela related concerns she had about the musical she was preparing at school for the holiday season. "Every year we do the same sort of thing, all very traditional. But this year I decided to pull in some music from other cultures, you know, non-Christian celebrations. As soon as they heard the music we were practicing, some of the administration expressed some hesitation. I think they're going to let me get away with it this year. See how the parents react. But I'm a little nervous about it."

"I'm sure it will be fine. Most parents just want to see their kids up on stage."

She finished a mouthful of burrito. "You'll come and see it, won't you?"

"Sure. I'll stand in front of you when they throw Christmas ornaments at you."

"Thanks." Then she looked hesitant. "Do you really think they'll be upset?"

"I'm just kidding. But you can imagine some of the parents could be a little surprised. They sent their kids to a Catholic school and find them doing strange non-traditional stuff. They don't figure to be the most open-minded group around."

"Well, _I_ figure this is all part of the kid's education."

"Maybe I should wear a batting helmet."

# Chapter 12

Sometimes a smell in the air will do it, other times a few bars of music, and suddenly the scrapbook of memory snaps open to a particular page. Just a few molecules stimulating his nose and Alex is transported back to his mother's kitchen where he can almost taste the snickerdoodles cooling on the rack. Or in the melody of an old song he can feel the angora sweater Kathy Barnes wore at a school dance. Those moments seem more real to him than the lunch he ate just hours ago.

Other times he can trace the memories back through his life like colored lines on a road map, littered with snapshots, crystal clear "pop-ups" of memorable moments, linked together by blurred narrative. The road wanders through various territories, like the early years, teenville, then college, on to work, and family life...each with its own set of colors and smells.

The earliest pop-ups include playing with his brother Eric in a sandbox, his first bicycle and a family trip to some lake he can't remember the name of. But he can see himself in a row boat next to a wooden dock and smell the wet grass in the morning as they hunt for night crawlers. Then there's a red plane, his first ride in the endless sky. He can still feel the tingling sense of excitement that morning, and the almost paralyzing fear.

Sometimes the pop-ups clump together around a single event, so when he recalls a particular time, the images flow together like a jagged film. The terrible time of Kennedy's assassination being a sad example, starting in the school hallway when the announcement came over the loudspeaker - the president had been shot. That pop-up is so clear he can see the clothes his school-mates were wearing. The images run through the next several days of watching television, repeated clips of Oswald being shot, and the procession of events leading up to little John-John and Caroline watching the motorcade.

Some sections hold only a few images, various summer jobs, his family moving to a new house, having his tonsils out. But during the high school years, there are pop-ups everywhere, each day seeming urgent, critical things unfolding: guarded conversations at lockers and passed notes in study hall, struggling to make the basketball team or wondering if Sheila McCarty would go to the prom with him. English Leather and vinyl records always at full volume. Bright colors and a warm rush mark those years in the late 60's.

But by far the most vivid section of pop-ups surrounds a two-year period during college. While the whole college experience contains dramatic overtones, a particularly crowded section of memories begins the day Grace Neilson comes into view. That pop-up is three-dimensional, every detail etched deeply in his memory. Especially her voice. It registered in his sternum, like a cello, rather than in his ear. It was soulful, with timbre, one tone lower than one would expect. And eyes that saw everything, that demanded one reveal whatever secrets one possessed. Eyes that turned out to have as many moods as the ocean. Those images start half way through sophomore year, and rush forward quickly.

He first saw her at a campus rally in the student center crowded with students waving political banners. Dressed in a red sweater and a pleated plaid skirt, she was involved in a heated discussion, her blue eyes flashing and her blond ponytail bouncing as she spoke. He stood and watched, mesmerized. She caught his eye and walked over.

"Hi, I'm Grace. We're passing out information about the war." She handed him a pamphlet.

He found himself at a loss for words, and she seemed amused at his discomfort. "I'm Alex," he mumbled. He figured he wasn't the first person to be unglued by her presence. "Uh, seemed pretty intense over there," he added.

"Yeah, just some guys claiming we shouldn't be doing this on campus," she replied.

"Handing out pamphlets?"

"No, the protest. We're going to protest at the lecture tomorrow night." She pointed to the paper in his hand. "The details are all in the pamphlet. You should come."

He looked at the paper more closely. "Oh, thank you. Well, I think I'm going to grab a cup of coffee."

To his surprise she said she would join him. And for the next two hours he was lost in conversation and her eyes.

The exact words of that encounter remain blurred, lost somewhere, crowded out by the distinct memory of the first time she kissed him a week later, a warm and luscious set of lips that awakened a need in him to know her completely.

The rumor mill claimed she was "fast," that she was a handful, at once flirty and distant. He never paid much attention to any of that, figuring it was either sour grapes from rejected suitors or idle young minds fantasizing instead of studying. He knew the water was warm, and hoped he had the courage to find out for himself how deep the pool was.

She came across like something from another world, enchanting, intelligent, expressive, and aggressive, both socially and sexually. He became intoxicated with her and lost in her magical spell of exotic and erotic behavior. She appeared drawn to his naïve vulnerability, seeming to take pleasure in poking at his conditioned inhibitions.

Most of the time they just hung out, sitting in one of the alcoves in the library or walking through the campus gardens. She was easy for him to talk with, and seemed interested in every aspect of his dull life. He found himself relating things he'd never shared with anyone before.

That particular chapter of events, his long relationship with Grace, had been stored away in the attic of unusable memories, not examined in any detail since the new chapter with Sylvia began several years later. Now, reopened by recent encounters, the pop-ups tumbled out one by one, fused with the memories of exhilarating sensations and wildly oscillating emotions.

While the pop-ups of events appear crystal clear, the narrative contains gaps and murky connections. He experienced a deep and moving relationship with Grace, one that introduced him to new things and new feelings, like he had been given a big crayon box filled with new colors. But this also came with a sense of intimidation, of being swept away and, like that first plane ride, a certain unease.

They came from similar backgrounds, and while his had been more affluent, his father a dentist and his mother a teacher, they were raised under the same social stars. Yet, her world seemed to have different limits, fewer boundaries than his. This was nowhere more evident than in her comfort with sex and how she expressed it. She embraced the unfolding of her sexuality with the same spirited attitude she treated everything else she encountered. While the males of the species struggled with the "virgin versus whore" mentality handed down by puritan ancestors, and most females were still trapped in the "nice girls don't" myth, Grace seemed able to transcend that baggage and view physical interplay as a free and guiltless display of her feelings. Inquisitive and adventuresome, she swept him, naturally interested but sometimes reluctant, with her.

She overwhelmed him, and he could still recall, so many years past, that sense of being caught slightly off base, vacillating between being inspired by her and being embarrassed by her, as she freely expressed herself in dress and behavior. The pop-ups of that time were multihued – warm blues to heated reds.

In spite of the deep affection he felt for her, even notions of spending his life with her, the relationship finally ended - badly, played out against an emotional and volatile backdrop of political upheaval, where the methods of resistance and the inherent violence of dissent collided on campuses everywhere. It was a turbulent time in the country; the Vietnam War had drawn deep lines in familiar places, between fathers and sons, between authority and youth, forcing disruptive choices between loyalty to law and commitment to principle. This particular war placed young people in a prominent role as the instrument of public conscious, a mantle taken up by many with varying degrees of passion.

That struggle, coupled with the normal challenges of adolescent growth and identification, ultimately came between Alex and Grace. The specifics lay hidden in his catalogue of memories amid a jumble of heated emotions, but the outcome was clear. Their romance ended, and with it the series of warm pop-ups.

His memory catalogued the breakup as a disagreement over some of her outrageous behavior in protesting the war. She had became involved with a radical campus group wearing tie-dye and jeans, marching on weekends at rallies against the war and challenging the power of government, which locally was embodied by the university administration. Alex was against the war. While he wasn't nearly as sure about the politics, he knew for certain he was against going to the jungles of Southeast Asia. But his resistance remained less outspoken. At first he thought her attitude was refreshing and courageous, but eventually he became intimidated and even annoyed by it. When protesters camped in the administration building, forcing the suspension of classes, he became concerned she had gone too far.

"You've made your point," he remembered counseling. "Let's get on with things."

"They're still sending troops over there to kill peasants."

"Last time I checked the university didn't have much of an army."

"They're just another oppressive power group, dictating terms to all us students," she said.

"It's their school, they make the rules. And we're missing out on classes. What good is all this when we can't pass our exams?"

"This is more important."

"To you...and your so-called friends, but there are a lot of students here who just want to finish the semester. What about them?"

"What about all the innocent farmers and children who are being napalmed? No one asked them if they wanted us to fly over there and drop deadly chemicals all over them."

"Grace, most of the students think you're going a bit too far with this."

"I don't care what they think," she replied. "This is what I believe in."

Several similar discussions blurred the final moments of their relationship.

When Alex revisited that section of his life's journey, he could reconnect with many of those same unsettling emotions. She still stirred him, drew him to her by some invisible thread, and yet, in some ways he couldn't quite articulate even to himself, she still made him feel uneasy. She was a force of nature; that's what Chad had called her, an irresistible force of nature.

# Chapter 13

Everyone at the weekly staff meeting sat quietly while Tony lectured on the need to increase cash flow. He had fixated on receivables, categorizing every outstanding payment as delinquent.

"I want each of you to pick a customer in this category and go after them."

Kevin passed out a list of accounts over thirty days old. Alex scanned the list.

"Alex, I want you to lean on Del Pesco," Tony said.

Alex couldn't help his surprise. He looked to Ira, who happened to be at the meeting. "Don Del Pesco has been one of our oldest and most loyal..."

"It isn't up to Ira," Tony said sharply. "But that's why I want you to do it. He'll take it better from you."

Alex knew better than to argue the point. It had become obvious that once Tony had set his mind on something, any attempt at discussion only provoked an outburst. "I'll talk to him."

"Better yet, go see him," Tony said. "He's used us as floating credit for years. Let him know we're serious. We won't put up with that anymore."

While Tony went around the room handing out other assignments, Alex tried to imagine how he would construct such a conversation with the gentle man who had been such a good customer over the years, not to mention the personal relationship Del Pesco had developed with the Old Man.

After the meeting Alex called and made an appointment to see Don Del Pesco. Since he would be in Baltimore, the thought of calling Grace popped into his head. Maybe they could have coffee or something.

He looked up her e-mail address and sent her a note.

The next day she called him at the office. "Hi, Alex. Got your e-mail..."

"Yeah, I'm coming down to see a client. Thought maybe we could grab a bite to eat."

"That would be lovely. When do you arrive?"

Alex looked at his planner. "I'm planning to come down Friday, have an afternoon meeting."

"Great. I have a class in the morning and one in early afternoon. So just give me a call me when you're finished."

"That'll work."

During that week his feelings bounced back and forth between terror and anticipation. Part of him wished he hadn't contacted her. What was I thinking? he wondered, why did I do that?

"Yes, why did you?" asked Grace, as the waitress brought wine to their table. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy you did, just a bit surprised. You seemed a bit unsure when you left."

"Good question." After a pause he tried to explain. "Well, seeing you at the reunion felt good...and then the gala turned out to be fun...for the first time in a long time, something felt right, and...being the sharp thinker I am, I figured seeing you again might feel good all over again."

She smiled. "Might have been the wine you were drinking."

"Now you tell me. And I didn't even get the name off the bottle."

"Are you dating?"

"No," he said quickly. Then he thought about it. "Is that what this is?"

"A date? Could be. Has a lot of the elements." She paused. "Do you want it to be?"

"Wow. I can see why you're a good reporter. Let's see, do I want it to be?" He tried to collect his suddenly jumbled thoughts. "That's hard to say. I guess the best answer is I really don't know." He hoped she would rescue him but she just held his gaze in her enchanting eyes. He looked down. "Listen, it's been a very long time for me. There's probably whole new definitions to that word I'm not even aware of." He look up at her. "Can't it just be two old friends getting together?"

"Is that what we are?"

"I suppose."

"That's fine with me. I'm not much into labels, I'm just really glad to see you."

They sat in silence and sipped wine.

"You want to tell me what's bothering you?" she finally asked.

After a moment he spoke, eyes focused on the remaining wine in the glass. "I guess when Sylvia died it was a shock, I went numb. Maybe part of me died with her, at least the part that feels anything. I've sort of lost track of who I am or how I should feel about anything." He stopped. "Sorry, I'm getting maudlin. Forgive me."

"Maybe you need to talk about it." She put her hand over his. "Please, go on."

He avoided looking at her, still studying the wine. "I've heard about people who slowly lose their eyesight, some condition - the name escapes me right now..."

"Macular degeneration?"

"Yes, that's it. A black hole develops in their field of vision. Everywhere they look there's this hole in the picture. Eventually they learn how to compensate, they're able to do most things by looking around the hole - managing to function with their limited view. At times maybe they even get so used to it they forget it's even there. But then once in a while the reality of what's missing suddenly comes crashing down on them." He swirled the glass and gulped the last of the wine. "That's been my life ever since...I wouldn't have thought that before, I mean, if someone could have described it to me I still wouldn't have understood."

"I guess there's no way to prepare yourself."

"People said it would take a year for me to get any perspective on it. But even now it's not terribly different," he said.

"Time is a great healer. But part of that we have to do ourselves."

"Ourselves?"

"Permission. We have to give ourselves permission to feel better, the luxury of healing." She patted his hand. "Maybe part of us feels guilty. We couldn't protect the person we loved. Protect them from that awful thing...somehow we let them down...by not being able to prevent it."

"It's silly, isn't it?"

"I don't know," she replied. "We live so much of our lives believing we're invincible, that we have some sort of control. It's probably the only way we can maintain our sanity. Then something shatters that flimsy veil of security and we can't do anything about it. It's got to make us a little crazy."

"It happened so suddenly."

"Many years ago my nephew was seriously hurt in a diving accident. He hung between life and death for several days before finally pulling through. I remember my brother making a comment that has always stuck with me. He said we're all only two seconds from oblivion; we just can't let ourselves see it. I guess he's right. We couldn't get through the day, let alone the night, if we gave in to the truth."

"Well, aren't I the sparkling conversationalist. Now we both need a stiff drink."

Her expression softened. "I gave up hiding from truth a long time ago. There are no games left to be played. I appreciate you feeling comfortable enough to share how you feel with me." She picked up her menu. "Shall we see if dinner is better than that appetizer?"

It wasn't. She had chosen the restaurant based on recommendations from some friends.

"Sorry. I can cook better than this," she mused over the remains of their half finished meals.

"I once knew a person who used that as the criteria for dining out. She was a pretty fair cook, mind you, so if the place was expensive she figured they better be able to do it better than she could at home. Otherwise she felt ripped off."

"Good rule. I enjoy cooking myself - the shopping, the preparing - I buy cookbooks like most people buy novels. Love to just read through the recipes."

"Well, I don't know which book this came out of," he said, pushing his plate away. "But it wasn't one of the better chapters."

"Fortunately the wine's good." She poured the last of the bottle into their glasses. "And the company." She clicked her glass to his. "So you came down for a meeting. Was it a success?"

"Mostly. Called on an old customer of ours. He's having a bit of trouble, fallen behind, business cycles and such. But he's never failed us. I'm sure he won't now."

"But?"

"Well, our new president has less patience than...than we used to have."

"Probably a universal complaint," she said.

"Maybe. It's just that sometimes I think we forget the basic principles that got us to where we are."

"Principles, or people? From what I've seen this is a new version of corporate think...anyone who's not contributing this minute is somehow a barrier to success. So they just throw everything...and everyone...overboard. The problem is - everyone else is watching and thinking...'that could be me...real soon.' And that attitude does get in the way of success."

He smiled. "I should take you in to talk to Tony."

"He's the one you told me about, right? The son? Guess he thinks he needs to do it better than his dad."

"Maybe. But he's not had the experience his father had, you know, developing the business over the years, establishing relationships with the key customers. So...I suppose we're there to help him. I guess it'll be all right, once things settle down."

She smiled.

Once they payed the check, she said, "I know a place where we can get some good coffee and dessert."

"Recommended by the same people who told you about this place?"

She laughed. "No, this is a sure thing."

"Lead on."

Later, over coffee he asked, "It occurs to me that in all of our conversation you haven't mentioned any 'significant other' in your life. Since I escorted you to the ball and we're here tonight, can I assume you're not married?"

"Not now."

"But you were?"

"A long time ago. His name was Robert...and it ended badly. A pathetic story actually, just another cliché campus romance expiring in divorce."

"Did you like being married?"

"I suppose. Since it's the only marriage I've ever had, I don't know any different. But it was parallel play. When we met I was his student and that never really changed. I was blinded by infatuation, and once we were married he still seemed to regard me and my opinions as classroom discussion. He was brilliant, and inspired me a great deal, but I never felt we operated on equal footing."

"What happened?"

"Eventually he decided he needed another admirer to prop up his ego. So he found another starry eyed co-ed enchanted by his brilliance and went off to set up house."

"Sounds like a painful experience."

"For a while, but it was probably for the best in the long run. We were never soul mates. Just one of the many sordid tales that so often develop on university campuses, especially in graduate programs. I was actually older than most of my classmates at the time, so you'd think I would have been wise to his seduction. But love is a strange commodity, sometimes giving short audience to reason."

"Never had the urge to marry again?"

"Never met a man I couldn't live without. And for me, that's the test."

"Tough standard," he said. "What about just someone to be happy with?"

"Happy is overrated. We chase after happy with every new car we buy or each new pair of shiny shoes. A committed relationship calls for a much deeper investment, one I wouldn't make lightly. Certainly not just for the temporary feeling of happiness. Most people wake up from that dream to the reality of a life shared with someone who is not willing to give unconditionally. And then where are they?"

"You'd make a tough marriage counselor."

"Or a good one."

At the end of the evening when he dropped her off, she again kissed him goodnight.

On the drive home he conducted his usual internal inquiry – perhaps more like an inquisition. Had he really expected to relive the good feelings he'd had at the reunion? Probably, but this felt different. He enjoyed seeing her - yet his own numbness seemed to cast a shadow - like an invisible blanket.

He thought about some of the stories she had told him, like her sad pregnancy and the difficult marriage. She was a much more complicated person than the wide-eyed young activist he had dated back in college. There were pools of emotion lurking within her he couldn't even imagine. Maybe seeing her again hadn't been such a good idea after all. With everything else coming apart in his life did he really want more chaos?

"I feel completely at sea." Alex said, trying to explain his feelings to Chad. "Like trying to navigate without a compass. Life seems so much simpler in the movies. There's a first act, a second act and so on, a series of situations leading up to a critical event where in some dramatic fashion the hero suddenly has a flash of insight, a light goes on, and all at once it's crystal clear what course of action he should take."

His friend proved unsympathetic. "Yeah, and usually accompanied by swelling music and a happy ending. That's all fine, in fantasy land. But real life is a lot messier," he said. "And it doesn't come with popcorn. Our little insights - if they occur at all - are subtler, and more painful. More like the grinding of tectonic plates, human emotion builds up pressure until some unexpected release slaps us in the face."

"Or gives us a splitting headache."

"But when it finally happens- it's no less dramatic, or life altering. Our distress – what we thought was indigestion or hemorrhoids - starts out as kind of an inkling, then slowly, gradually, it transforms itself into a conscious thought. Suddenly, everything else becomes reinterpreted through our new lens, like getting a new glasses prescription. From that moment on, things seem a little clearer. And we're relieved. Applause, curtain."

"So you're saying this nonsense careening around in my head will all clear up."

Chad chucked. "Someday, perhaps, maybe."

"Thanks. That's so helpful."

"The point is no one is going to come along and give you a script. There are no rules. You're going to have to work it out for yourself."

"I don't like this part," said Alex.

"About a year after my first divorce I started seeing this gorgeous woman named Becky."

Alex couldn't help but smile. "Imagine my surprise."

"I'll ignore that remark. Anyway, for months I struggled. I was caught up in major turmoil - but I wasn't even sure what the question was. All that time I thought I was coming down with the gout or developing some sort of an ulcer. Felt pretty shitty. Then one afternoon I'm sitting in my office popping antacids when it comes to me - this is all about commitment. After the bad time I had with Lisa, I was afraid I wouldn't ever be able to make a permanent commitment again. And just like that the crazy symptoms went away."

"So what happened?"

"I ended up breaking up with Becky. Knew she wasn't a person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with."

Alex hesitated. "And there's some sort of moral to this story?"

"Yeah. And I'm not even charging you for these nuggets of wisdom," replied Chad. "The point is if you give yourself some time, it'll work itself out in your head."

"And meantime?"

"Try antacids."

"It's amazing to me that people actually buy cars from you."

"You'd be surprised. Little old ladies love that story."

Alex accompanied Angela and the boys down to Wilmington for Thanksgiving dinner. Her family welcomed him as one of their own. The feast strained his imagination, and her mother tried to fatten him up in one sitting. "Mangia, mangia," she kept urging.

Her brothers Greg and Sal showed more caution, bordering on suspicion. They were clearly protective of their sister and seemed curious why she had brought Alex with her. Any connection with the Colianni family raised concern and distrust. With good reason, he agreed. He chose to hang in the background observing the network of parents, siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles engage in good natured ribbing, boisterous disagreements over college football prowess, and an endless stream of funny stories concerning who did what to whom back in the yesteryears of their lives. Alex witnessed Angela almost glow in the nurturing flame of filial love, a healing balm that he found himself envious of.

Later, on the ride back to West Chester, with the boys asleep in the back, he told her how much he enjoyed her family. "You seemed so happy there with them."

"That house and those people hold the best memories of my life. Why shouldn't it be a sort of oasis for me? Everyone's family provides a source of unconditional acceptance, I think."

"Couldn't prove it by me. In my family such things were never so obvious, and certainly not as dramatic."

"Perhaps you never needed it," she said, than a few moments later added, "Or maybe you just never let them."

Those words stung. "That's a little harsh."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it to sound that way. I'm tired and just thinking out loud." The miles swept by. "But of all the nasty things that have come from my divorce, the one positive thing is that it has allowed me to spend holidays with my family again. Guess there's a silver lining in every dark cloud."

# Chapter 14

The first hint of spring always lifted Alex's mood. Sitting on the patio enjoying the bright yellow forsythia was therapeutic. The hectic period of the year-end holidays and festivities were more effort than joy for him and now with Sara busy with her own life and Sylvia gone, they were lonely as well. While there was no emotional warmth to that time of year for him, the habits of holiday seasons past still pulled at him.

A Christmas card from his brother still sat on the mantle, with a picture of his two girls. If pressed he would have difficulty explaining even to himself why it was still there. Each time he saw it he found himself wondering what was happening in his brother's life, with a note of regret at his failure to ever untangle the knot that separated them. A new year had begun, a new millennium was underway, and yet. Such thoughts that had visited him during the cold nights of winter he managed to force aside in the blossoming spring.

Thoughts he was unable to push aside involved Grace. He had considered calling her over the holidays, then didn't. Revisited the idea on New Year's, again he stepping away from any action. What was he doing? What did he want to do?

As if in response an email from her appeared in his inbox. "Hi there! Enjoyed your visit. You were a good sport to endure the food adventure. I'm definitely crossing that one off my list. I just found out I may be up in your neck of the woods in a few weeks for an interview. Maybe you can show me one of your favorite restaurants. Any good Thai nearby?"

He hit reply, but hesitated. What should he tell her? Was Chad right? "Shuck or bury the peanuts." Deep down he knew he wanted to see her again. Led on by a stirring in places he had all but forgotten, he composed a reply.

When William Penn first envisioned the city of Philadelphia in the late 1700's, the waterfront was to be its face. But the city developed inland instead and the docks, warehouses and piers became the center of industrial activity until that waned in the second half of the 20th century. After years of abandon and neglect revitalization was underway, reclaiming the riverfront as a city landmark.

Alex took Grace to Charlie's Fish House, one of the new establishments on the Philadelphia riverwalk, with delightful food and even better ambience. They fell into a comfortable conversation about her work and his. He found himself once again revealing his concerns about what was going on with Tony, both the business and the family, especially the blind eye Tony's family seemed willing to give his actions. Thoughts Alex had not voiced, even to himself.

Grace offered some insights. "That's a delicate situation, Alex. Sounds like his mother will always see him in a positive light. He'll always be her little boy, regardless of what happens right before her eyes."

"She's a pretty savvy woman. So it must call for some very selective interpretation of reality."

"I guess we all do that. We all have the same facts in front of us, but each of us translates them into a version of truth that works for us. Not consciously, of course. But that's why a reporter can never rely on a single source, needs different perspectives." She finished her crusted rainbow trout. "And my perspective is that this food is way better than we had before. Good choice."

"That was a pretty low bar. But thank you. Glad you like it, even if it's not Thai."

"Aren't there any good ones around?"

"Really don't know. Sylvia didn't like...," he paused. "I mean I was never much into spicy food."

"Next time you come down I'll take you to a good Thai place," she said. "Has some of the freshest tastes."

"Want some coffee?"

"Did I see an ice cream shop a couple of doors down when we came in?"

"I think so," he replied.

"How about we get a cone and walk along the water. Lovely night."

"Sounds great."

They strolled along the river in the reflected lights. "This is so beautiful," she said.

"They've done a good job. Not quite the inner harbor like you have in Baltimore, but still pretty nice. Not long ago this was run down piers and old abandoned warehouses. Mostly just an eyesore."

They stopped by a boat ramp. She took his hand. "I was afraid you weren't going to answer my note."

Sea gulls stood on each of the pilings facing into the evening breeze. "Me too."

"Glad you did."

"Me too," he said.

She reached up and kissed him. His mind was flooded with the lushness of her kiss, eager, yet soft and welcoming, the memory of it, all those years ago, made him dizzy. This time he returned the kiss.

He traced her mouth with his finger. "Umm. You always had the best lips."

She smiled. "I take them with me everywhere."

She kissed him again.

Back at her hotel on the sofa, they continued. Grace rested her head against his shoulder, her soft hair tickling his nose. She turned her head upward and nuzzled his ear. "I love you, you know," she whispered.

The words hung in the air, like crystals of ice, or maybe snowflakes: beautiful, delicate, almost weightless. "You love me?" he asked.

Her eyes smiled. "Does that surprise you?"

"Well..."

"I suppose I never stopped loving you."

"But what about..."

"You know," she sat up and looked at him, "there were plenty of things wrong with the 'free love' movement, but the one thing they got right was that there's no real shortage of love. No limit on how many people we can love, or how much love we have to give."

"I'm not sure I understood it then...or now." He began feeling uncomfortable, his pulse beginning to race.

She stared at him for several seconds, as if measuring him somehow. "What I'm saying is that my feelings for you were never about withholding something from anyone else, including my husband." Grace circled his mouth with her finger. "And if you let yourself love me now, it doesn't mean you have to stop loving Sylvia. Not now, not ever. That's not a choice you have to make."

His chest was pounding, as if he had just rushed up a flight of stairs. He needed to get up, to catch his breath. Pulling his arm from around Grace he made a clumsy exit from the couch.

"Alex, what's the matter?" She struggled to regain her balance.

"I don't know." Turning back to her. "I really don't. I heard the words you said, but..."

"Let me guess. Feeling anything for me is betraying Sylvia. Is that what you're feeling?"

"I said I don't know." He heard his voice getting louder. "I can't put it into words exactly. I just know my heart's racing and...."

"And what?"

"And I can't do this right now. I just can't....do this. I'm sorry." He made an awkward retreat out the door.

A week passed before he could summon the courage to call her. A week filled with radically vacillating emotions. His rational mind argued that he would be better off without the entanglement of a relationship. He had arrived at this point in his life too set in his ways to learn a new dance. But he couldn't deny Grace had opened up his feelings again, awakened in him a desire. He just couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.

"Hi, Grace, it's me."

"You okay? You rushed out so quickly the other night I thought I might never hear from you again."

"Sorry. It's just that..."

"I'm the one who should be sorry," she said. "I rushed you. Old habit of mine, always been just a little too quick for my own good."

"I just wanted to say how much I've enjoyed our being together, and...I don't know exactly what it means, or...boy, am I terrible at this."

Into the silence she said, "Alex, is this a 'kiss off' conversation? Or do you want to come down this weekend?"

He couldn't help but laugh. "You really know how to cut through it, don't you?"

"Let's just say by now I've heard the music often enough to understand the dance."

He was quiet, trying to clear his head. Finally, he said, "I really intended to tell you – that it wasn't working out - but now that I hear your voice, I can't imagine not seeing you again."

"That's a very sweet thing to say," she said. "So how about Friday night?"

"I'll pick you up around seven."

Sitting back in his chair he realized his best intentions were useless against her charm. He was hopelessly infatuated with her. Again. But there were shadows, and alarms in his head.

The upcoming trip to Baltimore made the tenseness in the office less stressful. He found himself distracted by the feelings that were stirring inside. By the time he left the office on Friday he couldn't wait to see her.

"Come on in," she said when he arrived that evening. "I decided to cook us something. Hope that's all right."

"Don't want you to go to a lot of trouble."

"No trouble. In fact, I'm doing Thai. This will be lesson number one in your introduction to Thai food. Let's start with some wine. Will you open it while I finish chopping these vegetables? It's on the counter."

As she prepared dinner he related his conflicted feelings about his work situation. "I really want to do everything possible to make him successful, don't get me wrong. It's what his family wants, and what we need as a business."

"But?"

"I'm uncomfortable with some of the things he's doing." He took a sip of wine. "Maybe I'm just feeling left out of things."

"What does your gut say?"

"I'm hungry."

"Good. This will be ready in a few minutes." She put the stiff rice noodles into a glass dish and poured boiling water over them.

"What's that smell?"

She stirred a pot on the stove. "Let's see, ginger, garlic, onions, and fish sauce. Want a taste?"

"No. This is a whole new branch of the food tree for me, I'll just wait until you tell me it's all finished."

She smiled at him. "So, have you ever thought about leaving?"

"The business?"

"Yes. If you're unhappy and feel like you need to get away from there, you know, with the history and all."

"Never thought about it. Been there a long time. Hard to imagine being anyplace else."

"Sometimes change is good," she said.

"That hasn't been my experience."

"Want some more wine?"

"Please!"

Dinner brought a series of new tastes to him. "Um, I like that. What did you call it?"

"Peanut sauce," she replied. "Isn't it great with the noodles?"

"And there's this lemony tartness?"

"Very good, that's the lemon grass," she replied. "This is a version of Pad Thai, just a basic Thai dish."

She served coffee on the couch in the living room with classical guitar playing in the background. The tastes of the meal still lingered in his mouth.

"That really was delicious. My mouth is very happy," he said.

"Don't sound so surprised. Or is it relieved?"

"Let's leave it at impressed."

"Always a pleasure to cook for an appreciative audience." She leaned over and kissed him. "And you taste good."

He fought the conflicting emotions rising up inside. "Grace, maybe I'm not capable of this anymore."

"That's nonsense. Our ability to love is never gone, hidden sometimes, like a little flower hidden under the brambles, but it's still there, waiting to blossom." She ran her hand through his hair. "When we just take the time to notice."

Those enchanting eyes pulled him into their depths. What was he so afraid of? "I don't know what to say."

"That's the best place to start." She kissed him again.

"You make it sound so easy."

"Not easy...just possible. And worth the effort."

The lusciousness of her lips melted his hesitation. He kissed her back. Her tongue slipped into his mouth. He felt light, almost dizzy, like the room was suddenly short on oxygen. His hands roamed her back.

The stirrings of passion began to swell. Tentatively his hand explored the softness of her breast, encouraged by her soft murmur. A surge of desire rushing through him, he fumbled with the buttons of her blouse.

She ran her hand up his thigh. "Shall we get more comfortable?"

He pulled away. "Grace, it's been a long time for me..."

She put her finger on his lips. "Trust me. We can figure it out."

Their lovemaking was at first rushed and urgent, then later soft and tender. His heart soared in relief and joy, his body singing remembered notes of pleasure. Grace displayed a playfulness about sex he found as surprising as it was beguiling. Lost in her arms, and in her scented body, the shadows receded. He slept a dreamless sleep; the innocent sleep of lovers, satiated and satisfied.

And awoke to the smell of coffee and reality.

"Good morning." She was already dressed, holding a cup of coffee out to him. "Cream, no sugar, right?"

"Ah, thank you." He took the cup and sipped the hot aromatic brew. "Um. That's good. What time is it?"

"Nine-thirty. You seemed to be sleeping so well I didn't wake you. But I needed to get ready, got an interview this morning."

"Grace, last night was..." He couldn't find words. "Thank you."

She leaned over and kissed him. "Yes, it was wonderful." She got up. "I should be done in a couple hours. Will you wait for me?"

"Where?"

"Right there...just like you are. There are some croissants on the counter if you're hungry."

After she left Alex laid on the pillows - his mind awhirl with a kaleidoscope of thoughts, while his body hummed in relaxed exhilaration. Finally, he got up, showered and dressed. Then realizing he was famished, he had a croissant and more coffee before Grace returned.

He looked up as she breezed into the kitchen. "You're out of bed," she said, taking off her coat.

"Yeah, those croissants were..."

She started unbuttoning his shirt. "I wasn't finished with you."

# Chapter 15

Alex resisted the stereotypical image of himself as a dowdy accountant working in dim light with a green shade visor and a Scrooge-like mentality. His mental picture was more wistful, an ardent student of process and procedure, insuring that the vital organs of the business were well nourished with appropriate information on which to base important decisions.

Never aspiring to be highly visible within the organization, he found glory in the absence of conflict about numbers. His goal was clarity. While his colleagues glowed in the preparation of a creative marketing plan or landing a new sales account, he took pride in the well-conducted audit or a clear operating statement – eyeing those accomplishments as carrying the same level of importance as the more flashy plays of the operating teams.

This self image was being slowly eroded. There were clear signs that Kevin Lassiter had Tony's ear. Perhaps a natural outcome of being old classmates and spending time playing racquetball together and hitting bars afterward. In Alex's mind Lassiter, a forever-fraternity party boy, threatened to undermine the carefully established network of financial records in the firm.

Alex well understood Tony's anxiety about the business. Circumstances had placed them in a vulnerable position. Reluctantly, he had to admit that perhaps some of the practices the Old Man had employed so successfully over the years were in need of updating. The market had changed significantly and only those who deftly accommodated the new realities would prosper. Instead of maintaining the arc of growth the Old Man had routinely turned in, his proud son struggled to even maintain market share. So the push to squeeze every possible cent of profit from the business became intense and at times outright tyrannical.

This led to consideration of business strategies that made Alex nervous. While he empathized with Tony's predicament and felt an obligation to support him, he also remained steadfast in his resistance to anything he thought would endanger the good name of the firm Tony's father had toiled so long and hard to create.

On one of his increasingly frequent trips to Baltimore he attempted to explain the situation to Grace over dinner. "We are a business of margins. Most businesses are slaves to margins but this company is particularly so. Profit is generated solely by bringing the customer product quickly and efficiently. It's a delicate balance. Inventory is key to satisfying customers, but it's also a huge drain on cash."

"So what makes your company better than the guy down the block?"

"That's a great question. Our inventory control system, being able to provide products faster and less expensively than our competitors. That's been our chief competitive advantage...ever since the Old Man started the company."

"The Old Man? That's Tony's father, right?"

"Yeah. He started it all back when he came out of the service, at the end of the war. As Antonio tells it, he was just trying to find his way in the world. One day his father asked him to help out a friend, turned out to be the superintendent of the local school system. Seems they needed supplies and were having difficulty getting them. So Antonio's father knew some people, cousins and such, you can't believe how big this family is, so he called around and lined up some suppliers, then Antonio borrowed a panel truck from his uncle's moving company to pick up the stuff and deliver it to the schools. He claims he was bouncing along one afternoon delivering the goods when he passed the Philadelphia Quartermasters Depot."

"What's that?"

"Well, it's now called the Defense Supply Center, but its roots trace back to before the Civil War. Started out as the Schuylkill Arsenal. It was how the army back then supplied the troops with munitions and supplies. You know, everything from uniforms to bullets to medical dressing." He paused. "Where was I?"

"He was bouncing along delivering supplies."

"Oh, yeah. So he's passing the Depot and like a bolt out of the blue he gets this idea - there might be a business in this. If the schools were having trouble getting stuff, what about the Depot? They could be a huge customer. I guess it had grown in size tremendously during the second world war. So they needed lots of material for the army. Right? And then he thought about the rest of the school systems in the area, the hospitals, and colleges. And so the idea of a supply company was born." He smiled. "Probably more than you ever wanted to know about that."

"No. It's interesting."

"And just about that same time they invented disposable sterile medical supplies, like disposable syringes and swabs."

"What do you mean invented?"

"Well, before that everything was glass, and everyone had to use autoclaves to sterilize the needles and syringes and the like. So when disposable utensils came along it was a big thing. But to the Old Man, that meant an even bigger opportunity to be a distributor. So he jumped on the medical supply business. And that was the beginning of the Northeast Medical Supply Company." He thought for a moment. "And that's the business his son is fooling around with now."

"But didn't you say some things have to change?"

"True. Like I said, our inventory control system has been the hallmark of the Colianni business. After the business the Old Man started began to grow, his friend Ira Mosher recognized the value of the first mini-computers as a tool to track inventory and managing distribution."

She laughed. "I remember those - we used them back in college."

"Yeah, but even earlier versions. I think Ira might have built one in his basement. The power of those cabinet based processors was crude by the standards of fast personal computers today, but in the mid-seventies they were considered marvelous tools. And it provided an effective way for NMS to provide a needed service to both customers and suppliers. Antonio was careful to design the business never to compete with his suppliers or customers. His mission was to add value by helping them be successful."

"Sounds like a pretty perceptive guy."

"In a world where business rapidly expands vertically, by gobbling up suppliers and customers, his approach turned out to be brilliant. His customers have been extremely loyal. But eventually margins grew tighter. Technology became available to everyone, and with the internet looming out there, who knows. In a few years that may prove to be a serious threat to the business."

"So you agree the business needs to change. Could you be overreacting? Maybe what Tony is doing is necessary."

"I guess. But it has to be done correctly or we could get in a lot of trouble."

"Does he listen to you?"

"He just sloughs off my concerns, both in private and at meetings. The other day he humorously reminded everyone that every blacksmith eventually had to learn how to work in the world of automobiles."

"That was a little mean," she said.

"Meanwhile his buddy Kevin is presenting an endless array of what he calls 'creative approaches' to the problems - solutions that make me cringe."

"It's worked for the banks. They keep coming up with new and different ways to charge us for various services. It's like that song from Les Mis, you know the one where the inn keeper is bragging about over charging the customers. How does it go? Something about, 'charge them for the lice, extra for the mice, two percent for looking in the mirror twice...' Anyway, hard to image your guy is getting any more creative than that."

"True, but I'd like to avoid being tagged as one of those questionable characters," said Alex. "My memory of that show is that it doesn't end well for the inn keeper."

# Chapter 16

The long Memorial Day weekend was at hand. The Saturday morning sky was bright and clear, but the day ahead looked empty to Alex. Sara had begged off on his invitation for a picnic, claiming she had plans to be with a special someone. Alex was at a loss. He knew Grace was traveling, so he decided to see what Angela and the boys were doing.

When she answered the phone she sounded frazzled. "Hope your day is going better than mine. The kids are driving me crazy. Tony was supposed to take them this weekend. But at the last minute he cancelled."

Alex wondered how often that happened. "So they're bummed out and taking it out on you, right?"

"Sort of."

A thought struck him. "How about we take them fishing?"

"Fishing? You're kidding."

"No, seriously. Friend of mine has a cabin up on Willow Lake. Said I could use it anytime. I can give him a call. It's rustic, but it has three bedrooms and indoor plumbing. So, how about it?"

"Oh, the kids would love it," she said.

"You might enjoy a little 'back to nature' yourself."

"Don't bet on it. My idea of open spaces is a large living room."

He laughed. "Okay, we'll see. Pick you guys up in the morning?"

"How early?"

"Well, it's about a three hour drive. Say seven-thirty?"

"I'll still look like all outdoors," she replied. "Probably scare the fish."

On the drive up to the Poconos they passed the time playing word games and twenty questions, games Alex remembered playing with Sara when she was younger. The boys caught on quickly. Angela seemed distracted.

The village nearest the lake had a general store where they picked up supplies. The boys walked around fascinated at the blend of groceries, hunting and fishing supplies and hardware. Of particular interest were the glass bowls on the counter with a variety of candy.

Finally they arrived at the cabin. After unloading the car and settling in a bit, Alex took them down to the lake. The mirror-like surface of the water reflected the clear blue sky and the trees marking the opposite shore. A gentle breeze played with the tops of the tall pines providing background music.

"It's beautiful," Angela said.

"And full of fish," Alex added.

"Can we go fishing now, Uncle Alex?"

"Of course. That's what we're here for. Let's get the poles."

"You're a brave man, Alex Frasier," she said, as the boys ran back toward the A-frame log cabin.

The next few hours were spent baiting hooks, untangling fishing lines and answering questions about where the fish lived.

Angela had camped out at a picnic table outside the cabin. "How did we do?" she asked, setting her book aside when they returned.

"It was awesome," Anthony said.

"Totally cool," echoed his brother.

"And some pretty ferocious fish gave it up for the boys - enough to make supper." Alex held up a string of four lake trout.

"Congratulations." She looked at the muddy wet clothes her children were now wearing. "Let's get out of those wet clothes. Take everything off here on the porch. Don't want you tracking mud in there. Then head straight for the bathroom."

"I'll clean these up and get dinner started," said Alex.

The next morning a light fog hung over the water. The sound of loons echoed through the tall pines. Alex sat at the picnic table outside the cabin watching the boys throwing stones into the lake. Angela brought out coffee.

"Thank you." Alex inhaled the hearty vapor. "Beautiful morning."

"Don't you think the kids will scare away the fish?"

"They're having fun."

"You're right, they are." She sipped her coffee. "I am too."

"See, you're an outdoor girl at heart."

"Let's not get carried away." She blew across the top of her mug. "But at the rate we're going, living in the wilderness may be all the boys and I can afford."

They both drank their coffee and watched the boys.

"Something you want to tell me?" Alex finally asked.

"No. It's not your problem." She set her cup down and gazed out toward the lake. "Things are pretty tight right now, and the school district is looking for cuts. Music and art are always the first to go."

"That would be a shame. You love teaching."

"And they love eating."

"Sure, but he pays you alimony doesn't he, and then there's child support. Should be plenty based on what he makes in the firm."

"He can only give us what's left over. And that's never been much. I never had any illusions when we split up. He pissed it away when we were together, no reason to think he would change after he left."

"But...where is he..."

She stared at him. "That's really funny, you know. None of you ever saw through old Tony-boy, all that phony charm, always playing people like a shell game, disguising himself." She gave a weak smile. "And I was the complaining bitch who could never run a household, Tony's stupid wife."

"We never..."

"Don't bullshit me. I knew. And it hurt." She put her hand on his. "Sorry. Not you, Alex. You were always sweet - even if you didn't see what was going on."

"So, what's the deal?"

"Damned if I know. He never let me see the finances, but we were always struggling. And once he left, the money came in dribs and drabs, but never what was agreed to." She took another sip of coffee. "I honestly think he needs psychiatric help. Maybe after all those years living in the shadow of his old man...whatever. All I know is he gets off on taking chances. Being in a car with him when he's had a few drinks is terrifying. I would never let him take the kids out at night. Never knew what might happen. But his biggest problem is chasing the next big thrill – risking everything on the next roll."

"You mean like gambling?"

"Big time."

"I don't believe it."

She looked hard at him. "Why doesn't that surprise me? But let me tell you, hidden behind those sexy brown eyes is a man with a death wish, and he doesn't much care who goes with him." She wiped her eye with her sleeve. "So that leaves me and the boys hanging out with nothing. Fortunately, Nuno was generous, and slipped us something now and again. Now even that's gone"

"Did he know?"

"None of the details, I don't think. But he's a perceptive man. He suspected something was up."

"I had no idea. I just assumed..."

"What? You think I like dressing in Thrift Shop clothes? Wake up, Alex. Lover boy is good at putting on a show, giving the kids splashy gifts, playing the big hero. But nothing of substance where it counts, putting food on the table or a roof over our heads."

He reached over and put his arm around her. "Angela, I'm sorry. I really am."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Thanks. It's nice to be able to talk about it with someone."

"What can I do?"

"Go play with the kids before I get all weepy-eyed."

Late Monday afternoon they headed back to the city, edging along in heavy traffic.

"Sorry it's taking so long," he said.

"That's fine. All that fresh air really knocked them out," she said, noticing her two boys sound asleep in the back seat. "Wish I could bottle it. Can't thank you enough for the weekend. The boys will be talking about their great fishing exploits for days."

"It was fun. I really like it up there."

"Did you and Sylvia like coming up here?"

"Sylvia? Absolutely not." He paused a moment, looking at the passing forests of trees. "I can't image Sylvia ever being in a place like this. But there's a sense of openness that's very seductive."

"So this is all new for you?"

"Amazing, right?" he said. "In fact I've been looking at some land up here. Thinking of building a place of my own, you know, like a get-away."

"That's exciting, Alex. On the lake?"

"Yeah. Friend of mine got me involved in a partnership to develop the area. I plan to put a house on a site just south of where we stayed."

"That's wonderful. When will it start?"

"Don't know for sure. Every time I talk to Jeff he says there's more snags in permitting and stuff. But he assures me it'll work out. Says he's done these deals before. Just takes patience and persistence – and money, according to him."

"This can't be Jeff Wingate, can it?"

"Yeah, you know him? He's the one who got me to try fishing in the first place."

Anglia remained quiet.

"What's up?" Alex asked.

"Nothing. Just that he's one of Tony's cronies."

"Tony's? Well, I guess he was the one who introduced us. Brought him in as a new supplier."

"Jeff used to come around the house a lot. I never felt very comfortable around him. Whenever Tony was out of the room I felt he was trying to..."

"No, really? He seems like such a nice guy."

They rode on without talking.

# Chapter 17

Alex and Grace began seeing each other more frequently. Grace would plan short trips for them to take or she would come to Philadelphia eager to explore the sights.

"You mean to tell me you've lived here all these years and not seen the Liberty Bell?"

"Just never got around to it," he replied.

"How about the zoo?"

"May have taken Sara there when she was a little girl."

Grace continued flipping through the visitor's guidebook. "Look at all these art galleries. This is one of the culturally richest cities in the country, and you've never explored it."

"A lot of those are pretty new."

"You've lived a sheltered life." She kissed him on the forehead. "How about we fill in some of the blanks." And off they would go to the Italian market, or the Franklin Institute, or the Rodin Museum.

One early summer afternoon walking downtown along Franklin Avenue she stopped in front of a clothing store.

"Look at the great sale they're running. Shall we?" Without waiting for an answer she darted inside. He hurried to catch up. "Clearance racks all over the place," she said looking him up and down. "You're a man who could use a few new things. I'm going to browse over there in the women's department. I'm sure you can find some things here. See you in a while." With that she disappeared into the maze of racks.

Alex idly wandered around the store, picking up one shirt or another without much interest. After twenty minutes Grace reappeared with several articles of clothing over her arm.

"I'm going into the dressing room to try..." She stopped short. "You didn't find anything?"

"I looked around."

"And?"

"Actually, I'm not much good at picking out clothes."

A smile crossed her face. "Let me guess. You always had someone pick them out for you? Like Sara and the vest?"

"Worked out pretty well, didn't it?" he replied. "For the rest, I guess Sylvia decided what looked good on me and that's what we got."

"But what about what you like? Clothes are an extension of your personality." She turned to the rack behind her. "Okay, let's see what they have." She pushed several shirts aside then pulled out two long sleeve sport shirts, one blue with a light stripe and the other a brighter pink with a flower print. "Which one?"

"How should I know?"

"Which one feels better to your eye?" She scanned the area. "Actually you need to see them next to your face. Let's go over to that mirror."

She led him to the mirror and held each up in turn in front of him. "Okay, now choose."

He stared at the image in the mirror. "I think this one is....maybe quieter."

"You're going to wear it to a club tonight, so quiet isn't necessary."

"I like it anyway. Seems more like me."

"Great. So subtle it is." She handed the shirt to him and nodded toward the dressing room. "Now go try it on."

Two shirts and a pair of slacks later they emerged from the store.

"But you didn't get anything," he said.

"Oh, it was way too much fun helping you shop. Did you like it?"

"Yeah, it was okay. I particularly like those pleated pants."

She smiled and slapped his butt. "I agree. You'll look pretty sexy in those."

The adventure didn't stop at shopping and sightseeing. She awakened in him a sexual desire that left him dizzy. They made love till they were exhausted, a short but exhilarating trip at his age. He felt like he was living in a parallel universe, one distant from the turmoil of work, the reality of day-to-day life and the emotions that had darkened his life the past couple of years. He viewed his time with Grace as an intergalactic vacation.

After a while Sara expressed her curiosity. "You seem to be gone a lot. Am I ever going to meet this mysterious lady?"

"Nothing mysterious about her. Just someone I enjoy spending time with."

"That's pretty obvious. Seems like you're with her almost every weekend. Does she have honorable intentions?"

"I don't even know what that means. We're just old friends."

She smiled. "Uncle Chad is an old friend. A woman you spend weekends away with is more than an old friend."

He didn't answer.

"Look, I'm not saying there's anything bad about it, just glad to see you so happy."

"Well, thank you. You know I'd never do anything that would make you..."

"I'm fine with it. Have a good time. Maybe you'll stop fretting about me all the time."

When Grace came to Philadelphia, she liked to stay at the Parisian Hotel downtown. "The suburbs are so isolated," she claimed. "I want to be close to the life of the city, where you can go out at anytime of the day and just watch people."

Alex began staying with her at the hotel. In the morning they would go down the street to a small café for breakfast where they were soon on a first name basis with Gus, who made Grace his special omelet. She enjoyed walking endlessly along the streets studying the architecture of old buildings. She claimed the real history was written in the facades.

"It's all above the first floor," she said, pointing at a particularly ornate cornice. "Up there the structure is original. Looks gothic, don't you think? They keep redoing the storefronts, but on the face of the upper levels the architect's story is still on display."

In the evening she enjoyed going to clubs – ones with live music. "It gives me a charge," she said. "Guess I'm just an old battery, the music fills me up."

The type of music seemed incidental, as long as it pulsated. And she loved to dance, seemed happiest when constantly moving to the rhythms, her body gracefully gyrating to the beat. Alex learned steps they had never thought of in the ballroom dance classes.

"Just listen," she shouted above the music. "Feel the beat, and just let yourself go." She closed her eyes and became lost in the pulsating cords.

He loved to watch her move; her body seemed designed especially for motion. And after a few beers he found himself able to keep up with her – for a while. He felt like he was stomping around in rooms he had never visited before.

Their lovemaking proved just as passionate. Grace was generous and artful, and as with the dancing, he found himself learning moves he had never previously experienced.

He became lost in her world, a cocoon of warmth and tenderness. While still a stranger in the new terrain, he felt refreshed and, like new skin over an old wound, tender, but healed.

He smiled to himself, amused at how conversations with Grace became so absorbing, the words might be pedestrian but her eyes had a way of focusing attention, giving the dialogue larger import. Talking with Grace was more like an interview. Probing, uncovering, nothing was ever casual; she was probably an excellent reporter. He recalled that same intensity when she was a college student, paying close attention to everything. It was at once exhilarating...and weighty, and after a while, felt a bit burdensome.

One weekend when he was down in Baltimore, she took him to her favorite club. A downstairs place, below street level, just a large open room with a bandstand at one end and a long bar at the other. The room felt cool compared to the warm humid summer outside. Lots of people sat around small tables in dim blue light. On stage a three-piece combo was laying down a sultry blues number, the guitar player expertly using a bottle slide to draw out each note. The music seemed to reach out and wrap itself around each person in the audience.

They sat with a pitcher of beer at a table close to the wall.

Alex sat back and scanned the room. "This is nice."

"As the night goes on, different musicians go up and start jamming. Sometimes it can produce some really special music."

Sure enough, over the next hour musicians started trading places on the stage, and the tempo of the music picked up. Soon the place was rocking, blues riffs exploding from guitars, piano rolls that brought thunderous applause. Most of the time, it seemed the whole crowd remained on their feet. Alex noticed hardly anyone sat down. The tables just held the drinks while the people swayed to the music.

Many of the people seemed to know each other, and Grace - a constant flow of hugs and greetings. And she danced with most of them, giving Alex a chance to rest.

And the pitchers of beer flowed. The faster the beat became, the faster the beer went. The atmosphere of the room mesmerized him. He became completely submerged in the rhythms of the music –and the hops of the beer.

The next morning he thought death would be a welcomed outcome. His system revolted – beginning with a banging in his head that was upset with any sound, regardless how small. His stomach felt like the jumpy music hadn't stopped and refused any effort to settle it down.

Grace was amused at his state. "I think you have a genuine hangover."

"I haven't drunk that much since..." He struggled to form words in his dry cotton mouth. "Probably since my frat days. I think I'm going to die...soon, if I'm lucky."

"You'll be fine. Just go back to sleep."

"I'm afraid to close my eyes, everything starts spinning."

"Still?"

"May be permanent."

She laughed. "I'm going down to grab a bagel and coffee. Want me to bring you anything?"

The mere sound of food sent him rushing for the bathroom.

"Guess not," she called after him.

Alex's world had become a procession of adventures with Grace interrupted by weekdays of stressful work. Chad followed this routine like listening to a story on tape.

"So you danced all night and drank yourself silly?"

"Beyond silly. I was so sick," Alex replied.

"Haven't hugged the porcelain bus myself in many a year."

"Not something to look forward to. Why do people do that to themselves?"

"You must have been having a right nice time..."

"You would not have believed this place. The music, the people...and Grace. Chad, the woman is incredible on the dance floor."

"Well, old buddy, sounds like your lady friend hasn't slowed down much over the years."

"It's like being on a huge roller coaster ride. I've been places and seen things I didn't even know were here. And done some things that..."

"You can spare me those details," Chad said. "So how's my Sara with all this?"

"Claims she's fine with it," Alex relied. "And at least spending time with Grace gives me a break from what's going on in the office."

"Tony boy still driving everyone crazy?"

"He and his trusty sidekick Kevin. God, it's amazing how they try to stretch the boundaries, using numbers to reflect what they want the business to look like, rather than how it really is."

"That's where you guys with the green visors come in," said Chad. "Sooner or later it has to show up."

"You'd think. But they're pretty clever."

"That's not all that unusual, is it? Things get a little slow, or start going badly, you've seen companies suddenly change the basis of comparison. Either a reorganization of the company or a change in accounting practices to shelter the lagging performance. Remember all the changes a few years back, from LIFO to FIFO and such? A shell game, move them around fast enough and no one will realize the bean is missing."

"Yeah, those are classic ways to buy time. But all short term fixes," said Alex. "Hopefully, business picks up and no one's the wiser."

"So maybe your Tony's just buying time. He doesn't want to look bad right out of the gate."

"But business isn't going that badly. That's the strange part. We actually had a fairly good July. So there's no need to mix up the shells. And the one danger of these diversions is losing track of actual performance. It's one thing if you're trying to fool some street analyst, but not so good if you confuse your own people – mess up the key parameters of performance."

"This is the part of the conversation with my accountant when I usually fall asleep."

"Sorry. But it's like looking at a picture, and sensing there's something wrong, you just can't put your finger on it."

Chad chuckled. "Probably just fallout from all the late nights you've been having."

"Don't remind me. My stomach is just beginning to talk to me again."

"Like they say, 'she ain't your old Chevy.'"

"You got that right."

"Keep the faith. Talk to you soon."

After Chad hung up, Alex sat back in his chair squeezing the ball in his hand. He had always kept clear records to demonstrate how the business was progressing. Old man Colianni used to call it the family bible. A lot of time and patience went into maintaining that bible. Anytime there was a change in accounting procedures, perhaps a modification in business taxes or redefinition of inventory practice, he would restate all transactions two ways, the new way, and the old way.

Now the time frame between changes had shortened dramatically, the burden of maintaining the bible had grown. The key was complete access to the ledgers. With Kevin in the picture, sometimes Alex felt he wasn't seeing everything. Part of that feeling came from Amy's difficulty in following the cash balance.

Cash was king. And the ratio of cash owed to the company versus money it owed to others represented one of the key scorecard items Alex tracked in the bible. This debt to equity ratio, the liquidity of the business, was a key measure of financial health. An important but very dry concept.

Over time the Old Man had come to recognize its value and tolerated Alex's discussion of the metric at staff meetings. Tony on the other hand was less enamored with spending time over what he called trivia. In fact he suggested the time it took to capture all these details could be better spent trying to expand the business.

"Everyone should be focused on the front window." He glanced over at Alex with a smirk. "Not the rear view mirror. The actions necessary to grow this business are in front of us. Who cares how this compares to something we did ten years ago? The customer doesn't and our creditors sure as hell don't. They just want to know what we're going to do now."

Alex doubted everyone around the table agreed with Tony but he was equally sure no one was willing to endure his caustic wit to disagree. Tony had a way of belittling someone with scathing humor, and then follow that up with a charming flourish of superficial praise, leaving one frustrated and bruised. An effective tactic to keep people in line perhaps, but it forced any serious conversation underground.

Despite his misgivings, Alex continued to proceed as Tony directed. Part of this remained out of his control anyway, because more and more Kevin controlled the entries to the ledgers. But Alex tried to keep his scorecard, and struggled to maintain a semblance of continuity even though he no longer shared the information at meetings. He felt as long as he kept the bible intact he would be able to detect any serious changes in the health of the business.

# Chapter 18

A leaking faucet in the downstairs bathroom held Alex's attention until Sara called and said she wanted to stop over. He hadn't seen much of her since the fall semester had started. Not much over the summer for that matter. She seemed to have spent most of her time working as an intern in a downtown bank and the rest of the time off with her friends at the beach or whatever young people did these days. So the interruption pleased him. He put away his tools, carefully setting the parts aside so he could finish the job later.

When she arrived they sat at the table in the kitchen. "What's up? Everything okay at school?" he asked as he poured them both some soda.

She didn't answer, but sat fidgeting with her bracelet.

He put her glass on the table in front of her. "Sara?"

Without looking up, she said, "I've decided to leave school."

"Excuse me. Did you say 'leave school?' You just started your junior year. What are you talking about?"

"Neil's going to study in Paris. I'm going to go with him, to help him."

Stunned, Alex sat down in the chair leaving the soda on the counter. He stared at her, as if she were someone he had never seen before. "You're not making any sense. Who the hell is Neil? And what's this about Paris?"

"He's a wonderful artist, and I love him. There's a good chance he's getting a fellowship at an art school there starting in January. But if that doesn't come through he's decided to go anyway. And he needs me."

He felt the room start to spin; he stumbled getting up and walked to the sink. "I don't understand. When did this all happen? You just met the guy."

"Dad, we've been dating for six months."

"Like I said, you just met the guy."

"I don't want to argue with you about this. I've made up my mind."

He took a deep breath, trying to get oxygen to his addled brain. "You're telling me you're going to quit school, run off to Paris with this hippie artist, and ruin your entire life...but you don't want to discuss it?"

"He's not a hippie artist. He's good. He's really good. And he needs to be someplace where he can be noticed."

"And what about you? What about your education?"

"There's plenty of time for that. Right now this is what I need to do."

"And your career? Is there much of a future for you playing nursemaid to a struggling artist? You have a future here in the business."

"You know I'm only studying business because you and Mom talked me into it. I hate that stuff. And that job at the bank last summer was so-oo boring. All those cold numbers and rigid rules....it feels so dead."

He recalled how excited she had been about going off to college. At first she had her heart set on majoring in Art History. But they were able to convince her to follow a more practical career track, business. In fact, Alex had been surprised at how much support they got from the Old Man, who, after years of denying his own daughter any role in the firm, was speaking of a future for Sara in the family business. Perhaps it represented a subtle form of evolution, Alex mused at the time. But getting through to her had not been an easy task.

"I don't want to take business," had been Sara's lament. "I want to study art."

Alex had used his most persuasive tone. "What can you do with a degree in that? Art can always be a hobby, Sara. But you have to think about a career."

"But I love history, and learning how the great artists developed their trades, and how they impacted the world around them with the expression of their genius."

"That's interesting stuff. But what will you do with it? There's no career..."

"Who said education had to be all about getting a job? Look at the greats, they turned their backs on the conventional way of life and struck out on their own path."

"And starved," Alex said.

"They struggled, yes. But at least they were doing something they loved."

"Look, Sara, you're young and idealistic. That's great. But you have to be practical too."

Round and round they had gone. Eventually she accepted their logic. Now she sat across the table, prepared to throw it all away. He tried to think logically, to add some rational thought to the conversation. "And what are you going to do with yourself in Paris?"

"I'll find a job."

"And live where? With him?"

"Dad, we're practically living together now."

"Another bit of news I seemed to have missed." He tried to collect himself. "Look, Sara, we planned this all out. You finish your education...then you can do whatever you want. Leaving now is ridiculous."

"I knew you would say that." Her voice rose. "I knew you wouldn't understand."

"You really think this Neil guy is going to be able to take care of you? I know it all sounds wonderful, Paris sounds like a romantic place. But life is tough and you have to be prepared." He patted her hand. "Maybe you could go over for a vacation, during the summer, when the semester is finished."

She yanked her hand away. "Don't treat me like a child. I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

"Obviously not. Or we wouldn't be having this conversation." His mind fought to catch up with the swirling current. Not long ago she sat in that same chair wanting a Cabbage Patch Doll. And now she wanted to leave college and run off with an artist. "Sara, you're too young to be taking this on. Finish college, and then start thinking about supporting someone."

"Dad, I love him. Can't you understand that?"

They sat there, each lost in thought, the only sound the clock ticking on the wall.

"I know you _think_ you love him," he finally said. "And maybe you do. But is that enough?"

"Didn't you ever love someone so much you would do anything for them? Didn't you love Mom that way?"

"That's different. We were older. We knew what we wanted."

"Well, I love Neil. And I'm going to finish out the semester and then go with him."

"No, you're not," he said, louder than he intended.

She got up from the table and walked out of the kitchen toward the front door.

"Where are you going?" he called after her.

She turned around and glared. "There's nothing more to say. You won't listen."

He saw she had that same set of her chin Sylvia used to display when there was nothing more to be said...her mind made up and any further discussion pointless.

He stood up. "Don't do this, Sara. Think about it. You'll realize I'm right." He started walking toward her, intending to hug her.

"Don't bet on it." She turned and left the house.

Silence hung in the room like heavy smoke. He couldn't make out any details, everything was blurry. What was happening? He sat down, dizzy.

Later he described the disturbing conversation to Chad on the phone. "Jesus Christ, what the hell is happening to me?"

"Alex, you're experiencing mid-life. Years of using those daily-planners has given you the idea you actually have some control over things. But you don't. And didn't I tell you to keep Sara away from guys. They're never up to any good." He paused. "Seriously, do you want me to talk to her?"

"Go ahead. But I don't think it will do any good. She's pretty strong headed."

"Just like her Dad."

"What the hell is she thinking?"

"I know you can't remember back that far, but we thought we were pretty damn indestructible ourselves at that age, infallible and full of life's wisdom. Nothing more irrefutable than someone her age in love." He paused, then added. "Actually, at any age love pretty much trumps logic."

"I told her she couldn't do it."

"Bet that went over big."

"I think she'll listen to me, once she calms down."

"Hope you're right, but either way, do you really want to force her hand?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Maybe you need to let her find out for herself," Chad said.

"Sometimes I think it's the universe's gift to us all that you don't have any children."

"Whoa, old buddy. I'm not the one running off with some smooth-talking shaggy-haired artist. So don't be throwing darts at me."

"Sorry. Just that the whole world seems to be going crazy," Alex said softly. "Whatever happened to planning things out, and considering the consequences?"

"Went the way of the station wagon. People want to be more spontaneous. Go for the gusto and all that."

"Well, they're going to wake up one day and find out it's not all slogans and soft lit dinners."

"And they complain there are no more romantics left."

Days later Alex sat in his office staring out the window trying to distract himself from the awful conversation with Sara. He'd decided to give her a few days to come to her senses. But he couldn't help feeling that everything seemed to be up in the air at the moment.

He forced his thoughts back to the papers in front of him. As he struggled to understand the subtle nuances behind the new way Kevin was stating things in the financial reports, he recalled what Grace had said about the business. Maybe she had a point. He might be overreacting as far as Tony was concerned. He liked things stable, a big fan of consistency, but just because Tony chose to do things differently didn't necessarily mean it was bad for the business. He recalled plenty of times in the past when the Old Man would come up with some new wrinkle that had improved the way they operated. So now it fell on Tony to find ways to move NMS forward.

This line of thought made Alex's shoulders relax a little. Perhaps he should go have a talk with Kevin and just explain his concerns. He knew that's what the Old Man would want him to do. He called Amy and asked her to bring him the latest operating reports.

He spent the afternoon scrutinizing the reports. At best the business was holding its own, but the disturbing trend of falling margins continued. In the past, when the market had been growing, they were able to capture volume without dropping prices. Each incremental piece of business brought good profit because it was leveraged by the underlying structure. But now aggressive competition was forcing NMS to cut prices to hold old business and go even lower to grab new volume. Classic behavior in a competitive market, Alex reflected.

His fear was that in the face of shrinking sales numbers a sense of desperation would seep into the conversation, giving consideration to more and more "creative" ideas to combat the sliding profits.

In this type of situation the best solution was to push innovation: develop services that reestablished prominence. The real basis of growth for NMS was the hard work the Old Man and his colleagues did in the beginning, the technological advantage of an effective inventory management system that Ira developed and the establishment of relationships with key customers.

With mergers and expansions of customers and competitors, and the growing access to technology, some of those advantages NMS brought to the market had evaporated. The Old Man had made a decision several years back not to take on debt, and to avoid growing too rapidly, having witnessed other small firms blow up from over-expansion. Antonio Colianni was a "cash and carry" kind of guy. He had chosen to remain a regional supplier and avoided bidding on other firms that would have expanded that niche. At the same time, he spurned any attempts to be purchased. This left his company a medium-sized firm in a market gradually dominated by giants.

With every aspect of the business seemingly in flux, Alex thought maybe Tony was reading the tea leaves correctly, searching for a hopeful rationale for the actions he witnessed.

The next morning's staff meeting brought the point home, dampening what little hope Alex had gathered. Tony loudly criticized the latest forecast.

"Cash flow, people. We need to up the cash flow. Do I have to remind everyone of our motto?"

The meeting dissolved into a series of pointed interrogations by Kevin and Tony. When the conversation focused on finance the suggestions ranged from holding back payment to suppliers to once again reclassifying inventory and restating assets. These were not the marks of innovation, Alex thought as he watched the downcast eyes around the room.

Afterward he found the monthly financial statement on his desk with a note in Amy's neat handwriting: 'Cash still out of balance.' He picked up the report and flipped to the pages where she had circled the number.

He went to her office. "You come up with any explanation for this?"

"Sort of. Everything seems to be in balance on the surface. No outstanding contracts, payables are in line, but when I went back through to the general ledger and ran a tab on the actual cash flow..."

"There's a discrepancy?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

"Difficult to pin it down exactly. Not sure how long it's been going on, but from what I can ferret out, just under $70,000 to date."

"Where's it going?"

"All I've been able to uncover are some bank drafts made out to..." She looked for a piece of paper on her desk. "Yes, to a Gibson Associates."

"A supplier?"

"No. In fact it's no one I've ever heard of. And there's no invoice to back it up either. Besides, bank drafts would be a peculiar way to pay someone, wouldn't it?"

He started to leave, then turned back. "Who signed the drafts?"

"Kevin."

He knew the proper thing was to speak directly with Kevin about the payments. He had been meaning to have a conversation with Kevin anyway. This just provided a specific example of the type of actions that concerned him. In spite of Alex's deliberate efforts to be helpful, Kevin had shown little interest in his opinions, or sought out his assistance in any way. But maybe resolving this situation would be a way to start working together. Late in the afternoon he stopped by Kevin's office to discuss his concerns about what Amy had found. The response proved brisk and dismissive.

"Don't be getting your knickers all tangled up, Alex. It's just some work Tony has asked some people to do for us, ah...about a possible expansion."

"Expansion? I haven't heard anything about that."

"Just pie-in-the-sky right now. Nothing to bank on just yet."

Alex thought for a moment. "But there's no invoice. Where's the documentation?"

"At the moment it's just an agreement between Tony and them. It'll all get set in stone if it goes forward."

Alex didn't like the implication. The Old Man had done some deals off the books from time to time, but he accepted Alex's advice to create an account for it, to at least identify the spending in case of an audit. These transactions were much less transparent. In fact, if Amy wasn't carefully tracking the data, the whole thing would be completely invisible. The money didn't appear to be actually being paid out directly, but rather being transferred through some internal accounts and then literally dropping off the books.

"Not to worry, it's under control," were Kevin final words.

The following month Alex again noticed the subtle flow of cash through the account transfers and out of the business. This time he marked up the operating report and went directly to Tony.

"I think this should be addressed," Alex said, after he had indicated the offending numbers.

"I thought I told you to stop all this stuff. We have a business to run and you're spending time tracking irrelevant data."

"It's not irrelevant. You're the one who's been preaching how we have to a keep close watch on the flow of cash."

"Damn right! Cash in – that's want we need to improve. Money in the till, that's the measurement I'm interested in."

"But what we spend determines how much is left in the till, and this spending is undocumented."

Tony looked at him closely. "Kevin said he explained all this to you. Why the hell are we still discussing it?" Tony ran his hand through his hair and smiled. "You're like a little old lady, Alex. Fussing over the lint on your vest while your slip is showing." He rose from behind his desk and walked to the window. Turning back to Alex, he continued. "You've got to look at the bigger picture. If we're going to grow this business, we all need to concentrate on new ways of doing things."

"I understand that, but..."

"Do you? While you're figuring out what we did ten years ago our competition is eating our lunch." His voice turned harsh. "I need you to get in the boat, Alex. I need every hand on the oars and pulling in the same direction. Understand?"

"Yes, Tony. It's just..."

"It's just nothing!"

Alex sat silent.

Tony exhaled. "You've been a big help to this business. I appreciate everything you've done. And I respect your concerns. Leave that with me, I'll look at it later."

Alex left the report on the desk and returned to his office.

# Chapter 19

"You seem a little glum." Grace rubbed his neck. "Want some more wine?"

He laid his head back and closed his eyes. Her apartment seemed like an oasis after another long week of dueling with Tony and Kevin. But the real tension came from the silent treatment he was getting from Sara.

"No thanks, just give me another reason to have a headache." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't you ever want things to stay put? Maybe for a day or two? Some sort of regularity?"

"Well, I guess we all do, but I've sort of learned that's an illusion. Everything is changing all the time. The river looks the same, but it's never the same water, you know what I mean?" She ran her fingers through his hair. "Look, you've had your share of surprises, it's not unusual to want to take some of the chaos out of life."

"That's a good word for it. The most recent turn of events is my daughter. She wants to drop out of school and go off to Paris with her artist friend."

"Sounds like a father's nightmare."

"Yeah. Exactly."

The light jazz CD she had put on provided background. "I'm not one to give advice, but those things have a way of playing themselves out for the best," she said.

"The best for who? It's great for Johnny-paintbrush, he'll have someone to take care of him while he explores his inner artist soul. A groupie. But what about her?"

"Somehow I can't imagine a daughter of yours being a groupie."

"Well, I don't know what other word to call it."

"Maybe you're not giving her enough credit. It may not be the plan you had for her..."

"Not even close."

She took his hand. "I guess that's the part where we have to learn to be trusting."

"Like I said, I'd like a little control."

The next time Alex reviewed the reports the cash transfers no longer appeared. Whatever payments were being made had stopped. Alex felt relieved, although still annoyed there was no record of the ones paid out previously. He thought about going back and calculating the total amount of the payments to date, but he heard Tony's harsh comments in the back of his head. He decided to leave it alone and move forward, hoping the concerns he expressed would prevent future incidents. He also realized talking to Kevin was useless. And perhaps even counter-productive since he never knew what Kevin was telling Tony.

"At least those transactions have stopped," he told Chad on the phone.

"Maybe so, but like my daddy used to say, 'cut the cards no matter how dumb the dealer looks.'"

Alex laughed. "I know your 'Daddy,' remember, and he would never say anything like that. Besides, what the hell does it mean?"

"Keep an eye on him. Sounds to me like old Tony boy's a classic gambler."

"Well, he certainly has an appetite for trying new stuff. But then where would you be today if you hadn't taken a few risks building your business?"

"Oh, I think there's a difference. Sure, business is risky. The outcome is always uncertain. It sure was in my case."

"Turned out pretty well."

"Yes, sir, sure did. Can't complain. But in my mind there's two categories: first, there's what you might call players...and then there's what you can only describe as gamblers."

"Yeah, players win and gamblers are the ones who lose."

"I think there's more to it than that. No question players take risks, but they've carefully determined the odds and understand the possible downside. They weigh the pros and cons and then take advantage of opportunities that arise. If they've done their homework, and get a few breaks, they win. Now your gamblers, they're wired differently. They're desperate people, willing to take risks even when the odds are stacked against them. Seems like to them the thrill comes from the risk itself, not necessarily the outcome. Those boys are dangerous, and are soon parted from their money."

"Well, I guess I'm neither."

"Don't be too sure. Everybody falls in there someplace. Perhaps your risk tolerance is just a lot lower. You play poker as I recall."

"Used to."

"Pretty well, if my pocket remembers correctly."

"So?"

"So you know a good player lays his hands down until he gets cards that provide an advantage. You end up folding a lot..."

"Waiting for the right moment to jump in - if the opportunity and odds justify it."

"Right. Well, gamblers aren't there just to win, that may be part of it, but the buzz comes from being on the edge, hanging over the possibility of disaster. Actually, for them winning just creates a need to look into the deep dark abyss again, another trip in search of some sort of rush."

Alex's relationship with Sara remained frosty. He thought she would get over it, figuring once she reflected on the gravity of her decision - giving up school, moving across the ocean - she would come to her senses. As the semester progressed, he waited, hoping she would come around.

Sara had always been interested in art and music. Displayed no talent for it, but she was taken with anyone who could draw or paint or play. Growing up she took countless lessons. Drawing, dance, piano – she had an insatiable appetite for trying, but she was born out of a gene pool that just didn't possess those skills. He recalled times at family gatherings at the grandparent's house, when she would beg Angela to play the piano, sitting rapt beside her on the piano bench. In high school one of her most serious relationships involved a guy who played blues guitar. Moody guy, not very attractive in Alex's eyes, and not particularly interested in grades or what the future held for him. But he seemed to possess that magical 'pied piper' talent Sara fell for.

But this was different. She knew the importance of college and getting her degree. They had discussed it numerous times. Like every father, he wanted her to be an independent person, able to find her own way in the world without depending on some 'schmo' to provide for her. Leaving now, and going with this character, would be just the opposite of what they had planned for her.

As with most everything in his life at the moment, there appeared little he could do to influence the outcome. Life seemed to be spinning out of control and he was sentenced to stand on the sidelines and watch.

His conversation with Chad hadn't been helpful either.

"Don't you think you're being a little melodramatic about all this?" Chad had said.

"No. It's one thing for her to get her ears pierced or talk about getting a tattoo - heaven forbid - but actually leaving school..."

"People drop out of school all the time, and then go back and finish up."

"Don't you understand, I've lost my daughter! Everything we've planned for her is falling apart. So, no, I don't see anything melodramatic about this at all. It's just plain terrible."

The line remained quiet.

"What? None of your usual Southern humor to deal with this?"

"Like you said, the universe has spared us any attempt on my part at parenthood."

"Chad, I'm really sorry I ever said that. I didn't mean anything..."

"No, there might be wisdom there. I suppose it's important to figure out how to manage my own life before trying to guide someone else's. So I can only imagine how tough this is for you. And I know how much Sara means to you, and how concerned you feel about her future." He paused. "But maybe, just maybe, you have to trust her."

"And just let her mess up her life? Christ, Sylvia would've had a kitten."

"Life is messy. All we can do is try to cope with it gracefully. Maybe you have lost a daughter in the sense that she's no longer a little girl living out your wishes and instructions. She's becoming a woman. Perhaps it's time to take your hands off the wheel and let her drive on her own. You and Sylvia have done a great job planting the seeds, now let them grow."

Another long silence.

"Alex?"

"Shit."

"Yeah."

Alex sat at his desk listening to echoes of the conversation. Granted, Chad made some good points, but Alex couldn't get his head around the possibility Sara would actually quit school. And the feeling persisted that he was somehow letting Sylvia down.

Where had he gone wrong? Sure, they had pushed her to study business, but once she got to college she seemed to love the experience, the sorority, the football games, and especially the variety of people and activities that were unique to campus life. Why would she now consider giving all that up? And chase after this guy to Paris? Whatever the reason, he felt obligated to get her to change her mind.

The topic came up several nights later when Alex went with Angela and the boys for their semi-regular dinner outing. After they ate pizza and gave Anthony and Marco quarters for the arcade, Angela asked, "You're kind of quiet tonight. Anything wrong?"

He didn't answer.

"It's not something with Tony is it?"

"No, it's still this thing with Sara," he said.

"Sara's pretty level headed. She must really love this guy."

"She's just a kid. How can she know?" He played with his pizza crust.

"Where do these young people get all that courage?"

"How much courage does it take to ruin your life?"

"I can't imagine making that kind of a decision at her age. Especially one that would have sent my parents into shock."

"That's because you were a sensible person."

"And look where it got me." She paused. "Listen, I know this must be making you crazy, but there are no guarantees. Look at me. I waited till I was twenty-eight, followed all the rules, and _then_ ruined my life anyway."

"That wasn't your fault," he said.

"Isn't that the point? You can never tell?"

"Well, you can sure as hell do the right things - try to be in the best position to succeed. Like getting her education before she takes off with some loser."

"I suppose."

They sat in silence, watching the kids play in the arcade.

"Chad says I'm being overly protective, that I need to stop trying to live her life for her." He looked at Angela. "What do you think?"

"I think this must be very difficult for you."

"And?"

"And you're going to love her whether she does it or not, right?"

"Of course, but..."

"Then that's what she needs to know." The boys came running back to the table. "Stop running!" she instructed. "Finish up your sodas, time to go."

Alex helped Marco put on his jacket. "Why don't they stay this age? Things were so much simpler then."

He had asked Agnes to hold his calls while he concentrated on the list of receivables Tony had been harping on. She stuck her head in the door and said Maria Colianni was on the line and wanted to talk to him.

He picked up the phone. "Is everything okay?"

"No, it's not. What's this I hear about Sara planning to leave school?"

He couldn't imagine how she had heard about the problem, but...

"Alex, you have to stop her. She's a child! Tell her she can't go."

"That's pretty much what I said, but you know she's a pretty determined young woman."

The line fell quiet, which Alex knew from long experience was not a good sign. "You're her father." Her voice became stern and shallow. "Act like it. Sylvia would never have stood for this." That ended the conversation.

The rest of the day, the words kept ringing in his head.

# Chapter 20

Alex enjoyed his time with Grace but he couldn't help feeling slightly off base when he was around her, perhaps even resistant to some of her behavior. He found her delightful, full of energy and ideas, but constantly pushing the limits, like her willingness to smoke a joint, or run her hand playfully up his leg under the table at a restaurant. Part of him held back, unprepared to go to some places she seemed eager to try. Maybe he was a 'stick in the mud,' as they used to call people in his old neighborhood. He readily admitted he could be courageous on the basketball court or football field, willing to take a hit from the biggest linemen, but socially he had always felt much more vulnerable. And being with Grace made that point most evident. Yet, with her he felt alive, and the shadows went away.

She seemed to sense his conflict. "What's the matter, Alex?" she asked one night in her apartment while they sat on the sofa sipping wine after another adventuresome Thai dinner.

"Nothing. I'm just enjoying being here with you."

"Yes, it's nice. Pretty amazing being together again after all these years – a real gift." She sat forward and turned to him. "But there's something you're not telling me."

He returned her gaze. "Those eyes. They demand too much."

"All they ask for is honesty."

"Too much honesty can get you in trouble." He looked down. "Everything doesn't have to be spelled out, you know."

"Look. We've been doing this for a while now. You know how I feel." She put her hand on his thigh. "I love you and want to be with you...I can't stop thinking about you when we're apart." She put her hand under his chin and turned it toward her, searching his face, as if her hazel eyes could examine his soul. "But if you don't feel the same, just tell me. I'm a big girl. I've been hurt before." She let out a sigh. "But just don't hide it."

He couldn't hold her gaze, and looked away. "Of course I feel the same. I'm crazy about you. But it's not that simple. This isn't a black and white world we live in."

"Not if you hide behind the gray."

He hesitated for a moment. "I guess it's just...I don't know...it seems I'm never quite sure where you're going, and that can be a little scary. You like to live out on the edge."

"Maybe so. This is who I am. You know, we're surrounded by mediocre sycophants - all anxious to curry favor, follow the rules - say or do whatever is necessary to get ahead. Nobody questions their insincerity. No one asks what's hiding beneath all those shiny surfaces." She stood up and went to the counter, bringing back the wine bottle. "Where are the genuine people? Where are the brave ones who are willing to be really outrageous, to stretch the boundaries?" She smiled. "I will admit those are my heroes."

"Why? Is it such a great thing just to break the rules?"

"No, it's not about breaking rules, it's about being yourself, about reaching for what's real, in spite of the prudish attitude of convention. They're my heroes because they're the ones who will push us beyond our precious conditioning, and open us up to new possibilities."

He took a sip of wine. "You know, sometimes I think it's junior year. And you're still the innocent idealist, ready to chuck it all for the next new thing."

She turned away. "Well, I'm sure as hell not innocent anymore. And I've experienced enough loss in my life to have earned the right to risk whatever - for what I believe in." She paused for a moment, turning back toward him. "So maybe you were right about me back then, though I don't think you knew it, but you're way off base now."

"What do you mean 'I didn't know it'?"

She looked at him with serious eyes, as if trying to decide if she should go on.

"You can tell me. I'm a big boy."

"I'm not sure we should go back there, Alex. It was a long time ago." She took a deep breath. "Let's talk about now. Unfortunately, it seems you're still ashamed of me."

"How can you say that? I adore you."

"But I embarrass you."

"If you mean there are times I think what you say or do is...on the edge, yes, I am."

"Part of you is still wrapped up in those adolescent notions, back when all those 'do's and don'ts' were shoved down our throats – our parents had rules, teachers had rules, the church told us what to think and say, everyone telling us. Took us a long time to decide for ourselves – who we really were and how we should behave."

He sat back into the sofa. "Didn't seem to take you very long to figure it out."

"Maybe I was just more comfortable going with my instincts. But sometimes they are still there...those little voices playing in our heads, telling us maybe mother wouldn't approve, or it's not the safe thing to do. A lot of people allow those voices to run their lives, keeping them in a room with small windows."

"What are you talking about?"

She began pacing, gesturing with her wine glass as she spoke. "Think about it. What happens if a person stays trapped in a small room all her life? Never goes outside because she's been told it's dangerous or someone will stop loving her, or whatever nonsense parents or teachers or priests, or even lovers use to manipulate each other. Whatever the method, the result is the same, the part of the sky she can see from her little window is limited...and her world remains small."

"Okay, I can follow that. But then people grow up."

"Some do...they rebel and insist on going outside regardless. They discover for themselves - there's so much more to see. Some just go to the edge of the yard and are satisfied. Others really go crazy...run down to the beach where the sky is huge and the possibilities are limitless."

"And? What's this got to do with us?"

She stopped pacing and looked at him. "In some ways I think you're still stuck in your room."

He felt flushed. "Boy, that's a great way to rationalize stupid behavior. I'm sure every criminal has told himself the rules just don't apply to him. Anything goes, as long as it feels good. But that's exactly when society breaks down. Maybe I'm a little conservative, I'll give you that, but at least I have a sense of right and wrong."

"I could accept that if I thought it was _your_ sense of what's right and wrong, things you really believe, not some bullshit someone told you, or planted in your head."

He stood up. "So smoking grass is your way of declaring your independence, of rebelling?"

"No, it's just something I enjoy, that takes me places I wouldn't go if I weren't smoking it. Here's my view...if I can't see anything wrong with it, and it doesn't hurt anybody, then I try it. If I like it, and nothing bad happens, it's good. If not, I leave it alone. Simple."

"Living out hedonistic pleasures. Pretty adolescent, don't you think?"

"There's such a broad range of human experience available to us, so many ways of thinking, and behaving, of relating to each other....it's like having a Crayola box with sixty-four colors instead of just eight." She thought for a moment. "I guess I want to experience all the shades, all the blues, all the greens, and the subtle variations...."

"And I don't?"

She stared at him for a long time. "Sometimes I don't think so. Sometimes you act like you want everything to stay the same color."

"Thanks a lot." He poured more wine in his glass. "But if you're saying I like things to stay...a little predictable, and stable, yes, you're probably right. Had one too many surprises in my life."

She went to him and put her hand on his arm. "I know, and I wish the world could be just that way, just for you." Her eyes shined. "But that's not real, and besides, there's so much more to see. I've come to accept that everything is evolving, so I just want to be there to watch, to witness it unfolding, to be a part of the adventure."

"Regardless of the consequences?"

"No, but I won't be scared off by just the possibility of consequences, especially if they're imagined. Everyone tries to scare us into living a certain way, and for what? I'll tell you why...so they can maintain their power over us."

"Spoken like a true idealist. But I don't need to put my hand on a hot stove to know it'll hurt me. You've said it yourself, there are real consequences for living so unguardedly." A pained expression came over her face. "I'm sorry, but yes, I like things a certain way. It makes me more comfortable."

"Alex, I don't want us to argue, or to go back and repeat the misunderstandings that ended so hurtfully." She took his hand. "You were pretty confused as I recall. Not really sure what you wanted, for you, or for us. I always suspected - in the end - you decided to rely on what others told you."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it? Tell me, do you know what you want now? Not what you think I want, or what others will agree is right." She placed her palm over his heart. "But what you want – deep inside, here."

"To start with, I don't want to be having this conversation."

She took her hand away. "As I said, all I want is honesty."

He looked at her a long time. "You know, your editor was right."

"How so?"

"You don't know any soft words."

She walked to the window. "I've been hurt enough by what you call soft words. Wiggle words, weasel words, that's what I call them. People who will say pretty things on the surface and then cut you down behind your back." She turned around and faced him, her eyes glistening. "Where's the honor in that? Yes, I want honesty. Let me see the picture clearly. Then I know where I stand."

He let out a sigh. He could feel himself struggling in deep water, the swirling depths of her pulling at him. "You leave me breathless..."

"What's wrong with that?"

"...and tired." He shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm not asking you to jump off a bridge." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Just let go of the dock, come swim with me."

He looked into her enchanting eyes. "I want to...I really do." He went to her, pushed her hair away from her forehead. "But I don't know if I can, without drowning."

# Chapter 21

At times he longed for the peacefulness of his former life, when things didn't have such hard edges. Nothing seemed complicated. Once the darkness invaded, the security of those days disappeared. Then Grace came along - again - reshaping everything - opening up an entirely new existence, feeling somehow surreal, like he was living in a different world, on a different planet, with new sensations and new rules. But no instruction manual.

He struggled to remember his life before, but strangely, he could no longer feel it. His life now possessed a color and texture unfamiliar to him, vivid light that bathed the landscape - as if the full moon had found a brother to add more glory to the night, and together they had chosen to touch him with their warmth.

Yet, somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, there remained a twinge of regret, even a prick of guilt, clouding his enjoyment of this moment. Perhaps part of him still viewed his current life as a betrayal, and judged it to be inexcusable. But on another level, he felt born for just this moment, as if the previous years had been merely foreplay, a preparation for this revelation of joy. How could that possibly be wrong?

In order to maintain his sanity, parts of his memory, little corners of mystery, had to remain set off-limits like the old attic in his grandparent's house. On the few visits he remembered, he was never permitted to go up there, so the wooden door leading to the attic took on the guise of the gateway to fearful things. He would lie in bed waiting for the sleep he was supposed to take each afternoon there, and whisper with his brother about what terrible things might be hiding behind the door, their imaginations conjuring up scary images. They talked about doing it, opening the door, facing the darkness. Eric urged him on. But he never did open the door.

Maybe those dark spots in his head were just the old tapes playing. Like Grace said, childish warnings planted long ago. Had that conditioning held him captive all these years? And was he ready to give them up? Could he? Even for Grace?

Chad expressed dismay over Alex's perplexed state. "You're acting like an idiot. Grace is a special lady – smart styling, good trim– a bit weird for my taste, but everything else makes up for it."

"I'm sure she'd be delighted to know you think she has a good option package."

"She does, she's gracious, intelligent, lovely..."

Alex hesitated. "But that doesn't mean we're meant to be together."

"You said yourself, she makes you feel alive, makes you smile. Hell, how many people do that to you these days? I'll tell you what I think..."

"Is there any way I can stop you?"

"...I think you're being an ass. Pure and simple."

"You said yourself, she's a little off."

"Who the hell are you trying to kid?" Chad said. "This is your old buddy here. You've fallen for her, like a bear on a honey pot, just as much as you did back then when she was decked out in tie-dye and wore flowers in her hair."

"Well, it didn't work then, and maybe it won't work now."

"Certainly not as long as you're acting like an asshole."

"Leave me alone," said Alex.

"Oh, no. That's the privilege of being your friend – I don't have to let you be stupid."

"I don't need advice from someone who treats relationships like magazine subscriptions."

"Very funny. Let's not make this about me. She's brought some light back in your life...for the first time since..."

"I really don't want to talk about this."

"You're dancing with shadows, Alex."

"This isn't about Sylvia."

"Then what's it about?"

"She scares the hell out of me."

Chad's deep laugh resounded through the thousand miles of phone cable. "Yeah, but in a good way, right? Now don't get me wrong, fear isn't a bad thing. Keeps us from stepping in front of traffic and trying to feed rattle snakes. But there comes a time when it just gets in the way. Sort of freezes us up, too stiff to move, you know what I mean?"

"I guess so."

"That's when it's time to just let go," Chad said. "Now get your head out of your ass and call her."

Alex hung up the phone and went to the kitchen to get a beer. Stopping in mid-pour, he walked to the bedroom, opened the closet and took the nightgown off the hook. Crushing it to his face, he searched for the lost traces of Sylvia. He folded it carefully, and placed it in a plastic bag. "Sorry," he whispered, and took it out to the garage.

The following weekend Alex took Angela and the boys on another excursion to the lake. The boys spent the entire day down by the water fishing. As evening crept in Angela and Alex sat at the picnic table sipping hot tea to combat the crisp fall temperature. Three mallards flew low across the water, colorful wings reflected in the calm surface. Marco pointed at them and yelled, "Mom, look!"

"You'll scare the fish," his brother instructed.

"Fish can't hear. They're under the water," Marco replied with a pout.

They resumed their concentration on the bobbers floating in the water.

"They really love it up here," Angela said.

"I hope they're not the only ones."

"Oh, I love it too. It's so peaceful, and surrounded by such beauty. Look at all the color in the trees. A real escape." She sipped her drink. "How are the plans coming for the house?"

"Seems there's a delay in getting the local planning board to approve the subdivision. Jeff said it's just a small town board and they're completely overwhelmed. Once they finally get around to it, there will be the design approval, then the permits. So I figure it'll be a while before we even clear the land. Maybe next spring."

"You seem pretty excited about it."

"I am, actually. I've never built anything from scratch before. Sylvia always preferred we buy something old, said it had character."

"But there's freshness about a new home. Almost like a new car, the smells and the untouched finishes. I love that."

"I think I agree. Anyway, it'll be awhile but when it gets going I'm looking forward to seeing it take shape."

They sat watching the sunlight leak out of the sky. The clouds overhead turned pink then purple until the sound of crickets announced the darkness.

He stood up. "We better get them inside before they get a chill."

"It's so peaceful, I hate to spoil it."

Just then Anthony ran up to the table. "I'm bored. Marco scared all the fish away."

Angela pushed his hair away from his eyes. "They've just gone to bed, and so should you. Get your brother and put your fishing poles away."

"Then we'll see if I can find you guys a snack," Alex said.

Later, after the commotion of baths and reading a story until the boys finally fell asleep, Angela grabbed her sweater and joined Alex on the patio.

He handed her a glass of wine. "They are a handful. I don't know how you do it."

They clicked glasses. "Sometimes, I wonder myself. But they're good kids."

They sat quietly listening to night sounds.

"Being a single parent must seem like a mountain," he said.

"Sometimes."

"Do you ever think about it?"

"About what?"

"About getting married again?"

"Oh, please. Didn't I have enough trouble with the last one?"

"But the boys..."

"Yes, they could use a dad. A real dad – one who's there for them. And honestly it would be a whole lot easier with two parents. But..." She exhaled. "I don't know."

"There must've been good parts."

"Yes, at the beginning. But I can't decide if that was real or just my imagination. I must have been so gullible. Looking back on it, I must have been lost in another world, totally oblivious." She ran her fingers through her dark hair. "But there was a lot of it I enjoyed, like cooking for him, keeping house, and the sex, for a while anyway." She looked at him. "There I go again, making you blush."

"No, you're right. Being in an intimate relationship has its pluses." He wondered why it was easier to talk of such things in the dark.

"What about you?" she asked.

"I could see myself married again. I miss a lot of that, you know, the doing things together part. It was like everything had a structure to it, a rhythm of sorts. Just made more sense."

"I guess I never experienced marriage the way you and Sylvia had it. I can understand wanting to be married if that was how it would be. Maybe, if there was someone who made me feel safe, and was dependable... then maybe. But someone would have to convince me there were men around capable of that."

"Ouch. Don't be putting us all in his bucket."

"I'm sorry. It's just I didn't think of you..."

"Double ouch!"

"I just meant you're with what's her name. Grace." She rubbed his shoulder. "I hope she realizes what a special person she has."

He stared out into the darkness. "At the moment, I'm not sure."

Over the next several weeks Alex and Grace found their attempts to get together foiled. First he begged off due to pressing work at the office, and then she was forced to cancel because she had to go out of town for an interview. When he called to cancel yet another trip down because of budget meetings, she erupted on the phone. "You're not coming down again? What's going on?"

"This budget mess is driving me crazy."

"Alex, don't be making excuses. If you don't want to come down here just say so."

"No, it's not that at all, it's just..."

"It's just that you're not coming."

"Look, maybe it's just not supposed to be."

"Like fate is trying to protect you from me?"

"That's not what I mean."

"Good, because fate has more important things to do, I'm sure. So let me put it to you this way. If you don't get down here soon I'm coming up there, interrupt your precious meetings and jump you right on the conference table."

He hesitated, then smiled to himself. "Should I make it an agenda item?"

"I assure you no one will drift off."

He felt himself stir at the image. "Okay, I'll be down Friday night."

"Good!"

# Chapter 22

Alex didn't make the trip to Baltimore. He was sitting in his office Wednesday afternoon studying the forecast when the phone rang. Angela's frantic voice echoed in his ear. "They're gone!"

"Who's gone?"

"The boys. I waited for them after school, but the teacher said they never showed up today."

"You dropped them off this morning?"

"No. They were with Tony last night. He was taking them to see a ballgame. They were going to be out pretty late, so he said he would keep them and drop them off at school."

"Did you call him?" Alex realized he hadn't seen Tony at work all day.

"I tried but there was no answer."

"Maybe they were delayed." That sounded lame even to him.

"He should've called."

"You're right. But something must have come up."

"Something's wrong." Her voice broke. "Even Tony would never do this."

There had to be a logical explanation. Alex tried to run through all the possibilities he could think of in his head. "Do you want me to come over?"

"I don't know what to do."

He heard the panic in her voice. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Forty minutes later Alex pulled into Angela's driveway. He knocked on the front door but there was no answer. Then he tried the door, it was unlocked. He stepped inside.

"Angela?" he called out.

The house was silent. And almost dark. His eyes adjusted to the dim light as he stepped into the living room. He found Angela lying on the sofa, head down, sobbing. The drapes were drawn; the room close and stuffy.

"Angela, why didn't you answer?"

She raised her head slightly and murmured, "They've been kidnapped."

"What?"

"Just after I called you the phone rang." She struggled to sit up. "When I answered this man said he had Anthony and Marco."

"Who? Why?"

"Said if I went to the police I'd never see them again." Her voice broke.

Alex sat next to her on the sofa and put his arms around her. She was shaking.

"I don't know what to do." she said through her tears. "My boys...."

"Nothing from Tony?"

She shook her head.

"What else did the man say?"

"He had this ugly creepy voice. Said Tony was in deep shit and he better square it away."

A chill shot down his spine.

The phone rang, cutting through the dimness like a strike of lightning, startling Angela. Alex held her. "Want me to get it?"

She nodded. He went into the kitchen and picked up the phone.

"Alex? What the hell are you doing there?" It was Tony.

"She called me. What's going on?"

"She knows?"

"Some creep called and said he had the boys."

"Oh, shit!"

"Tony, you had the kids, what happened?"

For a moment there was no answer from the other end.

"Cindy was going to drop them off on her way to work. A block from the school a van forced her over at a stop sign. Two guys with ski masks pulled Anthony and Marco out of her car and put them in the van."

He waited for Tony to say more.

"But that was this morning. What have you been doing all day? Why didn't you call Angela?"

"Didn't want to upset her. Been trying to find out what the fuck is going on," he shouted into the phone.

"The guy told Angela you were in some kind of trouble." Alex waited. "Tony? What gives?"

"I never thought it would come to this." The voice now sounded soft and broken.

"Come to what? Stop playing twenty questions and tell me what you've gotten yourself into."

"I owe some people money."

"So pay them!"

"A lot of money."

"And?"

"I've been trying, but I don't have any more."

It suddenly clicked. The cash withdrawals at work. "You been paying them off from the business, haven't you? Bank drafts?"

"You know about that?"

"Amy sort of figured something was going on."

"Kevin thought we could keep it all hidden. And pay it off. But a couple of bad..."

"Bad what...bets?"

"Yeah."

"How much?"

"One fifty."

"Thousand?"

"Yeah."

"Holy shit!" Alex was dumbfounded. "Where are you going to get that kind of money?"

"Don't know. And the number gets bigger every day."

Alex couldn't believe what he just heard. It sounded like a bad gangster movie.

"So they've taken your kids..."

"As some sort of collateral."

Alex looked into the living room to see how much Angela was hearing. She still lay face down on the sofa. He couldn't imagine how she felt at this moment. He could only think of how angry and scared he'd be if someone had Sara.

"You should call the police," Alex said.

"I don't know. With these guys that might not be such a great idea."

Alex's head whirled. "How much do you have?"

"Nothing. Well, maybe I could scrape together a few thou." Several beats of silence. "Maybe I should call Kevin."

"You can't take any more out of the business..."

"Some idiots have got my kids and you're telling me not to pay them off?"

He had a point, Alex thought. But even the business would have trouble covering one hundred and fifty thousand in cash. He tried to think of an alternative. "These guys who took the kids, do you know them?"

"Just the bookie."

Alex stared out the window at the peaceful afternoon scene. Kids were kicking a soccer ball along the street with backpacks over their shoulders. Just a normal day, he thought, everyone going about their business – but the butterfly was flapping its wings again – and chaos was in the air. "You better get over here. She's pretty upset."

After he hung up, Alex opened up the drapes in the living room and sat with Angela gently trying to explain what Tony had told him. She alternated between bursts of tears and anger.

Finally Tony arrived at the house.

"Tony how could you?" Angela had a fierce hysterical look. "Our babies! How could you put them in danger?"

"I didn't mean to. I never thought..."

"Yeah, like everything else, you just never thought." Her words were bitter. "Only thing you ever think about is yourself and your...." She broke down again.

Tony spoke to Alex. "I figured if they called here already, they would call here again. But Cindy is at our place just in case."

"You have any idea what you're going to do? I don't know anything about these things except what you see in the movies, but the next time they call they're probably going to want the money."

"I don't know what to do. Do you really pay kidnappers?"

Angela shouted from the sofa, "Well, you owe them the damn money, right?"

"Don't start with me," he said. "I feel as bad about this as you do."

"Let's get a grip here." Alex tried to facilitate. "The longer they have the kids..."

"I know, I know," Tony said.

"Maybe we should call the police," Alex said.

"No!" Tony shouted.

"But we have to do something."

Tony stood in the shadows of the room, quiet for a moment. "If we involve the police it will all come out."

"Little late to be worrying about that, isn't it?" Alex said.

"But it could really hurt the business," Tony added.

Since the moment Alex had received the call from Angela everything seemed disconnected, like a dream, without any reference to normal life. But it was all connected - terribly so. "Yeah, you're right. But I don't see any other way."

"We could sell this house," Angela said. "Do whatever you have to, just get the boys back. Please!"

"That would take a while, but maybe an equity loan?" Alex suggested.

Tony's face fell. "Already done that," he whispered.

Alex turned away. "Jesus Christ! How long has this been going on?"

The gathering evening darkness outside matched the gloom inside the house. Angela sat stone faced, her dark glassy eyes focused off into space while Tony paced the room. Just before seven the phone rang. Tony grabbed it.

Standing next to him, Alex could hear the raspy voice. "Tony boy, how you doin'?"

Alex hit the button marked 'speaker phone.'

"Long time no hear from." The voice filled the room.

"How the fuck do you think I'm doing, you son of a bitch," Tony shouted. "Give me back my kids."

"Now, don't be getting your tits in a wringer, my man. We just have some business to do."

"Where are they?"

"Right here. Nice kids. But that little one has quite a mouth on him."

"You better not do anything to..."

"Or what?" A dark laugh came over the speaker. "What you gonna do about it, huh?"

Alex could see Tony struggling to get a hold of himself.

"I want to talk to the boys," Angela screamed.

"That your old lady? Sounds a little upset."

"She's their mother. What the hell do you expect?" Tony took a deep breath. "Can she talk to them?"

"One's sleeping, but the big one's right here." The man yelled, "Hey kid, come here and talk to your old man."

Out of the phone speaker came a scared little voice. "Dad?"

"Anthony!" Angela shouted.

"Mom! Can we go..."

"That's enough," came the deep voice again.

Anthony started to cry. "I want my Mom."

"Get back over there kid, before I give you something to cry about."

"Hey," shouted Tony. "Leave the kid alone. He's got nothing to do with this."

"Well, until you settle up, my man, him and his brother have everything to do with it. You were warned, Tony boy."

Angela shot Tony a terrible look. Then she spoke into the speaker, "Take me, I'll go instead of the boys."

Again a laugh at the other end. "That would be more fun, missy. Pretty little thing like you." His tone made Alex shutter. "But no can do. Think we'll stick with the heirs, if you know what I mean."

The word splashed Alex in the face. So they know Tony pretty well, they know him and the whole family. That's why they hadn't broken Tony's legs or whatever is done these days. They knew he didn't have the money, so they were putting the squeeze on the family.

"You never said anything about taking the kids." Tony's voice sounded tired.

"Did you think we was gonna set up an installment plan? Get real. We got a business to run, and you're account is way overdue, needs to be cleared."

The words hung in the air.

"So what's it gonna be, Tony boy?" There was a pause. "Look, been on the phone too long. Need to make arrangements. I'm gonna call back tomorrow afternoon, better have the money ready." The line went dead.

Angela collapsed in tears. Alex caught her and guided her back to the sofa.

Tony followed them into the living room. No words broke the tension, each lost in thought.

"My poor babies," she finally whispered. "In some strange place...they must be scared and..."

Tony looked over at her tear-streaked face. "I'm sorry about all this."

"What good is that? They have our boys!" said Angela. "Where are you going to get that kind of money?"

Tony sat in the chair and held his head in his hands. "I don't know. I just don't know."

The large room filled with silence interrupted only by her sobs.

"What about the police," she finally said. "Could they trace the call or something?"

"I don't know." Alex tried to think through what that would take. "I guess they could, but not until that guy calls back tomorrow. And he expects the money to be ready by then, right?"

"I don't want to take a chance..."

"Now you think of that!" She glared at Tony.

For several minutes they sat, no words were spoken. The scent of fear and helplessness hung in the air.

"Tony," Alex finally said. "If you won't go to the police, you're going to have to go to your parents."

"No!" He spat the word out.

"What's the alternative?"

"I don't fucking know!" Then in a much softer voice, Tony added, "If I tell them....it'd kill him."

"The Old Man is tougher than you think. Besides, he's going to find out one way or another, right?"

Angela looked up. "He's right, Tony. They're the only ones who can help us. Please, Tony, Please!"

Tony eyes were dazed. "How can I possibly tell them?"

More tense moments passed in silence.

"I'll do it," Alex said. "I'll go talk to them."

Angela rose up from the sofa. "Would you? Are you sure?"

Alex went to Angela and rubbed her shoulder. "If it will get the boys back, then yes, I'm sure."

"What will you say?" Tony asked.

"How the hell do I know? Haven't gotten that far yet, but there's no point in sugar coating it. You need their help, and you need it now."

Tony studied his hands. "Okay, but nothing about the other thing – at work."

Angela looked first at Tony, then at Alex. "What other thing?"

Alex felt lost, and couldn't begin to explain that part to Angela. He thought for a moment. "All right. But I think I should talk to Maria first. She'll know how to tell him." He saw the stricken look on Tony's face. "You're going to have to face her." Once he had decided to do it, he started planning. He checked his watch. "Better give her a call, it's getting late."

Driving through the Main Line section of Philadelphia constituted a tour in American wealth and architecture. Every city had its own version, manicured lawns surrounding stately old mansions and more recent exercises in opulence. In the crisp evening darkness the streets seemed lonely, devoid of people.

Alex drove up the long driveway to the Colianni house. Low voltage lights highlighted the sculptured shrubbery surrounding the flagstone walkway to the large porch. A Christmas wreath hung on the door.

Maria greeted him with a superficial hug. "Alex, you sounded so mysterious on the phone. Have to see me right away. Sounded intriguing. Whatever could be so important to be calling at this time of night?"

"We have a bit of a problem."

"Something at work? Can't Tony see to it?"

"Can we sit down?"

She hesitated a moment, led them into the living room. "Okay, but why all the drama?"

Alex settled into one of the plush arm chairs.

Maria sat on the sofa straightening her skirt, then turned her attention to Alex. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry, all the way over here I tried to figure out a way to tell you this." He studied his hands. "As you may have noticed...over time...Tony sometimes... ah, gambles."

"Well, yes, I suppose. He likes to go to the track once in a while. Nothing serious, just a pastime."

"Well, this pastime has gotten him into some difficulties."

She glared hard at him, as if he had just smudged the carpet. "What do you mean?"

"He's lost a lot of money. In fact, he's lost a great deal of money...money he doesn't have."

"Why are you telling me this? He's a grown man, he can take care of his own affairs. You shouldn't be talking about..."

"I'm afraid this time he can't." Alex reached for her hand. "The boys have been taken."

"What?" She pulled her hand back and stood up. "Anthony and Marco - taken? Taken how?"

He found no easy way to say it. "They were kidnapped by some people Tony owes money to."

Alex could see her mind spinning behind her strong eyes. "Kidnapped?"

"This morning. And he needs to pay them off...."

"We should call the police. They can't kidnap my grandchildren! How could they?" She sat back down, her eyes now glistening. "Are they all right?"

"We think so. We heard Anthony on the phone earlier this evening."

"The poor dears." Her posture slumped. She suddenly appeared every day her sixty-eight years.

"Maria, the reason I'm here...is that Tony needs help."

She seemed to mull over what that meant. "How much help does he need?"

"One hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

"Oh my God. That's a lot of money." She sat staring at him. "He lost that much?"

"He lost a lot more."

"More? How could he..." She looked off into space.

"I'm sorry I have to tell you all this, it's just..." He stopped because he had lost her attention. Her mind had escaped somewhere, he didn't know where, but away, maybe trying to find someplace where she could make sense out of the horrible news.

Then just as quickly she returned, her eyes moist. "No, I appreciate you coming here." She gathered herself and studied him closely. "I assume Tony wasn't up to it."

"He's sick with worry about the kids. He just couldn't bring himself..."

"That's very gracious of you, Alex." She wiped her eyes. "So now, what do we do?"

"I don't really know. Never done this sort of thing before. Guess we arrange for some sort of transfer."

"And get the boys back. That's the important thing. Get the boys back safely."

"Yes."

"I'll call Ira. He'll know how to pull that much cash together."

It hadn't occurred to Alex that Ira would be in the conversation. With the money missing from the firm, and Tony's insistence he not tell Maria about the missing funds that could be a problem. "Um, when you talk to Ira, maybe you could avoid telling him what it's for?"

She looked at him with eyes that saw straight through him. "What aren't you telling me?"

He hesitated. "That can wait. You have enough to think about right now."

He thought she was going to push him on it, but she didn't. "You're probably right. But you will tell me...later."

"I promise." He stood to leave. "What about telling..."

"Antonio? Don't think it would register. The damn doctor's got him on so many anti-depressants; he's just not able to understand much of anything. It's a sin, a real sin."

"I'm sorry. We miss him."

"Tonight, it's probably a blessing."

"They said they'd be calling back tomorrow afternoon."

"I'm sure I can get it arranged by then."

She led him back to the door and hugged him goodbye, only this time it felt genuine. "Call me when you know what we have to do next."

Driving away he realized during the whole conversation, she never once mentioned Angela's name. What a narrow window some people view life through.

He went home and called Angela. She sounded sad and worn, but holding up.

"You going to be all right there by yourself?"

"I don't know. Guess so. Just miss the boys and I'm worried sick."

"Try to sleep. You're going to need the rest for tomorrow." He paused. "Everything is going to be all right. The boys will be fine and this will all be over in a day or so. Can you remember that?"

"I'll try."

"Good night. I'll talk to you in the morning." He hated to see her alone but there just weren't any good alternatives. His next call was to Grace to explain why he would not be coming down...again.

He drove to the office early the next morning. No use raising a lot of questions about where everyone was. What sleep he had managed had not refreshed him, he still felt tired and grimy. When he pulled in the lot he was surprised to see Tony's car. He went directly to Tony's office.

"How did she take it?" Tony asked as soon as Alex came in and closed the door.

"Threw her off a bit, but she recovered quickly."

"Did she tell..."

"Said she didn't think it would make any impression on him. Medications."

"Will she help?" Tony asked.

"Of course. They're her grandchildren. Did you think for even one minute she wouldn't? She's going to talk to Ira to get the cash together."

"You didn't tell her about..."

"You said not to, but what were you thinking? You took money out of the business to pay off gambling debts – how could you do that?"

"Don't be taking that high and mighty tone with me." Tony fell silent for a moment. "Everyone has a secret or two they'd prefer not be thrown out in the open."

"What kind of bullshit is that?"

He stared at Alex across the desk. "I don't have time for this right now. I need to get my kids back."

"You talk to Angela this morning?"

"I tried. She told me to leave just after you left last night. And this morning she said she didn't want to talk to me. Said she'd call if anything comes up."

You're lucky she didn't do something worse, Alex thought to himself. He decided he'd better call her.

He waited until ten in case she was sleeping, though he doubted it. He closed the door of his office and dialed. "Get any rest?"

"Not much," she replied.

"Would you like me to drive over?"

"No, it's not necessary. Besides, I'm a mess."

"If you want someone there, I'll come over. I don't care if your hair's not combed."

"Thank you. Maybe later. I can't seem to get moving. Like I'm lost in some fog. Why haven't they called? Do you think the boys are all right?"

"Easy, Angela. He said he'd call this afternoon. Have you eaten anything?"

"Can't remember. Don't think so."

"How about I bring over a sandwich for lunch?"

"I'm really not hungry."

"Well, you need to eat."

"Alex, I'm scared."

"Forget your hair, I'm coming over."

Alex told Amy he'd be out of the office the rest of the day, personal business, but he'd call in later to check messages. He stopped at the deli and picked up sandwiches then headed out to West Chester.

When he arrived at the house he heard the piano. The notes fell - slow and mournful – a piece he didn't recognize. He stood outside the door a few moments and listened. Each cord seemed to carry a sadness that tugged at his heart. Finally he knocked. The music stopped. Soon the door opened.

Angela appeared tired and her eyes had a vacant look. She pushed her long dark hair away from her face.

"I brought you some food." He stepped inside, taking the sandwiches into the kitchen. "You were playing the piano?"

"About the only thing I could think of to do. It relaxes me. This waiting is awful."

He unwrapped the sandwiches and put them on two plates. "Tony said you sent him away."

"Couldn't stand having him here and the boys be...." She started to cry.

He put his arms around her.

Her shoulders shook. "I want to see my babies!"

"Soon, soon. Everything is going to be all right." He patted her shoulder gently, but wondered how anything was ever going to be all right again. Once chaos erupts who can predict where the craziness will lead?

After he coaxed her through some food and convinced her to lie down, he called Tony. "They'll be calling soon. Don't you think you should be here?"

"Yeah. How's Angela doing?"

"How do you think she's doing?" He hung up.

The call came at five o'clock.

"Tony boy. How we doin' today?" came the now familiar voice from the speaker phone.

"When can I see my children?"

"Show me the money! That's what they say, right? Show...me...the...money." The man's dark laugh echoed in the room.

Tony leaned closer to the speaker. "When?"

"Tomorrow morning, or you start seeing your kids - one piece at a time."

"Okay. I...I've got it. Just need time to get the cash."

"Here's what you do. That amount should fit nicely in a backpack. You drop that in the paper bin at that recycle place out behind the county recreation fields, Turner Park. Know where that is?"

"Yes, on Route 21."

"Right. Do that, say at ten tomorrow morning, no funny business, and you get your bratty kids back. Think of it as an early Christmas present."

"How do I know you'll release the boys?"

"Tony, Tony, we're all honorable people here. Besides, who would want these two anyway? Mouthy brats!"

"Where do I pick up the kids?"

"If everything is cool with the money, and no one follows you, the brats will be in the Franklin Mills Mall by noon. Look for them in the arcade."

Alex was busy writing everything down.

"Franklin Mills Mall, noon, okay," Tony said. "Anything else?"

"Pleasure doin' business with ya." The line went dead.

No one said anything. The whole scene felt surreal. The conversation had sounded like a normal transaction. Except the lives of two little children were at stake, and the enormous amount of money involved. Not normal at all.

"Better call Maria. Fill her in," Alex said.

"You do it," Tony said, and walked to the door. "See you in the office parking lot first thing tomorrow morning."

Alex hadn't thought about being involved with that part of the ordeal. He looked at Angela. She mouthed a silent 'Please.'

"Eight thirty?" he called after Tony as he left.

Alex called Maria to fill her in and finalize the arrangements.

Friday morning Alex watched school buses picking up children for their daily ride, reminding him of the precious cargo that depended on the business at hand. Tony drove as they made their way to K-mart to purchase a backpack. Then they pulled into the Mainline Bank just as it opened at nine to pick up the money. Maria had said she instructed Ira to tell the bank manager the cash was needed for a special art purchase. A plausible scenario, thought Alex, though he felt the manager still watched them suspiciously as they stuffed the cash into the backpack. Alex worked with money for a living, lots of large numbers, but he had never seen so much cash in one place, and was surprised how little room it took up.

Twenty minutes later they left the city driving along Route 21 headed for the park and recycle station. Alex decided to broach the subject. "You know, Tony. This has to be the end of it."

"Meaning what?"

"The gambling. Dealing with these characters."

He didn't reply.

"And pulling money out of the company. That has to stop too."

He turned to Alex. "Where the hell do you get off lecturing me?"

"You're family, and that counts for a lot. I've done everything I could to help you. But now you're hurting the family. If you don't care enough – then someone has to."

"Look, these kids are _my_ family, I'll worry about them. You can just mind your own fucking business." He practically spat the words out.

"Well, you know your mother is going to insist I tell her the rest."

Tony's knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. "You damn well better not!"

"Why shouldn't I? You got yourself into this mess."

They rode in silence for a few moments. "Well, if you tell her, then I'll be forced to expose the crooked little land deal you got going up there at the lake."

Alex couldn't believe his ears. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know damn well. Bribing public officials, hiding information, doesn't sound like the sort of thing 'Mr. Clean' here should be involved with, does it?"

Alex felt air rush out of his lungs, like someone had punched him in the stomach.

Tony glanced over at Alex and laughed. "You really don't know, do you? You naïve ass." He grinned. "Well, keep your mouth shut or everyone will hear about it."

"I don't believe you."

"No, huh? Well, you just ask Jeffy about the university study and Indian trinkets. See what he says."

A disturbed tension settled over the car as they rode the rest of the way.

By the time they arrived Alex had managed to corner his anger and panic and get his thoughts back on the task at hand. The boys and Angela had to be his focus for the moment. He scanned the recycle lot. A series of large blue bins stood along the far end. Each bin clearly marked: newspapers, plastic, cardboard and glass. A tan SUV with a soccer ball sticker on the back pulled out just as they arrived. Probably dropping off recycle stuff, he assumed. Otherwise the place appeared deserted. He scanned the complex. Two full size soccer fields and a pinwheel of softball fields stretched out beyond the parking lot to a stand of trees off in the distance. He imagined the area crawling with kids and families in the evenings and on weekends. Nothing but an expanse of early morning frost visible at the moment.

Alex pointed as Tony slowed to a stop. "Looks like the one on the end is marked paper."

They sat there a moment. "Hard to believe I'm actually going to do this," Tony said.

The car clock read ten-o-one. Tony stepped out of the car, opened the trunk and took out the backpack. Alex could see Tony's breath as he walked to the recycle bin, then carefully set the backpack inside.

Back in the car Alex asked, "Think we should hang around awhile?"

"Let's just follow the script. Head over to the mall."

At ten minutes to twelve Alex stood next to Tony outside the arcade entrance. He watched the corridors leading in both directions. It was the middle of a school day, but there were still a few kids going in and out of the arcade. Suddenly Anthony and Marco came running up to them. Anthony flew into his father's arms and Marco hugged Alex's legs.

"You guys run out of quarters?" Alex asked, trying to sound light.

"No, the man gave us five each." Anthony held out his hand. There was still one quarter there. "He said to play until we saw our dad."

"Let's have a look at you." Tony had found his voice. "Everybody okay?"

"Yeah," said Marco. "But that man wasn't very nice. And he didn't have any games or anything. Just shouted at us and made us watch stupid TV."

Alex smiled through blurred eyes. "Tough life, no play station."

"But he gave us good pizza," added Anthony. "Almost as good as Chuckees."

"Well, we're real glad to see you," said Alex. "Now how about we get you home so your mother can give you a big hug."

"Yeah!" came the chorus.

Angela couldn't hug the boys enough. They finally complained she was squeezing them too hard.

"Get used to it," she said. "I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

"Mom," Marco complained. "I have to go to school."

"I'm sitting in the desk right next to you."

The boys looked at each other and laughed.

Alex admired how she bounced back after two days of deflated spirit. She didn't say anything nasty or harsh to Tony while the kids were in the room, but when they finally went to their rooms to change their clothes she focused her icy stare on him.

"You son-of-a-bitch. Can't you get yourself under control? This is your children's safety you're messing with. I may not mean shit to you, but they should!"

"Hey, I already heard from Alex-the-preacher this morning. I said I was sorry. I never thought this would happen."

Angela looked at Alex, then back to Tony. "Well I hope you listened."

"I'm out of here." Tony stood up. "I don't need a lecture from either of you." He walked to the door. "I'll call you about next weekend." He turned back to Alex. "And you remember what I said."

After he left Angela collapsed at the kitchen table with her head on her arms. "He's unbelievable, isn't he?"

Alex sat down across from her. He felt exhausted by the whole ordeal; he could only imagine how she felt. She reached out a hand to his. "I can't thank you enough for all your help. Don't know what I would have done without you."

"Glad I could be here. Seems like you've done the same for me a time or two."

"Well, this more than makes up for anything I've ever done."

He squeezed her hand. "I'm not keeping score. You going to be all right?"

"Yeah. Seeing their smiling faces and maybe a good night's sleep should do wonders." She managed a weak smile.

"You should probably call Maria. She was pretty upset."

She made a face. "You're right. Can't leave it to him."

"Guess I'll be heading out." Alex got up to leave. "I've got some things I need to check out. But call me if you need anything."

She stood up and gave him a long hug. "Thank you, I really mean it. And I promise the next time you see me my hair won't be so messed up."

He got into his car and headed back to the office. With the tension now released, all he felt was fatigue. And anger. Was Tony just playing with his head? Then he remembered Angela saying Jeff and Tony were old friends. Was it possible Jeff was doing what Tony claimed? And as a partner would Alex be responsible? Fear seeped into his spine. What should he do? That whole partnership thing had occurred when Alex was still recovering from the shock of losing Sylvia. He hadn't really given it a lot of thought except what Jeff told him – and that sounded fine.

What would happen to him if it came out?

# Chapter 23

Life in the office proceeded as if the stressful events surrounding the kidnapping had not occurred. Tony never mentioned the incident and Alex decided never to broach the subject again. But the whole affair had shaken him, once again dredging up insecurities buried in shallow ground since Sylvia's death. But a new feeling had found purchase in the loose dirt. He had witnessed Angela endure the stormy seas with strength and grace. And his own supporting role in the mess felt worthy. Even in chaos people were able to make a difference. Even with the dark shadow of what Tony had said lurking in the background, he found himself smiling. But he knew he needed to get to the bottom of whatever Jeff was up to. His repeated attempts to contact Jeff proved fruitless.

Jeff finally returned his call. Alex immediately demanded to know what he was up to, and what he had gotten them both involved with.

"Whoa, whoa. Don't get bent out of shape. It's just business."

"What kind of business? Tony said you were bribing officials." He picked up the ball on his desk and squeezed it hard.

Jeff laughed. "Good old Tony. Hey, don't let him get you all excited. No one is bribing any officials. What we're doing is done all the time. If they stopped every project because someone found an arrowhead, they'd never build anything up there. Those hills were crawling with Indians once upon a time. Can't stop progress just for that, right?"

Alex hesitated a moment. "What are you saying? Someone found Indian stuff on our land?" There was no reply from Jeff. "Did they? Did they find artifacts, or whatever the hell they're called?" Alex rushed on, trying to think as he spoke. "Aren't there regulations or something about this stuff? Don't they have to report it to someone?"

Alex fell silent and waited for a reply.

"Try to follow me on this," Jeff said. "First of all it should be no big surprise a couple of hundred years ago some Indian tribe liked to fish in that lake, right? Hell, every lake up there probably had a teepee or two next to it."

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, this graduate student is doing some archeological studies in the area, part of some project he's working on, and he thinks there might be evidence of some old camp grounds on the property we're trying to develop."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Maybe like a burial area."

"Go on."

"So we just suggested to this guy that if he takes his efforts somewhere else, we'd help him out. No findings, no reports, everybody is happy."

"Help him out...how? With money?"

"Of course. Just a little donation for research. Probably even be a tax write off in it for us. These research guys struggle hand to mouth most of the time. They need money to do their work, so we're doing the guy a big favor. We help him, he helps us."

"And what about what he found?"

"I didn't say he actually found anything, did I?"

"But you said..."

"Hell, there must be dozens of places up there he can claim he found old dead Indians and no one would even question it." Jeff lowered his voice. "Meanwhile, we get our permits, sell off the other lots, you get your place on the lake and we both make some money. What's the big deal?"

Alex tried to sort through what he had just heard. "I don't know."

"Well, I do. And if Tony hadn't said anything – we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Shouldn't we discuss these things before you do them? You said we were partners."

"True. But if you remember, you were pretty glum at the time, and didn't seem too interested in the details. So I did what I needed to do. Don't worry, it's all under control."

Alex began to see a pattern. Every time someone told him not to worry, claiming things were under control, chaos shortly followed.

After the call, he used his computer to research information about Indian burial grounds, archeologically sensitive areas, and artifacts being found on land during development. The fight over protecting Indian sites appeared long standing. He found several articles and case studies, even a website listing state by state various locations that were in dispute at the moment. And just earlier in the year, the President had issued Executive Order 13007 dated February, 2001, intended to "prevent any activity to occur that would adversely affect a designated sacred site."

Was this a sacred site? Or just one of many areas where native American Indians roamed at one time? But if the graduate student didn't finish his work how would they know? Alex read on. Besides the executive order he looked through different statutes for different states. However, Pennsylvania appeared to have nothing very concrete on the subject. Part of the consideration in the regulations dealt with whether the objects found were on private land or public land. But that had to do mostly with disposition of the artifacts, but in both cases, from what he read, there always remained some requirement for disclosure. And then the state archeologist would be called in to do an official survey. Based on the results of that survey further decisions would be made regarding what was permitted to be done on the land.

He tried to understand what had Jeff so concerned. Would such a survey slow down or even stop the permit process? Possibly. And if the land ever became designated as architecturally sensitive, any hope of developing it commercially might be negated and their land value drop to nothing. Alex shut down the computer and sat back in his chair. He could now see what was at stake, and why Jeff had chosen to do what he did. Now the question: could he live with it?

Jeff claimed his actions were a normal part of the development business, which may or may not be accurate. Alex accepted the logic that there were probably dozens of similar sites situated around the many lakes in the Poconos, and at one time or another Indian settlements probably existed around most of them. Of what importance was one more or less? But was it up to Jeff and, by proxy, him, to be making that call?

But the deed had already taken place; Jeff said he had already made the commitment to pay the student. Alex felt physically ill, a queasiness deep inside. How could he have let this happen? The implications of such a scandal made him shudder. Tony was correct about one thing – the whole thing takes on a different color when your own personal reputation is at stake. A cold chill ran down his spine.

Then his thoughts ran back once again to what had recently taken place – with Angela and the boys - what he had witnessed, and how bravely Angela had stood up to the most terrifying situation imaginable. Somehow, it made him feel better. Her courage inspired him. She had been so impressive, even with her hair messed up. For the umpteenth time he wondered how Tony could have ever left her. Chad would say the lady had curb appeal.

Thinking of Chad, he decided he needed to talk this land thing through with him. Chad was his best sounding board.

After he laid out everything he knew about the deal, the archeological study and the events Jeff had explained to him, Alex waited for his friend's reaction.

"And I thought you lived a dull life up there," Chad said. "Turns out you're keeping yourself busy strong-arming graduate students and running a little scam."

"Guess it does sort of sound like a bad movie. Can you think of any way I can look at this thing and not feel like it's a scam?"

"As my cracker friends down here like to say, if it quacks like a duck and waddles like a duck, chances are it's a duck."

"Jeff claims it's done all the time."

"So's cheating on income tax returns, but it's still illegal."

"Yeah, that's where I've kinda come down on it. Feels a bit..."

"Slimy?"

"You sure have a way with words, but I guess that will do. So how do I get myself out of this? I can't just ignore it."

"You could try. But knowing you all these years, I doubt it. Seems to me you ought to talk to a lawyer. Maybe there's some way to make it right without bringing the whole house down on you."

"That would be nice."

"I got a guy down here - specializes in land law. He does all my contract work for building new dealerships. Knows this stuff inside and out."

"Think he'd talk with me?"

"Maybe if you cover up your Yankee accent."

# Chapter 24

When the official lines of communication within an organization become stifled, or when the narrator of the news is viewed as unreliable, information flow finds new pathways, often following informal channels. This new forum for discussion employs less stringent standards of accuracy and decorum. As such it is usually the most colorful rendition of whatever is unfolding, even if not always true. Ironically, sometimes untruths repeated often enough become true by themselves.

The popular topic of conversation around the water cooler at NMS became focused on a rumor that Northeast Medical Supply had become involved in bidding on the purchase of a supplier in Maryland. Alex dismissed the notion out of hand, based on the long tradition of the company never to compete with any of its suppliers. Some things were sacred. Even Tony wouldn't tamper with one of the basic tenets of the business.

Thursday evening Alex stayed at the office late hoping to catch up on some of the work that had fallen behind, especially some reports that needed to get finished because he intended to leave early Friday to meet Grace in Baltimore for their postponed dinner. He wanted to make sure nothing interfered with this trip, and after recent events he was definitely looking forward to a relaxing weekend. He wandered back to the supply room to make some copies. To his surprise he found Jennifer, Kevin's assistant, busy at the copy machine.

She seemed equally surprised to see him. "Thought everyone was gone," she said.

"Just needed to finish up a few things. Can I give you a hand?"

"Oh, no," she said quickly. "I'll take care of it."

He looked at the three sets of copies standing on top of the table waiting to be stapled.

"What you working on?"

"Just some information Kevin wants Tony to go over."

"Oh. Anything interesting?" He started looking at the top sheet.

She stopped what she was doing and scooped up the pile in front of him, stacking it on the others. "I need to get these to Kevin."

They both stood in awkward silence.

"Jenn, what was that about?"

"Sorry, Alex. I just need to get this done."

He could tell she was disturbed, but unsure what about. She was a sweet girl and never rude. This behavior seemed totally out of character for her.

She gathered the rest of the stacks and began to carry them out of the room.

"Don't you want to staple those?" he asked.

"I'll do it back in my office."

They looked at each other. "Anything you want to tell me?"

Her eyes fell to the material in her arms. "No. I can't." Then she turned and left.

Alex opened the copier to insert the page he wanted to copy. In her haste Jennifer had left the last sheet she was copying there. He looked at the page closely. It appeared to be part of a due diligence report. Then he reflected on the scene that had just occurred with Jennifer reacting so strangely. This represented the first physical confirmation the bidding rumors might be true. He knew that before any serious bidder tendered a binding offer in an acquisition process, a serious in-depth look at the financial records and physical assets of the perspective company took place. That was the time for skeletons, if any existed, to come tumbling out of the closet. The process was referred to as "due diligence."

He now had to consider the possibility that Tony was actually planning to go through with an acquisition. His mind quickly started analyzing the process and possible consequences. These types of transactions were usually expensive. Their balance sheet wasn't very strong; could they manage the debt of a purchase along with the other difficulties facing the firm? Perhaps if they purchased a similar business, one that would open up new markets, then such a move might be beneficial. But the rumor mill suggested the target was a supplier. That could undermine the hard-earned standing of NMS, sending a disturbing warning to other loyal suppliers that other threatening tactics might follow.

In the pit of his stomach Alex felt most disconcerted because he knew he'd been left out of the loop. Back in his office he called Ira to see if he had heard anything.

"Not that he would consult me," Ira said. "But I wouldn't put it past him."

"But why? We're in no position to take on debt."

"What better way to create a smoke screen. Cover up how much trouble the business is in. Adolescent," Ira sighed.

"What should we do?"

"If it is a supplier like you say, you're going to have to try and talk him out of it."

"Me? I thought you would talk to him."

"He's not interested in my input anymore. It has to be you."

After the call Alex sat at his desk squeezing the ball. He now understood the small gatherings that had sprung up around the water cooler, the concerned speculation about what would happen to jobs and to the accumulated shares various people had in the company. Insufficient information made everyone suspect the worst - imposing a paralysis over the normally smooth running operations of the office.

In spite of his eagerness to see Grace, he sat at his desk trying to release the tension in his neck. He knew on Monday morning he would have to follow Ira's advice and go to Tony and confront him with the issue.

His mood hadn't improved by the time he reached Baltimore. Grace met him at the door with a hug, then stood back. "You look like you've lost your best friend. What gives?"

"The usual. Been an incredible couple of weeks. Tony's up to his usual stuff and I seemed to have some problems with some land up in the Poconos that...hell, let's not even talk about it."

She brushed his hair with her fingers. "How about we just hang around here tonight. I'll order in Chinese and we'll watch a movie or something."

"That sounds great. Hope you have some beer to go with it."

Over egg rolls, dim sum and orange chicken, he related the events surrounding the kidnapping and the possible acquisition Tony was involved with.

"That's terrible," she said. "How could he do that, to his own children?"

"It's like the wheels are coming off. Everything's falling apart."

"Probably seems that way." She reached over and patted his hand.

"It all seems so surreal. Like a bad movie."

"So are you going to tell his mother about the payments?"

"I don't know," he said. "She's going to want to know. Eventually, it's going to come out, and I don't want to be part of any cover up. This is all Tony's doing. He's going to have to live with the consequences, for once in his life."

"You said it took some effort to find it in the first place. Any chance it won't come out on its own?"

"It will as soon as we have an audit. This sort of thing would definitely pop out. Kevin is clever, but he's no match for a good auditor."

"So then everyone will know. Better you tell her now."

"Well, yes. But to make matters worse, I seemed to have gotten myself involved with what might be called a 'highly irregular activity' as part of a land deal. Tony says if I tell anyone about the missing funds - he'll turn me in."

"Turn you in? My heavens, you are having a bad time of it."

He rested his head against the back of the sofa. "Life used to be simpler than this."

"So what are you going to do?"

He sat up. "I'm going to finish that egg roll and try to forget about the whole thing for the rest of the weekend."

She leaned over and kissed him, running her hand up his thigh. "Good choice. I'll see if I can help."

In spite of the wonderful weekend, Monday rolled around, and Alex headed to Tony's office where the newspaper was spread across his desk.

"There are a lot of rumors circulating," He sat down in one of the new side chairs.

"Yeah? That's no surprise." Tony took a sip of coffee without looking up. "People amuse themselves with that stuff all the time."

"These are pretty specific. Something about an acquisition."

Tony looked up. "What about it?"

"Are we involved with a purchase?"

"Always looking at possible ways to improve the business." He returned his attention to the paper in front of him.

"Look, I know things haven't been going as well as you would have liked, but if it involves one of our suppliers I wouldn't advise taking such a chance."

Tony folded the paper on the desk and laughed. "You wouldn't? That's rich. You're too funny. When did you ever have to take a chance? Huh? Let's see, you start out by marrying the boss's daughter, get your career handed to you, nice office, all the security you could ever want - and you have the balls to sit here telling me what chances I should take? Get real."

Alex felt his face redden. After a minute he said, "It's just not good business. You know we have a long tradition of not competing with our suppliers. It could backfire."

"Look, all business is risky. Crossing the street is risky, driving a car is risky. Right? It's all a risk, that's the deal."

"But there are different kinds of risk."

"Yeah. You're right. There's my risk and then there's yours," Tony said, his voice rising. "And you don't have to take any. So stop lecturing me about it."

He sat looking at Tony. Finally he found his voice. "I talked with Ira and we both agree your father would never..."

"Alex!" Tony cut him off, eyes ablaze. He stood up, leaned over the desk, resting on his palms. "Don't you ever tell me what my father would do or would not do. You hear me?" He glared, and spoke in measured words. "Or I swear to Christ, it will be the last thing you ever do around here."

Feeling like his face had been slapped, Alex slowly stood up and left the office.

"Everything all right?" Amy asked as he passed her in the hall.

He offered no answer as the door to his office closed behind him.

Alex sat at his desk and stared out the window.

# Chapter 25

Alex had laid out the various notes and papers on the desk in his study, prepared to go through the whole land deal on the phone with Whitaker James Thornton. "Call me Whit," was what he had said in a deep southern drawl when Alex called on the phone. Chad spoke highly of him and his legal credentials appeared as impressive as his name. They began by swapping stories about Chad for a few moments before getting down to business.

"So our boy Chad tells me you've yourself in a bit of a pickle," the attorney said.

"Appears that way." Alex carefully related everything he knew of the situation, answering every question Whit posed.

At the end of the story, Whit paused. Alex waited expectantly.

"Well, I guess 'being in a pickle' would be the right technical term for your situation," Whit began. "Couple of things come to mind, ways you could approach this sort of thing. I don't believe claiming ignorance will get you much. Those pesky laws about partnerships like to spread the legal liability pretty equally - regardless of who stole the chickens. But assuming there's no actual evidence this fella dug up, or at least none anyone can prove came from your land, there's a good chance nothing will ever come of it. Unless this good-ol'-boy Tony decides to spill the peanuts." Whit paused. "But it's been my own personal experience that you can hardly depend on unscrupulous people or relatives to ever keep anything quiet."

"I don't want to depend on him for anything. I've decided that if there's a way, I want to bring this out in the open. I'm prepared to accept whatever happens with the land and I don't care what Jeff or anyone else thinks about it. If there's something there, then let the proper people decide if the land should be developed."

"That's the high road, for sure. Are you certain that's the way you want to go?"

"Yes, I am."

Whitaker James Thornton remained quiet. Alex wondered if this guy thought in a southern twang. "Okay, then here's a little ole thought," Whit finally said. "You're one of the partners, empowered to act in the name of the partnership, just like your Mr. Wingate did. So what if you make the acquaintance of this here student, the archeologist guy, be right nice to him, have grits or something with him, tell him how delighted you are to be helping him out with his research - but you want him to complete his investigation of your land just as he had planned. If anything interesting turns up, so be it. He can disclose it per whatever regulations pertain. But, and make this peachy clear, either way, he gets the funding. That will sort of separate the money from the outcome, know what I mean?"

Alex made notes while he listened. "I like that. Not sure Jeff will be very happy, but that's his problem."

"I can draw you up an agreement to cover the funding. You may find Mr. Wingate will claim you've acted in conflict with the best interests of the partnership. He might even feel he has grounds to sue you. But given the circumstances, I'll bet my daddy's farm he could be persuaded not to pursue that. In the end y'all probably have to agree on a way to dissolve your partnership anyway."

"That's fine with me. The sooner the better."

"They say the end of the marriage is never as pretty as the beginning. There will likely be some financial consequences. I'd say at the very least your share of the investment might become vulnerable."

"I hadn't thought about that. Any other options?"

"None I can think of that won't involve your pretty little picture appearing in the local newspaper."

Alex drove to the Poconos and tracked down the archeology student. Dwayne Felson seemed like a nice young man, perhaps on the naïve side Alex realized over lunch at Mama's Café and Grill. While eating country fried steak and onions, Alex carefully explained to Dwayne his desire to have the study completed and that the funding for his work would still be available. A visibly relieved student thanked him, gladly signing the agreement Whit had prepared.

In the course of the conversation Dwayne related his findings so far, at least until Jeff had steered him off. He discussed the basis for his suspicion that this particular site, the one on Jeff and Alex's land, might be a significant burial ground for the elders of the Eastern Woodland tribe.

While a bit clumsy and stiff in social interaction, Alex was amused to find the young man quite engaging and passionate when he got talking about his chosen field of study. He provided Alex with an entertaining description of the history of the tribes in the area, how the artifacts he had found so far dated back nearly 1300 years to when the Eastern Woodland Indians roamed the area.

"Woodland sites are generally characterized by ornate pottery and the construction of burial mounds containing elaborate grave goods."

"Whatever happened to them?"

"Later descendants - in the Algonquin tradition - met up with the early European settlers and suffered the consequences. These were basically a peaceful people and no match for the aggressive settlers pushing west."

"How do you know that?"

"The arrowheads that have been found in these sites are from spears that would be used for hunting game - as opposed to arrows that would be used for fighting."

Dwayne suggested if he stayed with that one site, he could have enough information to make a more detailed report on the land in a few weeks. "There are a lot of sites in this area where there were villages, you know, a group of longhouses grouped at the shore of a lake. That's no big deal. But the land you have seems more remote, and has some mounds that suggest it was a more sacred place, perhaps even a burial ground."

Once the report was finished he said he would send it to Alex and also forward it to the state department of interior affairs.

Alex cautioned him. "Look, be thorough. If nothing turns up, I don't want any residual cloud hanging over the property."

When word got back to Jeff, he was furious. "What the hell are you doing?"

Alex held the phone away from his ear. "Look, I told you I don't want to be party to any underhanded deals. I want to develop this land just like you do, but if there is something there, then we need to know about it and act accordingly."

"Jesus Christ! I didn't get into this to own a visitors center selling damn Indian trinkets to tourists."

"Stop complaining. At least you still have your place up there. I'm the one who'll be out the most."

"I could sue your ass over this."

"Maybe you could try. But my lawyer says you'd look pretty silly in the process."

"Damn you!" The line went dead.

Alex had tried to get a hold of Sara during the week, but there was no answer at her apartment, so he left word on her answering machine that she was invited over for lunch on Saturday. Based on the strain in their conversations recently he wasn't at all sure she would show up. There had always been an easy unspoken connection between them, the secret society of fathers and daughters, even during the tough early teen years, when slammed doors and strong wills stalked the house, a generational skirmish taking place mostly between Sara and her mother. He now feared his precious bond with her might have been ruptured.

Despite his misgivings he had decided he needed to make the effort to bridge the chasm. The chaos of recent events had left him strangely grounded, as if some seismic shift had occurred somewhere inside and he was just learning to navigate in the remodeled landscape.

When he heard her Corolla pull into the driveway, he felt relieved. He met her at the door. She gave him a cursory kiss on the cheek and walked past him into the kitchen.

"How's school going?" he called after her.

"Can't wait for this semester to be over. Crazy professor I have for Managerial Accounting is driving me up a wall."

"Want something to drink?"

"Maybe a Diet Coke?"

"Well," he said, pulling a can out of the refrigerator and pouring some in a glass, "we haven't had much time together lately, and I thought..."

"I told you I've had a lot of work to do. Still have twenty pages to finish on my term paper."

"Yes, I know. There's been quite a lot going on here too." He handed her the glass. "But I think we should talk."

"Why? So you can give me another lecture about how I'm ruining my life?"

"No lecture, I promise." He sat down at the table across from her. "You know, Sara, ever since your mother died, I've felt a special obligation to make sure I carry on what she would have wanted."

"I know, Dad." She stared out the window.

"And maybe I come on too strong sometimes, but it's only because I love you so much. And she loved you so much."

Sara kept looking out the window.

"I hope you realize everything we do... I mean I do...is because I think it's best for you." This wasn't going well at all, he thought, should have written it down, planned it out better. Never was any good at thinking on his feet. "We have always trusted you, you never gave us any reason not to. So all this is a bit awkward for me. Do you know what I mean?"

For a moment she didn't say anything, just sat and looked out the window. Finally she said, "I wonder myself sometimes, you know, what she would say." She turned back to him, her eyes wet.

"I'm sure you do." He took a deep breath. "Anyway, after thinking about this quite a bit, about you leaving school and going off to Paris...I think you should follow your heart."

She stared at him, her look blank, then a smile of surprise spread across her face.

He went on. "She might not have liked the idea, and maybe she wouldn't have arrived at the same decision - matter of fact, I think I can guarantee you she wouldn't have." He smiled back at her. "But I'm just as certain that deep down she would have wanted you to be your own person. That's what's important. I guess if there's anything I've learned in my old age it's that you can't live your life out of someone else's dreams."

"You mean it, Dad?"

"Yes, I guess I do."

She came around the table and hugged him.

"There's just one thing. I have to come to Paris with you, you know, as a chaperone."

She pulled away, laughing through her tears. "Oh, Dad!"

# Chapter 26

On a cold January morning they sat in a quaint pastry shop on Charles Street enjoying croissants and coffee, Grace describing a story she'd been working on.

"It was a follow up on one of those tragic car accidents, little girl run down in a city park," she told Alex. "Happened over a month ago, just before the holidays. The driver had been drinking. Blood alcohol level almost twice the legal limit." She sipped her hot coffee. "To make matters worse, that wasn't the first time this driver had been involved in a drunk driving incident." She set her cup down hard.

"You wonder how someone like that could be allowed to drive?" he offered.

"You're right. Anyway a witness reported seeing the small BMW sports car already swerving when it sped up the avenue. Claimed the driver attempted to make the turn where the road dead-ended into the city park but was going too fast. She described the sound of the child being struck as an awful thud, then the small body being thrown while the car rambled aimlessly over the grass until it stopped against a tree. And then the cry of the mother piercing the afternoon air."

Alex could feel the mother's sudden bewildering sense of loss. "It must've been terrible."

"The witness said the child lay motionless on the cold hard ground like a crumpled Raggedy Ann doll."

"How badly was the little girl hurt?"

"They rushed her to Memorial, did a series of operations trying to save her. She made it but they say she'll never walk again."

"If this all happened over a month ago, why write a story about it now?"

"The driver. As I sorted through the various reports and started pulling things together, I learned the young man had subsequently been given a ticket for speeding, a suspended sentence and ordered to do community service."

"That's all?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Seems there was some technicality about the lab that did the calibration on the breathalyzer. There's this attorney, Alfred Lewis, from D.C. who specializes in these DUI cases. Costs big bucks. He came in and claimed the lab wasn't properly licensed to do the blood alcohol calibration."

"Was that true?"

"Not really. This is the same lab they've been using for over three years. Turns out the lab had been properly licensed before the incident and was in the process of renewing its license when the test was conducted. A clerical person in the Public Health Department inadvertently mis-filed the paper work that had been submitted in a timely manner by the lab. The file has subsequently been extricated and the application approved."

"So the test was correct?"

"Absolutely. So I intended to write a column critical of the DA for not pursuing the case more strenuously. How the charges of attempted vehicular manslaughter seemed to have been mysteriously dropped. But when I submitted the outline to my editor, he sensed a broader story, decided I should do a full exposé about the deficiencies of the system. Specifically, how inadequately the system handles DUI's, especially repeat offenders. So I started talking to several sources including an organization called MADD..."

"That's Mothers Against Drunk Drivers?"

"Yes. Turns out many of them have had their own lives shattered by similar drivers. They gave me a cram course on the details of DUI's and the horrible track record of enforcement."

She took a deep breath. "And here's the really ugly part. They also informed me this case was of particular concern because there were rumors that pressure had been applied to the judge to reduce the charges."

"You're kidding. Sounds like one of those TV shows."

"Then I learned the driver happens to be the grandson of William H. Wadsworth."

Alex thought for a moment. "Isn't he your old buddy, the one you wrote the glowing article about?"

"That's right, you met him at the ball."

"You mean you think he actually did something to get his grandson out of this?"

"Well, all the people over at MADD said was, 'Nothing new there.' According to them it's happened before."

"But there was a child seriously hurt. No way to hide that."

"True, previous charges were just for speeding and reckless endangerment, but the result's the same."

"So were you able to find out what happened?"

"These guys are too smart to leave any real evidence around. Everything happens behind closed doors. But looking at the outcome, there's only one possible explanation, don't you think? So after some digging around I was finally able to connect the dots."

Her article appeared in the Sunday edition the following weekend. In a phone conversation a few days later she told Alex the reaction was immediate and visceral. By Monday morning calls jammed the circuits at the newspaper, and a small group of demonstrators marched outside the police station. She felt her story had struck a chord. The public outcry filled the air.

But response was also sweeping through the back corridors.

Angela seemed to be recovering from the threat to her children slowly, gradually taking small steps back toward normal life. Alex watched from a distance, hoping to be helpful but respecting her need to work through her shattered emotions. At first she exhibited the possessiveness of a lioness, smothering the boys with protection. In the incredible logic of motherhood she claimed responsibility for what had happened, maintaining she should have somehow been able to prevent the kidnapping from occurring. Around town she became obsessively vigilant, seeing abductors in every van that drove by.

Alex didn't attempt to argue with her, instead he thought it would be nice to take the trio to the mountains so the kids could run around and Angela could have some space to unwind. But since using Jeff's place was now out of the question, he would have to come up with another plan.

She said she appreciated his concern but remained reluctant to take them very far from home. So one afternoon he called and persuaded her to let him bring over pizza after work.

The evening was cool but pleasant enough for Angela to set the table out on the glassed-in porch. The boys played in the living room.

While the memory of the terrible event seemed central in her mind, the boys had quickly fallen back into their usual patterns. Alex remarked how well Marco especially seemed to have put the entire affair behind him.

"Demonstrates the resilience of a second child," he added.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, from what I've read, Marco as the second born lives in the protective shadow of his brother. So he's fearless. Much more flexible and confident. Whereas Anthony was born with all the expectations and attention of naturally overprotective parents, leaving him marked with a more serious and reticent outlook."

"You make it sound like some predetermined formula." She went to the door. "Stay in the yard," she called to the boys.

"I suppose in a way it is. They claim the natural tendencies of parents are fairly predictable. You can probably see it yourself. Just think about how much more comfortable you were with Marco when he was a baby."

She smiled. "You're right about that. When Anthony was born, I handled him like an egg, totally afraid he might break."

"And then when number two came along you're more relaxed, right? All they're saying is there's a confidence in your actions that must get transmitted to the baby."

"I can remember giving Anthony a bath - being so worried he might drown. With Marcos it became more of a playtime. I guess that's what they mean?"

"Yes. And the first child is in the company of adults all the time, a much more serious world. But Marco, well, he has his parents, but he's also lives in the constant company of another kid, growing up with a built-in playmate." Alex nodded to the boys chasing around in the fading evening light. "Anyway, that's the idea."

She returned to the door. "Marco, Anthony, it's getting cold, you need to come in." She turned back to Alex. "So, according to your theory, how's Anthony taking all this?"

"He'll be fine too. The whole thing may have made a deeper impression on him. He was probably scared and feeling protective of his brother." He watched her watching the boys. "But they'll both be fine - if you let them."

She looked at him sharply.

"I'm just saying they need their space, to feel things are normal again."

"I can't help it."

A week later Alex got a call from Chad. "Your girlfriend's in the news. Did ya' see the article?"

"Grace? What article?"

"In the Times this morning. Some story about a DUI incident she wrote – little girl getting hurt. Really created a stir up there."

Alex didn't have any idea what he was talking about, then he remembered the story she had told him about the little girl. "Yeah, she mentioned that. But it was just a local story. You read it in the Times?"

"Got out to the AP wire somehow. As usual it looks like the story _about_ the story became the story - seems she managed to get some important people mighty upset with her."

"That's no surprise. One of the guys involved is a pretty big honcho in Baltimore."

"Yeah, well it looks like they fired her."

"What? The newspaper fired her?" Alex felt a panic.

"No, the college."

"Why the hell would they do that?"

"Seems this big honcho she wrote about also turns out to be a big donor, a really big donor. I bet he threatened to pull his money if they didn't do something."

"Shit!"

"Yeah. Real bummer."

Alex' mind raced, how was she taking this...and why hadn't she called him? "I better call her. See how's she doing."

"Tell her I'll come up there and carry picket signs."

"Yeah, she'll believe that."

"Good luck."

Alex immediately dialed her number. He got the answering machine and started to leave a message when she picked up.

"Alex, I'm here." Her voice sounded tired.

"How are you?"

"Sorry for the machine. Had so many calls, finally couldn't take it any longer."

"Heard about the story. Sounds terrible. Can I do anything?"

"Make the world go away. Life sucks at the moment."

An idea suddenly came to him. "How about we go see the dolphins."

Silence filled the other end of the line.

"Come on, Grace. Maybe it would take your mind off things."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

"I think I would like that."

"Be right there."

"Thank you."

Two hours later he held her in his arms.

"It's been a nightmare," she said.

"I can imagine." He looked over her shoulder at her usually neat apartment. Coffee cups stood empty on the end table, two beer bottles graced the counter.

She ran her hand through unkempt hair. "They're saying the most awful things."

"Guess you were right. It's all surfaces."

"Just not much fun when it's ripped away." A tear gathered on her eye lash.

He hugged her again.

She put on coffee and walked him through the unfortunate events of the past few days.

"So I get called into President Gibson's office. He had the article all laid out on his desk. Said to me, 'I assume you have some cold hard evidence to back up this story.' I figured he must have been approached. But I just wasn't aware of how much money Wadsworth and his family had given to the school. Being a small private college, they depend a lot on private donations. And I knew his daughter graduated from there, named the field house after her, but it's much deeper than that. So he sits there waiting for my answer."

"You had it, didn't you? The proof?" Alex said. "You said you connected the dots."

"I had some pretty solid circumstantial evidence."

He couldn't hide his surprise.

"Don't look at me like that. We discovered there was definitely contact between Wadsworth and Judge Clemens just before he ruled on the case. Wadsworth has a farm up in the mountains west of here. More like a palatial estate than a farm, but he does raise horses there. Anyway, Clemens was up there with some old cronies for a weekend get-together." She poured them both coffee. "Then we uncovered a real estate trust set up in the judge's wife's name - Section 8 units just outside D.C. being constructed."

"Can you trace the money back to Wadsworth?"

"Not directly. It runs through so many places, limited trusts and the like, you can't determine who exactly initiated it."

"Was Gibson convinced?"

"Apparently not. Suggested I issue an apology and retract the article."

"Let me guess...you refused."

"Of course. I wasn't going to let Wadsworth get away with this without even calling him on it." She sipped her coffee. "Even if it doesn't stand up in a court of law, it's pretty clear what he did."

"Why did you write the story without absolute proof?"

"Sometimes, if you're sure there's something hiding in the bushes, you have to toss something in, maybe flush it out."

"And sometimes it turns out to be an elephant and it comes out and tramples all over you."

"Yeah, so I've heard."

He came around the table and put his arm around her shoulders. "I'm so sorry, Grace."

She turned around and hugged him. "God, I've missed you."

"You want to go see dolphins?"

"No," she said with a tired smile. "I want to go to bed."

Alex watched her profile as she slept. He sensed a stillness about her that suggested she was already a portrait. But he knew that was an illusion. She possessed deep energy, coiled and waiting, not still at all. He hated Wadsworth, Gibson and the rest of them for dimming her bright light.

His thoughts reached back to that distant time when he first knew her, college sweaters and a pony tail. When she entered the room people turned, guys mostly, to see if she touched the ground at all. Effortlessly she commanded the air, breathed life into it. One of his classmates, one of the many eager but disappointed suitors, had observed, "Once you fall under her spell, you no longer crave the air, instead it's her attention you need." He wrote terrible poetry but in this case he captured her pretty well.

Alex remembered the sensation, when she finally turned those hungry eyes on him, capturing him in her focus. At that moment he felt like the only living being in the universe. No one and nothing else existed. Those incredible eyes - no stranger to mystery, with deep shadows hovering round the edges – seared into him - promising, and threatening. And when her gaze left, he cooled, as if turned away from a crackling fire.

That's how he remembered her then, and still felt the surge now - so many years later- in the full maturity of her beauty. That same energy clung to her, subtler, less obvious, perhaps tamer. But still there.

However, life, especially life controlled by men, seemed to have a way of dealing harshly with anyone who chose to walk outside the norm of expected behavior. He knew she had scars to prove that. Even though she did not court their favor, or value their opinion, on some level, he imagined she still felt the pain of the insensitive and often cruel criticism thrown her way. Despite a strong spirit, she possessed no immunity to the slings and arrows.

He snuggled down next to her, as much to protect her as to comfort himself.

In the morning he convinced her she needed to get out, get some air and escape her hideout. "Let's go down to the aquarium," he suggested.

A cloudless sky produced a postcard finish to the Inner Harbor. The current state of their relationship hid in a silent corner of the conversation. She seemed content with his presence, so he decided to let the rest find its own course, an unusual and not entirely comfortable state for him.

After the dolphin show they wandered through the plaza. In spite of the chilly temperature, street performers dotted the walkway. Jugglers and mimes entertained the crowd, the squeal of children's voices providing background music.

As they walked she said, "I really appreciate you coming down. Sorry I'm such a mess. Been a long time since anything has gotten to me this way."

His thoughts went to a conversation they had had a few weeks prior, underscoring the enigma she had become to him. After she had told him some of the magazines she had written stories for, out of curiosity he had searched out a few of the articles in the library. Her writing flowed, passionate and precise. But he was surprised by the strident voice that overshadowed the fine prose. He detected a desperate tone underpinning the carefully constructed paragraphs. When he brought up the subject at dinner that night she had gotten defensive.

"You ever listen to talk radio or read the New Republic? Talk about strident!" She quickly took up the charge. "Those guys never present a whole picture. Everything is spun to support their conservative agenda. You know, there are lessons in history - there for anyone who is listening. Sad lessons."

"I'm not saying there aren't extremists..."

"But that's the point. Today they're not thought of as extremists. Anyone who questions the status quo is the one called a traitor. We've given up any notion of debate and chosen up sides. The mainstream has slipped off the slippery slope and is heading downhill fast."

"But if all you do is shout back, then who is going to be the voice of reason?"

She looked at him sharply. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"All I'm saying is this is pretty strong stuff. The article in the American Journal sounded like you were advocating legalizing drugs."

She stared him square in the eye. "Yes, it did. That's because that happens to be the number one policy responsible for breaking down families in our cities."

"Come on. You can't really believe that the answer to that is legalizing the drugs."

"Some drugs, yes. And then regulating them, just like we regulate alcohol and cigarettes."

"But those are just other vices. Why would we want even more damaging substances in the hands of our citizens?"

"The point I tried to bring out in the article is that it's so arbitrary, and not something we have ever been successful legislating. And the consequence of outlawing drugs has become more of a problem than the drugs themselves could ever be. All the violence and corruption in our inner cities, the gang shootings, the incredible trafficking across our borders – these are all the direct result of our illogical predisposition against drugs." She took a deep breath. "Not to mention the fact that our jails are filled with poor people who were put there for just using drugs. It's so unfair! You don't see middle class white kids in jail, but drug use in the suburbs is just as high as in the inner city. You don't see cops kicking in the doors of fraternity houses like they do in the city neighborhoods. So what's this all about? And we could use all that money we're throwing away on prisons to improve our schools and provide insurance coverage to the needy. It's all about missed opportunities and misguided policies."

"But you have to be aware of the studies on drugs and the terrible epidemic of addiction that would result from such a crazy change in policy."

"What I'm aware of is that in places where drugs aren't illegal the addiction rate is no greater than here where it's a big no-no. And the rate is less than the addiction to alcohol - which we seem to be just fine with."

"You want a world where everyone is walking around stoned. I just don't understand that."

She gave him a hard stare. "Alex, the violence associated with drugs is much more threatening and damaging to our society than people being 'stoned,' as you call it. It destroys families every day."

"But so do the drugs themselves. There are countless studies claiming that drugs are dangerous."

"What I find so hypocritical is that there are many more deaths caused by people drinking and driving than could ever be imagined from drug use - but we don't outlaw either drinking or driving. There are many more people killed from handguns - but we don't outlaw them either. So why have we decided these chemicals are such a bad thing? And why are we willing to ignore the tremendous cost this policy imposes on our country - and on places like Colombia and Afghanistan where drug lords rule the countryside? All because we have this notion that people can't act responsibly when it comes to these drugs. It just doesn't make any sense."

"Those are great debating points, but we have a pretty set policy about drugs. I don't think you'll win any popularity contests challenging that."

"Maybe not, but it needs to be discussed. People need to think about what we're doing and what the consequences are."

"And you wonder why more magazines don't run your stuff."

"If you look back in our history there were many many years when popular sentiment felt slavery was just fine, and the Jim Crow laws were good for business, and that women didn't need the right to vote, or that it was just fine to round up Japanese Americans and put them in camps."

"So you think creating a stir about legalizing drugs will be productive?"

"If it gets the debate going, then it serves a purpose. How do you think any of these things ever get resolved? No one in government is ever going to suggest changing the status quo. They're too invested in the way things are now."

He saw the set of her chin, the fixed look in her eyes. She was still the crusader, ready to go out into the streets and fight for what she believed in, crazy as it might be. He regretted bringing the subject up. And now, walking in the cold sunlight he wondered how this angry but sometimes vulnerable beauty would weather this latest storm.

As if reading his mind, she stopped walking. "I'm glad we can just be here together, without feeling the need to rehash everything."

He took her hand. They walked on.

"Any thoughts about what happens next?" he asked when they got back to the car. "Are you going to fight them on the dismissal?"

"Don't know. Gibson gave me a letter to sign. If I go away quietly I get my pension and benefits."

"Bastards."

They stood by the car looking at the brownstones lining the street.

"My editor at the paper says I can work for them full time if I want. I'm thinking seriously about doing it."

He looked at her with a smile. "Isn't that interesting? You started out wanting to be a reporter, and then went to teaching out of frustration, and now, you end up being a reporter. Comes full circle, doesn't it?"

She squeezed his hand. "Has a sort of elegant symmetry to it."

# Chapter 27

Angela called the office and asked him if he wanted to have one of their dinners with the kids. Alex took that as a positive sign – an attempt on her part to regain her footing in a more normal world. Over burritos and the usual arcade games he found her still fussing at the boys, keeping a close eye on them out of the corner of her eye.

She must have noticed his concerned look. "Yes, you're right. I've got to stop hovering over them."

"It's completely understandable. Give it time, you'll relax. But it looks like they're doing fine."

"Someone once told me kids were 'wash and wear,' they take a tumble, you just wash them off and hug them - and they're ready to go. They're amazing."

"You are too." He sought words. "I was so impressed," he went on, "how you handled yourself through the whole thing. Kept things together."

She straightened the silverware around her plate. "Well, thank you. Didn't feel very together. Seemed like I spent the whole time sobbing." She sipped her soda. "Let's talk about something else. I want to try and forget that chapter of my life."

"Fine by me."

"About the only good thing that has come out of the whole sad affair is that I've rediscovered my love for playing the piano. Been playing almost constantly." She smiled. "Whenever I become obsessed about where the boys are, which is every time they're out of my sight, I force myself to sit down and play, as a distraction." She toyed with the straw in her drink. "Been a long time. I had forgotten that part of me. It's funny in a way. I lived and breathed the piano for so long, then it went into storage when Tony came along, like old clothes." She looked up at him, eyes shiny. "And now, because of him, it's back."

He reached over and covered her hand. "It's going to be all right. Just give it time."

She dabbed the corner of her eye with her napkin.

They sat quietly for a moment. "I'd love to hear you play sometime," he said.

"You'll have to come over. I've dug out some old pieces I used to play. Lovely arrangements." She hummed a melody while she looked over at the boys playing in the arcade room. "Now if I could just win the lottery. Been thinking about trying to sell home beauty products or something. What do you think? Would you buy body wash from me?"

"Well, I'm always on the lookout for that special skin softener." He smiled as he rubbed the back of his hand. "Though I'm probably not your target audience. But if you really need to earn some money why don't you try giving piano lessons? Aren't there always people looking for a good piano teacher?"

"I teach music all day. Sitting next to bratty little kids who won't practice and then listening to parents who think they have the next Horowitz would just about do me in."

He laughed. "I can just see that." He thought for a moment. "But what about real protégés? You know, gifted young pianists who need someone to help them get to the next level. You must've had someone like that when you were studying."

"Hum. That's an interesting idea. Never thought about teaching at that level. Wonder if I'd be any good at it."

"I'm sure you would. You have the talent yourself, great patience, and all that experience in the hard knock world of piano competition, right?"

"I did have a teacher who helped me a lot, and guided me through it all - for as long as I was able to take it."

"Ever regret stopping?"

"I have a lot of regrets, but that's not one of them. I was never cut out for that kind of pressure. But I did...I mean I do...love to play. And can appreciate anyone who can do it well."

He could see her warming to the idea. "You think about it. And if you decide to give it a go, maybe I can help you set up a little business, you know, the books and stuff. You can call it 'Angela's Piano Salon.' How's that sound?"

She laughed. "Like some gray haired seventy- year-old lady with a whip."

"Okay, so the marketing can use a little work."

"I will think about it."

The kids came back to the table looking for more quarters. Alex handed them each four. "This is all I've got, guys."

"We'll be going when those are gone, understand?"

"Yes, Mom," they replied as one. And off they went.

"So what's with you and...?" she asked.

"Grace?"

"Yeah. You never say anything about all the trips you take down there. It's been awhile, right?"

"Guess. Pretty much since the reunion."

"So, what gives? Or am I being too nosy?"

"No, not at all. But I really don't know exactly how to describe it. Grace is a special person. When I'm with her it's like being in another world, sort of a parallel universe. I just have trouble bringing her back into this part of my life."

"That's interesting." She hesitated a moment. "Is it serious?"

"I don't really know the answer to that." He studied his hands. "Serious? Sure. She's wonderful and a lot of fun."

"But?"

"But we're very different people."

"That can be good - can't it?"

"Can be, I suppose."

They both watched the boys for a moment. Finally she said, "Guess it depends on whether both people can get what they need out of the relationship. Sometimes 'different' can mean opening up new experiences that two people can explore together. But it could also mean one person is feeling terribly out of place. I'm way too familiar with that one." She stopped for a moment, as if searching for an idea. "In the end it seems to me it's all about trust. Can I really trust that person not to get me too far out there?"

He stared at her. "That's it exactly. I've been trying to put it into words, and you just did."

"Life's no picnic. And I'm certainly no billboard for any of this, but I imagine it would be nice to be with someone to weather the storms, like what the poets call sharing the pain and the joy of the journey. I guess that's what marks a true partnership." She looked away. "I always wondered what it would feel like to be a 'we,' you know, instead of just two people chasing after their own needs."

The now familiar thought came to mind. "Sometimes I wish I could be more like her," he said. "So brave, able to stare life straight in the face."

"Don't you think we're all brave in our own ways? We just have different sensibilities – and those need to be respected. When Tony and I were together, I could never be me, I tried to pretend to be like him, to enjoy what he enjoyed. I really tried for a long time, but it just didn't work for me. Guess I'm just a bad faker." A dark cloud came into her eyes. "And being a fraud all the time isn't much fun...even for love."

He studied her, amazed at her unexpected display of sensitivity and intuition.

"Sorry." She folded her napkin. "Kind of got on my soap box."

"No, you're right. Absolutely. And that's just what I've been trying to work out in my head. So for now - I guess it'll just remain a question."

Her gaze sought out the boys. "If you have to think very hard about it, maybe that's not a good sign."

He smiled. "I don't know. I tend to think hard about everything. It's my curse."

She turned back and reached over, covering his hand. "You didn't think much when I was in trouble. You were right there. And I really appreciate that."

He felt himself blush.

She stood up. "We better get going. I'll grab the boys."

He watched her walk away from the table, confused by how much he missed the feel of her hand on his.

When he pulled up in front of her house, she picked up her purse. "Thanks. That was fun. Felt good to get out again. And especially thanks for your thoughts about teaching piano. That might just work." She got the boys out of the back seat, then spoke through the open door. "I hope you find the answer to your question."

# Chapter 28

Sometimes even chaos has a way of working itself out. In the wake of a storm, flowers respond with a display of unexpectedly dazzling colors. The air smells fresher, maybe even more alive because it comes salted with relief. The threatening darkness has passed.

Spring had arrived as Dwayne Felson completed his archeological study and forwarded it to the county planning board. It contained enough evidence of Indian culture on three of the lakes in the area to cause the board to suspend consideration of any development on those parcels until more detailed studies could be undertaken by state officials. As feared, Jeff and Alex's property was part of the land included in the moratorium.

In the light of that indefinite future, Jeff Wingate became furious all over again. After some heated discussions, Alex agreed to buy the very unhappy man out of the partnership and turned to Whitaker James Thornton to work out the arrangements. Whit proved to be a shrewd negotiator. Much to Alex's surprise, Jeff's cabin on the lake became part of the settlement. He concluded Jeff must have been so disappointed and frustrated about the whole matter he probably didn't want any reminders of what might have been. The whole experience proved expensive, but Alex felt strangely satisfied with the outcome.

Wednesday morning Alex got a call at the office from Ira.

"Maria wants to see us, you and me. At the house."

"When?"

"Today."

Alex had been dreading this. He had hoped in the time since all the excitement she would have forgotten that part of their conversation. And now he wished he had been able to fill Ira in, but...

As if reading his mind, Ira asked, "Is there something going on I'm not aware of?"

Alex hesitated. "Actually, yes."

"And why don't I know about it?"

"Sometimes a certain deniability is useful."

There was silence on the line. "She's not in a good mood."

"You at home?"

"Yes."

Alex looked at the clock on his desk. "How about I pick you up in half an hour. I'll try to explain what's happened on the way over."

Alex pulled up in front of Ira Mosher's house. The yard blazed with the blossoms of spring, the culmination of expert gardening, Ira's long-standing hobby. On many occasions Alex had been escorted through his extensive greenhouse in the back and listened to endless dissertations illustrating Ira's serious interest in the subject as a charter member of the garden club. His partial retirement coincided with his development of a new creation \- a new species of African Violet. A normally reserved man, Ira became visibly excited about the discovery and spent considerable time traveling from place to place displaying his creation and giving talks to other garden clubs.

He came out of the house dressed dapper as always, in a blue shirt and sports jacket. Alex mused that he had never seen Ira in anything resembling work clothes and wondered if he gardened in a smoking jacket.

"It's not like you to hold back," Ira said as they pulled away. "This must be interesting."

"That would be one word for it." On the drive over Alex related the series of events surrounding the kidnapping including the bank drafts that he imagined were going to be the subject of the afternoon discussion. He concluded with a brief description of his own role in the nonsense in the Poconos and Tony's threat to expose him.

When he finally finished, Ira let out a long whistle. "Wow, you've been a busy boy."

"I decided you shouldn't be involved in the payoff - so the business could stay at arms length."

"Probably a wise decision. But now you think she's going to want to know more?"

"She's not the kind to let it alone, is she?"

"No, can't say as she is." Ira hesitated. "And you don't think Tony can get you in any trouble on the other thing?"

"I don't think so. This guy Thornton is pretty good. And besides, I don't really care. I'm not going to let him hold it over me any more." Alex noticed Ira glancing over with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing. Just glad to see you drawing a line in the sand."

They drove a few minutes in silence. Then Alex asked, "So should we tell her everything?"

"At this point, I think everything needs to be on the table. This has to be terribly difficult for her. Tony has always been her fair-haired boy. But it would be even worse if she found either you or me holding back on her. She needs to be able to trust us."

"I agree. So you tell her."

Ira laughed. "Nice try, my boy. Nice try."

Maria met them in the foyer

"You look wonderful, Ira. All that dirt you play in must have remarkable qualities."

"Keeps me off the street, dear." Ira gave her a hug.

"You should talk to his tailor," she said to Alex with a grin and a kiss on the cheek, then escorted them into the living room. Cups for tea and a dish of biscotti were already laid out on the coffee table.

"And how is Antonio?" Ira asked.

A shadow crossed her face. "A little better. I got them to lighten up a bit on those medications." She put her hand on his arm. "He'll be delighted to see you."

"And I'm looking forward to it."

"Please, sit down." She turned to Alex. Her tone quartered no debate. "So what is it you have been keeping from me?" To Ira she said, "I assume he's filled you in on the sordid details about the boys?"

"Yes, on the way over."

Once they sat down her intense gaze focused squarely on Alex. He realized he would not have been able to fabricate a story even if he wanted to. "Well," he began, "it all started several months before the....incident with the boys. We first noticed a discrepancy in the cash balance. Amy was the first one to see it; she has quite an eye for such things. Took us a long time to ferret out exactly what was happening, but we did."

"Why did it take so long?"

He looked at Ira who nodded his head. "There have been some changes in the accounting system. Kevin managed to hide the information pretty well."

Her eyes went to Ira.

"Anyway," Alex continued, "there was a series of bank drafts drawn, one or so a month. No invoice or contract, just a payment by way of draft. First I discussed it with Kevin. So many things had been changed we thought perhaps there was just some miscoding or something. He claimed the payments were for consulting services and the charges would be solidified if the project he said they were working on ever went forward. When the discrepancies continued, I approached Tony directly. He also claimed they were related to some new business he and Kevin were pursuing - a payment to a consultant, he said. As the numbers accumulated I suggested it might be wise to establish a contract with this firm, as I recall the name was Gilbert Associates."

"And he said?"

Alex had decided he would relate the facts with no judgments or analysis. But how to cover the emotional side proved more difficult.

"Alex?"

"We had a bit of a heated argument about it."

Her gaze dropped away. "How much money is involved?" she asked, eyes on the delicate bone china cup in her hand.

"Just under ninety thousand."

He could see her hand grip the cup tighter. He worried it might break.

Ira stepped in. "You have to understand Maria, as Alex said, Tony has been doing a lot of things differently..."

"Differently than what?" she demanded. "You set up the procedures. How could you let this happen?"

"Well, I can tell you from personal experience he has not been interested in the procedures we set up and felt fully empowered to do otherwise," Ira said. "I think his buddy Kevin just told him what he wanted to hear, and convinced him it would be all right."

His bluntness caught Alex by surprise, but he realized she could accept that from Ira. From him it might have been greeted with hostility.

She sat still for a moment. Her shoulders slumped slightly. Alex sensed a sadness settling over her like a shroud. Had she ever imagined such a turn of events? Chaos had wreaked havoc upon her family. One child tragically gone and her dear husband lost in the wake of that loss. And now her only son had created an embarrassing threat to both the family and the business.

"If it gets out," she said, "that we've been using company funds for our own family...difficulties, we'll be ruined."

"You're right. It would not look good." Ira turned to Alex. "What do you think we should do?"

The fact that Ira directed the question to him surprised Alex, rather than just giving Maria the answer. "Well, as you know, we routinely set aside funds for a variety of situations, pension reserve, capital accounts, and the pool for year end bonuses."

"Yes?" Maria looked at Alex with intense interest.

"Perhaps, if you're willing, we could discretely flow some money back into the cash accounts so that by the end of the year it would be in balance again. Perhaps show it on the books as a loan from Antonio's pension account, and then a repayment."

She turned to Ira. "Would this work?"

Ira thought for a moment. "There is a provision in the pension plan for loans, and as long as you are the clear source of the repayment money." He nodded to Alex. "Yes, I think it could work. A couple of people might be suspicious."

"I think they already are," Alex said. "But I think I could work with Amy to smooth it over."

For the first time in the conversation Maria seemed to relax. "I would appreciate it if you would take care of that, Alex. You've been most helpful already." She stood up. "Let me know what you need. Ira can make the arrangements at the bank. Now shall we go see Antonio?"

Alex and Ira stood also. "One thing," Alex said. "Is someone going to mention this to Tony?"

"I'll take care of that," Maria replied. "I think it's time for me to have a heart to heart conversation with my son."

Maria led them into the sun room that ran along the back of the house. Antonio sat in an overstuffed chair by the window looking out. He did not turn when they approached.

"Antonio, dear, look who's come to visit."

He turned his head, and a small smile spread across his face when he saw Ira. "Amico," he whispered. Ira reached down and hugged his long time friend.

"How you doing, Antonio?"

"I've been better, old friend." The embrace lasted several seconds before he released Ira. "And Alex, good to see you. How's my princess Sara?"

"She's doing well," Alex said, taking the Old Man's hand. "Sends her love."

"That's nice. She's the spitting image of her mother, don't you think?" Antonio said to Ira, pointing to a set of pictures of Sylvia clustered on a nearby table. "She was a beautiful woman." His eyes turned dark, his expression slackened.

Ira took over the conversation. "Such a beautiful day out. How about we walk outside and you show me what you're doing with the gardens."

At first Antonio didn't answer, he sat looking out the window with no facial expression at all. Then he turned to his friend and smiled. "I would not try to compete with the master."

"Come on, let's get those old bones moving." Ira helped Antonio out of the chair and placed his sweater over his shoulders. They slowly walked through the sliding glass door and into the yard.

Alex watched as Maria wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

She turned to him. "It's hard."

# Chapter 29

He hadn't actually planned to do it. And when his brother answered the phone Alex could tell Eric was as surprised by the call as he was at making it.

"Alex? Is everything all right? Mom okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. Just wanted to...." He laughed. "Not sure what exactly I wanted, except to talk to you."

Silence filled the three thousand miles of wire connecting them.

"Well...this is certainly unexpected. But I've been meaning to call you myself."

Alex heard Jessica's voice in the background. "Who is it? Dinner's almost ready!"

Eric replied, "My brother."

"Ah...if this is a bad time..." Alex said. Mentally he realized he'd forgotten about the time difference.

"Really?" he heard Jessica say. "I'll just put dinner on hold."

"No, its fine, Alex. It's been a long time. How're you doing?"

"Getting along. Had a bad spell there for a while, but it's a little better now."

"I'm really sorry."

"So did you say you were planning to call?" Alex asked.

"Yeah, I have been thinking about it. It's sort of weird, though. There's that old Beatles' song, remember, the one that goes something like 'there's a hole in the roof where the rain runs in,' remember it?"

"Yeah. Eleanor Rigby. Big hit of theirs."

"Well, this is going to sound crazy," Eric said. "But I've had this feeling there's a part of my life like that. Like there's a hole there and I feel like it's leaking. Told you it was silly."

"No, it's not silly at all. At least not to me. I have this friend, invited me to a family reunion recently, and got me to thinking about my family...our family, and how nice it was to sit around the table and share stories...."

He heard Eric laugh. "Doesn't sound like our family at all."

"That's just it. But then I realized, later when I got to thinking about it, we had our own little rituals, didn't we? Like when Mom decorated all the windows for Thanksgiving..."

"Place used to look like the Pilgrims would show up at any minute."

"And then she'd make us wear those crazy hats at dinner."

"Even Dad! We must have looked pretty stupid." Eric paused. "God, I haven't thought about that in years."

"So what's the hole about?'

"Well, it's like Jessica has a family out here. A couple of sisters, and their families, and of course, her parents. Even a grandparent. Her mother's mother is still living. We see them fairly regularly."

"That's great."

"Yeah. I love it, and I love them. But it's not quite the same."

"As what?"

"As having your own family."

There was a few seconds of silence, then Alex replied, "I think I know what you mean. At least I think I'm beginning to. Like you're peeping in on someone else's life, and missing your own."

"That's it exactly. Always a visitor. They're great, don't get me wrong. It's just..."

"Different."

"Yeah, feels sort of odd." Another pause. "Oh, by the way, how's Sara? She must be half way through college by now."

"She's fine. Only she's planning to drop out of school and move to Paris to be with an artist she says she's in love with."

"Oow. That sounds like a big move."

"Yeah, made me crazy for a quite a while."

"You're okay with it?"

"Hell no! But I finally got my head around it. Realized she's a big girl now and it's her decision, and I've just got to be there for her."

"Wow. I'm not sure I could be that understanding. But I guess you know what you're doing."

Alex laughed. "Some days it doesn't seem that way. But in this case I think it's the right thing to do."

"Actually, that's the attitude Jessica would take. Her philosophy is - if it's not life threatening or immoral, we shouldn't argue with them about it."

"Smart lady. I should have called her when I was struggling with it myself."

"Yes. And someday, maybe I'll get as smart as she is, because in the meantime, they're driving me up a wall."

"How old are they now?"

"Elaine is eleven and Chrissie is nine. Great kids. We're been very lucky."

"Preteens. Ought to keep you busy."

"Between soccer practices and music lessons, we need one extra person around here just to chauffeur them around. And you should see all the electronic gadgets they have in their rooms! I'm afraid we've spoiled them."

Alex laughed. "I know what you mean. Can you imagine us asking our parents for some of the stuff these kids have?"

"It was a very different world, wasn't it?"

"I guess so."

"You should see Elaine play soccer. I swear the ball is an extension of her foot. And she practices all the time."

"That wasn't your strong suit, as I remember."

Eric laughed. "Not me. Couldn't stand practicing. But these kids are really into it." A pause. "So when is Sara leaving?"

"End of the semester."

"You planning to go over and visit her?"

"I threatened to move there as her chaperone."

"I probably would - if some guy was chasing after Elaine."

"Yes, you have all that to look forward to."

"I'm looking at ads for a suitable convent now."

Alex couldn't think of anything else to say. "Listen, I don't want to keep you from dinner."

"Don't worry about it. This has been great. It's wonderful to hear your voice....and you're sure there's nothing wrong?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"Then great. I'm glad you called. And I promise, I'll give you a call soon."

"I'd like that."

Alex sat in his chair hearing his brother's voice in his head trying to remember what he had been so afraid of. Then he got up and went to the desk, pulled open the bottom drawer where the picture albums lived. A bunch of loose pictures in envelopes sat on top of the albums. He sorted through snapshots of vacations, Sara in front of the car they gave her for high school graduation, a few of family gatherings at the Colianni's. Finally, he found the one he was looking for. It had come in a Christmas card a few years back. Eric and Jessica and the girls. The kids were much younger then. He set the picture down, went to the mantle and took down the one of the girls that had come just this year. He was amazed at how they had grown.

When Alex arrived at the office, Agnes said Tony was on a rampage. "He's in a bit of a state. Demanded I have you come see him as soon as you got in."

Alex went down the hall to Tony's office. Found him inside pacing the floor.

"There you are," Tony said when he saw Alex at the door. "Get in here."

Alex entered the office. Tony went behind him and slammed the door. "Last night I had a very unpleasant conversation with my mother." Tony was spitting the words. "Thought we had an agreement, you weren't going to spill the beans!"

"What I remember is you threatening me if I said anything. No agreement involved. And I told you then - she was going to find out. No way you were going to hide this. Especially from her."

Tony resumed pacing.

Alex went on, "And if you want to tell the world about your friend Jeff's antics, go right ahead. I'm fine with that. Matter of fact, at this point there's nothing you can say or do that will move me one way or the other."

A sneer came over Tony's face. "When the hell did you grow balls?"

Alex looked him square in the face. "About the time you allowed your kids to be taken because you can't keep your life together."

"God damn you!" His eyes bulged. "I told you if you pulled one more thing around here it would be your last, didn't I?"

"Do what you have to do. But if I were you I'd be thinking more about what you're going to do to straighten this place out. I've done everything I can to help you and Kevin, but both of you keep ignoring my advice and digging us deeper into a mess. When are you going to wake up?"

Tony glared at Alex. "Get the hell out of here!"

Back in his office Alex grabbed the rubber ball out of his drawer and walked to the window, squeezing the ball hard - trying to stop his hand from shaking.

Amy came to the door. "Agnes said Tony was..." She stopped in mid-sentence. "You all right?"

Alex collapsed in his chair. "Something's got to change," he said. "If we keep going like this the whole thing will topple in on us."

Alex sat in his easy chair falling asleep while the Phillies struggled through another baseball game on television. The phone startled him out of his slumber.

"Hello?" he answered, trying to clear his head.

"Hi. Ah...did I get you away from something?" Angela's voice brought him immediately awake.

"No, I guess I was just taking a little nap. Is everything all right?"

"Relax, I know there's usually a crisis when I call, but not tonight. God, a girl could get a reputation."

He smiled. "No, I was just surprised to hear your voice."

"Listen, do you remember that conversation we had about me offering piano lessons? Well, I floated the idea at school, you know, with some of my friends on the faculty. Anyway, word got around and I've had two parents call me already wondering if I would consider their children. One is a young boy, around eight, I think – and the other is an eleven-year-old girl."

"Can I assume these aren't just beginners?"

"Actually, Christina, the older one, has performed in a couple of small competitions. Her mother brought her over yesterday to play for me, and she's very talented. The younger one has had less training but his mother sounds pretty down to earth. I kinda like her attitude about the whole thing. So it looks like it's going to work."

"That's great."

"So, I hate to bother you, but you said you might be able to help me set up the paperwork for the business?"

"Oh, yes, certainly. Shouldn't take much. We'll set up a little S corporation. When can we get together?"

"How about this weekend sometime?"

Alex went to his desk and looked at his day planner. "Well, I'm going down to Baltimore this weekend. How about some evening next week?"

"Let's see. The kids have soccer practice...hey, how about Tuesday? I can even offer you dinner. Nothing fancy, just home-cooked."

"Sounds great."

The drive the next morning proved stressful. Alex was becoming more and more uncomfortable in the tense office environment. The latest encounter with Tony had been difficult. While Alex felt good that he held his ground, it presented a bleak prospect. What would happen next? How could he continue fighting Tony and Kevin over every decision he disagreed with?

Maybe Grace was right. If working there was this hard maybe he should just leave. That was an option. Sure, he felt a loyalty, but wasn't clear as to what, or to whom? What was holding him there? The Old Man? His colleagues? Was it just a sense of family belonging left over from when Sylvia was still around?

As he pulled into the parking lot a new thought floated into his mind, a sort of deep gut level proposition. Was he afraid to leave or was he determined to stay? That, he suddenly realized, was the key question.

Alex had never been a big fan of change, and leaving could present difficulties. He was nearing that age when his employability would become suspect. But he wasn't really worried by that. He had marketable skills, and his needs were modest. He was alone, the house was paid for, and the rest of Sara's education, whenever she returned to it, was already provided for.

Deeper down he recognized the fear that always shadowed him, the sense of failing, of not being strong enough or good enough. Would leaving be the same as quitting? Giving up?

On the other hand, if the answer was that he was determined to stay, what was he willing to do to make it better? Resting his forehead on the steering wheel he tried to sort out the various ways the tide could be turned around.

Later in his office he squeezed the ball over and over as if hoping some sort of plan might magically emerge. He had considered various ways of tackling the problem, but no matter how he approached it, the first step was always the same.

The prospect of seeing the Old Man again was daunting to Alex. Past visits had proven disturbing, and reconciling Antonio's current state of depressed inactivity with the vibrant memories was – well, depressing. But Alex knew the time had come. If things were going to change someone had to at least try to break through to him. The survival of the family business might well depend on it.

In spite of the darkness of the situation Alex couldn't help smiling to himself. These were thoughts more melodramatic than usually occurred to him. Lately he seemed to be entertaining a litany of novel ideas. It was scary in a way, like his first ride on an airplane, but stimulating in a way he couldn't remember.

Maria seemed surprised by his call, and questioned his request to see the Old Man. But he persisted.

Now, standing in the sun-filled room with Antonio, having asked Maria to leave them alone, Alex felt less sure of his intention. Outside he knew crickets chirped and birds were singing, but in this room, where time seemed to be lost, it was as still as the night. He reached down and picked up one of the framed pictures of Sylvia from the table. The sharp pain of loss remained close at hand.

"I know losing Sylvia has been difficult for you," he began, sitting down in the wicker chair across from the Old Man. "It certainly has been for me. For a while I really wasn't sure I could go on without her." He paused, not sure he was being heard. "That was a time when I wasn't certain the sun would rise - or that I would've been troubled greatly if it didn't." He searched the Old Man's clouded eyes, wondering if any light remained. "But you know what I finally realized? I realized she would not have wanted me to stop living. Sylvia would not have wanted the life to ooze out of us just because she wasn't here any longer.

"And I think she would be particularly disappointed if we let your dream fail - because of her. I can almost hear her saying the words, 'what a waste – it only compounds the senseless tragedy.' She might have even used stronger words." He replaced the picture and rose, walking to the windows overlooking the spacious gardens in the back. He spoke to the window. "I just don't know what to do. The business is a mess. Tony and Kevin have changed things around so much it's hard to make sense out of it anymore. The staff is desperate. And we've aggravated so many of our best customers and suppliers. We've just lost our way."

Alex fell silent. Outside, in the serene lush gardens, a bright orange butterfly hovered, about to settle on one of the bright yellow black-eyed Susans.

"Those flowers didn't get so beautiful by themselves." The Old Man's voice sounded soft and far away.

Alex turned in surprise, and strained to hear. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."

"I was thinking about those flowers out there, they didn't get that way on their own."

He looked out at the gardens and then back to the Old Man. What was he mumbling about? His family business was falling apart and he's thinking about flowers. Maybe this wasn't going to work.

"It's all part of a complex relationship," the Old Man continued, his voice gaining strength. "I've been watching it. The roots draw nourishment from the soil, then they produce the stem – from which the bud emerges." He paused, eyes fixed on the garden beyond the windows. "Then these bees come buzzing around and mix the pollen, all the while the sun adds energy and the rain brings life-sustaining moisture."

Silence returned. Alex didn't know what to say or do.

After a few moments the Old Man added, "You wonder what might happen if any one of them stopped doing its part."

Alex wondered where this was going. If anywhere.

The Old Man stared up at him. "Tell me."

Alex struggled to find his voice. "Ah, I suppose the plant would die. If any one of the parts withheld what it had to give, the whole thing would fold."

"And the beauty would be lost. As you say, a waste."

Alex still couldn't see any point to the conversation. He turned back to the window.

"So I guess you're telling me it's time for me to get back to doing my part."

Alex turned in surprise. "All I'm saying is - we need you. You're the soul of this business, and we're in desperate need of that right now."

"I'm not sure I have any soul left." He shifted in his chair.

Alex hesitated, then said flatly. "And I think that's a choice you make."

He studied Alex with a strange expression, a mixture of surprise and amusement. "Perhaps." He sat in silence for a moment. "Maybe if I can get off these damn medications we can see if you're right." He smiled for the first time. "Maria," he called out.

The door to the sunroom flew open and a surprised Maria hurried in. "What? Is everything all right?"

Saturday morning Alex and Grace lounged in bed reading the newspaper and sipping fresh coffee. She asked him if there was anything special he wanted to do for the day.

He put down the sports page. "Hum. Would you mind if we took in some shopping?"

Her eyebrows arched in surprise.

"I had fun the last time. I really like those pants I bought. So I was just wondering if we could pick up another pair."

"They don't have clothing stores in Philadelphia?"

"Well, I guess I'm not quite ready to go solo."

She laughed. "Okay, but you have to pick them out." She wrapped her arms around him and pushed him down on his pillow, kissing him in the process. "You know, there's hope for you yet."

Feeling her soft breasts crush against him, he began reorganizing his plans. "Eh, the stores will be open all day, won't they?"

"All day," she replied with a murmur.

By lunch time they had picked out the slacks Alex wanted and a shirt to go with them. Over lunch at a street café on Charles Street he told her about his meetings with Antonio. "It's amazing how he's responded. And good to see those eyes of his sparkle again."

"Is he still taking medication?"

"Some. But a lot less than before. It was making a zombie out of him."

"Maybe the medicine did what it was supposed to do, just gave him the space and time he needed to heal inside."

"That may be. But I'm glad that part is over. In a while I think he'll be back to his old self, and the place will finally return to the way it used to be. Speaking of jobs, how's life as a full time reporter?"

"I'm having the time of my life. Most of the other reporters are a decade younger than me, but it's fun running around to county planning meetings, rushing down to the courthouse, and grabbing interviews along the way. Fast paced and always on deadline." She beamed as she told her stories.

When they left the cafe he suggested they grab an ice cream to celebrate.

# Chapter 30

Alex and Ira began meeting with the Old Man every other day, short sessions at the beginning, then longer more detailed conversations. Alex went over the spreadsheets, explaining the current status of the business, highlighting some of the key trends.

The Old Man studied the sheets, asked questions, and probed the answers. One afternoon he said he noticed an irregularity in the cash balance, but Ira suggested they had more important issues to discuss. The Old Man looked first to Alex then over at Ira, then moved on. Alex felt relieved.

By the third week of meetings, Antonio Colianni declared himself ready to make a visit to the office. The staff was exuberant to hear he planned to come in, and surprised to see him looking so well when he arrived. Maria made a cake and everyone crowded into the conference room to wish him well. Alex glanced around the room during the festivities. Tony and Kevin were conspicuous by their absence.

"It's good to see you all," Antonio said to the group. "I want to thank everyone for the hard work you put in while I've been away." He looked over at Stephanie Crane who was many months pregnant. "Obviously some things have been going well." Everyone laughed. "But I understand there are some things we need to do now to get ourselves back on track. So you're going to be seeing my ugly mug around here more often."

Applause broke out. He raised his hands. "I also want to thank everyone for their patience and understanding. I know it has been trying at times."

Alex noticed the nodding of heads confirming his words. But the smiles were back.

"So have some of Maria's delicious cake," Antonio concluded. "And let's get back to work. Thank you."

After everyone filed out chatting and carrying paper plates of cake, Alex studied the Old Man. Maria helped him adjust his jacket. He appeared pleased to be back, but he looked worn. Maybe he always looked this old and Alex just never noticed. But he sensed there was a difference.

Later, after they had gone Ira asked Alex to join him in his office.

"That went well," Alex said as he sat down and Ira closed the door.

"Yes, it did. But let's be realistic. He's up to coming in and rallying the troops, but I think his days of actually leading this firm are over."

This confirmed Alex's own suspicions. "He did look tired at the end of the meeting. And Tony?"

"With everything that's happened, I don't think Tony's going to be around here much longer. Family is one thing, but even Maria is upset with him, and that's never good."

"Then we need to begin looking for a successor."

"I think he would like you to do it."

"Start the search?"

"No." Ira paused. "Take over."

Alex's mouth went dry.

"You are the logical person."

Alex had never thought of himself as a candidate for leading the company. "Logical? To whom?"

Ira smiled. "Well, to the only people who matter."

"Wow. That's quite a surprise. I think we should give that some careful thought. For a long time."

"Go right ahead...except for the long time part," Ira replied. "I think the sooner the better. We need to take advantage of everyone's good feelings about seeing him here again. Let's not squander that positive energy."

"Ira, look, I'm flattered. I know I'm a pretty good finance guy. I can hold my own with the best of them. But in the other areas..."

Ira held up his hand. "Not to worry. We have good people in those areas. What's important is that someone everyone trusts is sitting in that chair and giving direction to the effort. Antonio can help you think through the strategic issues, he just doesn't have the energy to put them in motion anymore."

"I don't know, Ira. I just don't know."

The following Tuesday evening Angela served ravioli and meatballs. Alex enjoyed the meal as much as the boys seemed to. He pushed his empty plate away. "I don't exercise enough to eat that very often. That was wonderful."

"Glad you liked it."

As he helped clear the dishes off the table, he said, "Say, did I mention I called my brother?" He related the conversation he had had with Eric, attempting to explain his sudden urge to make contact, and even the funny feeling he had when he looked at the picture of Eric, Jessica and the kids. "These are people I don't really know. I saw Jessica at the wedding, but I've never even met the girls."

"But they're still family. Part of the same gene pool, so there's a connection there on some level."

"Guess so. And the odd part is he said he was meaning to call me." He paused. "But I didn't actually plan to do it. I just found myself picking up the phone."

"That's still a plan."

"How so?"

"It doesn't have to be written in your day planner to be a plan. Sometimes the plan is to just show up, and see what happens."

"That's a plan?"

"You don't have to know every detail of what's going to happen, or how it's going to turn out. You just have to own what you intend to do." She smiled at him. "Yes, that's a plan."

He hesitated. "You sound just like Grace. She says I hold back, try to make sure I know what will happen and what everyone thinks."

"I didn't mean to sound like that, I was just...." Angela fell silent.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Am I like that?"

"What am I supposed to say, Alex? I have my own list of personal challenges. I don't keep score on other people."

"I'm sorry. You're right. It's not fair to push you like that."

Her face softened. "I'm really glad you called your brother."

On the drive back to his house Alex reflected on the events of the past few weeks, and the new feelings that seemed to have taken up residence inside him. Not strangers exactly, but clearly a different set of sensations, deeper, bolder, as if he had been fermenting, slowly incubating, and now something had been released, full bodied, like a fledgling bird preparing to test out those new wings. Only this bird came without instructions and left him slightly unprepared. But unlike the hangover after his night of drinking and dancing with Grace, he hoped this wouldn't go away. While he couldn't claim to understand it exactly, he liked the way his new clothes were fitting.

True to his word, Eric called Alex back. Soon they were having bi-weekly conversations, gingerly moving from stiff "hellos" to more genuine discussions.

"You hear much from Mom?" Eric asked one evening.

"Couple of times a year. She still remembers my birthday."

"She getting on okay?"

"Seems to be," replied Alex. "You know, about a year after Dad died she started seeing Gus Flannigan..."

"Old man Flannigan? The one who had the drug store?"

"That's him. Anyway, he had several children, you might recall. Wasn't Megan in your class?"

"Yeah. She was pretty cute. I remember going out with her a couple..."

Alex heard Jessica's voice in the background. "If you're going to start discussing old girlfriends, I'm leaving the room."

"Don't bother," he heard his brother reply, "If we did it'd be such a short conversation it wouldn't be worth it." Then to Alex. "So what about Flannigan and his kids?"

"Well," Alex said, "all those kids stayed in the area and now Flannigan has a slew of grandchildren. Seems to satisfy whatever need Mom has for family."

"Which, as I recall, never seemed like much to begin with."

They discussed their jobs, the kids, how fast life seemed to be draining out of the hourglass. Then Eric asked Alex if he would like to come out for one of the upcoming holidays. "Jessica would love to see you again, and I'd like you to get to know my children."

After a moment's hesitation, Alex agreed. "I'd like that too."

# Chapter 31

Maria called to say Antonio wanted to see him. Alex figured Ira had already relayed his concerns. This time when Maria escorted him into the sun room, he noticed the table was set.

"Come on in," called the Old Man, rising slowly from his chair. "Join me for some of Maria's pasta?"

"That would be a treat," Alex said, holding the chair for Antonio at the table. He turned to Maria. "Been a long time since I've enjoyed your sauce."

"Too long," she replied. "Please sit, I'll bring it in."

"Maria tells me you were very helpful during the terrible time with Anthony and Marco."

"I tried to do what I could to help out. Angela was pretty upset."

He looked out the window. "Sad. Really sad." He turned back to Alex, his eyes moist. "I love those kids. Don't know what I would do if something happened to them."

"I'm hopeful nothing like that will ever happen again."

"Maria also said something about there being some money missing?"

He hesitated. "Missing might not be the exact term for it."

"Let's not beat around the bush here. I've always depended on you to be straight with me."

Alex took a deep breath. They had successfully avoided the subject during earlier discussions when Ira was there, but it looked like the time had come to lay it on the table. "While you were, eh, sick, Tony got himself in some trouble. Had to do with gambling debts. I'm afraid he got in way over his head. So he directed Kevin to use company funds to pay off some of his debts."

The Old Man's face had fallen. "How could that happen?"

"Oh, they were pretty clever about it. Took a lot of digging to uncover the transactions. We can thank Amy for finally unraveling the whole thing."

"And you and Ira were unaware of this?"

"Tony sort of took us out of the loop a while back. Claimed Kevin was his man and needed everything to go through him."

Maria brought in steaming bowls of pasta covered in red sauce and set them on the table. Antonio kissed her hand as she left.

The Old Man looked at the food in front of him and seemed to compose himself. "Bon appétit, and bless the cook." He picked some pasta up on his fork and twirled it against the spoon into a tight ball, then carefully put it in his mouth. "Hum, nectar of the gods, pure nectar."

Alex attempted the maneuver, one he had almost mastered after long practice.

"So...what's happening now?"

"Well, as Maria may have mentioned, we worked out an agreement with her, a way to replace the money by the end of the fiscal year. What you saw the other day is just what's not quite been repaid."

The Old Man let out a long sigh. "I have to tell you, that's enough to ruin good pasta." He pointed his fork at Alex's dish. "Eat up before it gets cold."

They ate in silence for several minutes.

"And what did you think of all this?" the Old Man asked.

"What Tony did?" Alex cleared his throat, hoping he could avoid saying anything negative about Tony. "Well, it was clearly wrong. I know he was desperate, but even so...but, he's in charge. So I do what I can to help him...within reason."

"Sounds like reason went out the door a while ago."

"A lot of changes have been made."

"And you've kept up the 'bible'?"

"I've tried to, so we can reconstruct the original statements for comparison if necessary."

The Old Man smiled. "Figured you might do that. Good job." He sat back in his chair and patted his belly. "Good food; how I've missed that sauce." He wiped his mouth with his napkin. "I'm getting old, Alex. And tired."

"It's been a tough time, sir."

"Maria was convinced Tony would be able to step in and take over. God's truth, I was never so sure. She's always been pretty astute when it comes to people. But he's her son and...anyway, it's pretty obvious he can't."

"That's unfortunate. I know how much the firm and the family means to you."

He stared at Alex. "Do you? I was never quite sure."

"Maybe I'm a little slow to learn some things, sir."

He smiled. "Sometimes life has a way of teaching us things just when we need to know them."

"I think you're right."

Antonio patted his lips with this napkin. "So what do we do?"

"That's up to you. I'll do whatever you and Ira think is best."

"Maybe it's about time you stopped worrying about what we think and set out a plan you think will pull the firm back where it belongs."

This took Alex by surprise.

"Don't tell me you haven't thought about it."

"Well, of course, sir. But..."

"No 'but' about it. What do we need to do?"

"Well..." Alex put down his fork and spoon, struggled to gather his thoughts, then shifted forward in his chair. "First we need to pump up our people....they're a bit lost at the moment. And I'm worried our best people might be thinking about other options. That little gathering in the office the other day was a great beginning." He pushed his plate away and folded his napkin. "Then we should go out and reestablish our relationships with our key suppliers and customers. Reassure them of our intentions, but at the same time tell them we need stronger partnerships. Times are changing, rapidly. And Tony was correct - we need to change some of the ways we do things. Perhaps he got over zealous about it, but the reality is - we can't continue to compete with the model that has served us so well over the years. Conditions in the marketplace just won't allow us that luxury. An acquisition might actually be a good idea, but horizontally, not vertically. That would require us to take on some debt, but when our balance sheet is strong enough...." He looked at the Old Man. "Sorry, you asked for my thoughts."

"Yes, and I expect nothing less." The Old Man took a sip of water. "I can help with the first item. Maybe if I go in and talk to the troops a few more times I can get things moving in the right direction."

"That would be great."

"And a few phone calls might remind some people I'm still alive and kicking."

Alex smiled.

"But the rest of it...well, that will be up to you."

The smile disappeared from Alex's face.

"You know we want you to take over and run the company."

"But...sir...I don't..."

"Stop stammering and listen up. We both know you don't have the marketing and sales experience. But we also know there are good people in those departments to lean on. Take your time and find yourself a top notch VP. You'll need people around you like I had around me, namely Ira and you. So you better get to it."

"Thank you, sir. I don't know what to say."

He studied Alex for a long moment. "Like I said before, life has a way of changing us, and it seems to have worn well on you." He smiled. "And don't thank me. You'll be working your butt off to dig us out of the hole we're in."

"I'm sure we can do it, sir."

"I am too. I am too." He looked at his watch. "After a great meal, there's nothing like a good cigar and a nap." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Maria would never let me have a cigar, so nap time it is. Now run along. You've got work to do."

Alex stood up. "One thing. What about Tony?"

"Don't worry, I'll see to that."

"Yes, sir." As Alex left the room he ran into Maria in the hall. "Thank you for lunch, the pasta was great."

"Off so soon?"

"Seems like I have a few things to attend to."

She smiled, took a step toward him and embraced him with a hug. "Yes, and I'm sure you'll do them quite well."

"I'll see myself out."

As he pulled away from the house his mind was a blur. What just happened?

# Chapter 32

Life had once again presented an unexpected turn. In spite of the daunting task ahead - reestablishing morale in the business, both with the staff as well as with customers and suppliers - Alex found himself looking forward to the effort. On the drive down to Baltimore his mind whipped from one issue to the next, exploring changes in procedures and possible people moves that would bring the firm back to what he considered an even keel.

By the time he reached Grace's apartment he needed to write down several ideas. Over drinks he related the outcome of the recent meeting he had with the Old Man and the things he planned to do to bring the business back.

"Sounds like you have a mission," she said. "But you said yourself, some things needed to change."

"Absolutely, and those things will still need to happen. But the basic tenor of the business, the way we treat each other and our relationship with the customers and suppliers, those need to return to the way they were."

She put her head on his shoulder. "You seem pretty excited."

He smiled. "You mean pretty excited for a bean counter. I never imagined I would ever be faced with this kind of opportunity. It just never entered my head." He kissed her on the forehead. "So enough about me. What's happening in the world of cub reporters?"

"I'm still having fun, though it's harder to write on deadline than when I'm just doing a column. Speaking of deadlines, I need to drive down to Virginia tomorrow to cover a rally outside the Pender County office building."

"On a weekend?"

She sat up. "The news never takes a holiday."

"Thanks, Lois Lane."

"Turns out Virginia's one of a dozen or so states that still has a law on the books prohibiting cohabitation."

"Prohibiting cohabitation? You mean it's illegal to live together?"

"With someone of the opposite sex - unless you're married. Goes back to the old puritan standards; it was considered lewd and lascivious."

"Hard to believe a law like that is still on the books."

"In this case, the County Sheriff's department is using that old law to dismiss a young female deputy."

"Wow. Is someone trying to change the law?"

"There are legal challenges working their way through the courts, but the legislators don't seem too worked up about it. That's what the rally is about."

The next day Alex accompanied Grace on the field trip forty-five minutes south into rural Virginia. They stopped at a country kitchen for lunch then arrived at the county office complex just as the rally was getting under way. Several people in the crowd carried signs, one read: "Roses are red, violets are blue, we're all here from the ACLU." Someone had printed a computer-generated banner calling for the government to stay out of people's bedrooms. The banner was being carried along the front of the group as they approached the office building.

The Sheriff's department had stationed patrolmen between the crowd and the building. A uniformed officer had a bull horn. When Alex and Grace managed to work themselves toward the front of the crowd, the bull horn spoke to the crowd. "Please go home. The County Offices are closed today. This is an illegal demonstration."

Someone in the crowd shouted, "We won't leave until you reinstate Officer Tandy."

"I repeat, this is an illegal demonstration," bellowed the horn. "If you have a complaint, please call your county commissioner or the Sheriff's office during business hours."

"You're saying we can't live together. You're not my parents," a young man yelled. The crowd laughed.

"I'm saying you have to go home," repeated the bull horn.

"We want to talk to Sheriff Coughlin," shouted the man holding one end of the banner. "We saw him go in his office."

"Offices are closed today. You must go home."

"We want Coughlin! We want Coughlin!" The chant was picked up by the crowd.

Some members in the middle of the crowd began to push forward. "Let's go inside! Let's go see Coughlin!"

Alex felt the pressure of bodies behind him. He and everyone else were being moved forward. The people holding the banner were pushed ahead, pressing the banner into one of the officers. In response the officer grabbed the banner, tore it out of the hands of those holding it, crumpled it up in a ball and threw it down on the ground.

"Stand back! Stand back!" shouted the officer with the bull horn. "You need to go home."

But the crowd continued to chant. "We want Coughlin! We want Coughlin!"

Alex looked at Grace. She was shouting with the crowd, her eyes ablaze. Soon the crowd had pushed to the edge of the steps leading up to the office building. The chanting went on. Alex saw an officer scamper into the office complex.

A few minutes later a man appeared at the office door. A cheer went up from the crowd.

"That must be the Sheriff," Alex shouted to Grace.

The man took the bull horn and stepped to the front of the crowd.

"You've been asked to leave. This is an illegal demonstration."

"Why did you fire Officer Tandy?" someone in the crowd shouted.

"I don't make the laws, I just enforce them," replied the Sheriff.

A chorus of boos rose from the crowd.

"Now you must go home," repeated the voice over the bull horn.

The crowd, while not big, was determined. A few people had left but most of the group that had been there when Alex and Grace arrived remained in full voice. "Reinstate Tandy! Reinstate Tandy!"

The Sheriff seemed flustered by the confrontation. "Please go home!" he shouted through the bull horn. "Please go home! This is an illegal demonstration!"

But the chanting went on. The Sheriff huddled with his officers. He then turned away from the crowd and went back into the building to a louder round of boo's.

The officer remaining in charge took the bull horn. "Everyone must leave. The Sheriff has left instructions that anyone who comes up these steps will be arrested."

The crowd fell silent. It was as if the use of that word had struck a nerve. Alex couldn't remember being in any such demonstration since he was in college. After a few tense moments one person tentatively stepped up on the first step.

"Stand back!" blared the bull horn. "Anyone coming up the stairs will be arrested!"

"Now they've done it!" shouted Grace. "That was like a red flag!" She was trying to write in her pad while being jostled by the crowd around her.

Soon three more people stepped onto the stairs. Officers came over to the three and began to urge them to return to the crowd.

"Sit down," someone close by yelled. Alex turned and saw it was Grace.

The crowd picked up on the call. "Sit down! Sit down!"

The three on the steps turned to the crowd, raised their hands to the sky, then sat down on the stone steps, leaving the officers standing there. The officers looked befuddled. Alex saw the leader speaking into the radio on his shoulder. Soon a few more people began stepping up the stairs, sitting down.

Alex took Grace's arm. "Let's move out of the way."

She turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"This is getting out of hand. You have your story, now we can leave."

Her eyes blazed. "But I want to go up there."

"Grace, you don't need to do this."

The crowd had grown quiet, as if holding their collective breath to see what would happen next. After a few moments a large van with "Police" written on the side appeared from behind the building. People started booing loudly.

Grace started moving toward the front.

Alex grabbed her arm. "Where are you going?" He had to shout for her to hear him. "You don't have to make every injustice your own personal crusade. You're here as a reporter, remember?"

The officers began arresting the few people who had sat down on the stairs. The rest of the crowd stood transfixed. The bull horn kept asking people to disperse.

Finally, Grace pulled her arm away, but accompanied Alex to the edge of the crowd. She stood furiously making notes in her pad. Gradually the excitement ended. Alex figured six people had been detained but the rest of the crowd slowly dispersed. After watching the action for another ten minutes it appeared the officers were releasing those who had been arrested after taking down some information.

Most of the trip back to Baltimore passed in silence. Finally Grace said, "So you didn't want me to get arrested?"

"You're a reporter. I thought you were supposed to report the news, not make it."

"I didn't forfeit my right to have an opinion," she replied.

"There are less obvious ways to have one – less dramatic than becoming part of an impromptu sit-in."

"People have to demonstrate their outrage when something like this happens."

He looked over at her. "Life is full of sixty-forty issues. You can't take every one of them on."

"You think this is a coin flip?"

They approached her apartment complex. "No, but it's an old law, and the process of law will resolve it. You said yourself there are cases moving through the courts."

"But if enough people protest maybe their representatives will wake up and repeal the law."

"Maybe, but in the meantime we have to live within the existing laws, or fight to change them - within the system."

They pulled up in front.

"How about we wander over to the ice cream shop and argue which one is the best," he said.

"That something you're willing to take a stand on?"

"Very funny."

Later, as he watched her luscious figure flutter around the kitchen preparing another Thai meal he would enjoy but be unable to pronounce, he couldn't help reflecting on the day's events.

As if reading his mind, she cocked her head, her hair falling across her face. "You still worrying I was going to get myself locked up?"

The twinkle in her eye told him she was at least partially kidding. "No, just wondering if I have enough bail money to get you out."

"You really know how to pamper a girl."

Their lovemaking that night took on a raw physical quality, as if the tension of the day was being exorcized through the passions of their undulating bodies. As they lay panting afterward she said, "I like it when you get all worked up."

"Yeah, well, maybe we need to think about a defibrillator."

She leaned over his body tracing the features of his face with her finger. "I'm going to jump in the shower. Want to join me?"

"No. I think I'll just lie here and count my heartbeats for a while."

He rolled over and sank his face into the warm spot she had left behind. He listened to the noise of the water splashing, imagining the droplets running down her sensuous body. He threw back the sheet and headed for the shower.

# Chapter 33

Sara was now in Paris with Neil. Alex had had dinner with them shortly before the trip. He seemed like a nice young man, rather intense to Alex's way of thinking, but they displayed a sweet chemistry that made Alex smile. So she had gone off on her adventure with his good wishes and her solemn promise to stay in touch and to come right home if things didn't work out. Her subsequent e-mails assured him of her well being. On that front at least, he was happy for the distraction of the business.

Even Chad's life had taken on a new direction, with a new lady. "She's a lovely gal who seems to actually understand me," he said. "Name's Isabel. She even laughs at my jokes."

"She's probably just humoring you."

"Maybe so, but it's working. Anyway, we're having a good time. Whit says you got things worked out with your land scam."

"He's a pretty sharp lawyer. Did a good job. I may have to take on a second job to cover the cost of everything, but it worked out about as well as could be expected. Thanks for recommending him."

"Glad to be of service. And how are things with you and Grace?"

"Still more complicated than my feeble brain can manage."

"Just think of it as another chapter in a long story."

"True. But the story's way more intricate than I ever expected."

"That, old boy, is what keeps you turning the pages."

Days and weeks began to fly by as Alex became absorbed in the details of the business. He conducted a series of meetings with small groups of employees, feedback sessions he called them, to hear concerns and suggestions. One-on-one meetings with senior staff provided him with some interesting and sometimes surprising insights into their ideas for improvements and an understanding of their personal goals and objectives. At the end of the process he worked with Ira to stage a full day workshop for the department leaders to outline revised business objectives and specific plans for the near future.

While the mood in the office began to return to normal, the challenges of the business on the street offered a more severe test. The bottom line continued to struggle under the pressure of competition. Alex followed the financials as always, now relying on Amy for much of the input. The spreadsheets spoke in a dispassionate language free of emotional coloring, and the story it told was not pretty. He considered the subtle forces at play in the margins. Pressure on prices from large conglomerates, slower growth in sales due to stiffer competition, rising costs intruding on profit margins – in the face of all these, it didn't take much of a guru to read the tea leaves.

The business had taken over his waking moments. Alex felt cut off from the spare time he had taken for granted. He imagined the fish swimming near his newly acquired mountain cabin were growing large in his forced absence. Between planning meetings and often delayed trips to see Grace on weekends, little else existed for him.

Under the busy surface bubbled a sense of self-discovery that was becoming his new companion, exemplified by several nuances in his life, none more dramatic than his acceptance of Sara's choice to leave. One night when he managed to squeeze in a dinner with Angela and the boys he tried to explain it.

"It's pretty strange. I've been having these...ah...sensations. That's not a very good word for it, but it's about the best I can come up with. But things sort of play out in my mind when I'm not even thinking about them, at least not deliberately, kind of a percolation process goes on."

"Sounds like someone composing a piece of music."

"Then at least then I'd have something to show for it." He smiled. "I told you I didn't have the words for it."

"Sorry, go on."

"Well, then suddenly an answer pops into my mind. Weird."

She laughed. "Usually men get all insecure and bent out of shape when women talk about such feelings."

"What do you mean?"

"The sensation you're describing is what some people try to label as women's intuition. Maybe you're getting in touch with your feminine side."

He looked at her for moment. "I guess I'm okay with that as long as I don't have to pierce any body parts or wear rings on my toes."

"Very funny."

"So what am I supposed to do with it...this intuition thing?"

"My advice...just learn to trust it."

"That's the hard part – 'cause it's scary." But deep inside he was already feeling more comfortable with the notion, and wondering where that kind of thinking had been hiding his whole life. There was an almost childish sense of abandon associated with it.

Angela had asked him over to discuss some ideas for her prospering music business. After dinner she showed him her calculations. "It's not a lot, but it does make ends meet. And allows me to do some things for the boys I wouldn't be able to just on my teaching salary."

He couldn't help but notice how she held her shoulders as she talked about her piano students. The money from the lessons was clearly contributing to her sense of independence. She mentioned starting a college fund for both the boys. He told her it would also help her at tax time.

"I know there's going to come a day - even more expensive than all these soccer shoes and uniforms," she said. "I want them to have that regardless of what happens to me."

"That's good thinking. And, as you get more comfortable with this, maybe some life insurance might be in order, just for that purpose. When the boys get older you can drop it, but in the meantime, it would give you peace of mind."

Over coffee and peach cobbler she said, "You're not the only one with some new ideas. My intuition has been telling me I should be thinking about selling this big old house."

He couldn't hide his surprise.

"Not for a few years yet," she continued. "When the boys are a little older. But that would finally get me out from under his thumb. Otherwise I expect one of these days he'll just sell it out from under us."

"He'd never do that."

"I agree he might not mean to. Even Tony's not that much of a shmuck. But it's usually the law of unintended consequences that bites us."

Alex thought about what she had said. "Well, if you decide to do it..."

"I know - he'll put up a big stink. Probably has it hocked to high heaven anyway."

"What I was going to say was, I know a great lawyer who can help. This guy is a hell of a negotiator. He helped me out of that mess up in the mountains."

"What mess? You said you were just planning to build a place up there."

"Let's just say I foolishly let myself get into a bit of a pickle because of that guy I was doing business with."

"Jeff Wingate? The one who owns the cabin?"

"Yeah. Tony's old buddy. And he _owned_ the cabin. But not anymore."

"What happened?"

"Now it's mine."

A big smile came over her face. "Good for you. You always seemed so relaxed up there."

"And boy, I could really use some time up there now."

# Chapter 34

Feeling comfortable in a job, Alex came to realize, begins with feeling comfortable in one's own skin. All of his life he had been worrying about being found out, discovered as a fraud, never knowing enough or being smart enough to actually qualify for what he was doing.

He supposed it began with pleasing parents, satisfying teachers, seeking acceptance from friends, teammates, and the like. Then trying to convince someone to spend their life with you, learning to care for that person, trying to make her happy. Always needing to prove himself. He had never spent much time thinking about it, too busy doing it, but where does it end? When does a person focus on his own needs? After a lifetime of worrying about what other people want, does he even know what his needs are? The clock was tick-tocking his life away, and he was still trying to figure it out.

But almost magically he found those insecurities melting away. Could it be part of getting older? Should be some compensation for everything else wearing out. Or maybe he was just molting like a crab getting a bigger shell. Perhaps the vote of confidence from the Old Man and Ira did it. Whatever, he felt much more secure in his outlook. Could be Grace, she seemed immune to that nagging worry about how others thought. Sometimes recklessly so, in his opinion. But she seemed clear about the star she was following. And always had been.

There had to be a balance. Sure there were lifelong frat boys who never seemed to grow up, maintaining a firm grip on just having fun. But the opposite was no better, watching life pass by without ever diving into the deep end, chancing it all for your passion and dream. Was there a way to merge what one wanted or even needed, and still be sensitive to the needs of those you cared about, or loved? Alex was coming to realize that if he monitored closely what his body felt he could find that balance. Maybe that was what "gut-feel" was all about. Sounded pretty woo-woo to him. All he knew was that all of this was morphing into something new. No telling where it was going, but he felt less regret, less sorry for things past.

This included a renewed trust in others. He was growing more confident in his staff. Gary Cavanaugh, a twelve year veteran with the firm, headed up the marketing group for NMS. He stopped by Alex's office late in the afternoon.

Alex looked up from his papers.

"Ah, I was just on my way out, but..." Cavanaugh paused. "I know you've only been on the job a little while, and..."

Alex pointed to a chair. "Okay, so what's up?"

"Well, I was having dinner with Mason Campbell the other day at the National Suppliers Conference. He's my counterpart at Midwest. It was just a casual sort of thing he arranged. But after we chatted awhile he let on that they might be interested in talking to us about doing some sort of partnership."

"What sort of partnership?"

"Didn't get too specific. Just sort of tossed it out there."

"And you've been giving it some thought?"

"Actually, yes. Doing a little research and running some numbers. Looks like they're in about the same position we are in terms of sales. Probably struggling with a lot of the same stuff too." He pulled some papers from his briefcase. "From what I can gather, they don't really compete with us at all. They have a niche position in their geographical region, much like we have here. We both compete with the big guys coming in nationally."

"And?"

"Well, I was thinking maybe, if we were to somehow combine our efforts, take advantage of our inventory control system, fold in their customer base, but reduce overhead by streamlining the combined support functions, we could both derive a huge benefit on the cost side." He glanced down at his notes.

"You think we should consider doing some sort of a, what did he call it? A partnership with them?"

"It's possible. And I think maybe he was sent to float the balloon out there to see if we're interested."

Alex pushed back in his chair. Tony had concluded NMS had to expand to succeed. He had gone in the wrong direction, but Alex recognized at the time the basic conclusion might be correct. "You have a good feeling about Midwest?"

"The contact I've had with them has always been first rate. I think they're a publicly owned company now, but originally it was a family thing too."

Later that evening Alex sat at his desk at home lost in thought. Where did clear deductive reasoning end and the unnatural emergence of insight begin? Rational thought had been his hallmark. A lifelong pattern of careful planning, thinking things through logically, struggling to understand the merits and to uncover the soft points. Now, after all this time, sudden flashes of what? Moments of clarity? Very unsettling.

Equally surprising to him was his willingness to listen to them. "I think some of Grace is definitely rubbing off on me," he muttered to himself.

But the most surprising flash of all had to do with Grace herself. He had been seeing her since the reunion, and the whole time weaving together in his head – logic, emotion, and that X factor Angela called intuition - until a clear image was now forming, like an old Polaroid picture. Blurry images gradually turning crystal clear.

But could he trust it? And could he bring himself to act on it?

# Chapter 35

Over the years Alex had read articles suggesting that finding a successful merger partner depended as much on compatible egos as it did on suitable balance sheets. Outright acquisitions were simpler, at least less delicate. The alpha company swooped in and exerted complete control over the purchased organization, usually shattering careers, cultures, and often diminishing whatever inherent value the newly acquired company had had in the first place. In the wake of such takeovers analysts seldom found the promised synergy of the prospectus. But that was the dominant ethos in American business culture.

But neither NMS nor Midwest Supply were in a position to purchase the other outright. So a more cautious dance had to take place. After learning of Midwest's possible interest, Alex discussed the idea with Ira.

"I've been going over the numbers and talking to our marketing and sales guys. I just don't see a lot of alternatives. If we keep going the way we're going, things will just keep slipping."

"So you think a merger makes sense?" asked Ira.

"With someone, yes. Whether Midwest Supply is the right partner, I don't know. But it's a good place to start looking. Even if it doesn't work out in the end, it will be an educational waltz around the floor."

Ira studied the spreadsheets Alex had brought along. "Can't argue with you."

"Will the Old Man?"

"That's a tougher sell. This is their baby, always has been. He and Maria think of these employees as family. So we'd better do some more homework before we present the idea to them."

"I've pulled everything I can from the public records. I think it's time to ask Cavanaugh to pass a message back through his contact that we'd entertain a discussion."

Ira handed the papers to Alex. "Then we'll see what happens."

And so they waited.

Two weeks later Cavanaugh brought back word that the president of Midwest was going to be in Washington for a meeting. They wondered if Alex might be willing to fly down and meet him for dinner.

Ira and Alex scheduled a meeting with Antonio and Maria shortly after Alex's dinner with Hector Rodriguez, the head of Midwest Supply. The discussion had been preliminary but Alex came away convinced that there was enough mutual benefit to warrant further talks. He decided it was time to bring the company owners into the conversation.

"The Campbell family started Midwest a few years after you started NMS. In the early nineties the family decided to take the company public. So now a couple of the sons sit on the board, but the company is publicly held. Looks like the majority of stock not controlled by the family or the employees is owned by institutional investors - pension funds."

"That's a good sign," added Ira. "That shows there is confidence on the street for the firm."

"They approached us?" asked the Old Man.

"Yes. Let word out to us through Cavanaugh at a suppliers' meeting."

Maria spoke up for the first time. "We've been able to stand on our own for a long time now. We never had to get into those crazy bidding wars for companies, or expand beyond our limits. Never before. Why do you want us to do something like this now?"

Alex stared into her stern eyes. "You're right. We've never wanted to, or had to before. But times have changed. The business climate for this service has changed dramatically. And I have to admit that Tony was the first one to recognize it." He saw the surprised look on her face. "He chose to go in what I think was the wrong direction, trying to buy a supplier, but the idea was sound. We need to leverage our technical capacities in a bigger market arena."

"I agree, Maria." Ira shifted forward in his seat. "I know this is hard to think about. But if we don't do something, from what Alex has showed me, I think our options will become even more limited in the future. We need to act, and soon."

Alex watched the Old Man's eyes. He seemed to be staying with the conversation, though he appeared as tired as Alex had ever seen him.

"I don't like it," said the Old Man. "I never wanted to do these things, you know that." He took a deep breath. "But I am an old man now, and must look to you for guidance." His eyes moved first to Ira and then shifted to Alex. "And trust that you have done everything you can to keep the business going strong." He paused. "So do what you feel you have to do. That's what we put you there for. Just one thing. Protect our employees – they are family."

"Yes, sir. I will." Alex looked to Maria. "I'm sorry it has to be this way."

She patted his hand. "I know. It's sad all the same."

So began a series of more definite and concrete discussions between the two companies. Sometimes Cavanaugh and Alex would fly out to Chicago to meet with representatives; other times they would talk at neutral sites like Washington. Given the visibility of the firm and the rumor mill in Philadelphia, Ira suggested the meetings not take place locally.

Alex met regularly with Ira to review the progress of the talks and to seek advice particularly regarding how the equity of NMS could be handled.

Sitting with Ira in his living room on a warm summer evening surrounded by a splendid display of African violets, Alex said, "You know, sooner or later word of this is going to leak out. I've been away quite a bit, and eventually the due diligence is going to draw more of our staff into the discussion."

"I suppose."

"Well, I remember how paralyzing it was on productivity when Tony got involved with bidding on that company. Rumors practically stopped work in the office. People seemed to get lost in speculation about what would happen to their jobs, their retirement accounts, and any number of important personnel issues."

"So what do you suggest?"

"My natural inclination is to share as much information with the organization as possible as soon as possible in order to fend off that kind of result. Yet I can see the need to balance any disclosure internally with the shroud of secrecy that always surrounds this type of negotiation. It's a puzzle."

"And the fact that they are a publicly owned company, there are SEC regulations about letting this sort of information out." Ira thought for a moment. "But maybe we can signal the organization that something like this might occur in the future. And help them understand how important it might be for us to do it."

"You mean tell them but don't tell them."

"Sort of."

At the next senior staff meeting he announced that as a business strategy, a small team would be formed to evaluate possible candidates for purchase or merger, letting the organization know this possibility existed, but offering no specifics as to which particular business would be targeted. He took pains to emphasize the advantage of such a move to bolster NMS's flagging business profile.

He hoped that if everyone could gradually recognize the need and value of such a move, and they would get comfortable with the concept without focusing on any specific threat, productivity would remain strong.

Once again human nature operated outside the logic of the spreadsheet. Almost immediately the conversation around the water cooler turned to what-ifs. Speculation about which companies might be considered and what might happen internally as a result gripped the air. And in his new role as the head of the organization, Alex was far removed from the content of those whispered conversations.

"I don't get it," he said to Ira. "If we keep it a secret, then rumors get started, like before, but if we tell them, the same result happens."

"It's natural. People don't like change; it scares them, especially when they have so little control over the outcome. Most of us are very risk-adverse. But change is inevitable. We just choose not to notice."

"But there's a risk in everything we do, right? They go skiing - to me that's a terrible risk; they climb mountains, go on blind dates, get married - these are really risky activities."

Ira laughed. "Sure they are, but those are things people do by their own choice. The general rule of risk-taking is that our tolerance is inversely proportional to the amount of control we have in the decision making. If we feel we have a lot of say about it, we tend to tolerate a great deal of risk."

"Well, how do we keep everyone focused on their jobs?"

"You can't fight human nature," Ira replied. "You decided to give them enough information to help them get ready for the possible event of a merger - if and when it happens. That's the best you can do. The speculation will die down soon enough; it's their way of exorcising their demons."

"These talks are moving along pretty fast. You think Antonio and Maria are on board?"

Ira rubbed his chin. "I've told them everything, every step of the way. But it's a pretty emotional situation for them. This has been an integral part of their lives for a very long time. And even with the unhappy events of the recent past, they still think of this as their extended family. It may be hard for them to let it go." Ira turned to his protégé. "So where are we on management structure?"

"They have been pretty closed-mouth about that. Mostly focused on markets, customer lists, and balance sheet issues."

"It's going to come up eventually. Have to have a structure."

"True. Figure it'll get decided in its time."

Ira paused. "And so how do you feel about it?"

"Me? About the merger?" Alex placed his hand on the stack of documents they had been reviewing. "I think this is as good a partnership as we could hope for. We bring a lot of technical knowhow which will clearly help them in inventory control. And they have some good marketing techniques Cavanaugh is impressed with. So maybe a win-win."

"And?"

"What?"

"In any merger there is a struggle for control at the top. The functional groups will get consolidated, there's a natural reduction in the combined forces, that's just how the economics work, but at the top..."

"Listen," Alex held up his hand. "I have no problem there. I never wanted this job in the first place. Though I have to admit, I've enjoyed it more than I thought I would. But if they have a strong capable CEO, fine. I assume I'll still have some valuable role to play."

"You're sure?"

"Ira, you've known me a long time. What do you think?"

"You've changed a lot over the last couple of years. In positive ways, don't get me wrong. Just wanted to be sure you understood the back game."

"Look, the way I figure it, if I can be magnanimous in the power department, they will be more willing to negotiate about some of the other department heads, and that will help our people more."

Ira smiled. "I think you're right. And maybe I can finally dedicate more time to my gardening."

Alex put his arm on Ira's. "It won't be the same without you around."

"Nothing is ever the same, ever."

# Chapter 36

That phrase kept echoing in Alex's head as the week progressed, "Nothing is ever the same." With the week's efforts behind him, and no meetings for the weekend, Friday night he headed down to see Grace. Despite the turmoil at work, the possible merger, the pressing financials, he had been thinking about her a lot lately, like a back story in a novel, moving along almost unseen. And now he found himself eager to move forward. Nothing is ever the same, Ira had said, change was the natural circumstance of life. Alex had come to recognize his own difficulty with that concept most of his life, hiding away as best he could. His life with Sylvia had provided a natural cover, but since she died, he had been forced to grow accustomed to a much more dynamic world. And his tutor and guide on the journey, the lovely Grace was about as dynamic as they came.

Once he arrived in Baltimore he went to the fish store and picked up some fresh salmon, her favorite. Grabbed a pint of bourbon and figured, with all the Thai recipes she prepared, she'd have soy sauce and brown sugar in the house. He planned to do some grilling.

She seemed delighted with his choice and made some lemon risotto to go with it.

After a sumptuous meal and a half bottle of pinot grigio, Alex found himself immersed in one of their repeated discussions about treading on boundaries.

"It really gets to me," she was saying. "These newspapers have to be more forceful, and not shy away from the tough stuff."

"These newspapers," he responded, "are in business to make money, and therefore they need to sell advertising. If they put in all the stuff you want - and piss off the whole world, who will buy that precious space around the news print?"

"I know, I know. But there's such a need for more honest reporting. I've always imagined a fourth estate that caters to no one, who serves as the vigilant representative of the people, ferreting out corruption and wrongdoing. Otherwise, what's the use? Just another spin doctor, chasing truth away with rationalizing words? Don't need more of that, do we?"

"That's very noble, and you can aspire to that goal. Meanwhile someone needs to pay the electric bill. So the editorial staff strives to find a balance."

"As long as it's a politically-correct balance."

"That's not really fair, is it? I know you want to be out there rooting out every evil, but you said yourself, they give you some good stuff to go after."

She put down her glass of wine. "Most of it is the same old issues. What use is there in opening up doors to rooms you've already been in? I want the excitement that lies behind the ones you've never opened."

"But those rooms are dark."

"Exactly, and so I want to go in, look around, see what's hiding there." She turned to him. "So, if you're the editor, which one do you choose? Which one sets your heart to racing, brings your blood to a boil?"

"I don't imagine I'd make a very good editor. Can't spell or write well enough. Besides, even if I was, you wouldn't like my choices, I'm not fearless like you."

Her eyes widened. "I'm not fearless. I have my demons just like the next person. Besides, fearless people are dangerous."

"Call it what you like, I guess I'm not one of those caped superheroes who jumps into the fray, fearing nothing."

"That's great in comic books, but don't you think real heroes are people who manage to move forward in spite of their fears? They act with conviction while burdened with the angel of darkness whispering in their ears."

"Very poetic. You ought to use that."

"I think someone already did."

He laughed.

"Anyway," she went on, "someone once wrote that those are the ones we should look up to – the ones who go in, despite their fears - for they walk a noble path and make the way safer for the rest of us."

"It all sounds good, but I rest comfortably in the sweet embrace of what I know, and what brings me happiness. I don't need to hang off a bridge to get thrills." He took her hand. "Is this so terrible that you feel the need to rush into another room?"

She sat staring at him a long time. "No, this is wonderful, I admit. Just not enough." She got up and walked to the window. "It's probably hard for you to understand, what it's been like to be a woman in this society." She turned toward him. "We were brought up in the fifties, conditioned to be subservient, creatures of normalcy, our wings clipped early to conform to the expected. Our value was just our exterior surfaces." She waved her hand. "And what we could do for men. They tried to wean out of us anything that was impulsive, and replaced it with the bland wooden bleachers for spectators, leaving passion and excitement to the characters of novels or the images on a big screen...or you boys out on the playing field." She turned back to the window. "I want it back! I've always wanted it."

He smiled. "And so it goes, ever the warrior. I just wonder if you'll ever know when you've won?" He stood up. "Grace, most of those battles are over. Look at young women today. You should meet my Sara. They're confident, posed, courageous...." He stopped, and went over to where she was standing, the crystal clear picture bright before his mind's eyes. "You know, we are about as different as two people can be. So different – and yet you've shown me so much. How can I ever repay you?"

She looked at him strangely. "What an odd thing to say."

"You're absolutely right. You've been right all along. I've lived my life trying to please everyone...trying to fulfill other people's expectations. And you've shown me...." He laughed. "No, that's not strong enough...you forced me...to listen to my own voice, to find the courage to go into those dark places." He paused, then as if thinking out loud. "The difference, I think, is that you want so much more. But I'm still burdened with all the old doubts and insecurities. Better, much better, I'll admit. And that's fantastic. But that's who I am, Grace. And at this stage of the game, that's about all I'm going to be. I can see now how much I've missed, and I want to live again, maybe for the first time. But my courage has limits, yours doesn't." He took her by the shoulders. "It just wouldn't work. I would always be falling behind, slowing you down. You live in the sunshine, surfing over the waves with ease. I could never quite do that, and it would be difficult for both of us. You deserve someone who is as brave as you are."

Her wet eyes met his. "But I love you. Most people only get one chance in a lifetime...but we got two. Let's not let it..."

"And I love you. I always will. But, as you said, maybe that's just not enough. You asked me to be honest, with myself first, and then with you." He stared into her glistening eyes. "I don't want to disappoint you, or hurt you..."

She brushed away a tear. "Damn! I shouldn't be crying. I should be happy – for you. It's my own damn fault for getting so invested in...I told myself I wouldn't."

He put his arms around her and drew her close. He felt sad, but relieved at the same time.

She pulled away, and smiled through her tears. "This would make a terrible novel. Girl loses boy, girl gets boy back, then loses boy again."

He kissed her on the forehead. "I think I should go. Thank you for everything."

She reached up and kissed him on the lips. "I don't know what to say. I'm stunned."

"Goodbye, Grace." Then he left her apartment.

On the expressway, he found himself anxious, speeding around other drivers. Out of the chaos emerged one more moment of clarity. He felt the need to call, to hurry home or maybe stop at a rest area. He sped on. As soon as he arrived home and got inside he reached for the phone to call her. Then put it down. He changed his clothes, picked up the phone again, once again putting it down. Popped a beer and channel surfed the television. But he couldn't sit still. Finally, he picked up the phone and hit the numbers. Yes, he concluded, there were things worth taking chances for.

It rang several times, he was afraid he'd get the machine. She picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi."

"Alex? What a surprise. Is everything all right? I thought you were going down to Baltimore this..."

"Everything's fine. Matter of fact, everything's great!" He tried to calm his breathing. "Angela, listen, I have a plan. I know this is last minute and everything, but are you busy? Looks like it's going to be a beautiful weekend. I thought we might run up to the cabin."

There was a hesitation on the other end of the line. "But Alex, Tony has the kids this weekend."

"I know."

He could picture her soft features as she worked through this in her mind.

"Really?" she said.

"Really," he replied.

"But what about..."

"Grace? Well, it's a long story, but at the moment I would say that my time with her has been incredibly helpful. She helped me shed a lot of baggage and learn some really interesting things about myself. I am grateful to her. But I also realize that is not where my heart is."

There was silence at the other end of the line. Alex went on, "Listen, I'm not trying to force you into anything; I only know that I'm the happiest when I'm around you and the boys. I respect and admire you..... And I realize you may not be interested in anything other than being good friends, and I'm okay with that too. I'll be disappointed, but I'll still always be there for you."

She laughed. "Can you imagine what she would say?"

"Who? Oh, Maria. Yes, I know. But one thing I've learned from all of this is that I've spent too much of my life concerned about what other people think." He paused. "It would almost be worth it just to see the look on her face."

"You are full of surprises today."

"If you would be more comfortable, maybe we could just have dinner tomorrow night."

"No," she said.

His heart fell.

After a pause that felt like eons, she added, "No, let's go to the cabin. That sounds like fun."

"You sure?"

"Maybe we can we catch some fish?"

He laughed. "Could be. Without Marco's early warning system of throwing rocks into the lake, they won't have a chance."

# Epilog

Three months later...

The surface of the water was like a mirror reflecting the surrounding trees and brilliant blue sky. Away from shore a fish jumped making a splash sending ripples out in all directions. Marco was studying his red and white bobber floating in the water. Alex stood nearby holding his own pole.

"Uncle Alex?'

"Yeah Marco."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure. What about?"

"I'm confused...about you and Mom."

Alex took a couple of steps closer to Marco. "Me too sometimes," he replied.

Marco looked up with a surprised look on his face. With a smile beginning at the corner of his mouth, Alex added, "So you tell me what is confusing for you and I'll tell you what is confusing for me, okay?"

"Sure."

They stood for a couple more moments.

"So you're my uncle, and I already have a dad...."

"That's true. And I never want to replace your dad. He'll always be your dad, no matter what. He's pretty busy with other stuff at the moment and so if I can be helpful to you guys and your mom, then I think it's a good thing." Alex waited to see if Marco would go on. "You remember Aunt Sylvia?"

"I think so, she was pretty strict, right?"

Alex suppressed a laugh. "Yes, she was. Anyway, she was my wife, but she died a few years ago. We had a daughter, who is your cousin Sara."

"I like Sara. She used to play with us. But we don't see her anymore. Where is she?"

"She's living in Paris, France at the moment."

"Is she coming back?" Marco asked.

"That's a whole other topic I'm confused about, Marco. Let's stick to this one for a while."

"But if she's your daughter don't you want her to be here?"

"That's complicated. I love her very much. So I want her to be happy, right?"

"I suppose."

"So I want her to do what makes her happy, and for now that means she needs to be living in Paris. I know that sounds strange. And it took me a very long time to figure that out for myself."

Marco's bobber started to bounce. He pulled on the pole but after a few tugs the bobber stopped moving.

"I think you need to pull quicker, Marco."

"Okay," he replied. "So about you and Mom..."

"Yes, so she makes me very happy, and I hope I make her happy. And while it's not fair to ask you guys to try and figure this out, we hope our being together will make you happy too. So as long as that doesn't hurt anyone else, we think our being together is the right thing to do." Alex waited a moment for Marco to process that. "Does that make any sense to you?"

"I guess." Marco pulled hard on his pole. But still nothing was hooked. "I like it that Mom's not sad all the time anymore."

"You think she's gotten better at arcade games?"

Marco burst out laughing. "She's horrible." Then he added in a more serious voice, "But I knew that was never what was wrong." After a long silence Marco turned to Alex and asked, "Do you love my Mom?"

Alex leaned down on one knee so he was eye level with Marco. "I sure do, and you and your brother too."

"I guess that's the answer then, right?"

"Yes, Marco, I think that is the answer."

###

# Acknowledgements:

Writers spend a lot of time alone creating stories, but no one produces a book alone. So, I want to thank all those who helped me with this book in ways large and small. This includes the writers group at UUFR who generously offered feedback and suggestions on various parts of the story, and especially Claire Drehmel for her excellent editing and constructive observations.

And of course, my wife Susan. Much of the credit for this book, and for most of what I've managed to accomplish in my adult life, goes to her. Words fail to express the gratitude I feel to her, and for her.

# About the author:

T. J. Silverio writes about diverse topics, from the ethical dilemma of genetic research to the mysteries of Stonehenge, but within each story his characters struggle with the complex issues of love, integrity and reality. His imagination takes him on journeys beyond our "circles of certainty," where he claims both adventure and wisdom reside. He resides with his wife Susan in Raleigh, NC.

For more info on the author go to tjsilverio.com

### Other books by T. J. Silverio:

Lifespan ISBN 987-1-4958-0041-2

Turning Stones ISBN 978-0-7414-7140-6

