Chapter Twenty-Seven: Sunday, January 1, 2006, New York
…
Eric closed his eyes and counted to ten while Simon went to get the door. Coming here hadn't been Eric's idea, but Annie had insisted. So, he'd asked Lucy to handle the sermon on her own and caught the first flight out of Glen Oak. Eric had desperately wanted to believe his wife was over-reacting.
She wasn't.
Simon was moving.
To New York.
To be with some girl barely older than Ruthie, a girl he would probably break up with before the end of the year (please Lord?) because what could he possibly have in common with a fifteen-year-old!
What was Simon thinking?
That was easy: he wasn't thinking.
No one who was thinking would have put every penny in their savings account into an apartment before they even had a job lined up.
"We just got the news," he heard a man's voice say. "Welcome to New York."
Eric opened his eyes to see Simon shaking the hand of a big dark-skinned man who looked like he belonged on the cover of a rap CD.
The woman standing next to him looked more like she should be on the cover of an Anne of Green Gables novel.
"You have company," she said to Simon.
"I ah…I got a bit of a surprise visitor," Simon explained. He stepped aside and let them in. "Fin, Diana, this is my dad. Dad, Fin Tutuola and Diana Bennet. Caroline's godparents."
"Pleasure to meet you Reverend," the man said, as he held out his hand.
Eric managed a nod. Tutuola? Was that the guy Matt had said was a police officer? A detective, wasn't it?
"Reverend Camden," the red head echoed. "We came over to invite Simon out for a late dinner. You're welcome to join us."
"Elliot and Amy are probably already at the restaurant," Fin added, more to Simon than to Eric. "Lauren said something about a movie with Jake, but I do believe a certain young lady will be there."
Color tinted Simon's cheeks.
"Dinner sounds great," Eric decided.
"I'll bet it does," Simon grumbled.
So…Simon didn't want him to meet this girl? All the more reason to muscle through exhaustion and jet lag and see what exactly he and Annie were up against.
"The restaurant is just a few blocks away," Fin said to Eric, while Simon grabbed his jacket. "You okay with walking? Somebody," he eyed Diana, "Doesn't like my driving."
"Your driving skills are not in question," she retorted in a tone that suggested this wasn't the first time they'd had this discussion. "What I dislike is trying to find a parking place."
"I could use the walk after my flight, anyway," Eric told them, although it didn't take him long to remember how long New York City blocks were, especially compared to blocks in Glen Oak.
"Matt, my oldest son, said you were a police officer," Eric began tentatively, after they'd trudged down half a block in half-frozen slush. Maybe if he got to know these people, he could figure out the right angle to bring them over to his and Annie's side. He felt certain they were good people; they had to want what was best for Caroline the same way he wanted what was best for Simon.
"Manhattan SVU. Special Victims Unit," Fin told him. "Unit. Sex crimes," he clarified, when Eric shot him an inquisitive look.
"That must be…difficult."
"It can be. I was in narcotics before. That wasn't a walk in the park, either. I don't wanna say you get used to it, because you don't—or if you do, you're not going to be any good on the job. But you learn to hang onto the good days when things get tough."
Eric looked to Diana. "And you're…?"
"I used to be a detective. Homicide. I quit."
"She quit before they fired her," Fin amended with some amusement. "Diana doesn't like to play by the rules."
She snorted. "The rules don't get results. I consult with the police occasionally, but mainly I take on private cases. That's how we met. I was working Cathy's disappearance back in '89. I assume that's what you're really trying to piece together."
"I…."
Fin shot Eric a sympathetic look. "One thing I've learned over the years, Reverend, is that nothing gets past this pretty lady." He took her hand and kissed it. "Another thing I've learned is how blunt she can be."
"I thought you usually call it 'forthright' and 'honest'," she said.
"That's only when I'm trying t' get on your good side," Fin told her. "Which is most of the time." He grinned over at Simon. "Take it from an expert, happy wife, happy life."
"So…you two are married?" Eric asked; neither was wearing a ring.
"Not technically," she said.
At Eric's curious, somewhat dumbfounded look, Fin shrugged. "Why mess up a good thing? I was married before. A piece of paper didn't save a bad relationship. I'm not blaming my ex; what went wrong is mostly on me."
"She knew she was marrying a cop," Diana countered.
He shrugged again. "I don't think either of us knew exactly what we were getting into."
"You never know what you're getting into before situations arise." Diana favored Simon a soft, thoughtful look. "But when you make a commitment to someone, you make that commitment to both the good times and the bad ones." She gave him a smile and he returned it, then she looked up at Fin, her tone lightening. "On the other hand, sometimes the second time around proves happier than the first."
"But if you two have been together since 1989—?" Eric began.
"Like I said," Fin repeated. "Why mess up a good thing?"
"But marriage—"
"Dad," Simon cut him off. "Not everybody is going to agree with you, no matter how much you wish they would. It's really okay."
Eric regarded his son a long moment. Was it his imagination, or did Simon seem different somehow?
He spent the rest of the walk trying to figure it out, but felt no closer to an answer when they stopped in front of a little Italian bistro. Fin opened the door and a waft of savory smells drifted out to remind Eric that he hadn't eaten since that lackluster chicken sandwich he'd grabbed from the food court, during his three-hour layover in Denver.
The interior of the restaurant was darkened, most of the light coming from flickering candles sitting on tables, where only a dozen or so other patrons sat chatting over their dinners.
"Detective, Ms. Bennet," the hostess greeted them with a welcoming smile. "Good to see you. Mr. and Judge Burch are at their spot."
"Thanks, Maggi," Fin replied. He led the way back through the narrow room. Most of New York was like that, long, narrow buildings crowded against each other, hungry for a every inch of sidewalk space they could get.
As they approached the table, the three people sitting there rose to greet them. Elliot Burch was a tall, good-looking man who looked about the same age as Eric, although his hair was almost as long as Matt's had been, right up until Matt started med school. Maybe when you were a billionaire people took you seriously even if you looked like an aging hippy.
Judge Amy Burch looked about a decade younger than her husband and seemed oddly out of season in a floral print dress. She greeted Diana with a warm hug, then hugged Simon (who called her "Amy", not "Judge Burch" or "Mrs. Burch") with much the same enthusiasm before releasing him into the arms of Caroline.
Caroline Diana Chandler-Wells.
Eric had seen the same photo Annie had.
Photos did not do this girl justice.
She didn't look sixteen.
Eric may not quite approve of the way Ruthie wore her makeup and he might be entirely disconcerted by the way she danced, especially when she thought no one was looking, but there was something about Caroline Chandler-Wells that Eric couldn't put a finger on, but that he didn't like. Maybe it wasn't her fault. Maybe it was genetics. Maybe it was the way she'd been raised.
Maybe it was just the way she looked up at Simon before she laid her head against his chest, like suddenly he was the only person in the universe, like the rest of the world had simply ceased to exist. Maybe it was the way they fit together just a little too perfectly that caused the sinking feeling in Eric's gut.
She wasn't wearing a lot of makeup; he wasn't sure she was wearing any makeup. She was dressed more modestly than most girls her age, in a dark suede skirt that came down to her ankles, low-heeled boots, and a bell-sleeved blouse that might have come out of Ruthie's closet. If she were a little older, Eric was sure neither he nor Annie would find fault with her, even if watching their embrace made him feel as if he was spying on something intimate, never mind that, objectively, it was perfectly innocent. Somehow, witnessing that hug left him feeling more awkward than he'd felt on any number of occasions when he'd walked in on Mary or Lucy making out with some new boyfriend on the living room sofa, back when they were teenagers.
"Caroline, I'd like you to meet my dad," Simon said when at last she stepped away from him.
Caroline turned to Eric with a warm smile that couldn't possibly be just for show. "Reverend Camden! What a lovely surprise. Simon didn't tell me you were coming into town."
"It…was a bit of a surprise all the way around," Eric found himself saying, as he accepted her handshake.
"I'm so pleased to finally meet you," she told him with an ease that was almost off-putting. "Please, allow me to introduce Elliot and Amy Burch."
"It's a pleasure." Elliot extended his hand.
"Sorry to crash in like this," Eric apologized.
"Nonsense," said Elliot. "We've ordered plenty of appetizers and there's always room for one more at the table."
"You'll be saving Elliot from himself," Amy Burch added. "He wasn't kidding about ordering too much. It's nice to meet you, by the way" she added with a friendly smile.
"You, too." Eric hoped he wasn't lying. They certainly seemed nice. He wished Annie was there; her intuition was usually spot on, whereas some days he felt was just spotty.
Eric watched Simon hold out Caroline's chair, then claim the seat next to her; he took the seat on Simon's other side, just as their server appeared, to take drink orders from the joiners.
"Get whatever you like," Elliot invited. "Dinner's on me."
"Well, if that's the case," Fin teased.
Diana swatted his arm. "He'll have a beer. Something on tap. I'll take a glass of something red and dry."
"Try this," Amy handed her glass across the table Diana.
Diana took a sip and gave a nod of approval. "Whatever she's having," she told the waiter, who smiled.
"Since you're headed up to the bar anyway, I'll have another one," Amy told him.
Simon ordered a hot chocolate, and Eric realized it was his turn.
"Water's fine."
"Perrier or…?" The waiter asked.
"Sure, why not?"
"Same," Elliot told their waiter. "We should be ready to order by the time you get back…?" He looked around the table for nods of confirmation.
Eric opened up the menu…and struggled to keep his expression neutral. Seventy-five bucks for a steak. Thirty for an entrée salad. Thirty-five for a plate of spaghetti. Ten for a bowl of soup.
"Did you just get into the city?" Amy asked, and Eric realized she was talking to him.
"Yes. It ah…we heard about Simon moving and I came to see if I could offer him a hand." Sorry, he said to God. In the grand scheme it was a little lie. Thankfully, it was one his son didn't call him out on. It was also one he was pretty sure no one at the table believed.
Their drinks arrived and orders were placed. Caroline unabashedly ordered the seventy-five-dollar steak, with a house salad on the side—everything seemed to be ala carte. Simon got ravioli for fifty. Diana ordered salmon "at market price", whatever that was. Fin was apparently a burger and fries man. Amy ordered a Caesar salad with grilled chicken. Elliot ordered the same, but with dressing on the side.
"Make it three, dressing on the side for me, too," said Eric.
"You should try the minestrone soup," Elliot advised. "It's amazing. Especially on a night like this."
"Sure." Eric shrugged. "Why not?"
"Make it two," Elliot told the server, who took their menus with a smile and departed, probably calculating his tip in his head. Not counting the spread of appetizers already on the table, the tab they'd just casually racked up was over two-hundred dollars.
Dinner conversation ranged from politics, where everyone seemed more or less on the same page (varying degrees of liberal, even Burch, who, strictly going by demographics, should fall into the more conservative category), to sports where there was far less agreement (though all of the disagreements were good-natured), to personal matters like how Amy was adjusting to life in New York again. Eric gleaned that she'd lived here with her ex-husband some years ago and had hated it, but so far, the current arrangement which had her and Elliot shuffling back and forth between his apartment in the city and her mother's house in Hartford was working out "perfectly" (even if her mother's house sounded a little bit like the Camden house in terms of chaos and family crashing over for indefinite periods of time). Amy herself, reminded Eric a little bit of Lucy. Driven, work-focused, in love with her husband, who was nothing what Eric had imagined when he'd heard words and phrases like "billionaire" and "real estate developer".
Fin and Diana were harder to pin down. It was obvious Fin and Elliot were as close as friends could get, despite the obvious socio-economic disparity and the fact that, at least according to Kevin, Elliot Burch had a fairly checkered past.
But mostly, Eric was watching Simon and Caroline. They engaged in conversation with the rest of the table, where Simon held his own with politics and world events in a way that made Eric proud. The adults didn't treat either of them like children, even though Caroline was a child. Simon was too, by comparison.
If only they'd met when they were both a little older….
Because despite his initial misgivings and the niggling feeling in the back of his head that told Eric he was missing something about this picture, he found it hard to dislike Caroline. She was warm. She was articulate. She seemed compassionate, intelligent, and well-informed. He understood why Simon was so taken with her, why even Matt liked her, how she was clearly good for Simon because for the first time in a long time, Simon appeared to be grounded, focused on more than himself and the wants of the moment.
She was just too young.
"The tiramisu is to die for," Elliot told Eric, as their dinner dishes were being cleared.
"Die being the operative word." Amy shot him a sharp look. "Your heart does not need that much cream, mister."
He gave a good-natured sigh. "Do you suppose my poor old heart could stand a slice of apple pie?"
"Well, you were pretty good getting the chicken Caesar," Amy told him. "I saw you eyeing the steak."
"You too, huh?" Eric asked, patting his chest.
"Five years ago. Ever since then it's been grilled chicken, fruit, vegetables, and jogging."
"I managed to escape jogging, but my wife made me take up meditation for a while."
Elliot laughed. "I tried that too. It lasted about a week."
"Dad managed to make it a month." Simon grinned.
Eric smiled back at him. "Don't tell your mother, but it was more like a week and a half."
Simon just shook his head, and…were they talking? Really, really talking? The way they used to?
Am I accepting him because these people do…?
But how could he accept his son as an adult when his son was making one of the biggest mistakes of his life?
Dessert was ordered—he and Elliot got the apple pie, Amy and Diana split some monstrous looking chocolate affair, Fin ordered the tiramisu, much to Elliot's good-natured despair, while Caroline and Simon split a piece of ginger cake with warm custard that sounded more English than Italian—then Elliot paid the bill with one of those exclusive credit cards that mere mortals never saw, and they headed towards the door.
Eric watched his son help Caroline with her coat. "I'll talk to you tomorrow?" he asked.
"I have school, but I can call you after." She leaned up and kissed his cheek, then turned to Eric. "It was very nice to meet you, Reverend Camden. I hope to see you again before you have to go home."
"I'm sure you will," he told her.
He watched her hug the others in turn, give Simon a last, innocent-yet-intimate embrace, then head across the street on her own. Elliot and Amy headed off in the other direction.
It was nearly eleven o'clock at night.
"Is Caroline okay walking alone like that?" Eric questioned.
"Squirt's fine," said Fin. "Her place isn't far from here."
Eric frowned, but neither he nor Diana—or even Simon—seemed concerned as they headed back towards Cathy Chandler's apartment.
"You need any help moving?" Fin asked Simon, as they neared the building.
"So far, all I have is what I brought with me."
"Let us know if you need anything," Diana told him. "You won't need to worry about dishes or pots and pans at Samantha and Zach's, but I've got a few odds and ends I can bring by if you like."
Fin let out a little chuckle. "By the time everybody's done donating 'a few odds and ends', you're going to end up with more stuff than you need."
"Simon has a lot of stuff still at home, too," Eric felt compelled to tell them. "Annie and I can bring it out. I'm sure your mother will want to see your new place," he told his son.
"What about Ruthie and the twins? School is starting back up this week."
"I'm sure Lucy and Kevin won't mind holding down the fort for a few days. And Martin and his dad are just across the street, too."
"Here's my number," Fin reached into his wallet and handed Eric and Simon each a card. "My cell is always on. Holler if you need anything, either of you."
"Thanks, Fin," Simon told him. "I really appreciate it."
"Ain't nothin'."
"My number should be in Cathy's rolodex on the desk upstairs," Diana told Simon. They'd reached Cathy's building at last. "Fin's cell is usually a safer bet than mine, but you can call me any time for anything. That goes for all of us." She gave him a hug; so did Fin. "I'll bring that stuff by Samantha's tomorrow and tuck it up into your bedroom."
"Thanks. For everything. Both of you."
"You just do right by her," said Fin.
"I intend to."
"I know you will. G'night Reverend."
"Yeah. Good night." Eric waved and watched as Fin and Diana headed towards the black mustang parked across the street. "Well that was…something."
Simon shrugged. He greeted the door man by name and led the way to the elevator and ultimately Cathy's apartment, which had obviously been decorated by a woman, long before she had children. The white carpeting and pastel furniture would never have survived toddlers.
"You can take the bed," Simon offered.
"You don't—"
"The couch is fine, really," Simon insisted. "Let me just grab a few things from the bedroom. The bathroom's through there," he added. "In case you want a shower or whatever. You've probably had a pretty long day."
"Lucy did the sermon this morning," Eric admitted. "I was already at the airport." Was it really still Sunday? Well…just barely, at least. "I should call your mother."
"You want some privacy?"
Eric looked around the apartment. It was only a little bigger than the apartment Annie had built over the garage.
"I can step out onto the balcony," Simon offered.
"It's freezing out there."
"I'm starting to get used to it."
Eric gave him a doubtful look. "I can call your mother in the morning. I already let her know I'd made it all right, on my way over. She's not expecting to hear from me again tonight."
Simon shot him a look. "We're talking about the same Annie Camden, right?"
Eric laughed. "I'll call her in the morning. I'd rather talk to you right now."
"There's nothing to talk about." He headed into the bedroom to grab himself a few blankets and pillow from the linen closet. "I'm moving. I already paid the deposit."
"I saw that. What do you intend to do for money until you get your first paycheck? Assuming you find a job."
"I will. And the refund from my classes should hit my bank account in a couple of days. I'll be fine."
"You really withdrew?" Eric was still processing it all.
"It didn't make much sense not to."
"Simon—"
"Dad, there's really nothing to talk about. I love her. I want to be near her."
"What about when she goes off to school? Didn't you say she wanted to go to Radcliff? That's in Massachusetts."
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." He started making up the sofa.
"What if you can't find a job or can't get into school—?"
"Dad, we can play 'what if?' all night and it won't change anything. Mom flying out here won't change anything. I'm staying."
Eric heaved a sigh. "Are you going to ask me what I think of her, at least?"
"I know what you think. And it's not that I don't care or that your opinion doesn't matter because it does. Yours and Mom's both. I love you guys and I want you to love Caroline as much as I do. I just don't think you're right about her being too young."
"She's fifteen—almost sixteen. But that is such…such an impressionable age."
"Dad. You just spent two hours with her and…they're not related, but they're family. Does she really seem all that 'impressionable' to you?"
No.
And that scared him.
"She's still young, Simon. You both are."
"That's why we're going slow."
"How slow?" Eric was almost afraid to ask.
Simon's smile surprised him. "I haven't even kissed her, unless you count a kiss on the cheek."
Eric wanted to believe him. Desperately. But….
"Dad, when we're together, I don't feel like I need anything more than to hold her hand or put my arms around her. I'd like to kiss her, eventually, when the time is right, but I don't feel like I need to make out with her. I like our relationship the way it is, at least for right now."
How could this be the same kid who had had sex with at least two different women.
Possibly more.
How could this be the same kid who had had such casual sex that he feared he'd picked up an STD and had been talked into believing he might have fathered a child?
"You don't have to believe me," Simon said, apparently reading the expression on his father's face. What Eric really didn't believe was how calm Simon sounded when he said it. "I know I don't have to have sex to be happy. Just being with her is good enough. Just knowing she feels the same way I do. I'm more than happy to wait for…for whatever comes next. I want to wait until we're married to have sex—and yes, Dad, at her age, and at mine, I know marriage is along way off. That's okay too. I want to be with her, but I'm not in a rush. There's no need to rush."
"Have… have the two you of you talked about all of this?"
"Not exactly."
"What does 'not exactly' mean?"
"It means I really do know she's only sixteen—almost sixteen. If she's going to be a lawyer, that means another year and a half of high school and nine years of college. I have at least four or five more years of college if I want to get my master's degree—which I do, by the way."
Master's degree?
That was new.
However, "That's a long time, Simon. A lot could change. Your mother is worried about you. I'm worried about you. What happens when—if—things don't work out?"
Please let it be when and please let when be sooner rather than later.
"Then I move back home. Or if you won't let me, I move somewhere else. That's what Mary did."
"Simon—!"
"Dad, it's late. I'm tired. You're exhausted. There's nothing you can say to change my mind anyway. Instead of fighting me, why don't you take the time that you're here to get to know Caroline? Judge her on who she really is, not who you think she is."
"I'd be happier if I could get to know her parents."
"I'll call Cathy tomorrow and see if she can meet you for lunch."
"Or you could take me to their house tomorrow evening," Eric countered.
"Her little sister is just getting over the flu. She's doing better, but she's still pretty contagious right now."
Wasn't flu usually contagious in the early stages?
"If you don't mind, I'm going to change clothes and hit the hay. I need to be up early tomorrow."
"Yeah. Sure. I'll just go take that shower."
