POCKET CHANGE: HIDE and SEEK
by Sharon R.
Chapter Eleven
Emily pulled into the estate just head of Carter, the long limo jerking a little as she struggled to get the length of it up and around the last curve. The Escort jerked to, for other reasons.
"Help me with the groceries, Dr. John?" she asked as she popped the trunk and walked to the rear to start unloading the plastic bags.
"Thought I told you not to get out until you got back here?" he scolded with very little vigor.
"Oh, pish," she dismissed him as they made their way into the kitchen. "It was a treat to get myself there and back in class, even if I had to be my own chauffeur."
"Yeah, we should do something about that. I didn't realize you were driving such an old and a … well…"
"You mean a car with character?"
Carter gave her a tired half smile as they started unloading the groceries onto the counter.
"Are you okay, John?" She never called him just 'John' unless she was pissed off at him or truly concerned.
"I need you to do one more thing for me," he said, ignoring her question. "I'm concerned for your safety and have arranged for you to spend some time at the family's town house in London."
"What? Oh no, I'm fine here."
"Emily, I am paying you to go. The house has security, there's plenty to do in London. No one's been in it for months." She still didn't look convinced. "I'm sure it could use some cleaning."
"Now?"
"No." Carter looked at his watch. "Flight leaves at 9:10 tomorrow morning. American flight 90. AJ is going to take you to the airport hotel tonight."
"What will you do?"
"Work. Sleep. Don't worry, I'll take good care of Bridget." The look of despair on her face failed to disappear. "Emily, I survived weeks of torture in a Congolese rebel camp. I think I can take care of myself on," pulling the groceries out of a bag, he looked at a few of the items, "caviar, lobster and strip steaks."
"Yes, I'm sure you can. But the question is, will you burn the house down in the process?" She could tell when something wasn't right with him. Emily had seen him through his brother's illness and death, been the shoulder he cried on when he came home from months of teasing at boarding school to find his parents on an extended trip to Hong Kong and the far east. He used to talk to her over ice cream about girlfriends when he was in high school, and over a beer in college. He may have drifted further away from her apron strings as he got older, but somehow just enough of the sensitive lonely little boy remained that she could see into his eyes and know when he was hurting inside. "Why are you so sad, John?"
"Um… a friend died today."
"Oh, dear," she sighed as she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a big hug. "You can cry about those things, you know. It's good for the soul."
"Already have."
"I can't leave."
"Yes you can, and yes you will."
"Bridget…?"
"…will keep me company."
"I'm afraid she needs a bath."
"So do I. We'll bond."
Emily may have been closer to Carter than any family member outside of his grandparents, but she understood her position well and that meant doing what she was told to do. "Give me an hour to tidy up the kitchen and pack," she said pulling herself away from his loving embrace, not embarrassed by her tear escaping. "Did you call your friend back?"
"No. The number is on my cell phone and that seems to have been stolen. I guess I'll just have to wait for a call here at the house." He hoped against hope that the call would come that night. He needed it.
"Still, you should talk to a friend. I know how you are, John. Don't wallow here in this big box of a house all by yourself." Putting her apron on, Emily smiled tenderly as she got back to work. "You had better clean up after yourself. I don't want to come home to a bachelor pad."
Once Emily had left with the security guard, Carter settled into his grandfather's chair in the library. He hadn't sat there since he was a child pretending to be someone of importance. It wasn't painful, just daunting. Official. It wasn't comforting either, just cold and business-like. He looked at the phone number on the piece of paper in front of him. Lots of digits, plenty of time to back out. He felt like he was calling to close a business deal, except the finality was something less than a fiduciary coo.
011-256-04.…
His hand was shaking as Carter hung up the phone. He'd had to do this lots of times at the hospital. Never pleasant, many times ingrained into his soul, but he never felt… never felt… lost, without faith in himself. He had saved patients with less equipment and medicine in unsanitary conditions in the jungles of African, but with the best that money and opportunity could buy in Chicago, he had lost Sean.
011-256-0471-3.…
He paused before finally dialing the last four digits, then waited as the overseas connection was made. "Toomay? Hi, John Carter. Yeah, he's actually gone on vacation. Uh-huh, he got here with Bob's daughter. I… Listen, um… Toomay, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Something's happened to Sean ..."
God, he hated this.
He who loses money, loses much; He who loses a friend, loses more; He who loses faith, loses all. -Irish blessing
Luka finally let Sam take the wheel at around 3am. As the SUV climbed yet another steep mountain, she glanced in the mirror to check on Alex and Amanda, both sound asleep on pillows against their respective doors. The swelling on Luka's lip had finally started to diminish, though he still subconsciously pampered it with his tongue occasionally in his restless sleep. They had driven through the night, stopping only once to gas up. All the others knew was that they were headed north-east. Dawn had been sufficiently present for at least an hour as Sam rounded the last tight curve of Route 3 before reaching the turn off. The earth had a sandy red tone to it that continued on to the scarred mountain passes blasted out years ago to make way for the roads, leaving a pattern of stripes layered diagonally over the natural red and brown striations covering the 'walls' of the highway.
Reaching up to open the cover to the sun roof, Sam's elbow inadvertently connected with Luka's head.
"Ooh, sorry," she said as Luka sat up straight, stretching the kinks from his neck.
"Where are we?"
The dewy mountain air crept in through the sun roof ahead of the rays of immature morning sunshine that would soon enough pierce their eyes.
"The mountains," she answered as she took in the glory of nature, and that which gave her tiny moments of happiness when she was a child.
"Smells nice."
"Ah, clean mountain air with a hint of acid rain," she joked - almost.
"Enlighten me. Which mountains?"
"Adirondacks."
"Adirondacks?" Luka asked taking greater liberty to look around at his surroundings. "We're in New England?"
"No, not quite. Northern New York State." Sam reached back and tapped Alex's foot which had snaked it's way onto the center console. "Hey, wake up sleepy head. We're almost there."
Alex rubbed his eyes and squinted through the haze of bright morning light as he sat up and checked out where he was. "Is this Oswegatchie?"
"Oswe - who?" came Amanda's voice as she joined Alex.
"Oswegatchie," Sam corrected her. "Yes, Alex, that's where we are."
"Cool!"
"How about filling me in," Luka asked smiling at Alex's excitement.
"We're going to my grandparent's house. When I was a kid, when my grandparents were still alive of course, my parents would send me up here when they were heading towards another cycle of mean fighting and excessive beer drinking."
"Beer?"
"Yep. A right of passage in my family was being old enough to get dad a beer off the porch." She slowed down as she neared Fletcher's Motel and took a left onto the rural road.
"Hey mom," Alex asked as he poked his head in between Sam and Luka, "are we going to see Uncle George?"
"Yep. He's going to come open up the house for us. You remember him?"
"No. Just his name."
Browns Falls road was paved, but not kept up, the edges brittle and crumbling into the red earthened shoulders. Tight corners and sudden dips made this part of the trip hard on the gut. Houses were few and far between, some no more than skeletons of abandonment. Sometimes the only indication that a family once lived in a clearing was the leftover fireplace chimney standing among the ruins of a foundation fighting to blend in with the encroaching greenery.
"Why are there kitchen things on the porches?" Amanda asked taking in the countryside. Some houses had an old refrigerator or washing machine propped on their dilapidated porches. Others left them in the yard next to their junked cars.
"There's a joke that goes, the more appliances on your front porch, the wealthier you are," Sam told her. "Add an old sofa and you're swimming in champagne."
"Employment scarce up here?" Luka asked.
"What employment? When my grandparents lived here - when they were young - there was the paper mill, two actually. The communities supported all the employees. The jobs have all long since gone. The tourists flock to places like Lake Placid or Saranac Lake. Most of the people that live here are fifth or sixth generations." Sam slowed down as she got to a small ranch style house set back from the road, then laid on her horn a few times. "Hey George," she yelled at the older, tall, slender man who came from the barn, "see you at the house."
The kids giggled as Sam drove over the metal "rumble bridge". The last hill was steep and curved to the left, and what appeared when they reached the crest was like something out of a storybook.
Springtime had cupped its hands around this small corner of the earth and delivered an array of magical colors worthy of an artist's pallet. A bright green meadow behind a layered rock wall sat to their left surrounded by magnificent tall trees of every variety imaginable, the burgeoning soft leaves struggling to gain strength after the hard winter. The grand-daddy spruces and pines stood tall among the newer deciduous trees, their own color proudly displayed year round on their sharp needles. Deep purple, lavender and white crocuses - the earliest of wild spring flowers, dotted the landscape like haphazard droplets of paint. And hiding behind decades of overgrowth and harsh changing weather, an old shed leaned mercifully into its slow decay, almost begging to become one with the soil.
Atop the moss, fern and rock covered hill to their right humbly sat a white clapboard house, the large stone chimney supporting it like a backbone, and quaint screened-in side porch defining its simplicity. As they turned the corner and completed their trip up the driveway, the grandeur of the small house was evident. The driveway turned back into itself around a large raised circular garden, obviously unused in recent years. Sam parked the car and got out quickly, not even stopping to close the door.
"What's the hurry?" Luka asked, getting out himself and joining Sam at the side of the house.
"Daffodils."
"What?"
"These." Sam bent down and lightly brushed her hand over the row of open yellow blooms. "They're all crowded. I think I'll split them tomorrow."
"Daffodils?"
"Yeah. They were my grandmother's favorite. All she talked about from Christmas to Easter." Sam squinted up through the sunshine at Luka who, with hands on hips, marveled at Sam's sudden domesticity as she raked the dead mold laden leaves from around the flowers. "You don't have daffodils in Croatia?"
"Not sure I'd notice if there were," he jested as he sat on the ground next to her. Stroking her face with his hand he finally leaned in and attempted to give her a warm kiss. "Ouch."
"Can you keep that junk to a minimum?" Alex interrupted. "There are kids present."
A pick-up truck barreled up the driveway and parked behind the SUV. "Hey Samantha," the tall man said as he got out of the truck and walked over to give Sam a hug. "Looky here," he marveled as he glanced at Amanda and Alex. "Seems you've been busy."
"Ah no. Alex, you remember your Uncle George. And this is my friend Luka."
George shook Alex's hand, then Luka's, pausing to give him a good once over. "And who's this pretty red head?" he asked, pointing at Amanda who had scooted behind Luka.
"Amanda is a friend of ours," Luka quickly answered. "She's joining us while her parents are away on business."
"You ain't from here, are you?" George asked Luka, amused with his accent.
"No. I'm from Chicago."
"You're funny."
"What?"
George snickered again before giving Luka a friendly whack on the back on his way to the house. "Come on. I opened up the house yesterday and aired it out. Barbara stocked the fridge for you and put clean sheets on the beds."
"Can Amanda and I do some exploring out here?" Alex asked.
"As long as you keep the house in your sight," Sam gave him sternly, knowing how much Alex liked to test boundaries and not sure of Amanda's own ability to mind adults.
A faint odor of heating oil greeted them as they opened the squeaky screen door and followed George inside. The small entry into the kitchen was just as she had remembered it. Hooks to the side still held the jackets left behind after her grandparents had passed, their boots neatly lined up beneath. The kitchen was very small, with a table for two at the end between the old stove and wall with sink and cupboards. Only one chair capped the end of the table, a small radiator topped with a seat cushion at the other end.
"That was my grandpa's seat. Every morning he warmed himself there, a cup of strong black coffee and a piece of burned toast." Sam smiled as she put her hand on the table. "Funny how the place looks smaller."
The dining room was next leading into the living room. It was simple. A round table with four chairs, a built-in corner china cabinet to the left, and on the right a 'high boy' bureau against the wall that separated the living area from the bedrooms. The same old sofa with cotton doilies donned the living room. Two old chairs, one a rocker, framed the huge stone fireplace. A six pane window was built into the oversized chimney halfway up drawing in the sunlight. To the left a door led to the screened-in porch, and on the right was a tiny white room that held a small kneeling rail and miniature alter of sorts with candles and a crucifix. Turning to leave and check out the rest of the house, Sam was drawn to the bookcase filled with history and adventure. There were two bookcases in the house, this one with the 'grown-up books' she never looked at as a child.
Back through the dining room, they turned the corner by the 'high boy' into a small hallway that held just one bathroom, two bedrooms and a linen closet. Luka had to adjust to the smallness of the house and duck through the doorways.
"Sam," Luka whispered so George couldn't hear them as he stocked firewood in the living room, "the bedrooms both just have twin beds."
"Don't worry," she said with a smile, "we'll manage. They did." A narrow bookcase going from floor to ceiling sat just inside the doorway to her grandparents' bedroom. As Sam reached up and pulled an old book out, the smell of the aged paper wafted out. "My grandmother was a school teacher in the 1930's. They were actually my great grandparents. I never knew my grandparents. These are the books she used in her classroom."
Luka took out one of the old spellers and flipped through the fragile pages. "Good memories?"
"When I came here I used to pretend that we lived in the old days. I'd take these books and play school…" Lost in thought, she put the primer back and leaned into Luka, who gave her a warm hug. "Luka, you know we have to talk."
"I know."
"Hey mom," Alex yelled, running into the house, "there's a cool boulder in the side of the hill behind the garage."
"Yes, there is." She looked forward to watching Alex discover the many things that she herself had loved there as a child.
"Well, I gotta go," George announced. "Now, that camp is still standing up on Skate Creek Road. Nothing special, but the kids might get a kick out of it. The dang beavers keep damming up the pond but I can't convince the rangers to let me kill 'em. It's okay to let the only road we got get flooded or the camp get ruined, but the asinine Adirondack State Park controls us and our land. Can't take a piss in the woods without getting written permission these days." He walked through the kitchen and reached behind the door, pulling out an old rifle. "Luka, you any good with a gun?"
Sam could feel Luka's grip around her shoulder tighten as he cocked his head and closed his eyes while he took in a deep breath. "I suppose."
"How about you go target shootin' at the camp."
"It's loaded?"
"Hell yeah. Sometimes them bears get mighty friendly. Your grandpa, Sam, would have shot them if they got within ten yards of the house, but your grandma - she just waited for them to get close enough to the door so that she could see them through the window - nose to nose once, then she'd flick the porch light on and off to scare them away."
"My dad gave my mom a gun. That's what she told me," Amanda proudly announced. "She called it Dirty Harry. Have you ever shot anything, Luka?"
Guilt upon the conscience, like rust upon iron, both defiles and consumes it, gnawing and creeping into it, as that does which at last eats out the very heart and substance of the metal. -Bishop Robert South 1634-1716, British Clergyman
For the better part of the day, Carter wandered the house with Bridget close behind, her toes clicking over the hard floors. He showed up at work bright and early only to have Kerry shoo him home. So back home he went where he dwelled and worried, until he had to leave again in the evening to escort Sean's body from the funeral home to the airport. He didn't have to, but he wanted to, and he had promised Sean's sister that he would.
Parking the Jag next to the terminal, he was allowed to ride in the hearse onto the tarmac after being cleared by security. He had seen too many caskets in the last few years, and in Africa simple boxes were crafted, but only in the best of situations. Carter made sure Sean would arrive home in a casket worthy of his presence. Probably spent more money than Sean would have liked, but it made Carter feel better.
The funeral home director pulled the casket out of the back of the hearse and onto a hydraulic lift at the rear of the jetliner. Before it raised up, Carter asked for the lid to be opened one last time. Inside he placed the only thing he brought back from Africa that would have had any meaning to Sean. It was a Polaroid that Colleen had taken of the family table at the Midway. A smiling Sean was playing with Mbuto on his lap, Toomay was placing plates of food in front of Todd and Maggie, while Luka and Carter mugged for the camera. Even Bob and Othiamba were there that day opening a couple bottles of beer.
He tried, but he couldn't bring himself to look at Sean's face. He wanted to remember him as he was in that picture, which he tucked under the crease of the satin covering. A nod to the funeral director and the lid was again locked back down. Papers were signed, customs forms taped to the casket, and Sean was loaded as cargo for the overseas flight to Limerick Airport where his family would be meeting him.
He sat in his car at the airport and listened to the radio. His cell phone was gone, nobody was at the house, they didn't want him at work, and he wondered about Luka. Had they arrived at wherever Sam had secreted them? Had he told Amanda about Sean? Did Sean's trauma replay in his head like it did Carter's? Did he question and doubt what they had done in the trauma room? And finally, did he miss the camp as much as Carter did?
He slouched down and rested his sore head back against the seat. Everything ached. He felt like… like a big nothing. He just didn't feel fulfilled like he did at the PCRC, and now he was alone - nothing new for him. But he dwelled on it still. Of all the folks who were close to Sean, he was the only one dealing with his loss alone, yet those who knew him probably wouldn't think twice about it. When Carter wants to be alone - you leave him alone. That was his own doing. Bridget's the only one I feel like listening to at this point, he thought as he started up the car.
Carter couldn't bring himself to go back to the house. He drove around aimlessly for two hours before finding himself parked in front of Abby's apartment building. No particular reason, just an old habit. Although they parted on angry and hurt terms when he left for the Congo, time and circumstances had mellowed them when he came back by way of ambulance, and she had arranged for his parents to be there for him. But their discussions had been little more than teacher/student since then. In fact, as he sat there he realized the only person he had spent time talking with was Luka since they had come back from Uganda, and that night.
"What the hell am I doing here?" he wondered aloud. "She's the last person I need right now."
He got out of the car along with a six pack of Killian's Red, and leaned against the hood of the car where he proceeded to stare at her window and begin the journey of honoring Sean, one beer at a time.