For All Their Lives (52 page)

Mac removed the cigarette from his mouth. He looked at it curiously before he dropped it on the fine, colorful Persian carpet, paid for with Ashwood money. He ground it to a pulp. He pushed his baseball cap farther back on his head. “In the South, Mr. Carlin, they have a saying. Every dog has his day. I just had mine. I can see myself out.”

Outside the town house Mac did a tap dance before he settled himself in the car for the ride back to McLean.

Yody was in the kitchen cleaning the floor for the fifth time. When she saw Mac's headlights, she plugged in the percolator and ran to the living room to alert Alice, but the young woman was sound asleep on the sofa. On the cushion next to her was a box of photographs, along with several sports magazines.

“Something smells good in here,” Mac said happily. “I just used up all my energy, so I now require something sinfully sweet. Whatcha got, Yody?”

“Double chocolate cake with double chocolate swirl ice cream with marshmallow and chocolate topping.”

“Good. A double helping, but I'm going to take a shower first. Is Mrs. Carlin all right?”

“She's sleeping on the sofa. She's . . . very worried about you. A woman can tell these things. I allowed her to look at the box of pictures you keep on your desk. She seemed so . . . lost. I saw her cry, Señor Mac.” Yody's voice held something he'd never heard before. Was it possible she was censuring him? She smiled. He smiled.

“It's all right, Yody. Give me ten minutes, okay?” He was down in twelve, his cake and coffee on the end table next to his chair. The television was on, the voices muted. The
Monday Night Movie,
he thought—Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart in
Casablanca.
He knew Bogart would approve of his activities today.

Twenty minutes till the news. He lit a cigarette, wondering if Walter Cronkite would be solemn and bug-eyed when he announced Marcus Carlin's resignation. He was tingling with anticipation. The moment he saw the anchorman's face flash on the screen, he tapped Alice's rump. “Wake up, Alice. I think you might want to see this.”

“Oh, Mac, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep. What is it?” she asked sleepily.

“Watch,” was all Mac said.

They watched.

“And this just in from the newsroom,” Cronkite said in his best somber tone. He was slightly hunched over, almost as though he couldn't believe what he was about to say.

Alice gasped.

Mac laughed.

Cronkite droned on.

Alice clapped her hands in delight.

Mac beamed with pleasure. “I guess poor health is as good an excuse as any I can come up with. I wonder if the President will throw a fit? Not that I care, but usually he's the first to be notified.”

“Are we both really free of him?” Alice asked in a disbelieving voice.

“Yes.”

“I hope you don't mind that I was looking at these pictures. Yody said it was all right. I wasn't snooping, Mac. They were there on the table. They look . . . you look at them a lot, don't you?”

“Yes, I do. But that was another time, another place. I think I'm ready to put them away now.”

“Tell me about these people, Mac,” Alice said, picking up some of the photographs. “Which one is Lily?”

“This is Lily. Isn't she beautiful? That man standing next to her is the father of her child. His name is Eric Savorone and he's a doctor. This one is Sergeant Stevens. This is Freeze. This is Luke Farrell. It was the Fourth of July picnic. We took a picture of all the food. It went too. Thousands of guys showed up. We kind of put the war on hold that day. See this picture of Phil Pender and Rick? God, I'll never forget those guys. Someday I'll tell you about them, but not now.”

“Who's this?” Alice said, holding up a picture of a girl in pink shorts and tee-shirt. “She's beautiful, whoever she is,” Alice said sincerely. “Was she a WAC or a nurse?”

Mac looked at the picture of Casey Adams. He felt his throat constrict. He wondered if he was going to cry. He felt like it. “She's someone I used to know,” he said around the lump in his throat.

Alice pretended not to see the torment in her husband's eyes. She gathered up the pictures and returned them to the box. She settled the lid around the four corners, making a production of it before setting it on the coffee table.

Alice looked at her watch. “Mac, it's three o'clock. I have to be at the foundation early. Jenny gets upset if she doesn't see me when she wakes up. Would you . . . Mac, would you just . . . hold me for a little while? I need someone right now. It's been a hell of a day.”

“C'mere,” Mac said, stretching out his arm. Alice wiggled closer and settled herself against him. “What do you call those things on your feet?” he asked curiously.

“Fuzzies.” Alice giggled. “They make Jenny laugh. She has a pair too.” Mac smiled. Alice burrowed deeper into the crook of his arm. She was asleep almost immediately.

It felt right.

K
NEE DEEP IN
paperwork in her jungle-circus habitat, Casey picked up the phone before it had a chance to ring twice. As she brought the receiver to her ear she eyed Gertie, the green parrot. Gertie liked to peck at the phone, and sometimes Casey's ear.

“Luke! How good to hear your voice. Please tell me you aren't calling with bad news,” Casey said anxiously.

“On the contrary. I'm calling to invite you to Squirrel Hill for Thanksgiving. Now that you drive, among other things, I thought you might be able to get a few days off. This long-distance romance is getting tiresome.”

Casey laughed. “I have enormous phone bills. I'm scheduled to work on Thanksgiving. We're having a dinner catered here at the studio. I wish I could come,” she said wistfully.

“I knew you were going to say that. Now you're going to make me spoil the surprise. I have a big gun to bring out, and when I spring it on you, I dare you to turn me down.” Luke laughed. “I'm not complaining; hell, yes, I am complaining, but I haven't seen you since my visit to New York in May. It's all your fault too,” Luke grumbled.

“Okay, okay, bring out your big gun.”

“Singin and Maline are on their way as we speak. Mr. and Mrs. Singin Vinh. Is that good enough for you?” Luke laughed.

“Good enough! Good enough! I'll quit! I'll be there! I'll be there!”

“Atta girl! Will we make wild, glorious love or will we fight like cats and dogs? I need to know,” Luke teased.

“We'll eat. Do they know about me . . . did you tell them?”

“No, they don't know. I don't think your Dr. Carpenter told them either. I planned to go the whole nine yards, you know, hide you in the closet and then spring you on them as we sit down to dinner. You know how childish I am. Do you think it will work?”

“Only if I fly there instead of drive. I've gotten five tickets over the past few months,” Casey said proudly. “I paid them too.”

“For speeding?” Luke asked incredulously.

“Of course not. For illegal parking. Once they towed my car, but Steve got it out for me. I'm back to taking buses. Oh, Luke, what if I can't get a flight!”

“Relax. Your ticket is being delivered to your office. I took the liberty of making a reservation when I heard from Singin.”

“That's wonderful, Luke. I can't wait to see you. Is there anything I can bring?”

“Just your appetite and a lace nightie, one of those see-through affairs. I can pick up one if you don't have time to shop,” Luke volunteered, laughter in his voice.

“Thanks, but I have one of my own. It's peach-colored.” Casey laughed.

“I like black. I like black garter belts too.”

“You're obscene.” Casey giggled.

“Are you okay, Casey?”

“I'm fine. Overworked, but fine,” Casey said. “Listen, this crazy parrot is getting ready to plunge at the phone so I have to hang up. I'll see you on Thanksgiving . . . and, Luke, thanks for inviting me. I'll look forward to seeing you.” She hung up the phone just as Gertie lunged for it. “So there!” she said, brushing at the parrot.

Singin and Maline. It would be just like Luke to somehow get Alan to attend the dinner too. “I bet he's going to surprise me,” she said under her breath. “Ohhh, I can't wait.” Her mood darkened almost immediately when she envisioned the scene she would have to play out with Steve Harper.

Casey felt discomfited somehow. She played Luke's conversation back over in her mind. He'd been flip, cheerful, much the way he always was, but there was something in his voice, something she was having trouble identifying. Maybe it was because Luke was
too
flip, too cheerful. Too accommodating. He was sending a ticket for her. He would do that. If there was one thing Luke Farrell wasn't good at it, it was keeping a secret. If Singin and Maline were really coming, he would have hired a brass band or, at the very least, the Squirrel Hill High School band, and bragged about it. They talked every other day. He simply couldn't have kept this kind of secret. She was certain of it. Knowing Luke the way she did, he probably had another surprise of some kind for her. She sighed with happiness.

Unable to bear the suspense a moment longer, Casey left the room, careful to close the door behind her, to seek out Steve Harper. She found him in the employee kitchen, eating a can of cold Buitoni spaghetti. She went into her spiel immediately, ending with, “It's very important to me, Steve, and if you can't see your way clear to giving me the time off, then I'll have to resign.”

“I don't see a problem with it, as long as you're still ahead on ‘Show-and-Tell.' Listen, I have a list of possibles Morey Baker gave me yesterday. They're all serious contenders. I like the guy at the top of the list; he's making a real difference in the quality of life for children with Down's syndrome. I want to go with him as our lead the first of January. We can do a little promotion and get some mileage for the guy. December is a notoriously slow news month, so all in all, it's going to work out. The guy's a mover and a shaker, so you'll have to chase him around a bit. You do the background and Morey will put the lid on it. Then I want to schedule a second segment with the same guy for the end of January. He's setting up a foundation for Vietnam vets. Deal? How many days off do you want?”

“Deal. Just tomorrow and Thanksgiving. I'll be back Thursday evening and report to work Friday morning. I can't believe you ate that can of cold spaghetti,” Casey muttered, shaking her head in disgust.

“I'll make up for it later. I guess I won't be talking to you again till after Friday, so have a nice Thanksgiving and enjoy your visit with your friends.”

Casey thought he looked wistful. “I thought you were going to ask me out on a date, or at the very least, take me to dinner,” she blurted, and was instantly embarrassed.

“I was. I meant to. I even wanted to, but there's something in your eyes that I don't understand. I'm enough of an emotional cripple without . . . I don't mean to imply that you are . . . what I mean is, I don't think either one of us is ready for any kind of serious . . . you know,” he said, shuffling his feet. “Besides, I'd rather have you for a friend. Hell, you know what I'm trying to say.”

Casey did her best to smile. What was one more rejection? And he was probably right, she wasn't ready for anything other than work. That was why she'd held Luke at arm's length. She was still going to keep him at arm's length on her visit too. She was leaving the peach-colored nightie at home.

It was seven-thirty when Casey covered her typewriter and stacked her folders neatly in the wire basket Gertie loved to peck on. She ladled out water for both animals, sprinkled flaked shrimp on top of the water in the fish tank, and replaced the tube of Colgate toothpaste Izzy loved to decorate the bathroom with. She rinsed the coffeepot and carried the trash basket to the hallway. The only thing left to do was to take a quick peek at this marvelous “Show-and-Tell” subject who was at the top of Steve's list. She wondered how much chasing around she was going to have to do. She unfolded the sheaf of papers and put them in numerical order. As her eyes locked on the first line, she swayed dizzily. Senator Malcolm Carlin.

“I have to quit,” she cried. “I can't do this!” Steve would want to know why. If she just up and quit, she wouldn't have to make an explanation. Two weeks' notice. He would want her to work on it until she left. No notice. She'd never get another job if she didn't give two weeks' notice. Oh God, she dithered, what am I going to do? “I can't do this,” she wailed, sitting down next to the motorized car. “I just can't.”

Izzy leaped through the banana trees, coming to sit next to her. With one hand he patted her shoulder, with the other he brushed her hair back from her forehead. He scampered away to return with a tissue. Then he was off again to return with a roll of Life Savers, which he laid at her feet. When she started to hiccup, he fetched his fat crayons and Maggie and Jiggs coloring book and laid them next to the Life Savers. She was still crying when the Colgate toothpaste was added to the pile of things. She stopped crying long enough to observe the chimp's offerings. She did her best to smile as she opened her arms.

The chimp laid his head on her breast, his arms wrapped around her neck. He was making mewling sounds and patting both of his hands against her back. She laughed then, to the chimp's delight. “Listen, fella, I'm taking you home with me tonight. Steve won't be back, and he'll never know. Get your jacket and forget the leash. You just hold my hand, okay? Dumb animals, my foot,” she hissed to the fish tank as she closed the door behind her, leaving Gertie alone for the night.

 

T
HE MOMENT CASEY
opened her front door, pandemonium broke loose. Sam and Gracie, catching the chimp's scent, started to howl and screech, scratching at her legs, their tails swishing furiously. Izzy, frightened out of his wits, secured a stranglehold on Casey's neck that was almost impossible to break. She could feel the furious beat of his little heart. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, she thought.

Gracie hissed her disapproval the moment Casey lowered herself onto the sofa. Sam was alongside her immediately, yipping and sniffing at the same time. Gracie leaped to the back of the sofa, her paws snatching at the air, her back arching angrily. Izzy cowered against Casey. It occurred to Casey that Izzy wasn't safe. If she put the chimp up high, Gracie could get at him. If she put him down, both Sam and Gracie could attack him. Damn, this was one of her more stupid mistakes.

“All right, enough!” she shouted. “If you can't behave, you go in the bathroom. With the door closed!” Sam and Gracie looked at her. Izzy covered his eyes in fear. “Think about it!” Casey shouted again. “In case you forgot, I'm the one who buys the chicken and tuna.” Her tone was only just short of brutal. Her roommates backed off. Gracie was back to normal. Sam was panting at her feet. Izzy hugged her tighter.

“It's okay, Izzy,” Casey crooned. “I know exactly how you feel. This is the outside world to you. I went through this once, but I had a nice man named Alan Carpenter to help me. You have me. It really is nice out here once you get past your fear. Friends . . . friends will make all the difference. I'm going to put you down now. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

She reached for a section of the newspaper that she kept rolled into a tight cylinder. She used it when she wanted to be taken seriously. “Ladies, you will behave as such or you will feel this,” she said, whacking the rolled paper on the edge of the coffee table.

Two sets of eyes watched as the intruder in their midst was set on the floor. Izzy hugged Casey's left leg. She pried him loose. Sam sniffed and yipped. Gracie pawed the air. Casey struggled to the kitchen with Izzy still attached to her leg.

It took an hour before Izzy was comfortable enough to let go of Casey's leg, and he only relinquished his hold when she set his dinner on the kitchen table. Her roommates stopped eating long enough to watch this strange phenomenon. Only Casey sat at the table. Only Casey used a spoon. Izzy ate his macaroni and cheese with gusto. The hot dog that was cut in pieces was his favorite. One hairy hand reached out to grab all the morsels. Instead of stuffing them in his mouth the way he usually did, he hopped off the chair. Casey watched as he sprinkled them in Sam and Gracie's dishes. She tried not to laugh. He was back on his chair a moment later banging his spoon for more macaroni and cheese.

“I guess the crisis is over,” Casey muttered as she loaded the dishes in the dishwasher. When she turned it on and it gurgled to life, Izzy leaped from his chair to the top of the refrigerator. He screeched his disapproval at this strange sound. Casey turned it off. He leaped to the floor the moment the kitchen became silent.

The Yorkie advanced a step and then two until she was within easy reach of Izzy's long arms. She woofed softly once and then twice, her stubby tail wagging back and forth. Gracie slinked across the room on her belly until she was standing next to Sam. The three animals eyed each other. Izzy was perfectly still, his eyes going from the animals to Casey. She shrugged and waved her arms, palms up. “You're on your own.” She laughed then.

How odd, Casey thought, that these three furry bodies could shake away her doom and gloom. How wonderful that they could bring a smile to her face. How amazing that by their presence alone she could feel whole and in control again. If she ever tried to explain the way she felt to anyone but Luke Farrell, they wouldn't understand. Luke would nod and say he knew it all along.

How much she shared with these animals: her hopes, her dreams, her agonies, her disappointments. She'd cried buckets while they snuggled next to her, comforting her, and she always emerged grateful and full of compassion. Everyone needed someone, whether it was human or animal. She felt blessed. Daily she told them how much they meant to her, how much she needed them, how glad she was that they welcomed her at the end of the day. It didn't matter that they could not understand. She understood.

Casey dropped to her knees for an hour of rollicking play, the way she did every evening when she came home. Even when she was exhausted she kept to the routine her animals expected. And when it was all over, each received a treat, a biscuit they carried to their beds and devoured. Izzy adapted easily, carrying his two Fig Newtons, to which he was addicted, to the chair in Casey's bedroom.

Casey changed her clothes, showered, and packed a small overnight bag while the animals dozed contentedly. The briefcase she'd tossed on the bed beckoned her. She started to tremble the moment she saw Mac's name. Crying had been a release back in the office, but she was past that now. Now she had to pull up her socks and act like the professional she was supposed to be. Mac would never recognize her. If Luke had walked right past her, so would Mac. She wanted to see him again. Needed to see him. The memory would have to last her a lifetime, unless she wanted to confess the truth. Part of her wanted to go to him, to slap his face, to tell him he'd lied to her and betrayed her. The other part of her wanted to melt in his arms, to tell him she'd never forgotten him, to tell him nothing mattered but the two of them. But Mac had a family. She could never be a party to breaking up a family.