The Last Word
Posted on | November 9, 2009
‘Footsteps In The Sands Of Time’
SUSAN MADE IT to the airport intact and with time to spare. Jerry had behaved himself only because, as always, the traffic to JFK was backed up and he couldn’t speed along in the white-knuckle manner he preferred. Susan had even let him unload her bags, and accompany her to the check-in, then she’d shooed him away. The last thing she wanted was Jerry’s idea of polite conversation. Susan had had enough on the way over.
“I think you’re mad…totally out of your cranium, Bernstein.” Jerry was patiently worrying his cigar, as he wasn’t allowed to smoke. Not even in his own damn car. Traffic crawled along. Susan had picked a fairly early flight in the hope of less traffic but also in the hope of arriving at Tel Aviv by early afternoon, in the hope of giving herself some breathing room to acclimate.
“Sure I am. But just think of all the great copy you’ll be getting from me.” She tried to deflect him, lighten both their sombre mood.
“You know what I’m on about.” He sighed round his cigar then glanced at her sideways.
“Just come back in one piece, okay?”
“Why, Jerry, if I didn’t know you better I’d say you cared?” She caught the look. Of course he cared. She felt contrite.
“Yes, okay, I know.” She didn’t quite sigh. “You’ve been like a second father to me, and that’s the problem—”
Jerry harrumphed.
She went on anyway. “The last thing I need right now is someone else worrying about me. What I need is a friend.” She finished. Amendment. What she desperately needed was a friend, someone to talk too, and more, someone to confess too. But to what, she wasn’t quite sure.
“I need you to…understand, even if you don’t.”
Jerry shrugged.
“No. No, I don’t understand. I haven’t understood from the word go, but I’m here ain’t I? And I concede that you think you know what you’re doing, and therefore, probably do.” He sighed. “But that doesn’t mean some damn lunatic won’t want to take a pot-shot or two at you.”
He slipped a foot off nursing the break and slapped it down on the accelerator. Hard. The car jerked forward playing catch-up with the one in front.
Susan looked surprised then laughed loudly.
“Bernstein, what the hell are you laughing at?” Jerry stared at her.
“Jerry, Jerry, the damn road!” She waved at the car in front of them; it was inches away from their front bumper.
“What? Oh, shit!” He hit the breaks, the car complained, but they missed hitting the other vehicle, which thankfully shot ahead of them. Not so, however, the car behind, which honked its horn. Loudly.
Jerry was reaching for the button to scroll the window down. Susan hit his arm, hard.
“Goddamnit!” Jerry snapped out the curse. “What in Hell’s name was that for?”
“You, Jerry, you!”
He grimaced then smiled with realization. “Dumb Irish schmuck, eh?”
“Caring dumb Irish schmuck.” Susan added with a smile.
“Okay, okay, so I know already. New York’s a hell of a place to live.” He suddenly swung the car right to take the turn-off and head toward JFK, all without so much as thinking to use an indicator. Horns blared a protest.
Jerry didn’t give in, though, till Susan finally hugged him into submission at the check-in. He was speechless. Not since history began had anyone within his own family hugged him, let alone one of his staff.
“That was underhand, Bernstein.” He recovered, untangled himself and thrust his hands deep into his overcoat pockets.
“Maybe, but essential nonetheless. Now go, before you get sentimental on me.” She gave him a gentle shove toward the exit as the flight attendant behind the desk looked on bemused.
Susan stepped briskly to one side suffering the glare from the next impatient traveller stood behind her.
Jerry eyed her sombrely. “Just don’t get hijacked, okay?” As if she could promise him that.
“Okay, I’ll try.” She smiled. Jerry nodded and, without so much as a backward glance, stomped off into the thickening crowd. He knew when he wasn’t wanted. And besides, he’d said all he could.
Susan sat in a small oasis to one side of the bustling concourse, a coffee bar that afforded a range of over-priced drinks in Styrofoam cups that never quite tasted as you expected. None the less, coffee in hand, she tried to read the paper she’d bought after Jerry had left her but watching the multitude pass by, her thoughts wandered elsewhere.
Jerry was right, she knew that. Hell every face down at the bureau had told her the very same thing, for the last few weeks. She was mad. What other conclusion could they make?
After telling everyone she would only be gone 2-3 weeks at the most, what had she done? Sold her apartment, disposed of her furniture and then hawked, sold, or given away her possessions. Or at least, the ones that didn’t matter to her.
Anything of value she’d left with Elisabeth.
Were these an act of someone coming back anytime soon? No.
Were these the act of someone acting in any sane mode? No.
These were not the actions of someone taken an extended holiday. These were the actions of someone who thought they would not pass that way again, at least, not for some time.
“If this trip is for Rubin, what in God’s name is all the rest?” Elisabeth had asked her outright. The only person with enough courage to do so. Unable to answer her sister, Susan had done what she always did, changed the subject.
Elisabeth had been happy, as were all the family, for her to fulfil Rubin’s last wish. But her sister was also one smart cookie and Susan had known she couldn’t avoid answering her for too long. It had been easier with her parents. Convincing them took no effort, which had made it seem like she was lying to them. And her adherence to the truth made her question long and hard not only what she was doing but also her methods and the results so far.
“What exactly have you told our parents?” Elisabeth asked. They sat curled up on the porch swing, as they’d done countless other times. It was late afternoon and the sun was setting fire to the treetops opposite. They both stared at the changing colours, and feeling the chill creep in over the blanket they shared, pulled it up toward chins like they’d done as children.
Autumn was turning crisp and cold.
“Exactly what I’ve told everyone.” Which was precious little. Susan thought. And unable to look her sister in the face, she picked at a loose thread on the well-worn knitted blanket.
“And?” It wasn’t a question so much as a command. The word hung between them for a moment. Susan still unsure of not only what to say to Elisabeth, but in fact, what she was doing. She might have told the odd white lie, now and again, during the course of her work but to her family? That was a different matter. To sum up what it was that was going on in head was, well, near on impossible.
What had Wilmington said? ‘You’re one word short of a full sentence.’ She had smiled to herself, then and now, remembering.
“This is serious, isn’t it?” Elisabeth asked when the silence threatened to stretch her patience. She knew how Susan operated, using silence when she didn’t want to tell a lie. Unable to vocalize about what little demons were at work.
“As serious as it gets—as it’s ever got.” Susan finally admitted.
“Those ‘little voices’ again?”
Susan squirmed. Knowing her sister understood didn’t make it any easier.
Her sister nodded, her face softening in the failing light. “You always did walk a different path.” Elisabeth reached an arm round and hugged her.
“Don’t let them fret, will you?” Susan sighed and hugged her sister back for all she was worth.
“I think they understand more than you give them credit for.” Elisabeth whispered into the gathering gloom.
Susan frowned.
“I think it’s something to do with love.” Elisabeth added and then with a soft laugh. “Remember the guitar lessons and those ballet classes?”
Susan did. She laughed, also remembering how tall she had been by the end of her ballet classes. What an ungraceful swan she had made. But made it she had. Determined to finish Mrs. Heinie’s class and make that all important final line up, for the end of school ballet production.
“And what about you and Sam?” Susan grinned now, “building that tree house?” Elisabeth laughed, just as Susan did, softly to herself remembering her brother’s excitement.
Their parents had proven patience really was a virtue.
Sam and Lizzie had demanded a tree house and their father had responded in typical fashion. Planning, budgeting, creativity, and a little (if not) a lot of sweat was required, and not by their father. Sam and Lizzie had had to measure and draw up plans with their exact requirements down to the last nail. While pocket money had to be saved, and then? All items purchased and paid for by them. They would then, under their father’s watchful eye, have to build the thing themselves.
It was a huge undertaking but they did it. Susan had been six; Sam eleven and Lizzie had just turned twelve. Susan remembered every detail, vividly. The last time she’d been up in that tree house had been a month ago. She was forty-three, but age was immaterial. The tree house represented something special.
Sanctuary.
Certainly, as kids, they had done some crazy things but somewhere along the line something had happened to the innocence that had inspired the craziness. Now? Susan wanted it back, as deep longing ached in her chest.
Her insipid coffee finished a boarding announcement called Susan’s flight to gate four. Standing, Susan took one long last look at her surroundings, sighed, and gathering her stuff, headed for gate four without a backwards glance at the world she was leaving behind.
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- The Last Word
- The Last Word
- The Last Word
- The Last Word
- The Last Word
- The Last Word
- The Fall of Carthagia
- Twist Of Fate
- Finley’s Last Chapter
- Obituary
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