They Disappeared. Rick Mofina

Чтение книги онлайн.

      4

      New York City

      The next morning the Griffins went down to the lobby for breakfast.

      The dining area was crammed but Sarah spotted a table for them. Jeff and Cole moved with the crowd along the breakfast bar, loading their trays with sausages, eggs, cereal, fruit, toast, juice and coffee.

      Jeff saw Sarah at the table with her phone, reading, then responding to a text message.

      Who is she talking to?

      It consumed him as they ate and discussed options for the day but he’d have to deal with it later. Cole was wearing a New York Jets T-shirt and ball cap they had bought the night before, along with his new souvenir New York key ring bearing his name. He’d clipped it on the belt loop of his jeans. After flipping through his guidebook, Cole decided he wanted to take a tour bus down to Ground Zero, then a ferry to the Statue of Liberty.

      “But can we go to Times Square first?” he asked. “There’s a giant screen there that takes your picture and a toy store with a Ferris wheel inside. Can we go there?”

      Jeff consulted his map of New York.

      “Are you up for the walk?”

      “You bet! And every time I see the Empire State Building I’m taking more pictures. Can I go back for another juice, Mom?”

      “Sure.”

      When they were alone, Jeff nodded to Sarah’s phone.

      “So who were you talking to?”

      “Valerie, back home. She was asking if we got in okay.”

      “Valerie. Anybody else?”

      “Jeff, please don’t do this.”

      “Who, Sarah?”

      Her face reddened; she was on the verge of losing it with him. Instead, she seized her phone, cued the message, then thrust it at him.

      “Valerie. See? Valerie.”

      “Sorry.”

      Sarah put a hand to her mouth, blinking back tears. She looked toward the food bar to see Cole waiting his turn to fill his glass at the juice dispenser. She looked at Jeff.

      “On our way in from the airport I saw this billboard and—” She halted, shifted her thought. “I don’t want a divorce and I don’t think this is the time or place to tell Cole that you want one. We can’t break his heart, Jeff. We have to hang on and work this out.”

      He noticed she was twisting her wedding ring.

      “I never blamed you for what happened,” she said. “I was out of my mind, we both were. I was angry but I never blamed you for what happened. Get this through your head. I love you. We have to fight to hold this family together, not tear what’s left of it apart, please.” Upon seeing Cole returning, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Why in God’s name can’t you see that?”

      Jeff looked at her without speaking, his mind racing with a million thoughts before Cole returned, sensing unease.

      “Are you okay, Mom?”

      She touched a tissue to her eyes.

      “Just a sad memory, sweetie.”

      “All right.” Jeff cleared his throat and stood with his tray to clear the table. “Let’s get going.”

      They walked east to Seventh Avenue, then Broadway bound for Times Square. The city pulsated under a clear sky with the thud of a passing helicopter, the ever-present wail of sirens and traffic, telling him that he had to come to a decision. It weighed on him as they moved north along Broadway. Here, amid the whirlwind, he considered Sarah’s words.

      We have to fight to hold this family together. We have to hang on and work this out. Was she right?

      “Dad? Are you going to get in the picture with Mom now?”

      Cole’s question pulled Jeff from his thoughts and he took an immediate assessment, estimating that they were somewhere around Forty-fourth and Forty-fifth Streets near Seventh Avenue. The streets were crowded, traffic was heavy. Not far from where they stood, massive neon signs soared in spectacular glory, exuding an air of controlled chaos. News reports flowed nonstop in electronic ribbons of light that wrapped around several buildings.

      They were at the edge of Times Square.

      Sarah had just taken Cole’s picture and returned her camera to him.

      “Over there, Dad,” Cole said from behind the viewfinder. “Get next to Mom. I want to get that big flashy sign behind you—then we’ll go down to the center of Times Square, hurry!”

      Jeff put his arm around Sarah, then felt her arm solidly around his waist. It felt good, it felt right, and a bittersweet sensation rolled over him. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d touched each other, held each other. This was not easy. They both made an effort to disguise the emotional turmoil churning under the smiles they’d manufactured for Cole.

      Finally, he took the shot.

      “All right,” he said. “Can we get one of us all together?”

      “Let me ask somebody,” Jeff said.

      He took the camera from Cole and went a few yards down the crowded sidewalk to an older man wearing a Yankees ball cap taking photos of two women, likely his wife and daughter. Jeff asked him if he would mind taking a Griffin family photo with Sarah’s camera.

      “Be happy to.”

      The man took the picture but when Cole requested he take one more, nothing happened with the camera. The man looked at it. “Looks like your batteries are gone.” The man handed it back. Jeff thanked him and turned to Cole and Sarah.

      “I forgot to put in fresh ones,” Sarah said.

      “It’s okay.” Jeff glanced around, spotting a suitable store behind them. “I’ll go in there and get fresh batteries. You stay right here, don’t go anywhere.”

      “All right,” Sarah said. She and Cole began inspecting the jewelry, statues, artwork and T-shirts on a vendor’s cart. Jeff stepped toward the store but was stopped.

      “Sir, could you spare any change for a veteran?”

      A man with bushy dark hair and a beard flecked with bits of something white held up a hand in a dirty worn cyclist’s glove. He was in a wheelchair and missing his right leg. He wore torn jeans, a filthy John Lennon T-shirt and a tattered raincoat. His chair was reinforced with metal coat hangers and had a U.S. flag affixed to it. Jeff looked into his leathery weatherworn face, his brown eyes, and figured him to be in his early thirties. Guys who’d served deserved better, Jeff thought.

      “How’d СКАЧАТЬ