It rained hard on Saturday and the early bus from Amherst got a late start. As they approached the Springfield exit, Jeremy decided it was late enough to call Zoe.
She answered right away. “Hey,” she said. “You home?”
“Almost,” he said. “I’m going to hang out with my dad a little.” How strange that sounded. “Do you want to take a walk in the park this afternoon? If the rain stops?”
That sounded stupid. Did you ask a girl who couldn’t walk to take a walk in the park? Go for a roll, maybe? That sounded worse. Why couldn’t he get this right?
“I’d like to, Jer. But I’m going to sit with Flo after her women’s group leaves. I don’t know when I’ll be home. Tomorrow morning, maybe?”
Jer? He liked that. A nickname. Better than Jerry, like Carl insisted on calling him. Carl. He didn’t want to think about Carl and Sari. He hadn’t done anything wrong, except overhear two words in a burrito bar. “Sure. How is she?”
Zoe paused before saying, “She’s dying. We’re keeping her company.”
Jeremy hesitated. “I could come sit with you too.”
“That’d be great,” Zoe said. “Mid-afternoon?”
It was almost ten by the time Jeremy lugged his wet duffle bag up the stairs to his parents’ apartment and dropped it on the dusty entry floor. As he dug in his pocket for the apartment key, the door opened and Tian stepped into the hallway. He quickly pulled the door closed behind him.
“They’re back.” Tian’s voice was a harsh whisper. “Those feds.” He grabbed the duffle and swung it into Jeremy’s arms. “Get out of here quick, Son. I’ll tell them it was kids selling Girl Scout cookies or something.”
Jeremy studied his father’s face, contorted with something. Worry? Anger? He couldn’t tell which or something entirely else. How weird—how sad—to not be able to read his own dad.
The apartment door opened again and the two agents stood framed in the doorway.
“Girl Scouts cookies, huh?” The short guy smirked.
Jeremy glanced at Tian, trying to gauge his dad’s temper. Didn’t seem too bad, but it was sometimes hard to tell. When Tim and Jeremy came home the weekend Tian was released, Tim had suggested that the number of rubber bands on their dad’s wrist might be a stress level indicator. Jeremy could see four now, three tan and one red, but he didn’t know how bad that was.
“Where’s Mom?” he asked.
“Sleeping. She worked last night.”
Jeremy shouldered in front of his father so that he stood facing the older agent. He’d been more reasonable last time, concentrating on writing in that spiral notebook.
“What do you want now?” Jeremy asked.
“We’ve got more questions. This time we need answers.” The guy sounded disappointed, as if Jeremy had personally let him down.
“And this time,” the younger agent said, taking Jeremy’s arm, “we’re taking you downtown.”
“You can’t do that,” Tian said. “Do you have an arrest warrant? Are you charging him with something?”
“We could, if you like, Mr. Jailhouse Lawyer. Accessory, maybe. Or conspiracy?” The young agent jabbed his finger inches from Tian’s face. “We don’t need a warrant. He was about to run away, so we can bring him in for questioning.”
Tian shook his head. “That’s not the law. But if you take him, I’m coming too.”
“Interfering with us is a violation of your parole, Mr. Williams.”
“I know my rights,” Tian said. “And none of this is legal.”
“You’re on parole and you got no rights.” The agent jerked Jeremy’s arm and pulled him toward the stairs.
Jeremy looked back at his father, slumped against the doorframe. That couldn’t be true, could it? A person didn’t lose all their rights just because they were convicted of a crime.
Tian picked up Jeremy’s duffle bag. “Don’t say anything without a lawyer,” he called to Jeremy. “Anything. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Jeremy wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed at the ordinary room tucked at the end of a long corridor in a high rise Main Street office building. No metal detector or one-way mirror or handcuffs. Just a standard issue metal desk with a shoe-sized dent in the side and dust bunnies in the corner. He was pointed to a chair and left alone.
His chair must have had a short leg. It wobbled each time he changed position. The silence made Jeremy nervous. He wiggled back and forth on the chair, making it tap on the gray linoleum floor. What were they waiting for?
“So?” he asked the closed door. “Why am I here?”
Nothing.
Twenty minutes or two hours later, the two agents entered and took seats facing Jeremy.
“We’re not happy with you,” the older guy said, and he sounded disappointed. “You withheld information last time. For one thing, you didn’t tell us who your daddy is.”
“You didn’t ask about him,” Jeremy said. He had promised himself to say nothing until his father found a lawyer, but that could take forever, and he had nothing to hide.
The agent leaned forward, leaning both elbows on his knees. “You didn’t think it was relevant that your father just got out of prison?”
“Why? He has nothing to do with this.”
The older man slapped his notebook on the desktop in disgust. “Is there anything you’d like to share about your friends in Brooklyn?”
Jeremy shook his head.
“You might be interested to know that Sari Gupta and Carl Goldman have been subpoenaed to the grand jury looking into that firebombing. They’ll certainly be indicted and they’ll no doubt be convicted. With terrorism enhancements, they could face very long sentences.”
“And,” the young guy interrupted, “if you’re an accessory, so could you. If you cooperate, we won’t have to subpoena you.”
“I’m not part of any of this,” Jeremy said. “I keep telling you that.”
The young agent stood up and walked close to Jeremy’s chair. He looked down at him. “Do you understand that lying to a federal agent is a serious crime?”
Jeremy nodded. Had he said anything that wasn’t true?
“You still claim that you haven’t seen any of the Brooklyn group?” the agent asked. “Not even Greenhope Murphy?”
Jeremy stared at his wet shoes, still wet from his walk from the bus stop. He wiggled his toes, wondering if they were wrinkled prunes.
“Look,” the young guy said, squatting so that his face was close to Jeremy’s. “We know she visited you at UMass and we want to talk with her. If you tell us where we can find her, you can go home.”
How could they know about UMass? They weren’t following him, were they? He shook his head. “How?”
“Amateurs. Remember that ATM on campus? Geez. So, where is the green lady heading?”
They were amateurs and Jeremy didn’t know if that was good because they were innocent, or bad because being innocent might not matter to these people. Still, he didn’t know where Greenhope was going, not really, not exactly.
“I don’t know where she’s going,” Jeremy said. “She didn’t tell me.” We’re not that amateurish, he thought. At least, Greenhope wasn’t.
The older agent shrugged and put his notebook under his arm. “Then I’m afraid you’re in big trouble.” He opened the door for his partner, and they both left the room.
Alone, Jeremy wished he hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t actually lied about anything, had he? He looked down at his hands. If ever there was a time he needed the plant delusions to rescue him, it was now. He tried to summon the tingling in his fingertips. He wiggled his fingers, urging the pinch of shoots pushing through muscle and skin. He beckoned green vines, urging them to twine around his arms, encircle his heart, protect him from these men and their accusations. He yearned for red blossoms covering his body, shielding his face, taking him away from these men and this place. But nothing happened.
“Just act normal, everyone?” Claire instructed the group. “She’s still our Flo.”
Mimi wiped the raindrops off her glasses and pushed ahead of the others in the quiet hallway. “There’s nothing normal about this. It’s horrible.” Maybe this had been a bad idea, for the women’s group to meet this morning. Probably the last time before Flo left them. Mimi didn’t think she could bear Claire ending one more declarative sentence with a question. She couldn’t stand one more go-round of their recurring discussion about a name for their group. Marlene would suggest the Girls’ Club and Fanny would counter with Sisterhood. Claire would reply that it was too much like the Hadassah and she herself would mutter Geezerhood. Around and around in circles they talked and it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that her best friend in the world was dying.
There had been other deaths in their forty-five years together. Sarah’s breast cancer was the first and it shocked them because she was so young and they still thought they’d live forever. When Sandy killed herself, they didn’t know whether to mourn or feel guilty that they hadn’t realized how bad it was, hadn’t been able to help her. And of course Joanna, her beloved Joanna, but that was so quick, with no time to say goodbye, no time to say anything at all.
Standing in the doorway of Flo’s room, all these losses returned and they merged together in the overheated air of the nursing home, each memory magnifying the sorrow of losing Flo. Mimi’s throat ached, the pressure of unshed tears pushed deep into her sinuses and her brain and her ears until her skull wanted to burst.
“Mocha delight for you,” Marlene said, holding a take-out cup with Coffee Hut printed on the cardboard. “And one for Flo.”
Wordless, Mimi grasped both cups and took the seat closest to Flo’s head.
“What a sweet kitty,” Fanny cooed, sitting on the foot of the bed and petting the sleeping black cat. “You know how much Flo loves kitties, don’t you, big guy?”
And how much Flo hates baby talk, Mimi thought, but she stopped herself from making an unkind comment. Everyone was doing their best, Marlene picking up their favorite hot drinks and Fanny talking silly. At least Claire hadn’t brought her stethoscope and gone all medical on them. Mimi would just lose it if Claire did that.
And none of it made any difference. In the center of their circle, Flo just lay there, motionless. Her chest barely moving. Her flesh a deflated balloon, like someone opened a vital valve and let the air out.
Mimi had called Sam’s cell early that morning, asking if it was okay for the group to come for a visit. “It’s our usual meeting, you know. Saturday morning at 10:00.”
“That’s fine,” Sam had said. His voice sounded thin on the phone. “I could use a break.”
“Are you okay?” she’d asked. She and Joanna hadn’t had children. Sam was as close to a son as she had. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No,” Sam answered. “And no. But thanks.”
She’d try to comfort Sam later. Now, Mimi tried to soothe herself. She searched her friend’s face for any sign of life but saw nothing. “Oh, Flo,” she whispered. “I’m going to miss you so much.”
“A toast to Flo.” Marlene stood at the foot of the bed, decaf skinny latté held high. “Forty-five years of sisterhood. Of fighting patriarchy, together.”
Mimi wondered if Marlene’s drink was made with skim or whole milk, but why did she care? They were all going to die, no matter if they ate double fat ice cream or fat-free frozen yogurt. She blew her nose on a wadded up tissue from her jeans pocket and gave herself a swift mental kick in the rear. Enough.
“Yes. To sisterhood,” Fanny echoed, nodding meaningfully at each of them.
“To my best friend in the world,” Mimi said. “I love you, Flo.” Mimi raised her mocha delight and leaned forward to bump cardboard cups with Marlene.
Fanny flourished a nip bottle of peppermint schnapps and poured a generous dollop into her drink and Mimi’s. “Anyone else?” she asked.
Claire pursed her lips and shook her head, murmuring something about before noon, but Marlene held her cup out for a splash.
“Can you hear us, Flo?” Claire asked. “We’re here with you. We love you.”
“To Flo!” The four women touched their cups high over Flo’s quiet form.
“To our Flo,” Mimi repeated and they drank.
Jeremy hadn’t shown up by ten and her calls kept going to voice mail. Zoe redialed his number, didn’t leave another message.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.
“Jeremy said he’d be here, hours ago.”
“He probably got involved with something. His family, or schoolwork.” Sam squirted lotion into the palm of his hand and rubbed it into Flo’s foot. “This is almost empty. Do you know where she buys this?”
Zoe looked at her father. “I don’t think we’ll need …”
“Don’t say it,” Sam said. He massaged the callus on his mother’s heel.
Zoe wheeled away from the bed. “Be back soon,” she said. “I’m going to call Jeremy’s parents.”
It took Zoe a few minutes to find a phone number for Francie, but she answered on the first ring.
“Hello?” Francie’s voice sounded worn.
“This is Zoe. Is Jeremy there?”
“No,” Francie said. “His father and a lawyer are downtown, hopefully bringing him home.”
“What happened?”
“The FBI brought him in for questioning,” Francie said. “I’ll tell him you called.”
“Thanks,” Zoe said. Clearly Jeremy’s mom didn’t want to tell her anything.
“It’ll be okay,” Francie said before she hung up.
Shortly after midnight, Jeremy and Tian stood awkwardly in the living room.
“Thanks, Dad.” Jeremy said. “I was really glad to see you.”
Jeremy remembered his surge of relief when Tian walked into the interrogation room downtown and put his arm around his shoulders. Funny how a parent—even a not-so-great parent, even a mostly-gone parent—could offer such comfort. But his relief had been tempered with anxiety about what this new Tian might do.
Tian chuckled. “You didn’t look glad. You looked terrified.”
“I was worried that you’d get pissed off.”
“I’m not that guy any more,” Tian said. “At least, I’m trying not to be. Sorry it took me so long to get you out of there. Couldn’t reach my lawyer and it took a while to find someone else.”
“I didn’t really need a lawyer, you know. They weren’t charging me or anything.”
“Just trying to intimidate you. That’s why you need a lawyer.”
Jeremy nodded.
After several long seconds, Tian asked. “You home for good, Son?”
Jeremy almost smiled at that. He still hated being called “Son,” but Tian wasn’t likely to mix him up with his brother, not after all this trouble.
“Maybe for the summer. If that’s okay.” Jeremy picked up his duffle and started down the hallway to his room.
“I don’t think I can sleep yet,” Tian called after him. “I’m making coffee. You want some?”
Jeremy stopped walking. He had no experience spending time with Tian—just the two of them, two adults, father and son—without Francie orchestrating things. What would they even talk about?
First things first. “Don’t call me ‘Son,’ okay? I have a name.”
Tian shrugged. “No problem. Jeremy. Now do you want coffee?”
“Yeah. Sure. But I’ve got to make a phone call first.”
He dumped the duffle on his bed and checked his messages, then dialed Zoe’s phone. While it rang, he looked around the room he once shared with Tim, walls plastered with their shared heritage of X-Men posters. He wasn’t at all sure how he felt about waking up every morning staring at Wolverine.
“You okay?” Zoe asked. “I was worried.”
“Yeah. Just got home.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing, really.”
“Being taken downtown by the FBI isn’t nothing.”
“Nothing happened. I’ll tell you all the details tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay. 10:30 at the park. At the ball field.”
Tian was pouring the coffee when Jeremy returned to the kitchen. They sat across from each other at the round table.
“You called that girl?” Tian asked.
“Zoe. Her grandma’s dying.”
“You like her.”
“Yeah.” Jeremy shifted in his chair. Had they already run out of things to talk about? This was going to be a long summer. Though hopefully he’d find a job. Work plus finishing two incompletes and seeing Zoe a lot wouldn’t leave too much time at home.
“What are you going to do this summer?” Tian asked.
Jeremy grinned. His dad could always read his mind when he was a kid, mostly when he had mischief in mind. “Get a job, I guess.”
“Maybe there’s something at the medical center.”
“I’ll ask Mom.” Jeremy sipped the coffee. “Geez, this is strong. When did you start drinking coffee anyway?”
“In prison real men don’t drink tea.”
“They don’t add milk either?”
Tian grinned. “Nope. But you can if you want.”
“Sugar okay?”
“All you want,” Tian said, pushing the bowl closer to Jeremy.
The coffee was still too hot to drink. Jeremy blew across the surface. That probably wasn’t done in prison either.
“What was it like there?” Jeremy asked.
“You saw some of it, when you visited. Nasty.”
“Yeah.”
“The good part was, there was plenty of time to think. The bad part was, there was plenty of time to think.”
More silence as they sipped the coffee. Singed tongues were easier than words, Jeremy figured. Finally, Tian pushed his cup away.
“Listen, Son. Jeremy. I’ve been chewing on what you said the other day. About what we all lost. I’ve never told you that I’m sorry. But I am. Sorry. About that night.”
Jeremy closed his eyes and he was back to the snowy Solstice. They parked the van by the side entrance to Forest Park and walked single file to the dingle buried deep in the woods. They all wore white. He and Tim were nine, old enough to wear the bleached muslin robes over their fleece and long johns and walk with the adults along the path. Tim pushed him out of the way and walked ahead, even though Jeremy was a few minutes older and should have been first. Abby and Terrence were babies, bundled up in triple-layer pajama sleepers and blankets and carried by their moms.
At the sacred place, Tian let them light the bonfire that they helped build earlier that afternoon. The moms nursed their babies to sleep in the small clearing, but he and Tim got to stay up. They played the heartbeat rhythm on the clay darbuka drums and Murphy’s recorder notes danced between drumbeats. Everyone chanted and Adele danced, her big belly hidden in robes until the end, when Tian parted her robes and offered the baby to the Goddess, just like each of the other children in the family had been offered, even the ones whose parents moved out and took them to live away.
Later, when the adults started drinking the libation and dancing crazy and wild, Francie settled Jeremy and Tim in their nest of sleeping bags and tarps and blankets at the edge of the circle, where they’d be warm and could watch until they fell asleep. Tim snuck a couple of swallows of the libation and nodded off right away, but Jeremy watched, cocooned warm and safe in his sleeping bag.
The snow drifted down and sizzled on the hot rocks ringing the fire pit. The sparkly smoke rose into the sky making new clouds with the snow. His whole family danced a swirling, whirling joyous parade around the bonfire, taking turns on the drums and the recorder and the dancing stone. Jeremy floated in and out of sleep, dreams merging with memories. Much later, when the party was quiet, he heard Abby and Terrence babbling to each other and thought about checking on them, or did he dream that part?
Tian shook his shoulder. “You daydreaming? You need more coffee?”
“Sorry, Dad. I was just remembering. The night Abby and Terrence went missing. Do you ever think about it?”
Tian’s hand went to his wrist. He fingered the red rubber band, but didn’t snap it. He was silent for so long Jeremy wondered if he heard the question. Of course he heard, but that didn’t mean he would answer it.
“Every day,” Tian finally whispered. “I think about those babies every single day.”