Laurie Moran noticed that she was smiling in the mirror as she applied a thin layer of tinted moisturizer and a single coat of mascara, her only makeup on a typical day.
For as long as Laurie could remember, her early morning thoughts focused on how to get her son out of bed and both of them out the door. The nightmares she suffered for years after Greg’s murder did not help, but the bad dreams became less frequent over time, and Timmy eventually grew into his own morning routine. As certain as she had been about marrying Alex, she had worried that blending their households would shake up the sense of order she’d worked so hard to achieve.
Now, six months into their marriage, Laurie was smiling to herself because she had woken up to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee in the air, the quiet sound of jazz music from Tim’s bedroom down the hall, and the feeling of her husband’s arms wrapped around her waist. No hint of chaos.
Her heart only soared higher when she made her way to the kitchen. Ramon was humming a tune she couldn’t quite place while overseeing a griddle of French toast. At the breakfast nook, Alex and Tim sat side by side over the New York Post, hashing out where the national hockey teams ranked in the weeks since the all-star break.
They were completely at ease together. Even though Alex had dark, wavy hair, while Tim’s own hair was sandy-blond and wispy, any stranger who saw them like this would assume they were father and son.
“Our team will be unstoppable once Tim Moran’s at the net,” Laurie said, hoping that her use of at the net was correct. At least she’d finally grown accustomed to calling her little boy Tim. Back when he was still Timmy, he declared he wanted to be the Rangers’ goalie by the time he was twenty-one.
“Tim might be too busy playing trumpet in a jazz quartet for professional sports,” Ramon said, proving that he never missed a beat of a conversation, no matter how hard at work he appeared.
Alex gave Tim a friendly pat on his shoulder. “This guy can do it all,” he said.
“Just like my mom,” Tim said with a satisfied expression. “We were waiting for you to come down, Mom.” He looked to Ramon in anticipation and began to whisper a shared countdown: three, two, one… “Happy Six Month Anniversary!”
The same four words Alex had said to her that morning. She dropped a kiss on the top of Tim’s head, still damp from the shower. “You two are so sweet to remember. Speaking of big days, Tim, your birthday is in two weeks and you haven’t given us any hint at all about what you want.” How was he almost eleven years old already?
“But then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
Tim bounced from his seat at the sound of a knock at the apartment door. The doormen no longer called upstairs to announce the arrival of Laurie’s father, but Leo still insisted on knocking instead of using the apartment key she had given him.
“Good morning, Grandpa! Ramon made cinnamon French toast! Do you want some?”
While Tim admired musicians, athletes, and YouTube stars like the other kids at school, he still looked at his grandfather like he was Superman. The former first deputy police commissioner of the NYPD, he might have been the city’s next commissioner if he hadn’t retired to help Laurie raise a child alone when Greg was killed. Leo Farley was indeed a real-life superhero.
“No thanks, buddy. I made myself a veggie egg white omelet this morning the way Ramon taught me,” he said, patting his stomach lightly. “Got to keep the old ticker ticking.”
It had been nearly three years since her father had been rushed to Mount Sinai for a cardiac fibrillation episode that led to the insertion of two stents in his right ventricle. Laurie felt like a broken record, always lecturing him about dietary restrictions while her father complained she was trying to make him a miserable gluten-free vegan. It wasn’t until Ramon and his culinary talents got involved that her father began to accept some lifestyle changes. He still indulged in the occasional steak or his legendary “Leo lasagna,” but not enough to worry her.
The list of requirements when she and Alex had been searching for an apartment had been long. Lots of space for a home office and at least one extra guest room. Thick walls to protect the neighbors from Tim’s enthusiastic trumpet practices. A separate living area for Ramon, who insisted on being called a “butler,” even though he was Alex’s honorary uncle at this point, not to mention a kitchen that complied with Ramon’s exacting demands. But top of the list was location, location, location.
Laurie’s former apartment on 94th Street had been only a block from her father’s and five blocks from Tim’s school. Someday, maybe soon, Tim might announce that he wanted to walk to and from St. David’s on his own, but until that happened, no apartment in the world was important enough to deprive her son and his grandfather of their cherished daily tradition. Laurie had worried that even the move to 85th Street might be too far, but her father assured her that he’d benefit from the extra steps.
While Tim grabbed his backpack from his bedroom, Laurie pulled her father aside. “Can I ask you to put on your former detective hat?”
“My detective hat is never off,” he said dryly.
She smiled. “Of course not. Tim is apparently too grown now to drop his usually heavy-handed hints about what he wants for his birthday. Can you try to sneak it out of him?”
Her father’s shoulders shook gently as he chuckled.
“What am I missing?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Timothy tries so hard to be grown, but on our walks? For every old cop-on-the-beat story I give him, he mentions a new video game or concert he wants to see. Trust me, your old man’s got a list. You may need to take a loan out on this place by the time we’re done.”
“I should have known Farley was hot on the case.”
“Always.”
It was the usual morning rush on the subway platform, another morning tradition that Laurie wouldn’t change, despite Ramon’s repeated offers to drive her. Laurie was a journalist. As grateful as she was to have other people’s help, she couldn’t completely remove herself from the real world.
She noticed a young woman seated on a bench, trying to type a text on her phone with one hand while holding onto the wriggling toddler on her lap with the other. The woman’s eyes darted between her screen and the subway tunnel, anticipating the inbound train that could be heard in the distance.
“Is everything all right?” Laurie asked. “I’m sorry to pry, but you seem a bit overwhelmed.”
When the woman looked up, Laurie could see that her eyes were tired. “It’s just a rough morning. I’ve got to get this guy to daycare but we’re running behind schedule, and if I’m late to work again… I can’t lose this job. I’ve got to at least email my boss before I get on the train and lose the phone signal, but I can’t let go of my son, not when you won’t sit still, Jake, and with the train coming and all the horrible things you read about subway platforms.” The woman’s words were spilling out so quickly, Laurie thought she was close to tears.
“Let me help. Please.” The woman shook her head immediately, but then she looked up at Laurie’s face again. “I’m a mom, too. Please. I can entertain Jake or type the text for you, whatever you want.”
She hesitated for a moment, as if wrestling with the decision. Finally, she nodded and gave a grateful smile. “That’s so kind of you.” She handed Laurie her phone. “Jake, this is our friend…”
“Laurie. Hi Jake. It’s nice to meet you.” Laurie read the message the woman had started and then finished it on her own with two thumbs. When she was done, she read it aloud.
“It’s perfect,” the woman said.
“And sign it?”
“Tara. I’m Tara.”
“She’s not Tara,” Jake said, sticking out his tongue. “She’s my mommy.”
“You don’t know how much this means to me,” Tara said. “It’s just been so hard lately. Sometimes I wish I had family who could help out, but then I remember why it’s just the two of us. Sorry, that’s a lot—Let’s just say that when a family no longer speaks to each other, there’s usually a good reason.”
As they stepped onto the train together, Laurie gave the woman a sad smile, feeling even more grateful for the support she and Tim had found in their lives.
Fifteen minutes later, she arrived to the sixteenth floor of 15 Rockefeller Center, home to the offices of Fisher Blake Studios. As she stepped from the elevator, she saw Ryan Nichols sauntering into the office of her boss, Brett Young. Within seconds, she heard her boss welcome the host of her show with an enthusiastic assurance: “My door’s always open for Ryan!”
What were the two of them up to now?