Fast Track (2 page)

S
ome deathbed confessions are expected, others surprising, but this one . . . well, this one was a real doozy.

It was Andrew Kane’s third heart attack, and he wasn’t going to come back this time. Too much damage had been done to the anterior wall to hope for a recovery. He knew it, and so did his daughter, Cordie, who sat by his side in the critical care unit and prayed for a miracle.

Her father was hooked to a plethora of machines by a series of tubes and IVs. The constant beep from the heart monitor was a comfort to Cordie because it assured her that, even though his eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow, he was still alive. She wouldn’t leave him, not even for a minute, fearing he would take his last breath alone in the cold, sterile environment while machines sounded his passing with wailing alarms.

Cordie’s life had come to a screeching halt at eleven o’clock Friday night when she got the news. She had just arrived home from a charity event at St. Matthew’s High School for Boys, and she was exhausted. Her day had started at six fifteen in the morning when she left her brownstone to go to work. After teaching three chemistry classes and two biology classes, she graded papers during study period, supervised two lab experiments, broke up a fight, and filled in for a math teacher who was home with stomach flu. Then, once the students had been dismissed for the day, she, along with most of the other underpaid teachers, helped transform the gymnasium into a Monte Carlo atmosphere for the annual charity auction. The remainder of the evening was spent serving soft drinks and smiling at donors until her face felt frozen.

She had been teaching at St. Matthew’s for three years while she finished her PhD. The school was located on the edge of Chicago’s South Side, a rough area of the city, to be sure, but thus far she hadn’t had any real trouble. A ten-foot-high wrought iron fence that had been there since the school was built surrounded the property and the parking area, and she had to drive only two blocks from the highway exit to get to it. There was always a guard at the gate. An anonymous benefactor had made a substantial contribution to the school with the condition that there would be a guard on duty at all times, and ever since the principal had hired the highly recommended security firm, the number of slashed tires and smashed windshields had plummeted.

Although her father wouldn’t admit it, Cordie suspected he was the benefactor. When she started working at the school, he became a staunch supporter. He even took over the auto shop classes when the regular instructor quit in the middle of the semester. The boys could be difficult. Most of them were high risk, but her father didn’t have any problem controlling them. He’d grown up in New Jersey and, even now, after all these years living in Chicago, still had a bit of a Jersey accent and a tough-guy facade. He treated the boys with respect, and they responded in kind. His gruff, no-nonsense attitude and his enthusiasm won them over. The fact that he had built a national chain of auto repair shops from the ground up didn’t hurt. In the eyes of his otherwise cynical students, it gave him credibility. While he was teaching the class, attendance was one hundred percent.

She knew it couldn’t have been easy for him raising her alone. It had always been just the two of them. There weren’t any relatives on either side of the family. Her mother had died when Cordie was a baby, so of course she didn’t have any memories of her. Her father told her she looked like her mother, but he never shared any stories about her. Cordie believed it was too painful for him to talk about losing the love of his life.

She wasn’t ready to lose him. He was her dad. He had always been . . . indestructible. Until his first heart attack six months ago, he had never been sick, never missed a day of work. Cordie depended on him for strength when times were difficult, and he was always there for her. Always.

When she had first entered the ICU room, the shock nearly undid her. A priest was standing over him administering the last rites. She barely recognized her father, and she stood there paralyzed with fear. He was a big man, almost six feet, with a muscular frame, but he looked so much smaller in the hospital bed, so weak and vulnerable.

Now sitting next to him, she was overwhelmed with the need to help him. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she impatiently wiped them away. It took several minutes for her to gain control of her emotions. If he opened his eyes, she didn’t want him to see her crying.

A senior cardiology resident came in to check on her father and assured her that he was resting comfortably. He couldn’t tell her how long it would be before his heart stopped beating.

“The heart is an amazing organ,” he told her.

“Then he could get better,” she whispered, clinging to the possibility.

Snatching her hope away, he shook his head. “No,” he said. “Dr. Platte explained the severity—”

She interrupted. “Yes, he explained.”

“The damage—”

“I know,” she interrupted again. “He’s dying.”

She couldn’t let herself believe it, though. Oh God, please don’t let him die.

She knew she wasn’t being rational, pleading for the impossible. She was a fully grown woman, yet sitting there watching him she felt like a little girl again. And she was so scared.

She took hold of his hand. She wanted him to know she was there and that he wasn’t alone. Gradually her panic began to ease. The initial shock wore off, and she was calm once again.

As she sat there hour after hour, she thought about her father’s life. He really was a remarkable man. When she was just a toddler, he went back to school to finish his college degree in business. To support them, he worked as a mechanic in a tiny auto shop. By the time she was five years old, he owned that shop and four more. Then he expanded to sixteen shops in neighboring cities. By her tenth birthday, Kane Automotive was nationwide, and her father was a multimillionaire. Last year he’d sold the company, which had grown to more than twelve hundred shops around the country, but he still tinkered in his garage rebuilding old cars just for the love of the work.

There was never a time he wasn’t busy. Yet he was always in the front row for any of her school events. He took her to dance classes and piano lessons and never missed a recital. He was at every parent-teacher night as well. And how many times did he put up with all those sleepovers with her two best friends, Regan and Sophie? Three little girls who giggled over everything must have driven him crazy, but he took it all in stride. The countless trips to the art museum, the zoo, the science exhibits, and the children’s movies she wanted to see again and again—her dad had the patience of a saint. When he wasn’t teaching her how to rebuild an engine or change the oil, he was monitoring her schoolwork. Smiling at the memories, she realized how very blessed she was to have such a great father.

Around two in the morning she dozed off. She awakened with a start when he squeezed her hand.

“Cordie.”

She jumped up and moved closer to the bed. She thought his complexion wasn’t quite as gray, and he seemed surprisingly alert.

“I love you, Dad,” she whispered.

“I love you, too.” He took a breath and said, “This one wasn’t like the other two. It snuck up on me and grabbed me from behind. It felt like my heart was being squeezed by a vise. Dropped me to the ground.”

“Are you in pain now?” Fear made her voice quiver.

“No, no pain at all. I didn’t think I would go like this . . . or so soon. I thought I had more time, but I guess everyone thinks that.” He closed his eyes, took another shaky breath, and called her name again.

“I’m here,” she answered.

“You’re going to be okay. You know I don’t want to leave you all alone, but you’ll be okay.”

She thought he needed her assurance. “I know.”

“The lockbox at the bank. The papers are there. Jared Newton, my attorney, will help you. You remember him.”

“Yes. Please don’t worry about me. You taught me how to take care of myself.”

Several minutes passed in silence. His grip had loosened on her hand. She watched him struggle for each breath, and she could feel the fear catching hold once more.

She thought he had fallen asleep, but suddenly he spoke again. “It’s all in your name. She won’t be able to get her hands on it.”

What? Was he hallucinating? “Who are you talking about?”

He didn’t answer her. “When you fall in love with the right man, I won’t get to walk you down the aisle. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about such things now, Dad.”

“Just don’t make the same mistakes I made. Don’t long for what you can never have. Before you know it, you will have wasted years waiting. And then it’s too late. I should have remarried, but I couldn’t let her go.”

“Do you mean Mother?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice weaker now, his eyes closed. “It’s all there in the box. I waited too long.”

His words came slowly and were whispered between labored breaths. “When you were little I didn’t know how to tell you. And when you grew up it didn’t seem important. There was never the right time.”

She softly stroked his hand. “Tell me now.”

“There was no accident . . . Your mother didn’t die in a car accident.”

Cordie was confused. Why would he lie about that? They never talked about her mother, so why was he focusing on her now? “Then how did she die?”

His last words were faint but unmistakable. “She didn’t.”

C
ordie was numb with grief and shock. Although her father had had the last rites, the parish priest, Father Patrick Anthony, blessed him again and then sat with her until she was ready to leave the hospital room and allow the body to be taken to Neeson Funeral Home. It took a long while for her to let go of her father’s hand . . . to let him go.

It was almost five in the morning by the time she reached her brownstone. She went inside and sat at the kitchen table with a cup of hot tea she didn’t remember brewing. If it had been a normal morning, her father would be getting up soon to get dressed for six thirty Mass at St. Peter’s. He never missed. Then he’d come back home and go to work on one of his many projects. She had thought he’d slow down after he sold his business, but that only freed him to concentrate on his other interests.

He had moved in with her two weeks ago—a temporary arrangement, he’d insisted—while he looked for a smaller home. He hadn’t expected his old house would sell so quickly.

She’d loved having her dad around, and she hadn’t been in any hurry for him to leave.

She had to plan a funeral, she thought. There was so much to do she didn’t know where to start. She should call people, shouldn’t she? She picked up a pen to make a list, then put the pen down. Nothing could be gained by calling her father’s friends now. She would wait a couple of hours so she wouldn’t disturb their sleep. Not everyone got up at the crack of dawn like her father. She would also follow his instructions and call the attorney first, she decided. She should probably write that down somewhere so she wouldn’t forget.

There weren’t any relatives to call. The closest thing she had to family were her two best friends. Cordie could have called them from the hospital, but Regan and her husband, Alec, were in London for a conference, and Sophie and her husband, Jack, were on their honeymoon somewhere in Bermuda. Regan and Sophie loved her father almost as much as she did, and his death was going to devastate them.

The senior boys at St. Matthew’s High School were going to be upset, too. As tough and streetwise as some of them were, they all had a soft spot for her father. They liked working on cars with him and learning from him. He had also been a father figure of sorts, she thought, remembering all the times after auto class a student would ask him if he could run something past him. Though her father never mentioned it, she had a feeling he got some of them out of trouble with the law.

Her dad was too young to die. He wasn’t even fifty yet. A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn’t want to call anyone. That would make it real. Once she said the words, she couldn’t take them back. Cordie knew she wasn’t making a lot of sense and blamed her muddled thinking on exhaustion, so she went upstairs and got ready for bed. After she set the alarm on her cell phone, she curled up on top of her duvet cover and closed her eyes. She would sleep for two hours, then get up and do what needed to be done.

Her mind wouldn’t quiet down. She kept replaying the conversation she and her father had had in the hospital. He’d told her that her mother was alive. Cordie didn’t know how to process that information. He had also confessed that he had wasted years waiting for her to come back to him. Okay, so she had left him. No, she had left both of them. But why? Where was she now? And why had her father lied about her mother all these years? The answers were in the safe-deposit box, he’d said.

Cordie drifted off to sleep wondering what other secrets her father had had.

 • • • 

During morning Mass the priest told the congregation a beloved parishioner, Andrew Kane, had died and to please keep him in their prayers. Word quickly spread, and by noon Cordie’s home was packed with friends, business associates, clergy, neighbors, and enough food to feed the entire parish. Apparently casseroles were a hot item for mourners. She had seven of them in her kitchen by midafternoon. Thankfully, her neighbor and friend Brenda Hagerty took charge of the food, and Brenda’s husband, Tom, helped with the crowd.

Jared Newton, the family attorney, drove Cordie to the bank to go through the safe-deposit box. It was stuffed with stock certificates, bonds, and all sorts of other legal papers. There was also a long, narrow box labeled
For Cordie.
Jared made copies of the documents, placed them in his briefcase, and handed the copies and the small box to Cordie. Lifting the lid, she glanced inside and saw a stack of envelopes. She would go through the contents tonight when she was alone.

It had taken them less than an hour to make the trip to the bank, and when they turned the corner at the end of her block, they were stopped by the congested traffic. Cars were double-parked in front of her door, and a steady stream of people headed toward her brownstone, many carrying covered dishes. Cordie was touched by the outpouring of sympathy, but she had no idea where she was going to put everyone. The crowd already spilled out onto the steps and sidewalk.

“Your father was well loved,” Jared said. “And these people are here for you, too.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“I’ll drop you off in front and find a place to park,” he said. “Cordie, tell me what I can do to help.”

“I have to write an obituary.”

“Okay, I’ll help you with that.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

Jared was such a sweet man. He was nice looking, too, she realized. She’d known him for five years, but until this moment she had never taken the time to notice how handsome he was. He had asked her out several times, and she’d always declined. Why had she done that? The answer was quick. Because she’d been chasing a foolish dream. Her father was right. It was time for her to face reality and move on.

She unbuckled her seat belt and opened the car door, but she didn’t get out. She sat there thinking.

“Cordie?” Jared asked, wondering why she was hesitating.

She turned to him again. “Are you seeing anyone now?”

The question surprised him. “I was,” he said. “But it wasn’t going anywhere, so I broke it off. Why do you ask?”

“I was wondering . . . once things calm down, would you like to go to dinner or something?” She couldn’t believe she was doing this now with her life so crazy. She knew she wasn’t thinking straight, but that didn’t seem to matter. She still plunged ahead.

“Yes, I’d like that,” he replied.

Okay, she thought. Step one: Move forward.

“I’ll see you inside,” she said. “I have to make a couple of calls first.”

It took her a good fifteen minutes to make her way upstairs. Her father’s poker friends were sitting together at the dining room table reminiscing. She stopped to talk to each one of them, then went up to her bedroom and shut the door.

She called Regan first. Her husband answered. “Hi, Alec,” she said. “How’s the conference going?” She hadn’t meant to ask that question, but she needed time to get the reason for her call out, to find the right words. He knew something was wrong the second he heard her voice.

“What’s going on?”

She decided not to ease into it. “My father had a heart attack. He didn’t make it.”

“Oh, Cordie, I’m so sorry.”

He wanted details, and she answered each of his questions. As though she were in a trance, her voice was devoid of emotion. Alec was like a brother to her. She didn’t have to be strong with him, but his sympathy was bringing all the grief and pain to the surface again, and she couldn’t afford to lose control now.

“Regan will be back in an hour,” he said. “I’ll have her call you just as soon as—”

“No,” she blurted. “If I talk to her now, I’ll fall apart, and I have a houseful of people . . . and casseroles. Oh God, there are so many casseroles. Will you call Sophie for me? Please.”

“Yes, of course I will,” he said. “What else can I do?”

“That’s all for now.”

“Regan and I are going to help you get through this. We’ll be on the next flight out of here.”

After ending the call, she went to her bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. There was so much to do before she could sit down and take a breath. She descended the stairs and immediately was surrounded by a throng of sympathetic faces. Cordie realized all the offers of help were given with good intentions, and she appreciated each and every one of them, but there were some things she needed to do alone. She had a three o’clock appointment at the funeral home. She eased her way through the crowd so that she could sneak out the back door without anyone noticing or insisting on accompanying her.

To her surprise she found that her father had already taken care of all the arrangements. He’d left precise instructions. He wanted the funeral Mass to take place at St. Matthew’s Catholic Church, which was just across the parking lot from the high school where she taught. Some of her father’s older friends were going to balk at driving into what they considered a dangerous area of the city, and she would understand if they didn’t attend. Nevertheless, she would honor all her father’s wishes, even if no one showed up.

She navigated the rest of the day in a fog. She must have listened to a hundred wonderful stories about her father, but after a while they all blended together. His loyal friends had already sainted him.

The box she’d brought home from the bank was on a shelf in her closet. She had every intention of going through it tonight, but by the time she went upstairs, she was so weary she could barely focus. She dressed for bed and slipped under the covers, the sad faces and words of condolence swimming in her head, and she fell asleep knowing that in the morning the ritual would start all over again.

 • • • 

Cordie was in the living room picking up glasses and putting them on a tray to carry to the kitchen when the front door opened and Sophie and Jack MacAlister walked in. The second Sophie saw her, she started to cry. Cordie put the glasses down and went to her.

As she hugged each of them, she said, “Thank you so much for coming.” She realized what she had just said to her dearest friends and shook her head. “I’ve been saying those words since yesterday morning to everyone who stopped by. I meant to say, ‘Thank God you’re here.’”

Jack put his arm around her and suggested they go somewhere quiet to talk.

“How about the study?” Cordie suggested. She didn’t know if there were people in there or not. She grabbed a couple of tissues from the box on the table, handed them to Sophie, and led the way.

One of her advisors in the science department at the university put his hand on her arm to stop her. He was a gregarious man with a rich baritone voice.

“We’re going to take off now,” he said. “But I was wondering . . .”

“Yes?”

“Did your father know?”

She understood what he was referring to. “No, I had only just found out.”

“Found out what?” Sophie asked.

Cordie remembered her manners and introduced the professor and his wife to her friends. The professor answered Sophie’s question.

“Cordie’s dissertation was approved. She’s now a PhD in biochemistry. Her thesis was groundbreaking. As young as Cordie is, to have accomplished such an impressive feat is quite remarkable.”

Cordie wasn’t comfortable with compliments because she never knew what to say, and so she quickly changed the subject. A few minutes later she walked the professor and his wife to the door, thanked them again for coming, and then went to join Jack and Sophie in the study.

Jack pushed the door closed behind her.

“You look tired, Cordie,” Sophie said as she took a seat in the overstuffed leather chair by the window. Jack joined her, sitting next to her on the chair’s arm.

Cordie couldn’t relax. She leaned against the desk, folded her arms, and took a deep breath. “Tired?” she scoffed. “You’re being kind. I look like hell.” She wasn’t exaggerating. The last time she’d passed a mirror she was shocked to see how pale her complexion was, and the dark circles under her eyes looked as though she’d drawn them there with charcoal.

“Tell me about your dad,” Sophie said. “Were you with him when he had the heart attack?”

“No,” Cordie answered. She explained what had happened.

By the time she was finished, Sophie was on her second tissue, dabbing the tears from her eyes. “Did he suffer? He didn’t, did he?”

“No, he didn’t,” Cordie assured her. “The doctors gave him medication to take care of the pain. I sat with him, and I would have known if he had any discomfort.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” Sophie whispered.

“It’s okay. You’re here now.”

“I loved your dad.”

“I know you did. He loved you, too.”

“What needs to be done?” Jack asked. “Put us to work.”

One of the neighbors knocked on the door and looked in. “Cordie, the priest is here to talk to you about the funeral Mass, and there are two policemen at the door. They’re wanting something done about the cars blocking the street.”

“I’ll talk to the police,” Jack said, and headed out the door.

Sophie smiled as she watched him leave. “It’s nice to have an FBI agent for a husband. Certainly comes in handy sometimes.” Standing, she removed her sweater and draped it across the back of the chair. “How about I go in the kitchen and help while you bring the priest in here and talk,” she suggested. The look on Cordie’s face made her laugh. “Don’t worry. I won’t cook. I’ll wash dishes or something.”

The last time Sophie made pasta in Cordie’s kitchen it took an hour to get the gummy noodles off the burners. The food was actually pretty good, but the entire kitchen was a mess.

Cordie didn’t have another minute alone with her friends the rest of the day. It was heartwarming that so many people wanted to pay their respects and talk about their friendship with her father, and she felt the least she could do was give each of them her time and attention.

By nine o’clock that evening, the last of the guests had left. Sophie and Cordie were sitting at the kitchen table, and Jack, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, was washing the pans in the sink when Regan and her husband, Alec, arrived.

Alec looked rested, but then he could sleep anywhere, according to Regan. He had slept all the way from London to Chicago. Regan, on the other hand, looked wiped out.