Authors: Diane Chamberlain
It had been a long time since she’d heard such genuine words of praise from him. “There were moments when I had my own doubts.” She sat back in the chair, crossing her right leg over her left. “What was it you wanted to see me about?”
He pulled a sheet of paper from the pile on his desk and rested it on the blotter in front of him. “Well, we don’t have the numbers worked out yet, but I wanted to let you know that you’re in for a big raise.” He looked at her from under his bushy eyebrows. “A
very
big raise.”
She tried to mask her confusion. Perhaps she was misunderstanding him or he was teasing her, prolonging her agony. “And what exactly will I be doing to merit this big raise?” She smiled, taking the bait she assumed he was offering.
“The
North County Report
,” he said. “Not only the light stuff you’ve been doing, but the whole thing. All of it.”
He was serious. She hid her shock, but an edgy tension ran through her body. “Dennis,” she said, “I really think you should consider putting me back on
Sunrise.
“
“On
Sunrise
?” He looked so astonished that she knew he hadn’t given the idea even casual consideration.
“Well, yes.” She attempted to smile. She wouldn’t let him know how she was counting on it. “Did you read the article in the
Union
the other day?”
“Yes,” he said slowly, frowning, “but…”
She leaned forward, resting one arm on his desk. “Oh, come on, Dennis.” She spoke bravely, forcefully, as though they were equals. At one time, she would have spoken to him that way with absolutely no hint of the trepidation she felt now. “I want my show back. The
viewers
want me back. I created
Sunrise.
“
“And you did an excell—”
“I have ideas for it. I—”
“Look, Carmen.” He snapped a cigarette out of the pack on his desk and lit it, taking a long drag. “You did create
Sunrise
. You created the style and sass and bite that made it the top-rated morning show around. No one can ever take that away from you.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “But you’re not that hard-driving woman anymore. I only have to look at you to see that you’ve lost your taste for the jugular. You’re doing a great job with this Cabrio stuff, but it’s work now—isn’t it?—where raking people over the coals used to be your cup of tea.”
“
No
, and—”
“And Craig told me you didn’t want to cover the bus crash last week.”
How did Craig know that? She thought she had concealed her panic about that assignment very well. “Jeff Cabrio was moving the equipment up to the—”
“The roof, yes. I know.” He leaned back with a sigh, eying her skeptically, and she lowered her eyes. He saw through her. He saw her own doubts. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, and she tried to ignore the patronizing tone. “So, go ahead,” he said, “tell me your ideas for
Sunrise
.”
She cleared her throat and looked directly at him in an attempt to salvage some of her trumped-up bravado. “I would start off with a show no one would miss. I’d put on the people I’ve been interviewing about Jeff Cabrio. People from his past. People who know all the secrets he’s so intent on keeping to himself.”
Dennis’s chair squeaked as he shifted his weight. He didn’t look disinterested. “Go on.”
“Dennis, Cabrio is hiding something. I still don’t know what it is, but I’m not going to stop until I’ve uncovered it.” She was surprised by how strong her voice sounded, as though she had no qualms whatsoever about continuing her intrusion into Jeff’s personal life. This drive to reveal him at all costs sickened her, but if there was another tune she could sing, she didn’t know it. The only certainty in her life right now was that she couldn’t rebuild her career on the slim pickings of
North County Report
. Once Jeff’s story had been milked dry, once the fires were out, she’d be reduced to covering Little League games and the avocado harvest.
“You still have tenacity, Carmen, I’ll say that much for you.” Dennis stood up. “Listen.
Sunrise
is not up for grabs at the moment, but I will definitely think about something bigger for you with
News Nine
. That’s all I can promise right now, all right? You keep up the good work. You show me your mettle, Carmen. I won’t let it go unrewarded.”
ONCE AGAIN, CARMEN WAS
on a flight to the East Coast, this time to Philadelphia. Dennis Ketchum didn’t balk over giving her a couple of days off. This would be her big interview, she’d told him. This one had to be done in person.
She changed to a smaller plane in Philadelphia and arrived in Trenton at three. After checking into a hotel, she immediately took a cab to the New Jersey State Prison, a chill-inducing collection of aging brick buildings and barbed wire.
It took her forty-five minutes to get through the red tape in the main office even though they were expecting her, and finally she was directed to a small brick building at the end of a long walkway.
There was surprisingly little security in the small building. She was told she could meet with Mr. Watts in the lounge, and she sat down on one of the blue vinyl sofas to wait for him. A few women walked past the open door, all of them in nurses’ uniforms, and she realized this particular building must be the infirmary or whatever it was called in a place like this.
After a short while, a nurse appeared in the doorway with a man at her side. Carmen stood up. Jefferson Watts wasn’t at all what she’d expected. The image of the strong, robust black man she’d held in her mind all these weeks suddenly faded. Jefferson Watts was old. Old, and very ill. At his side was an oxygen tank on wheels.
“I’m all right.” He spoke to the nurse in a low, raspy voice. The woman nodded at Carmen and walked off down the hall.
Carmen approached him, reaching out to shake his hand.
“Mr. Watts?” she said. His hand was dry and cool, and there was no strength at all in his handshake.
“That’s me.” He gave a single nod of his graying head. “Take a seat, miss. Don’t need to stand for a old man.” He was dressed in a blue shirt and blue pants, and he walked into the room slowly, pushing the oxygen tank in front of him. A tube ran from the tank to his nose. He wheezed slightly as he sat down on a green vinyl chair. Carmen took her seat once again on the sofa.
Jefferson Watts pointed to the oxygen. “Emphysema,” he said.
Carmen hadn’t expected the rush of sympathy she felt. The old man’s silver hair was cut close to his scalp, and he sported a neatly trimmed gray beard. He must have been very handsome at one time. There was still dignity in his presence.
“So,” he said, “you with the police?”
“No, I’m not.” She pulled her identification card from her purse and walked over to his chair to show it to him.
He took the card from her and studied it for a moment before handing it back to her with a nod.
“I work for a television station out West,” she said. “One of your son Rob’s inventions has been very valuable to a town there, so I’m talking to people who know him in order to put together a news story on him.”
She looked questioningly at the old man. There was suspicion in his eyes. He wasn’t stupid, not so old and senile that he could be easily taken in.
“Yes,” he said, “Rob was always inventing somethin’, and just about everything he made worked—or if it didn’t he stuck with it till it did. So I believe you when you say he’s come up with something valuable.” He cocked his head to one side. “But I don’t believe he sent you here to talk to me.”
“No, he didn’t,” Carmen admitted. “I’ve come on my own.”
He sighed, a sound like the creaking of an old door. “I never knew if I was hearing the truth or not from Robbie since I been here,” he said, “and that’s a hell of a long time. I don’t mean he’d lie wanting to deceive me, only that he’d want to keep me from worrying, you understand?” He rubbed his bearded chin with one shaky, gnarled hand. “He moved, and I don’t know where to get hold of him—if you know, don’t tell me, though,” he added hurriedly. “He obviously has some reason for wantin’ it that way. Just tell me, does he need help? There somethin’ I can do?”
She studied this sick, dapper old man, and felt like crying. When she spoke, her voice was thick. “I’m not sure he needs help, but even if he did, I doubt there’s anything you could do from here.”
“But is his health good? His family—they all right?”
Carmen hesitated. She simply didn’t know what she could tell him, how
much
she could tell him, without causing him distress. “I’m sorry, I don’t know them,” she said. “I come from a small town in southern California, and Rob is there alone.”
“California! Good for him. But Leslie’s not with him?”
“No.”
Jefferson shook his head slowly, letting out a wheezing sigh. “Like I thought, somethin’s wrong. I haven’t heard from him since before Christmas. That got me worried. Him and his wife always come up here on Christmas and bring the little girls with them. The cutest things. I still haven’t seen the baby, not in person anyhow. I got a picture, though.”
He stood up slowly and fumbled in the pocket of his blue pants. He pulled out a small, laminated photograph, and his hand shook so hard as he gave the picture to Carmen that she was tempted to take his hand in hers to still the tremor, to warm his cool fingers.
The photograph was a studio portrait of a man, a woman, and three children. She wasn’t certain she would have recognized Jeff. His hair was dark blond, his face fuller. He wore a smile she had never seen before. Unguarded. Unworried. Trusting of the world. Leslie Blackwell’s eyes were blue and enormous, almost round, bubbling with laughter and energy. The girls sat one on each of Jeff’s knees, and they had their mother’s eyes. The baby nestling in Leslie’s arms was bald and sleepy-eyed and looked barely old enough to have come home from the hospital.
“They named him after me, you know,” Jefferson pointed one finger in the direction of the photograph.
“No,” she said, “I didn’t know that. It’s a very beautiful family.” She handed the picture back to him, and he sat down again.
“They come at Christmas and bring me one of them dried fruit trays. You know the kind?”
“I think so.”
“With the dates and apricots and such? I could go for one of them dates right now.” He shifted a little in his chair, wincing. “Well, anyhow, I got a letter from Rob way back in November and he said he couldn’t visit for a while. He didn’t say why, but I know Robbie, and I know he’s got some good reason. Still, I’m old and not in the best shape I ever been.” He chuckled, and the sound turned into a cough. When he’d recovered, he added, “I don’t like to think about not gettin’ to see him before I checkout.”
“I hope you get to see him again very soon.” Carmen’s eyes stung and she quickly shifted her attention to the oxygen tank, studying the long tubes connected to the apparatus on the metal top. When she was certain she was past the danger of crying, she looked at him again. “So,” she said, “you haven’t heard from him at all since November?”
“Well, I think I actually did. I’m ninety-nine percent sure it was him, because it come on my birthday a coupla weeks ago.”
“What did?”
“The tape. One of those little cassette things, you know?”
“What was on it?”
Jefferson Watts laughed. “Howling.”
“What?”
“Animals howling. There was a note with it, but it was done on a typewriter, so I couldn’t tell by the handwriting if it was Robbie or not. It said, ‘Listen, and think of freedom.’”
Carmen frowned, perplexed. “Just howling? He doesn’t say anything on the tape?”
“No, and I listened the whole way through to the end, though most of it was dead air. I was hoping to hear some of his voice.” He looked down at the oxygen tank, ran a trembling finger over the top of it. “Haven’t heard his voice in a while.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Watts.” She wanted to complain to someone about the injustice of this man’s continued incarceration. She wanted to pack him up and take him with her, take him back to Jeff.
“It’s dogs. Or wolves, I guess,” he said.
“Coyotes, probably. There are coyotes near where he’s living.”
“Ah! So he’s out in the wilderness. That’s probably why he couldn’t take the little ones with him. Too dangerous, right?”
She forced a smile. “That’s probably it.”
“And the job he’s doing is one of them hush-hush ones, I suppose.” Jefferson nodded. He seemed pleased to have developed a theory for his son’s silence and separation from his family. Suddenly, though, his eyes clouded over. “Kent ain’t working with him, is he?”
“No. I don’t think they’ve worked together for a couple of years.”
The old man shook his head. “That’s good. Kent and Robbie did a bunch of inventions together, but they didn’t always see eye to eye on things. Kent used to give him no end of grief when Robbie wanted to spend time with his family instead of working. Robbie has more sense than Kent when it comes to knowing when to work and when to play. I think I taught him that.”
Carmen smiled at the pride in his voice. “Tell me what it was like being his father.”
The vinyl chair creaked as Jefferson leaned back into it. A pensive look came over his features, and he tilted his head to one side. “It was a joy, for the most part,” he said. “Robbie was a good boy, but he had it rough coming up. I met Beth when she was just twenty-two and Robbie was seven. I was considerably older. Know where I met her?”
Carmen shook her head.
“Robbie don’t know this, and I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell him.” He lifted a questioning eyebrow.
“I won’t.”
“Well, she was huntin’ through the garbage back of a A & P, looking for food. I was parked a ways away, waiting for a connection—I was into the drug trade in those days—and she didn’t know I was there. She was a beautiful girl, and my heart broke, watching her. My connection come, we did the deal and then I went up to her and gave her the profit I just made. She started to cry and told me she and her boy had no place to stay that night. She got kicked out of her boyfriend’s, and she had a bruise on her leg to prove it. I took her home with me, and that’s where she stayed.”