Nowhere to Run (14 page)

When the network had decided to replace the weekend edition of
KEY to America
with cartoons, Annabelle had started watching
The Saturday Early Show
on CBS. As the kids ate their pancakes and drank their orange juice, she went to the living room and switched on the set, keeping the volume low. There would surely be coverage on the anthrax victim at KEY News, and Annabelle didn’t need Thomas and Tara hearing about it on TV. When there was any explaining to be done, she herself would tell them.

Rubbing her shoulder, Annabelle sat on the couch, waiting with a heavy feeling in her chest. Sure enough, the anchor was leading with the story.

“Earlier this week, on the KEY News morning broadcast,
KEY to America,
Medical Correspondent Dr. John Lee, in what he claimed to be an example of the availability of anthrax, produced a vial of what he purported to be the deadly white powder. But tests by health officials determined that the substance was
not
anthrax, and Dr. Lee was subsequently fired by the network.

“Now, in a terrifying twist, a KEY News employee has been diagnosed with anthrax poisoning. Thirty-six-year-old Jerome Henning, a producer for
KEY to America,
lies in a New Jersey hospital in critical condition. Hospital officials have scheduled a news conference for later this morning, and police are investigating.

“At the KEY News Broadcast Center,
KEY to America
offices have been closed and employees are being tested for exposure.”

The bedroom door opened. Mike, bleary-eyed, shuffled into the living room, his bathrobe open, revealing the rumpled boxer shorts and T-shirt beneath. The stubble on his face could practically be considered a beard, Annabelle thought as she looked at him. It had been over a week since he’d shaved. She knew because she had been counting the days.

“Hi, sleepyhead,” she said with affection.

He grunted his response.

“We have pancakes, Daddy. Want some?” Tara called from the kitchen.

Mike didn’t bother to answer.

“Mike, honey, Tara is talking to you,” Annabelle urged. “Do you want some pancakes?”

“For God’s sakes, Annabelle, I don’t want any damned pancakes. Just leave me alone, will you please.”

Last night’s warm hopefulness was replaced with the morning’s cold ration of truth. One step forward, two steps back.

She could tell it was going to be another great day in the Murphy household.

The metal folding gate that cordoned off the entrance to Station Break was down but not locked. As the Saturday morning worker pulled it up, he wondered who had forgotten to lock it the night before.

He busied himself, switching on lights, firing up the grill, and getting the coffee urns going. He started a pot of oatmeal cooking and sliced two dozen bagels. Next, he went to the walk-in refrigerator to get out the eggs and the big tub of cream cheese.

“Oh, man. Edgar!” He whistled as he saw it. He knelt down, shaking the lifeless body that lay on the frosted floor.

“Wake up, bro. Wake up,” the food-service worker urged frantically while sensing full well that it was too late.

As they took the subway uptown, the kids bounced in their seats. It was the day they had been waiting for over the last months, their trip to the Claremont Riding Academy. Children from six years on up could learn how to walk, trot, and canter their quiet beginner mounts. The horseback riding program stressed patience and concentration along with physical coordination, strength, and agility. Children also developed a sense of responsibility in caring for their animals. Annabelle mostly liked the idea that it would be fun.

When her parents had called from Florida, asking what they could give the twins for their birthdays last summer, Annabelle had suggested the lessons. They’d had to wait until now for an opening in the private instruction schedule. There was no way she wanted to disappoint them.

As she stood over the twins and hung on to the subway pole, Annabelle wished that Mike was taking them to their lessons. Once upon a time, he wouldn’t have missed this. And she could have gone out to see Jerome again.

Not that it would make any difference to Jerome whether she came to visit or not. As Annabelle thought of him, she quickly wiped away the tears that formed at the inner corners of her eyes. She didn’t want the kids to see how upset she was. She had to appear as normal as possible for Thomas and Tara. They’d had enough to worry about lately.

Annabelle checked her watch. Jerome’s brother had taken the red-eye in from Los Angeles. He was probably at the hospital by now.

“I want a girl horse,” declared Tara.

“A mare, Tara. A girl horse is a mare.” Annabelle spoke loudly to be heard over the subway clatter.

“And I want a boy horse,” Thomas added, following his sister’s lead.

“That’s a stallion, but I don’t think you’d better count on that, Thomas. I think when you begin riding it’s better to have a mare. They’re gentler.”

She watched the boy digest the information, knowing he was torn between pride and prudence.

“Don’t worry, you can get a good ride from a mare,” Annabelle reassured him.

With mittened hands in her gloved ones, mother and children walked the few blocks from the subway stop to the stable. As was true everywhere in Manhattan, space was tight. Like an apartment building, the barn was laid out compactly on several floors. The indoor riding ring was on the ground floor, the horses billeted in stalls upstairs and down. When they arrived, a man at the front door called through an intercom. Within a few minutes, two well-cared-for horses were escorted down ramps by grooms.

The comforting smell of the horse barn wafted through the air while Annabelle watched with pleasure and a tinge of apprehension as the twins went into the ring and began their lessons. An orange cat picked its way across the ring floor, dwarfed by the gentle horses. The children, wide-eyed and earnest, were listening to their instructors. In this moment, all felt right with the world.

“Annabelle? Annabelle. What are you doing here?”

Turning in the direction of the voice, Annabelle spotted Lauren Adams, dressed in caramel-colored jodhpurs, gleaming black leather riding boots, and a velvet-covered hard hat. Annabelle was suddenly conscious again of her four-year-old coat. One of the cuffs was actually starting to fray. She wished she had worn the fur jacket.

“Oh, hi, Lauren. How are you?”

“I’m fine. I didn’t know you came here.”

“The kids are starting lessons.” Annabelle gestured toward the ring.

“Oh, that’s nice for them. It’s something they can enjoy their whole lives. I started when I was just a kid too. Even though I’m a city girl now, I come every weekend to ride on the bridal paths in the park. I never miss it. Even on a weekend like this, when my boyfriend is in town.”

Annabelle had seen people riding horses in Central Park and always thought they seemed so entitled. That was Lauren. To the manner born. Or at least she appeared to be.

“You’re lucky.”

“I don’t know that luck has anything to do with it. I just make it a priority in my life. I need to have this time to myself. I deserve it.”

What was the point in trying to explain to Lauren that the breezy observation was only small talk? Besides work, Annabelle didn’t think she and Lauren had much in common, and she knew that they would never be friends.

“It’s terrible about Jerome, isn’t it?” Annabelle changed the subject.

“I’ll say. And I think KEY News should have one big lawsuit on its hands. I’m thinking about calling in sick next week, ’til they get that place cleaned up and can guarantee me that there isn’t any danger.”

It’s always about you, isn’t it, Lauren?
Annabelle thought, turning away to watch Tara and Thomas.

“Will I see you at Linus’s tomorrow?” Lauren asked.

Annabelle sighed with quiet exasperation.
Linus’s party. How could Linus be having a stupid party when Jerome was lying deathly ill?

“I’m not sure yet. Is Linus even still having it?”

“Oh, yes. I spoke with him yesterday before I left the office and he’s not canceling. Life must go on and all that. You should come, Annabelle. Have a little fun. I’m looking forward to it.”

You might be the only one who is.

Linus woke up late, last night’s vodka producing the dull throb pulsing in his head. Walking into the master bathroom, he opened the medicine cabinet and pulled a bottle of aspirin from the shelf. He swallowed three, then grabbed his electric toothbrush and squeezed the peppermint-flavored paste on the bristles. As he brushed, he stared at the open cabinet.

Something was different. He could swear things had been moved.

He tried to recall what had been in there. The aftershave, the mouthwash, the razor, and the shaving cream all were where they should be. So were the Tums and the Viagra.

The Cipro. That was what was missing.

He had been keeping it ever since the episodes at the other networks. The pharmacist had told him that it had a three-year shelf life. He still hadn’t begun taking it, nor did he intend to—unless the nasal swab indicated that he should. The side effects of the drug were said to be lousy: vomiting, diarrhea, headaches, and dizziness. He didn’t need that for sixty days.

But now, even if he needed it, the antibiotic wasn’t here.

Wayne must have beaten him to it. The hypochondriac.

He wished that son of his had bigger
cojones
. Wayne was such a disappointment.

“Can we, Mommy?” asked Tara.

“Yeah, Mom, can we?” Thomas seconded.

Why not make the morning a complete success? To heck with balanced lunches and spoiled appetites. Life was short. She doubted Jerome, if he could, would look back on his life and wish that he had eaten less junk food.

“Okay,” Annabelle answered.

The twins let out a collective “Yea!” as they crossed Bleecker Street to the Magnolia Bakery.

In the window of the tiny shop, a young woman spread thick icing in shades of pink, green, and yellow on top of generously sized cupcakes. Tubs of peach and blue sprinkles and candy flowers waited nearby, ready to complete the decoration. Once they were inside, sugar cookies, blueberry muffins, and cheesecakes beckoned from the glass display cases.

“I want a green cupcake,” said Thomas.

“I want a pink one,” his sister chimed.

Annabelle got a dozen of the chocolate drop cookies Mike liked and some of the peanut butter ones she adored and paid for the order. The kids were barely out the door when they begged not to have to wait until they got home to eat their treats.

“Let’s go over to the playground for a little while,” Annabelle suggested. “You can eat them there.”

It didn’t take much to convince them. The Bleecker Playground on Abingdon Square was one of their favorite haunts. There the three of them sat on a bench, warmed by the noonday sun, as Annabelle distributed the cupcakes from the paper bag.

Thomas struggled to peel the paper back from his cupcake.

“Take off your mittens, honey. I’ll hold them for you.”

The child obeyed, handing the red mittens to his mother, and she stuffed them into her coat pocket. Reaching into the bakery bag, Annabelle pulled out a cookie for herself and watched with pleasure as her children ate, the icing coating their little lips and spreading onto their rosy cheeks.

A little fun never killed anyone.