Colleen
Perched on the corner of her desk, a mug of steaming coffee in his
hand, Rob said, “I’ll triple your salary. I’ll give you a private office next
to mine. I’ll have a window put in so you can sit at your desk and watch the
deer under the apple tree in the field out back. You can decorate it any way
you want. If you want to paint the walls purple and hang swastikas, I promise I
won’t let out a peep. You want a fancy title, I’ll give you a fancy title.
Vice-President in Charge of Accounts. Hell, you want me to call you CEO, I’ll
call you CEO. I’ll put you in charge of running things so I can concentrate on
the music end of the business. All you have to do is say yes.”
“No.”
He looked pained. “Come on, Colleen, I need you. I need you to do
the billing and keep the books. I need you to supervise Ali and keep the office
running smoothly. I need you to advise me on the things I’m ignorant about. Like
how to run a business. Marketing. Management. I know music. When it comes right
down to it, that’s all I know. When I handed you the books that it took Ali
eight months to screw up, you had the whole mess fixed in twenty-four hours.”
“Look, I did what you asked on Saturday night, didn’t I? I sang
with your wife. We even had a couple of touching moments of sisterly bonding. I
did what you asked, and I didn’t even ask you for overtime.”
“You,” he said, “are a hard woman.”
“And damn proud of it. You don’t need me, Rob. You’re a smart guy.
You pretend to be this lackadaisical, dumbass musician, but underneath that
façade, you have a mind like a steel trap. Business is about using your noggin,
and you have a good one. Whatever you can’t figure out, my sister can, because
as smart as you are, she’s smarter.”
He took a sip of coffee and narrowed his eyes. “Casey already has
enough on her plate. With the new baby coming, she won’t have much time to
spend on helping me run my business. Yeah, we’re still writing and producing
together, but she’s also on the Mommy track. And she’s not an accountant. She’s
never taken a marketing class. She may be a whiz with numbers, but she doesn’t
have the education to back it up. We’ve both spent most of our adult lives
flying by the seat of our pants.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not an accountant, either. Yes, I have a degree
in business. Big deal. That just means I managed to stay awake in class long
enough to regurgitate what I was told on exam day. It doesn’t make me any kind
of expert.”
“You can go back to school, get your MBA. I’ll pay for it.”
“I don’t want an MBA.”
“And you have business experience.”
“I managed a frigging Pizza Hut in Boca Raton for eight months. That
doesn’t exactly qualify me for CEO status.”
“Look.” He stretched out long legs and crossed those bony ankles. “I
know you weren’t planning to stay here. But where the hell are you going to
go? Back to Palm Beach, where you can squabble with Irv’s kids over your
inheritance? Even if you win the battle, then what? You want to spend the rest
of your life in that great big house, all by yourself, swimming in dough, and
bored to death? Or maybe you’re planning to drive that piece of shit car of
yours to New York, where you can starve in some overpriced apartment and wait
tables while you struggle to find a real job, making coffee for some hotshot
CEO who plays grab-ass with you every time you come near. Have you even given
any real thought to where you’re going when you leave here?”
Mouth open, she stared at her brother-in-law. “Why are you doing
this? Why are you harassing me this way?”
“Because I don’t think you have a goddamn clue what you’re doing
or what you want. I have this funny philosophy: If it’s not broke, don’t fix
it. This isn’t broke. We work well together. Why take some demeaning job,
typing and filing for some asshole CEO, when you can
be
the CEO and make
ten times the money? I’m offering you an opportunity here. And I can guarantee
I won’t grab your ass. That territory belongs strictly to your sister.”
“I type and file for you,” she pointed out. “Aside from the
ass-grabbing, what’s the difference?”
“The difference is that you’ll have Ali to do that stuff. What I’m
offering you is something a hell of a lot more challenging than the piddly job
you’re doing now.”
“Why me?” she demanded. “Why me, when between the two of you, you
have more money than God? Enough to buy a dozen business managers and two dozen
accountants?”
“You’re sitting right here in front of me. Do you see anybody else
sitting here? Why would I look elsewhere when this very smart woman, with a
background in business and no concrete plans for the rest of her life, is
already in my employ?”
“And conveniently happens to be your sister-in-law. Your offer
smacks of nepotism and feels like welfare.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. There’s not a damn thing wrong with
nepotism when the person in question is fully qualified for the job and there
aren’t any other candidates on the horizon!”
They glared at each other. The phone rang, and she picked it up. Said
sweetly, “Good morning, Two Dreamers Records.”
“Morning. Jeff Payne from Soul Sounds Electronics. Is Rob around?”
“He is. One moment, please.”
She put the call on hold. “It’s for you,” she said. “Some guy
named Jeff Payne. I’ll put him through to your office. In the meantime, maybe
it’s time you switched over to decaf. I hear it smoothes the rough edges.”
He picked up his coffee cup and removed himself from her desk. “This
conversation,” he said, waving the cup for emphasis, “is not over.” And he stomped
down the hallway to his office.
A moment later, she heard his door slam. Receiver to her ear, she pushed
a button. “Mr. Payne?” she said. “I’ll put you through now.” And she shot the
call off to Rob’s extension.
As annoyed as she was, her brother-in-law’s words lingered. He was
right, of course. Not about all of it. She had no plans to stay in this
miserable town at the end of the earth. But she’d been so busy planning her
escape that she hadn’t given any thought to where she would escape to. Certainly
not Florida. During the winter months, the climate almost made it worthwhile. Being
able to go swimming in February was a treat for a girl who’d spent most of her
life on frozen Maine tundra. But Florida held too many memories. Florida meant
Irv, and Irv wasn’t coming back. Besides, she wasn’t welcome in Florida anyway.
Gold-digger.
The word still hurt. Irv’s brats were welcome to the gold. After
what they’d done to her, she wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.
There was always Boston. The winters were brutal, but opportunity flowed
like warm honey. Trav lived there, which was a mixed blessing. Like her, he’d
escaped from all the family drama, so they were simpatico in that sense. But
the truth was that he was as much of a stranger as Casey had been when she
first got here. And his wife, Leslie, was a real pill, a Chestnut Hill snob
she’d spent years wanting to bitch-slap. Boston was a small city, small enough
so she wasn’t sure she could successfully avoid her brother’s wife.
With a sigh, she booted up the newfangled computer Rob had lugged
home from New York the last time he’d been there. She was in the middle of
trying to teach herself the complicated and uncooperative billing program when
the phone rang. Frustrated, she shut down the program and answered the phone.
“Mrs. Berkowitz?” said a young voice. “It’s Annabel.”
Her mood took an upward swing. “Oh, hey, Annabel. What’s up?”
“I was wondering if you’re free tonight.”
She hated vague questions like this one. If she said yes, she was
leaving herself open to any manner of unappealing possibilities that, once
she’d admitted to having no plans, she wouldn’t be able to weasel her way out
of. If she said no, who knew what she might be missing out on? And then, there
was the whole idea of spending more time with Annabel. Leading her on, allowing
her to believe they were friends, when the truth was that she’d be gone soon,
to wherever she decided to end up, and their friendship would, for all intents
and purposes, be over.
“Mrs. Berkowitz? Are you still there?”
“I’m still here. Sorry, my mind wandered. Yes. I’m free tonight. Why’d
you ask?”
“I’d like you to come over after work. If you could. It’s not
something I can talk about over the phone, but I’d really like you to come. It’s
important.”
Concerned, she said, “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. I just have something I want you to see.”
A mystery invitation from a twelve-year-old. That was a new one. How
bad could it be? Annabel was a delightful kid. There was no doubt that
whatever she had planned for show-and-tell, it would be intriguing. Mikey would
just have to settle for a late dinner. Or he could fend for himself. He
probably wouldn’t be home at dinnertime, anyway. Her son wasn’t spending much
time at her apartment. He slept there every night, but during his waking hours,
he wasn’t around much. Colleen had no idea where he was going or what he was
doing, but as far as she could tell, he didn’t seem to be doing it with Paige. So
maybe she’d been wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe she’d
misinterpreted Paige’s reaction to Mikey’s name. Maybe there was nothing going
on between the two of them.
“I’d love to come over,” she told Annabel.
***
Darkness fell early at this time of year. When she pulled into the
barnyard, the porch light was on. In its glow, Annabel stood waiting. Colleen
parked the Vega behind Harley’s pick-up, shut off her lights, her engine, and
got out of the car. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” Annabel clicked on the flashlight she held in her hand and
said, “You have to come with me.”
So the mystery was going to continue for a little longer. Annabel
Atkins was something else, an amazing kid, and she realized, for the first
time, just how much she was going to miss the kid when she left Jackson Falls. Maybe,
somehow, they could continue their friendship. Write letters. Talk on the phone.
Share things they couldn’t talk about with anyone else. If she ever had a
little girl, she’d want her to be like Annabel. Smart and sassy, independent
and fearless.
A lot like her, now that she thought about it.
Annabel led her around the barn, crusty snow crunching beneath
their boots, the flashlight trained low on the path in front of their feet, its
illumination bobbing up and down as she walked. Above them, the sky sparkled
with a million stars. Colleen drew clean, bracing air deep into her lungs. She’d
forgotten what it felt like to stand beneath the stars and watch her own breath
as she exhaled air that was crystal clear, fresh, and smelled of pine.
Annabel stopped just short of the frog pond where she and Casey
used to swim in summer and skate in winter. “Stay right here,” the girl said. “Don’t
move.” And she and her flashlight headed in the direction of the barn.
Without the flashlight, it was as dark as the bottom level of hell
out here. She stood in the darkness, listening to the crunch of Annabel’s
footsteps. They stopped near the barn, and then, suddenly—
Lights.
Music.
Magic.
An enchanted fairyland spread out before her. He’d cleared the
snow from the pond, had encircled the perimeter with two-by-four posts from
which he’d strung strand after strand of Christmas lights. Red, green, blue and
white all pooled together in an otherworldly blend of reflections on the smooth
surface of the ice. On the far side stood a plywood replica of the Manhattan
skyline. She recognized the World Trade Center, the Empire State Building, the
Chrysler Building, drawn in black marker and painted a soft, crystalline blue. Backlit,
with holes poked here and there in the plywood, the windows appeared to be
illuminated.
Violins wept from a boom box set at the edge of the ice, and the
incomparable Ray Charles began singing about Georgia. In the midst of all this
splendor, dressed completely in black except for the bright red scarf wrapped
around his neck, the incomparable Harley Atkins moved restlessly on his ice
skates, those blue eyes watching her. Waiting for a response.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. And Harley said,
“It’s not quite Rockefeller Center, but we did what we could.”
It was a grand romantic gesture, the kind of gesture that, coming
from any other man, she would have laughed at. But coming from Harley, it left
her breathless. Was it really possible that somewhere there lived a woman, some
idiot of a woman, who had actually walked away from this man?
“You did this,” she said, her voice trembling. “You did this for
me.”
He moved from side to side on his skates as the violins continued
to weep. “I did, yes. With a little help from Annabel.”
“How did—” She stopped, wet her lips. “How did you know?”
“A little bird told me you used to be quite the skater. Come on,
Berkowitz. Put your skates on and get out here.”
“I don’t have any skates.”
From behind her, Annabel said, “You do now.” Colleen turned, and
when she saw what the girl was holding, not just any pair of skates, but
her
skates—cleaned up and refurbished, her name still scrawled on them in indelible
blue ink—something gave way inside her. Some heretofore frozen part of her,
possibly her heart, cracked and thawed, melting like a river at ice-out, a sweeping
flood of liquid warmth that flowed from her chest to her belly to her pelvis,
then ran like an electrical charge through her extremities.