EPILOGUE

Morning, July 6th, Logan Airport, Boston, MA

Jake

Boston’s not supposed to get this hot, even in July. Then again, it doesn’t help that I’m stuck on a packed T car rattling toward Logan Airport. Only two people in the sweating crowd seem to be having any fun.

“Why don’t you get a room?” I say to the French-kissing couple.

They ignore me for a full minute before Carpstein finally comes up for air.

“Sorry, man,” he says, doing a bad job of wiping Harley’s lipstick off his mouth. “Just making up for lost time here.”

Harley gives me an eye roll. “What can I do? He’s clingier than a puppy dog and slobbers…” She pulls a face. “Twice as much.” 

“Hey,” Carp whines, “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

“Whoa, there!” I hold up my hand. “TMI, dude. TMI.”

Sensing my pissy mood, Harley pulls me into a hug. “Sorry, Jake,” she whispers into my ear. “I promise we won’t get too cutesy on you. That’s not our style.”

“No,” I say, rubbing her shoulder. “Seeing you two back together… that’s the only good thing to come out of this mess.”

As the T rumbles toward the Logan stop, I reach for my carry-on and look up at my friends. “Thanks for keeping me company, guys, but I’d better go on alone from here.”

Carp and Harley exchange knowing glances.

“Do you think she’ll come?” he asks.

I shrug. “No idea.”

“Well, you sent her the ticket, right?”

“Not exactly. I, um, left it with her parents. In an envelope. Clipped to the front of our divorce settlement.”

“You what?” Carp coughs out a laugh. “Dude, I’m sorry, but that’s just… classic!”

Harley grabs his hand and squeezes hard enough to make him yelp.

“What?” He gives her a wounded look. “I’m sorry, but that’s just plain funny. See… even Jake’s cracking up now. Tell her, dude.”

“He’s right,” I agree, fighting back what could be either a sob or a laugh. “Actually, the whole hand-off scene was pretty damn hilarious. You should’ve been there.”

When the T pulls into the Logan stop, my friends insist on walking me to the Terminal Shuttle. As we step onto the platform, I recap my encounter with Jess’s father. How I’d planned on delivering the signed divorce settlement to Jess in person. How he’d stopped me at the door, all stone-faced and pale like the Grim fucking Reaper.

“So I tell him I need to go over some things with Jess,” I say. “And he just stands there, arms crossed, looking all pissed off and disgusted. I mean, I felt like Fredo when he dragged his sorry ass back to Michael Corleone in The Godfather: Part Two.”

“I know it was you, Fredo,” Carpstein dead-pans in his best Al Pacino imitation. “Like I said, fucking classic.”

“Anyway,” I continue, wheeling my carry-on onto the escalator. “I told him he had no right to stand between us, that this was our goddamned business. He got all smug and said it didn’t matter because she was out on some fucking date. No details, just that she wouldn’t be back until late.”

Harley winces while Carp blurts “Ouch.”

“Yeah, well, her car was still in the driveway, so maybe he was lying.”

“And the kids?” Harley asks, sounding angry. “Don’t tell me he wouldn’t let you see them.”

I nod, swallowing the knot in my throat. “He said they were asleep. Then he warned me that I shouldn’t come by anymore. That after what I’d put his family through, I wasn’t welcome in his home. The asshole even threatened to take out a restraining order.”

As I rehash this painful moment, Harley’s mouth hangs open. “I can’t believe that,” she murmurs.

Carp shakes his head in disgust. “Dude’s a dick.”

“Maybe, but he also has a point."

“No, he doesn’t!” Carp whacks me on the shoulder, hard enough to make it hurt. “That’s your family, Jake! You need to go back there and tell Walter the douchebag to back the fuck off.”

I look down, smiling.

“No you didn’t!”

“You sure you weren’t there?” I ask, “’Cause that’s pretty much what I said, word for word. Oh, and I also told him he was going fucking senile if he thought he could keep me away from my kids. Then I broke the news that I’ve accepted a position at Mass General so I can see them every week.”

“Seriously?” Carp’s voice rises with excitement. “You mean we’re gonna be neighbors?”

“That’s right. As soon as I get back from my trip, I’ll be checking out apartments. Our house in Stamford is already on the market.”

“Good for you,” Harley says, beaming. “So how did your father-in-law take the news?”

“Predictably. He said he’d take legal action if necessary to protect his daughter and grandchildren. I told him I’d do the same, but that if he tried to keep Emma and Jamie away from me, they’d only grow up to hate him for it.”

“Nice,” Carp says, giving me a fist-bump.

“Yeah, well at that point, Meg came to the door… that’s my mother-in-law. She basically took the old man by the ear and pulled him aside. Then she apologized for his behavior. Said she’d be sure to give Jess the documents. You know…” I sigh. “She looked pretty sad when I handed her the signed divorce papers. Unlike her husband, she always welcomed me into the family. I’ve always said Jess is ninety nine percent Meg and one percent Walter.”

“Yeah,” Carpstein grunts, “Guess we all have at least some asshole in us.” Grinning, he turns to Harley. “Except for you, baby.”

“So you signed the divorce papers,” Harley says, sounding disappointed.

I tell her I did, because that’s what Jess wanted.

“How do you know?”

“I…” By now, we’re standing at the curb, waiting for the airport shuttle to take me to terminal B. I stare down at some gum stuck to the pavement, trying not to lose it. “We went through a lot, Harley. Even before this nightmare, things had… changed. Maybe Jess is right. It might be time to move on, before we hurt each other even more.”

“And what if it’s not time to move on?”

Ever optimistic Harley. There’s always hope, right?

I smile and kiss her on the cheek. “That’s why I bought her that airline ticket.”

*

Mid-afternoon, July 6th, Tortola, British Virgin Islands

Some places never change. Like a memory revisited, they always look the same when we return – vivid photographs that haven’t faded over time.

I step onto the tarmac of Terrence B. Lettsome International Airport, shutting my eyes as the familiar sensations flood in. The tropical sunlight, red against my closed lids, almost too hot, then comfortably cooler as the sun slips behind a cloud. The smell of sea salt, baking asphalt and bougainvillea. The sounds of chirping birds, lilting steel drums and waves lapping in the distance.

Jess and I visited this paradise seven years ago. Now I’ve returned, alone. That wasn’t the plan, but what the hell did I expect? It’s not like Jess was ever going to come.

We’ve only talked once since the attack, and that was two days later, when I was still recovering in Stamford Hospital. She’d been all business, going over her plans. How she wanted to coordinate our statements to make things run smoothly with the police. How she needed to get back to the kids and couldn’t afford to get bogged down in any lengthy proceedings. Our future didn’t really enter into the conversation. Guess we both simply assumed we no longer had one.

I still love Jess, but that’s irrelevant at this point. She’s moving on with her life. Eventually, I’ll need to move on with mine.

Maybe this trip to Virgin Gorda will be my first shaky step in that direction. It’s going to be hard with so many happy memories tormenting me. I’ll be staying at Little Dix Bay, the same sun-drenched luxury resort where Jess and I spent our perfect honeymoon week. I’ll be surrounded by cuddling newlyweds, young couples just starting out their lives together, couples filled with optimism and dreams.

I’ll try not to hate the cutesy fuckers.

I wheel my carry-on into the white stucco airport. The building looks Spartan but clean, with fans blowing around humid air that smells like overripe fruit. Tourists in brightly colored sundresses and Bermuda shorts flit around me like tropical birds, chirping about their vacation plans. Meanwhile, I’m dressed like a Hipster in my black turtleneck, shabby blue jeans and John Lennon sunglasses. I wipe the sweat from my brow, realizing I didn’t even pack a single pair of shorts. Good planning, Goodwin.

I roll my luggage into the passengers' lounge and collapse into a plastic seat. There’s a dusty window looking out on the runway, so I watch as the last passengers disembark from American Eagle Flight 4822.

Jess wasn’t on my flight. It’s not like I haven’t known this since I left Logan. She wasn’t there when I boarded my connection in San Juan. Unless she somehow managed to teleport herself, she won’t be here now. That doesn’t matter though. I still can’t tear my eyes away until the last person has walked down those stairs and crossed the tarmac.

Now what?

The answer comes to me in a depressing flash of clarity. Catch your breath, maybe grab something to eat and then… go home. Wherever that is.

The islands are every bit as gorgeous as I remember them to be. I’m sure the Caribbean will be just as blue, turning all shades from turquoise to cobalt and navy beneath our catamaran as we set sail for Virgin Gorda. The sea spray will lick my face with salty warmth, and the sky will be the same dazzling patchwork of blue and towering white. The islands will pop out from the water, rising in dramatic slabs of brown and green. The beach, as we approach, will stretch out to welcome us in a perfect crescent of white. The tranquil beauty will be unchanged, with colors as vibrant as they are in my dreams. But without Jess here to share it all, what’s the point?

There isn’t any.

So I drag my ass to the American Airlines ticketing counter to exchange my return ticket for an earlier flight. Preferably one that leaves today. The agent, a pleasantly smiling Tortolan, gives me a puzzled look but doesn’t ask any questions. She taps on her keyboard, then tells me there’s one space left on a flight leaving for Miami in two hours. I thank her and take the ticket, noticing she waved the changing fee. Guess she felt sorry for me.

I return to the airport lounge and set my alarm before slumping into a chair. Someone’s left a copy of USA Today on the seat next to mine. The headline – big fucking surprise here – screams out something about “The Pulsar Affair.” The story certainly has legs. Before I left Boston, CNN had just broken the news that Nina was copping a plea deal, turning on her husband and Roy Caulder in exchange for a reduced sentence. Way to go, Nina.

I pick up the paper to read the headline, which actually mentions something that’s news to me. The CIA is looking into where Saber Pharmaceuticals got some of its seed money. Turns out Caulder and the Greenbecks may have been in the company of Hezbollah and Al Queda in the Arabian Peninsula. The Abu Dhabi Investment Authority didn’t even know about the deal, which was brokered by a rogue board member named Al-Sadhiki.

Yeah, real interesting, but not my problem anymore.

I turn to the sports section, suddenly finding it hard to keep my eyes open. Sleep comes in short, restless bursts, interrupted by an occasional intercom announcement. When I awaken, I stretch the stiffness out of my back, then check the time. Still an hour to go before my flight. I scroll through my iPhone play list, stopping when I reach a Coldplay song. Of course, it’s one of Jess’s favorites.

I must feel like torturing myself, because I press play. Then I rise slowly and turn toward the arrival gate.

At first, I figure I’m still dreaming. Why else would Jess be walking toward me?

But then I notice her familiar red carry-on. The spark of recognition in her eyes, followed by a tired smile and hand wave. I stare at her in wonder, iPod buds dropping from my ears.

“Caught a later flight,” she says, sounding a little out of breath when she reaches me. Her hair is pulled into an improvised updo that’s secured by a rubber band, and she’s even more overdressed than me, wearing a pencil skirt and blouse. Her typical work outfit. She wasn’t planning on coming.

And yet here she is, close enough to touch.

Her smile warms, like she’s just remembered something good. “Hey..." She points to my suitcase. “Are you coming or going?”

I take a step toward her, grinning as I recognize the familiar line. “I was just about to get some coffee.”

“Hmm. Want some company?”

“Sure. I’d love some.”

I reach for her hand, already picturing the blue waters stretching out before us. Who knows where we’ll go from here, but at least there’s hope.

For us, I hope there always will be.

*****

END

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