Myron, it’s about Mee. Or, I enjoy having carnal knowledge alone with Mee.”
I just looked at him.
“Mee and I will stay in the back so you and Terese can have some privacy.”
“In the back, as in the bedroom?”
Win slapped my back. “Feel good about yourself, Myron. After all, I feel good about Mee.”
“Please stop.”
I boarded behind him. Terese was there. When I told her about being jumped and the ensuing shoot-out, she was obviously concerned. When I segued into the DNA test vis-à-vis her being the blond girl’s mother—first using words like “preliminary” and “incomplete” to the point where I feared it might cause an eye roll—she shocked me.
She barely reacted.
“You’re saying that the blood test shows I could be the girl’s mother?”
In fact, the preliminary DNA test showed that she was the girl’s mother, but maybe that was a bit much to state at this point. So I simply said, “Yes.”
Again it didn’t seem to be reaching her. Terese squinted as though she were having trouble hearing. There was a small and nearly imperceptible wince in the eyes. But that was about it.
“How can that be?”
I said nothing, gave a little shrug.
Never underestimate the power of denial. Terese shook it off, snapped into reporter mode, and peppered me with follow-up questions. I told her everything I knew. Her breathing grew shallow. She was trying to hold it together, so much so that I could see the quake in her lips.
But there were no tears.
I wanted to reach out and touch her, but I couldn’t. I’m not sure why. So I sat there and waited. Neither of us said it, as if the very words might burst that particularly fragile bubble of hope. But it was there, the proverbial elephant in the room, and we both saw it and avoided it.
Sometimes Terese’s questions seemed too pointed, anger slipping through over what perhaps her ex, Rick, had done here or maybe simply to stave off the hope. Finally she leaned back and bit down on her bottom lip and blinked.
“So where are we going now?” she asked.
“London. I thought maybe we should talk to Rick’s wife.”
“Karen.”
“You know her?”
“Knew her, yes.” She looked at me. “Remember I told you I was dropping Miriam off at a friend’s house when I got in the car accident?”
“Yes.” Then: “Karen Tower was that friend?”
She nodded.
The plane had reached its cruising level. The pilot made an announcement to that effect. I had a million more questions, but Terese closed her eyes. I waited.
“Myron?”
“Yes.”
“We don’t say it. Not yet. We both know it’s here with us. But we don’t voice it, okay?”
“Okay.”
She opened her eyes and looked away. I understood. The moment was too raw even for eye contact. As if on cue, Win opened the bedroom door. Mee, the flight attendant, had on her pillbox hat and everything else. Win was also fully dressed and waved for me to join him in the bedroom.
“I like the pillbox hat,” he said.
“So you said.”
“It suits Mee.”
I looked at him. He led me into the bedroom and closed the door. The room had tiger-print wallpaper with zebra-skin bedding. I looked at Win. “You channeling your inner Elvis?”
“The rapper decorated the room. It’s growing on me.”
“Did you want something?”
Win pointed to the TV set. “I was watching you talk to her.”
I looked up. Terese was on the screen sitting in the chair.
“That’s how I knew it would be a good time for me to interject.” He opened a drawer and reached in. “Here.”
It was a BlackBerry cell phone.
“Your number still works—all your calls will come in, but they will be untraceable. And if they try to track you down, they’ll end up someplace in southwest Hungary. By the way, Captain Berleand left you a message.”
“Is it safe to call him back?”
Win frowned. “What part of ‘untraceable’ confuses you?”
Berleand answered on the first ring. “My colleagues want to lock you
I just looked at him.
“Mee and I will stay in the back so you and Terese can have some privacy.”
“In the back, as in the bedroom?”
Win slapped my back. “Feel good about yourself, Myron. After all, I feel good about Mee.”
“Please stop.”
I boarded behind him. Terese was there. When I told her about being jumped and the ensuing shoot-out, she was obviously concerned. When I segued into the DNA test vis-à-vis her being the blond girl’s mother—first using words like “preliminary” and “incomplete” to the point where I feared it might cause an eye roll—she shocked me.
She barely reacted.
“You’re saying that the blood test shows I could be the girl’s mother?”
In fact, the preliminary DNA test showed that she was the girl’s mother, but maybe that was a bit much to state at this point. So I simply said, “Yes.”
Again it didn’t seem to be reaching her. Terese squinted as though she were having trouble hearing. There was a small and nearly imperceptible wince in the eyes. But that was about it.
“How can that be?”
I said nothing, gave a little shrug.
Never underestimate the power of denial. Terese shook it off, snapped into reporter mode, and peppered me with follow-up questions. I told her everything I knew. Her breathing grew shallow. She was trying to hold it together, so much so that I could see the quake in her lips.
But there were no tears.
I wanted to reach out and touch her, but I couldn’t. I’m not sure why. So I sat there and waited. Neither of us said it, as if the very words might burst that particularly fragile bubble of hope. But it was there, the proverbial elephant in the room, and we both saw it and avoided it.
Sometimes Terese’s questions seemed too pointed, anger slipping through over what perhaps her ex, Rick, had done here or maybe simply to stave off the hope. Finally she leaned back and bit down on her bottom lip and blinked.
“So where are we going now?” she asked.
“London. I thought maybe we should talk to Rick’s wife.”
“Karen.”
“You know her?”
“Knew her, yes.” She looked at me. “Remember I told you I was dropping Miriam off at a friend’s house when I got in the car accident?”
“Yes.” Then: “Karen Tower was that friend?”
She nodded.
The plane had reached its cruising level. The pilot made an announcement to that effect. I had a million more questions, but Terese closed her eyes. I waited.
“Myron?”
“Yes.”
“We don’t say it. Not yet. We both know it’s here with us. But we don’t voice it, okay?”
“Okay.”
She opened her eyes and looked away. I understood. The moment was too raw even for eye contact. As if on cue, Win opened the bedroom door. Mee, the flight attendant, had on her pillbox hat and everything else. Win was also fully dressed and waved for me to join him in the bedroom.
“I like the pillbox hat,” he said.
“So you said.”
“It suits Mee.”
I looked at him. He led me into the bedroom and closed the door. The room had tiger-print wallpaper with zebra-skin bedding. I looked at Win. “You channeling your inner Elvis?”
“The rapper decorated the room. It’s growing on me.”
“Did you want something?”
Win pointed to the TV set. “I was watching you talk to her.”
I looked up. Terese was on the screen sitting in the chair.
“That’s how I knew it would be a good time for me to interject.” He opened a drawer and reached in. “Here.”
It was a BlackBerry cell phone.
“Your number still works—all your calls will come in, but they will be untraceable. And if they try to track you down, they’ll end up someplace in southwest Hungary. By the way, Captain Berleand left you a message.”
“Is it safe to call him back?”
Win frowned. “What part of ‘untraceable’ confuses you?”
Berleand answered on the first ring. “My colleagues want to lock you
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