His-watch proclaimed that it was well after midnight. While D.C. was not
the Big Apple in its ability to cater to any appetite or interest no
matter the time of day or night, there were a few places where Jack
could get some decent food on a weeknight despite the lateness of the
hour. As he struggled into his overcoat, the phone rang. The machine was
on. Jack started to go out, then hesitated. He listened to the
perfunctory message followed by the beep.
“Jack?”
A voice swarmed up on him, from out of the past, like a ball held
underwater until it’s free and explodes to the surface. He snatched up
the phone.
“Luther?”
THE RESTAURANT WAS HARDLY MORE THAN A HOLE IN THE wall, which made it
one of Jack’s favorites. Any reasonable concoction of food could be
gotten there at any time, day or night. It was a place that Jennifer
Baldwin would never set in foot inside and one that he and Kate had
frequented. A short time ago, the results of that comparison would have
disturbed him, but he had made up his mind, and he didn’t intend on
revisiting the question. Life was not perfect, and you could spend your
entire life waiting for that perfection. He was not going to do that.
Jack wolfed down scrambled eggs, bacon and four pieces of toast. The
fresh coffee burned his throat going down.
After five days of instant java and bottled water, it tasted wonderful.
Jack looked across at Luther, who sipped on his coffee and alternated
between looking out the dirty plate-glass window onto the dark street
and passing his eye around the small, grimy interior.
Jack put his coffee down. “You look tired.”
“So do you, Jack.”
“I’ve been out of the country.”
“Me too.”
That explained the condition of the yard and the mail. A needless worry.
Jack pushed the plate away and waved for a refill on his coffee.
‘I went by your place the other day.” -Why was that?”
Jack had expected the question. Luther Whitney had never taken anything
other than the direct approach. But anticipation was one thing, having a
ready answer another. Jack shrugged.
“I don’t know. Just wanted to see you, I guess. It’s been a while.”
Luther nodded agreement.
“You seeing Kate again?”
Jack swallowed a mouthful of coffee before answering.
His temples started to throb.
“No. Why?”
“I thought I saw you two together a while back.”
“We sort of ran into each other. That’s all.”
Jack couldn’t tell exactly, but Luther looked upset with that answer. He
noticed Jack watching him closely, then smiled.
“Used to be, you were the only way I could find out if my little girl
was doing okay. You were my pipeline of information, Jack.”
“You ever consider just talking to her directly, Luther?
You know that might be worth a shot. The years are going by.” Luther
waved the suggestion off and stared out the window again.
Jack looked him over. The face was leaner than usual, the eyes puffy.
There were more wrinkles on the forehead and around the eyes than Jack
remembered. But it had been four y years. Luther was at the age now
where the onslaught of age hit you quickly, deterioration was more and
more evident every day.
He caught himself staring into Luther’s eyes. Those eyes had always
fascinated Jack. Deep green, and large, like a woman’s, they were
supremely confident eyes. Like you see on pilots, an infinite calmness
about life in general. Nothing rattled them. Jack had seen happiness in
those eyes, when he and Kate announced their engagement, but more often
he had seen sadness. And yet right beneath the surface Jack saw two
things he had never seen in Luther Whitney’s eyes before. He saw fear.
And he saw hatred. And he wasn’t sure which one bothered him the most.
“Luther, are you in trouble?”
Luther took out his wallet and, despite Jack’s protests, paid for the
food.
“Let’s take a walk.”
A taxi cab ride took them to the Mail and they walked in silence to a
bench across from the Smithsonian castle. The chilly night air settled