The irony was not lost on Lisa.
The room was tranquil except for the storm of confusion raging in Lisa’s mind. After checking the time, she rapped softly on the connecting door to the agents’ room. She entered and Vicky Chan let her use her laptop again to catch up on the latest news coverage on the heist. Lisa couldn’t shake her unease with the WPA’s stories highlighting an eyewitness to the FBI agent’s “execution-style” murder.
Lisa, Chan and Eve Watson watched the live news coverage of the FBI’s press conference. It was excruciating seeing the faces of the murdered men. Lisa gasped when she stared into Agent Gregory Scott Dutton’s eyes again.
She thought of his wife.
Widowed while pregnant.
Lisa whispered a prayer. Her heart went out to her and to the families of the guards. The report then broadcast the security camera pictures.
To get away cleanly after such a monstrous act was an outrage. She hated them for the worlds they’d destroyed; hated them for shattering the fractured life she was painfully rebuilding before she stopped for gas at the Freedom Freeway Service Center.
God, she wanted it back, wanted it all back…Bobby…everything…
Sitting there at Chan’s laptop, Lisa saw flashes of herself that first time Bobby came through her cash at the supermarket, devastatingly handsome, his cart loaded with TV dinners, canned beans, chili, cold cuts, chips and beer.
“You got a lot of single-guy food there,” she teased him.
He smiled back.
He was shy, but after that he came through her cash almost every week. Each time he’d make some conversation, starting by reading her name tag.
“You got a boyfriend or anything, Lisa?”
“Depends. You got a girlfriend or anything, whatever-your-name-is?”
“No, and my name is Bobby.”
That was it.
Not long after that, he asked her out. They had pizza, went to an Al Pacino movie. Then they walked, talked. They started dating.
Bobby’s family name, Palmadessalini, was shortened to Palmer at Ellis Island. He’d had an older sister who drowned at Coney Island when he was three; he barely remembered her.
His mother died of cancer ten years ago and his old man died of heart failure last year. Bobby was a mechanic. He had a mortal fear of snakes. He liked the Yankees, the Jets, Springsteen, fixing things, helping people.
Lisa was an only child, her father left home when she was eight, leaving her mother, a part-time waitress, to raise her alone. Life was a struggle. She fought with her mother because she drank too much and dated too many men. Lisa got her cashier’s job when she was still in high school. She’d dreamed of going to college, of being an interior decorator and maybe moving to Florida or California.
It never happened.
Her mother got sick and Lisa had to work full-time at the supermarket to help pay the medical bills.
Then her mother died.
“And, well, that’s pretty much my life so far,” she’d told him.
They’d dated over a year when Bobby asked her to marry him.
It was a small wedding, just a few friends. They went to Atlantic City for their honeymoon, worked hard, saved and bought the house when Lisa got pregnant with Ethan. The cabin Bobby had inherited through his family was their treasure and their asset. After they had Taylor, Bobby was talking about opening his own shop, Lisa was thinking about college courses, they took trips to the cabin, took the kids to Disneyland.
It was all beautiful until the night Bobby never came home.
Sitting here, staring at Chan’s laptop screen, Lisa realized she could never have that life again; that she needed to move on. She needed to put everything—Bobby’s death, the shooting—behind her. She sat in contemplation until Chan repeated her question.
“Lisa, did the news reports help you remember any details?”
“I’m sorry, no. Can you tell me how long before we go home? We have things we need to take care of.”
“Agent Morrow can discuss that with you,” Chan said, checking her messages on her BlackBerry. “He’ll be here soon with Dr. Sullivan to see you.”
Lisa informed the agents that she needed to make calls concerning her kids’ absence from school and her job. After Chan cautioned her about discussing the case, she directed Lisa to the desk to use Agent Watson’s cell phone. Its number could not be identified by recipients.
First, Lisa called the principal’s office at Ethan and Taylor’s school. She was on hold for two full minutes before Chandra MacKay came on the line.
“Mrs. MacKay, this is Lisa Palmer. I wanted to let you know that there’s been a family emergency and my son, Ethan, and my daughter, Taylor, are going to miss school for a few days.”
“I’m so sorry. Is it a death or illness in the family?”
“A bit of a family crisis… I wish I could tell you more.”
“Well, I hope things work out. If they’re going to be absent for a few days, our policy requires a note, a doctor’s note if they’re away for medical reasons. I’ll inform their homeroom teachers.”
Lisa thought Dr. Sullivan might be able to help provide a medical note or something. Next, she called the Good Buy Supermart that bordered Rego Park and Forest Hills in Queens. Above the chaos of ringing registers, she heard someone answer.
“Hello, Good Buy.”
Lisa always thought of the Beatles song whenever she called the store.
“Nick Telso, please.”
“Hold, please.”
Lisa pictured Nick—excessive hair gel, the tight shirt and gum chewing. He had managed the store for five years, promoted from running the produce section. Lisa was one of his best cashiers.
“Good Buy Supermart, Nick Telso.”
“Nick, it’s Lisa. I won’t be in today. I need to use a couple of banked days.” Lisa heard Nick flipping pages of the schedule near the phone in his office.
“You’re scheduled for two. This is short notice, Lisa. I could dock you.”
“I’m sorry. It’s a family crisis. I’ll need a few days.”
“How many are we talking, Lisa? One? Two? I got to change the shift schedule and there’ll be a lot of squawking.”
“Counting today, possibly four?”
“Four? What the hell happened, did someone d—”
She knew he was going to ask if someone died, but caught himself when he remembered who he was talking to.
“It’s something with my kids, Nick. I’ll tell you more later.”
“All right, all right, I’ll put you down for a two o’clock on the tenth. Call me if anything changes.”
“Thanks, Nick.”
Hanging up, Lisa stared at her reflection in the mirror before the desk and followed the worry lines drawn in her face before she returned to her room.
Ethan was on one of the beds. Legs crossed, his eyes darted from his game player to his mother then back again.
In that instant, Lisa read it all. He was carrying a world of worry on his shoulders, far too much for a ten- year-old boy. His father’s sudden death had accelerated his maturity and sharpened his intuition. He’d grown
