8
Mark’s hand trembled as he set the phone down on the podium. His whole body tensed. He tried to swallow, but his throat had closed up.
He kept his eyes on the phone.
The baby in the front row started to cry. The woman shifted it in her lap and stuck a plastic pacifier in its mouth. The crowd had grown quiet. Maybe they could sense that he was shaken. He found a bottle of water on the shelf inside the podium, twisted it open, and took a long drink.
“Sorry about the interruption.” He stared at the phone. “My wife is on a tiny island off the Carolinas. I think she’s in the hurricane. We were cut off.”
He raised his eyes to the skylight. Waves of rain rolled over the glass. Jo-Ann leaned against the bookshelf on the wall, arms crossed tightly in front of her sweater. Her eyes were closed.
“Where were we?” Mark tried to start again.
They slumped in their seats now. The tension had gone out of the room. It was as if he had absorbed it all. His mouth felt dry. He tasted half-digested cheeseburger in his throat. He took another swig of water to wash it back down, spilled some on his shirt.
“I know what people call me. They say I’m the opposite of the Tiger Mom. They call me the Teddy Bear Dad.”
That got a few snickers. The crowd seemed to relax just a little.
“But I’m not talking about
An explosion of thunder, close enough to rattle the skylight window, ended that thought. The lights flickered. A few people gasped and cried out.
This was a problem of living on Long Island’s East End. The power lines were all strung through the trees. He wondered if Route 114 was flooded. The drive home could be longer than he had hoped.
He was talking without really hearing himself, wishing he could wrap it up, sign their books, go home and try to reach Lea. But they had come with questions and he couldn’t cheat them of a chance to spout their disapproval.
That question was greeted by laughter. It made Jo-Ann open her eyes and seemed to break the tension. Mark let out a long breath. A good place to end.
He thanked everyone for their opinions and for coming out on such a dreadful night. He could sense disappointment. They had come for the kill, but he was too distracted to do battle. They hadn’t even wounded him.
About half the crowd left, funneling down the creaking stairway without having a book signed. Those who lined up for his autograph were quiet and polite, except for a small, frail-looking woman in a ragged gray trench coat, who glared at him through square spectacles and said, “You could do a lot of harm with this book.” She then asked him to sign the book “To Megan.”
By his count, he sold thirty or forty books. When the last customer, the man in the Yankees gear, made his way to the exit, Jo-Ann patted his shoulder. “Good job, Mark. That wasn’t easy.”
He sighed. “This is my last stop on the tour. Now I’m going to stay home for a while.”
The phone, secured in his jeans pocket, remained a silent hunk of metal and plastic. Scenes of Cape Le Chat Noir rushed through his mind, fragments of photographs Lea had emailed him. He saw the wide yellow beach. Fishing boats bobbing in the calm water offshore. Small, square white cabins with red clay roofs. .
“Your raincoat is in the office. I’ll get it for you.” Jo-Ann made her way to the stairs.
Mark stood up, then froze for a second, surprised to see Autumn lingering near the back row of seats. She had a shiny violet-colored slicker folded over one arm. She smiled and hurried toward the podium.
“I. . didn’t expect to see you here,” Mark said.
She giggled. “I wanted to surprise you.” The blue eyes flashed. The smile suddenly became teasing. “Did I surprise you?”
“Well. . yes.”
She swept her hair back with a quick toss of her head. “You were very brave.” She squeezed his hand.
Just a light squeeze, but it seemed strange to him. Like a rehearsed gesture.
“Brave?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, when I proofread your book, I didn’t really know it was, uh, so controversial. I couldn’t
“Thanks, Autumn. Nice of you to come tonight.” She lived in Hampton Bays with her sister, he knew, nearly an hour’s drive from the bookstore in Easthampton.
He started to the stairwell. “Are you coming to work tomorrow? There’s mail to answer. And a few things. .”
She shifted the raincoat. The white tube top had slid down, revealing the tops of creamy-white breasts. “Mark? Would you maybe. . um. . like to get a coffee? Or a drink?”
He felt a flash of heat in his cheeks. “N-no. I mean, I really can’t, Autumn. I haven’t been home in so long. And I have to call Lea. We were cut off and. .”
She nodded. He couldn’t read her expression. Her face went blank, revealing nothing, except that the light faded from those deep blue eyes.
She nodded. “Just wanted you to know I’m here for you. You know. If you need anything?” Her pale cheeks turned pink. “See you tomorrow morning.” She spun away, swinging the violet slicker onto her shoulders, and hurried to the stairs.
Mark watched her go. The coltish legs in the black tights. The silver-blond hair disappearing under the shiny rain hood.
He tried phoning Lea from the car. Rain pelted the windshield. He let the engine run, waiting for the cold air from the heater to turn warm. The long row of stores were mostly dark. The street was empty.
The call went right to her voice mail. He left a short message. “Call me back. Where are you? Love you.”
Why didn’t she answer? Why did she sound so frantic when she called?
Maybe Roz would know. Maybe Roz had heard from her too.
The wipers set a tense rhythm. He pulled away from the curb and guided the car down Main Street through the torrents of rain. In the mirror, he glimpsed three or four people, huddled under black umbrellas, stepping out of the movie theater across the street. In front of him, the Ralph Lauren store windows were brightly lit. Cruise wear on display.
He made the right onto 114. His tires sent up waves of rainwater on both sides of the car.
His poor sister. Five years older than Mark, she had shown up on his doorstep nearly a year ago with the one-year-old kid in tow and nowhere to go.
