Final Breath

Sydney pressed the envelope to her chest. 'It's for me, okay? It doesn't concern you.' She glanced at Eli and frowned. 'That's the same shirt you wore yesterday, and it has a stain on it. Go upstairs and put on a clean shirt. Okay, honey? Please?'

Eli rolled his eyes at her, shook his head, and then retreated toward the stairs. 'Jeez, fine,' he muttered.

'And could you hurry it up a little?' she called after him. 'We're going to be late.'

Sydney wiped her eyes again, then turned in her chair, opened the bottom drawer of the built-in breakfront, and stashed Joe's note under some papers. It was already becoming a junk drawer--with their lease, some stuff from her new bank, and insurance. There were also receipts from the furniture stores and appliance shops. Sydney figured he wouldn't go looking for his father's letter in there. She didn't want him to find it--and read it.

She didn't want Eli to know that his dad was an uncaring son of a bitch.

Eli had paused on the stairway at the first landing. There was a mirror on the living room wall that allowed him to see around the corner into the dining room. Frowning, he watched his mother hide the letter from his dad in the built-in breakfront's bottom drawer.

'That was a letter from Dad, wasn't it?' Eli asked.

'Yes, it was,' Sydney admitted. She looked over her shoulder as she backed the car out of the shelter. 'But like I told you before, it doesn't concern you, honey.'

'Well, I don't get it. Why don't you want me to see the letter?'

Shifting into drive, she heaved an exasperated sigh. 'Eli, what part of it doesn't concern you is failing to register here? Could you hit the button for the gate, please?'

Frowning, he poked at the automatic gate-opening device, which was clipped onto the passenger sun visor.

'Thanks,' Sydney said, slowing down while the driveway gate slowly opened. 'Honey, it's a personal letter-- addressed to me. When your dad writes to you, I don't ask to read it, do I?'

'I figured that's because you don't care,' he said, folding his arms.

'I do care,' she said emphatically. The gate was finally open, and she pulled forward. 'But I also respect your privacy. What's between you and your father is none of my--'

A man walked out in front of them. Sydney slammed on her brake, and the car's tires let out a screech. At the same time, her arm shot out to brace Eli. The gate-opening device fell off the sun visor and landed in Eli's lap.

Catching her breath, Sydney gaped at the stranger. He was in his late twenties with black hair, a swarthy complexion, and a lean build. He wore a navy blue T-shirt with a silver 59 stenciled across the front of it. As he glared at her, Sydney noticed something was wrong with one of his eyes--a broken blood vessel or something. The white part was all red.

'I'm sorry!' Sydney called.

But he shook his head and kept moving.

'Well, if looks could kill, I'd be six feet under right now,' she mumbled.

'I didn't see him,' Eli said, clipping the gate-opening device back onto the sun visor.

'This trip's off to a great start,' she muttered, turning onto the street. 'Anyway, thanks for coming along, Eli. I really didn't want to do this thing alone.'

'Who are the other celebrities there?' he asked, slouching in the passenger seat.

'They've got David Beckham, J-Lo, Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie, and me.'

Eli stared at her. 'Yeah, right.'

'Okay, it's Gil Sessions from PM Magazine, Terri Tatum from What's Cooking, Seattle?, that obnoxious guy who does the weather for channel 6, and moi.' Sydney watched the road ahead. 'Tell you what. When we get there, I'll give you twenty-five bucks, and you can go on as many rides as you want. Just don't throw up. Is it a deal?'

He didn't say anything. Eli's short hair fluttered in the wind as he pensively gazed out the window. He looked so sad.

'What's going on?' she asked. 'What are you thinking?'

'Don't you miss Dad?' he asked quietly.

'Of course I miss him.'

'Then why can't we go home?

She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and watched the traffic ahead on Madison Street. 'We've been through this before, Eli. It's not as easy as that. There are a lot of reasons why your dad and I are apart right now. None of it has to do with you. We both love you very much. That hasn't changed at all. You continue to drive us crazy, and we continue to love you.'

Sydney glanced over at him. He didn't even crack a smile.

She reached over and patted his shoulder. 'I'm kidding,' she said. 'Eli, honey, for the umpteenth time, the problem is between your dad and me. It's the kind of stuff we might discuss with a marriage counselor, but not with our son. So--please, quit asking. Even if your dad and I resolve things, and we move back to Chicago, I'm still not telling you what's private between your dad and me.'

'If we go home to Dad, I won't ask anymore.'

But he doesn't want us back, she thought. Joe had told her so in his letter, 'I need this break from you and Eli.' But she couldn't repeat that to their son.

What was she supposed to tell him?

It had started four months ago with a phone call from Polly. Usually, she and Joe screened their calls. But that Tuesday night back in March, Joe had gone out on a special assignment, which could have been anything from what he called 'desk-jockey duty' to busting a narcotics ring. Whenever he was out on a special assignment she worried about him and always answered the phone--even when the Caller ID read UNKNOWN. She ended up having to talk with a lot of telemarketers on those dreaded nights. So when the call came in UNKNOWN at 9:20 that evening, Sydney snatched up the receiver. 'Yes, hello?' she said.

'Joe McCloud?' the man said, sounding haggard and edgy. 'Is Joe McCloud there?'

'I'm sorry. He can't come to the phone right now,' Sydney said. 'Who's calling?'

'This is a friend of his. If he's there, tell him Polly's on the phone. I really need to talk to him.'

'Well, as I said, he can't come to the phone, but if you'll leave me your number--'

'Is this Mrs. McCloud?'

'Yes--'

'Listen, Mrs. McCloud, I gotta talk to him now. He's not picking up on his cell. So you know how I can reach him?'

She didn't like hearing that Joe wasn't answering his cell right now. 'Um, no. Do you want to leave a number?'

'Jesus,' he muttered. 'I'm in a phone booth. I lost my cell, and can't go home. It isn't safe. They're probably...' he trailed off. 'Um, listen, have Joe call me at home and leave a number where I can reach him, okay? It's urgent. I'll keep checking my voice mail. This is Polly. He knows my home number, but--but let me give it to you anyway. Got a piece of paper?'

Sydney copied it down: Call Polly--773-555-4159. 'I'll give him the message,' she told the man.

'Thanks, Mrs. McCloud,' he said. 'You're a nice lady.' Then he hung up.

She tried Joe on his cell, but Polly was right. He wasn't picking up. She left Joe a message about Polly's call. 'And after you phone this Polly guy,' she said, 'buzz me and let me know you're all right.'

Then Sydney hung up and waited.

Two excruciating hours later, Joe phoned to say he was on his way home. He'd been on some kind of surveillance project. 'Same old, same old, a waste of time,' he reported.

'Did you call that Polly person?' she asked him on the phone.

'That's a waste of time, too,' he replied. 'Honey, don't you know the score by now? How many times have I told you to hang up on calls like that?'

'He sounded like he was in trouble,' Sydney said.

'These jokers are in trouble all the time. He was probably stoned. Did he sound like he was high?'