“That’s quite a view. I miss it.”
He turned when she said that. Turned too fast and almost lost his balance. She met his eyes with a smile, and twenty-five years melted away in an instant.
“Hello, Jack,” she added.
He smiled, a genuine smile he hadn’t felt in years. “Hello, Mary.” She was taller than he remembered. Her hair was longer and a bit lighter. And those eyes, the eyes that had crushed little boys’ hearts, were still as bright as any star that hung over the North Shore. In short, she was even more strikingly beautiful than he’d tried to forget.
She gave him a hug, and he embraced her in an awkward manner, not knowing what to do with his cane. When he’d steadied himself, he said, “You’re supposed to be dumpy and all wrinkled up.”
“They told me you weren’t coming.”
“I wasn’t, but then…”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. Might have been something I saw on television.”
She glanced at his cane. “Can you walk?”
“Oh, yeah. The cane is mostly for insurance. It’s my left leg,” he explained, a touch too excited. “Sometimes it just goes to sleep, and then I fall down. It’s kind of embarrassing to be falling down at my age.”
“I meant… would you like to go for a walk?”
The sea breeze in his face felt good. The woman beside him felt heaven sent. Jack Start stared at the long walkway leading out to the lighthouse. Where Canal Park had once been the purlieu of prostitutes and sailors, a multimillion-dollar renaissance had brought restaurants, shops, and hotels, not to mention a million tourists every summer. But on this night the park was quiet. In fact, the great lake itself was as calm as he’d ever seen it. The waves were small, and they lapped against the shore in perfect harmony. It was early October now. There remained only two weeks of decent weather. Then the cold would set in. And the storms would follow.
Jack Start found himself doing something he thought he would never ever do. Never in a lifetime. “I’ve walked past it,” he said. “I’ve stared down at it. But I haven’t set foot on this walkway in twenty-five years.”
“How does it feel?”
“With you, it feels good.”
“Should we walk out to the lighthouse?”
It was a remarkably clear night. Every now and then the revolving beam of light sailed over their heads. Jack and Mary stopped halfway down the walkway. The shadow of a man could be discerned standing at the top of the stairs, at the foot of the lighthouse. They wanted to be alone. So they stood where they were and stared at the galaxy of lights that ran up and down the steep hills. Illuminated hills that rolled up and away from the lake. And at the foot of those hills, throwing an eerie, translucent glow, were the klieg lights from the television crews that surrounded the Convention Center.
With his back to the lake, Jack Start shook his head in amazement. “What a circus,” he said. “You know, excuse the pun, but he really hasn’t said a goddamn thing.”
“It’s those three little words that are driving people crazy.”
Jack had to laugh.
She laughed too, but it was a laugh tinged with regret. “Do you think he’s out there somewhere?”
“Who, Pudge?”
“No… God?”
The cynical reporter turned back to the lake. “Me and him have had our differences over the years. I can’t really answer that one.”
She joined him at the wall, staring out at the endless water. “Well then, how about Pudge?”
“You know, Mary, I’ve thought about it, and I’ve thought about it, and it certainly sounds like something Pudge would do.”
“Do you remember when he took over the intercom system?”
“Remember? Hell, I told the FBI about it.”
“But, Jack, would he really hide out for twenty-five years?”
Jack Start shook his head in wonder. “Had to be one hell of a broken heart.”
She thought about that. “He really did love me, didn’t he?”
“Oh yeah. He was crazy in love with you.”
It is said that a friend is someone you can stand in silence with and not be embarrassed by the silence. The two high school friends stood shoulder-to-shoulder facing the great lake—gazing far out into the past, where the water meets the stars. The only sound was the wind whistling over the shore, and the waves washing over the rocks. Time drifted by. At last she took a deep breath and sighed. “Well, I suppose.”
He looked over at her and smiled. “Yeah, I suppose.”
She slipped her arm through his and they walked away from the lighthouse, back up the hill toward their reunion.
God never showed his face again. Never made a seventh appearance. The FCC stiffened the fines for anybody interfering with the airwaves. And Congress passed a bill approving longer prison sentences for any person caught hijacking a television signal. But nobody was ever arrested. The case remains open.
EMINENT DOMAIN
by Judith Guest
Eminent Domain: In law, the right of a government to take or authorize the taking of private property for public use, just compensation being given to the owner.
They were to meet at Beaujo’s on France. Kendra wore dark glasses and a black silk scarf tied over her red hair, even though she was certain no one would recognize her; she seldom frequented these chic, upscale wine bars sprouting up like wild mushrooms in her neighborhood. One of them even bore the name Wild Mushroom.
She sat at the L-shaped bar, trying not to fidget or look like she was on the prowl. Even though she was. It’s just an experiment. Research. Investigating the possibilities.
She glanced around the room: no curtains on the windows and no rugs on the floor made it a bit noisy, but for her this was perfect. They wouldn’t be overheard; that was essential. And the lighting was dim, so that no one could say for sure that it was the famous Kendra Schilling they saw that night, dressed all in black, black high heels hooked over the rung of the bar stool.
No, not dim; that wasn’t precise. She prided herself on the accuracy of her descriptions. She was a writer, after all. Soft, murky lighting. Yes, that was better. Making everyone look a little more chic, a little less desperate. Were they desperate? She wasn’t sure. She only knew that she was. She tapped one perfectly manicured nail against the rim of her wine glass containing Trentadue Petite Syrah… inky, big, and powerful with intense blackberry syrup and ripe plums, leather-like aroma. She had ordered it purely for the fancy lingo.
Glancing at her watch she took in the cast of characters, wondering if she might have overlooked her fellow assignee. Was that the right word? Perhaps accomplice would be more accurate. For surely that’s what they were: accomplices. Partners in crime. For a moment she thought of quitting while she was still ahead. She’d wrestled with her conscience all day, balancing need against self-respect. No, she’d come this far; she wouldn’t wimp out now.
