James Grippando - Born to Run

Jack knew what a nervous flyer his father was. “Dad, we have this same conversation every time you and Agnes fly together. I know where you keep the key to the safe deposit box.”

“It’s not that. Before everything went crazy in Washington, there were more than a few jokes made about the fact that I fired you as my lawyer. The damn gossip papers even picked it up. I’m sure you realize what that was all about, but I feel like something needs to be said between us.”

“I understand completely,” said Jack. “You were working with the FBI, and one member of the Swyteck family at risk was enough.”

“That’s part of it,” said Harry.

Jack flashed a hint of concern. “What’s the other part?”

“I just want you to have the total picture. Yes, I fired you to keep you out of danger. But if this whole thing had turned out differently-if I had become vice president-it would have been a dream come true to have my son working in Washington with me.”

Jack smiled, even though years of sad history lay between the lines. During Governor Swyteck’s first term, the problems had run much deeper than the obvious fact that Jack worked for the Freedom Institute and defended death row inmates, while his father was signing more death warrants than any governor in Florida history. The rocky history dated back to Jack’s childhood, and politics had made their disagreement so public that the two men didn’t even speak to each other.

“Chief Justice Jack Swyteck,” said Jack. “Could have had a nice ring to it.”

“Let’s not get crazy in hindsight, all right?”

Jack stepped toward him, and they embraced.

“Oh, one other thing,” said Harry. “I’ve completely run out of time with the holiday crunch. Can you stop by Carroll’s Jewelers and pick up Agnes’s Christmas present? It’s an antique, I guess you’d say. Make sure it’s cleaned up all pretty and overnight it to me.”

“Sure thing. Have a great time in Beaver Creek.”

Harry thanked him and went to his car.

Carroll’s Jewelers on Miracle Mile wasn’t exactly on Jack’s way home, and the last-minute shoppers made getting there a bit like sneaking into the Super Bowl. Fortunately, the jeweler recognized him when he entered, and she brought the box to the counter straightaway and opened it for him.

“What do you think?” she said.

Jack slipped the ring onto the tip of his pinky and examined it beneath the spotlight.

“It looks like my mother’s engagement ring,” he said, puzzled.

“It is,” said the jeweler. “It cleaned up nicely, don’t you think?”

Precious few family heirlooms had been passed down through Jack’s maternal family. His mother had come to Miami from Cuba as a teenager with little more than a suitcase in hand. The Castro regime didn’t let her mother leave for another forty years, long after Anna Maria Fuentes had married Harry Swyteck and died giving birth to a son. The modest, round diamond in a traditional Tiffany setting was about what one would have expected from a recent college graduate in the mid-1960s. Jack had never asked for it, but he assumed it would be his someday-passed directly from his father.

“He’s giving it to Agnes?”

The jeweler seemed confused by the question.

Jack said, “My father asked me to come by and pick up his Christmas present to her.”

The jeweler smiled, as if suddenly realizing what was going on. “Same old Harry the jokester,” she said, shaking her head. “I think you’d better read the card.”

Jack took the envelope and tore it open. “I’m not good at surprises,” the card read, “but I think I got you this time. Give this ring to someone you love as much as I loved your mother. Happy 40th birthday.”

Jack felt tingles, even if his fortieth had passed two weeks earlier. Still, it was an incredibly sentimental, un-Swyteck gesture coming from his father. A little pushy too, actually. Jack and Andie hadn’t even broached the subject of marriage, but it seemed that Harry was weighing in with his two cents: Approved.

The jeweler put the ring back inside the box, no charge for the cleaning. Jack thanked her, went to the sorry rental car that had replaced another polished old gem-his 1968 Mustang, now junk-and headed for Coconut Grove to meet Andie.

Maybe it had been Harry’s plan, or maybe it was the thought of being forty, but the ring got Jack to thinking. Andie Henning was unlike any other woman he’d known, a self-assured thrill seeker who liked to push life to the edge and lean over. Jack loved that she wasn’t afraid to cave dive in Florida’s aquifer, that in her training at the FBI Academy she’d nailed a perfect score on one of the toughest shooting ranges in the world, that as a teenager she’d been a Junior Olympic mogul skier-something Jack didn’t even know about her until she rolled him out of bed one hot August morning and said, “Let’s go skiing in Argentina.” He loved the green eyes she’d gotten from her father, the raven-black hair from her mother-and he loved that beneath the outward beauty, there was an intelligent and intriguing half-Native American who had been adopted into a totally Anglo world and who was as thirsty for knowledge about her own cultural identity as Jack was about his half-Latin heritage.

His cell rang. It was Andie.

“Change of plans,” she said. “Meet me at Cy’s.”

Cy’s Place was special in Jack’s book, and the grand opening had proved to be the night that everything clicked for Jack and Andie. The two of them had talked and laughed till 2:00 A.M., listening to Theo’s uncle Cy give them a taste of Miami’s old Overtown Village through his saxophone.

“See you in five minutes,” Jack told her.

He arrived even sooner, but it took another five minutes in the parking lot to decide what to do with the diamond ring-hide it in the car or bring it inside with him. Car break-ins were rampant around the holidays, and the thought of his mother’s engagement ring ending up in some pawnshop was too much to stomach. The box was too big for his pocket, so he removed the ring and put it in his pocket-promising himself that, no matter how much tequila he drank, the ring would not see the light of Cy’s Place. Jack took the rear entrance through the kitchen and continued into the bar, where he was immediately greeted by a roaring “Surprise!”

Andie threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

“Happy birthday, old man,” she said.

Jack smiled, but he wasn’t really surprised, even if it was more than two weeks after his actual birthday. Telling Andie not to throw him a party had been the surest way to get one. It was wall-to-wall memories as Jack embraced one old friend after another-Theo, who gave him a spine-cracking hug; Uncle Cy, dressed in his vintage natty tweeds; Neil Goderich, his first boss at the Freedom Institute; and on and on.

The longest hug, however, was for Abuela .

She tried to whisper something to him, but the emotions choked her. As much as Jack resembled his mother, his fortieth-birthday celebration was at least on some level a tough reminder of how long it had been since Abuela and her daughter had said good-bye.

“Drinks are on Jack!” shouted Theo.

Cocktails were flowing all around the big U-shaped bar, and Cy’s Place was oozing that certain vibe of a jazz-loving crowd. Creaky wood floors, redbrick walls, and high ceilings were the perfect bones for Theo’s club. Art nouveau chandeliers cast just the right mood lighting. Crowded cafe tables fronted a small stage for live music. The hand-painted banner hanging from the ceiling, however, was a bit puzzling: HAPPY SECOND ANNIVERSARY!

“Second anniversary of what?” said Jack.