Dan Simmons - Phases of Gravity

Baedecker let Scott drive the rented Beretta as the flood of vehicles inched its way west across the causeway. 'Scott,' he said, 'what are your plans if the launch goes off tomorrow?'

'Just what I'd planned before,' said Scott. 'Go up to Daytona for a few days to visit Terry and Samantha. Then fly to Boston next week to see Mom when they get back from Europe. Why?'

'Just wondering,' said Baedecker. He listened to the windshield wipers tick away in their useless effort against the downpour. Brake lights flashed in the long line ahead of them. 'Actually,' said Baedecker, 'I was considering flying to Boston today. If I wait until after the launch tomorrow afternoon, there won't be enough time before my appointment in Austin on Monday.'

'Boston?' said Scott. Then, 'Oh, yeah . . . that might not be a bad idea.'

'Would you go up to Daytona tonight, then?' Scott thought for a second, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. 'No, I don't think so,' he said. 'I already told Terry I'd be there tomorrow night or Sunday. I think I'll stay here and watch the launch.'

'You don't mind?' asked Baedecker, looking at his son. The months they had spent together the previous spring and summer had helped him become much better at gauging Scott's true reaction to things.

'Naw, I don't mind a bit,' said Scott and his grin was sincere. 'Let's go by the motel and get your stuff.'

The rain had let up considerably by the time they turned south on Highway 1.

'I hope Thanksgiving wasn't too much of a letdown,' said Baedecker. They had eaten alone at the hotel before going to the crew's dessert gathering.

'Are you kidding?' said Scott. 'It was great.'

'Scott,' said Baedecker, 'do you mind if I ask what your plans are? Long-term plans, I mean.' His son ran his fingers through his short, wet hair. 'See Mom for a while, I guess. Get through this semester.'

'You're definitely going to finish?'

'With five weeks left before graduation? Damned right I am.'

'What about after?' said Baedecker.

'After graduation? Well, I've been thinking about it, Dad. I got a letter from Norm last week and he said I can get back on his construction crew and work right on up until mid-August. It would help pay for the doctoral program in Chicago.'

'Are you planning on that?'

'If the philosophy program is as good as Kent says it is, I'm very tempted,' said Scott. 'And even though the scholarship offer is partial, it's the best deal I've seen. But I've also been thinking about going into the service for a couple of years.' Baedecker stared at his son. He could not have been more surprised if Scott had calmly announced that he was flying to Sweden for a sex-change operation.

'It's just a thought,' said Scott, but there was something in his voice that suggested otherwise.

'Don't commit yourself to anything like that unless I get a few hours . . . or weeks . . . to try and talk you out of it, okay?' said Baedecker.

'I promise,' said Scott. 'Hey, we're still going to spend Christmas vacation at the cabin, aren't we?'

'I'm planning on it,' said Baedecker.

They drove east over the 520 Causeway and turned south again past endless rows of Cocoa Beach motels. Baedecker wondered how many times he had driven this way from Patrick Air Force Base in a mad rush to get back to the Cape. He said, 'What branch?'

'Hmmm?' asked Scott, searching for their motel entrance through a renewed downpour.

'Which branch of the service?'

Scott pulled into the drive and parked in front of their unit. The rain pounded on the roof. 'Gee, Dad,' he said. 'You need to ask that of me? What with me growing up in a family proud of three generations of Baedeckers in the U.S. Marine Corps?' He opened the door and jumped out, hunkering down in the rain just long enough to say, 'I was thinking Coast Guard,' and then ran toward the protective overhang of the motel balcony.

It was snowing in Boston and already growing dark by the time Baedecker took a cab from Logan International to the address near Boston University. Still sunburned from the three days in Florida, he looked out through the gloom at the brown, icy water of the Charles River and shivered. Lights were coming on along the dark banks. The snow turned to dirty slush to be thrown up by the cab's tires.

Baedecker had always pictured Maggie living near the campus, but her apartment was some distance to the east, not too far from Fenway Park. The quiet side street was lined with stoops and bare trees, a neighborhood that looked to have been on the edge of decay in the sixties, saved by young professionals in the seventies, and now would be on the verge of invasion by the middle-aged affluent with an urge to homestead.

Baedecker paid the driver and ran from the cab to the door of the old brownstone. He had tried calling from Florida and again from Logan, but to no avail. He had pictured Maggie out shopping for groceries, returning home just as he arrived, but now he glanced up at the dark windows and wondered why he thought he would find her home on the Friday evening after Thanksgiving.

The second-floor hallway was warm but dimly lit. Baedecker checked the apartment number on the envelope, took a deep breath, and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again and waited. A minute later he walked to the end of the hallway and looked out a tall window. Through an alley opening he could see snow falling heavily in front of a neon sign above a darkened shop.

'Hey, mister, were you the one knocking?' A young woman in her early twenties and a young man with horn-rimmed glasses were leaning out into the hall from an apartment two doors down from Maggie's.

'Yes,' said Baedecker. 'I was looking for Maggie Brown.'

'She's gone,' said the woman. She turned into the apartment and shouted, 'Hey, Tara, didn't Maggie go to Bermuda with what's-his-name . . . Bruce?' There was a muffled reply. 'She's gone,' said the young woman as Baedecker took a step closer.

'Would you know when she'll be back?'

The woman shrugged. 'Thanksgiving break just started yesterday. Probably a week from Sunday.'

'Thank you,' said Baedecker and went down the hall and stairway. An attractive young woman with short brown hair passed him in the foyer.

Baedecker stepped out onto the sidewalk and paused, looking up at the snow. He wondered how far he would have to go to find a phone or a taxi. The cold cut through his raincoat and he shivered. He turned right and began walking back toward Massachusetts Avenue.

He had gone a block and a half and his shoes were soaked through when he heard a voice calling behind him. 'Hey, you, mister, wait up a second, please.' Baedecker stopped at the curb while the young woman he had passed in the foyer ran across the street to him. 'Are you Richard, by any chance?' she asked.

'Richard Baedecker,' he said.

'Wow, I'm glad I stopped to chat with Becky,' she said and stopped to catch her breath. 'I'm Sheila Goldman. You talked to me once on the phone.'

'I did?' Sheila Goldman nodded and brushed a snowflake from her eyelash. 'Yes,' she said. 'Way back last September right at the beginning of the school year. Maggie was with her family that night.'

'Oh, yes,' said Baedecker. It had been the briefest of conversations; he had not even left his name.

'Becky told you that Maggie was gone for break?'

'Yes,' said Baedecker. 'I didn't know the university's schedule.'

'Becky said that she thought Maggie had gone with Bruce Claren, right?' She paused and brushed more snow from her lashes. 'Well, Becky doesn't know much. Bruce had been hanging around for weeks, but there was no chance that Maggie was going anywhere with him.'

'Are you a friend of Maggie's?' asked Baedecker.

Sheila nodded. 'We've been roommates for a while,' she said. 'We're pretty close.' She rubbed her nose with her mitten. 'But we're not so close that Maggie wouldn't kill me if she found out that you'd come to visit and . . . well, anyway, she's not down in Bermuda with Brucie.' A car took the turn at high speed, splashing slush at both of them. Baedecker took Sheila Goldman's elbow and they backed away from the curb together. 'Where did Maggie go for Thanksgiving?' he said. He knew that her parents lived only an hour's drive away in New Hampshire.