Дэвид Балдаччи - One Summer

“Arm in Afghanistan and legs in Iraq.”

“Two Purples then?”

“Yeah. Were you in the military?”

“My son just got back from the Middle East in one piece, thank God.”

“I guess we both have a lot to be thankful for.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The story ran, and a few days later Janice Kaplan called.

“The AP picked up my article, Jack.”

Jack had just finished cleaning up after dinner.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“AP. Associated Press. That means my story about you and your family is running in newspapers across the country. My editor still can’t believe it.”

“Congratulations, Janice.”

“No, thank you . It wasn’t the writing; it was the story. And it was a great picture of you and the kids. And I think lots of families will be inspired by your struggle and triumph. I just thought I’d give you a heads-up. You’re famous now. So be prepared.”

Janice Kaplan’s words proved prophetic. Letters came pouring in, including offers to appear on TV and to tell his story to major magazines; one publisher even wanted Jack to write a book. Overwhelmed by the blitzkrieg and wanting a normal life with his kids, he declined them all. He figured with the passage of time other stories would emerge and take the focus away from him. His fifteen minutes of fame couldn’t be over soon enough for him. He was no miracle man, he knew, but simply a guy who got lucky.

A week after Kaplan’s call, Jack was lying in bed when he heard voices downstairs. He slipped on his pants and crept down to the main level.

“Stop it, Chris!”

Jack took the last three steps in one bound. Mikki was at the door, and a teenage boy had his hands all over her as she struggled against him. It took only two seconds for Jack to lift the young man off his feet and slam him against the wall. Jack said, “What part of no don’t you get, jerk?” He looked over at Mikki. “What the hell is going on?”

“We... he just came over to work on some... Dad, just let him down.”

Jack snapped, “Get upstairs.”

“Dad!”

“Now.”

“I can handle this. I’m not a child.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Upstairs.”

She stalked up to her room. Jack turned back to the young man.

“I ever catch you with one finger on her again, they won’t be able to find all the pieces to put you back together, got it?”

The terrified teen merely nodded.

Jack threw him outside and slammed the door. He stood there, letting his anger cool. Then he marched up the stairs and knocked on his daughter’s door.

“Leave me alone.”

Instead he threw open the door and went in. Mikki was sitting on the floor, her guitar across her lap.

“We need to get a few rules straight around here,” Jack said.

She stared up at him icily. “Which rules? The ones where you’re ruining my life?”

“What was I supposed to do, let that little creep paw you?”

“I told you I could handle it.”

“You can’t handle everything. That’s why there are people called parents.”

“Oh, is that what you’re pretending to be?”

Jack looked stunned. “Pretend? I brought all of you back home so we could be together. Do you think I did that just for the hell of it?”

“I don’t have a clue why you did it. And you didn’t even ask me if I wanted to come back. You just told me to pack, like I was a child.”

“I thought you hated it out there. You told me that a dozen times.”

“Well, I hate it here too.”

“What do you want from me? I’m doing the best I can.”

“You were gone a long time.”

“I explained that. Remember? I told you that story about being in the army? About taking your time and being prepared for every eventuality.”

“That’s crap!”

“What?”

“In case you hadn’t figured it out, this isn’t the army, Dad. This is about family.”

“I did all that to make sure we could be a family,” he shot back.

“A family? You don’t have a clue what to do with us. Admit it. You’re not Mom.”

“I know I’m not, believe me. But you two were always arguing.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t appreciate what she did for us. Now I do most of the cooking and cleaning and the laundry, and looking after Jackie. And your grocery-shopping skills are a joke.”

Jack felt his anger continue to rise. “Look, I know I’m not in your mom’s league, but I’m trying to make this work. I love you guys.”

“Really? Well, Cory’s being bullied at school. Did you know that? His grades are going down even though he’s a really smart kid. The teachers have sent home tons of notes in his bag, but you never check that, do you? And Jackie’s birthday is in two weeks. Have you planned anything? Bought him a present? Planned a party for his friends or even thought about a cake?”

Jack’s face grew pale. “Two weeks?”

“Two weeks, Dad . So you might want to try harder.”

“Mik, I—”

“Can you please just leave me alone?”

When he left her room, Cory was standing in the hall in his underwear.

Jack looked embarrassed. “Cor, are you being bullied at school?”

Cory closed the door, leaving his dad alone in the hall.

Jack and Sammy were unloading Jack’s truck in his driveway after a long day at work. Jack nearly dropped a sledgehammer on his foot. Sammy looked over at him.

“You okay? Haven’t been yourself the last couple of days.”

Jack slowly picked up the tool and threw it back in the truck bed. “What do you think Jackie would like for his birthday? It’s just around the corner, and I wanted to get him something nice.”

Sammy shrugged. “Uh, toy gun?”

Jack looked doubtful. “I don’t think Lizzie liked to encourage that. And where can I get a cake and some birthday things? You know like hats and... stuff?”

“The grocery store up the street has a bakery.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s right across from the beer aisle.”

Jack drove to the store and got some items for Jackie’s birthday. He was standing at the checkout aisle when he saw it. He had never been more stunned in his life. He was looking at his photo on the cover of one of the tabloid magazines that were kept as impulse buys at the checkout. He slowly reached out his hand and picked up a copy.

The headline ran, “Miracle Man Muddied.”

What the hell?

Jack turned to the next page and read the story. With each word he read, his anger increased. Now he could understand the headline. The writer had twisted everything. He’d made it seem that Jack had forced Lizzie to go out on an icy, treacherous night to get his pain meds. And then, even worse, the writer had suggested that Jack thought his wife was having an affair with a neighbor. An obviously distraught Lizzie had run a red light and been killed. None of it was true, but now probably millions of people thought he was some kind of monster.

He left his items on the conveyor belt and rushed home.

On the drive there, it didn’t take him long to figure out what had happened.

Bonnie had been the writer’s source. But how could she have known? Then it struck him. Lizzie must’ve called her on the drive over to the pharmacy and told her what she was doing. Maybe she mentioned something about Bill Miller, and Bonnie had misconstrued what Jack’s reaction had been, although it would have been pretty difficult to do that. More likely, Bonnie might’ve just altered what Lizzie had told her to suit her own purposes.

Jack could imagine Bonnie seething. Here he was getting all this notoriety, adulation, and sympathy, and Lizzie was in a grave because of him. At least Bonnie probably believed that. A part of Jack couldn’t blame her for feeling that way. But now she had opened a Pandora’s box that Jack would find difficult to close. And what worried him the most was what would happen when his kids found out. He wanted to be the first to talk to them about it, especially Mikki. He gunned the truck.