James Patterson - Second Honeymoon

“I know it’s not visiting day, and I’m sorry,” I said. “But this couldn’t wait. I need to see them.”

“Is it some kind of family emergency? Has someone died?” he asked.

“No, no one has died.”

“But it is an emergency?”

“Yes, you could say that.”

“Is it health-related?”

He stared at me, waiting for my answer. I stared right back at him, a vision in a red plaid shirt and hiking shorts, wondering how long this little game of twenty questions was going to continue. To glance around his tidy office—the neatly stacked files, the pushpins all aligned perfectly on the bulletin board—was to know immediately that Barliss was a man who prided himself on being organized, on top of things. As an uninvited guest, I was about as welcome as a bedbug in one of his cabins.

Wait until you hear the rest, buddy. Brace yourself, okay?

If he didn’t like my being there to see Max and John Jr., he really wasn’t going to like what I had planned for them.

Screw beating around the bush. I blurted it out.

“You want to do what?” he asked. It was complete disbelief. As though I’d just told a kid there was no Santa Claus, Easter bunny, or tooth fairy while eating a piece of his Halloween candy.

“Think of it as a brief field trip,” I explained. “I promise to have them back in a couple of hours.”

“Mr. O’Hara, I’m afraid—”

I cut him off. I had to. Barliss was exactly what you wanted from someone you’ve entrusted your kids to…up to a point. But ultimately he was camp director, not camp dictator, and I hadn’t driven all this way just so I could turn around and go home. Desperate times, desperate measures. It was time to rearrange his pushpins.

“ Afraid? Don’t be afraid, Ed,” I said. “The fact that I just came from the shrink my boss at the FBI is making me see because he’s afraid I’m going to go completely postal on someone should in no way make you feel ill at ease. And even if it did, rest assured I’ve been stripped of my firearm—at least the one the Bureau knows about. Now can you have someone round up my boys?”

The poor guy. Slowly, he reached for one of those short-range walkie-talkie things and radioed a couple of counselors with the message that they should find Max and John Jr. All the while he kept one eye trained on me, watching for any sudden moves.

Two minutes later, the boys walked through the door. They were tan and sweaty in their shorts and T-shirts, scrapes on their knees, smudges of dirt on their necks and elbows. They looked and smelled exactly like…well…camp.

Max’s face lit up; he was excited to see me. J.J.? Not so much. He had the same first question as Director Barliss.

“Dad, what are you doing here?”

“I need to take you guys somewhere, a place you need to see.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now. It won’t take too long, I promise. I’ll have you both back by dinner.”

J.J. looked at me as only a thirteen-year-old boy who’s embarrassed to share your DNA can.

“Are you crazy?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “I’m your father. Now let’s go.”

Chapter 44

TEN MINUTES INTO the ride, the boys finally waved the white flag and gave up asking where I was taking them. I must have sounded like a broken record. “I’ll explain when we get there,” I kept saying.

Twenty minutes later, we finally got there.

“A hotel? You’re taking us to a hotel?” John Jr. whined as he looked at the sign in front of the Poets Inn in the town of Lenox, Massachusetts.

“First of all, it’s not a hotel. It’s an inn,” I explained calmly, nodding at the majestic white Victorian, complete with a turret and wraparound porch. “Second of all, yes, this is where I’m taking you.”

“I thought you said we’d be back at camp for dinner,” said Max through a frown. “Tonight’s pepperoni pizza night, my favorite.”

“Don’t worry, we’re not spending the night.” I put the car in Park, turning to the backseat. They looked like a couple of lumps sitting there. Mopey times two. “Just trust me, guys, okay? Can you do that? Please? ”

They followed me inside, feet dragging, and I told them to wait by the entrance while I had a word with the owner, Milton, who was behind the front desk. When I’d called ahead before leaving Manhattan, I’d had only two questions for him: “Is the Robert Frost Room taken?” and “Do you mind if I borrow it for a few minutes?”

“It’s available,” said Milton to the first question, followed by “Be my guest” to the second. Talk about hospitality. Indeed, Milton was as nice now as when I first met him…fifteen years ago.

“Let’s go, guys,” I said to the boys after being handed the key. Yes, an actual key. No magnetic-strip card or annoying beeping red light after your first seven tries here.

We climbed the three flights up to the top floor and the Robert Frost Room. The rugs in the hallways were worn, the paint was peeling a bit along the moldings, but the feeling was far more cozy than worn. Just as I remembered it.

“Have you been here before, Dad?” asked Max, sounding a bit winded from taking two steps at a time to keep pace with his older brother and me.

“Yes,” I said as I unlocked the door and we walked in. “Once.”

John Jr. immediately glanced around at the four-poster and velvet curtains, a far cry from his camp cabin. “So why are we back ?” he groaned.

“Because I owe you boys something,” I said. “And it starts here.”

Chapter 45

WE STOOD IN the middle of the room, halfway between the bed and the oversize fireplace, with its cherrywood mantel. Max and John Jr. were side by side, staring at me. In that very instant I could remember each of them as babies cradled in Susan’s arms.

I drew a deep breath and exhaled.

“When your mom died I stopped talking about her to you guys,” I began. “I told myself it would just make you miss her more. But that was a mistake. If anything, I was the one scared of missing her more. What I realize now is that even with her gone she’s still your mother, and she always will be. Nothing can ever change that. So for me not to talk about her, to not share with you boys the stories and memories I have of our relationship, is to deprive you of something very important. And I don’t want to do that, not anymore. That’s why we’re here.”

Max looked at me, puzzled. I knew this was a lot for a ten-year-old, but he wouldn’t always be ten. “I don’t get it, Dad,” he said.

John Jr. gave him a push on the shoulder. “He’s saying he stayed here with Mom.”

I smiled, the memories now rushing over me. “Fifteen years ago, with a foot of snow falling outside, your mother and I sat before that fireplace and drank a bottle of Champagne,” I said. “Then I did the smartest thing I’d ever done in my life. I proposed to her.”

“ Really? Right here in this room?” asked Max.

“Yep, really,” I said. “In fact, I can prove it.” I stepped over to the closet, next to a chest of drawers, and opened the door. “Come here, guys.”

They walked over and looked. There were only a handful of empty hangers. “It’s empty,” said John Jr.

“That’s what you think.” I scooped up Max, lifting him above my shoulders. “Do you see the very last plank there in the ceiling?” I asked. “Push on it.”

Max stretched his arm toward the last plank, along the back wall of the closet. “Hey, wow,” he said as it gave way to the push of his small fingers.

“Now reach all the way to your left,” I said.

He felt around for a moment. “There’s nothing there,” he said, giving up too quickly. “What am I looking for?”