Fox Island (22 page)

“Probably. I’ll call Kathy. I’ll get you a
ride. Try to find a shady spot to relax. You done good, kid. I’m
proud of you.”

“I’m sorry I called up bawling like some
junior high girl. I never cried one bit all night. But it was so
great to hear your voice. As soon as you started talking, I knew
everything was going to be all right.” Kit began to cry again.

After hanging up, Tony stared in the hall
mirror. The man in the reflection reminded him a lot of his father,
but he was thinking about a college girl who still needed her
daddy. What in the world was he doing twelve hundred miles from
home all summer long?

Lord, I need to be there.

By noon Tony solved the crisis. Kathy and a
girlfriend were driving north on Black Canyon Freeway to pick up
Kit.

Tony grabbed a Coke out of the frig and
stepped out on the deck. Another morning of not getting any work
done. At least, not much writing. However, he did accomplish
something. He opened his notebook and flipped on the computer.
Chapter eight appeared on the screen. He glanced down at the
partial first line. “Almost a year before the bridge opened...”

Maybe he should have driven Barbara Mason to
the hospital. Surely more peaceful than here.

Price found Barbara Mason in a too tight red
linen suit, red heels, red lipstick and shell-shaped gold wire
earrings. Price wore black bermuda shorts, white sandals, white
short-sleeve blouse, and tied a black-and-white cardigan sweater
across her shoulders. She couldn’t tell if she or Barbara felt more
out of place. “I zipped over as fast as I could. Hope it will be
all right to dress like this?”

Barbara apparently didn’t hear her as she
wrung her hands. “I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know what
to do. Melody should be here. Why isn’t she here when I need her?
That girl hangs around in the way most of the time, then when I
really need help, I don’t know what to do.”

Price tried to get her attention by peering
into her eyes. “Do you know where the hospital is?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Well then, come on, we’ll talk on the way.”
Price ushered Barbara out the door and into the white
Oldsmobile.

The awkward conversation consisted of
trivial topics and trite responses. When they reached the hospital,
Price helped her sign papers, briefly had a word with a muddled and
shaky Jessica Reynolds, then they retired to the hospital
cafeteria. Sitting across an antiseptic smelling gray formica
tabletop, both women stared at the steam rising from heavy
porcelain cups.

“I’m not real good with this,” Barbara
began, “but I really appreciate your bringing me to the hospital. I
was close to an anxiety attack. Sometimes I can’t believe how much
I depend on Melody. She’s a rock, the only rock in this
family.”

“Did you ever tell her that?”

“She knows. She knows how I feel.”

“It must have been tough when she went to
Tempe to college.”

“Those were four of the worst years of my
life. But none of them have been too great.” Barbara stared with
sad, tired eyes at Price until she felt uncomfortable. “How old are
you?” she finally asked.

Price sat up. “Forty-nine.”

“That’s about what I figured. I’m
fifty-three. And without this gaudy makeup, I look old enough to be
your mother.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“No, it’s true. Maybe that’s why I hated you
when I first met you.”

Price swallowed hard.

“Look at you. Sitting there all cute, thin,
and tan. My legs haven’t seen the light of sun in thirty years. Nor
will they. You look thirty-five, forty tops. You’re a successful
professor. Married to a man who Melody thinks can walk on water.
Leading an exciting life of travel, fame and success. You are
exactly everything I ever wanted out of life and never got one
ounce of. Every time I see you, I’m reminded of what an absolute
failure I am.”

“I’m afraid you’ve romanticized mine. It’s
not really that exciting.”

“Nope, I sized it up pretty good, and you
know it. But I guess the thing that made me the maddest was when,
last week, you evaluated my whole life in three minutes.”

Price relaxed as the dreaded confrontation
finally emerged. “I truly am sorry I blurted out those things.”

Barbara burst out with a deep, hoarse,
throaty laugh. “You sized me up to a tee, and I was mad as... well,
do you know I haven’t had a drink since that day?”

“Really?”

“I guess I decided to prove you wrong.”
Tears shined on the heavy makeup.

“I had no right to say those things to
you.”

“You were honest. I don’t have one friend
that has ever been honest with me. I won’t even allow that of poor
Melody. Look at me. I can’t even control these tears when I’m
sober.”

Price reached into her bag, tugged out a
small pack of tissues and slipped them across the table.

Barbara roughly wiped her eyes and cheeks
and sipped her coffee. “Mine’s cold. Can I get you a refill of hot
water?” she offered.

“That would be great. Thanks.”

Barbara returned and poured four teaspoons
of sugar into her coffee. “Should I call you Dr. Shadowbrook?”

“Please, everyone calls me Price.”

“Melody said that was short for
Priscilla.”

Price nodded. “When I was a little girl my
daddy called me his Priceless Priscilla. That led to Price, and it
stuck.”

“Is your father still living?”

“Yes. He and Mother live in Yuma.”

“That must be nice.”

“Having older parents is both a joy and a
challenge.”

“Mother’s a chore sometimes,” Barbara
admitted. “Of course, Father left when I was very young. I wish I’d
known him.”

Price took a deep breath. “Barbara, I know
I’m really blessed to have a loving husband and caring parents
still alive. But the most important relationship in my life is with
Jesus Christ.”

“This might come as a surprise to you,”
Barbara said in a slow, quiet tone, “but when I was young I was
very religious. I prayed every night my father would come
back.”

“I thought he was lost at sea.”

“Mother always said that. But I never
believed it. I don’t think she did either. The two of them argued a
lot when I was small. Father would go on long fishing trips to
Alaska and be gone for weeks. When he was at home, Mother made him
sleep on the divan most of the time. I was too small to know what
it was all about. So, after he left, I prayed and prayed. In my
dreams I would get a letter or a call from my father, that he
needed me to come and help him. After years and years of getting no
answer, I got tired of praying.”

“Mrs. Mason?” The tag on his green hospital
gown read ‘Dr. Alan Crayn.’

“Yes?”

“I did the x-rays on your mother.” He looked
at Price. “Is this your daughter?”

Price was relieved to notice a slight smile
hiding behind the thick, red lipstick. “No, just a young
friend.”

“Here are the x-rays.” He held them up to
the fluorescent lighting of the cafeteria. “You can see where the
fracture is. We feel there’s only a minimum amount of surgery
needed, but we want to go in and take care of it right away. Your
mother isn’t that old. We want her to be able to get around on her
own for years to come.”

“Yes... well...” Barbara searched for
Price’s nodding approval. “By all means, go right ahead. Do what
would be best for Mother in the long run.”

“Good. It’s certainly what I would do if she
were my grandmother. If you ladies need to do any shopping or
anything, it will be at least two hours before we’re through.”

“Thank you,” Barbara replied. “We’ll
probably just wait here.”

As Dr. Crayn turned to leave, Price said,
“Dr. Crayn, would it be possible to have a copy of that x-ray? I
think Mrs. Reynolds’ granddaughter would like to see it.”

“Certainly. Stop by the lab. I’ll leave
word.” Green face mask dangling around his neck, Dr. Crayn shoved
open the swinging double doors and disappeared into the hall.

Price leaned toward Barbara. “You did
fine.”

“Thank you, daughter.”

“It’s this Arizona tan. Fools them every
time. I’m old enough to be his mother. Hope you didn’t mind, but I
thought Melody would like to know about the injury.”

“I’m glad you mentioned that. I didn’t even
know we could get an x-ray.”

“Comes from having a stunt-man son. A mom
learns a lot about x-rays that way.”

“Must be nerve-wracking. Sometimes I’m sorry
I didn’t have more children. I’m an only child, and I swore I’d
never put any kid of mine through the same thing. Strange how that
happens.”

“Barbara, if you had your life to live all
over again, what else would you do different?”

Barbara gazed around the sparsely filled
hospital cafeteria amid the clank of trays and muffled voices. The
aroma of homemade soup bubbled into the room and mixed with the
smell of disinfectant. “My first thought was to say I should have
never married Frank. But then, there would be no Melody. And she’s
the most precious thing I’ve got. So, I guess if I had to do it all
over, I’d have pulled myself together earlier, graduated from
college, and gained some maturity before I married Frank. Maybe I
could have been a better wife. And, if I could do it all over? I
would never have started drinking.”

“What if I were to tell you with God you can
have a fresh start?”

“Really? A fresh start? I think I’m ready.
I’ve been on a dead-end street so long, it’s hard to imagine
anything else. To tell you the truth, I don’t even know where to
begin.”

“The doctor said it would be a couple hours
before he could tell us anything. Why don’t we go sit out on the
patio at one of those tables?”

“I’d like that.”

Price struggled with what to say next.
She wished Tony was here.
Lord, I’m not
good at this.
She didn’t want to sound like a
schoolteacher waving a yardstick. Like she did with their last
conversation. Maybe she should have stayed at home with the church
ladies and let Tony bring Barbara to the hospital.

Tony dozed off and on at the table as he
tried to sort through the towering stack of government papers he
procured from the navy. Detailed, meaningless reports. He preferred
to throw the whole pile away and get back to writing. He discovered
nothing of value and even if there was, he wouldn’t know how to
decipher it.

He pulled his eyelids open and stretched,
then shuffled through the stack to a paper labeled “Restricted.”
Handwritten beneath that were the words: “Restriction lifted: 7-
1-1990.” He found another document entitled “Pearl Harbor
Retaliation Plan #11: The Assassination of Emperor Hirohito.”

What?

A plan to assassinate the Japanese
emperor?

Suddenly, his interest perked up.

For two hours Tony studied the paper stack
until the touch of Price’s hands rubbing his neck and shoulders
caused him to jerk around.

“Find something good?” she asked.

“Incredible!”

“I could say the same about what happened at
the hospital.”

“Oh yeah, Mrs. Reynolds. How is she?”

“She came through surgery fine. But what
happened to Barbara Mason is really remarkable. I’ll make coffee
and we can sit on the deck.”

“What happened to Barbara?”

“The angels are rejoicing. But what did you
find in those government reports?”

“Details on Harvey Peterson’s Japanese
invasion.”

“It really happened?”

“Something did. Late in 1942 someone in the
navy devised a plan for specially trained U.S. forces to infiltrate
Japan and assassinate Emperor Hirohito. A captured Japanese
submarine was brought into Puget Sound and a couple dozen men were
trained to operate it. They learned to speak Japanese fluently and
prowled up and down the Sound, practicing mock invasions.”

“So, what Harvey saw were U.S. troops
pretending to be Japanese?”

“Exactly.”

“What do you think Harvey will say about
these documents?”

“I’m not sure. It shoots down his theory,
but you never know the reactions of conspiracy fanatics when faced
with truth.”

“What happened? Did they try to carry out
the assassination? I don’t remember anything in the history books
about it.”

“Someone from the Pentagon got wind of the
plan and scuttled the whole ‘Plan #11 for the Retaliation of Pearl
Harbor.’”

“Makes you wonder what the other ten plans
were.” Price scooted a mug of coffee in front of Tony. “Great
material for our book.”

“It gets better. I found a second restricted
report ... on the cover-up of Plan 11.”

“Harvey was right? They did try to cover it
up?”

“I guess until the mid-fifties the navy
didn’t want anyone to know they ever plotted political
assassinations. They tried to keep it secret.”

“Tried?”

“A fisherman from Fox Island stumbled onto
the cover-up.”

“Who?”

“Hubert Reynolds.”

Price slammed her cup down on the counter.
“Melody’s grandfather!”

“Yep.”

“How do you know? What does it say about
him?”

Tony retreated to the dining room and
returned with a photocopied paper. “Listen to this: ‘June 15, 1948,
Hubert Reynolds of Fox Island and Alaska, was paid $8,000 for his
cooperation in keeping confidential the contents of this
report.’”

“It’s that plain? They really word it like
that?”

“Here it is.”

“June 15? He disappeared right after he got
the money.”

“Yeah, maybe Barbara was right. Maybe he
just took off.”

“Remarkable. Do you think we ought to tell
Melody?”

“Sooner or later. I’m not ready to disturb
Jessica, but maybe we ought to tell Barbara, too. What do you
think? Will this bum her out even more?”