The Ups and Downs of Being Dead (30 page)

“You tried to raise that motor by yourself?”

“I know.” Joe waved away her protest. “That was stupid. I
lost my balance and fell in.”

“How far were you from the shore?” Robert asked.

Joe threw his hands up in the air. “Not that far! I could
have easily waded to the bank.” His face contorted into that sorrowful
expression again, and he turned to Maggie. “But I was splashing a lot.”

“Oh, no.” Maggie moaned quietly.

Robert didn’t understand what had suddenly upset her.

Joe tried to put his arm around her to comfort her. “He was
a big gator, Maggie. Probably a good seven feet.”

“Dear God!” Robert blurted out. “You were attacked by an
alligator? What an awful way to die.”

“It’s not as bad as you think,” Joe said. “Mostly, you’re
traumatized by the idea. Knowing what’s happening. But the pain isn’t that
horrendous. It’s over pretty quick.”

Robert shuddered and looked at Suzanne. She was horrified.

“Who found you?” Maggie asked. “Not the boys!”

“Not who, Maggie. When.” Joe’s voice cracked as though he
might cry. “It got dark. The pontoon drifted quite a ways away from where I
fell in. And of course, my body was dragged into the underbrush of a small
inlet.”

He paused, too choked up to continue.

Closing her eyes, Maggie said softly, “They didn’t take you
to the Cryonics Center.”

Joe closed his eyes and shook his head. Robert felt so bad
for the man. Here he was confessing to his wife about a really stupid mistake,
and he had to do it in front of strangers.

“There was so much damage by the time they found me,” Joe
said in a whisper. He shook off his grief before going on. “And Jason was so
distraught. He knew my wishes. He wanted to carry them out. But the medical
examiner insisted there was nothing left to salvage.”

“Oh, poor Jason,” Maggie said. “I know this must have been
so hard on him.”

Joe nodded. “He even flew to St. Louis to meet with the
director of the Cryonics Center. I went with him. But the staff there agreed with
the medical examiner. There was nothing to preserve.”

The flight back to the States was like a wake.

After Maggie found out about Joe, she just collapsed into
herself. It was more than a Bela Lugosi where she zoned out. Even when she was
walking through the airport, she was lost in some catatonic state.

For all her ability to help others cope with their shattered
lives, she seemed unable to deal with her own. Joe was at a distinct
disadvantage in comforting her, since he’d royally screwed up. Robert felt just
as helpless. Suzanne was the only one who seemed to be able to reach past
Maggie’s pain.

“I got down in the dumps a couple months ago,” she told
Maggie. “Thinking about Robert coming back without me. But you know what he
reminded me of? That it’s going to be a long time before technology figures out
how to reanimate him. It could be eighty years.”

Suzanne paused to make sure Maggie was listening before she
continued. “He told me I had a choice. I could be miserable, and make him
miserable, too. Or I could enjoy those eighty years with him and deal with the
rest later.”

That didn’t sound at all like what Robert had said, but
Maggie seemed to find comfort in Suzanne’s version so he let it go.

Suzanne had a way of listening beyond his words to hear what
he really meant to say. He was trying hard to learn to do the same.

The four parted company at JFK. As Suzanne put it, Maggie
and Joe needed some healing time. Personally, if Robert had pulled a blunder
like that, the last thing he’d want to do is be alone with Amanda.

Joe had no idea where they’d be heading. And Maggie was too
distraught to decide.

“Let’s set a meeting place and time,” Suzanne said to
Maggie. “How about three months from now. September first, Robert and I will be
at the Washington Monument in D.C. If you want to join us, we’ll be there all
day.”

Robert wasn’t sure Maggie even heard, but Joe nodded in
agreement.

As he and Suzanne boarded a flight to St. Louis, Robert had
a vision of Maggie and Joe hanging out in limbo at JFK all summer.

* * *

Since Suzanne had no idea where Mark lived, they went to the
brokerage firm where he’d first met Angie.

He had an office, not a cubicle like a lot of the other men
who looked to be about Mark’s age. That said a lot about his success with the
company.

He was just wrapping up a phone call, and when he finished,
he leapt out of his seat and dashed out of his office. Hanging on the far wall
was a captain’s bell that Mark dinged three times.

It must have indicated some kind of sale because all the men
and women sitting in their cubicles dropped what they were doing to go
congratulate him. There was lots of hand shaking and back slapping, but instead
of basking in the glory, Mark encouraged the others by saying if he could do
it, so could they.

Robert sensed a palpable rage boiling in Suzanne.

“Let’s go wait in the lobby,” he suggested. “And we’ll
follow him home.”

Mark’s house was a renovated bungalow in Kirkwood, a suburb
of St. Louis. Once he parked his briefcase on a chair in the living room, he
headed for the kitchen. Angie was standing at the counter, but the moment she
heard his footsteps, she quickly spun around, grabbing a towel to dry her
hands.

A big smile lit up a face that had been bruised and swollen
beyond recognition just months ago. She had an unpretentious beauty that some
men might find plain. Her hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck; she
wore minimal make up, but it did wonders to add color and dimension to her
face.

“How was work?” she asked as she turned to the refrigerator,
pulled out a bottle of white wine, and poured one glass.

“Great! I landed another big account today.”

He took the wine glass she offered, pulled out a bar stool
at a small island centered in the kitchen, and sat. The newspaper was strategically
placed, still folded, as though Angie had brought it in and left it for Mark.

“Would you be sweet and pick up my dry cleaning tomorrow?”
he asked. “I want to wear my worsted wool suit at the meeting Thursday.”

“Sure.”

He spread out the paper and scanned the front page.

“You know, on second thought, I’ll do it. I wanted to get a
new shirt and tie anyway.”

“I can do that.”

“Would you? You’re an angel.”

“I’ll be over by the mall anyway. I have a doctor’s
appointment at ten.”

Mark turned the page of the newspaper and took a sip of
wine. “Hey, did you happen to send a thank you note to the Perkinson’s?”

“Sure did,” Angie said. “Raved about the food, the guests,
and their darling children.”

Angie carried a steaming pot to the sink and drained some
pasta. For the first time, Robert noticed that she still walked with a limp.

“You didn’t pour it on too thick, did you?” Mark glanced up
from the paper. “I don’t want to come across cloying.”

“What is she?” Suzanne asked. “His new personal assistant?”

“She’s home all day,” Robert said. “And it sounds like she’s
volunteering to run his errands.”

“Oh, please. He didn’t say one word about her going to the
doctor.”

“I suppose she goes pretty regularly. She still can’t work.”

“So that makes her Mark’s gofer?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“And what was that about her pouring it on too thick? He’s
the king of heavy-handed compliments.”

Mark closed the newspaper. “Sometimes it’s the small things
that can slip you up.”

“Oh my God!” Suzanne huffed. “He’s coaching her? It’s just
like my mother and father. Their whole life was about his career.”

Robert considered pointing out that her mother hadn’t
worked, but he knew better than to fan that flame so he kept his mouth shut.

“She planned the parties, did the shopping, cleaned the
house. All my dad did was mix the drinks.”

Robert offered a harrumph.

“My mother was always trying to groom me to be a good wife,
I guess hoping I was going to marry some doctor or lawyer.” She shook her head
like she was trying to get her hair out of her face. “They were so disappointed
when I married Phil, the building contractor. I guess they were afraid all our
entertaining would be at the American Legion.”

Angie left the pot in the sink and walked over to the
counter.

“Everything will be fine,” she said, leaning over to kiss
Mark.

He blew out a breath. “I sure hope so.”

“She’ll never leave him now,” Suzanne moaned. “My last hope
was that living with him while she recuperated might open her eyes.”

“Open her eyes to what?” Robert asked. “You still can’t give
me one concrete reason why she shouldn’t be with him.”

She gave Robert an imaginary elbow to the ribs before she
stormed out of the kitchen. They didn’t even stay through dinner.

“Are you kidding me?” Robert said as he chased down the
street after Suzanne. “We flew all the way out here for an hour visit?”

“Yes. And now were going to Atlanta and pop in on
your
daughter. At home. Let’s see how
long you stick around there.”

Robert wasn’t holding out much hope that Rachel’s
relationship with Min was a temporary fling. But he was not prepared for the
eight by ten photo prominently displayed on the end table in the living room.
It showed Rachel and Min both in white gowns; not necessarily wedding gowns,
but they were beautiful brides none-the-less. At the bottom of the frame was a
small gold plate with the date of their ‘exchanging of vows’.

He’d been out of touch with Audrey’s, but Robert would
almost bet that Rachel had chosen her satin, straight-line halter dress from
their collection. Or she’d made sure her dress became part of the collection.

Although it was still dark outside, Min was in the kitchen
brewing a pot of coffee. She was still in her robe and slippers. As she poured
water into the machine, she talked on her Bluetooth. It must have been a
business client in a different time zone.

“I can get a quote to you by noon,” she said, “but I really
think you should consider holding off until you hear from The Neilson Group.
Their decision could affect our whole campaign.”

She pried open an English muffin with a fork and dropped
both sides into a toaster.

“No problem,” she said. “Call me any time you hear
something. That’s why I’m here.”

High-heels clicked on the hardwood floor of the living room,
and Rachel appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” she asked Min.

Without turning, Min said, “I thought you could use the
sleep.”

Rachel’s shoulders slumped. She walked up behind Min, put
her arms around Min’s waist, and kissed the back of her neck.

“I didn’t mean to get so defensive last night,” Rachel said.
“Forgive me?”

“Sure.” Min swung around in Rachel’s embrace and hugged her
back.

“Believe it or not,” Rachel said, “I’ve still been thinking
about our conversation.”

“Is that good or bad?” Min asked.

“I’m trying to keep it good,” Rachel said. “Like you said,
you work from home. Most of the time you’re either on the phone or on your
computer.”

The toaster popped up. Min appeared quite excited about
Rachel’s comment. She squelched a grin while she retrieved the muffins and
spread a thimble’s worth of butter on each half.

Rachel poured two cups of coffee.

“You said you’d carry it,” she said as she set the cups on
the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“Absolutely,” Min said.

“And we’re not going to obsess over clothes, or shoes, or—”

Reaching out, Min laid her hand on Rachel’s and gave a
gentle squeeze.

“I’m sorry you had such a rotten childhood,” she said. “But
I promise it will be different with us.”

“Rotten childhood?” Robert asked. “What is she talking
about? My kids were dressed in Atlanta’s finest. They went to the Lovett School
for Godsakes. Amanda pulled out all the stops for birthday parties, even for
Rachel.”

Then he remembered passing by Rachel’s bedroom door when she
was only five or six. Amanda was trying to dress Rachel for school, but Rachel was
refusing to cooperate. As quickly as Amanda could get one argyle sock on
Rachel’s foot, she was pulling the other one off. And all the while, Amanda was
pleading in that whiny voice of hers. “But they’re so cute. See how they match
your sweater?”

Rachel took a sip of coffee. “I guess I was doomed because
my mother was a model.”

Suzanne asked Robert, “Was Amanda obsessed with clothes?”

“Oh, yeah,” Robert admitted. “I remember one morning my
driver was waiting at the front door, horrified at the screaming between Amanda
and Rachel. Al would drop the kids at school before taking me to work.

“As soon as I came downstairs, Amanda pointed at Rachel’s
outfit and asked me what I thought.”

“Oh, boy,” Suzanne muttered.

Robert nodded. “It looked like Rachel had dug one of my old
tuxedo shirts out of the closet. The excess shirt had been cinched at her waist
with a wide black belt. I thought it looked quite stylish.”

“But not Amanda.”

“Absolutely not,” he crisply replied, “I mean, Rachel had on
the rest of the school’s uniform: the tartan skirt and blue blazer. It’s just
that the shirt hung below the jacket.

“I took a wild stab and asked if the skirt was too short.
Amanda went ballistic. ‘How can you call yourself a fashion couturier and not
see how utterly hideous this outfit is’?”

“She said that right in front of Rachel?”

“Yeah. So I said I thought it looked adorable.” Robert
wagged his eyebrows at Suzanne. “Then I pushed the driver and we all ran for
the car.”