Part 30 (1/2)

I lowered Max to the floor. He turned, opening his palm. The layer of dust notwithstanding, it was exactly as I'd left it fifteen years ago. The cork from the bottle of Champagne that Susan and I shared that night.

John Jr. leaned in to take a closer look. He didn't say a word.

”Can you guys read it?” I asked.

Max placed the cork between his thumb and forefinger, spinning it slightly until he could see the date. JANUARY 14, 1998, I'd written in black felt-tip marker. Followed by SHE SAID YES!

Then Max saw what Susan had written. ”Is that Mom's handwriting?” he asked.

I nodded.

”Hi, kids!” he read aloud. His jaw dropped; he couldn't believe it.

”It was her idea that one day we'd bring our children back here,” I said. ”She thought it would be cool to show you this.”

I looked over at John Jr., who still hadn't said a word. Now he couldn't. He was too busy pretending it wasn't a tear that had just fallen from his right eye. He wiped it away so fast that only I saw it, not his little brother.

Without a word, I reached out and gave him a hug. I squeezed hard. He squeezed back even harder. That was a first.

”So, like, what do we do with this, Dad?” asked Max. ”Can we keep it?”

I hadn't thought that far ahead. ”Sure,” I said. ”You guys hold on to it, okay?”

”Or maybe we can put it back,” said John Jr. softly. ”You know, where it's always been.”

I turned to Max, who wasn't so sure. He was biting his lower lip.

”Your brother might have a good idea, buddy,” I said. ”There's something comforting about knowing the cork will always be here. It's like a great memory you can keep forever.”

I watched as Max's face suddenly lit up. Now it was my turn to cry.

”Yeah,” he said. ”Kind of like Mom, right?”

Chapter 46

TRUE TO MY word, I got Max and his brother back to camp in time for pepperoni pizza night. I should've grabbed a slice for myself. Less than halfway home, I was starving. Who knew all this catharsis stuff would give me such an appet.i.te?

Salvation came soon enough with a place off the Taconic State Parkway called the Heavenly Diner. A handmade sign in the window read SINNERS WELCOME, TOO! Nice touch.

I pa.s.sed on one of their blue vinyl booths for a seat at the counter and promptly ordered the Lipitor Special: a bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate milk shake, extra thick.

”Coming right up,” said the seasoned waitress, whose blond wig needed a little tug to the left, to put it politely.

She shuffled off and I reached for my cell to check my e-mail. Nothing pressing. Unless, that is, you count that dead uncle I apparently have in Nigeria who left me thirty-five million dollars.

I was about to slip the phone back into my pocket when it rang in my hands. The caller ID didn't come up with a name, but I recognized the number. It was police commissioner Eldridge down in Turks and Caicos.