A Friend at Midnight (4 page)

“I don't have a ticket,” said Michael.

chapter
2

M
ichael. Age eight. Alone at Baltimore/Washington International Airport without a ticket?

“Do you have York?” she asked.

“I don't have anything. I didn't know what was going to happen. I didn't pack.”

When Mom finds out, she'll bring in the FBI and ten lawyers, thought Lily.

Mom was a nice, good-humored person, but her post-divorce anger rose easily to the surface and she would take advantage of this. She'd bypass Michael for this huge and lovely chance to get even. She would get Dad jailed.

You would think there could be nothing worse than being abandoned by your father. But there was something worse. If bad things happened to his father, that eight-year-old would hold himself responsible. Michael would tumble and smash like the loser in some horrible Chutes and Ladders game.

But he could not stay alone in an airport. Anything could happen, something really hideously terrible. “Flag down a cop, Michael. There have to be dozens wandering around an airport.”

“No.”

“I'll talk to them. You don't have to.”

“No!”

What if the police kept Michael? Some judge in Maryland might put Michael in a foster home or some halfway house with real criminals. And how long would they keep him? Maybe not just overnight. Maybe weeks or months. And what if some sick and twisted judge—because according to the news, the world was full of them—decided Michael still belonged with Dad?

Because to the judge, Dad might claim it was just a misunderstanding.

And maybe it was.

Lily would keep Michael on this line and use her cell to call Dad. Dad would have an explanation.

“Are you still there?” Michael's voice was shaky.

Who cares about an explanation? Lily thought. What he'd better have is a plane ticket. “I'm here. I'm telephoning Dad. You stay on the line while I get my cell. You know what, Michael? Maybe on his way to the parking lot Dad had a fender bender. Because he didn't mean for you to be alone, Michael. It was careless of him to drop you off, but he thought he'd be back in a second.”

“He's not parking the car, Lily. He told me I'm not the son he had in mind. And then he drove away.”

A hand landed on Michael's shoulder. A voice said, “You okay?”

Michael had been wholly absorbed by his sister's voice and the background music of Nathaniel screaming his name. He'd pressed his face into the silvery chrome of the phone box, getting closer to Lily. So rarely had Michael cried in his life that for a moment he couldn't figure out how his face had gotten all wet.

The man bending over him must be a pilot; blue uniform with several insignia including wings. Michael wiped away the tears with the back of his hand. “Sure, I'm okay,” he said. “Just saying good-bye to my sister.”

“Airports are all about saying good-bye,” agreed the pilot. “But who's with you, son? I don't see anybody in the whole room.”

He was right. There were no longer kids playing, or parents watching, or a couple kissing by the window. Michael was alone. Post-9/11, airports hated anything unusual. Michael couldn't stop being eight and he couldn't stop being alone, but he could stop crying and he could fake a family. He dragged out the grandmother excuse again.

“Tell you what,” said the pilot. “I'll just wait with you till she comes.”

“What's going on?” Lily demanded through the phone.

“A pilot wants to sit with me until Grandma gets back from the bathroom,” said Michael.

“Let me talk to him.”

“No.”

“Michael, you can't be alone in an airport.”

“I am, though. Go get Nathaniel out of his crib. He's crying too hard. He might choke.”

“We should be so lucky. Okay, I'm going upstairs to get Nate. But you stay on the line. I'm on the portable phone and I'm carrying you with me.”

The pilot slouched against the wall as if he planned to stay for years.

“You remember your promise?” Michael asked her.

“I remember.”

“Say it back to me.”

“I promise not to tell,” said Lily.

I should never have told her anything, thought Michael. She knows what Dad said and what he did and she'll tell. If she does, I'm going to tell everybody she's making it up.

I'm never going to repeat it to anybody again. I'm never going to have tears on my face again either. I'm going to grow up right now and get it over with.

Michael took a long slow breath, had some long slow thoughts, and got it over with.

“Bye, Lily,” he said, hanging up on her. “There's Grandma!” he said to the pilot. “Thanks for waiting with me!” He crossed the carpet, passed some flight monitors and arrived at the side of two elderly women, who weren't together, just near each other. One woman was balancing a huge carry-on bag, a huge purse and a huge coat. “It's summer,” Michael said to her. “Really hot out. How come you have such a heavy coat?”

She beamed at him. “I'm going to Russia and Finland! Isn't that exciting? And September in those countries might be cold.”

Michael had only the vaguest idea where Russia and Finland might be. “I wish I could go too,” he said, which was certainly true.

Sobbing until his nose and eyes were equally drippy, Nathaniel had gotten yuck all over his hands and face. His diaper was full. Lily handled him with grim efficiency. Then she put him in a fresh T-shirt and shorts that matched and even located the right socks, so he was bright blue with white trim and red sailboats. She yanked apart the Velcro on his little sneakers, fastened them tight and carried him downstairs. Nate hated being carried downstairs. He liked bumping down on his padded bottom.

In the kitchen she filled a sippy cup with milk and handed it over.

She could not believe Michael had hung up on her. She
really
could not believe that she was the one who had to call Dad and demand action. If anything had ever been Mom's job, this was it. Lily would rather skewer Dad for barbecue than talk to him.

“Wiwwy okay?” asked Nathaniel anxiously.

Her little brother was not yet two years old and he was worried.

How come Dad wasn't worried? How could he have driven away? No parent would do that!

And surely their father, their own biological, chemical, neurological blood father, surely Dennis Rosetti had not said out loud to his little boy: You're not the son I had in mind.

Lily crushed Nathaniel in the hug she could not give Michael. Then she strapped him into his high chair and gave him a Fig Newton. He liked to peel away the cookie part and mash the fruit part and, when the tray was a disgusting mat of crumb, jam and smear, put his face down and lick it up. Michael encouraged this style of eating.

After he left to live with Dad, Michael had not called home every day. He hadn't called every second or third day. They had to call him and he never had anything to say. It was unlike Michael to have nothing to say.

School had started a week earlier for Michael down there than it had up here. Michael wasn't willing to discuss school, either. Michael was average in class, struggling with reading, worried by arithmetic, but still, he loved school. He loved the other kids and the teachers and the teams and the activities. Reb used to sit with him, reading aloud the sports section in the newspaper for reading practice, using her finger to follow the lines of print because Michael was embarrassed to use his finger.

Lily had accidentally left the portable phone in the crib upstairs. She called Dad on her cell. Her hands were so swollen with rage that her fingertips barely fit on the tiny buttons. On the fourth ring, he answered it, his voice relaxed. “Hey, Lils,” he said, knowing her from his caller ID.

She could see him perfectly: handsome and lean, with a tousled casual look on which he spent a lot of time. Loafers without socks, sunglasses hooked on his shirt, always a jacket but never a tie. Very blue eyes, so he looked like a sled dog. He was in marketing. He could sell anybody anything.

“Tell me,” said Lily fiercely, “that you did not drop Michael off at the airport without a ticket.”

“Let Kells buy the ticket.”

“What does Kells have to do with it?” she yelled. Her fury filled the room and oozed down the hall and up the stairs. Nathaniel wasn't touching his cookie. He was staring at her in fear. “Did you tell Michael he isn't the son you had in mind?”

“He isn't.”

“How dare you!”

“It was an experiment, Lily. It didn't work.”

“He's your son, not an experiment!”

“Whatever.”

She tried to calm herself but nothing came of it. “What happened?” she screamed.

“He was a hell of a lot of work for very little return,” said her father. “I've been trying to find my own space for a long time now, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's not to pour myself into fruitless ventures.”

As simple as that. Little boys took time and attention. Money and effort. A man could be doing more interesting things. So Dad could stay casual and handsome and blond, while Michael had to carry this with him all his life: He was worth nothing to his own father.

“I hate you!” Lily screamed into the phone. “You are not a father!”

“Oh, cut the drama.”

“I will never use that word ‘father' again, Dennis Rosetti! I will never
refer
to you again. I will never
speak
to you again.”

Dennis Rosetti laughed.

Lily flung her cell phone against the wall. It didn't get damaged. She smashed it to the floor and stomped on it and when she was done she got Nathaniel out of his high chair and held him tight and rocked him and they both sobbed, she in fury and he in fear, and the regular phone rang.

“It's me,” said Michael cheerfully. “I've found a great spot to hang out. There's this group of high school kids waiting for their flight, and it's late, and they're lying on the carpet and playing cards and computer games. I'm blending in. There are phones everywhere once you really look, Lily. When are you getting here?”

When was Lily getting where? To BWI? How could she possibly do that?

The faith in Michael's voice was like religion, the religion possessed by their grandmother, who never missed church, who believed completely and without any fretting. God is good, she would say, and that seemed to be all she needed.

Michael's faith that Lily would come was so complete that Lily got faith too and immediately had a plan.

When Reb had received her college acceptance, she had also gotten dozens of credit cards in the mail. With Mom's permission, Reb had activated one, and Mom and Kells talked often about the responsibility of a credit line and what should or should not be charged.

Lily had done a wrong thing. She had taken one of the cards and activated it herself, picking 3000 for a PIN number, since somebody ought to be using it. So Lily had a credit card in Reb's name. Lily could charge a plane ticket. In some circles, this would be called credit card fraud.