Dina Santorelli (14 page)

"I
prefer the city, actually." Joey shrugged his shoulders. "It's so... I don't
know, boring here."

"Do
you live here all the time?" Jamie asked.

"No,
I don't live here. Uncle Don does."

They
came upon a large vegetable garden with segmented square plots, each with a
different handwritten sign:
tomatoes
,
basil
,
green peppers
,
oregano
.
Small white stones dotted the edges of the garden, which measured about eight
feet around.

"This
is nice," Jamie said.

"Yeah,
it's Uncle Don's," Joey said without much enthusiasm. "He likes to grow
things." He turned back toward the house again.

"He
likes to garden?"

"Yeah,
among other things," Joey said. "C'mon, we really have to go back."

Jamie
got the urge to run, to grab the baby and just go and see what would happen.
She knew south was straight ahead of her, but she feared that with the baby in
tow, Joey would catch up to them in no time or worse, Leo and the others would.
But maybe Joey would let them leave, she reasoned, maybe he'd just turn around
and walk back. He seemed like a nice enough kid. She wanted to plead with him,
to look into his eyes and tell him to have pity on her and to let her go. But
Jamie knew he wouldn't. There was fear in his eyes too.

"C'mon,
we need to go back," Joey said, trying to make his voice a little sterner, as
if he were trying to be more like his Uncle Don.

Deflated,
Jamie turned to go back when the little girl, who'd been walking along quietly
the whole time, decided to drop Jamie's hands. She stood there before the
vegetable garden like a queen before her court.

"C'mon,
honey," Jamie said. She reached for her hand, but the little girl pulled away.

Joey
crouched down. "C'mon, we have to go," he said in a quiet voice. "Be a good
girl, Charlotte."

Charlotte
.

Jamie
didn't react. Joey didn't realize that he'd said the little girl's name. He was
still trying to cajole her into going back, but Jamie's mind was racing.
Charlotte
. Charlotte. Charlotte.
And then it hit her. Those blonde curls.
About a year old. Upstate New York.

Charlotte
Grand. The governor's daughter.

Suddenly
all the press releases that had inundated her in-box for ten months flooded
back into her memory. The pregnancy announcement. The "It's a Girl" ultrasound.
Jamie could still picture the photo of the governor and Mrs. Grand on the
balcony of Milton Hospital holding the newborn baby, all smiles and waving.
Saturday
Night Live
had even done a parody of the press photo, likening it to the
infamous Michael Jackson/Blanket video footage from Germany years before.

Without
warning, Charlotte made a run for it. She ran a good five or six steps, but her
little legs were moving too fast for the rest of her body, and her knees buckled
outward as if she had just gotten off a horse. She fell face-first into a patch
of unplanted dirt. The wailing started immediately, and the three men—Leo,
Benny, and Tony—reached them in seconds.
I would have never made it
,
Jamie thought.

The
men stopped when they saw the reason for the cries and collectively caught
their breath.

"Jesus,
Joey," Tony said. "I was in the middle of a hand of online poker."

"All
right, leave the kid alone," Leo said. "The baby fell. What do you want?"

"It
was a good hand, too," Tony said as the three men headed back to the cabin.

"Let's
play some real poker, not that fairy kind," Leo said.

"Sure,
I'll take your money, Leo," Tony said. "Benny, you in?"

Benny
nodded.

"No
problem," said Leo. He called to Joey. "Let's go. Playtime's over. Back to the
house."

The
dirt was so loose where Charlotte had fallen that when she lifted her head, her
face was covered—there was dirt in her mouth, in her hair, and in her
eyelashes. Jamie stood the little girl up and bent down to brush her off.

"You're
okay," Jamie soothed. "It's all right." Crouched down, Jamie could hear the
sound of running water again, like when she had first arrived the day before. Charlotte must have heard it too, because her head turned. It was close by.

"She
really likes you," Joey said, standing over them.

Charlotte crouched down and started pushing the loose dirt
around with her hands. With her index finger, she drew swirls and patted down
the earth. Then she was on all fours, using both hands.

"We
have to go now," Joey said. He was giving Jamie a look that said they had no
other choice. She picked Charlotte up when the little girl suddenly exclaimed,
"MaBa! MaBa!" She fought to get down, stiffening her body, but Jamie held Charlotte firmly and followed her gaze: There was a small yellow shrub at the corner of
the patch of dirt that had gotten the little girl's attention. Jamie reached
down to pick it up.

"No,"
Joey said, "don't..."

But
it was too late. In Jamie's hand was a knotted ball of blonde human hair.

Bailino parked the Ford Flex
on the side of the road, across the street from Taryn's Diner. The diner, known
for its homemade pies, was a favorite among locals and was busy twenty-four
hours a day—even on Christmas. Especially on Christmas. Today, the large
blackboard that hung in the front window read
Lemon
Meringue
in brightly colored chalk, and patrons spilled in and out in a
constant flow.

Bailino
checked his watch—11:00 a.m. He scanned the large front windows of the diner,
but the sun's reflection kept him from being able to see inside, so he clicked
off the ignition, silencing the rumble of the engine, and opened the car door.

Dressed
as inconspicuously as he'd allow in his gray khakis and a black T-shirt,
Bailino blended in well with the other passersby, many of them upper
middle-classers who'd escaped from New York City for better schools and
friendlier neighbors even if it meant putting up with the harsh winters. And
this past winter had been a doozy—it was only in the past few days that the remnants
of the tallest bulldozed snow piles had finally melted—so it was no surprise to
see people out and about on such a glorious day.

Bailino
eyed the residents who were chatting amicably while they window-shopped along
the strip mall facing the diner. A young couple made their way out of a used
bookshop. The young man had longish hair that reminded him of Joey, and he
thought about Jamie and young Charlotte Grand being put into Joey's care and
how it had irked Leo. He smiled. The couple were holding hands and stopping
every few feet to embrace and cuddle. Bailino stuck his hand in his pocket,
pulled out Jamie's cell phone, and turned it on. There were twenty-five missed
calls and seven messages, all from the same person: Edward. Ignoring the
prompt, he swiped the screen with his finger until he pulled up Jamie's photos.
The first one quickly came into focus: a little boy and a girl, neither of whom
had front teeth. They had their hands wrapped around each other and were
mushing their faces together. Bailino pressed the right arrow, and a photo of a
man appeared. The jealousy swelled within him, so much so that he had to look
away for a moment. Then he examined the man's features: soft eyes, kind face.
The man was posing with his arm resting on a wooden fence. Bailino hit the
arrow again, and a photo of a little girl with a woman appeared, a beautiful
brunette wearing patched bell-bottom jeans. The little girl was dressed in a
navy-blue jumper and looked somewhat startled, as if the snapshot had been
taken in midstep.

Bailino
turned the phone off and replaced it back into his pocket. The front door of
Taryn's opened, and two men wearing army fatigues emerged, one of them holding
the door for a woman carrying a car seat. The two servicemen crossed the
street, and as they passed him, he bowed his head. Their faces were hidden by
their caps, but Bailino could make out the boyish innocence of their features.
They
haven't seen any real action
, he thought. He could tell.

Bailino
thought back to when his battalion landed in Iraq for the first time, after the
initial invasion during the first Gulf War—his fellow soldiers looked a lot
like those two young men. The touchdown was rocky, not at all what he'd
expected for a military landing in the desert, and had shaken the windowless
carrier violently, but Bailino had learned to veil his fear at an early age and
was sure no one on board could tell that it had been his first time on a plane.
At twenty-six, Bailino had been older than many of his comrades who were fresh
out of high school or college, and during the open-desert tank battles, his
leadership emerged as US tanks outclassed the Iraqi forces, who were poorly
supplied and operating largely without command and control from Baghdad. Only
one other man in his unit had enlisted at age twenty-six, a quiet silver
spooner who had just graduated from Harvard Law and whose father had insisted
he join the army, war or no war, as was the tradition of the men in his family.

At
first, Bailino was suspicious of Ivy Leaguer Phillip Grand, but a mutual
respect formed between them, perhaps because of their differences—Pfc. Bailino,
dark skinned and tenacious, was as quick on his feet as he was in his decision
making, while tall and lean Pfc. Grand, "the thinker," as he was known in the unit,
was pensive and thorough. The unlikely friendship the two formed during boot
camp lasted throughout their entire tour of duty. It was only after the men
returned to civilian life, three years later, that their friendship was cut
short abruptly by the election of Phillip Grand to the New York State Assembly.

A
black town car pulled up in front of Taryn's. The back door opened, and
Governor Grand emerged. The governor ran his hands through his hair, something
Bailino had seen him do countless times in crisis, and motioned for the driver
to find a spot in the parking lot. It was not an unusual sight to see Phillip
Grand, considered "the People's Governor," roaming around near the vicinity of
Taryn's Diner without his official entourage. Every week, he met his mother for
brunch, an intimate affair that both the local residents and media respected,
keeping their distance. As the governor ran toward the doors of the diner, both
he and Don Bailino, who followed behind, knew that this time the governor's
mother would not be inside.

Phillip sat on one of the
stools at the counter.

"The
usual, Governor?" A redheaded waitress, whose weathered countenance belied a
light-spirited soul, brought him a stout glass of ice water, spilling it a
little as she placed it onto his paper place mat. The governor watched the
spilt water spread evenly into a quarter-sized circle and placed his napkin on
top of it. The waitress reached under the counter and pulled out two dessert
plates; she placed one in front of the governor and the other before the seat
next to him on the right. The governor was about to tell Mitzy—he knew all the
waitresses by name—that his mother would not be joining him today, but thought
better of it. It might attract suspicion if it was thought that he was dining
there alone.

"Yes,
Mitzy, the usual." Phillip forced a smile.

"You
all right, Guv?" Taryn herself had come out of the kitchen. Although she was
over 250 pounds, Taryn had a buoyancy about her and a solid work ethic that was
contagious among her employees. She had run the diner alone for the past five
years since her husband, Jet, passed away, showing up for work every day at
6:00 a.m. and never leaving before 9:00 p.m. She usually got a quick heads-up
when Phillip came in for a visit. "You're looking kinda pale, sir," she said
with concern. "You all right?" Her white apron was caked with confectioner's
sugar, which she spread to the bottom of her nose after she wiped it.

"Oh,
just a little under the weather, I guess. I'm sure it'll pass."

"Maybe
it's allergies," Don Bailino said, sitting on the seat to the governor's left.
Bailino looked at a menu and then back at Phillip. "Hey, aren't you the
governor of this fine state? I always wondered if I'd ever see you in here."

"Sure
is," Taryn said, placing a drippy glass of ice water on top of Bailino's paper
place mat. "Gotta admire a man who takes time to see his momma once a week. I
don't know about you, but that's the kind of man I want fightin' for me in
government. One who has his priorities straight, right, Don?"

"That's
right," Bailino said with a smile.

"How's
that book comin'?" Taryn asked.

"Oh,
slow, very slow." Bailino answered.

"Well,
now, you keep plugging along. You'll get it done."

Phillip
listened to the light conversation as Taryn placed a slice of cherry pie on
Phillip's plate and on the one beside it.

"A
family man," Bailino said, taking a long sip of his ice water. "I do believe I
agree with you, ma'am. The love between a parent and a child is one of the most
sacred bonds. It's nice to see an elected official remember that." He inspected
Phillip's plate. "
Hmmm
, that cherry pie looks good. I think I'll have
that as well today."

"Comin'
right up." Taryn placed the dish on Bailino's place mat. She poured them both a
cup of coffee. "If you need anything else, I'll be right in the back."

"Thank
you," Bailino said cheerily.

Phillip
Grand watched as Bailino wolfed down the cherry pie with deliberate
attentiveness—the way, Phillip remembered, he did everything. With the exception
of the graying hair over his ears, Bailino looked virtually the same as he did
nearly twenty years ago. He had gained some weight, but that only served to
make his presence more powerful.

"I'm
gonna make this fast," Bailino said, scraping up the last bits of pie from his
plate with his finger and pulling a twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket. "If
I'm not back in forty-five minutes, your daughter will be dead."