Interlude (22 page)

“Is he here yet? In Weisbaden?”

“Yes, ma'am. He arrived last night.”

“How is he?”

“We haven't seen him either, ma'am.”

Don't call me ‘ma'am' again or I'll scream.

“Do you know where I'll be staying?”

“The families usually stay in a residential complex adjacent to the hospital, ma'am. But you're not his wife yet, are you?”

“No, we're not married yet.”

“Well then I don't know. It's usually just immediate families that stay there. Otherwise you'll be in a hotel in town. The State Department takes care of all that.”

Wonderful. I'll probably end up in a sleeping bag on the lawn.

Once her fact-finding mission proved unsuccessful, Betty fell silent, left to pass the time by reorganizing her various anxieties. She wondered if Mike Brody was still around. Why wouldn't he be? She deduced that Mike was probably part of Jon's debriefing team. If Jon had arrived just the night before, the spooks weren't finished with him yet.

Tired as she was, faint excitement rippled inside her. Jon! She was on her way to see Jon! How would he look? How would he act? Where would their first meeting take place? What would they say to each other? It was almost six in the evening in Germany. Would she see him that night or the next morning?

At last the car entered a nondescript military complex. She was delivered to a small building where she was greeted by a State Department representative.

“Ms. Casey? Marion Albert. You'll be staying here during your visit to Weisbaden. Although you and Mr. Surrey-Dixon aren't yet married, we have been advised that you are the only person coming to meet him, so we'll be happy to accommodate you here.”

Thanks, God. No sleeping bag.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your room. You may want to freshen up a bit before going over to the hospital. If you'll meet me in the reception area in a half-hour, I'll take you over to see Jon.”

“Have you seen him?”

“No, I haven't seen him myself, but I understand he's in good health and good spirits. Now if you'll excuse me . . .”

“Of course. Thanks again for the accommodations. I appreciate the thoughtfulness.”

Marion Albert smiled. “Our pleasure,” she nodded politely. “I'll see you in half an hour.”

Once she left, Betty looked around the room and noticed a balcony. She stepped outside into the cool evening air and looked directly into the windows of the big U.S. Army hospital.

Jon's in there!
She stood transfixed by the building across the way. Her heart sped up.
Jon's actually in there!
Impulsively she waved, just in case he might be watching. Then, feeling suddenly foolish, she retreated into her room, drew the curtains, and began to brush her hair.

A short time later, Betty gave a cheerful thumbs-up to a crowd of reporters as she was led through the guarded gate that separated her accommodations from the hospital itself. She exchanged pleasantries with the military staff in the lobby. She was still trying to figure out what to say to Jon as she was escorted up an elevator and to the door of a room. A thin, blue-eyed man sat waiting inside.

He stood up, a faint smile on his lips. “I've been looking forward to this for a long time, Betty.” Jon's voice was almost monotone.

“Me too.”

Their embrace lasted a long time but was strangely unimpassioned. Betty looked into Jon's eyes. What was so different about him? He seemed cool and distant.

“Jon, are you all right?”

“I'm . . . I'm fine, Betty. Just a little overwhelmed, you know. You look wonderful, as always.”

Again she searched his eyes. Dim and dull.

Horrible thoughts chilled her. Had he suffered some sort of emotional or mental damage in his captivity? Or was he trying to send her a message of disinterest?

They sat down and began a peculiar, one-sided conversation. Betty knew she was talking too much, too fast, trying to make up for the quiet, unemotional responses she was receiving from her friend, her fiancé. She chattered, then fell silent, then chattered again.

Oh, God, help me.

“Have you had dinner?” Jon asked. “I think they said you could eat here with me.”

Betty couldn't have eaten a bite if her life had depended upon it. But she didn't want to leave, either, at least not quite yet.

A meal was produced, which Jon devoured quickly.
That's the most enthusiasm he's shown since I got here.
She picked at the chicken and vegetables in front of her. It was as uninspiring as the ongoing dialogue.

Once he'd finished eating, Jon began to yawn almost compulsively. Betty searched her soul for a subject that would galvanize him. She had carefully collected countless episodes and experiences to share with him while they were apart. Now his detached, unresponsive behavior paralyzed her. She couldn't think of another thing to say.

“Jon, you're so tired. And really, so am I. I think we'll both feel better after a good night's sleep.”

They were sitting side by side. He looked at her a little sadly, reached over, and touched her face with his hand.

Hope stirred inside her. Tears stung her eyes. She studied his face. Were there tears in his eyes too?

“Jon, I love you.”

He nodded mutely and touched her face once more. Again, the stirring.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Betty. Get a good sleep—you look exhausted.”

Feeling dismissed, she got up to go, fighting back the tears.

He didn't even say “I love you, too.”

She quickly kissed him good-bye, rushed out the door, down the elevator, and with the help of a friendly soldier, found her way back toward her residence.

Fenced out,
she told herself as she walked through the guarded gate.
I'm fenced out in more ways than one.

She stretched out on her bed, too weary to think, too frightened to sleep. Fear and fatigue quickly distorted her disappointing encounter with Jon into a hopeless catastrophe. Unsatisfying reality was transformed into irrevocable finality. Irrational as it was, she felt their relationship was lost forever.

If there had been a phone in the room, she might have called Jim. Or Joyce. Or maybe even her father. But why call, even if she could? There was nothing to report except sorrow and humiliation. Betty felt like grabbing her belongings, hitching a ride back to the Frankfurt airport, and disappearing somewhere in Africa—forever. She was mulling over that frantic possibility when she heard a knock at the door. She opened it and was handed a note.

Hi Betty,

Welcome to Weisbaden. I hear Jon's resting tonight. Do you want to get together for a drink? I'll pick you up in a half-hour.

Mike

Fine with me. At least somebody wants to talk to me.

Mike greeted her with open arms, giving her a quick peck on the lips this time instead of a kiss on the head. She felt like crying in his arms but managed to pull herself away and restore her composure.

“Let's go over to the Intercontinental in Frankfurt. They have a nice bar and I feel like getting out of here for awhile. How ‘bout you?”

Betty nodded. As they made the twenty-minute drive back to Frankfurt, she was in no mood for mincing words. “Mike, is there something wrong with Jon?”

“Jon seems to be in reasonably good health, Betty.”

“He doesn't seem reasonably healthy to me. He's just not right . . . he's not himself at all.”

“Well, maybe it's the shock of freedom. Clearly being released from captivity is a stressful experience. But you'd be far more qualified to judge his behavior than anyone else. You certainly know him better than I do.”

Mike's words were little comfort. In fact they made Betty feel worse than ever. As far as she was concerned, Jon was either permanently mentally impaired or he was trying to get rid of her. She glanced at Mike. A gentle smile played around his mouth. What was he thinking?

Somehow, they managed to talk about other matters besides Jon's mental condition. They discussed her flight to Nairobi, the marine who had intercepted her in the transit lounge there, the flight back to Frankfurt, the nice folks at the American Embassy. Mike casually deflected questions about himself, focusing his attention on her. Once they settled into the hotel bar, Betty sipped on a glass of Chablis while he downed two Vodka Stingers.

Epilog Bar,
Betty noticed the establishment's logo.
How appropriate.

Betty was flattered by Mike's attention. He was growing more affectionate by the minute. His eyes never left her face, and he was increasingly jovial and amusing. What did he have in mind, anyway?

Oh, God. I'm so vulnerable.

Her engagement ring danced with color as it caught the light around it. Perhaps she would soon be taking it off, giving it back to Jon and saying, “Good-bye. I'm sorry. See you later.”

Meanwhile, Mike was asking about her work. Her home in California. Her car. Her future plans. Jon's name never entered the conversation. At last they fell silent. Betty was staring at her hands, sadly aware of the twinkling diamond that seemed to have come to life in the Epilog Bar.

Mike caressed the back of her neck for a moment, then gently pulled her close to him. Betty was fully aware of the move he was making, feeling his warm breath on her face. Rather comfortable in his embrace, she didn't move. But, just as she should have succumbed to the comfort she craved, her mind began drifting away from her companion. Away from the tinkling of ice-against-glass. Away from Frankfurt altogether. Memories came to her like snapshots in an album, its pages turning unhurriedly.

She saw Jon's first letter, written to her on blue airmail paper. In his characteristic scrawl it said that he loved her poetry and how much he looked forward to meeting her. She was still amazed by his warm response to her collection of poems.

She saw Jon the first day they met, sitting across from her in Jim's office. She'd liked him immediately. Not long afterward, Joyce Jimenez had told her that he had been more than impressed with her too. How extraordinary it had seemed that they would soon be working on a book together.

She saw Jon kissing her in a Uganda thunderstorm. She could almost smell the wet earth and feel the lukewarm raindrops against her skin. As fervently as she'd resisted it, something had captured her heart there in East Africa—-something unexplainable and inevitable.

She saw Jon in the Kenyan night, his clear, intelligent eyes reflecting his love for her, his hands breaking bread for her, pouring wine for her. It had been the conclusion of an unforgettable trip together and had seemed like the beginning of a life journey.

And, finally, she saw Jon lying next to her in her bed. His hair was tousled, his face childlike in sleep. She had traced her fingers across his eyes and lips. They had shared just one night together, and she had never completely forgotten the sweet sense of belonging.

You've got to be patient just a little longer. Give him time!
You can't give up now . . .

Betty felt Mike's hand burning against her shoulder, his face against her hair. She liked Mike. She didn't want to hurt him. But she quietly said, “I think I'd better get back to Weisbaden now.” And, as she reached for her handbag, she deliberately pulled away from his embrace.

The spell was broken.

Their drive back was pleasant enough, but not marked by animated conversation as before. Mike wasn't particularly talkative, and Betty didn't know what to say to him. It was virtually impossible to talk about his work, and he was unwilling to say much at all on a personal level. She hated to bring up his past—most likely that was another minefield. Meanwhile, Betty had told him all she intended to about herself.

He embraced her firmly when they parted at her quarters in Weisbaden. “Will I see you again?” he asked with a hopeful grin.

“I don't know what's going on,” she shrugged, unable to look him in the eye. “I've got to spend most of tomorrow with Jon. But thanks for getting me out of here—I enjoyed talking to you, Mike.”

He hugged her again, and she escaped inside the building without another word. She didn't notice the woman who was seated at the reception desk. It was nearly midnight.

“Ms. Casey? You have several messages.”

“For me? Are you sure?”

Betty unfolded a handful of small notes, most of them from various media contacts. She sighed wearily, knowing they wanted “exclusive” interviews with the newly released hostage.

Then, among the other memos, she realized that there had been two phone calls from Jon Surrey-Dixon himself.

The first message had come at 9:15. It said, “Sorry I missed you. I'll call back later.”

The second message, at 10:50 read, “Where are you anyway? I'm going back to bed. Please join me tomorrow for breakfast. I love you.”

“Jon, I'm sorry I missed your calls last night!” Betty could feel his heart beating against her chest.

He held her out at arm's-length and eyed her suspiciously. “Where on earth did you go? I thought you'd decided I was such a bore that you'd run off with somebody else!”

No, not a bore. Just brain-dead.

Betty gestured flippantly. “Oh, I ran into one of the men who's been working on your case, and he invited me to have a drink with him. You were so tired, I thought you'd sleep all night. Otherwise I wouldn't have gone.”

Jon was much more himself this morning. He still seemed a bit fuzzy in his perceptions, but nothing like the night before. He stared at her quizzically, a somewhat hurt look on his face. “Betty, I can't blame you for giving up on me last night, but I must say that seems a little odd to think you'd go out with another man.”

Uneasiness stirred inside her. Almost able to feel Mike's arm around her and his breath on her face, she shivered involuntarily. “Believe me, it was no big deal, Jon. I thought you were zonked out for the night, and I just didn't want to sit in my room.”