The Widow's Walk (20 page)

Tears welled in her eyes. “I miss them too, sweetie.”
How did this get so far?
This escapade would make the financial situation worse. Mike, Mae, and Kevin would never forgive her.

Elisabeth answered with a back flip.
Because we need to find Edward.

The tote board flashed the track for the 6:20. An announcement crackled an overhead reiteration. Liz hesitated. Elisabeth did not. She’d boarded that train to Liverpool against all odds, against all reason. And she’d made it to the ship. To America, to Edward. Now it was time to go back to face the consequences, to face her past, to face him again.

Liz collected her things, gave Eddie a breadstick to keep him busy, and shuffled off like a bag lady across the terminal.

The train stopped outside Grand Central for an interminable ten minutes, waiting for a signal. The plane wasn’t leaving for hours, but immobility was intolerable. The onboard nap and complimentary salted peanuts had done nothing to refresh her, in fact exhaustion threaten to overcome her resolve. Maybe this delay was a sign she should turn back, go home, forget this crazy stunt.

Elisabeth would have thrown herself out the train window at that thought if Eddie wasn’t draped across her lap. Liz collected her belongings. Her stomach churned, mixing hunger with anxiety into a soured milkshake.
Food, I need some food.
Her head spun, she blinked to clear her vision.

The train jolted into motion. “Sorry for the delay, ladies and gentlemen. We’re arriving on Track 22. Amtrak personnel will be happy to assist you in making connections. Please stop by the information kiosk in the terminal.”

Soon they’d be on the bus to the airport. Hours early. They’d be past the security checkpoint before anyone at home realized where she was going. Lost in a throng, anonymous, safe until the moment of boarding, when it might all end. This was her only chance, one she’d have to take.

The train screeched to a halt. Liz stood, opened the stroller with her foot, and put Eddie inside. She collected her suitcases, draped bags over the handles of the carriage.

The conductor came up behind her. “I’ll carry those bags for you.”

“Thank you, sir.” There went the change she’d planned to use for lunch. She had to ration the money carefully, buying only what was absolutely necessary.

Liz lifted the stroller over the gap between the train and platform and paused until he followed with the suitcases.

“Where to, madam?”

“I need a bus to Kennedy Airport.” Her voice sounded tinny, like an echo, foreign.

Elisabeth was in control. She was going home. The zombie, limbs stiffened, tired of eternal sleep, waddled after him.

“This way.” Unaware there was anything amiss, anything unusual about this woman traveling alone with a baby, he led her to the exit.

Chapter 28

Mike called Marti at 10 a.m. from Logan Airport, fantasizing that he’d be able to intercept Liz at her apartment and avoid a public scene. The minute he heard the concern in Marti’s voice, his heart flopped like a desperate fish ensnared in a net.

“She’s not here, Mike. And she’s not answering her mobile phone. Marianne and Jay are trying to track her down, too.”

His heart sagged like a torn sail. “Thanks, Marti. If she calls again, please tell her I love her and I don’t want her to go alone.”

Her flight was at five, and she had to check in three hours or more ahead of time. He didn’t dare go to the bathroom or get something to eat.

Mike moved from one end of the queue to the other, so as not to attract any attention from security. Beeps emanated from self-service check in kiosks. Pages for wheelchairs, calls for missing passengers, announcements of final boarding calls all blended into a monotone. Maybe he’d missed her. “Excuse me.”

The blue-jacketed hostess stopped.

“I’m waiting for my wife. Would it be possible to be paged when she checks in?”

The woman looked at him with narrowed eyes, her lips a straight line. “I need your ticket and ID.”

Mike fished out his wallet. “I don’t have a ticket.” He rifled for his license. “Her name is Elizabeth Keeny. She’s traveling with my son, Edward Keeny.”

Her eyebrows rose. “We don’t page for non-ticketed customers.” She walked away.

Stupid move. They might arrest
him
for stalking.

The cell phone vibrated like a frog in his pocket. By the time he got it out the call went to voicemail. He had no idea how to retrieve it. Mike fought the urge to throw the damn thing against the wall. It rang again, he had no idea how to answer it. “Damn!” He pushed the green receiver.

Mae’s voice, shrill, panicked, sounded like she was on speaker. “She’s leaving from New York!”

“New York? It took a minute to absorb what Mae was saying. But it said . . .” His voice broke.

“I was checking to see if she booked any hotels and found an itinerary change. Liz re-booked the flight late last night.”

“After she talked to Marti and found out we were looking for her. What time is the flight?

“3 p.m.”

His hopes plunged like a seagull after a school of snappers. “I’ll never make it.”

“There’s time if we call Marianne Hartley.”

“No! Call Sandra, Mae. We’re going to need her help.”

“I will not. We need real action, not hocus pocus.” She disconnected.

Everyone was staring at him now. He got the hell out of Logan Airport before the cops came for him. He couldn’t do anything if he was in jail trying to explain his way out of something he couldn’t understand himself.

Gravel scattered as Mike pulled into the driveway. Jared writhed.

The whole gang met him in the foyer. Mae had obviously reconsidered and called Sandra.

He’d already decided that the police were needed. “I’m calling Marianne. She might be able to have her intercepted at the gate.”

Sandra grabbed Mike by both arms. “If you do that, think of the trouble Liz will be in. And Elisabeth . . .”

Mae pushed her aside, but it was Katherine’s voice that spoke. “Who are you to tell us what we should and should not do? You barely know her.”

“I know her better than all of you.” Sandra’s words stung like a horde of bees. Her eyes lowered. “Elisabeth was Bethea’s best friend. She only relented in haunting me when I found out why she killed herself.”

“And are you willing to let it happen again?” Kevin was losing control over his ghost.

Jared was growing stronger by the minute.
Stop her. Stop her from leaving by whatever means you can.

He picked up the phone. Liz would never forgive him. There would be no chance of reconciliation. Would she be charged with kidnapping? Insanity? The result would be the same. Everything would be lost. Everything.

“What are you waiting for? I’ll do it if you don’t.” Mae grabbed the receiver.

Sandra’s look spoke louder than her words. “She will not hurt herself. She will not hurt the baby. We must trust Elisabeth and Edward. We must allow them this time. Mike, you sought my counsel before . . .”

Mike’s hand trembled, he dialed the area code and paused at the war being waged in his gut. That nausea again. He regained control, composure, and put the phone back in the cradle. “She hasn’t done anything wrong and I won’t subject her to that humiliation.”

Silence prickled him like a thousand needles. “I’ll go to London and find her. That’s all I can do now.”

“Her flight hasn’t left yet. You still have time to stop her!” Mae reached for the phone again. “Call Marianne Hartley.”

“You mustn’t interfere.” Sandra took Mae’s arm to stop her, impassive, her face blank, eyes vacant.

“You have no right to tell us what to do, Bethea Vauxhall.” Mae never put her hands on her hips, preferring to point a finger. Katherine had taken over.

Sandra, like Bethea, remained stoic, unmoved by other’s emotions.

Kevin’s neck swiveled as he tried to follow the volley of personas. He stared at Mike and Mae, blinking. “I’m tryin’ my best to keep it all straight but it’s like . . . He squeezed his eyes closed, shook his head. “Dear Lord, who am I?”

“We’re all going through it, Kevin.” Mike put a hand on his friend’s back.

Kevin looked up at him, eyes buried deep in sockets of wrinkles, worry lines that appeared out of nowhere as the poor gentleman struggled. Of all those in the room, Kevin was the most true to his ghost; a simple man who lived each day in the present, now struggling to hold back painful memories of his past.

Just go find her
. Jared insisted.

Only a ghost could see things in such black and white contrast. Only a ghost could reduce such complexity to a single, simplistic statement. Only a ghost could find Liz in England.

And I’m not a ghost.

Mike could ask Jay to try and stop his mom at Kennedy Airport. He couldn’t be more than an hour away. But what could he tell him that wouldn’t jeopardize Liz further? Nothing. Calling Marianne would be better, but she’d be furious at him for waiting so long.

Where could she possibly be headed? Liz was obviously covering her tracks very carefully.

Mae, undeterred, kept tapping away at the keyboard. “A four-day London getaway–flight, ground transportation, and a hotel room for only $700.00 per person. There is nothing else that cheap. Leaving tomorrow from Logan.” She looked up expectantly. “I’ll go with ya, of course.”

“Mae, what the hell are we going to do when we get there? Take in the theater? See Buckingham Palace?”

“We need a base.” She kept typing.

Kevin looked at Mike and shrugged. “Worth a try.”

Sandra held Liz’s scarf between her fingers and stared into that weird black mirror. She looked up at Mike, oblivious to the conversation. “She’s lonesome, sad, scared, hungry. I see the letters A, S.”

Mae rolled her eyes. “No mystery there. She’s by herself, totin’ a baby on an international flight, and not answerin’ anyone’s call.” She whispered underneath her breath, “A, S, arse.”

Sandra appealed to Mike instead. “Think hard. Doesn’t Jared recall a town, a name, any details?” “Nothing that he’s telling, and he hasn’t exactly been quiet,” Mike quipped.

“We lived in Surrey.” The dreamy look in Mae’s eyes belied Katherine’s influence. “It’s a few hours to London, I recall, by horse and carriage anyway.”

“Do you think you can remember more?” The first glimmer of hope Mike had in two days sparked.

Mae blinked. “I’m not sure. Let me look at a map.” She went back to her keyboard.

Sandra smiled. “Be open to receiving insight, and it will come.”

Mike exhaled and looked at Kevin. He was staring at Mae, no doubt still struggling to understand what was going on inside them all.

“What do you think, Kevin?” Mike needed an impartial, reasoned opinion.

“If ya don’t go lookin’ ya won’t find nothin’. I guess it comes down to what’s worse: bein’ here wonderin’ or there searchin’.”

“I should go alone. This is a husband’s duty.”

Three sets of eyes looked at him. Sandra’s impassioned, urging; Mae’s entreating; Kevin’s, bewildered.

“How do you feel about me traveling alone with your wife, Kevin?” The logistics would be challenging, and he doubted there would be enough space for him and Jared and Mae and Katherine in European hotel room.

“Fer goodness’ sake, it’s about findin’ Liz. I have to look after things here.”

Mike looked at the clock. 2 p.m. One hour to Liz’s departure. Jared gave him a good kick in the arse. “Book it.” He went to pack.

Chapter 29

Suitcases and Eddie’s well-laden stroller encircled Liz like wagons to ward off an enemy attack. She slouched behind the pile so no one would recognize her. Everyone seemed familiar, though reason dictated otherwise. Jay lived on the West Side, but far uptown. What were the chances he would be in Penn Station, anywhere near the airport transportation desk? Very unlikely, but her entire life was a string of strange occurrences.

The bus was a lot cheaper than a taxi, though she had to handle her own bags. And wait for the next bus, which meant an hour sitting here, needing to go the bathroom, starving. Well into the next day’s monetary allotment, airplane food would have to suffice.

Eddie wriggled and raised his hands, anxious to get out and move around.

“Once we get to the airport and check the bags you can run around, slugger. But for now, stay put, please.” She grinned and rubbed his nose with hers. Placated by that, and another cracker, he quieted, rubbing his blanket over his cheek to comfort himself.

Guilt clutched Liz again. Mike’s bedtime ritual included playing peek-a-boo with Eddie, which had soon led to the baby emulating his dad. The poor kid was trying everything he could to recapture some normalcy, and she was doing everything she could to let it go.

The jitney pulled in and a line began to form. Liz couldn’t get there fast enough. Would she even get on this one? Had giving her name been enough to save a spot?

She had more than enough time, but if she didn’t get to a bathroom and get something to eat soon . . . Her stomach churned, and her bladder felt like it would burst.

The driver tossed bags into the back, taking note of which airline each passenger was going to, directing them to get in. By the time Liz gathered Eddie into his carrier, collapsed the stroller, and balanced the car seat on top of one of the rolling bags, he’d closed the trunk.

Loaded like a pack animal, with the computer and diaper bag over her shoulders, she dragged the rest of the precarious pile toward the bus. The car seat toppled to the ground with a crash and thud, startling the entire section of the terminal. Dozens of eyes trained on her as she struggled, but no one came to help.

At least she didn’t wet her pants. Eddie wailed. New York could be a brutal place, but she’d traded the hometown advantage for anonymity and was now paying the price with more than money. Leaving the seat and stroller behind, Liz took the bags to the driver. Eddie swayed in the front carrier like a sack of potatoes.

“Are you Keeny?” He eyed the screaming baby, obviously hoping she’d say no.

“Yes.”

“I was looking for you. The kid has to go in the seat, and now I have no room. The next van will arrive in a minute. Wait here.”

Liz had no strength to argue. She left one pile to get the rest. If only Eddie could walk on his own. Wait, he could walk between her and the suitcase. The delighted tyke waddled off as soon as his feet hit the floor, grinning all the way, while Liz pushed the suitcases. There was no bus in sight, and all the signs said to leave no luggage unattended. Eddie needed a diaper change, and she’d never hold it if the driver hit a pothole.

The uniformed dispatcher who’d taken her name stood behind a podium.

“Excuse me, sir. I need to change the baby. Can I leave my bags with you for a moment?” She resisted the urge to add “since you never told me to wait here and I missed the last bus.”

His nose crinkled, contemplating rules versus a full bus and a full diaper. “Sure, but hurry.”

Liz grabbed Eddie, the diaper bag and the computer, which she didn’t dare let out of her sight. Her book manuscript was the only legitimate excuse for going on this goose chase.

By the time Liz diapered the writhing baby, corralled him in the squalid stall while she peed, and then got both their hands washed, the bus was already loaded, Eddie’s seat in place. Trusting her bags were indeed aboard, and not in the hand of a thief or terrorist, she clicked Eddie and herself in.

Other passengers checked their watches, glared at her, and then resumed tapping on smartphones. She didn’t have a friend on the world at this moment. The driver pulled the van door closed. Soon, soon, they’d be at the airport. But there was still plenty to go wrong.

Eddie enjoyed the scene around him. “Tuck, cah, bus!” The businessman next to the window looked askance. How could anyone be so jaded as to deny a child such simple joys? The option was to listen to him scream.

The gods seemed to be trying everything to convince Liz this was a bad idea. Elisabeth pulsed with excitement as she itched to break free. Would she eventually get away and leave Liz able to gather the shattered ruins of her life back together or would it all be blown to bits? Should she sacrifice what she’d already spent on the hotel, airfare and train tickets, exert some control over the ghost, and go home? Or should she give in to Elisabeth’s demands, go broke?

“Kennedy Airport,” the driver announced.

Liz gnawed on a stale, crumbling breadstick to keep from throwing up. Too late to turn back now. She’d already placed her bet. Now she’d have to beat the odds.

Exhaust fumes and the stop and go jerking had Liz’s head pounding. Bile stung the back of her throat. She and Eddie were the last two passengers when they arrived at Terminal 7.

She grabbed the baby and vaulted out of the jitney, gulping in deep breaths of not so fresh air. The driver pulled the bags out while she strong-armed Eddie into the stroller. Everything was there, thank God, and he piled the car seat on top of the lot with a thud.

The tip should be $1.00 per bag, but this service isn’t worth me giving up a muffin.
Liz peeled three dollars off the five singles left after she’d bought Eddie food and milk. He didn’t count it and she didn’t linger. A skycap would cost her, and so would a cart.

She piled the car seat on the stroller hood, rested it against her chest, and maneuvered through the doors. Inching along, pushing the stroller with her forearms and pulling the two huge cases, she made it to the check-in line.

A businessman in a dark suit, with a cultured British accent, one small suitcase, and a laptop took pity. “You’ve got your hands full. Let me pull those along for you.”

“Thanks. Once I get rid of the bags I’ll be okay.” She doubted that, but was putting on a good show.

“Traveling alone?” It could have been either a statement of surprise or a question.

“Of necessity, yes.” Tears stung her eyes.

Perhaps surmising she was running away from someone, something, the very proper chap turned his attention away. He smelled like spice and leather, his beard neatly trimmed, complexion dark, his face handsome. Maybe it was the curly hair, perhaps the accent, but Elisabeth reacted. Yes, he did resemble Edward.

His passport was out, the ticket tucked neatly inside. Liz could see his first name was Andrew, enough to settle Elisabeth’s roiling.

While her hands were free, Liz fished through the money belt tucked inside the waistband of her sweats for both passports and the two e-tickets. She zipped the money back in, pulled her sweatshirt down and burrowed through her purse.

Andrew watched out of the corner of his eye as she fumbled like a bum. He waved three fingers at Eddie who, resigned to his fate, had given up trying to get out of the harness. The baby waved back.

The line moved slowly, and there was still the security checkpoint to go through. Liz tapped her foot, shuffled, her stomach protested. The more time that passed the greater the chance she’d be tracked down.

“Bye now.” Andrew stepped to the counter.

Hearing British accents agitated Elisabeth
. We huddled in Liverpool overnight with almost no money. The smell of soot from the train engine, the fish and chips, Sara, Katherine, and I shared, the stench of rotting garbage, offal, and sewage . . . It was awful.

“Next,
please
step down!” The ticket agent was annoyed by Liz’s inattention even before she got to the counter. No pretty British accent, this woman was from Brooklyn.

Liz pushed the passports and e-tickets over. Kisha, her name tag read.

She studied the passport pictures, then peered over to appraise Eddie. “How many bags are you checkin', ma’am?”

“Two. I’d like to gate check the baby seat and carriage.”

“Put the bags up.”

She heaved them onto the platform.

“The plane is not fully booked. I can give the baby a seat. Has anything been out of your possession since they were packed?”

Could a uniformed bus driver be an issue? “No.”

“You’ve purchased a one-way ticket. How long are you planning on stayin' in London?”

Liz caught her breath. “I’m not sure. This is a research trip and I’m writing a book. As long as it takes.”

Kisha typed in some notes and sent the bags on their way. “Gate 15. You’re quite early. Check in when they post the flight to be sure the baby’s seat is still available.” She shoved back the passports and boarding passes. “Next customer, step down, please!”

Andrew was long gone, but having shed the bags was a huge relief, even with the seat pounding into her chest with each step. The queue for the metal detectors wound around three times, but moved quickly.

“Take the baby out please, ma’am. Push the carriage through by itself, then carry him.”

It beeped, of course. The agent turned it over to examine the underside. Her stuff dropped off the belt, and she hurried through the detector. Alarms sounded.

Three agents came over. “You must have metal somewhere,” one snarled.

“I’m wearing a brace on my knee.” How could she have forgotten that?

The female agent took her by the arm. “Step this way.”

The other agent was feeling every seam on the stroller.

“My things are over there unattended.” My purse, my ID, my laptop, God.

“They’ll be hand inspected. Come with me.” The woman led her to a glass booth.

The men plunked the containers down and rummaged through her things, opened the back of the cell phone, turned on the computer.

The gloved female stood like a mad scientist over Liz, holding a bottle and a fistful of gauze. “I need to see that brace.”

Eddie frowned while Liz eased the pants up over the brace. “I can take it off.”

“No! I have to examine it for explosives.” She swabbed the entire thing and put the gauze into plastic containers. Then she reached under the brace and probed Liz’s leg. “Now I have to pat you down.”

“Sure.” No use arguing, or joking.

The woman copped quite a good feel, undeterred by the rumpled sweats. Everyone in the line ogled the entertainment in the glass booth.

Normally, this would have been funny, but as the men paged through the document directory on her computer and the contact list on her phone anger, frustration, and fear coalesced. If there was a detention order placed they’d be sure to find out now.

The female disappeared, the men closed her computer and phone and piled the whole lot on the floor. “All clear, just waiting for the explosive analysis.”

“How long does that take?” Liz tried not to seem overly concerned.

“As long as necessary.”

Yes, this was New York, all right.

Liz shut up and spent the time putting shoes back on and re-organizing the manhandled bags.

“Sir, you can’t pass back this way.” An agent stopped Andrew walking toward her.

“Blimey, stop torturing the poor woman.” Concern etched deep lines on his face.

“Sir, please don’t cross that line.”

“And why not? The lot of you have already crossed it.”

He flashed some sort of ID, and the agents backed off. Could he be a detective, a police officer?

Andrew put her computer back into the case and tossed it over his spare shoulder. “Unbelievable. I fancied they’d have you put the tyke on the conveyor.”

“Explosive check is clear. You’re free to go.”

“Why not announce it overhead?” Liz put Eddie down and reloaded the stroller like a shopping cart.

“Let’s get you to the gate.” Andrew snatched the seat off the floor.

“Thank you so much.” Liz raced to keep up. “What flight are you on?”

“To San Francisco, then Hong Kong. I do hope someone is meeting you in London.”

No use lying. “No, but the taxi driver will help.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I’ll have to check my itinerary.” Enough information.

“Well, here we are. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Liz sank into a seat. “Thank you again, and have a good flight.”

“You remind me of my wife, and I hope someone would help her out if she was in the same situation. Here’s a card for a taxi service. Ask for Iman. Tell him Andrew Richardson recommended you call. Might I know your name?”

She hesitated, but they were already calling his flight for boarding. “Elizabeth Keeny, and this is Edward.”

“Farewell, Miss Elizabeth, Master Edward.” He bowed his head, tipped his hand, and was off to Asia. The juxtaposition of names, the British accent . . . her heart pounded.

Edward sailed there
, the ghost reminded Liz.

“Miss Elizabeth?”

She jumped. “Yes?”

The young woman proffered a paper tray loaded with a cup of tea, two muffins, and a container of milk. “A gentleman by the name of Andrew asked me to deliver this to you. Said you had far too much to carry.”