Crisis (59 page)

Then, as if in response to his thoughts, the intercom came back to life. "This is the captain again. Ground control has reversed themselves. We are ready to push back. We should have you at the gate in New York on schedule."

The next thing Jack knew was that he was jarred awake by the plane's wheels touching down at LaGuardia Airport. To his utter surprise, he had fallen asleep despite his anxiety, and to his embarrassment, he had drooled a little. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, scraping against the stubble on his chin in the process. With the same hand, he felt the rest of his face. He was in need of a shave and even worse for a shower, but a glance at his watch suggested that neither was possible. It was twenty-five after twelve.

Shaking himself like a dog to get his circulation going, Jack ran his hands through his hair. This activity evoked a questioning expression from the businessman, who was plainly leaning into the aisle away from Jack. Jack wondered if that was ostensibly additional evidence of his need for a shower. Although he'd donned Tyvek protective coveralls, Jack was aware he'd not showered since he'd done an autopsy on an eight-month-old corpse.

Jack suddenly realized that he'd been tapping his foot at a frenzied frequency. Even when he put his hand on his knee, it was hard to keep his leg still. Jack could not remember ever being quite so agitated. What made it difficult was having to sit still. He would have preferred to be out on the tarmac, running alongside the plane.

It seemed to take forever for the plane to taxi to the terminal and then agonizingly slowly ease into the gate. When the chime sounded, Jack was up out of his seat. Pushing past the businessman, who was getting a bag from the overhead bin, garnered Jack yet another disapproving scowl. Jack couldn't have cared less. Excusing himself, he managed to worm up to the front of the plane. When the door finally opened after what seemed like an interminable wait, he was the third one off.

Jack ran up the jetway, pushing past the two people who'd deplaned before him. Once in the terminal, he ran toward baggage claim and out on to the street, which was steaming from a recent downpour. By being the first passenger from the Boston-New York shuttle, he'd hoped the taxi line would be nonexistent. Unfortunately, that was not the case. The Washington, D.C.-New York shuttle had landed ten minutes earlier, and a portion of its passengers were waiting for cabs.

Unabashed at his assertiveness, he cut to the front of the line. "I'm a medical doctor, and I'm in an emergency," Jack called out, rationalizing that both were true, just not related. The people in the line wordlessly regarded him with a touch of irritation, but no one offered any challenge. Jack jumped into the first cab.

The driver was from India or Pakistan, Jack couldn't tell which, and was on his cell phone. Jack barked out his address on 106th Street, and the taxi accelerated away from the curb.

Jack checked his watch. It was now eighteen minutes before one o'clock, meaning he had only forty-eight minutes before he was due at the Riverside Church. He sat back and tried vainly to relax, but it was impossible. To make things worse, they hit every traffic light just getting out of the airport. Jack looked at his watch again. It seemed to him unfair that the second hand was sweeping around the dial more quickly than usual. It was already a quarter before the hour.

Jack began to question nervously if he should go directly to the church and forgo the pit stop at home. The benefit would be he'd be on time; the disadvantage was that he was dressed a step below casual and needed a shave and a shower.

When the taxi driver was finally finished with his cell phone call and before he made another, Jack leaned forward. "I don't know whether it would make much difference, but I'm in a hurry," he said. Then he added, "If you would be willing to wait at the address I gave you, there would be an extra twenty-dollar tip."

"I'll wait if you'd like," the driver said agreeably, with the typical charming Indian subcontinent accent.

Jack sat back and reattached his seat belt. It was now ten minutes before one.

The next bottleneck was the toll on the Triborough Bridge. Apparently, someone without a fast lane pass was in the fast lane and couldn't back up because of the line of cars behind him. After a horrendous cacophony of car horns and shouted expletives, the problem was sorted out, but not before another five minutes was lost. By the time Jack reached the island of Manhattan, it was one o'clock.

The only benefit from Jack's mounting anxiety was that it effectively stopped his obsessing about Alexis and Craig and the disaster that was about to begin. A malpractice trial was bad; a murder trial was god-awful. It was going to put the entire family in an unrelenting, many-year-long torment with little possibility of a happy outcome.

To the driver's credit, he managed to get across town rapidly by knowing a relatively quiet street through Harlem. When he pulled up in front of Jack's building, it was quarter after one. Jack had the taxi door open before the vehicle came to a complete stop.

Jack ran up the front steps and dashed through the front door, surprising some workmen. With the building under total renovation, the dust was an unmitigated disaster. As Jack ran down the hall to the apartment he and Laurie were temporarily occupying during the construction, billows of it rose from the debris-strewn floor.

Jack keyed open his apartment door and was about to enter when the construction supervisor caught sight of him from several floors above and yelled that he needed to talk about a plumbing problem. Jack yelled back that he couldn't at the moment. Once inside, Jack tossed his carry-on onto the couch and began stripping off his clothes. He left a trail of apparel en route to the bathroom.

First he took a glimpse of himself in the mirror and winced. Heavy stubble blackened his cheeks and chin like smudges of soot, and his eyes were red-rimmed and sunken. After a quick, internal debate of a shave or a shower, since he hardly had time for both, he decided on the shower. Leaning into the tub, he turned on both faucets full-blast. Unfortunately, only a few drips emerged: The plumbing problem was obviously global to the building.

Jack turned off the faucets and, after splashing himself liberally with cologne, ran out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. He pulled on underwear, then put on his formal shirt. Next came the tuxedo pants and jacket. He grabbed the studs and cuff links and jammed them into his pants pocket. The black pre-tied bow tie went into the other pocket. After jamming his feet into formal shoes, his wallet into his back pants pocket, and his cell phone into his jacket pocket, he ran back out into the hall.

Slowing enough to keep the dust to a minimum, he was again spotted by the construction supervisor, who again yelled that it was critical for them to talk. Jack didn't even bother to answer. Outside, the taxi was still waiting. Jack crossed the street and jumped in.

"Riverside Church!" Jack yelled.

"Do you know what cross street?" the driver asked, looking at Jack in the rearview mirror.

"One hundred twenty-second," Jack clipped. He began struggling with his studs, dropping one on the seat, where it quickly disappeared into a black hole between the seat and the seat back. Jack tried to get his hand into the crack but couldn't and quickly gave up. Instead, he used the studs he had, leaving the lowest buttonhole empty.

"Are you getting married?" the driver asked, continuing to glimpse at Jack in the mirror.

"I hope so," Jack said. He then turned to the cuff-link challenge. He tried to recall the last time he had donned a tux as he finished with the first cuff link and began on the second. He couldn't remember, although it had to have been back in his previous life, when he was an ophthalmologist. After the cuff links, Jack bent down and tied his shoes and dusted himself. The final job was buttoning the top button of his shirt and hooking the bow tie behind his neck.

"You look fine," the driver said with a broad smile.

"I'll bet," Jack said with his usual sarcasm. He leaned forward and extracted his wallet. Looking at the taxi meter, he got out enough twenty dollar bills to cover it, plus two extra. He dumped the money into the front seat through the Plexiglas partition as the driver turned onto Riverside Drive.

Ahead, the Riverside Church's sand-colored belfry came into view. It towered over its neighboring structures and stood out with its Gothic architecture. In front of the church were several black limousines. Except for the drivers, who were out of their vehicles leaning against the sides, there were no people. Jack looked at his watch. It was one thirty-three. He was three minutes late.

Jack again had the taxi door open before the car was completely stopped. He yelled a thank-you to the driver over his shoulder as he leaped out into the street. Buttoning his jacket, he took the church's front steps two at a time. Ahead in the open doorway, Laurie suddenly appeared like a mirage. She was gowned magnificently in a white wedding dress. From behind her issued forth powerful organ music.

Jack stopped to take in the scene. He had to admit she looked more lovely than ever, truly radiant. The only slight detraction was her hands, which were balled into fists and planted defiantly on her hips. There was also her father, Dr. Montgomery, who looked regal but not amused.

"Jack!" Laurie intoned in a voice hovering between anger and relief. "You are late!"

"Hey," Jack called back spreading his hands. "At least I'm here."

Laurie broke into a smile in spite of herself. "Get yourself into the church," she ordered playfully.

Jack climbed the rest of the way up the stairs. Laurie reached out with her hand, and Jack took it. She then leaned close and looked at him appraisingly with a touch of concern.

"God, you look awful."

"You shouldn't flatter me so," Jack said with feigned bashfulness.

"You haven't even shaved."

"There are worse secrets," he confessed, hoping she couldn't tell he'd not showered for more than thirty hours.

"I don't know what I'm getting myself into," Laurie said with her smile returning. "My mother's friends are going to be appalled."

"And indeed they should be."

Laurie smiled wryly at Jack's humor. "You are never going to change."

"I disagree. I can tell I've changed. I might be a tad late, but I'm glad I'm here. Will you marry me?"

Laurie's smile broadened. "Yes, of course. That's been my intention for more years than I care to admit."

"I can't tell you how thankful I am that you were willing to wait."

"I suppose you have some elaborate explanation for this anxious, down-to-the-wire arrival."

"I'm looking forward to telling you. Frankly, the denouement in Boston has me stunned. It's a story you are not going to believe."

"I'm looking forward to hearing it," Laurie said. "But now you'd better get into the church and up onto that altar. Your best man, Warren, is fit to be tied. Fifteen minutes ago, he was out here and said he was, quote, 'going to whip your ass.'"

Laurie propelled Jack forward into the interior of the church, where he was engulfed by the organ music. For a moment he hesitated, looking down the length of the impressive nave. He was overwhelmingly intimidated. The right side of the church was packed, with hardly a seat available, whereas the left was nearly empty, although Jack saw Lou Soldano and Chet. Ahead at the altar stood the priest, or reverend, or pastor, or rabbi, or imam: Jack didn't know and didn't care. He was not thrilled by organized religion and did not feel one was any better than another. Next to the clergyman stood Warren, and even from a distance, he looked impressive in his tuxedo. Jack took a deep breath for fortitude and started forward into a whole new life.

The rest of the ceremony was a blur for Jack. He had to be pushed and nudged in this direction or that or whispered to in an attempt to get him to do what was required. Because of his being in Boston, he'd missed the rehearsal, so from his perspective, it was all ad lib.

The part he liked the best was running out of the church, because it meant the ordeal was over. Once in the car, he had a rest, but it was much too short. The drive from the church to Tavern on the Green and the reception was only a quarter of an hour.

The reception was less intimidating than the wedding, and in different circumstances of being less exhausted, he almost would have found it enjoyable. Particularly after a heavy meal including wine and some obligatory dancing, Jack was beginning to fade. But before he did so, he needed to make a call. Excusing himself from his table, he found a relatively quiet spot at the restaurant's entrance. He punched in Alexis's cell phone number and was pleased when she answered.

"Are you married?" Alexis asked as soon as she knew it was Jack.

"I am.

"Congratulations! I think it's wonderful and I'm very happy for you."

"Thank you, sister," Jack said. "I particularly wanted to call to apologize for my role in creating more turmoil in your life. You invited me to Boston to help Craig and thereby help you, and I ended up doing the opposite. I'm terribly sorry. I feel complicit."

"Thank you for apologizing," Alexis said. "I surely don't hold you responsible for Craig's behavior and for it being exposed. I truly believe it would have eventually. And to be entirely honest, I'm glad to know It will make my decision-making much easier."

"Did Craig reappear in court?"