Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
“On behalf of the crew of flight 506, headed to Lima, Peru, we welcome you aboard. For those of you who have been with us since Miami, we thank you once again for flying with us today and hope you have enjoyed traveling with us. We are waiting for approval for take-off, and we apologize for the delay. If there is anything we can do to make you more comfortable until we receive approval for take-off, please don’t hesitate to contact one of the flight attendants on-board. Weather reports for Lima, Peru indicate that today’s high is sixty-seven degrees, cooling off later this evening. Our flight time from Caracas to Lima is estimated at four hours and five minutes.”
Jake shifted in his seat, glad at least for the comforts of first class on what was actually a short flight for him compared to his typical overseas flights. He normally brought a book with him to pass the time, preferably a mystery, but he had forgotten to grab one from the airport newsstand. The last six months in Saudi Arabia had provided him with little time for leisure activity, and the latest best seller had been the last thing on his mind. Now, with no more than a plane ride as a reprieve, he was headed to Peru. The revolutionaries, known to the world as the “Shining Path” terrorist group, had taken responsibility for several bombings in the last week, and tensions had risen among the civilians. It was rumored that all hell was about to break loose, and he would be right in the middle of it. And why not? What else did he have to go home to? Springtime in San Francisco? Budding flowers and romances? Not hardly.
“Well, mercy. I wonder how long this delay is going to be. Young man, would you mind reaching up and handing me my bag? It’s in the compartment above your head.”
“Ah, sure.” Jake glanced at the woman seated next to him. Her hair was pulled on top of her head in a silver crown, in much the same way as grandmothers styled it on old television dramas, he thought with a hint of humor. Her plump face sat on top of an even plumper body. She wore a dress adorned with large pink and purple flowers, once again, just like they did on television, and he laughed to himself.
“It’s the paisley bag, dear.”
“Why thank you so much, young man,” she bubbled when he placed the oversized bag on her ample lap.
“Ah, here is the one I want.” She sighed in relief and pulled a large photo album out of the bag. “Would you mind, dear?” She handed the bag back to him with a pat on his hand.
“No problem.” Jake’s amusement with the old woman grew exponentially.
“I take my photo albums with me everywhere I go. Why, I would be lost without them. Look, here’s a picture of my dear Howard, bless his soul.” She fluttered over a black-and-white photograph.
Jake obliged the old woman by looking at the picture of her husband, obviously taken decades ago. Jake smiled warmly at her and then motioned to the flight attendant for a magazine. He didn’t want to be rude, but perhaps if the woman thought he was immersed in an article, she would refrain from showing him every picture in her cumbersome album. Somehow, he didn’t think it would work, but at least it was worth a try. There has to be a hundred pages in that thing, he estimated. He turned once again to try to capture the flight attendant’s attention.
“Yes Mr. Taylor?”
“I’d like a magazine, preferably Newsweek or Time, if you have it.”
“Certainly, Mr. Taylor.” Jake settled back into his seat. He closed his eyes, although he was anything but tired, and nearly jumped out of his seat in reaction to his companion’s high-pitched voice.
“Heavens, here is our wedding picture. Can you believe that’s me? I wasn’t much of a looker back in nineteen-sixty-four either, but my dear Howard didn’t care. He loved me just the way I am, and thank God for that, or else I may not have ten beautiful children to share my life with now. Not to mention my twenty-seven adorable grandchildren,” she added with a glowing look of adoration at several of the photographs.
“Ten children?” Jake repeated to himself with a shudder that ran along his spine. No wonder the woman will chat with a complete stranger; she’s out of her mind. Ten children, really? His interest was piqued. Unable to prevent his curiosity from demanding to be satisfied, he asked, “You had ten kids?”
“There’s Howard holding our Betsy. What’s that dear?” she crooned happily before she looked up from her album.
“I just said, ah, you had ten children?”
“Hmm, I guess that depends how you look at it, dear. I’m being cryptic, aren’t I? Annoys Emily to death-- she’s my eighth--when I leave her hanging like I do.” The old woman laughed; her pale blue eyes sparkled with merriment. She patted Jake’s hand reassuringly and settled deeper into her seat.
Now, I’ve done it, Jake thought hopelessly. The eccentric old woman would talk his ear off for the entire journey, and he had provoked it. He returned her smile with one of his own, as he waited for her to elaborate.
“I say depends, dear, because it really does. You see, as a young girl I was in a very unfortunate accident. Took me months before I could walk again. After a year of rehabilitation, I looked as good as new on the outside. Unfortunately, my insides didn’t fare as well. I met my loving Howard at that time. I had just turned twenty.” She leaned her large girth close to Jake, and in a conspiratorial voice, whispered into his ear, “I was messed up in my, hmm, lady parts. Not that I couldn’t be a wife to my sweet Howard, I assure you, but I couldn’t have children.”
She returned to her former position of shaking her head and clucked her tongue several times on the roof of her mouth. “Well, I was just beside myself, I tell you. Not being a real beauty myself, I questioned what I really had to offer Howard. Let me tell you young man, my Howard was quite a catch in those days. He was being groomed to take over his father’s grocery store, not to mention that he was quite a looker.” She clucked her tongue again, emphasizing her good fortune so long ago.
“Now let me tell you, I was up front with Howard from the beginning. I wasn’t one of those girls who played games, not me, not Henrietta Zarlong. Anyway, my dear Howard, do you know what he said to me? He said, ‘Henny, I love you for yourself. If that means it’s just the two of us, then that makes me a greedy man, and I don’t care, because I’d love nothing more to spend my life with just you.’” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her handkerchief and then proceeded to blow her nose into it.
“My, I did love that crazy old coot so much.” She laughed into her hanky.
“You were able to have children after all. That’s great.” Jake smiled back at her .
“Heavens no,” she chirped with a wave of her hand in the air. “We adopted them, all ten of them. We agreed to just one at first, but by our third wedding anniversary there were four little mouths sitting around the dinner table with us. Times were tough back then, you know? There were so many needy children roaming the streets. By the time we celebrated our fifteenth wedding anniversary, we were raising ten children.”
Jake swallowed. Adoption? Howard and Henrietta had adopted ten children? He decided he could be on a first name basis with them now that he practically knew their whole life story. Had they been happy? She sure made it seem so. “Did you, ah, ever regret it?” Jake realized his question held far more importance to him than idle curiosity.
Henrietta leaned over and patted him on the arm. “My goodness, no, dear. Never. I loved each one of those children from the time I first held them in my arms. They were my babies from the moment I laid my eyes on them.”
He held a glass of bourbon he had ordered when he first boarded the plane. He felt his hand shake, and the glass rattled against the tray table. Adoption? He repeated the word over and over in his head. Brenda had scorned the idea, but Kimberly? God, yes. Loving, caring, Kimberly, would have jumped at the idea. What had he done? How could he have not thought of this during all the sleepless nights he spent wishing she was in his arms? And was it too late? Six months was a long time to be able to forget someone. Perhaps Kimberly had already done just that.
“Why, I’m on my way to Peru to visit my daughter Caroline now. Her husband is a diplomat and has been stationed in Lima for some time now. She’s invited me to stay permanently, but I couldn’t do that to my youngest one, Ann, why?—"
Henrietta’s voice droned on and on, but Jake was no longer listening. Instead, he heard other voices that echoed through his head .
“I love you, Jake.”
“Kim, I don’t love you.”
“I’ve loved you forever.”
“I don’t want an ‘us’ with anyone.”
“I only need you, Jake.”
“I don’t want the family thing anymore.”
“I would do anything for you, Jake.”
“Take care of yourself.”
“Goodbye.”
My God, I’ve been such a fool! “Excuse me, Miss, excuse me?”
“We’re still looking for those magazines, Mr. Taylor. Can I get you something else in the meantime?”
“No, you don’t understand.” He undid his seat belt and stood up. “I have to get off this plane.” His eyes darted toward the exit door and then to the overhead compartment where he stowed his duffle bag.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Taylor, but that’s not possible. We just pushed away from the jet bridge. You’ll have to return to your seat,” she instructed with a perfunctory smile.
“There has to be a way. I have to get off this plane!” And on to another one going to San Francisco. Going to Kimberly.
“I’m sorry Mr. Taylor, but if you’ll look out the window, we are approaching the runway. You need to sit down.”
“I, I didn’t notice.” Jake returned to his seat. He buckled his seat belt over his waist and shook his head in defeat. He would be in Lima in less than five hours. He would just have to wait it out. He would call Kimberly when they landed, and hopefully, if she agreed, she would be waiting for him at the San Francisco airport in another twenty-four hours. Only one more lonely night spent fighting off the erotic images of Kimberly wrapped tightly in his embrace until he actually held her again. What was one more night, he conceded, when he once believed he had been sentenced to an eternity without her?
Jake sighed deeply, temporarily resigned to his fate. He turned to Henrietta and offered her an apologetic smile for his previous interruption of her story. “Excuse me, Henrietta, may I call you Henrietta? Would you like to show me the rest of your photo album?”
The elderly woman beamed with pleasure and delightedly informed Jake that she had three more photo albums in her bag. Certainly, enough pictures, she assured him, to keep them entertained for the entire flight.
Jake threw his knapsack over his shoulder. His eyes darted around the small, congested airport for a charging station. He swore swiftly under his breath once he recalled that South American countries didn’t offer many of the amenities he took for granted in the United States. He couldn’t believe that he had forgotten to charge his cell, and now it was dead. As he looked across the terminal for a wall outlet, he saw Henrietta’s family circle around the elderly woman. Each member took turns showering her with hugs. He smiled at the tender sight. If the old woman only knew how much she had helped him realize that he and Kimberly had a real chance at love, she’d probably add their photos to her album. “Jake! Jake! Over here,” a deep male voice called over numerous heads.
Jake turned to see several cameramen and another journalist he had worked with the last time he was in Peru. He picked up his carry-on bag and walked over to the men. He had learned to travel light a long time ago. His luggage consisted of a carry-on bag and a small knapsack. “Well, this is some welcome. I certainly didn’t expect this big of a reception.” Normally, he met up with the rest of the crew at their hotel after he had checked in and secured his luggage in his room.
“Jake, we’ve been waiting for you since four o’clock. Your plane was due in over two hours ago,” said Tom, a small, wiry man with a dark beard and a large video camera propped up at his side.
“We had to avoid some severe weather, which took us out of our way,” Jake responded to the cameraman. “What gives, anyway? Why are you guys here?” He was anxious to call Kimberly and, with any luck, be on the next plane back to San Francisco.
“Three Catholic priests were found slain this afternoon outside of Lima. The whole country is in chaos. The Shining Path is refusing to claim responsibility and, instead, is blaming the government, and the government is blaming the Shining Path. People are filling the streets in protest. It’s a mess out there. Jake, we’ve got to get out of Lima and to where the priests were found before nightfall. The President is planning to place a curfew on the city. The military is everywhere. We won’t be able to get near the site until daybreak if that happens,” explained Luke, a thickly built, scruffy man and one of the Associated Press’s leading journalists.
“Damn.” He looked at each of the men. “Where’s Stevens?” he asked, referring to the other news journalist his network had sent to Peru months ago to cover the story while Jake was on a leave of absence.
“Stevens is down with some bug, caught it while we followed some guerillas rumored to have defected from the Shining Path. Conditions were pretty rough near the river. We think he may have caught something from a bug bite.”
“Most likely from one of the local female bugs,” Tom muttered, and his companions each responded with a chuckle under their breaths .
Luke gave Tom a silencing look and then returned his attention to Jake. “Jake, we’ve got the Jeep parked right outside the front doors. We’ve got to get out of here now?—"
“I can’t. I’ve got to charge my phone because I need to make?—"
“Jake, we need you to go live today in front of the cameras. We’re running out of time.”
“What about you, Luke? Can’t you do the story?” Jake questioned the other journalist before he glanced at his watch.
“No way, Jake. You know I’m a print guy only. I’m no good in front of the camera. You have to do this. We’ve got nobody else with Stevens out of commission.”
Jake ran his hand over his face, and he brushed against the dense edges of stubble growing on his unshaven jawbone. He needed to get back on a plane to San Francisco, but his sense of duty nagged at him. He had worked damn hard as a journalist. He knew what a story like this would mean if they could get it on the air. He had spent over two years in South America before going to the Middle East, fighting to bring to the attention of the American public the thousands of innocent people who suffered because of the wars between the rebel guerillas and the government.
He wanted to walk away from the problems of South America and go home, home to Kimberly, to begin a life together. But he couldn’t. Not yet. He would wait until Stevens was back on his feet, and then Jake would be on the next plane back to California. “Okay, let’s go.” He held up his hand. “But I need to make a call first,” he told them, and each of the four other men stopped in their tracks. “Can I borrow someone’s cell?”
“Take mine.” Tom reached into his vest pocket for his cell. He pulled it out and handed it over to Jake.
Jake gratefully took the cell from him, eager to call Kimberly. “Why don’t I meet you guys out in the Jeep… I’ll only be a minute.” He looked expectantly at each of them. The group grumbled, but agreed to meet him outside.
“Think he’s calling a woman?” Jake heard one of them ask as they walked away. He was pretty sure Luke was the one to reply. “No way, he’s a journalist, remember? What woman would want a man who loves the thrill of a breaking story more than a soft body curled up beside him?”
“None that we know,” the deep voice of one the cameramen joked and sent the rest of the group into a roar of laughter.
Jake punched the first few digits of Kimberly’s phone number into the cell and paused. Luke, Tom, all of them, were wrong. He had changed. From now on, he listened to his heart, instead of his head. Kimberly came first in his life, starting... starting as soon as Stevens was well enough to take over again. Damn, he wasn’t off to a great start, but he would get there. He knew he would. Jake entered the last of Kimberly’s cell number into the phone with a renewed sense of determination. His heart beat rapidly in his chest when he heard the line connect, and Kimberly’s phone rang on the other end. The connection was marginal at best, the static vibrated in his ear.
“Hi—"
“Kimberly, it’s Jake.”
“…I’m not able to come to the phone right now; Please leave a message at the tone with your name and number, and I will try to get back to you.” BEEP.
Damn, voicemail. He hated leaving messages on voicemail. He never knew what to say and always ended up tongue-tied because of it. “Ah, yeah, hi Kimberly. This is Jake. I’ve just arrived in Lima, Peru. My plane was delayed because of some severe weather in the area,” God, he made no sense. “Anyway, I guess you’re busy. I’ll try you tomorrow. Take care.” He pushed the end button on the cellphone and temporarily placed it in his jacket pocket. “My plane was delayed because of some severe weather in the area?” he repeated out loud. “Of all the stupid things to say.” He berated himself over and over again as he exited the airport. By the time he reached the Jeep, he was in a rotten mood and eager to get his report over so he could get out of Peru.
Jake unlocked the door of his hotel room with a tired sigh. He threw his bag on a nearby chair and sat down on the bed. He was exhausted, bone-tired. For three long days and three longer nights, he and his team had interviewed everyone from a Catholic nun to a homeless teen about the recent killings of the priests outside of Lima. Despite the poverty and political unrest, the Peruvians maintained a rigid faith in God. The majority of them were Roman Catholics. The death of the three priests weighed heavily on their souls and minds. People were scared. The President tried his best to maintain peace among his people, but Jake was afraid it wasn’t enough. All hell was about to break loose in Peru. He could feel it in his blood.
Now back at the hotel, the reporters and camera crew had only to complete the wrap-up of their last segment, and they then could call it a night. Jake decided he would call Kimberly and then rejoin his team to film the final wrap-up, so he could return to his room to take a shower and then sleep for a good eight hours. He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the phone from its resting place. Despite his best efforts to make it happen, his cell would no longer charge. He planned to replace his cell when he was back in the States, but for now, the hotel phone would have to do. He picked up the receiver, requested an outside line from the hotel operator, and then dialed her number. Hopefully, this time, she would answer .
Once again, as in the airport, the sound of the call rang in his ear, and it caused his heart pound in his chest. For the past six months, he hadn’t allowed himself to think about how much he missed her, how much he needed to be with her. While in Saudi Arabia, he had never once allowed himself any fantasies about Kimberly, at least not consciously. The nights were a different story. But now, now his hope was renewed.
Jake bristled as he listened to the call go directly into voicemail. Again, a recording repeated, “I’m not able to come to the phone right now, please—" He disconnected the call without leaving a message.
For the third time today, his call went directly into voicemail. Was there something wrong with her cell? Had she forgotten to charge it as she had at least a dozen times in the weeks he had spent with her?
Damn, he needed to talk to her. Her family must keep in contact with her, he decided determinedly. They would know whether there was something wrong with her phone, or not, or could at least get a message to her that he needed to speak to her and to plug in her phone. The only problem was that he didn’t know any of the Urbane’s phone numbers by memory. The only numbers he had memorized were his editor’s, Kimberly’s, and Zane’s. Why not? He reached over and picked up the phone receiver.
Zane answered on the third ring. “Speak to me.”
“How about trying hello once in a while, Zane? Maybe people wouldn’t hang up on you so often.”
“Very funny, Jake,” came his reply, and then he laughed into the receiver. “You know women never hang up on me, and who cares about the men.”
Jake chuckled in response. His brother may be laughing, but he spoke the truth. Zane Taylor attracted women like bees to honey. Jake wouldn’t be surprised if Zane entertained some leggy blonde right now, which reminded him to get to the point of his conversation before his brother hung up on him. “Zane, I need a favor. I need you to reach out to Carly and ask her to contact Kimberly. I’ve tried Kimberly several times, and her cell keeps going directly into voicemail.”
“You want to speak to Kimberly? What for?” Zane asked, not bothering to disguise his surprise. Jake had provided him with a minimal amount of details when Jake had returned home to deal with the passing of their grandfather. Whether Zane had been shocked to hear that Jake had been staying with Kimberly for several weeks, Zane didn’t say. He wasn’t much on relationships and typically avoided providing advice on the subject. As a result, Jake hadn’t bothered sharing the details with him, good or bad.
“The sweet Peruvian senoritas not treating you well? They do have some beautiful women there, don’t they Jake? Did I ever tell you about the time I was in Brazil during a break in my residency, and I got caught in a rain storm with this woman, Marcella, I think her name was. Anyway, you want to talk about?—"
“Zane!” He had no doubt that Zane had a story that involved him and some woman in every country in the world. There wasn’t a continent the younger Taylor had left unscathed. He was a notorious playboy with the looks and charisma that allowed him to be just that. Normally, Jake would listen if only with half of an ear, but now was not one of those times.
“Zane, I did not call you from Peru to discuss your worldwide conquests. I need you to contact Carly.”
“I can’t believe it. Down by one, and he misses the free throw!” Zane shouted in the background. “Sorry about that, Jake. The Warriors are playing Chicago tonight. Anyway, why would Carly get a message to Kimberly for me, or worse, for you? In case you never noticed, the Urbane girls and I never really ran in the same circles. Far too studious for my tastes. Not that studious is bad, especially when they’re women who are six-feet tall with legs that never end, like this lady anthropologist I met in Egypt. Now there was a woman who didn’t know the meaning of?—"
“Zane. For God’s sake.” Jake groaned into the phone. “Look, can you please call Carly and have her get a message to Kimberly? I’d call myself, but my cell’s dead, and I have to be downstairs to meet my team for the wrap-up of our last segment. Please tell her I will call her in approximately 3 hours and to have her phone charged.” Although the more he thought about it, the more he believed his calls were intentionally being sent to voicemail. He had left a message on her voicemail three days ago, and now every time he called, it didn’t even ring, it just went directly to voicemail. There didn’t seem to be any other reason, except that Kimberly didn’t want to speak to him.
“Aw, Jake. It’s the fourth quarter with four minutes to go. I have big money going on this game. If the Warriors win, they’re going to the playoffs. Why don’t you call Carly yourself?”
“Zane, I already explained. Why is it that you have time to tell me about your numerous sexual exploits in every God forsaken country in the world, but you don’t have time to make a phone call for me?”
“Jesus, Jake. Don’t get all bent out of shape. I’ll call her. Give me your hotel number, and I’ll call you back in ten minutes,” Zane shot back.
“Fine.” He gave Zane the number and added, “call me back.” The dial tone hummed in Jake’s ear before he had the chance to say goodbye.
Jake walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. He was in desperate need of a shower… three days of dirt and grime lay on top of his skin. He could be in and out before Zane called ba ck. Several minutes passed while he stood under the showerhead. The lukewarm water was running over his weary body when he remembered another shower over six months ago. All too quickly, images of Kimberly rubbing soapy hands over his naked chest was more than he could handle. He turned the water to cool. When that didn’t work, he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower.
He glanced at his watch lying on top of the bathroom sink. Another five minutes passed, and Zane had yet to call him back.
“She forwarded her phone to voicemail. I know she did.” He reached into his duffle bag and pulled out a fresh pair of jeans. “Or maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe her cell broke. Mine has, so it was entirely possible that she could also—" Jake stopped himself short.
He stood in front of the mirror, the comb he held in his hand suspended in mid-air. He stared at his reflection. He looked older. The lines that crept out from the corners of his eyes were deeper than he remembered them. He was thinner too. His cheek bones protruded to sharp angles from underneath his tanned skin. The last six months had taken a toll on him. He admitted it. Regardless of how much he had tried, Kimberly was the dream at night he never could quite sleep through, the gnawing emptiness in his stomach no amount of food could ever assuage. He needed her like he had never needed anything, or anyone, in his life. For the last six months, he had been merely existing, never really living.
He stared into the mirror with a renewed sense of being. He was ready to live, ready to fulfill his dreams, and ready to get rid of the pain eating at his gut. He sat down on the edge of his bed and reached for his wallet. He pulled out a battered picture he kept buried deep behind his credit card and driver’s license. The photograph’s edges were frayed and bent due to his daily need to reassure himself it was still there, tucked away for safe keeping. His lips curved in a bittersweet smile. He held on tightly to the picture of Kimberly and Daisy, posed graciously for him on the front steps of her house.
He sighed. By ignoring his calls, perhaps Kimberly was showing him how deeply affected she was by his absence. Maybe she felt the same aching loneliness during the night that he did, the need to feel him next to her overwhelming her as it did him.
Maybe, and most likely, she was so mad at him that she refused to speak to him. Or, he didn’t want to think about it. It might be that she wasn’t affected at all.
Six months, almost seven, was a long time, long enough to move on with your life. He visibly shuddered at the thought of Kimberly involved with another man.
Rattled by the idea of Kimberly moving on without him, he walked over to the hotel telephone, no longer willing to wait for Zane to return his call. He dialed his brother’s phone number and simultaneously took a deep, calming breath. A million thoughts ran through his head. What if Kimberly was involved with someone else? What if she had told her boyfriend about his call, and the boyfriend had then demanded that she not speak to Jake?
“Zane?”
“Jake! You nearly gave me a heart attack. Could you try not to shout in my ear next time?”
“Sorry,” Jake mumbled. “Did you find out anything?”
“I spoke to Carly,” Zane answered evasively.
“And—"
“And she says Kimberly doesn’t want to speak to you. Carly wouldn’t forward her a message from you, either.”
“Damn.”
“Jake,” Zane stated slyly. “What exactly happened between you and Kimberly? I know the two of you lived under the same roof for several weeks. Two single, healthy adults, things are bound to happen. But what went wrong? And why is it that six months after you’ve moved out of her place that you’re suddenly so hot to get in touch with her?”
“Zane, let’s just say I don’t have your finesse when it comes to relationships.” Not even close. “Anyway, you have more important things to worry about right now.”
“I do?”
“You do. Starting with the purchase of some furniture and a good mattress set for the spare bedroom in that bachelor pad of yours. Because, little brother, I’m taking the next flight out of this South American jungle and coming home.” He didn’t plan on staying with his brother for long, but he definitely felt less confident that Kimberly would take him back with open arms than he did an hour ago, and it worried him that it might be an extended stay if he couldn’t convince her to forgive him.
Zane whistled into the phone. “Who would have thought my big brother would race home to play ‘me Tarzan, you Jane’ with an unsuspecting female? I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“I don’t know that I do, Zane. But I do know it’s something I should have done a long time ago,” he said more to himself than to his brother. “I’ll see you sometime tomorrow night.” Jake stared at the telephone for several minutes after he placed it on its receiver.
It was time to go home.
Home.
To Kimberly. Only twenty-four more hours. He visibly shuddered. For the first time in months, Jake felt some relief from the heaviness in his heart.