A Friend at Midnight Page 3

  “You’re coming?” said Michael. She could hear the pace of his breathing stepping up again, getting too fast and too shallow and very close to sobbing again.

  Okay, she thought, planning hard. Nate and I get the bus, meet the plane, bring Michael home, put sheets on his old bed, get York settled underneath it. When Mom and Kells get here, they’ll decide how to kill Dad. “What airline is your ticket?” she asked.

  “I don’t have a ticket,” said Michael.

  chapter

  2

  Michael. Age eight. Alone at Baltimore/Washington International Airport without a ticket?

  “Do you have York?” she asked.

  “I don’t have anything. I didn’t know what was going to happen. I didn’t pack.”

  When Mom finds out, she’ll bring in the FBI and ten lawyers, thought Lily.

  Mom was a nice, good-humored person, but her post-divorce anger rose easily to the surface and she would take advantage of this. She’d bypass Michael for this huge and lovely chance to get even. She would get Dad jailed.

  You would think there could be nothing worse than being abandoned by your father. But there was something worse. If bad things happened to his father, that eight-year-old would hold himself responsible. Michael would tumble and smash like the loser in some horrible Chutes and Ladders game.

  But he could not stay alone in an airport. Anything could happen, something really hideously terrible. “Flag down a cop, Michael. There have to be dozens wandering around an airport.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll talk to them. You don’t have to.”

  “No!”

  What if the police kept Michael? Some judge in Maryland might put Michael in a foster home or some halfway house with real criminals. And how long would they keep him? Maybe not just overnight. Maybe weeks or months. And what if some sick and twisted judge—because according to the news, the world was full of them—decided Michael still belonged with Dad?

  Because to the judge, Dad might claim it was just a misunderstanding.

  And maybe it was.

  Lily would keep Michael on this line and use her cell to call Dad. Dad would have an explanation.

  “Are you still there?” Michael’s voice was shaky.

  Who cares about an explanation? Lily thought. What he’d better have is a plane ticket. “I’m here. I’m telephoning Dad. You stay on the line while I get my cell. You know what, Michael? Maybe on his way to the parking lot Dad had a fender bender. Because he didn’t mean for you to be alone, Michael. It was careless of him to drop you off, but he thought he’d be back in a second.”

  “He’s not parking the car, Lily. He told me I’m not the son he had in mind. And then he drove away.”

  A hand landed on Michael’s shoulder. A voice said, “You okay?”

  Michael had been wholly absorbed by his sister’s voice and the background music of Nathaniel screaming his name. He’d pressed his face into the silvery chrome of the phone box, getting closer to Lily. So rarely had Michael cried in his life that for a moment he couldn’t figure out how his face had gotten all wet.

  The man bending over him must be a pilot; blue uniform with several insignia including wings. Michael wiped away the tears with the back of his hand. “Sure, I’m okay,” he said. “Just saying good-bye to my sister.”

  “Airports are all about saying good-bye,” agreed the pilot. “But who’s with you, son? I don’t see anybody in the whole room.”

  He was right. There were no longer kids playing, or parents watching, or a couple kissing by the window. Michael was alone. Post-9/11, airports hated anything unusual. Michael couldn’t stop being eight and he couldn’t stop being alone, but he could stop crying and he could fake a family. He dragged out the grandmother excuse again.

  “Tell you what,” said the pilot. “I’ll just wait with you till she comes.”

  “What’s going on?” Lily demanded through the phone.

  “A pilot wants to sit with me until Grandma gets back from the bathroom,” said Michael.

  “Let me talk to him.”

  “No.”

  “Michael, you can’t be alone in an airport.”

  “I am, though. Go get Nathaniel out of his crib. He’s crying too hard. He might choke.”

  “We should be so lucky. Okay, I’m going upstairs to get Nate. But you stay on the line. I’m on the portable phone and I’m carrying you with me.”

  The pilot slouched against the wall as if he planned to stay for years.

  “You remember your promise?” Michael asked her.

  “I remember.”

  “Say it back to me.”

  “I promise not to tell,” said Lily.

  I should never have told her anything, thought Michael. She knows what Dad said and what he did and she’ll tell. If she does, I’m going to tell everybody she’s making it up.

  I’m never going to repeat it to anybody again. I’m never going to have tears on my face again either. I’m going to grow up right now and get it over with.

  Michael took a long slow breath, had some long slow thoughts, and got it over with.

  “Bye, Lily,” he said, hanging up on her. “There’s Grandma!” he said to the pilot. “Thanks for waiting with me!” He crossed the carpet, passed some flight monitors and arrived at the side of two elderly women, who weren’t together, just near each other. One woman was balancing a huge carry-on bag, a huge purse and a huge coat. “It’s summer,” Michael said to her. “Really hot out. How come you have such a heavy coat?”

  She beamed at him. “I’m going to Russia and Finland! Isn’t that exciting? And September in those countries might be cold.”

  Michael had only the vaguest idea where Russia and Finland might be. “I wish I could go too,” he said, which was certainly true.

  Sobbing until his nose and eyes were equally drippy, Nathaniel had gotten yuck all over his hands and face. His diaper was full. Lily handled him with grim efficiency. Then she put him in a fresh T-shirt and shorts that matched and even located the right socks, so he was bright blue with white trim and red sailboats. She yanked apart the Velcro on his little sneakers, fastened them tight and carried him downstairs. Nate hated being carried downstairs. He liked bumping down on his padded bottom.

  In the kitchen she filled a sippy cup with milk and handed it over.

  She could not believe Michael had hung up on her. She really could not believe that she was the one who had to call Dad and demand action. If anything had ever been Mom’s job, this was it. Lily would rather skewer Dad for barbecue than talk to him.

  “Wiwwy okay?” asked Nathaniel anxiously.

  Her little brother was not yet two years old and he was worried.

  How come Dad wasn’t worried? How could he have driven away? No parent would do that!

  And surely their father, their own biological, chemical, neurological blood father, surely Dennis Rosetti had not said out loud to his little boy: You’re not the son I had in mind.

  Lily crushed Nathaniel in the hug she could not give Michael. Then she strapped him into his high chair and gave him a Fig Newton. He liked to peel away the cookie part and mash the fruit part and, when the tray was a disgusting mat of crumb, jam and smear, put his face down and lick it up. Michael encouraged this style of eating.

  After he left to live with Dad, Michael had not called home every day. He hadn’t called every second or third day. They had to call him and he never had anything to say. It was unlike Michael to have nothing to say.

  School had started a week earlier for Michael down there than it had up here. Michael wasn’t willing to discuss school, either. Michael was average in class, struggling with reading, worried by arithmetic, but still, he loved school. He loved the other kids and the teachers and the teams and the activities. Reb used to sit with him, reading aloud the sports section in the newspaper for reading practice, using her finger to follow the lines of print because Michael was embarrassed to use his finger.

  Lily had a
ccidentally left the portable phone in the crib upstairs. She called Dad on her cell. Her hands were so swollen with rage that her fingertips barely fit on the tiny buttons. On the fourth ring, he answered it, his voice relaxed. “Hey, Lils,” he said, knowing her from his caller ID.

  She could see him perfectly: handsome and lean, with a tousled casual look on which he spent a lot of time. Loafers without socks, sunglasses hooked on his shirt, always a jacket but never a tie. Very blue eyes, so he looked like a sled dog. He was in marketing. He could sell anybody anything.

  “Tell me,” said Lily fiercely, “that you did not drop Michael off at the airport without a ticket.”

  “Let Kells buy the ticket.”

  “What does Kells have to do with it?” she yelled. Her fury filled the room and oozed down the hall and up the stairs. Nathaniel wasn’t touching his cookie. He was staring at her in fear. “Did you tell Michael he isn’t the son you had in mind?”

  “He isn’t.”

  “How dare you!”

  “It was an experiment, Lily. It didn’t work.”

  “He’s your son, not an experiment!”

  “Whatever.”

  She tried to calm herself but nothing came of it. “What happened?” she screamed.

  “He was a hell of a lot of work for very little return,” said her father. “I’ve been trying to find my own space for a long time now, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s not to pour myself into fruitless ventures.”

  As simple as that. Little boys took time and attention. Money and effort. A man could be doing more interesting things. So Dad could stay casual and handsome and blond, while Michael had to carry this with him all his life: He was worth nothing to his own father.

  “I hate you!” Lily screamed into the phone. “You are not a father!”

  “Oh, cut the drama.”

  “I will never use that word ‘father’ again, Dennis Rosetti! I will never refer to you again. I will never speak to you again.”

  Dennis Rosetti laughed.

  Lily flung her cell phone against the wall. It didn’t get damaged. She smashed it to the floor and stomped on it and when she was done she got Nathaniel out of his high chair and held him tight and rocked him and they both sobbed, she in fury and he in fear, and the regular phone rang.

  “It’s me,” said Michael cheerfully. “I’ve found a great spot to hang out. There’s this group of high school kids waiting for their flight, and it’s late, and they’re lying on the carpet and playing cards and computer games. I’m blending in. There are phones everywhere once you really look, Lily. When are you getting here?”

  When was Lily getting where? To BWI? How could she possibly do that?

  The faith in Michael’s voice was like religion, the religion possessed by their grandmother, who never missed church, who believed completely and without any fretting. God is good, she would say, and that seemed to be all she needed.

  Michael’s faith that Lily would come was so complete that Lily got faith too and immediately had a plan.

  When Reb had received her college acceptance, she had also gotten dozens of credit cards in the mail. With Mom’s permission, Reb had activated one, and Mom and Kells talked often about the responsibility of a credit line and what should or should not be charged.

  Lily had done a wrong thing. She had taken one of the cards and activated it herself, picking 3000 for a PIN number, since somebody ought to be using it. So Lily had a credit card in Reb’s name. Lily could charge a plane ticket. In some circles, this would be called credit card fraud.

  If Lily got the bill when it came in the mail, and neither Mom nor Kells ever saw it, and she paid it off out of her savings account, she could actually buy Michael’s ticket for him. One good thing about the divorce—the children got Christmas and birthday checks from three sets of grandparents. Reb spent hers on big-ticket items like a kayak. Michael frittered his away on little things like popcorn at the movies. Lily put hers in the bank.

  “Here’s what we do,” she said to Michael. “I phone the airlines. I get you an e-ticket. You fly back alone. Kids fly alone all the time. It’ll be an adventure. Meanwhile, Nate and I grab a bus to LaGuardia and meet you. We’ll be back home long before Mom and Kells are back from Reb’s college. While you wait for me to make my calls, get something to eat.” This was because Michael didn’t waste time on meals (all that sitting around) and ate just enough to take the edge off, which meant he was starving to death ten minutes later. “Have a Happy Meal,” she ordered him, “and call me back in twenty minutes.”

  “I don’t have any money.”

  Lily no longer believed any of this. She summarized the situation, because she must have gotten it wrong. “He opened the car door and drove away? And didn’t give you even a dollar? Or a ticket? Or let you pack York?”

  Lily had ripped off his cheerful front by mentioning York. Michael let out one jagged weep.

  “It’s okay,” said Lily quickly. “I’ll call Dad and tell him to airmail York right now. I won’t let him do anything to York.”

  She had just resolved never to speak to the snake again, or admit that he even existed, and now she had to call and beg. She couldn’t wait, because a man willing to throw out his kid would drive straight home to throw out the stuffed bear.

  Nathaniel was beginning to cry now too. He hated raised voices, which he rarely heard and which frightened him. Lily shoved the high chair next to the refrigerator. Nate loved to peel the magnets off.

  “Don’t call Dad,” said Michael urgently.

  “He’s got York, though,” Lily pointed out.

  “Lily?” whispered Michael.

  “Yes?” she whispered back.

  “Dad threw York out the first night. He made me watch the garbagemen take him in the morning. He said I had to grow up.”

  Lily felt herself growing up with such speed she might have swallowed a magic potion. “Okay,” she said. “It’s a deal. I promise. I don’t call Dad. I don’t call Mom. I get you a ticket, you fly home, I pick you up. Call me back in twenty minutes so I can tell you about your ticket. If I don’t hear from you, I will call the airport police myself. Got it?”

  “Got it,” said Michael, and once more, his voice was full of faith.

  Faith in Lily.

  chapter

  3

  “You can’t buy a ticket at your end,” said the airline clerk, “and have a little boy use it at his end. An eight-year-old is permitted to travel alone, but his parent or guardian has to sign him in. He can’t pick it up at the ticket counter himself! Anyway, how would an eight-year-old get to the airport alone?”

  “Good point,” said Lily. “Have a good day,” she added before she hung up, because somebody might as well have a good day. I can’t get Michael a ticket, she thought.

  “Wiwwy?” shouted Nathaniel.

  “I’m right here.”

  Nathaniel came around the corner, thrilled as always to find her on the other side of a wall. “Michael’s on the other side of a wall, too,” she told him.

  Nate beamed at the mention of Michael. “Okie, Wiwwy,” he said happily.

  Another brother with complete faith in Lily.

  Her mother, now, did not have complete faith in Lily. Mom was always worried that Lily would make some massive mistake, or a series of minor mistakes that would add up to a massive mistake, so Mom was always giving detailed instructions to prevent this from happening. Her mother was going to be justified.

  Mom would just splatter this story everywhere.

  It was the kind of thing Mom and her support group loved to talk about. It nagged at Kells that he had been married to her for three and a half years and still she went once a month to her divorce support group. But even that wouldn’t be enough telling for Mom. Next she’d tell Michael’s classroom teachers, so that they could “intervene”—a favorite pastime of teachers.

  Perhaps Michael would be sent to a therapist. Maybe Lily, too.

  Michael would be in
one room playing with action figures, his psychiatrist watching to see if Michael ripped the heads off the grown-men dolls. Lily would be in the next room with colored pencils, her psychiatrist expecting Lily to draw a family with a dead father, the corpse studded with knives she had thrown.

  Lily pressed Nate’s hot little body against her eyes so his cute little sailboat shirt would soak up her tears.

  The grown-ups would want Michael to “get past” this event, and they’d make him talk for years in therapy. But who could “get past” a thing like that? A thing like that was always present.

  Lily had never been to a therapist or a group session or a support group or even a guidance counselor. The closest she had ever come was church, where Dr. Bordon’s sermons frequently dealt with the pain we all carry and how to handle it with the Lord’s help. Lily’s theory was that she would be in less pain if he skipped the sermon. Or at least condensed it. She would look at the congregation around her and think, Nobody here is in pain. They’re having the time of their lives. You can’t buy a house in this zip code unless you make more money than God anyway. The people here do have everything.

  Mom might even tell Dr. Bordon about Dad’s airport choices. Lily and Michael would have to sit in his study and pray, for heaven’s sake.

  Nathaniel was getting twitchy. Lily set him free and he took off, eager to explore the downstairs, as if he had not just seen it prior to naptime, and every single other day for twenty-two months.

  Meanwhile, Michael would have to face Jamie, his best friend. Jamie lived two miles away. What an event in Michael’s life when Mom said he could ride his bike to Jamie’s. Jamie’s mother said she was never letting her son take such risks. Michael loved that ride, always hoping it would turn out to be risky, but it never did.

  When Michael had made up his mind to live with his dad, he hadn’t cared about Jamie any more than last month’s weather. He was going to have a real dad. But now the whole town would know what kind of father Dennis Rosetti had turned out to be—and plenty of them would always wonder what kind of flaw the little boy must have, to be discarded like that.