Vacation полностью

She leaned close. “Look at your kids. Tell me, have they even seen a lake, a real lake for swimming? Walked on a trail, seen a mountain, gone to a beach? None of it. This could be their chance, Jack. A week away from this—”

She stifled the word goddamned.

“—world to have a few days in summer like kids and families used to. They deserve that. You do. I do.”

Jack looked up from the brochure that he had found so amusing.

He waited. Part of his process. No quick answers out of Jack. He’d think things through and then think some more.

“Okay—here’s what I’ll do. I’ll see how the Highway Authority program has been working. Adirondacks, that’s way up there, Christie. Way up there.”

She gave his hand another squeeze.

“I’ll check it out. And, if it’s legit, we’ll talk about it again.”

Now Christie leaned forward. She gave Jack a kiss, his lips dry and cracked. She stayed close to his face.

“Thank you.” Then a look back. “For them.”

Jack reached up with his right hand and brushed some stray blond hair away from her face.

“A vacation, hm? I guess … that really would be something.”

To seal the deal, Christie gave him another kiss.

And then it was time for them to leave.

one day before

6

Recovery

Jack raised his left leg slowly, feeling the dead pull of a massive weight working hard to pull the leg down.

From the start, he had quickly ignored the cautious advice of his physical therapy team, and pushed his rehab work. And his undamaged leg … he would push it to the limit.

If I have only one good leg, it’ll have to get as strong as it can be.

I may not run again. But one way or the other, I’ll be able to move.

The leg reached its full horizontal extension, and then he resisted the always present temptation to rush lowering it. That thought, that urge only promoted him to make the descent even slower, even more torturous.

Until it was time to work with the other leg.

The damaged leg, the bum leg. The bad leg.

Weeks after the attack, the bandages had finally come off.

And now, though he could still see the indentation where he had lost some muscle mass, it didn’t look too bad. Nothing that would scare anyone, even his kids, who had been so curious about what the leg would look like when all the surgeries were done and the bandages finally came off for good.

“See,” he said to Kate and Simon, “not so bad.”

But he quickly looked at their eyes, and that had told him the truth of the situation.

They weren’t used to seeing their dad wounded or damaged in any way. He was never anything less than their protector. Whatever their idea of police work was in this world, they always saw him as the best and the strongest.

Now? With his leg so obviously damaged, their eyes said—what?

Fear?

Worry?

And that drove his rehabilitation.

Besides working the machines they had installed in his basement, Jack started walking again, way ahead of schedule. He ignored the pull of the healed, tight skin, and the pain that was always there.

And if it didn’t go away, fair enough. He’d deal with it.

He walked around their community on Staten Island, past rows of neat and boring suburban houses, all encircled by a fence.

Everywhere, fences.

Even here, far from the “real” boroughs of New York.

Gradually, he was able to suppress the urge to limp, and the need to always favor the right leg.

Despite the warning of the surgeon, Dr. Kleiner, and his rehabilitation team, he didn’t slip backward. The wounded leg grew stronger. The shock of each step grew less.

His walks grew and grew, and eventually, until when he returned home, he started to see a flicker of worry in Christie’s eyes. Concern. Why are you out there so long? Why are you away for hours?

The few times they had talked about it hadn’t gone well.

Now he just did what he did. They didn’t talk about it.

While his family simply watched.

He looked at his right leg. The padded bar pressed against his lower shin.

He’d begin slowly, with only a few pounds of weight.

And then, with each slow up-and-down movement, he’d add more weight, staring at his damaged leg, wishing it stronger, better.

He took a breath, and began to raise the bar.

*   *   *

Jack heard Christie’s steps coming down the stairs.

He let his right leg slide off the bar. Not bad, he thought. Not anywhere as strong as the left leg, but all things considered …

He grabbed a towel dangling from the weight machine and turned to Christie.

“How’s it going?” she said.

They had fought over that question during those first weeks. How are you? How’s the leg? Are the dreams over? Did you sleep through the night?

They’d had fights.

He wished she would stop asking.

Until he realized that Christie was scared and worried. He forced himself not to react.

Now, with weeks of rehab behind him, he could hear her question, and answer it. No problem.

“Good.” He smiled. “In fact, I’m pretty damn impressed. All things considered, my leg seems to be doing really well.”