Basically he tried to push it back a little each day—time, that is—trying to find himself back to that point before everything caved in on him. That moment before the accident. Before his marriage collapsed. Before he gave up.
Why go back there, Ty?
Hard as you tried, you could never quite push it back all the way. Life didn’t afford you that.
Hauck caught sight of the marina at the Indian Harbor Yacht Club, where the dock manager, Hank Gordon, an old buddy, always let him put in for the day. He picked up the radio. “Heading in, Gordo …”
But the marina manager was waiting for him out on the pier.
“What the hell are you doing here, Ty?”
Hauck yelled to him, “Summer hours, guy!” He reversed and backed the Merrily in. Gordo tossed a bowline to him and reeled him in. Hauck cut the engine. He went out to the stern as the boat hit the buoy and hopped onto the pier. “Like a dream out there today.”
“A bad dream,” Hank said. “Lemme take it from here, Ty. You better get your ass up that hill.”
There was something on the dock manager’s face that Hauck couldn’t quite read. He glanced at his watch—8:52. Usually he and Gordo shot the shit a few minutes, about the Rangers or what had made it onto the police blotter the night before.
That’s when Hauck’s cell phone started to beep. The office. Two-three-seven.
Two-thirty-seven was the department’s emergency code.
“You didn’t have the radio on, did you?” Gordo asked, securing the line.
Hauck shook his head blankly.
“Then you haven’t heard what the hell happened out there, have you, Lieutenant?”
Karen didn’t flip out at first. That wasn’t her way. She told herself over and over to stay calm. Charlie could be anywhere. Anywhere.
You don’t know for sure if he was even on that train.
Like a few years back, when Samantha was four or five, and they thought they’d lost her at Bloomie’s. And after a frantic, heart-constricting search, retracing their steps, calling for the manager, and starting to accept the reality that something horrible had happened—that this wasn’t a false alarm!—there she was, their little Sammy, waving hi to Mommy and Daddy, paging through one of her favorite books atop a pile of Oriental rugs, as innocent as if she were on a stage at school.
This could be just like that, Karen reassured herself now. Stay calm, Karen. Goddamn it, just stay calm!
She ran back into the yoga studio, found her purse, and fumbled around for her phone. Heart pumping, she punched in Charlie’s number on the speed dial. C’mon, c’mon…. Her fingers barely complied.
As she waited for the call to connect, she tried her best to flash through her husband’s schedule that morning. He’d left the house around seven. She’d been finishing her hair. Ten minutes into town, ten minutes at the dealership dropping off the car, going over what had to be done. So that was, what—7:20? Another ten or so to the station. The news said the explosion had occurred at 8:41. He could have made an earlier train. Or even ended up getting a loaner and driving in. For a second, Karen allowed herself to feel uplifted. Anything was possible…. Charlie was the most resourceful man she knew.
His phone began to ring. Karen saw that her hands were shaking. C’mon, Charlie, answer….
To her dismay, his voice recording came on. “This is Charlie Friedman….”
“Charlie, it’s me,” Karen blurted. “I’m really worried about you. I know you took the train in. You’ve got to call me as soon as you get this. I don’t care what you’re doing, Charlie. Just call, hon….”
She pressed the end button feeling totally helpless.
Then she realized—there was a voice-mail message on her phone! Blood racing, she scrolled immediately to Recently Received Calls.
It was Charlie’s number! Thank God! Her heart almost climbed up her throat in joy.
Anxiously, Karen punched in her code and pressed the receiver to her ear. His familiar voice came on and it was calm. “Listen, hon, I thought as long as I’m gonna be in Grand Central, I’d pick up some of those marinated steaks you like at Ottomanelli’s on the way home and we’d grill instead of going out…. Sound good? Lemme know. I’ll be in the office by nine. I got hung up. Madhouse at the dealership. Bye.”
Karen stared at the message screen—8:34. He was heading into Grand Central when he made the call. Still on the train. The sweats began to come over her again. She looked back outside at the monitor, at the pall of smoke building over Grand Central, the chaos and confusion on the screen.
Suddenly she knew in her heart. She couldn’t deny it anymore.
Her husband was on that train.
Unable to control herself any longer, Karen punched in the speed code to her husband’s office. C’mon, c’mon, she said over and over during the agonizing seconds it took for the call to connect. Finally Heather, Charlie’s assistant, picked up.
“Charles Friedman’s office.”
“Heather, it’s Karen.” She tried to control herself. “By any chance has my husband come in?”
“Not yet, Mrs. Friedman. He left me an e-mail earlier from his BlackBerry saying that he had to take his car in or something. I’m sure I’ll be hearing from him soon.”
“I know he had to take his car in, Heather! That’s what I’m worried about. Have you seen the news? He said he was taking the train.”
“Oh, my God!” His assistant gasped, reality setting in. Of course she’d seen it. They all had. The whole office was watching it now.
“Mrs. Friedman, let me try and get him on the phone. I’m sure it’s got to be crazy around Grand Central. Maybe he’s on his way over and the phones just aren’t functioning. Maybe he took a later train—”
“I got a call from him, Heather! At eight thirty-four. He said they were pulling into Grand Central in a while….” Her voice was shaking. “That was eight thirty-four, Heather! He was on it. Otherwise he would have called. I think he was on that train….”
Heather begged her to stay calm and said she would e-mail him, that she was sure she’d hear from him soon. Karen nodded okay, but when she put down the phone, her heart was racing and her blood was pumping out of control and she had no idea what to do next. She pressed the phone to her heart and dialed his number one more time.
C’mon, Charlie…. Charlie, please …
Outside Grand Central, the news reporter was confirming that it had been at least one bomb. A few survivors had staggered out of the station. They were gathered on the street, dazed, faces smeared with blood and black with soot. Some were muttering something about Track 109, that there’d been at least two powerful explosions and a fire raging down there, with lots of people still trapped. That something had gone off in the first two cars.
Karen froze. That’s when tears finally started to roll down her cheeks.
That’s where Charlie always sat. It was like a ritual with him. He always camped out in the first car!
C’mon, Charlie…. Karen pleaded silently, watching the screen