"I'm so glad you're back. Was everything okay?"
"Fine."
"What happened to you, Nat?" her father asked, and it struck her that they had no idea about the prison. She'd had to fight her way through the reporters and cameras outside the police barracks, and the sensational story had been all over the radio news. But her parents and brothers had been here, not caring about TVs or newspapers, with Paul their sole focus. Their world had changed in a heartbeat, without much thought for her—which was exactly right and proper.
"It doesn't matter now what happened," Nat answered.
"He's gonna be all right, sweetie, I just know it." Her mother patted her on the back, weary and puffy-eyed. All her makeup had worn off, and she had on a blue track suit she normally would never have allowed herself to be seen in public.
"I know he is, Ma. I guess you were right, all along."
"It happens." Her mother winked, but she looked stripped down and so did Nat's father, the two of them reduced to their real selves, the way she'd seen them only on Christmas mornings. It was an odd thought, and she felt almost ashamed now for having it.
"Hi, Nat," Hank said. He stood next to her mother, and she met his eye only briefly.
"Hiya."
"Good to see you." He returned her look, equally uncomfortably, then stepped forward and gave her a perfunctory hug. His embrace felt almost the way it used to, strong and warm, and she broke it quickly, her emotions welling up because part of it wasn't the same, and part of it was exactly the same, a sensation she couldn't parse or experience right now.
"Hey, Nat," Junior said somberly, across the bed, and Tom managed a smile for her.
"Nice haircut."
"Thanks." Nat felt as if she had stepped into some topsy-turvy world, where twenty-six-year-olds had heart attacks and brothers complimented you. She wanted to go out and come in again, so Tom could make fun of her and Paul could break a lamp. Paul. Her little brother. His feet made soft white tents at the foot of his bed, and she reached out and rested her hand on a toe, as if she could keep him tethered to the world that way.
"His color looks better, don't you think?" her mother asked, eyeing Paul, and her father cocked his head, doing the same.
"I think you're right, Di."
"I can hear him breathing, too. It's stronger than before." Her mother leaned close to Paul's face, her hair almost falling forward into his cheek. "I hear him. John?"
Her father nodded, brightening. "I hear it, too. Like he's using his chest more."
They all leaned over, listening. Nat had nothing to compare it to, but Paul's breathing sounded normal to her. "He sounds good to me."
"I think so, too, Ma," Junior said.
Tom agreed. "Most def."
But Hank chuckled softly. "This is the quietest Paul's been in his life."
Her father arched an eyebrow.
Her mother blinked twice.
Tom and Junior looked up.
You did not just say that. We can joke about Paul, but you can't joke about Paul.
Nat didn't have to look at Hank to understand why he'd said it. She knew he was uncomfortable with her here and with whatever terrible thing had happened to Paul, and the fact that it had happened while they were playing basketball. And, sadly, these things had combined to make him say the wrong thing at the worst possible moment. He would never know where or when everyone remembered that he wasn't really a Greco, but Nat knew that it was right here and right now.
"They let us stay only fifteen minutes every hour," her father said, letting the moment pass. "We got only three minutes left. That pain-in-the-ass nurse comes in like clockwork."
"They're into their rules, huh, Dad?" Nat asked, still holding onto Paul's toe.
"Your dad made them let all of us in," Hank added, with a sideways smile.
"Good for you, Dad." Nat felt tears come to her eyes. She wondered how many people he'd threatened with litigation, grievous bodily harm, or both. Something happened to her then, when she thought about Tom and Junior, and her mother and father, flanking her brothers bed like human guardrails, standing beside him day and night, for a lousy fifteen minutes every hour, determined to prevent anything or anybody from hurting him or taking him away, as if they were a little suburban army. They did it because he was one of them, and they were each the most important thing in the other's lives.
And in that moment Nat understood, with a certainty that went as deep as bone, something she had never realized before. That each of these people would have done this for her, from the day she was born to the day she drew her last breath on earth, bound by their common name and their very blood. And if the price to be paid for that profoundly human service was the occasional cruelty, thoughtless comment, or simple disregard, it was worth every single penny.
Because they were family.
Chapter 46
“Ms. Greco, look over here!" a photographer shouted, one of the mob outside her apartment building the next morning. "Ms. Greco, any comment?”
“Nat, what did you have to do with stopping Williams's escape?”
“Ms. Greco, please! Any comment?”
“The Chester County D.A. says you were integral to their law enforcement efforts. Can you explain?"
Nat raised a hand as she hurried into her building. She'd slept about two hours at the hospital, but nothing could get her down today, not even the press. Paul was out of the woods this morning. She entered the lobby lighthearted, until she reached the security desk, manned by Bill in his uniform.
Oops. Nat had completely forgotten. He had lent her his Kia for a day, a few days ago, and his cell phone, too. She had no excuse. J was on the lam?
"Professor!" Bill rose, smiling expectantly, and Nat felt a wave of guilt.
"I'm so sorry. I'll get you your car and your phone today. I was kind of busy."
"That's all right. I know. You caught the crooks. You're famous. Bill beamed at her with new regard.
Nat blushed. "Not really.”
“Really!" Bill gestured to the press outside. "They been out there all night. They interviewed me about you, and I told 'em how nice you are, how smart. You're a hero!" He extended a hand over the desk. "Put er there.”
“Aw." Nat shook his hand, and Bill tugged her close to the desk. "Tell me somethin.' Did ya use my car to make a getaway?" Nat winced. "Frankly, yes."
"Great! Then my wife says we could sell it on eBay." Bill made a finger frame in the air. "For sale, Getaway Car."
Hoo boy. "Glad to help out, Bill." Nat crossed to the elevator and pushed the button. "See you later."
"Would you autograph the car for me, like they do on Jay Leno?" Bill called after her, but Nat pretended not to hear as she stepped into the elevator and the doors slid closed. She had to shower up, change, and check in on her job, if she still had one. And she wouldn't mind seeing Angus, either.
Nat opened the heavy front doors of the law school and entered the Great Hall, whose vaulted cupola of eggshell white, tall Palladian windows, and glistening marble staircase testified to the school's old-Ivy creds. Students milled around, talking and laughing between classes, and a few turned as she walked in. Her navy pumps clacked across the polished floor of rose-and-tan marble. She was wearing a conservative navy suit with her white punk hair, sending the sartorial equivalent of mixed signals.
"Hi, Marie." Nat waved to the guard as she passed the security desk.
"Stop right there, Miss," the guard called out, her voice echoing in the hall. "I need to see your ID."
Nat turned. "It's me, Marie. Nat Greco."
"Professor Greco?" Marie broke into a grin of recognition. "Sorry, I didn't see your face! Well, welcome back. I knew you didn't kill anybody."
"Thanks." Nat cringed, and the students started turning to her, one by one.
Marie reached for her newspaper and waved it in the air. "You stopped that gangsta from escaping. I read all about you, on the first page. Will you sign your picture for me?"
"May
be later," Nat answered, but when she turned to go, she found herself surrounded by a ring of students, gawking with admiration. She recognized a few of the faces from her first-year classes, and Warren, Carling, and Chu from her seminar, gazing at her with new eyes.
"Did you really blow up a car, Professor Greco?" Warren asked, as they all gathered around. "That is so cool."
"I didn't-"
Chu corrected, "No, she blew up oil tanks."
"Not, really, I—"
"We didn't know you were such a badass!" Carling grinned and raised a palm. "Come on, gimme some!"
"You got it!" Nat slapped him five and suddenly understood why guys slapped five all the time. Because it was fun.
Just then the door to the faculty lounge opened, and Vice Dean McConnell walked out, some papers in his hand. As soon as he spotted Nat, his face froze like an academic ice sculpture.
"Professor Greco," he said, walking toward her, and the students fell silent, watching.
"Hello, Jim." Nat thought he might strangle her until a thatch of thick gray hair popped out behind him, followed by a trademark red bow tie. It was Dean Samuel Morris, back from the African veldt, and not a moment too soon. His hooded eyes flew open behind his tortoiseshell bifocals and he broke into a characteristic grin.
"Nat, here you are!" Dean Morris, an adorably chubby man, threw his arms around her in a hug that smelled of pipe tobacco. "What am I hearing about you?"
"It's a long story, Sam." Nat enjoyed his aromatic embrace until she spotted McConnell over her shoulder, his eyes narrowing. Dean Morris released her just enough to slip an arm over her shoulder, scoop her out of the crowd, and propel her from the Great Hall into the school lobby.
"You must tell me all about it. I've been fielding calls all morning from the media, and I should tell you, I have been in touch with the police. They faxed me your statement, at my request."
Gulp. Nat couldn't tell from his tone whether she was about to be fired or praised, and he wouldn't show his hand in front of the students anyway. They were collecting in the lobby, smiling at her and even waving as she passed. Melanie Anderson, from her seminar, began clapping, and the other students burst into spontaneous applause, which echoed in the cavernous lobby. Nat acknowledged them with a happy nod, and Dean Morris flashed them an official smile as they rounded the corner on the way to his office.
Vice Dean McConnell fell into step with them. "Sam, we can't just say, 'all's well that ends well' I expressly forbade Nat here from going out to the prison, and she went anyway."
"That's where the bad guys are," Nat said lightly, but Dean Morris seemed not to hear as he swept them down the hall, where more students turned to gawk, then started buzzing and finally clapping.
McConnell continued, "We've never had a law professor charged with murder, whether or not the charges were dropped. It's unprecedented. I warned her many times last week—"
"Not here, Jim." Dean Morris silenced him with a hand chop and turned to Nat. "We do need to speak in private."
Nat's heart sank. What bothered him? Theft? Fraud? Arson? Pick a felony, any felony.
Vice Dean McConnell frowned. "I would like to be included in this meeting. As you know, Professor Greco is up for tenure this year and—"
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary." Dean Morris whisked Nat from the vice dean, past the secretaries looking at her starry-eyed, and into his office, where he gestured her into the seat across from the desk. "Please, sit."
"Thanks," Nat said uncertainly, and Dean Morris shut the door behind them and turned to her, his expression somber.
"I'll get right to the point. The police statement said that you hid out in an underground tunnel, used for the Underground Railroad. Is that true?"
"Well, it was more like a hole," Nat answered, surprised.
"This hole was previously unknown? You discovered it yourself?"
"I think so. It was covered with boards."
"Amazing." Dean Morris leaned on the desk, his gray eyes blazing with intellectual zeal. "Once this is out, we'll get calls from every history department in the country. This is a coup for our law school."
"Really?" Nat said, then corrected herself. "I mean, really."
"You're going to publish on it, of course."
I am? "Of course. The wood shoring up the hole had carved initials and names, from the era, and I plan to trace some of the names." Nat was freewheeling, but it was her passion, even if nobody else had cared about it until this very minute. "There are records, you know, of different slave families and the routes they took from Maryland and points south. I teach it in my seminar."
"Wouldn't that be a dandy article?" Dean Morris beamed.
"Except that Vice Dean McConnell isn't sure I can keep teaching the seminar, as much as I'd like to. I'd do it in addition to my other classes, as I have been."
"Oh, you must keep teaching it now. About the article, could you expand it into a book, perhaps?"
"I sure could." Nat relaxed. She wasn't going to get fired if she wrote a book. How hard could it be? Lots of clowns wrote books. She was a bookworm before she became a bad-ass.
"There's so much we can do with this find. The sky's the limit.”
“I could even take my students out there for a field trip.”
“A field trip—in law school?" Dean Morris's smile faded. Nat decided not to push her luck. At least not yet.
Ten minutes later, Nat was hurrying down the sunny hall through crowds of excited students, who asked her questions, patted her on the back, and congratulated her on, inter alia, saving the day, bleaching her hair, and blowing things up. She thanked them all, bursting with relief and happiness, so that she was almost completely full of herself by the time she went downstairs to the clinic and opened the glass door, where the omnipresent crowd of students were gathered around Angus in his ponytail, ratty sweater, jeans, and boots. Even as scruffy as he was, he was still the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
Wow.
"Natalie!" Angus hollered the moment he saw her. He burst into a grin, and his bright blue eyes lit up. He cut through the students, swept her into his woolly arms, and planted on her lips the same soft, warm kiss she remembered from when they'd made love. She kissed him back as he held her close, blowing their cover even as the students began to shout and hoot, and when they kissed again, Nat felt a warmth that burned soul-deep, spread inside-out to her skin, and told her that she was, finally, safe.
Chapter 47
Weeks later, Nat had started the next chapter in her life, seeing Angus and teaching with new confidence. Her celebrity status had intensified, with more news articles every day and reporters from the New York Times, CNN, and Court TV sitting in on her classes, bringing cameras that made even Chu raise her hand. Paul was on the mend, eating a restricted diet and even talking more softly, but she didn't feel completely happy until she heard that Barb Saunders had recovered and left the hospital, too.
Nat took a sunny Sunday afternoon to see Barb for the first time, driving to her house with the window down, the wind ruffling her short hair. It felt great to have her old color back, though she didn't think she'd grow her hair long again; it was the wrong proportion for her height. Her bruises and cuts had healed, and the evil scratches on her chest were long gone. She felt like herself, in jeans and a black cotton T-shirt, with a green Barbour for warmth. Her life had come back together, and she had made amends, too, restoring the Kia and cell phone to Bill and writing the Neon owner a fat check. It was money well spent, and she put it all behind her, enjoying the cool breeze coming in the window, carrying the earliest scents of spring.
The snows of winter had melted, and the dull browns of the Chester County countryside were vanishing before her eyes. New grass sprouted in patches of kelly green, bushes burst into leaves of forest green, and the buds of the trees were the tart hue of Granny Smith apples. Horses that had been blanketed during the winter showed their gray dapples, chocolatey browns, and rich chestnuts, making paint
erly splotches as they grazed in the fields. It was a lovely drive, and she couldn't wait to see Barb. Angus couldn't come because of work, but she preferred the visit to be girls-only, anyway. It had started with her and Barb, and it should end that way, too.
She took a different route to avoid driving past where Officer Shorney had been killed. She didn't need the reminder, today or ever. The bad guys had gotten theirs, and everybody called it justice, but Nat knew better now. Justice didn't compensate for the loss of human life. Justice was an intellectual concept, inevitably trumped by emotion. Justice was the word we used when we couldn't have what we really wanted, which was everything back the way it was. Justice was only a consolation prize.