One Tuesday Morning / Beyond Tuesday Morning

  The mouse nodded again and wandered off to another table.

  Josh had wanted to celebrate his eighth birthday at Chuck E. Cheese's, and Laura and Eric had easily agreed. Laura could pick up an ice-cream cake, and the restaurant would take care of pizza and drinks. Josh and his friends would entertain themselves for hours, and there'd be nothing to clean up.

  “Get there at five-thirty, and I'll be right behind you,” Eric had promised earlier that afternoon. “No later than six.”

  It seemed doable. The restaurant was at the west end of the San Fernando Valley, just ten minutes from Eric's office in the heart of Warner Center. At first the afternoon had gone as planned. Six young guests had arrived at the Michaels' Westlake Village house and ridden with her thirty minutes on the Ventura Freeway to the pizza parlor.

  But five-thirty had become six, and the boys had eaten their pizza with no sign of Eric. When they were finished, Josh and his friends fanned out into the game gallery while Laura snatched glances back at the front door. An hour passed, and without Eric, she had no one to help her round up the boys. Now she was standing guard over a melting ice-cream cake and leftover pizza balanced precariously atop a pile of unopened birthday presents.

  This is crazy … where is he?

  Her silent words were more introspective than prayer, and Laura didn't wait for a response. She peered through the maze of children looking for any sign of the boys. Forget the cake and presents; they'd be fine without her for a few minutes. She took a few hurried steps toward the arcade area when suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. She spun around. “Thank goodness you're—” The sight of Eric's brother stopped her short.

  “Where's Eric?” Clay Michaels leaned against the table and locked eyes with Laura. Clay had attended a small college in Missouri and had returned to Southern California a few months ago. He was a police officer, and he idolized his older brother.

  “You've got it all, Eric,” Clay had told him a few weeks ago. His tone had been light and not completely serious. But the admiration he had for Eric was evident. “You're a great husband, great father. The perfect guy with the perfect family.”

  Laura hadn't had the heart to set him straight. Besides, if he lived near them long enough, Clay would get a clearer picture of Eric soon enough. Times like this one were bound to expose Eric for what he was—a corporate climber with eyes for nothing but whatever lay at the top of the ladder.

  She managed a quick smile. “He's … he's late.”

  “For Josh's birthday?” Clay's eyebrows rose a notch. “What's keeping him?”

  The same thing that always keeps him, Laura thought. “Work. He's probably on his way.”

  “Where's Josh?” Clay snagged a piece of pizza from the pan and moved it off the stack of presents. “Looks like the cake's about to give out.”

  Laura shifted her gaze and stared hard at the mass of children in the arcade room. “He's in there somewhere.” She looked back at Clay. “He's with six eight-year-olds. Could you get him?”

  “Sure.” Clay set the pizza down on a plate, grabbed a napkin, and headed toward the other room. “Be right back.”

  Laura watched him walk away. She'd had mixed feelings about Eric's younger brother since their days as classmates in grade school. Clay was kind and gentle, with blonde hair and a square forehead that made people wonder whether he and Eric were really brothers. Her feelings for the two men had always been as different as their looks. Laura had fallen for Eric the moment she'd met him. His confidence and ambition, the sure way he held himself. Clay had been her friend; Eric, her first love.

  Her only love.

  But since Clay's return to Southern California, Laura had to wonder. Had she picked the wrong brother so many years ago? The thought was crazy, really, but still it lay there on the doormat of her heart. Laura watched Clay as he made his way through the arcade searching for Josh. Clay wasn't the financial success that Eric was, and he didn't have Eric's striking looks. But what did those things matter, really? Clay could make her smile as easily as he could swing Josh up onto his shoulders. The man taught Sunday school at the church they all attended, he sang in the choir, and even though he'd been back just a short while, he'd already taken part in two workdays at the Los Angeles homeless mission.

  Why couldn't Eric be that way? And why couldn't he be as attentive to Josh as Clay had been these past few months?

  Laura let the thought pass. Maybe it was time she and Eric saw the counselor again.

  It was something they'd done every few years for the past decade, and they were about due for another round. Nothing permanent ever came of their sessions. Laura would talk about how she felt distant, unloved, ignored; and Eric would explain that his job needed him if he were ever going to make something of himself. They'd hash it out with the counselor for ten or twelve weeks and make promises to change: Laura, that she'd be more understanding; and Eric, that he'd look for ways to spend time at home.

  The changes never lasted more than a few months.

  Clay was heading toward her again, Josh and his buddies in tow. Josh jogged ahead of the others, gave Laura a quick side hug, and stared at his cake. “Why didn't you tell us it was melting?”

  “I didn't want to leave the—”

  “Where's Dad?” Josh stared across the restaurant toward the front door and back at Laura. Disappointment settled in around the corners of his eyes. “He didn't come, did he?”

  Clay stood with Josh's buddies a few feet away. His eyes met Laura's and she saw confusion there. The fact that Eric hadn't made it to Josh's birthday was a shock to Clay. Laura bit her lip and moved her gaze to Josh. “He'll be here, buddy. He's running late.”

  “I'm hungry!” One of Josh's friends wormed his way to the front of the pack. “That's my favorite cake.”

  “Okay, guys.” Laura summoned a smile. “Take a seat and let's sing.”

  Clay anchored himself beside her while she led the boys in an upbeat off-key version of the birthday song. When they finished he nudged her elbow and leaned close enough so that only she could hear him. “I'm worried about Eric.” He reached into her purse, pulled out her cell phone, and handed it to her. “I'll cut the cake. Go call him.”

  ****

  Eric Michaels was surrounded by Koppel and Grant's top planners, four men and two women who collectively orchestrated multimillion-dollar deals each day for high-stakes investors and major corporations around the world. The planners worked on commission, and each had already earned six-figure bonuses that year. The meeting was a brainstorming session about which pharmaceutical company's potential earnings most outweighed the risk of investment in the current market.

  They were two hours late with no sign of reaching an agreement.

  “My gut says go with Amgen.” Paul Murphy stood and paced to the window. The sun was setting, and the sky over the San Fernando Valley was streaked in orange. “They're working on that Lou Gherig's cure, and insiders say they're developing a genetic response to a broad range of cancers. They're the ticket.”

  “If we're talking gut, I'd say Chiron's a better choice. Their numbers are up the past few weeks, and they've got a cancer cure on the table.”

  “Listen.” Eric leaned back in his chair and tapped his pencil on his notepad. “Our clients don't pay us to go with our gut.” A sharp sigh escaped him. “New York wants our decision first thing in the morning.” He looked around the room. “We can't afford to be wrong.”

  “We've been right three out of the last four times.” Murphy spun around and paced back to the table. He was a heavyset man, and the veins near his temple made distinct blue lines on either side of his forehead. “What do they want? We can't see into the future.”

  “With ten million dollars riding …”—Eric met the eyes of the others—“we better learn how.” He hesitated. “Allen says one more mistake, and they'll consider closing us.”

  “Close the LA office?” Murphy's mouth hung open. “Allen's crazy.”

  “Murphy's
right.” One of the two women at the table leaned forward, her brow pinched. “Investors won't work with a planner whose only office is in New York. West Coast players are too important.”

  “I know that, and so does Allen. But let's remember one thing.” Eric stared at the ceiling for a moment. He loved this, loved the banter back and forth and the clients waiting breathlessly for their decision. The outcome of this meeting would influence the way fortunes were made or lost. That kind of power was heady in a way that never lost its allure. He looked at his peers once more. “In this business everyone's replaceable.”

  From a small pocket inside his leather briefcase, Eric's cell phone rang. He stared at the bag and suddenly he remembered.

  Josh's birthday.

  It was today, wasn't it? Yes, September 4 … that was the day. The boy was eight. Eric shot a look at the clock on the wall and grimaced. Seven-thirty. What time had he told Laura he'd be there? Six o'clock, or was it six-thirty? Either way he was late. The phone rang again, and Eric glanced around the room. All eyes were on him. He reached into the bag, grabbed his phone, stood and held up a single finger. “Be right back,” he mouthed the words.

  Then, with the phone still ringing in his hand, Eric moved quickly across the room and slipped into the hallway. In one motion he extended the antenna, flipped the phone open, and lifted it to his ear. “Hello?”

  “Eric?”

  “Laura?” The background sounds were so loud Eric could barely hear her. He braced himself for what was coming. “Are you at the restaurant?” There was a pause and Eric hesitated. Maybe she couldn't hear him. “Laura?”

  “I'm here,” she said, exhaling hard, disappointment in her tone. “Of course I'm at the restaurant. We've been here for two hours. The pizza's gone, the tokens are spent, and Clay's helping Josh cut his birthday cake.”

  “Clay?” Eric swallowed, desperate to buy some time. At least his brother had remembered, which meant Laura wasn't handling the party by herself. Still … Eric was the boy's father, and they had just one child, after all. He pressed his thumb and forefinger into his temples. How could he have forgotten? “Is Clay helping you?”

  “Yes.” She paused long enough to make him nervous. “He likes being a part of Josh's life.”

  Eric wiped a thin layer of perspiration off his forehead and cursed under his breath. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Laura said nothing.

  “Fifteen minutes, Laura. I mean it.”

  “What happened this time?” Sarcasm filled in the spaces between her words. “Did you forget?”

  “Of course not.” His answer was quick and sounded like a lie even to him. “We had a decision to make, an important meeting. I was in charge, Laura. I couldn't just walk out. New York needs our answer by tomorrow.”

  “Tell that to Josh.”

  “Look …” He felt trapped and his heart rate doubled. His associates were only a few yards away behind the closed office door, so he kept his voice quiet. “We're wasting time. I'll be there in fifteen, Laura. I swear.”

  “No, Eric. Forget it.”

  “Why?” He made a weak attempt at sounding indignant. “You'll be another half hour. I could get there for the end of it, at least.”

  “You wouldn't.”

  “Fifteen minutes, Laura. I promise. I'll be there in—”

  “Stop.” Laura raised her voice and just as quickly dropped it again. “We both know you won't be here in fifteen minutes.” Her voice broke and she hesitated. “I'll make something up for Josh, tell him it was out of your control.”

  “It is, Laura. That's not a lie.”

  “Spare me, please. Meetings can be rescheduled.” She dropped the sarcasm, and a tired sadness filled her voice instead. “It's Josh's birthday.”

  Eric swallowed hard. He could hardly tell her the truth, that until her phone call he hadn't given the boy's birthday a single thought. “You're right.” He steadied his tone. “I messed up. Tell Josh I'll make it up to him this weekend.”

  “With what?”

  “With …” His mind raced. “With a trip to the beach. Tell him I got him something special, something we can only use out on the water.”

  “The beach?” Laura sounded doubtful. “This weekend?”

  “Or next at the latest.”

  “You'll be in New York this weekend.”

  “Right, right.” He made a fist and pounded out a series of light staccatos against the doorframe. “Next weekend, then. Tell him it'll be next weekend for sure.”

  “Fine.” Laura's tone told him everything her words didn't say. She was tired of his excuses, his absence at home, the way his heavy work schedule left her a single parent so often. They were feelings that came up every now and then, feelings that sometimes sent them to a counselor for help. But no matter how crazy his work schedule became, no matter how often they made appointments with a counselor, the result was always the same.

  Laura would understand.

  She might not have been happy about it, but she would understand because ultimately she had to. His job was their single source of income, and it cost a lot to run a household like theirs. They could talk about family or faith coming first in their lives, but the truth was everything else revolved around his work schedule. And it would until he was named president of the company.

  When that day came, he would make up for a lifetime of missed birthdays. Or at least that was the plan. And until then Laura would have no choice but to go along with it. The silence between them was too long to be anything but intentional. Eric rolled his eyes and focused on a vent in the hallway ceiling. “Laura?”

  “What?” Her voice was quieter than before, defeated.

  “I'm sorry.” He took a step back toward the meeting room. “Tell Josh for me.”

  “Good-bye, Eric.”

  “Hey …” If he didn't need to leave for Josh's party, then they might as well finish their discussion about Amgen and Chiron. It could take hours the way things were going. “Don't wait up for me.”

  “What?” Her anger was quick and intense.

  Eric held his breath and kept his voice low. “The meeting could last until after ten. If I finish up, I can go in late tomorrow and maybe have breakfast with you and Josh.” He gave her a chance to respond, but she said nothing. “Josh'll be in bed by the time I get home, anyway.”

  “Fine. Good-bye.”

  “That's okay, isn't it? Wouldn't it be better to get the meeting—”

  There was a click at the other end, and after a few seconds, the phone went dead. Eric closed the phone and stared at it for a moment. Fine. Work was easier when she was mad at him. It gave him another reason to stay late at the office. He steadied himself, then returned to the meeting room. A discussion was under way about the reality of Chiron's discovery in the cancer field. Before Eric joined in, he slipped his phone back into his briefcase and pulled out his palm pilot. In the notes section, he jotted down, “Buy Josh a boogie board.”

  Then he checked his weekend calendar. His flight to New York was first thing Saturday morning. That would give him Sunday breakfast and lunch to connect with Allen and a handful of execs from the New York office. Monday and Tuesday would be booked solid with meetings on the sixty-fourth floor of the World Trade Center.

  One of the most powerful places on earth.

  Ideally he could buy Josh the boogie board tonight. That way he could give it to him over breakfast. Where had he seen one recently? Eric stared at his palm pilot and tried to remember. Then it came to him. The Albertsons near the freeway. Every now and then the grocery stores carried beach supplies—even boogie boards. And last week Eric had stopped in for an orange juice, and there they were, stacked in a pyramid near the front of the store. Fortunately, the place was open until eleven on weeknights.

  Eric snapped the pen into the side of his palm pilot and slipped it back in his briefcase. Perfect. He would stop by the market on the way home, buy the boogie board, and surprise Josh the next morning. That o
ught to make up for missing the boy's birthday party. Besides, Clay was there. He'd help Laura get the presents to the car and make Josh feel special.

  That was all that mattered.

  Someone had shifted the conversation back to Amgen, and Eric listened for a moment before cutting in. “There're five other pharmaceuticals that need our consideration.” He opened the portfolio on the table in front of him. “Let me read you some of their statistics …”

  The meeting wore on hour after hour and didn't wrap up until ten-thirty. Disclosures had been made by each planner at the table, and finally they agreed that Amgen was their best bet. Put the money on Amgen and you couldn't lose. They were right this time. Eric could sense it.

  The moment they were finished, Murphy reached into his portable file and pulled out a single piece of paper. “I almost forgot. Allen wants us to divide up a list of new investors before we call tomorrow.”

  A series of collective groans sounded from the others. “We should've done that tonight.” Eric folded his arms and frowned.

  “It's too late.” Murphy returned the paper to his file and closed it. “Let's meet for breakfast tomorrow at the café downstairs. Seven o'clock.” He looked at the others. “Does that work?”

  There were nods of agreement from around the room as people reached for their palm pilots and day planners and penciled in the morning meeting. The group dispersed and headed for their private offices where some of them would spend another hour working their computer files.

  Eric walked to the parking lot with Trish O'Reilly, the newest member of the team. They were halfway to their cars when Trish slowed her steps and cast him a long look. “Who was on the phone?”

  The question caught Eric off guard.

  He made it a point not to get into his personal life at work. But something about the late hour and the relief of having wrapped up the meeting made him feel like talking. Or maybe it was simply the fact that he wasn't looking forward to going home and facing Laura. He stared past the parking lot lights to the sky beyond. “My wife.”