Second Honeymoon Page 0,34

at the FBI is making me see because he’s afraid I’m going to go completely postal on someone should in no way make you feel ill at ease. And even if it did, rest assured I’ve been stripped of my firearm—at least the one the Bureau knows about. Now can you have someone round up my boys?”

The poor guy. Slowly, he reached for one of those short-range walkie-talkie things and radioed a couple of counselors with the message that they should find Max and John Jr. All the while he kept one eye trained on me, watching for any sudden moves.

Two minutes later, the boys walked through the door. They were tan and sweaty in their shorts and T-shirts, scrapes on their knees, smudges of dirt on their necks and elbows. They looked and smelled exactly like…well…camp.

Max’s face lit up; he was excited to see me. J.J.? Not so much. He had the same first question as Director Barliss.

“Dad, what are you doing here?”

“I need to take you guys somewhere, a place you need to see.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now. It won’t take too long, I promise. I’ll have you both back by dinner.”

J.J. looked at me as only a thirteen-year-old boy who’s embarrassed to share your DNA can.

“Are you crazy?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “I’m your father. Now let’s go.”

Chapter 44

TEN MINUTES INTO the ride, the boys finally waved the white flag and gave up asking where I was taking them. I must have sounded like a broken record. “I’ll explain when we get there,” I kept saying.

Twenty minutes later, we finally got there.

“A hotel? You’re taking us to a hotel?” John Jr. whined as he looked at the sign in front of the Poets Inn in the town of Lenox, Massachusetts.

“First of all, it’s not a hotel. It’s an inn,” I explained calmly, nodding at the majestic white Victorian, complete with a turret and wraparound porch. “Second of all, yes, this is where I’m taking you.”

“I thought you said we’d be back at camp for dinner,” said Max through a frown. “Tonight’s pepperoni pizza night, my favorite.”

“Don’t worry, we’re not spending the night.” I put the car in Park, turning to the backseat. They looked like a couple of lumps sitting there. Mopey times two. “Just trust me, guys, okay? Can you do that? Please?”

They followed me inside, feet dragging, and I told them to wait by the entrance while I had a word with the owner, Milton, who was behind the front desk. When I’d called ahead before leaving Manhattan, I’d had only two questions for him: “Is the Robert Frost Room taken?” and “Do you mind if I borrow it for a few minutes?”

“It’s available,” said Milton to the first question, followed by “Be my guest” to the second. Talk about hospitality. Indeed, Milton was as nice now as when I first met him…fifteen years ago.

“Let’s go, guys,” I said to the boys after being handed the key. Yes, an actual key. No magnetic-strip card or annoying beeping red light after your first seven tries here.

We climbed the three flights up to the top floor and the Robert Frost Room. The rugs in the hallways were worn, the paint was peeling a bit along the moldings, but the feeling was far more cozy than worn. Just as I remembered it.

“Have you been here before, Dad?” asked Max, sounding a bit winded from taking two steps at a time to keep pace with his older brother and me.

“Yes,” I said as I unlocked the door and we walked in. “Once.”

John Jr. immediately glanced around at the four-poster and velvet curtains, a far cry from his camp cabin. “So why are we back?” he groaned.

“Because I owe you boys something,” I said. “And it starts here.”

Chapter 45

WE STOOD IN the middle of the room, halfway between the bed and the oversize fireplace, with its cherrywood mantel. Max and John Jr. were side by side, staring at me. In that very instant I could remember each of them as babies cradled in Susan’s arms.

I drew a deep breath and exhaled.

“When your mom died I stopped talking about her to you guys,” I began. “I told myself it would just make you miss her more. But that was a mistake. If anything, I was the one scared of missing her more. What I realize now is that even with her gone she’s still your mother, and she always will be. Nothing can ever change that. So for me not to talk