River’s End

wound in the heart.

Twenty-three
    “Out? What do you mean he’s out?”
    “He got out two weeks ago. His lawyer filed a hardship plea, and they bumped up his release date.” Frank settled down on a deck chair where his son had taken advantage of an overcast day and a quiet beach to work outside.
    “Son of a bitch.” Noah pushed to his feet, paced from one end of the deck to the other. “Son of a bitch. He must have known the last time I went to see him. He didn’t tell me. I finally got a conference call scheduled with Smith this afternoon, and his assistant didn’t mention it either. Well, where the hell did he go?”
    “I don’t have that information. Actually, I thought you might. I wouldn’t mind keeping tabs on Tanner.” Frank thought of the shock and fear in Olivia’s eyes. “For old times’ sake.”
    “He hasn’t bothered to give me his fucking forwarding address. The book’s dead without him.” He stared down at his piles of papers, anchored with bottles, a conch shell, whatever came most handily. “Without him and Liv, it stops. The rest fans out from them. Early release?” He looked back at Frank. “Not parole, so he doesn’t have to check in.”
    “He served his time. The state of California considers him rehabilitated.”
    “Do you?”
    “Which part of you is asking the question? My son or the writer?”
    Noah’s face closed up immediately, went blank. “Never mind.”
    “I didn’t mean I wouldn’t answer, Noah. I was just curious.”
    “You’re the one who compartmentalizes what I am and what I do. For me, they’re in the same drawer.”
    “You’re right. I’ve been giving that some thought recently.” Frank sighed, laid his hands on his knees. “I thought you’d be a cop. I guess I had that idea in my head for a long time. I had this image of you coming on the job while I was still on it.”
    “I know I disappointed you. But it’s not what I am.”
    The instinctive denial was on his tongue. Frank paused and gave his son the truth instead. “I had no right to be disappointed. And I know it’s not what you are, Noah, but some things die hard. You were always interested in what I did when you were a kid. You used to write up reports.” He laughed a little. “You’d ask me all these questions about a case and write it all up. I didn’t see that for what it was. When you went into journalism, I thought, well, he’ll snap out of that. But you didn’t and I was disappointed. That’s my failure, not yours.”
    “I never wanted to close cases, Dad. I wanted to study them.”
    “I didn’t want to hear that. Pride has two edges, Noah. When you started writing books, started digging into things that were over and done. I took it as a reflection on what I had done, as if you were saying that it wasn’t enough to do the job, gather the evidence, make the arrest, get the conviction.”
    “That’s not it. That was never it.”
    “No, but I let my pride get in the way of seeing what you were doing, why you were doing it and what it meant to you. I want you to know I’m sorry for that. More sorry that I never gave you the respect you deserved for doing work you were meant to do, and doing it well.”
    “Well.” Emotion slid through him, carrying out the tension in his shoulders he hadn’t been aware of. “It’s a day for surprises.”
    “I’ve always been proud of who you are, Noah. You’ve never been anything but a joy to me, as a son and as a man.” Frank had to pause a moment before his tongue tangled.
    “I wouldn’t be what I am if you hadn’t been there.”
    “Noah.” Love was a swollen river in his throat. “I hope one day you have a grown child say that to you. It’s the only way to know how much it means.” He had to clear his throat before he embarrassed both of them. “I’m going to give more consid eration to what you do. Fair enough?”
    “Yeah, that’s fair enough.”
    “I’ll start by telling you I’ll do that interview sort of thing, when you have the time for it.”
    “I’ve got time now. How about you?”
    “Now? Well, I ...” He hadn’t been prepared for it and found himself limping for an excuse.
    “Just let me get a fresh tape.”
    Noah knew when he had a fish on the line and made it fast. He came back out with a tape and two cans of Coke. “It’s not as hard as you think,” he said while he labeled the tape and snapped it into the recorder. “You just talk to me, tell me about the case. Just the way you