CHAPTER 15

JOY

THE CALL CAME AT 6:30 that morning. Cursing under her breath at whoever had the nerve to rattle her so early on a Friday, Joy Todd rolled over and grabbed the phone to hear her sister utter her name in a fateful tone. Joy sat up and swept her long blond hair out of her face as if it would help her to focus. She climbed out of bed, stretching the kinks out of her back when her sister began to sob.

“Sheila …” Joy said. “What’s wrong?”

Sheila read the headline from the morning paper.

Joy’s anger was immediately vanquished by grief, and she collapsed to the floor, unable to move.

She finally struggled to stand, wiping the tears from her blue eyes, and she knew where she had to go. It was an odd instinct, something that affected everyone when dealing with the tragic death of a loved one. It happened in plane crashes, motorcycle accidents, and shootings. Some kind of mystical tug on the heart and mind drew the grieving to the place of the incident, where they could try to touch the souls of their loved ones as if they lingered waiting to say good-bye. Makeshift memorials were constructed of flowers, candles, handwritten notes, some in pen, some in pencil, many in crayon bidding farewell, expressing their love and anguish to the ones they never got a chance to say good-bye to.

Joy emerged from her apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Two subways, one train, and a cab ride later, she found herself in Byram Hills, standing with the crowd on the bridge. She was not surprised at how many had followed the same instinct to gather and mourn Jack and Mia. They were the type who always listened, who helped others through their troubles and tragedies, yet never spoke of their own difficulties. It contributed to the fondness people held for them, to the genuine love their friends expressed over the years.

Joy knew Jack as well as, if not better than, anyone. In all the years they had worked together, she had seen him at his best and worst, yet he never buckled, never broke, no matter how hard the pressure. When her parents died and she didn’t have money for the funeral, it was Jack who stepped in and paid. And while the gesture would warm anyone’s heart, Joy knew that it was paid for from what little savings Jack and Mia had. She was there for the births of their daughters, helped them move into their house; she was the only one from their office who attended their holiday parties.

As she watched the Tahoe being lowered onto the bridge, tears rolling down her face, she barely felt the vibration of her phone in her jeans pocket. She pulled it out and flipped it open without seeing who called—she couldn’t care less—and absentmindedly laid it on her ear.

And her heart nearly exploded for the second time that morning as she heard his voice. There was no doubt, no thought of some kind of trick; she knew who it was before the first uttered word was completed.

“Joy,” Jack said, “please don’t let anyone see you react to this call.”

“Oh, my God,” she said in a sobbing whisper.

“I need your help.”

• • •

JOY SAT IN the backseat of Frank’s Jeep, hugging Jack, holding on to him as if he was about to slip away from this earth again.

“What the hell?” She was genuinely pissed. “It’s eleven a.m. and you couldn’t have picked up the phone any earlie?”

“Sorry,” Jack said with an apologetic smile as Frank shot him a glance.

“I’m serious.” Joy leaned back and glared at him. “I thought you were dead. Do you have any idea how that feels?”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“You’re lucky I don’t kill you now. Don’t ever do that again.” Joy’s emotions flew all over the place, finally settling down into relief as she took a deep breath and leaned back in the seat. “How’s Mia?”

Jack’s look quickened her breath. He told her what had happened, about going over the bridge, his wounds and the tattoo, Mia’s disappearance and his confidence in her still being alive, and the evidence case. After riding the emotional roller coaster again, Joy calmed herself and regained the focus she was known for.

“Do you understand that I need you?” Jack asked.

“You’ve always needed me,” she said with a smirk, falling into their yin-and-yang work mode. “Which you can show your appreciation for by getting me a nice big present for my birthday next week.”

“Don’t I always?”

Joy smiled, then got serious. “Let me see that tat?”

“The what?” Frank asked from the driver’s seat.

Jack rolled his eyes and rolled up his sleeve.

Joy smiled as she examined the tattoo.

“What’s so funny?” Jack asked.

“That’s not a tattoo, it’s henna,” Joy said as she ran her hand over the dark ink. “You’re lucky. It’s like the mehndi art that Asian woman get on their hands before they get married.” Joy couldn’t suppress a laugh.

“Joy …” Jack urged her on.

“In a few weeks, you’ll never even know it was there.”

“Great. Long sleeves in summer.”

“It’s better than long sleeves the rest of your life.”

She took hold of his arm, looking at him for approval. Without a thought, he nodded and she began turning his arm, examining it closely.

“This is intricate writing; it’s beautiful in a scary kind of way. A few of my goth friends would love this. Looks like some kind of a mix of Asian and Sanskrit.”

“Well, how do we get it translated fast?”

“Not going to be easy on the Friday of the long Fourth of July weekend.”

“Check with the universities, Columbia, NYU, Yale. I really don’t care what you have to do, Joy.” Jack’s voice grew stern as he handed her his BlackBerry with the scan of his arm.

Joy shrugged it off. She understood the fear running through Jack, the fear he felt for his wife. She had always tended to combat stress with humor, some of it dark; it helped keep her mind from slipping into a black hole of pain that she knew would be hard to extract herself from.

She began working the phones, calling in favors, reaching out to academia, to the professionals they so often called on to render expert testimony. She had always been resourceful, street-smart; it was what allowed her to thrive in school, in work. She was tenacious beyond compare and could pull a rabbit out of a hat if the occasion called for it.

And right now, the occasion called for it more than ever.

“Did you ever give her that necklace?” Joy asked without looking up from the BlackBerry.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Last night, actually.”

Joy nodded. “That’s a good thing, then. Timing’s everything.”

“What do you mean?” Frank asked.

“Jack gave a speech at a UN Peace Council dinner a couple of weeks ago. It went over very well, mainly because I helped him write it. As a token of appreciation, they sent him a beautiful necklace. Their new representative, Manirak Coulhuse—”

“Marijha Toulouse,” he corrected her.

“Right. His council was quite enamored with Jack.”

“It was just a speech, and it’s just a necklace,” Jack said, his tone ending the conversation.

The blue necklace had arrived Monday in an elegant box with a personal letter.

Jack was at once hesitant; he had a deep-rooted fear of compromise. Beware of strangers bearing gifts rang in his ears the moment he became an assistant DA.

Jack had shared the handwritten note with Joy, having her confirm that the simple gift was truly an altruistic gesture with no implications that could compromise him politically, ethically, or morally. They had discussed returning it, but Joy had pointed out that it was an honorable gesture, and if Jack refused to accept it, it would be seen as an insult and an affront. So they created a paper trail, a detailed file documenting the gift, Jack’s speech, Joy’s research, and the Peace Council. And just before dropping the note in the file, Jack had read it once more:

Dear Mr. Keeler,

On behalf of our committee, I would like to thank you for speaking at our dinner, and while I did not have occasion to attend, I heard you were an inspiration to all.

This necklace is a token of our esteem; it represents peace and love, healing and long life. Though you may not subscribe to its religious implications or symbolism, you should know that it is given with the wishes of what it represents and we would consider it an honor if you would accept it.

It is something that is worn by the men of my Asian culture, but understanding your customs, perhaps you would not find it fitting with your mode of dress, though it may be more suited to your wife, her tastes and style. You would honor us by giving it to her, affording her our blessing for being the wife of Jack Keeler.

JACK SENT A note back, thanking Toulouse and the council for their generous gift, and had scheduled to meet with him next week as a gesture of appreciation.

Jack had looked at the blue stone necklace thinking of the copper bracelets that arthritics wear, believing in their unproven healing properties; he thought of the Star of David, of the Buddhist yin and yang, and of the holy cross. He reached up and fingered the cross around his own neck, thinking about how he had survived bullets, car crashes, and near drowning … And hoped that maybe the blue necklace Mia wore around her neck would somehow impart the intent of Marijha Toulouse: peace, love, and, most important, long life.