Think Twice

“Good one, Al,” Mom said in a voice dripping with sarcasm — something else Myron had inherited from her. “Anyway, here he is.”

She turned the phone’s camera now, so Myron could see his father crowding into the screen with a bald guy who looked to be in his late seventies — early eighties. Both Allens wore big smiles and, like Mom, all-encompassing sunglasses. Big sunglasses seemed to be haute couture amongst the Florida retirees.

Allen Castner said, “So nice to meet you, Myron. I’m a big fan.”

“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Castner.”

“Mr. Castner,” he repeated. “What am I, your father?”

Everyone laughed at that. Myron didn’t get it. Who calls their father Mister?

“Call me Allen. Look, Myron, I don’t want to keep you. You wouldn’t guess it looking at me now, but I was a big player back in the day. I even did some scouting for the Celtics. I was friends with Clip Arnstein.”

Clip Arnstein was the famed basketball general manager who drafted Myron in the first round — one of the few major mistakes in Clip’s long and stellar career.

“Anyway,” Allen Castner continued, “I know it was a long time ago, but you were a great player. I saw every game when you were at Duke. I know your career was cut short, but since when is time the deciding factor in how brightly someone shines? You were a joy to watch. So thank you for that.”

Everyone went silent. Even Myron’s parents. Dad’s eyes started to well up. A song by the Moody Blues played over the pool speaker. Myron could make out the lyrics “Just what I’m going through, they can’t understand.” There were the happy squeals of kids at a pool, someone’s grandchildren probably.

“That’s very kind of you to say, Mr.—”

“Uh-uh.”

“—Allen,” Myron said, correcting himself. Then: “Listen, I have to take this other call.”

“Go, go,” Allen Castner said. “I’ve taken up too much of your time. But really, such an honor to meet you. Here, Ellen, say goodbye to your son.”

He handed the phone back to Mom. She pointed the camera right into the sunlight. “You know I’m having lunch with Hester this week.”

“She told me,” Myron said. “Have a blast.”

“Blast. What, you worried Hester and I are going to find some young guys and run off?”

From off-screen, Myron heard his dad shout, “I wish.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m kidding,” Dad said. “If your mother ran off, I wouldn’t know what I would do... first.”

The two Allens yucked it up at that one.

“It’s like Rodney Dangerfield is still alive. See what I live with, Myron?”

“I got to go, Mom.”

They said their goodbyes. Myron hung up the phone and sat back and wondered what the hell was bothering him about that call.

Chapter Nineteen

Two hours later, Myron and Jeremy sat in a visiting room waiting for Greg.

Myron said, “Can I ask you something else?”

“I’ll skip the old ‘you just did’ joke,” Jeremy said.

“Thank God.” Then: “Did you know Greg was alive?”

“Not at first,” Jeremy said. “He told me later.”

“When? How?”

“He visited me. When I was stationed at Camp Arifjan in Kuwait.”

“And, what, he just showed up?”

Jeremy nodded. “He had Grace call first.”

“You knew about Grace?”

“I didn’t before that call.”

“So you saw him in Kuwait?”

“Yes.”

“Why did he do it?”

“Fake his death?”

“Yeah,” Myron said. “For starters.”

“I think it was a combination of things.”

“Like?”

“Like how he needed to escape the world.”

Myron frowned. “Didn’t running away do that already?”

“That’s what I thought. But he didn’t tell me about the murder in Vegas. That probably pushed him too.”

Myron was about to ask a follow-up when the door opened. Greg entered. Myron expected him to be cuffed, but he wasn’t. He wore a beige prisoner jumpsuit. Jeremy leapt from his chair and shouted, “Dad!” Myron tried not to let that sound pierce his chest. The two men embraced hard. Myron could see Greg’s face over Jeremy’s shoulder as he held tight. His eyes were squeezed shut. Jeremy clung to Greg as Greg gently assured him that everything was going to be okay. Myron wondered whether he had ever felt like such an awkward intruder in his life. He concluded that the answer was no.

Still holding one another, the two men — father and son, Myron thought, let’s be honest about it — found their seats. Both had tears in their eyes. Myron just waited. He didn’t want to be the first to speak. When they got a little more settled, Greg broke the silence.

Glaring at Myron, Greg said, “You’re only here because Jeremy asked me to see you.”

“Hey, don’t do me any favors.” Myron started to rise. “I can go right now.”

“Guys,” Jeremy said.

Greg continued to glare at Myron. “Did you set me up?”

“Are you serious?”

“Did you bring the feds with you,” Greg asked, “or were you just a witless dupe?”

“I was trying to help you,” Myron said.

“Guys,” Jeremy tried again.

“Did a great job of that, didn’t you?”

“I almost lost a toe,” Myron said.

“A baby toe, don’t be so dramatic.”

“Guys,” Jeremy said again, but this time there was some steel behind it. He wasn’t the son of either of them in that moment. He was the military leader. Both men shut up.