Read an Excerpt
Stay
By Victor Gischler St. Martin's Press
Copyright © 2015 St. Martin's Press LLC
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4668-3805-5
CHAPTER 1
"Brent has Barbie's head."
David Sparrow had come immediately awake upon hearing Anna, his four-year-old daughter pad into the room, but he'd kept his eyes closed, remaining perfectly still. The ploy failed, and he felt the little girl climb onto the bed.
"Daddy."
He knew without checking the bedside nightstand that it was somewhere between six and six-fifteen in the morning.
"Daddy."
David doggedly stuck to his plan, lay like a stone, even feigned a convincing snore. Academy Award time.
"Daddy, Brent says he is going to flush Barbie's head down the toilet."
He felt Anna's soft hand on his face, a little thumb prying up one of his eyelids. "Daddy!"
Anna's honey-colored hair was disheveled from sleep. She wore a Little Mermaid nightgown and clutched a headless doll in one of her tiny fists. Lips curled into a snarl so cute it lost all possibility of menace. "Brent is being a monster again and says he will flush Barbie's head down the toilet unless I give him my Pop-Tart."
Brent. Eight years old. His new thing was seeing what could fit down the toilet. The extortion was a new angle.
David reached back, slapped his wife lightly on the hip. "You want in on this?"
Amy grunted from somewhere in the depths of the sheets and blankets.
"Right." David swung his legs over the side of the bed, sending Anna scurrying to the kitchen ahead of him. He stretched, heard something pop in his shoulder and reminded himself he needed to begin a regular gym routine again. A long yawn.
"I'll start the coffee," he told Amy.
Another grunt.
He shrugged into an olive drab T-shirt and followed Anna into the kitchen where she pointed the headless doll at Brent and made ray gun sounds. Brent held up a blueberry Pop-Tart as a shield.
"I'm blocking you," Brent said.
"Give me that head, Brent, or I'll melt your Pop-Tart."
"Give her the head, Brent." David took the coffee from the cabinet. Hazelnut this morning, he decided.
Brent groaned but handed over the head. Anna stuck her tongue out at him. They munched Pop-Tarts and drank milk. Friday was Pop-Tart day. They tried to go a little healthier the rest of the week.
As the coffee brewed, David boiled water for oatmeal. He was absurdly proud of his ability to time the morning ritual. The kids left the kitchen table to get dressed just as Amy entered and sat down. David set the oatmeal in front of her, slivered almonds and strawberries on top, a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee on the side. She spooned oatmeal into her mouth as she opened her laptop and brought up her e-mail.
"Are you going to make your train?" David sipped black coffee from a Yale Law mug.
Amy shuffled papers into a briefcase that was so overstuffed it threatened not to buckle closed.
"Don't worry about me. Just make sure the kids are dressed."
I always do. David went down the hall, glanced into each child's room. Both were at different stages of getting dressed but basically on schedule. "Make sure you have everything in your book bag before you zip it up."
Anna: "Okay, Daddy."
Brent: "I know."
David returned to the bedroom. Jeans, wool socks, hiking boots, a light flannel shirt over the T-shirt. Early April and it was warm enough to forget the jacket but not too warm. Usually his favorite time of year.
He met Amy at the door. "Keys, purse, laptop?"
"Got it all."
They kissed, lips brushing so fast, David wasn't sure he felt it, and Amy left.
"You monkeys dressed or what?" David shouted back through the house.
A little stampede down the hall, backpacks slung over shoulders. Brent's hair was almost combed. Good enough.
He hustled them through the side door and into the garage. He buckled them into the back of the Escalade, then buckled himself in. He turned on the local A.M. station, which reported traffic wasn't any better or worse than usual. Weather not a factor.
Ten seconds later he was on the road. Brent's school was first. David eased into the drop-off lane, pulled up in front.
"It's Friday, buddy," David said. "Let's have a good day, so we can have a good weekend."
"I know." Brent climbed out, slammed the door behind him.
David watched him a moment before pulling away.
Next stop, preschool for Anna.
David parked and walked her in, kissing her on top of the head before releasing her into the swirl of children swarming into the building.
On the way out, he spotted the usual klatch of moms on the sidewalk next to the parking lot. Generally three to five of them, age range twenty-nine to forty-one. He paused and nodded to the four gathered in front of him.
"Friday again," David said.
The leader smiled, an athletic thirty-five-year-old in a tight yoga outfit. "How's Amy?" David smiled. "She's good. Busy."
"Tell her she must come out with us for coffee some morning," said another one, frumpier, mom jeans.
"I'll tell her," David said.
"Uh ... did you want to grab some coffee with us?" she asked tentatively.
"Next time. A lot on my plate today. You ladies have a great weekend." He tossed them a wave and headed for the Escalade.
He had no interest in joining the ladies for coffee but felt like it was about time he got an invitation. He chuckled at how petty that was and put the SUV into gear and headed home.
* * *
One more cup of coffee then he looked at his watch. Nine o'clock. He started cleaning clockwise around the house, living room, hall, bathroom, den, kitchen, dining room, living room. Then upstairs. Three bedrooms, master bath, kid's bathroom. He put the cleaning supplies away.
David checked his watch again. Ten fifteen. Not bad.
He bagged up the trash and took it out to the can on the garage side of the house. Without looking, he sensed the neighbor across the fence. If David could avoid eye contact and drop the trash into the can and leave again without —
"Hey, ho, neighbor! How's it hanging?"
David turned and smiled. "Hi, Mark. Doing fine. You?"
On the other side of the five-foot fence, David's neighbor Mark wrestled with a tangle of garden hose. He was a little pot belly on top of a pair of pale stick legs in Bermuda shorts. He jerked a chin at a younger, meatier version of himself. "You met my brother Gary?"
Gary was halfheartedly raking leaves into a small pile. He looked up for a split second. "Hey."
David nodded back. "Hey."
"You still out of work?" Mark asked.
David smiled. It wasn't easy, hurt his face a bit. "I'm not out of work, Mark. Just staying home for a while."
"Sure. What's it been? Like four months?"
"Something like that." It had been six.
"Hey, how about this guy," Mark said to Gary. "He gets to lounge around the house all day while the wife brings home the bacon." Mark winked at David. "Nice work if you can get it, huh, buddy?"
"Right."
"Well, things will look up sooner or later."
"Right." David tossed a wave and turned away before he could be drawn into further conversation. "You guys take care."
David circled back around to the front door and saw the mail had come. He took the wad of envelopes inside.
He sat at the kitchen table, a wastepaper basket next to him. He threw out the flyers. He opened the junk mail, glanced at it to make sure it wasn't important then ripped it all up and dumped the pieces into the basket. He made a mental note to buy a shredder. He wrote checks for the bills, stuck them into the provided return envelopes and stamped them, setting them aside for tomorrow's outgoing. He set aside Amy's mail. He opened and read a letter from Brent's school's foundation asking for money. He wrote a check for a hundred dollars, sealed and stamped the envelope.
David checked his watch again. Ten forty-two.
The house was quiet. Somewhere a dog barked.
In a little over four hours he could pick up the kids.
CHAPTER 2
"The chicken okay?" David asked.
"Chicken?" Amy said it as if unaware what she'd been eating. She was forking food into her mouth absently as she looked at a file folder at the table. She looked at the chunk of white meat on the end of her fork as if seeing it for the first time. "Oh, yes. Fine."
Lemon chicken, rice, asparagus. A reliable go-to meal, maybe boring now. David made a note to take it out of the rotation. Maybe a pork roast. David decided to reevaluate the entire pantry. He'd been relying too much on starches.
Or was he simply inventing projects for himself to fill the days?
"I don't like asparagus," Brent said. "They look like wieners."
David frowned. "Brent."
"Green Martian wieners," Bent said.
"You're not supposed to say that Brent," Anna scolded. "You're in trouble."
"Just eat your chicken, Anna," David told her. "I'm the guy who decides who's in trouble."
Brent looked wary. "Am I in trouble?"
"Yes," David said. "You have to sleep on the roof tonight."
"Oh, ha ha, that's so funny I forgot to laugh."
"Both of you finish your milk," David said. "Are you done eating?"
"I am!" Anna said, throwing up her hands like she'd scored a field goal.
"I want dessert!" Brent. Of course.
"Tonight's not a dessert night."
"Aw, come on."
"It's free time," David announced. "Anna?"
"SpongeBob!"
"Approved." He turned to the boy. "Brent?"
"Minecraft!"
"Gong!" David shook his head. "No Internet and no video games. Let's change it up, okay?"
"Aw, come on!"
"You have a quarter million Legos in your room," David said. "Build something."
"Build what?"
"How about an Mi-24 Hind helicopter?"
"I'm going to build a pirate fort."
"Approved," David said. "Kids dismissed."
They pushed the chairs back and bolted from the room, slightly less noisy than dump trucks full of bowling balls driving over a rough road.
David gestured to the serving tray of asparagus. "Wieners?"
Amy lifted her head from the file folder. "What?"
"Nothing. Can I get you anything?"
"No. Thanks, hon."
She went back to the file folder with a pen, making notes.
She looked up again a minute later. "You okay?"
"What? Why?"
"You're quiet. I thought maybe you heard from the Army today."
"Oh." He shook his head. "No."
They'd sent him home to rest. They hadn't been clear exactly how much rest he'd needed or how long it would take. He'd stopped asking.
"I'm just thinking about building a barbecue pit out back," he said.
"Oh." Amy shrugged. "Sure. Whatever you like."
He thought about it for ten more seconds. How often would he use a barbecue pit? He had a cheap Weber in the garage he'd used maybe twice. Hamburgers and hot dogs. He thought he might like to try ribs, but nobody else in the family liked barbecue.
The idea that he needed to discover some hobby for himself seemed suddenly ... tiresome.
David cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher.
The kids' free time evaporated, and David shooed them one at a time toward the bath, reminding Brent that soap and shampoo were integral elements of the process. Teeth brushed and final visits to the potty.
"Whose turn?" David asked.
"I've got the boy," Amy said. "You take the girl."
David gave his wife the thumbs-up. "Check."
He went to Anna's room where she was waiting for him under her Dora the Explorer sheets. She handed him two picture books in which the protagonist — a pigeon — was discouraged from driving the bus and staying up late. He finished reading, kissed her on the forehead, and turned out the light.
David made the rounds downstairs, turning off lights and making sure the doors were locked. No dishes left in the sink.
Back upstairs, he brushed his teeth and combed his hair. He considered shaving but generally preferred to do that in the morning. A little stubble wouldn't be a problem.
In the bedroom, Amy was already on her side of the bed, rubbing lotion on knees and elbows, her nightly ritual. She hadn't gotten as far as the face cream. She was still in bra and panties, hadn't slipped into the big flannel green monstrosity yet. Comfortable, she claimed.
He pulled the door closed behind him, locked it.
Amy looked up at the sound of the lock clicking. An easy smile came to her face. "Oh, yeah?" David went to the bed, leaned down for a kiss. She returned it, lips wet and parting for him. One of her hands went behind his head to pull him down, a tongue snaking into his mouth with unexpected but welcome enthusiasm.
Now this was more like it. David had struck out a few nights ago, and Amy's schedule had been a whirlwind until today. This was something they both needed, he thought. It had been a long time coming.
Amy's hands went to his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping. He pulled off his shirt. His pants and boxers came down and he stepped out of them. She grabbed his length and started working him. He climbed into bed next to her, and in a second they were entwined, kissing hard.
She was still tugging on him as he pulled her cotton panties down. He'd had big plans to slow-play this and make it last, but it had been awhile and he was driven by a fierce urgency.
David tossed her panties aside and positioned himself between her legs. He tried to maneuver himself in but it was awkward. He wasn't finding his way.
Amy reached down to guide him in. "Almost. Here, this way."
A knock on the door.
Are you fucking kidding me?
"Hey, the door's locked." Anna.
David composed himself, steadied his voice. "It's late, Anna. Go back to bed."
"I had a dream with spiders."
David felt Amy's hand against his chest. "David."
And that was that.
He rolled off her, grabbed his boxers and T-shirt. An unreasonable resentment rose up within him, and he shoved it back down. This was being a parent. This was part of it.
Amy was already pulling the flannel green circus tent over her head. She went to the door and opened it.
Anna ran past without pausing and jumped into the middle of the bed, sinking into the nest of pillows and the thick, down comforter. "I want to sleep in here."
"Of course, baby."
Amy and Anna snuggled under the covers.
"I think I'll go downstairs and watch TV for a bit," David said.
"You're still going with me tomorrow night, right?" Amy asked.
David sighed. "I won't know anyone."
"They're expecting you," Amy said. "And I need some good-looking arm candy to make those paralegal bimbos jealous."
A halfhearted smile. "Sure. Okay."
He switched off the light and left.
* * *
The dream had been gradually fading, becoming more obscure and coming less frequently, but tonight it was back in full force, vivid, so clear it was almost cinematic.
The streets of Damascus were littered with bodies. He could smell them. Buildings burned. Smoke. You couldn't see even halfway down any street there was so much smoke, black and thick and acrid.
Gunshots. Sometimes far away and other times startlingly nearby, echoing through the narrow streets. David couldn't always be sure of the direction. It was often difficult to understand who was killing whom and why. The sides hadn't quite been sorted out yet as various factions rushed to fill the power vacuum. Best just to shoot at everyone, or at least that seemed to David to be the prevailing strategy among the citizenry.
"Stay close," he told Yousef Haddad. "This wasn't the way we were supposed to come. I need to get my bearings." He checked the handheld GPS but wasn't getting a signal.
"We have to go back." Yousef's English was heavily accented but good.
"No." David had his orders. "A truck waiting in the suburbs will take us to a safe crossing at the Lebanese border. Then we make for the coast. We'll take a skiff south until we can get into Israeli waters. There's a trawler waiting to pick us up. We just need to be patient and stay away from the chaos."
Yousef stopped walking, which meant David had to stop also. He looked back into the man's resolute face.
"My wife and daughters are at my home." Yousef's eyes were hard. "If certain people discover I have fled, they will be raped by many men. They will be killed only after many hours of humiliation, and their bodies will be dragged through the streets and put on display as a lesson to others."
David considered what he knew of Yousef Haddad from the file.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Stay by Victor Gischler. Copyright © 2015 St. Martin's Press LLC. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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