Daniela says, “Wait, no—”
She’s cut off by a burst of fire and a muted report not quite as loud as a naked gunshot.
A fine, red mist blinds me for half a second, and Daniela sits on the sofa, a hole dead center between her big, dark eyes.
I start toward her, screaming, but every molecule in my body seizes, muscles clenching uncontrollably with stunning agony, and I crash down through the coffee table, shaking and grunting in broken glass and telling myself this isn’t happening.
The smoking man lifts my useless arms behind my back and binds my wrists together cruciform with a zip tie.
Then I hear a tearing sound.
He pats a piece of duct tape over my mouth and sits behind me in the leather chair.
I’m screaming through the tape, pleading for this not to be happening, but it is, and there’s nothing I can do to change it.
I hear the man’s voice behind me—calm and occupying a higher register than I would’ve imagined.
“Hey, I’m here…No, why don’t you come around back…Exactly. Where the recycling and Dumpsters are. The back gate and rear door to the building are both open…Two should be fine. We’re in pretty good shape up here, but you know, let’s not linger…Yep…Yep…Okay, sounds good.”
The excruciating effect of what I assume was a Taser is finally relenting, but I’m too weak to move.
From my vantage point, all I can see are the lower half of Daniela’s legs. I watch a line of blood run down her right ankle, across the top of her foot, between her toes, and begin to puddle on the floor.
I hear the man’s phone buzz.
He answers, “Hey, baby…I know, I just didn’t want to wake you…Yeah, something came up…I don’t know, might be morning. How about I take you to breakfast at the Golden Apple whenever I wrap up?” He laughs. “Okay. Love you too. Sweet dreams.”
My eyes sheet over with tears.
I shout through the tape, shout until my throat burns, thinking maybe he’ll shoot me or knock me unconscious, anything to stop the exquisite pain of this moment.
But it doesn’t seem to bother him at all.
He just sits there quietly, letting me rage and scream.
Daniela sits in the bleachers under the scoreboard, above the ivy-covered outfield wall. It’s Saturday afternoon, the last home game of the regular season, and she’s with Jason and Charlie, watching the Cubs get their asses kicked in their sold-out ballpark.
The warm autumn day is cloudless.
Windless.
Timeless.
The air redolent of—
Roasted peanuts.
Popcorn.
Plastic cups filled to the brim with beer.
Daniela finds the roar of the crowd strangely comforting, and they’re far enough back from home plate to notice a delay between swing and bat-crack—speed of light versus speed of sound—when a player sends a pitch sailing beyond the wall.
They used to come to games when Charlie was a boy, but it’s been eons since their last visit to Wrigley Field. When Jason suggested the idea yesterday, she didn’t think Charlie would be up for it, but it must be scratching some nostalgic itch in their son’s psyche, because he actually wanted to come, and now he seems relaxed and happy. They’re all happy, a trio of near-perfect contentment in the sun, eating Chicago-style hot dogs, watching the players run around on the bright grass.
As Daniela sits wedged between the two most important men in her life, buzzed off her lukewarm beer, it occurs to her that the feel of this afternoon is somehow different. Unsure if it’s Charlie or Jason or her. Charlie is in the moment, not checking his phone every five seconds. And Jason looks as happy as she’s seen him in years. Weightless is the word that comes to mind. His smile seems wider, brighter, more freely given.
And he can’t keep his hands off her.
Then again, maybe the difference is her.
Maybe it’s this beer and the crystalline quality of the autumn light and the communal energy of the crowd.
Which is all to say maybe it’s just being alive at a baseball game on a fall day in the heart of her city.
—
Charlie has plans after the game, so they drop him at a friend’s house in Logan Square, stop at the brownstone to change clothes, and then head out into the evening, just the two of them—downtown-bound, no itinerary, no specific destination.
A Saturday-night ramble.
Cruising in heavy evening traffic down Lakeshore Drive, Daniela looks across the center console of the decade-old Suburban, says, “I think I know what I want to do first.”
Thirty minutes later, they’re in a gondola car on a Ferris wheel strung with lights.
Rising slowly above the spectacle of Navy Pier, Daniela watches the elegant skyline of their city as Jason holds her tight.
At the apex of their single revolution—one hundred and fifty feet above the carnival—Daniela feels Jason touch her chin and turn her face toward his.
They have the car all to themselves.
Even up here, the night air is sweetened with the scent of funnel cakes and cotton candy.