Honeymoon - James Patterson [67]
I turned to them as we came to a dead stop. “So, what do you guys think?”
Max and John Jr. stared with wide eyes and dropped jaws. For once, they were speechless . . . and I was loving it. There aren’t that many campsites in the Bronx, but I was pretty sure I’d found the best.
“Welcome to Yankee Stadium, boys.”
The two of them immediately dropped their knapsacks and sprinted for the field. It was late afternoon and there wasn’t a soul around. Nobody but us. Derek Jeter and company were in the middle of a West Coast road trip and we had the place to ourselves. The House That Ruth Built! Just lock up when you leave, said my friend in the front office. He could do worse than to have an FBI guy in his debt.
I opened up my duffel and broke out all the necessary equipment. Bats, gloves, caps, jerseys, about a dozen scuffed-up balls.
“All right, who wants to hit first?”
“Me, me, me!”
“No, me, me, me!”
Until the very last rays of sunlight slanted behind the massive scoreboard and soaring stands, my two sons and I had the time of our lives in Yankee Stadium.
“Do we really get to sleep here?” asked John Jr. in amazement.
“Of course we do, dumbhead!” chirped Max, turning the tables on his older brother. “Daddy said so.”
“That’s right, I did.” I walked over to the duffel and grabbed the tent kit. “Now which way should we face?”
I had one finger pointing toward center field, and another in the direction of home plate.
“Tell you what, we’ll compromise and face third base. That’s where my favorite Yankee played when I was growing up.”
“Yeah, mine too,” yelled John Jr. “A-Rod!”
The boys and I set up our pup tent. Actually, I set it up as Max and John Jr. continued to run amok on the infield dirt. They were still bursting at the seams with excitement, and it was incredible to watch them. Maybe I was finally getting my priorities in order.
Chapter 89
THEY EMBRACED AND KISSED like a couple of overheated teenagers in the foyer of the house in Back Bay. Nora had just arrived.
“What a treat,” said Jeffrey, holding her tight in his arms, stroking her hair. “I’ve got you for an entire long weekend. Imagine that.”
“Don’t be sarcastic, now. I feel bad, though, about keeping you from your novel,” she said. “I know how close you are to being done.”
“Actually, I’m not close at all.”
She looked at him, confused, and then he broke into a grin.
“You finished?”
“Yesterday, after a marathon all-night session. I must have been channeling my frustration over not hearing from you.”
“See?” she said with a playful poke at his chest. “I should leave you hanging more often.”
“Funny you should say that.”
“What do you mean?”
“The hanging part. I changed the ending; that’s how my main character dies now.”
“Really. Let me read it.”
“I will, except first I want to show you something. Come.”
“Yes, master. Anywhere.”
He took her hand and led her upstairs. They passed his library, heading toward the master bedroom.
“If you’re about to show me what I think you’re going to show me, I’ve already seen it,” she quipped.
He laughed. “Such a one-track mind!”
Steps before the doorway to the bedroom he stopped and turned. “Now close your eyes,” he whispered.
Nora obliged and he guided her into the room.
“Okay, you can open your eyes now,” he said.
Nora did. Her reaction was immediate. “Omigod.”
She looked at Jeffrey and then back above the fireplace again. She walked toward it, slowly. An oil painting—of her.
“Well?”
“It’s beautiful,” she said before realizing how that might sound, since it was her portrait. “I mean—”
“No, it’s beautiful, all right.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind, rested his head on hers. “How could it not be?”
She continued to stare, and finally tears welled in her eyes. He really did