When Day Breaks Read online

  With no traffic it was only about an hour’s drive to Constance Young’s country home. There were still several hours until the evening rush hour would begin, when too many cars would funnel into roads and highways that were now too narrow to accommodate an ever-expanding population’s travel needs. There should be plenty of time for the practice run and the drive back down to the city.

  The car merged onto Interstate 684 before getting off at the exit for Bedford. Passing stone farmhouses and blooming gardens, the vehicle traveled deeper into the countryside. Acres of rolling pastures provided a place for well-groomed horses to graze, exercise, and rest.

  Success had many rewards. Having a place up here was definitely one of them. The real estate in this area provided privacy, insulation, and a sense of well-being. Constance must feel quite protected here when she came up on the weekends.

  Forced to take a turn at the end of the road, the car crossed over a short bridge and climbed a hill. At the top, an easily opened wooden gate and a gravel driveway led to a multilevel house hidden by trees. As the engine was turned off, the dog pawed excitedly at the window. The driver leaned over and opened the car door. The animal sprang out and headed to a nearby bush to relieve himself.

  “Good boy, Marco. Good boy.”

  The Great Dane wagged his tail, watching as his new owner went to the rear of the car and took out a coil of orange electrical cord and a box from the trunk.

  “Come on, boy.”

  The dog did as he was told, following the path that ran around the side of the house and down to the pool. He watched his new owner enter one of the cabanas that flanked the pool but lost interest as the plug at one end of the orange cord was inserted into the wall socket. While the coil was unwound, Marco chased a gray squirrel that scampered into the trees.

  “Marco. Marco. Come back. Come back here right now.”

  The dog came trotting out of the woods. He was panting and muddy.

  “Oh, Marco. Look at you. What have you done?”

  The dog sensed the displeasure in his new owner’s voice.

  “Over here, Marco. Go ahead. Get into that pool and wash off.”

  The dog stared at the finger pointing to the pool.

  “Go ahead. Go into the water, boy.”

  The rubber ball was tossed toward the shallow end of the pool. Marco went in after it, his head held proudly out of the water as his legs paddled beneath the surface, his paws scraping the bottom. He reached the ball and wrapped his jaws around it, turning to bring it back to his owner. But then Marco saw his owner throw something else toward the pool, something big and shiny and attached to the orange cord.

  As the toaster hit the water, the electricity ran through the dog. His lungs struggled to breathe, his heart stopped pumping, and his head slipped below the surface.

  The new owner watched closely.

  Yeah. That was going to be enough current.

  FRIDAY MAY 18

  CHAPTER 1

  The morning rush was on.

  Breakfast eaten. Teeth brushed. Hair clipped. Shoes tied.

  Sweater buttoned.

  As she hustled Janie out to the garage, Eliza picked up her daughter’s backpack. “Anything in here I should see?” Eliza asked.

  Janie’s blank expression prompted Eliza to unzip the nylon bag. She pulled out a yellow sheet of paper.

  “Oh, yeah. You need to fill that out, Mommy,” said Janie. “It’s for the picnic.”

  Eliza scanned the notice. The first-grade family picnic was coming up in a few weeks to celebrate the end of the school year.

  “This sounds like fun, sweetheart,” said Eliza as she grabbed a pen from the kitchen counter. “Should we ask Kay Kay and Poppy if they want to come?”

  Janie shook her head, a solemn expression on her face. “No, Mommy. Mrs. Ansley says no grandparents or friends. It’s only for parents and children.”

  Thanks, Mrs. Ansley, thought Eliza. Thanks a lot. “I’m sure if I asked Mrs. Ansley, she’d let us bring Kay Kay and Poppy and even Mrs. Garcia,” said Eliza.

  Janie shook her head. “Uh-uh. Mrs. Ansley says there’s not enough room, and she can’t make any ’ceptions.”

  “Exceptions,” Eliza corrected.

  “Exceptions,” repeated Janie. “Mrs. Ansley says, ‘No exceptions.’”

  Eliza didn’t want to hear any more about what Mrs. Ansley had to say. She took the pen and signed her name to the form, filling in the appropriate information.

  One child. One adult.

  There were just two in the Blake family eligible to attend the first-grade picnic.

  Eliza hurried back to the house after dropping Janie off. She poured a second cup of coffee and positioned herself in front of the kitchen television set just in time. Constance Young was looking straight out of the screen, tears welling in her luminous blue eyes.

  “The years I’ve spent with all of you have meant more than I can possibly express. Each morning we’ve faced the world together. We’ve learned new things together, explored possibilities together, had some laughs together, and faced too many harsh realities together.”

  Listening to the words coming from the television, Eliza found herself admiring Constance’s beautifully cut green jacket and the lighting that accented her glowing skin and her ever-blonder hair. Eliza wondered if she should talk to the director about making some adjustments to the lighting on her own Evening Headlines set. She was definitely going to talk with Doris about upping the makeup magic to camouflage the darkness that inevitably developed beneath her eyes. In the last tapes Eliza had reviewed, there was no denying she’d appeared tired.

  When Eliza went from hosting KEY to America to anchoring The KEY Evening Headlines, she had been thrilled at the professional achievement and the privilege of becoming one of the select few to whom the national audience turned to deliver the news of the day. But the mother in her had also looked forward to a more civilized schedule. She wouldn’t have to get up at 4:00 A.M. anymore. She could have breakfast with Janie and take her to school in the morning before leaving for work. Other mothers might sigh at the daily grind of transporting their kids to and from school, but Eliza—though she could well afford a driver—savored the normalcy of those car rides with her first-grader. As it turned out, the reality of the nightly anchor job was just as much study and homework and travel as she’d done in her previous position, and though Janie and she could share scrambled eggs in the morning, they never had dinner together during the week. Eliza considered it a good day when she was home in time to tuck her daughter into bed at night.

  Constance Young had replaced Eliza on KEY to America. And now Constance was leaving the highly rated morning program as well, but not for the evening broadcast or even another job at KEY News. Constance was going over to the competition. Next month she would be greeting morning viewers from another network. Today was her last appearance on KEY to America, and Eliza wanted to hear every word of the farewell address.

  “The news hasn’t always been happy or predictable. Far from it. Sometimes the things we’ve confronted together have been almost impossible to wrap our minds around. But I’ve always felt that no matter how worrisome the event or how painful the news, gathering together each morning and sharing the issues and problems of the day has somehow lightened the load a bit. There has been reassurance in knowing that there are millions of us, all hearing the same thing at the same time, all digesting the same information. And because knowledge is power, we go out better prepared to face the day, better equipped to take care of our children and parents, abler to be better spouses and friends, more likely to be solid citizens.”

  Pausing to dab a tear from the corner of her eye, Constance smiled bravely before continuing.

  “There are so many people I should thank. There just isn’t enough time to name them all. But I do have to express my gratitude to Harry. He has been the best colleague anyone could ask for as we’ve sat at this desk together every morning, and I’ll miss him more than I
can say.”

  The director cut to a two-shot of Constance and Harry Granger sitting beside each other. Constance leaned over and gave her cohost a kiss on the cheek.

  “And I wish the very best of luck to my successor, Lauren Adams, who has already been part of our KEY News family as our lifestyle correspondent. I know Lauren will do a wonderful job as host.”

  Constance stared earnestly from the television.

  “The KEY to America family is just that—a family. It includes all the people you see on the screen each morning, countless people you don’t see as they work so hard behind the scenes to get us on the air, and all of you, the viewers. Without you there would be no KEY to America. Because of you, KEY to America will go on and thrive. My departure is really only a tiny blip on the radar screen.”

  Eliza smiled as she put her coffee cup down on the counter. If she hadn’t known Constance Young and witnessed what had been going on over the last year, she would actually have believed that the popular morning-show personality meant every word.

  CHAPTER 2

  I need this job,” whispered B.J. D’Elia.

  “Me, too,” said Annabelle Murphy as she stood with him at the edge of the KTA studio. The cameraman and producer waited for their cue.

  “So I’m gonna smile until my face hurts,” said B.J.

  With five minutes till the end of the broadcast, an ornately decorated sheet cake was rolled onto the KEY to America set. Executive producer Linus Nazareth came out of the control room and joined the other staff members who moved in and gathered around Constance Young.

  Champagne was poured, and Harry Granger raised his glass. “To Constance. Thank you for putting up with me and for making me look better than I am every morning. Good luck at…” Harry cleared his throat. “At your new job. Now that we’ll be competitors, I’m not going to tell anyone where to find you.”

  Everyone on the set laughed, and someone called out, “As if anyone in the free world didn’t already know where Constance is going.”

  At the fringe of the gathering, B.J. muttered under his breath, “Harry must be so relieved to be rid of her. I know I sure am.”

  “I don’t know, Beej,” Annabelle whispered back. “Be careful what you wish for. Lauren Adams is no bargain either.”

  “I find it hard to believe that anyone will be worse than Constance,” said B.J. “She’s a cameraman’s worst nightmare, always finding fault with the way she’s shot, the way she’s lighted. She’s a real bitch.”

  Annabelle winced.

  “Sorry, Annabelle. I keep forgetting you two are friends.”

  “Used to be friends, Beej. Used to be. Constance isn’t the same person anymore.”

  As soon as the final credits rolled and the television audience could no longer see what was going on in the KEY to America studio, the smiles faded and Annabelle and B.J., along with everyone else who had been commanded to celebrate with Constance Young, turned and walked away.

  CHAPTER 3

  Stuart Whitaker adjusted his black-framed eyeglasses as he stared with distress at the television set. Constance was wearing green, the color of unfaithfulness. She undoubtedly knew he would be watching her farewell appearance this morning, and she was rubbing his nose in the fact that she wasn’t going to be true to him. Worse, she was wearing the crowned-unicorn amulet, right there for an audience of millions to see.

  What was she thinking? Was she trying to destroy him?

  Stuart snapped off the set, stalked over to the window, running his hand backward over his bald head. He stared out at the Chrysler Building and the other apartment buildings in his complex. A man of his wealth could well afford to live at a more prestigious address, but Stuart preferred his two-bedroom apartment at Tudor City, a historic district in midtown Manhattan. The “old world” appeal of the place suited him. It was a quiet refuge from hectic city life, its real charm lying in its architectural style, dating back to England’s Tudor dynasty.

  Gargoyles, dragons, and other mythical creatures peered out from his building’s rooftop. Tapestries and stained-glass windows adorned his lobby. Neighboring building exteriors featured detailed stonework and inscriptions. There were private parks where, in nice weather, he could walk, meditate, or sit and read.

  Constance hadn’t appreciated the charm of the place, though. She’d come to his apartment only once. He’d made dinner for her himself, his version of a medieval meal: pike and carrots and parsnips and baked apple and pear. He’d explained that fish had been favored in medieval times for its purity.

  “And God said to Adam, ‘Cursed is the ground for thy sake,’” Stuart had said, quoting Genesis. “You see, Constance? The people back then thought fish had escaped Adam’s curse.”

  “Well, thank God I didn’t have to live in those days, Stuart.” Constance had grimaced as she pushed her plate away. “I’m sorry. I know you went to a lot of trouble, but this just isn’t for me.”

  Stuart remembered taking her hand and raising it to his lips. “There’s absolutely nothing to apologize for, my dear one.”

  Utterly smitten, he could forgive her almost anything. He was attracted to her from the moment she’d first caught his eye as she presided, dressed in queenly blue, as the mistress of ceremonies at a benefit dinner last fall. Then he had worshipped her from afar for a few months, making it a point to get up every morning and watch her on KEY to America. Finally he’d gotten up the courage to call her at the office. Getting through had been easier than expected. He’d left his name with her assistant, and within a few hours Constance herself had called him back. It wasn’t till later that he had admitted to himself why.

  These past few months had been heavenly for Stuart. And even though he would have loved more time with Constance, he was grateful for whatever time they had together. There were some candlelit dinners in some of the city’s finest restaurants, a few hours spent holding her hand in the theater and on hansom-cab rides through Central Park. But by far, Stuart’s favorite activity had been showing Constance his passion for medieval art and architecture.

  The afternoon they’d spent wandering though the museum and gardens of the Cloisters had been his biggest pleasure. He had loved showing Constance the extraordinary collection of artistic treasures and strolling with her in that majestic setting in upper Manhattan overlooking the Hudson River in Fort Tryon Park.

  Constance had been an eager student. She was so bright and interested in the story of how the core of the museum was constructed from medieval French monasteries and chapels that had been purchased and shipped, stone by stone, window by stained-glass window, statue by statue, across the Atlantic Ocean. She was fascinated by the seven magnificent Hunt of the Unicorn tapestries that hung in the gallery and hungry to learn about the symbolism of the one-horned creature. She marveled at the plants that were tended in the cloister gardens, some grown for food, some for medicinal purposes, some for their magical powers. She was awed by the stone coffins with carved effigies of knights and noble-men that lay in the Gothic chapel. It was after they’d viewed those tombs together that Stuart had explained the principle of courtly love.

  “It was the idea that a nobleman would dedicate his life to the love of a lady. The relationship was intended to flatter the lady and inspire the knight to accomplish bold deeds in order to be worthy of her love.”

  What could be bolder than procuring the amulet that King Arthur had given to his love, Guinevere?

  Stealing the ivory unicorn with the golden crown for Constance had been bold, but not enough, apparently. It hadn’t ensured her love. He’d risked his reputation with a deed that went against his principles in order to win his lady’s favor. But Constance favored him no more.

  He’d asked her to wear the amulet only when they were alone together, and she had promised she would. Yet not only had Constance broken her promise to him, she’d broken his heart.

  CHAPTER 4

  Traveling down the West Side Highway, Eliza stared out at the Hudson River from th
e rear window of the dark blue sedan. She tried to focus on the day in front of her, but she found her mind turning to Janie’s picnic.

  As far as Eliza knew, Janie was the only child in her class without a father. There were already a few divorces among the parents of the six-year-olds, but those fathers were still alive, still part of their children’s worlds. Those fathers would be at the picnic. Janie’s would not.

  For all the good fortune she’d been given, for all the natural gifts she’d been blessed with, for all the accomplishments she’d achieved, Eliza often reminded herself to be grateful. Yet having lost John was something that could never be fixed. She and Janie had a good life, a wonderful life, but there was a gaping hole in it. Eliza had lost the man she loved, and Janie had never had the benefit of knowing her father at all.

  Eliza was determined to raise Janie as normally as possible, and so far things seemed to be working out pretty well. Still, now that Janie was in school, there were going to be more and more recitals, plays, and ball games, where parents would be clapping in the audience and rooting from the sidelines. Inevitably Janie was going to become more acutely aware that her daddy wasn’t there.

  The sedan turned onto Fifty-seventh Street. Eliza’s attention was diverted by the camera crews and a crowd of reporters gathered on the sidewalk in front of KEY News headquarters.

  “What’s going on today?” asked the driver as the car pulled up to the curb. “The president coming or something?”

  “It’s something all right,” answered Eliza from the backseat. “It’s Constance Young’s last day.”