Terminal

Leave it to her youngest son, Charles, to provide a bright spot in the days subsequent to Sean’s departure. Charles had called from his seminary in New Jersey with the glorious news that he would be home for a visit the following evening. Wonderful Charles! His prayers would save them all.

In anticipation of Charles’s arrival, Anne had gone out shopping that morning. She planned to spend the day baking and preparing dinner. Brian said he’d try to make it although he had an important meeting that night that might run late.

Opening the refrigerator, Anne began putting away the cold items while her mind reveled in anticipation of the pleasures she’d enjoy that evening. But then she caught herself. She knew such thoughts were dangerous. Life was such a weak thread. Happiness and pleasure were invitations for tragedy. For a moment she tortured herself about how she’d feel if Charles were killed on the way to Boston.

The doorbell interrupted Anne’s worries. She pressed the intercom and asked who was calling.

“Tanaka Yamaguchi,” a voice said.

“What do you want?” Anne asked. The doorbell did not ring often.

“I want to talk to you about your son Sean,” Tanaka said.

The color drained from Anne’s face. Instantly she scolded herself for having entertained pleasurable thoughts. Sean was in trouble again. Had she expected anything less?

Pressing the door-release button, Anne went to the door to her apartment and pulled it open in anticipation of her unexpected guest. Anne Murphy was surprised enough that someone was paying a house call; when she saw that he was an Oriental, she was shocked. The fact that the man’s name was Oriental hadn’t registered.

The stranger was about Anne’s height but stocky and muscular with coal-black short hair and tanned skin. He was dressed in a dark, slightly shiny business suit with a white shirt and dark tie. Over his arm he carried a belted Burberry coat.

“I beg your pardon,” Tanaka said. He had only a slight accent. He bowed and extended his business card. The card simply read: Tanaka Yamaguchi, Industrial Consultant.

With one hand pressed against her throat and the other clutching the business card, Anne was at a loss for words.

“I must speak to you about your son Sean,” Tanaka said.

As if recovering from a blow, Anne found her voice: “What’s happened? Is he in trouble again?”

“No,” Tanaka said. “Has he been in trouble before?”

“As a teenager,” Anne said. “He was a very headstrong boy. Very active.”

“American children can be troublesome,” Tanaka said. “In Japan the children are taught to respect their elders.”

“But Sean’s father could be difficult,” Anne said, surprised at her admission. She felt flustered and wasn’t sure if she should invite the man in or not.

“I’m interested in your son’s business dealings,” Tanaka said. “I know he is a fine student at Harvard, but is he involved with any companies that produce biological products?”

“He and a group of his friends started a company called Immunotherapy,” Anne said, relieved that the conversation was turning to the more positive moments of her son’s checkered past.

“Is he still involved with this Immunotherapy?” Tanaka asked.

“He doesn’t talk to me about it too much,” Anne said.

“Thank you very much,” Tanaka said with another bow. “Have a nice day.”

Anne watched as the man turned and disappeared down the stairs. She was almost as surprised at the sudden end to the conversation as she’d been at the man’s visit. She stepped out into the hall just in time to hear the front door close two floors down. Returning to her apartment, she closed the door and bolted it behind her.

It took her a moment to pull herself together. It had been a strange episode. After glancing at Tanaka’s card, she slipped it into her apron pocket. Then she went back to putting food into the refrigerator. She thought about calling Brian but decided she could tell him about the Japanese man’s visit that evening. Provided, of course, that Brian came. She decided that if he didn’t come, then she’d call.

An hour later Anne was absorbed in making a cake when the door buzzer startled her again. At first she worried that the Japanese man had returned with more questions. Maybe she should have called Brian. With some trepidation she pressed the intercom button and asked who was there.

“Sterling Rombauer,” a deep masculine voice replied. “Is this Anne Murphy?”

“Yes . . .”

“I would very much like to speak to you about your son Sean Murphy,” Sterling said.

Anne caught her breath. She couldn’t believe yet another stranger was there to ask questions about her second born.

“What about him?” she asked.

“I’d rather talk to you in person,” Sterling said.

“I’ll come down,” Anne said.

Rinsing her hands of flour, Anne started down the stairs. The man was standing in the foyer, a camel-hair coat thrown over his arm. Like the Japanese man, he was wearing a business suit and white shirt. His tie was a bright red foulard.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Sterling said through the glass.