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Title: PAMELA
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Blog Entry: May 5 PAMELA   FROM THE PREVIOUS PAGE “I can have a cab pick you up at, say two o’clock tomorrow. Tell the driver you want to go to the Bank of America building at 44 Wall Street. When you go inside, give your name to the concierge. He will personally escort you to my office. We’ll surprise Seth. “What if he hates me?” “Trust me, Dusty. He does not hate you or your mother.” “Do you really think I should do this?” “Yes.” Moses said. Silence. Dusty walked to the window, looked at Central Park. She surprised herself. She wanted to see Seth again. And she wanted her mother to stop crying at night. “Dusty?” “I’ll do it.” **** Dusty rushed her words, “No! Don’t open the door.” The concierge removed his hand from the door knob. Dusty looked at the sign on the door. What does GRYB mean?” Wearing a starched uniform with military creases, the young man with a shaved head said, “Young lady, I don’t know. Must be some kind of code. I have to get back to my station. You going to be okay?” Nervous, Dusty said, “I’m fine,” “Very well.” The man disappeared around the corner, headed to the elevator. Presented with a new problem, Dusty was uncertain if she should knock or open the door. She had always knocked before entering the office of the Brearley’s head of school. What if she opened the door and Seth was standing in front of her? What would she say to him? What could she say to him? Nothing. Dusty stepped away from the door and headed toward the elevator. This is so lame . She stopped before reaching the corner of the corridor, looked back at the door to Moses’ office. Dusty, do it for Mom . Having announced the previous evening the date they would move, Pamela had spent much of the evening crying in her bedroom. Startled, Dusty stepped back surprised, when a large black man opened the door following her firm knocking. “Who are you?” she asked. “My name is Moses.” I have been waiting for you, Dusty.” Dusty tried to peer past Moses, searching for Seth. “Where is he?” “He is in his office. Come inside. Let me close the door. I’ll go get him for you.” Dusty reached up, tugged Moses’ sport shirt. “Wait. Is he mad or something?” Moses chuckled. “No, he isn’t mad today. Maybe a bit quiet but he’s fine.” Stepping inside as Moses closed the door, Dusty said, “What do I say to him?” Moses touched his big hand on Dusty’s bony shoulder. “Sweetheart, what do you want to say to him?” “I don’t know.” “Well then, I guess you’re just gonna have to make it up as you go along.” Moses turned his head to announce Dusty’s arrival.   Idleness. Seth had never mastered it. He’d thought the marines would have taught him how to handle the rush to “hurry up” and the interminable wait that followed. They never did. Earlier, he had completed his briefing with the three teams on rescue hostage missions. Pamela came up again for her daily and sometimes hourly reflection. One minute they were reconciled and next, the sinking feeling he would never see her again. The memory of their last night together was his final thought, leaving him listless and depressed. The idleness exacerbated his pain. Spending an hour leaning against the window gazing mindlessly at the skyline and the intersection of William and Wall Streets had left him bored beyond distraction. A glance at his watch told him his two o’clock appointment was late. Strange appointment. Explaining he was following the wishes of his client, Moses had refused to give Seth a name or purpose of the meeting. Moses said the meeting was important and there must be no interruptions. Seth hoped it would get him out of the office and back into the field. Pamela disappeared when he was trying to stay alive rescuing a hostage.   “Seth, your two o’clock is here,” Moses yelled from the foyer.   “I’m scared,” Dusty said.   “This better be good,” Seth muttered and opened his office door.   It was as if fate had waived her magic wand, freezing all things in place. Seth sagged against the door frame while Dusty pressed her crossbody purse to her chest. They shared the shock and joy of seeing each other. “How did you find me?” “What do I say to him?” “Why are you here?” “Is Pamela with you? All of the questions danced silently between their eyes. Moses disappeared. Dusty’s mind raced to find words but a weak, “Hi,” was all that escaped. Seth wanted to rush up, hug her, tell her he missed her, loved her. Frozen in place, only his lips moved. “Dusty?” Fate removed her wand and the nervousness between them pulled back though much of it remained. Feeling disconnected from his body, Seth wondered if they should sit, continue to stand, or go into his office. Before he could offer a choice, Dusty said, “We’re moving.” Seth sagged again. Pamela was escaping. They wouldn’t even share New York City together. “I. . .don’t know what to say,” Seth stammered. “I’m. . .I’m surprised.” His lips felt unresponsive, his mouth filled with his swollen tongue. Nervous, Dusty continued to grip her purse with both hands. Their bodies were stiff, their movements awkward. What to do with their hands? “Mom said she wanted to move.” “Oh, no. I hurt her that bad?” The words spilled out before Seth could restrain them. Searching the room as if looking for a place to sit, the words were lost on Dusty. Recovering some sense of emotional control, Seth said, “Excuse me, Dusty, let’s go sit in my office. It’s more comfortable there.” “Okay.” Sitting on the leather couch opposite Seth’s desk, he asked, “So tell me, how are you?” “I’m okay.” Dusty’s nervousness would not leave her nor allow the release of words into a sentence of any measurable length. Wearing skinny jeans, sitting on the edge of the couch, she pressed her knees together while she continued her two-handed grip of her purse. Seth needed her to relax if he had any hope of soliciting information on Pamela’s current frame of mind. “Now that it’s summer, what do you do during the day when your mother is working?” “I’m packing.” Dusty was going to make Seth work at it to get any meaningful information out of her. His initial shock was gone but he felt anxious with the news they were moving. “Where’s your new home?” “North Carolina. Mom bought a horse ranch.” “That sounds exciting. I know how much you love to ride horses. Where—“ “Are you going to see my mother?” Dusty had an agenda that did not include questions from Seth. “Well, you’re very direct.” She reminded him of a colonel in Iraq. Any auxiliary comment during the colonel’s briefing was a foreign language and subject to an immediate reprimand. “Dusty, I embarrassed and hurt your mother. I can’t imagine she would want to see me.” “Mom told me what happened.” “I was wrong for what I did.” “Well, are you?” “I. . .don’t know.” “Mom is sad. She cries a lot. I don’t like that.” “Do you want me to see her?” Dusty shrugged her shoulders, stared at the floor. Finally she said, “I have to go.” Hand on the doorknob, Dusty looked back at Seth, her eyes dropping, unfocused. Turned down, the corners of her mouth twitched. Overwhelmed, she mumbled, “Seth,” and ran into his outstretched arms. TO BE CONTINUED