Date: Sun, 15 Mar 2015 11:08:30 -0400
From: Paul Knoke <paulkdoctor@gmail.com>
Subject: INSTALLMENT NINETEEN of "THE FATHER CONTRACT"

INSTALLMENT NINETEEN
from

THE FATHER CONTRACT
by

Arthur J. Arrington

Edited Paul K. Scott

Please consider making a donation to Nifty to keep our PJ's hopes alive and
well!  Remember, he needs all the help he can get to make his wish for a
father come true!

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Breaking Bad, and Scared

The boys went down a corridor leading to the visiting team clubhouse, where
lots of noise and laughter were coming through the open locker-room
door. PJ led Erik inside and timidly looked around.

Red Sox players called out greetings: "Hey, PJ!"; "Hi, kid!"; "Hey, look
who's here!"

PJ smiled shyly, waving hello to everyone. Then Jim Wagoneer appeared
wearing a towel around his waist. "Hi, PJ. Your phone call caught me in the
shower. What's up? Does Jack know you're here?"

PJ shook his head. "I don't think so. I e-mailed that I was coming, but I
didn't hear anything back. I really need to see him."

Jim glanced around a moment, thinking. "Okay," he finally said. "Why don't
you guys wait in that office over there. Try to stay out of sight. There'll
be reporters all over the place in a few minutes. I'll get word to
Jack. He's out doing autographs right now. You know. The usual routine."

PJ nodded. He led Erik into a small office, closed the door, and told his
roommate, "This is kinda the boring part. Sometimes Jack signs autographs
for an hour."

"PJ, he's gonna be mad when you tell him the bus went back to school
without us."

"No he won't." PJ tried to sound confident, but secretly, he didn't feel
confident at all. He'd never seen Jack get mad. Suppose he did. Suppose he
was already mad at him. There had to be some reason he hadn't answered the
e-mails. What if he's so mad at me he never wants to see me again? The idea
scared PJ so much that he felt nauseous. He turned away so Erik couldn't
see his face. "I just gotta see him, Erik. That's all."

"Yeah, I know." Erik nodded in sympathy.

In addition to a desk, the cramped little office had two chairs on which
the boys sat in silence for a long time, though PJ, gut churning, couldn't
resist periodically getting up to crack open the door and peek out. After
what seemed like forever, his anticipation was finally rewarded. He turned
and whispered, "He's here!"

"Lemme see." Erik was trying to peer over his shoulder.

"We can't go out there right now," PJ cautioned, softly closing the
door. "There's reporters all around him."

They waited for awhile longer. Suddenly the door opened. Jack strode in,
looking first at PJ and then Erik. He wasn't smiling. "What are you two
doing here?" he asked with a suspicious look on his face. "PJ, you're not
running away from school or anything, are you?"

"No! No, Jack." PJ was taken aback. How could Jack think something like
that? "I came to see you. Didn't you get my e-mail?" Frustrated and
frightened, he looked up in appeal, his worst fears confirmed. He's mad at
me!

Jack frowned. "You better come tell me about this." He stuck his head out
the door and called, "All clear, Jim?" After Jim answered, "Yeah," Jack
brought PJ and Erik out and sat them down by his locker. While he dressed,
PJ tried to explain about their overnight trip to New York and their game.

"I checked your schedule and saw you had a game with the Yankees, so I
thought I'd visit. I told you I was coming in my e-mail. Didn't you get
it?"

"I'm not sure," Jack answered vaguely. "Look, PJ, this is kind of a
surprise."

PJ reached out to take his hand. "Jack, please don't be mad. Please? I
didn't mean to surprise you. I just wanted to see you. I had to!"

"Okay, PJ." Jack removed his hand from the boy's grasp. "It's all right. In
fact, everything's fine. I just have to think what to do here, that's
all. Have you guys had dinner yet? When does your bus leave to go back to
school? Tonight or tomorrow?"

Erik and PJ looked at each other. "Uh, Jack," PJ said hesitantly, "The bus
already went back."

Jack stared hard at him. "Uh-huh," he said finally. "Okay. I see. It went
already.  How come they left you behind?"

PJ lowered his eyes. "Because Walter told them that we were staying here
with you."

"Oh." Jack kept staring at him. "And why would Walter tell them that?"

"'Cause, I told him you said it was okay," PJ confessed in a very small
voice.

"In other words, you lied to him."

PJ nodded. He lifted his head, looking up at Jack, his eyes shining. "Jack,
I just had to see you," he said desperately. "I just had to!"

Jack sighed, and shifted his hard stare to Erik. "And what are you doing
here?"

The boy gulpled. "I . . . I just wanted to be sure PJ didn't get stuck
somewhere all alone."

Jack nodded, his expression softening. You're a good friend, Erik." He
reached out and ruffled both boys' hair. "Okay," he said in
resignation. "Here we all are. You're seeing me. I guess I better get you
something to eat. You like Chinese?"

PJ looked at Erik, uncertain. "I don't know."

"Well, you guys are gonna get it tonight," Jack said cheerfully. "Raw eel,
hundred-year-old eggs, and boiled bird's feet!"

"Yuck!" Erik said.

"Jack!" PJ exclaimed in alarm.

The tall ballplayer laughed. "Come on, you two. Stop being such
stick-in-the-muds. Live a little!" Pushing the boys ahead of him, he headed
for the locker room door and guided them into the corridor, then through a
tunnel that emerged into an underground garage. A Lincoln town car with a
uniformed driver was waiting. Jack waved the boys into the back, slid in
himself, ducked down in the seat, and said, "Let's see if we can avoid
getting mobbed."

The driver pulled out, exiting through a gate surrounded by crowd of
people. Fortunately, no one spotted Jack, and once the limousine was out on
the street in traffic, he sat up. "Chinatown, here we come," he told the
boys. "I go there often to eat when we're in New York. The food's
healthy. And there aren't so many fans there. Most of the time I don't get
recognized. Still, better safe than sorry." Rummaging around in his jacket
pocket, he pulled out a pair of dark glasses and put them on.

Jack's driver took them down the East Side Expressway to the Bowery where
they followed East Broadway into Chinatown. PJ and Erik peered curiously
through the car windows at all the sights. Everyone on the sidewalks was
oriental with just a sprinkling of tourists. A maze of small streets
crowded with restaurants and small shops led off the Avenue, many of the
storefronts colorfully painted in bright red with gold lettering and
trim. Pictures and carvings of dragons were everywhere. "Dragons and the
color red are considered good luck by the Chinese," Jack explained.

After the driver had dropped them off near the corner of Mott Street and
East Broadway, Jack led them along a crowded sidewalk. Both boys stared as
they passed a fish store with a live octopus in the window. A few doors
farther, Jack took them down a flight of stairs to a restaurant below
sidewalk level. It was still early enough, so they had no trouble getting a
table.

"What'll it be for you guys?" Jack asked. "Pork, chicken, beef, or all
three?" The two boys tried to make sense of a menu bewildering in its
complexity. It had ten pages! PJ had no idea what to order, but Jack
patiently explained it all to them. "See, it's all in categories," he said,
pointing. "Chicken dishes here. These are the pork dishes, and this is
beef. On this page is bean curd."

"What's bean curd?" Erik asked.

"It's hard to explain," Jack said with a grin. "It's sort of like protein
yogurt. I'll get some and you can try it."

PJ was leafing through the front of the menu. "What's all this?" he asked.

Jack leaned over to check. "Those are appetizers and soups. Look, here's
something you've probably heard of: egg rolls."

"Oh, yeah. We get those at school sometimes."

"Probably frozen," Jack told him. "These are a little better."

Jack got them each a different kind of soup so they could trade off and try
different things. PJ tasted his, and it was delicious. He asked, "Jack,
what's mine?"

"Egg-drop soup. Erik has won-ton soup and mine's a Szechuan meat
soup. That's from the north of China. It's spicy." PJ took a taste of
Jack's. "Wow!" The roof of his mouth tingled. "That's hot!" For the rest of
the meal, PJ was careful not to put too much in his mouth until he tasted
it first.

Jack ordered three more kinds of dishes to try. One had pieces of chicken
with cashew nuts, another was beef all shredded up with red peppers, and
the last was a pork dish that you ate by wrapping it in little
pancakes. Erik and PJ liked this one the best because they could use their
fingers, the chopsticks Jack offered having proved difficult to
master. Still, PJ loved all the food. He and Erik, after cleaning their
plates, leaned back, stuffed by the end of the meal. Jack handed them both
a little folded cookie, poured some tea, and explained, "These are fortune
cookies. You break 'em open and inside you'll find a piece of paper with a
fortune on it."

"Cool." PJ held his cookie up, looking at it but not opening it.

Erik cracked his and read the slip of paper inside. "Look," he said handing
it to PJ. On the little slip was printed, "A faithful friend is a treasure
beyond price."

PJ looked up at his roommate. They stared at each other wordlessly. Then PJ
passed the slip back to Erik and the two boys gave each other a high-five.

"What's yours, PJ?" Erik asked.

PJ opened his cookie. It broke into three pieces which tumbled onto his
plate, leaving the fortune paper in his hand. He turned it over. It was
blank. He looked quickly at the other side. It was blank, too. "Hey!" he
said. He showed it to Erik and then Jack, who regarded the blank slip with
surprise before breaking open his own cookie. He showed his slip to the
boys. It read, "A man's character is his fate." With a shrug, he commented,
"Guess that's probably true." Leaving the slip of paper next to his empty
teacup, he reached for the check, and got up from the table.

"What about my fortune, Jack?" PJ asked, looking up at him.

"Maybe it means yours is whatever you want it to be, PJ.  That it's still
up to you to make."

PJ stared down at the blank paper. "Maybe . . ." he said slowly.

PJ stayed close to Jack's side while the man paid the bill. Back up on the
sidewalk, the mild spring evening was filled with exotic unfamiliar
scents. "It's still early," Jack said. "You guys ever been up in the Trade
Towers?"

When both boys shook their heads, Jack led them down the street to where
their car and driver waited. He had a quick conversation with the driver,
and after a short drive across town, they turned south. Ahead, through the
windshield, PJ saw the enormous twin towers of the Trade Center filling the
sky, their lighted windows seeming to reach up forever. Erik, peering out
next to him, exclaimed, "Man, those things are high!"

The driver dropped them off by what Jack told them was the South
Tower. Inside the huge, brilliantly-lit lobby was a crowd of people waiting
in line for the express elevator to the observation deck one-hundred-ten
floors above them. When they got on, along with a whole group of others, PJ
saw that the elevator was as big as one of his classrooms. The doors closed
and they started up, slowly at first, then faster and faster! PJ grabbed
one of Jack's hands, noticing that Erik had taken the other one. "It's like
going up in an airplane," he said nervously.

Jack gave him a reassuring smile. "It's kinda like a carnival ride, PJ."

When the elevator began to slow, PJ's stomach tried to jump up into his
chest. "Oh boy," he whispered, gripping Jack's hand even tighter.

At last they stopped, and PJ's stomach dropped back to its normal
spot. Once the doors opened, they followed all the rest of the people out
into the observation lounge, where PJ cautiously let Jack's hand go. But he
stayed close by his side.

The first thing he noticed was that the outside walls of the observation
area were solid glass from floor to ceiling. The second thing he noted was
that they were up very, very, very high. Jack walked over toward the glass
with PJ and Erik on either side of him. "Wait, Jack," PJ said
anxiously. "Don't get so close." Smiling, Jack held out both his hands,
once again letting PJ take one and Erik the other. Then he led them slowly
to the glass until they were standing right next to it.

PJ was momentarily stunned by the breathtaking view of New York City, all
its skyscrapers lit up like a fairyland. On the western horizon was a very
faint orange glow from a fading sunset. "Wow," he murmured.

Then, he made the mistake of looking down. You could see almost straight
down the side of the tower to the street thousands of feet below. The cars
looked like ants. PJ's brain reeled! There was a sharp tingling in the pit
of his gut and, suddenly dizzy, he convulsively re-gripped Jack's
hand. "It's okay, PJ," Jack reassured him. And then, "It's okay, Erik," a
second later when Erik looked down too. "This glass is very thick and it's
solidly tied to the wall. You can't fall."

"Man, that is scary!" Erik exclaimed.

"It is if you look down," Jack told them. "Concentrate on just looking
out." He backed them away from the glass and they began walking around the
deck, but it was awhile before the boys let go of Jack's hands. They
explored all four sides of the observation area, enjoying the views,
especially PJ's favorite, the one looking out at the Statue of Liberty in
the harbor. "That's where we would have gone today if we hadn't come to see
you," he told Jack. By this time, the boys had become accustomed to being
up so high, gaining enough confidence in the glass walls to stand with
their noses right on the panes, looking down. Though PJ still felt a little
woozy, he bragged to Erik, "It's not really that scary."

"Naw," Erik agreed. Then they both looked at each other and laughed.

In the center area, there was a snack bar and a souvenir shop, where Jack
bought them Cokes which they sat down to drink.  "This is like your
penthouse in Boston, Jack," PJ said. "Erik, you should see how high up
Jack's apartment is. You can see all of Boston!"

"Yeah, I've got a good view," Jack told him. "Nothing like this,
though. This is world-class."

"Is this the tallest building in the world?" Erik asked.

Jack shook his head. "The Sears Tower in Chicago is a little higher. And
they've got a tower in Malaysia that's even taller than that. But this is
pretty close."

"I lived in a really high apartment once . . ." PJ stared into space for
awhile, remembering. "It was in Los Angeles. You could see all the way to
the mountains." Reaching under the table, he took Jack's hand. "Sometimes I
don't want to remember it," he said softly.

"You guys interested in any souvenirs?" Jack suggested.

"Yeah, cool!" Erik jumped up. "PJ, let's get a tee shirt." He headed for
the souvenir counter.  But PJ kept hold of Jack's hand.

"Jack, you're not mad at me are you?" PJ asked this very anxiously, staring
up at Jack's face.

"No, PJ. I'm not mad at you."

"I was scared you were mad at me," PJ confided. "'Cause you didn't send me
anything. I sent something every day. I got a perfect grade on my book
report. It was Johnny Tremaine. That's one of the ones you gave me,
remember? And I hit a double in our practice game."

Jack sighed and smiled at him. "I'm proud of you, Tiger."

"I'm your Little Champ, aren't I, Jack?"

"Yeah," Jack pulled PJ out of the chair and gave him a hug. "You're always
my Little Champ." PJ was so relieved that, forgetting where they were or
who might be watching, he threw his arms around Jack, hugging
tightly. "Okay," Jack patted his back, "You'd better go look at those
souvenirs before Erik buys them all!"

"Thanks, Jack," PJ whispered.

"Check out these cool tees," Erik exclaimed as PJ joined him. They both
ended up buying a Twin Towers tee shirt and sweat shirt, with Erik crowing,
"You just know the kids on the team bought stuff at the Zoo and the Statue
of Liberty. Now we got something, too!"

When they were in line for the express elevator down to the lobby, PJ took
Jack's hand again. "Get ready to lose your stomach," he said, looking up,
eyes twinkling. Jack smiled and squeezed his hand.

Back on the ground at last, Jack led them outside, looking around for his
driver, who turned out to be standing by the entrance. While they were
waiting for him to bring the car, Jack told them, "I think you guys better
stay with me tonight. I'll try to find some way for you to travel back to
school tomorrow. How were you planning on getting there?"

"I thought there might be a bus or something," PJ said.  "I don't know,
PJ." Jack gave him a wry smile. "That school of yours is in kind of an
out-of-the-way place. I had a heck of a time getting out of there that time
I rode back with you on your bus."

Tourists around the Tower entrance stared curiously when the Lincoln pulled
up and they climbed in. As they drove away, PJ and Erik looked back at the
Towers through the rear window.  "Man," Erik said in wonder. "PJ, you can
see the place at the top where we were."

"It's so high up it just looks like a little band of light," PJ
whispered. "You can't even see the people." The boys kept peering out the
car windows as they drove uptown, the scenes of New York at night an
exciting spectacle all around them. Passing through Times Square, PJ showed
Erik his favorite arcade and the Pizza Palace. Continuing on, they turned
west, finally pulling up in front of an upscale hotel where a uniformed
doorman opened the car door. "This is it," Jack announced.

They got out, but before Jack could cross the sidewalk to the entrance,
someone in a group of people standing nearby pointed, shouting, "There he
is!" A young boy ran up yelling, "Jack, Jack! Can I have your autograph?"

Shoving PJ and Erik at the doorman, Jack whispered hurriedly, "Get these
kids up to my room." Then he turned to smile at the youngster waving a pen
at him. "Hi, Tiger," he said. "What's your name?"

The big doorman hustled PJ and Erik inside and turned them over to a
bellboy who escorted them upstairs in the elevator. Jack's room was way up
near the top of the hotel, in the back where it was quiet. When the bellboy
knocked, Jim Wagoneer opened the door. "Oh, oh--here's trouble!" he
facetiously sang out as the two boys came in. Muttering something to the
bellboy, the catcher fumbled in his pocket for a tip, and once the door was
closed, turned to smile at PJ. "I thought you guys would be on your way
home by now."

"We missed our bus," PJ told him, returning his smile.

"Uh-huh." Jim gave PJ a shrewd look. "Where's Jack?"

"Out on the sidewalk taking care of customers," PJ answered. "A bunch of
people spotted him when we got outta the car. I guess he wants us to stay
here tonight. This is Erik, my roommate from school. Erik, this is Jim. Jim
is Jack's roommate."

"Pleased to meet you, Erik." Jim shook hands with the boy. "Any friend of
PJ is a friend of mine. The whole Red Sox team knows this little guy."

"What shall we do, Jim?" PJ asked, looking around at the room. It was a
fairly large one, with twin beds.

"Well, we can't have them set up cots for you," Jim said. "If we do, the
hotel will know you're here, put it on the bill, and eventually there'll be
hell to pay. I'd give you my bed, but I've got no other place I can go, and
I've gotta be rested for tomorrow. You may have to rough it on the floor."

"We don't mind," PJ assured him.

"Yeah, we slept on the floor last night," Erik said. "One more time won't
kill us."

Jim raised his eyebrows. "Where were you guys last night?"

After Erik explained about their overnight at the Riverside Heights School,
Jim nodded in understanding. "Actually," he said judiciously, "That sort of
sounds like fun."

PJ had been busy exploring the room. "Jim, your TV has movies and games on
it. Can we see a movie? And play games?"

"Sure, why not, PJ," Jim said with an indulgent smile. "All our younger
players do that. You might as well."

"I bet they have a weight room here, too," PJ said. "Can we go look for
it?"

Jim hesitated. "I don't know, PJ. Remember, you're not supposed to be
here. If you get caught running around, we'll all be in trouble."

PJ was instantly contrite. "You're right. I didn't think. That was a jerky
thing to say. I know we're causing you and Jack a lot of grief."

Jim gave him a fond look. "You're not really a lot of trouble, PJ. But
maybe, for now, it would be better if you stayed in the room, okay?"

"We will," PJ promised, coming over to take the lanky man's hand. "Thanks,
Jim."

"You're a good kid," Jim said as he ruffled the boy's hair. "You kind of
remind me of my own son when he was your age. Hey, did I tell you that my
wife and I might be getting back together?"

"That's great, Jim!" PJ looked up happily.

"Yeah, well we've been talking about it. She has, anyway. She wants us to
try a counselor. We'll see."

"I hope you do," PJ said. "But then Jack will lose a good roommate."

"Well, Jack's kind of a loner anyway, PJ," Jim told him with another smile.

PJ and Erik went over to see how the TV worked. They plugged in the
controllers, fiddled around with the menus, and were camped out on the
floor immersed in a baseball video game when Jack walked in the
door. "Jack!" PJ cried. He got up and ran over to him excitedly. "Jack, you
have a cool room! Your TV has games and movies. And you got a Jacuzzi! Can
me an' Erik try it? One of the games is baseball, Jack. Watch us play." He
pulled Jack over to the TV. "Watch, Jack," he said again. He and Erik
played, PJ manipulating his controller to get his batter a single. "Now
watch, Jack. I'll make him steal second!"

Jack stirred restlessly, but he stayed on the floor, watching until PJ and
Erik finished the inning.  Then he got up, saying, "That's a pretty
realistic game. But I guess I better do some studying for the real thing
tomorrow." Just then the phone rang. He went over to get it, said "Hello
. . . Yeah . . .," then listened for a minute or so. "Okay," he finally
said, reaching for a pad and pencil.  "Give me the gate number and time
again?" He wrote something down. Yeah, I got it. Okay, thanks Walter
. . . Yeah, I will . . . No, it's okay . . . All right, goodbye." He ripped
off the top sheet from the notepad and stuffed it in his pocket. "That was
Walter," he told PJ. I called him while I was downstairs to get some help
on this transportation thing."

"Is there a bus?" PJ asked, hopefully.

Jack shook his head. "The only bus is to Hershey, and that's miles from
your school. Walter's got you a charter flight from Newark tomorrow
morning. I'll take you over there."

"We're gonna fly!" Erik said excitedly.

"Yup," Jack told him. "Just you and PJ. Your own private flight. That's how
it is when you pal around with our young billionaire here. You go
first-class all the way. You'll be taking your life in your hands,
though. If I know PJ, within one minute of leaving the airport, he'll be
sitting at the controls, flying the goldarn plane. Make sure your life
insurance is paid up." He gave PJ a crooked grin.

Jim and Erik were both laughing, but PJ bit his lip--and did not join in.

Fetching a big black notebook out of his bag, Jack stretched out on his
bed, opened the book with a sigh, and began to study. PJ waited quietly for
awhile, then went over and sat on the bed next to him, putting his hand on
Jack's arm. "Jack, you're mad at me, aren't you."

Without taking his eyes off the notebook, Jack answered, "PJ, I'm not mad
at you!"

"I'm sorry, Jack," PJ answered him a little pathetically.

"PJ," Jack said with some aggravation, "There is nothing to be sorry
about. I am not mad at you."

Man and boy were silent for a bit as Jack continued to study his
notebook. PJ leaned in close to see what was on the page. After biting his
lip again, he asked, "Jack is your Palmtop here?"

"It's in my bag, PJ. Why?"

"Well, maybe something's wrong with it. Maybe that's why you didn't get my
messages."

"I forgot to pay the ISP bill," Jack said.

PJ looked puzzled.

"The Internet service provider bill," Jack said. "I forgot to pay
it. That's why I didn't get anything. My service was out for some time."

"Jack!" PJ cried in exasperation. He punched the man hard on his arm.

"Ouch!"  Jack flinched. "Cut it out, PJ. You're getting strong enough so
that hurts. We were on a long road trip and things got kind of hectic and I
forgot. That's all. It happens!"

"Maybe it saved my messages and we can still get them!" PJ said excitedly.

Jack sighed in resignation. He was still holding the big black notebook on
his chest. "Okay, PJ. Why don't you try? Like I said, the computer's in my
bag."

PJ dove off the bed, scrambled over to Jack's duffel bag, and rummaged
around in it. "Jack, your bag's full of dirty clothes!" he said, making a
face.

"Watch out for the dirty socks in there, PJ," Jim called. He was on the
floor playing the baseball game with Erik. "They may bite you."

PJ finally pulled out the Palm computer in its nice leather case. He could
tell Jack had been using it because the case was worn. Turning it on, he
manipulated the buttons, slid his fingertips over the touch screen, frowned
in concentration, and finally stood up, bringing the computer over to
Jack. "I got them," he said proudly.

"What's that?" Jack looked up from his notebook.

"All the messages, Jack," PJ told him happily. "I got them for you."

Jack eyed him for a moment, then reluctantly put his notebook down. "Okay,
PJ," he said with a little smile. "Let's see them."

Crawling onto Jack's bed, PJ stretched out next to him, and together they
scrolled through all the messages PJ had sent over the past weeks. PJ
amplified each one for Jack, chattering away happily, sharing all the
little triumphs and tragedies of his life at school, while Jack kept
nodding patiently, asking an occasional question. At last they came to the
message with the baseball team schedule, where PJ had asked Jack about
visiting him. "See, Jack," PJ said in tones of injured innocence, "I did
ask you."

"Yeah. But I didn't say you could come, and you went ahead and came
anyway."

"But I had to, Jack! I had to see you. You weren't writing."

"PJ," Jack said impatiently. "Did you ever hear of the telephone? It's a
wonderful invention. You dial it up and you can talk to people."

PJ hung his head. "I don't know how to work a pay phone very well," he
confessed in a small voice. "And, I don't always know where you are, and
anyway . . . I don't know. . . ." He threw his hands around in a hopeless
gesture. "Jack, it scares me when you don't write." He looked up at the
man, pleading for him to understand.

"All right, PJ, okay." Jack put an arm around the boy and hugged
him. "You've seen me. Now you know everything's all right, OK?"

PJ nodded. "But I've made you mad at me," he said miserably.

Jack gave the boy's slender shoulders another hug. "Now you know I'm not
mad. So what movie do you want to watch?"

PJ and Erik checked the available options and finally selected Tomorrow
Never Dies, a James Bond movie popular the summer before. PJ climbed back
up on the bed next to Jack to watch, but he couldn't concentrate an
anything about Agent 007. He'd agreed to the movie because he knew Erik
wanted to see it, yet after trying for about fifteen minutes, he couldn't
get the least bit interested in what was going on. Meantime, Jack had gone
back to studying his notebook. PJ put a hand on Jack's arm, holding on to
it, feeling close to panic. Nothing was working out the way he'd been
hoping. Everything he did just seemed to make things worse. Jack kept
saying he was not mad at him, but PJ was sure he was, and he couldn't think
of any way to fix things.

"Jack?" he asked quietly.

"Ummmm . . ."  Jack was deep in his notebook.

"Jack, I'm wearing some of those clothes you bought me."

"As a matter of fact, PJ, I did notice that." Jack put the notebook down to
pat PJ's hand. "I meant to tell you how sharp you looked and I
forgot. Thanks for reminding me. You look great. Almost like a real kid."

"Why 'almost', Jack?"

"Well, let's face it, Tiger," Jack said with a twinkle in his eye. "You're
just a little too special all the way around to ever be completely
normal. It always shows."

PJ wasn't sure if that was a good or bad quality, but he wiggled closer to
Jack, gripping his arm tighter, hoping for the best. Maybe Jack will forget
about being mad after awhile. He hoped so. More than anything, he wanted to
talk with Jack--about all sorts of things! But when Jack picked up his
notebook, PJ knew it would only annoy him to be interrupted again. He
forced himself to watch the movie some more, wishing Jack could be like the
way he'd always imagined--like Billy's dad, or like Bill. Maybe it'll just
take time.

When the movie was over, PJ and Erik both took turns in the shower and
shared the Jacuzzi. Then they put their pajamas on. Jim had found extra
sheets and blankets in a closet which he spread on the floor. "It ain't
fancy, but it oughta work," he announced. The boys got as comfortable as
they could on the floor, played more of the baseball video game until they
were tired, and eventually fell asleep in their blankets. They didn't stir
as Jack and Jim made preparations for bed, turning out all the lights.

PJ knew he was dreaming, but hard as he tried, he couldn't make himself
wake up.

	"What do you feel?" It was the old lady in the playroom asking the
same question over and over. . .

	"I don't know! I don't know!" he kept telling her. "Stop asking me
. . ."

	He begged her to stop, but the question was always the same: "What
do you feel?"

	"Jack knows." A huge feeling of relief washed over him as he
thought of Jack. It was as if tight ropes were untwisting all through him.

	"Jack knows," he told her desperately.

	"Jack's not here," the nice old lady said.

	But in his dream she was not nice. She frightened him. "Wake up,
wake up," he told himself. But he was awake and it wasn't helping. "I've
got to go away!" he told the old lady.

	"You shouldn't," she warned. "Your fortune slip is blank. You'll go
so far away you won't come back."

	"I've been bad," PJ whispered. "I've been bad. You have to go away
if you're bad. No one can love you if you're bad. Jack knows. I have to
find Jack."

	"Jack's not here," the old lady said.

	PJ opened the door to the playroom. It led out into the maze of
passages underneath the stadium. PJ searched through them, desperately
looking for Jack. He had to find him. He had to tell Jack he was sorry. How
could he tell him if he couldn't find him? "Jack!" he called. "Jack, where
are you?"

	The maze of corridors went on and on. Frantic, PJ began to run,
calling out. Jack had to be here somewhere!

	"Jack!" he called as he went in. The door closed behind him. "Jack,
where are you?" It was dark.  PJ was terrified of the dark. He wanted
Jack. "Jack!  Jack!" he screamed, trying to run forward. He tripped over
the weight bench.

	"Jack!" he screamed again, thrashing in a panic.

"It's okay, PJ. He's here." It was Erik's voice. He held PJ's arms. "He's
right here."

The lights came on and PJ stared around wildly. "Jack!" Two strong hands
picked him up off the floor and suddenly PJ realized that Jack was holding
him. Throwing his arms around Jack's neck he clung tight, trembling
violently. "Jack, it's dark," he sobbed, "it's dark. I'm frightened."

"All right, PJ," Jack told him. "It's all right. I'm right here."

"Jack, I couldn't find you." PJ kept sobbing and hiccupping. "I couldn't
find you!"

"Here I am, PJ," Jack said, holding him close. "You found me. I'm right
here."

"Jack, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was bad." PJ's eyes were streaming with
tears. "I didn't mean to make you mad. I didn't."

"I know," Jack assured him. "I know. It's all right."

"No one loves you if you're bad. . . ." PJ's sobs began to abate. Putting
his head on Jack's shoulder, he said in a tired little voice, "No one,
Jack."

"Ssssh," Jack stroked his head. "You're all right now."

Suddenly PJ's eyes opened fully. He struggled in Jack's arms for a moment,
patting himself all over. "Take it easy," Jack said. "You're all right."

Arms around Jack's neck, PJ hugged him again. "Jack, I had a bad dream."

"It was only a dream, PJ," Jack assured him. "You're okay."

After hugging Jack awhile longer, the boy gradually released his hold. When
Jack put him down on his feet, PJ said, "I have to use the bathroom." He
went in and closed the door.

* * *

Jack looked over at Erik, whose eyes were wide as saucers in his pale
face. "God damn, Erik!" Jack whispered. "How often does he do that?"

"Only once in awhile," Erik whispered back. "That was a bad one."

"Geez, I'll say," Jack said softly. He shook his head.

"Jack, can I tell you something?" Erik came closer and Jack, after a glance
at the bathroom door, nodded.

"Remember when you asked me that one time if PJ slept okay, and I didn't
have time to answer?"

"Yeah, I think so," Jack said.

"Well, sometimes he doesn't," Erik whispered.

"You mean he does things like this?"

"This was a bad one, but yeah, stuff like this. It helps if you have a
light on. It's not good if he wakes up in the dark."

Jack sighed. "I know that. I shouldn't have turned all the lights off. I
forgot."

Erik looked down and went on, "There's one other thing, Jack."

"What?"

"Well. . . ." Erik stirred uneasily. "He sleeps a lot better when you write
to him."

Jack was silent. "Right," he said after a moment. "Okay."

Erik kept staring down at the floor. "PJ really likes you, Jack," he said
very quietly. "I kinda know what it's like. My stepdad. . . ." He stopped,
swallowed hard, then kept going, "It was kinda bad for me until Bill
married my mom. I don't know what would have happened if he hadn't. I talk
to him every week, sometimes twice. It's . . . I don't know . . . ." He
shrugged helplessly. "PJ kind of likes it when you send him e-mails," he
finished sheepishly.

"Yeah, okay," Jack sighed, and then his voice took a start. "He's been an
awful long time in that bathroom. I'd better see if he's okay." Striding
over to the bathroom door, Jack knocked and then slipped inside. "Shit!" he
muttered.

PJ was kneeling by the toilet. He'd vomited, streaks of it running down his
chin onto his pajama top, and his body was shaking. When he turned to look
up at Jack, his eyes were like wide black holes in a pinched face so pale
it appeared green in the harsh fluorescent lights. "Jack," he said in a
little high voice, "I don't feel good."

Jack stepped to him, knelt down, and held the boy as another dry heave
convulsed him. "All right, PJ," Jack softly replied. "I'm here. Take it
easy. Just barf it all out. I'm right here with you. I'll help you."

The boy heaved again, saliva drooling from his mouth. Jack hugged him,
stroked his trembling shoulders until the heaving stopped, and then
stripped off PJ's vomit-stained pajama top, leaving it on the floor. After
helping PJ to stand, he let him sip from a glass of water. "Don't swallow
it, PJ," he cautioned. "Just swish it around and spit it out." Once the boy
had rinsed his mouth, Jack picked him up, carried him to his bed, and laid
him down tenderly. "Gonna be okay for a few minutes?" he asked.

PJ nodded. "I'm sorry, Jack," he said miserably.

"Sssssh. . . ." Jack stroked PJ's head until he was sure the boy was
settled, then went back into the bathroom to rinse out PJ's pajama top,
hanging it on the shower curtain-rod to dry. "We're gonna leave this table
lamp on as a nightlight," he told Jim when he came back out.

"Yeah," the older man agreed. He looked at PJ's tangled blanket on the
floor. "I think maybe you better hang onto him for the time being." Jack
nodded.

Jim turned to Erik, and patted him on the shoulder. "Come on, kid," he said
kindly. "I think you get stuck with me." Leading Erik over to his bed, he
put him under the covers, and then he got in on the other side. "You don't
snore, do you?" he asked.

Erik snickered. "I don't."

Jack turned out all the lights except the one they were using as a
nightlight. Then he tucked PJ under the covers of his bed before getting in
with him. PJ rolled over to cuddle against him. Jack held him with one arm
until the boy stopped shaking.

"I'm sorry, Jack," PJ whispered again. "I was so scared."

"Go to sleep, Little Champ," Jack told him gently. "It wasn't your
fault. I'll be right here with you." He began to recite in a soft crooning
voice,

"By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at tha sea, There's a Burma gal
a-settin', An' I know she thinks o' me; For the wind be in tha palm-trees,
And tha temple-bells, they say: "Come 'e back, ya' British sailor, Come e'
back ta Mandalay. . . ."

By the time Jack finished the poem, PJ's eyelids had closed. He slept
through the rest of the night with no more dreams.

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Doubt and Resolution

When PJ awoke in the morning, for a moment he couldn't remember where he
was. He anxiously patted himself to see if he was dry, looked wildly
around, but when he saw Jack sitting in a chair putting his shoes on, he
relaxed.

Jack smiled at him. "Morning, Tiger. How you feelin'?"

"Okay." PJ's stomach hurt, his throat was scratchy, but he didn't want to
mention it. Jack probably thought he was a big enough bother already! He
rubbed his hand on his bare chest. "What happened to my pajama top, Jack?"

"You got some stuff on it when you blew your cookies last night, so I
washed it out. It's probably dry by now. Want me to get it?"

PJ shook his head. "It's okay," he said, but it wasn't. It was all coming
back now . . . the dream! He had done some bad things in the night. And
Jack had seen. Now Jack would think he was weird, and he wouldn't like him
anymore, and. . . everything was going wrong! Desperately, PJ tried to
think of something, anything, to show he wasn't goofy, to get Jack thinking
of something else. Maybe he'd forget. . . . He moved his hand idly over
himself, threw back the covers, and stood up to make an arm muscle. "Look
Jack. See how strong I'm getting? Erik and I work out on the weights every
day."

Jack regarded the boy's lean, hard swimmer's build approvingly. "You're in
good shape, PJ. Think you can still go with me on my two-hour workout?"

With an effort, PJ forced a grin. "I think so. You're pretty good. I never
told you how hard I had to try to stay up with you."

Jack smiled at him. He rose to his feet and was about to pat the boy's
shoulder when PJ jumped up, slung his legs around the man's waist, grabbed
his sides with his arms, buried his head on his chest, and hugged him as
tightly as he could. "I'm sorry I had a bad dream, Jack," he whispered.

"It's okay." Jack stroked him on his bare back. "It was my fault. Too much
excitement. Too much Chinese food. You're all right now, that's the main
thing. How 'bout some breakfast in the restaurant?"

PJ was not hungry at all and the thought of food made his stomach
churn. But he was afraid to say so. He had caused Jack enough
trouble. "Okay," he said. Jack put him down, and PJ hurried to get
dressed. "Jack," he said uneasily. "Did I do anything strange last night?"

With a shrug, Jack shook his head. "Naw, PJ, you just had a bad dream. It
was that damn food. I get those dreams myself sometimes. Once you settled
down with me, you were fine."

"That's the first time I've ever done anything like that." PJ was
desperately anxious to convince Jack that he wasn't some kind of wussy. "I
guess I was just tired. I almost always sleep fine. You can ask Erik. It's
just that . . . well, I do like to have a light on. But not always! I'm
growing out of that."

"Sure, PJ. I understand." Jack smiled at him again. "Anyone can get a bad
dream once in awhile."

"Where's Jim and Erik?" PJ asked.

"They're already down having breakfast." Jack chuckled. "Jim's telling Erik
some of his old-time baseball stories."

The thought of that made PJ smile a little himself, because he remembered a
few tall tales Jim had spun for him up in Boston. "He's got some good
ones," he said, putting on his shoes.

Jack took PJ down in the elevator where they found Jim and Erik at the
coffee shop working on plates of bacon and eggs. Outside, through the plate
glass windows, PJ saw heavy traffic already crowding the street. Families
of tourists were walking by. "Hey, PJ," Jim said as he pulled up another
chair for the boy. "How's the old stomach this morning?"

"PJ!" Erik exclaimed. "You oughta hear the neat stories Jim's been telling
me. He knows everybody. All the greats. He once caught for Catfish Hunter!"

"Ha!" Jack said, laughing. "Don't believe a word of it. Jim was still in
grade school when Catfish Hunter was pitching."

"It was at a camp I was at," Jim protested in an injured tone.

PJ made himself laugh, pretending to join in the fun even though he still
felt sick, scared that if he didn't, Jack would start thinking all over
again about what a weird kid he was. Why did I have to have that stupid
dream, he thought. It isn't fair!  He let Jack order a full breakfast for
him, then ate the toast, took a few sips of his milk, and played around
with the rest to make it look like he was eating. The others were having
too much fun telling jokes and stories to notice.

After breakfast, they went back to the room and Jack told the boys to get
packed up. "I've got the car coming in a few minutes to get you to your
flight."

PJ put his few belongings into his bag and got ready. He wanted desperately
to stay longer, but once again his visit was ending and nothing seemed to
have gone the way he'd hoped it would. It was like Jack kept getting
farther and farther away from him instead of closer. PJ zipped his bag up,
feeling more and more miserable the closer he got to leaving. Why couldn't
he talk to Jack about these things? He was sure Jack would understand if
only he could speak to him. But he knew he was too scared to do it. He had
already made Jack mad. And now Jack was probably convinced that he was
weird too. No one loves a weird kid, PJ reminded himself. His parents
hadn't. Jack wouldn't either. . . . He clenched his fists hard, bit his
lip, and struggled with a rising sense of panic!

Suddenly, Jack was down on one knee beside him. "Hey, Tiger, why so sad?
Don't you want to go back home? I thought you liked school?"

PJ gave him a wan little smile, trying hard to look cheerful. "I like
school, Jack. I want to go back. It's just that . . ." My home's with you,
Jack! With you! That's what he wanted to say. But instead, he only blinked
back tears and said, "It's just that I really like being with you, Jack. I
wish I could stay longer, that's all." He brushed at his eyes, determined
not to cry.

Jack patted his shoulder. "I'll be coming to one of your games. You'll see
me."

"Sometimes I really do need to talk to you," PJ said, brushing at his face
again.

"I know, I know," Jack told him.

"Jack, you've got my schedule, don't you?"

Jack nodded. "I've got it."

PJ looked at him anxiously. "Jack, that bad dream is the only one I've ever
had. I really do sleep okay. Jack, please, please don't be mad at me." Jack
hugged the boy and PJ clung to him, whispering, "Jack, please write. Please
don't forget."

"I'll write you, PJ. I promise." Jack patted him on the back. "It's time to
go." He got up and PJ, with Erik at his side, followed him to the
elevator. Downstairs, they waited in the lobby until the big Lincoln pulled
up outside. "PJ," Jack told him, "the driver knows where to take you
guys. There'll be someone at the airport to meet you."

"Aren't you coming, Jack?" PJ asked, stricken.

Jack smiled and shook his head. "Can't do it, Tiger. Jim and I have to get
ready to go up to the stadium. We play those pesky Yankees again today." He
shook both their hands. "Thanks for the visit, guys. I hope you had fun."

"We did." Erik was nodding as if in awe. "It was great."

"I had fun, Jack," PJ assured him. He looked up, holding onto the tall
ballplayer's hand. "I won't forget any of the things you taught us about
Chinese food. Never! Jack, you won't forget the e-mails, will you?" It was
a last, anxious appeal.

"No way," Jack said with a big smile. "I'll pay the ISP bill next time." He
tried to pull his hand away but PJ clung to it, wanting to hug him goodbye,
the same way that Erik hugged Bill, but he could see Jack looking around at
the other people in the lobby, and knew that he wouldn't like it. "Jack,
I'll miss you," he said softly so no one else could hear.

Jack winked at him. "I'll see you soon, Little Champ." He pulled his hand
free.

"Jack . . . Jack, I love you," PJ whispered. But the man was already
turning away.

The two boys picked up their bags and went out to the car where the
doorman, a different one from the night before, opened the rear passenger
side for them to climb in. Without saying a word, the driver checked to be
sure they were in with the door closed, and the big car moved smoothly off
into the traffic.

"Man, that was some visit!" Erik said, peering out the window at the hotel
they'd just left.  "Told you he wouldn't be mad," PJ reminded him, wishing
it was true.

Erik glanced back over his shoulder with a grin. "Yeah, Jack's a really
great guy. That Jim is pretty cool, too."

PJ nodded and joined Erik in his survey of the passing New York
scene. "This city's fantastic," Erik finally said. The boys exchanged
stories about different visits they'd both made to the huge metropolis
while the limousine slowly made its way downtown, eventually passing
through the Holland Tunnel into New Jersey.

"I wonder why they named it the Holland Tunnel?" PJ said.

"Bet there's a website we could check that would tell us," his roommate
told him.

PJ pointed to where an airliner was landing in the distance. "That's the
airport's over there."

"What kind of plane will we be flying in, PJ?" Erik was shading his eyes,
staring outside, trying not to miss anything.

"I'm not sure," PJ answered. "It's almost always different."

When the big Lincoln pulled up to the private aviation terminal, the boys
got out carrying their bags. Their silent driver came around, closed their
door, got back in the car, and still without saying a word, drove off.

"Now what?" Erik asked as they stood on the sidewalk, watching the
limousine disappear.

"Mr. Thorndyke?" A voice at PJ's elbow made him start and he turned
around. A young man in dark trousers wearing a vaguely military-looking
white shirt with shoulder epaulets was standing behind him. The man held a
flight officer's cap in his hand and PJ thought he looked familiar. "Hi,"
he said, giving the man a big smile. "I know you, don't I?"

The young man grinned. "It's nice to see you again, PJ. You're the best
student pilot we've ever had. Come on with me. We've got your bird all
ready to go." Grabbing their bags, he shepherded the boys into the terminal
ahead of him, gestured for them to turn right, and they walked all the way
to the end, then down a flight of stairs. A door at the bottom led out to a
concrete ramp where a beautiful white and red jet was parked.

"You're Mr. Don, the Citation pilot!" PJ exclaimed, remembering now who he
was.

The man laughed. "Still just the copilot, I'm afraid. But I'm glad you
remembered. We remember you." He led the way up the air stairs into the
plane's cabin. "Go ahead and strap in. I'm sure you know how. We'll be
taking off as soon as we start engines and get a clearance."

"What flight level will we shoot for?" PJ asked.

The copilot gave him a knowing look. "We'll try for flight level 22. Below
the control zone. It's only a half-hour flight," he added over his shoulder
as he headed for the flight deck. "Kind of an up-and-back-down sort of
thing."  Erik got settled in the seat next to PJ, gazing around
wide-eyed. "PJ, this is nice!"

"Yeah. The Citation's a cool plane," PJ agreed. "I like them better than
the Gulfstreams. They're fast, too. We'll be home in less than an hour if
we don't get held up on the ground here."

At that moment another uniformed pilot climbed into the plane. He pulled up
the air stairs and after closing the hatch greeted PJ with a smile as he
headed forward.

"Hi, Captain Richards," PJ sang out. "That's our pilot," he explained to
Erik.

There was a high whining sound from the rear, then a roar as an engine
started. In a few moments, both engines were running and the plane started
taxiing.

Erik was looking everywhere at once. "PJ, how fast does this plane go?"

"About five-hundred knots at cruising altitude," PJ quoted from
memory. "But we won't go that fast. It's too short a flight and we won't
get up that high. Most of the time we'll be climbing or descending."

When the plane paused at the run-up area by the end of the runway, the
engines suddenly roared loudly. Erik turned to PJ and shouted, "Why aren't
we moving?!"

"The crew is doing their pre-takeoff engine test while they're waiting for
clearance," PJ explained. "We'll be going soon." Once the engine noise
diminished, the plane taxied again and turned onto the runway. Then the
engines went to full power once more, and they began to roll. "Here we go!"
PJ yelled.

Faster and faster! Outside the cabin windows the runway went by in a
blur. Suddenly the nose pulled up at a steep angle. The plane leaped into
the sky and the engine noise began to drop behind them. There was a
vibrating hum, followed by a thump as the landing gear retracted.

Erik was staring out, his nose on the window. "This is awesome!" he
exclaimed, watching the ground drop rapidly away beneath them.

As soon as the seatbelt sign went off, PJ ran up to the flight deck where
Mr. Don turned to greet him. "I know what you want," he said with a
grin. He got up to yield his seat, and PJ buckled in, putting headphones
and boom mike on over his Red Sox cap. "Hear me okay?" Captain Richards
asked.

PJ nodded.

"Okay, she's all yours, PJ. Let's see what you've learned." Reaching
forward, the Captain switched off the autopilot.

PJ took the yoke and swept his eyes over the gauges, remembering from the
last time in the plane. They were similar enough to his flight simulator
layout so that he could see what he was supposed to do. "I'm carrying out a
climb to flight level 22 at best fuel economy rate," he reported to the
captain, who nodded with approval. PJ flew on proudly, his worries and
fears about Jack temporarily forgotten.

To PJ's intense satisfaction, the flight crew allowed him to take the
Citation all the way to the Gordonsville airport where he made the approach
and placed the aircraft on final, with some coaching from Captain
Richards. Then he kept his hands on the controls, following the captain by
feel through the landing. It was the most he had ever been allowed to do!

"It's always a pleasure to fly with you, PJ," Captain Richards said. "I'm
counting on you to keep learning and follow your dream of soloing."

"I will, Sir," PJ promised.

They taxied over to the little ramp and PJ walked back into the cabin where
Mr. Don opened the hatch and put down the air stairs. "Until next time,
PJ," he said, shaking the boy's hand. "You can have my seat any time."

"Thanks so much, Mr. Don!"

PJ and Erik climbed down the stairs with their bags, and by the time they'd
walked clear of the plane, the air stairs were back up with the hatch
closed. Slowly, the plane taxied back to the head of the runway. PJ watched
as the wingtip strobe lights flashed a few times. He and Erik both
waved. Then, the engines spooled up into a roar of power. The gleaming
Citation thundered down the runway, leaping into the sky, wingtip strobes
flashing one more time in farewell as she gracefully turned and headed back
to New York.

"PJ, that was totally fantastic!" Erik said. "Were you really flying the
plane on the way home?"

PJ nodded. "All except for the last part of the landing. But Erik, Captain
Richards was right there all the time to help me."

"That's still good, PJ," his roommate told him enviously. "I guess Jack was
right. He said you'd be flying the plane. Is that how you and he always
travel around?"

Turning pink from embarrassment, PJ laughed and shook his head. "Naw. This
was just a special deal." Geez! If Erik spreads this story around
school. . . . He could hear the taunts now. "Little rich bitch," "Richie
Rich." All sorts of attention he didn't want!

Erik was giving him an odd look. "How did Jack know that you'd probably be
flying the plane?"

With an elaborate effort at casualness, PJ shrugged. "I think he was just
kidding around." But Jack wasn't kidding, was he. He said that to let me
know he was mad at me! Why did Erik have to hear that!

Erik sighed. "PJ . . ." he started to say, . . .

"What?" PJ replied.

"Never mind." Erik looked at him sadly for a moment. Then he gave PJ's
shoulder a little punch. "Look, just remember that I'm your friend, okay?
You don't have to pretend with me. An' you don't have to worry about me
yakking all over the place about Jack, or flying planes, or dreams or
stuff. I'm your friend!"  PJ stared back at him. "You're the best friend
I've ever had," he said softly. "Please don't worry, Erik. I'll try not to
have any more of those dreams. Travis and Billy are good friends, too, but
you're like my brother."

"I feel that way, too, about you, PJ," Erik told him. "I'm glad I went with
you on this trip."

It was getting toward lunchtime, and the little airport office/lounge was
open, so PJ called Mr. Williamson on the pay phone. The boys waited in
comfort, leafing through old copies of Trade-A Plane until Mr. Williamson
came to pick them up.

"Well, how was your visit, boys?" the housemaster asked as soon as he saw
them. "We watched the game on TV yesterday. It was terrific. Did Jack have
anything interesting to say? How does he think they're doing?"

PJ and Erik told him all about their adventures as they drove back to
school. "Chinatown and the Trade Center!" Mr. Williamson said. "It sounds
as though Jack took you to some interesting places."

"And Jack sent us home in a private jet!" Erik told him.

"Everyone's going to be very envious of you two."

Neither of the boys mentioned anything about PJ's bad dream.

When they got back to school, Erik and PJ unpacked and went to lunch
wearing their Trade Center tee shirts. They had to recount their adventures
several more times to groups of admiring friends before heading back to
their room.

"Erik, could you do me a favor?" PJ asked.

"Sure, PJ."

"Would you play wall ball with me for a while, and then help me work out
with the weights?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not?"

They got their gloves, PJ deciding to use the new one Jack had given him,
and went to the Field House where they played wall ball at their special
spot for almost two hours. Then they snuck into the weight training room
and PJ took Erik through Jack's two-hour aerobic weight workout.

"PJ!" Erik kept gasping. "Stop trying to kill me!"

"Jack does this every morning," PJ told him.

"Jack's crazy!" Erik groaned.

Afterwards, once they had walked slowly back to the House, Erik flopped in
a lifeless sprawl onto his bed the moment they entered their room. "I think
you better take a shower, Erik," PJ said, laughing.  With a groan, Erik
hauled himself back up so he could search for a towel. "If I die tonight,
PJ, it's your fault."

After they get cleaned up, Erik collapsed on his bed again and got out a
book, but when PJ tried to do the same, the dark shadowy fears at the edges
of his mind began to press closer. He got to his feet, wandered down
stairs, and found a few boys watching TV in the common room.

"Hey, PJ, the Sox lost today," one called out.

"How did Jack do?" PJ asked.

"I think he had an off day. He was one-for-three at the plate."

PJ went outside into the late spring afternoon, walked around the Quad, and
finally settled on the Chapel steps in the same place where months ago he
and Jack had once sat and talked. The Sox had lost and Jack hadn't done
well. It was probably all his fault. He'd put Jack to a lot of trouble,
then kept him up late and disturbed his sleep with his stupid dream
. . . being a little baby . . . getting sick. He put his face in his
hands. Jack was mad at him. He knew it. Jack was much too nice to ever say
so, but PJ knew. And now they had lost today, so Jack had another reason to
be mad. And Jack probably despised him for being a baby . . . and, for sure
. . . for sure, Jack must now think he was weird . . . and . . .

His lower lip trembled as a tear squeezed out of one eye. PJ wiped his
face, then clenched his fists. Stop it! he told himself. What would Jack
think of you?

He concentrated on putting himself in the pilot's seat of the Cessna
Citation. Pulling the throttles back, he brought the plane into level
cruising flight, then after he was sure he was at exactly the right
altitude and heading, he switched on the autopilot and relaxed.

All right, he told himself, so your visit wasn't as good as you thought it
would be. So what! You got to fly a plane. You found out why Jack wasn't
sending e-mails. You got to see the Trade Center, learned about Chinese
food and how it could make you sick, and talked to Jack. And if you
sometimes had bad dreams and acted a little weird, well . . . Jack will
understand. Jack always does. He has to!

"I'm his son," PJ whispered to himself in anguish.

He hoped he'd be able to sleep that night. He'd deliberately worn himself
out so that he'd be tired. Please, he thought, please--no bad dreams.

He walked into the Chapel and sat down in a pew in the back row. It was dim
and peaceful inside. He was the only one there. He sat for a long time
before bowing his head and whispering, "Please, God. Let Jack know how much
I love him and don't let him be mad at me. Thanks." When he got up and went
to the door, he checked before stepping outside to be sure no one would see
him. Back in his room, he woke Erik from a nap. "Time to eat."

Erik sleepily stumbled down the stairs and accompanied PJ to the Dining
Hall. "I don't see how Jack does that thing every day, PJ," he said. "I'm
dead."

"Yeah, I know. I had to do it with him every morning when I was with him on
Spring Break, and I thought I'd die a few times too."

They ate a big dinner, then went back to get their class work ready for the
next day. PJ was fiddling around with a theme for English when suddenly
Erik pointed. "Hey, PJ. There's something in your mailbox."

Hastily going to his e-mail screen PJ crossed his fingers before opening
the message. His heart leaped. "It's from Jack!"

Erik got up and came from his desk to peer over PJ's shoulder. "What's he
say?"

The message read,

		"Hi PJ, as you can see, I am writing you just as I
promised.  I want you to know that I will try to send you something at
least once a week - more often if I can.  Please keep writing me - daily if
you want - I really do like to read your notes.  I promise not to forget
about the writing again.  I am sorry about that.  It was my fault.

 We lost today in a close game.  I did not play too badly but I would have
liked to have done better.
 Hopefully I will do better next time.  That's how you always have to do
it, PJ.  If you don't do as well as
 you want, you must not be discouraged.  Just try harder the next time!  I
know you and I have talked
 about this, remember?

 Jim and I really enjoyed having you and Erik visit.  I get such a kick
taking you fellows places and
 watching you have fun.  I'm sure that both you and Erik know how much we
like you.  However - and I
 want you to pay attention to this - you must promise me not to go off on
your own like that again
 without getting my permission.  I'm not saying this because I'm mad at
you.  I'm not.  I'm telling you
 this because I care about you and I worry about your safety, okay little
champ?

 Tell Erik I said 'Hi!'  He is such a great kid and a very good friend to
you.  I hope we win the next game.
 I will be trying hard.  Never say die!  Your friend - Jack"

"He is such a terrific guy!" Erik said after he'd read it.

"Yeah, he is," PJ agreed, his heart pounding. "He's the greatest!" And he's
not mad at me after all!, he told himself, praying it was true. He suddenly
felt relaxed, and happy, and very tired. "I think I better get to bed," he
said, yawning.

"Yeah, me too." Erik was yawning with him. "I'm still tired from that stuff
you had me do."

PJ slept well that night, with no dreams that he remembered.

* * *

CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT NINETEEN

Editor Paul Scott's e-mail: paulkdoctor@gmail.com