Twenty-six years of scraping by and saving as much as possible and obeying every law, including speed limits. Twenty-six years of considering themselves Americans and thankful to be here. Now they were being forced to return to a country they did not know and wanted no part of.
She was a strong woman who took pride in her toughness, but laden with more worries than any person could possibly bear, Zola made the mistake of closing her eyes.
—
AT 1:42 A.M., her phone began buzzing and vibrating. It was in the pocket of her jeans and finally woke her. Missed call. It was Gordy. It took a second or two for reality to hit, and she bolted to her feet and ran to his bedroom. She checked his bathroom, knowing perfectly well he wasn’t there, and ran to wake up Todd. For the second night in a row, they raced down the stairs to the first-floor hallway and to the parking lot behind the building. Gordy’s Mazda was gone. Todd called Mark and said they were racing over to get him. In Todd’s car, Zola’s phone pinged with a text message.
“It’s him. He says: ‘Zola, I can’t do this anymore. There’s no way out. I’m so sorry.’ ”
“Shit! Call him!”
“He won’t answer,” she said as she punched his number. Straight to voice mail. “Hello, this is Gordy. Leave a message.”
“Voice mail,” she said. “I’m texting him.”
“Gordy, where are you? We’re coming to get you.”
She stared at her phone waiting for a reply, then re-sent the same text. “Nothing,” she said.
“And you heard nothing when he left?”
“Of course not. I tried to stay awake. I guess he had another key.”
“Evidently. He’s gonna hurt himself.”
“Don’t say that.”
Mark was sprinting from his building, on the phone, trying to reach Gordy. He did not. He jumped in the backseat of the car and said, “Now what?”
“You still have his keys?” Todd asked.
“In my pocket. Who keeps the other key to a car that’s ten years old?”
“I guess Gordy does. He’s gonna do something stupid, you know that?”
“That’s very helpful right now,” Zola said. “I’m sorry, guys, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
That’s two nights in a row, both Mark and Todd thought, but they said nothing. Beating her up would not help matters, and she felt bad enough. If Gordy was determined to pull another stunt, they really couldn’t stop him.
“Any ideas?” Todd asked, still clutching the wheel. There was no response. The three sat in an awful silence as the engine hummed away and the heater blew warm air. Zola broke the silence with “He liked to jog along Rock Creek.”
Todd said, “I doubt if he’s jogging tonight. It’s twenty degrees.”
Mark said, “Let’s check out Coney’s. It’s always been our favorite place to sober up.”
“Good idea,” Todd said as he shifted into drive. “Keep calling and texting.”
Coney’s was an all-night waffle shop on Nineteenth Street and was favored by bums and students. Todd stopped at the corner and Mark ducked inside. He was back in seconds and said, “No sign of him. I have an idea. Let’s go to the Waterfront in Georgetown. We were there this afternoon and he seemed to like the place.”
“What do you mean ‘He liked the place’?” Todd asked.
“I don’t know. Just drive.”
As they turned onto M Street, Mark’s phone rang. “Oh shit! It’s Brenda. Do I take it?”
“Yes,” Todd snapped. “Right now you gotta take it.”
Mark hit speaker and said, “Hey, Brenda.”
She was frantic. “Mark, what’s going on? I just got a text from Gordy. He says he’s sorry, there’s no way out, and he can’t keep going. What the hell is happening, Mark? Talk to me.”
“He’s driving around D.C., Brenda. Todd and I are in the car trying to find him. He’s off his meds and acting crazy.”
“I thought he was in bed with the flu, same as you.”
“He was in the bed sick, okay? We were with him and he sneaked out. Have you tried to call
She was a strong woman who took pride in her toughness, but laden with more worries than any person could possibly bear, Zola made the mistake of closing her eyes.
—
AT 1:42 A.M., her phone began buzzing and vibrating. It was in the pocket of her jeans and finally woke her. Missed call. It was Gordy. It took a second or two for reality to hit, and she bolted to her feet and ran to his bedroom. She checked his bathroom, knowing perfectly well he wasn’t there, and ran to wake up Todd. For the second night in a row, they raced down the stairs to the first-floor hallway and to the parking lot behind the building. Gordy’s Mazda was gone. Todd called Mark and said they were racing over to get him. In Todd’s car, Zola’s phone pinged with a text message.
“It’s him. He says: ‘Zola, I can’t do this anymore. There’s no way out. I’m so sorry.’ ”
“Shit! Call him!”
“He won’t answer,” she said as she punched his number. Straight to voice mail. “Hello, this is Gordy. Leave a message.”
“Voice mail,” she said. “I’m texting him.”
“Gordy, where are you? We’re coming to get you.”
She stared at her phone waiting for a reply, then re-sent the same text. “Nothing,” she said.
“And you heard nothing when he left?”
“Of course not. I tried to stay awake. I guess he had another key.”
“Evidently. He’s gonna hurt himself.”
“Don’t say that.”
Mark was sprinting from his building, on the phone, trying to reach Gordy. He did not. He jumped in the backseat of the car and said, “Now what?”
“You still have his keys?” Todd asked.
“In my pocket. Who keeps the other key to a car that’s ten years old?”
“I guess Gordy does. He’s gonna do something stupid, you know that?”
“That’s very helpful right now,” Zola said. “I’m sorry, guys, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
That’s two nights in a row, both Mark and Todd thought, but they said nothing. Beating her up would not help matters, and she felt bad enough. If Gordy was determined to pull another stunt, they really couldn’t stop him.
“Any ideas?” Todd asked, still clutching the wheel. There was no response. The three sat in an awful silence as the engine hummed away and the heater blew warm air. Zola broke the silence with “He liked to jog along Rock Creek.”
Todd said, “I doubt if he’s jogging tonight. It’s twenty degrees.”
Mark said, “Let’s check out Coney’s. It’s always been our favorite place to sober up.”
“Good idea,” Todd said as he shifted into drive. “Keep calling and texting.”
Coney’s was an all-night waffle shop on Nineteenth Street and was favored by bums and students. Todd stopped at the corner and Mark ducked inside. He was back in seconds and said, “No sign of him. I have an idea. Let’s go to the Waterfront in Georgetown. We were there this afternoon and he seemed to like the place.”
“What do you mean ‘He liked the place’?” Todd asked.
“I don’t know. Just drive.”
As they turned onto M Street, Mark’s phone rang. “Oh shit! It’s Brenda. Do I take it?”
“Yes,” Todd snapped. “Right now you gotta take it.”
Mark hit speaker and said, “Hey, Brenda.”
She was frantic. “Mark, what’s going on? I just got a text from Gordy. He says he’s sorry, there’s no way out, and he can’t keep going. What the hell is happening, Mark? Talk to me.”
“He’s driving around D.C., Brenda. Todd and I are in the car trying to find him. He’s off his meds and acting crazy.”
“I thought he was in bed with the flu, same as you.”
“He was in the bed sick, okay? We were with him and he sneaked out. Have you tried to call
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