Chapter 11 - The Play

“In the creative process there is the father, the author of the play; the mother, the actor pregnant with the part; and the child, the role to be born.”

Konstantin Sergeevich Alekseev Stanislavski 1863-1938

The air raid signal blasted across the snow laden lawns of Los Alamos. Jonathan and Peter came rushing into the house saying together, “What’s happening, Mom? Where’s Dad?”

“...turn on your television sets for further coverage. We repeat, please do not use your telephone. All lines are busy...”

“Oh my God, that’s where Barbara goes to school. We have to call  Tata.”

Peter looked at his stricken mom, “You can’t Mom, they said don’t use the telephone. Where’s Dad and what’s happening?”

“Go turn on the TV. The radio just said that Chicago’s been blown up. Your father will be home in few minutes.”

Maria sat down in front of the T.V.. She barely heard the commentary. Both Jonathan and Peter were silently watching their mother mouth words as she sat rocking in the chair in front of the television.

“Dear God, I hope Barbara is O.K. She left to go back to school the day after Christmas. Len and Jack should have been here by now.”

“Peter, mi hito, could you get me my cell phone on the nightstand in my room?”

“Thanks, mi hito.”

“Hello, this is Jack Cransten’s house. I’m not in right now so leave a message after the beep. Thanks....beeeep.”

“Ahh, I’m not having a good day. I have to call the police.”

“Hello. Yes, this is Maria Mahoney. My husband, Leonard was in jail there last night. Has he left yet?”

“Just a minute. Yes ma’m. He and a friend left at least 20 minutes ago.”

“Thank you.”

Maria hung up the phone and started to talk to herself again.

“Where’s Dad, Mom? Why did you say he was in jail last night? Mom, talk to us.” Jonathan looked at Peter and shook his head.

“Jack would have brought him right home. Something’s not right. Get your coats on boys. We’re going to look for your dad.”

Jonathan and Peter ran out the door to the car. Jonathan got in the front seat of the Jeep with his mom. Peter took the back seat. Maria headed towards the police station. When they topped the hill after the golf course, a tow truck was pulling a U-turn with their Rover in tow.

“None of this makes sense. My husband is arrested for drunk driving. He doesn’t even drink. Chicago is destroyed, possibly taking my sister with it. And now we find our car being towed and my husband and his best friend missing.”