us. I hope they do.
Tuesday
Wade is frantically signalling to me from behind the glass that stands between us. I've still got my phones on but I've cut the sound while I'm reading the bio of our next guest. His waving has caught my eye and he's tapping his phones. I pull the sound up to hear his latest caller.
"... and you just sit there tell us how it is, but you don't care what that does. We listen to you, we follow you, and it ruins our lives. It's ruined my life."
"I'm sorry that's happened..."
"You don't care!" the caller yells. "You don't have to pick up the pieces. We do. And you just keep getting richer on our pain."
I'm holding my hands up to Wade, like I can't see a problem. This is the same as any other kind of call. He's shaking his head furiously at me.
"You're right," he says. "You're absolutely right. And I'm sorry, man, I am. Just tell us where you are."
"You'd like that," the caller says. There are the sounds of traffic behind him, the odd honk of a horn. "You'd like to stop me so you can avoid the consequences."
"I don't want you to hurt yourself," Wade says earnestly. "Please, don't do anything stupid. I want to help you."
The caller laughs. I pull my phones off and ring Stewart's office.
"Yes," he says tersely.
"It's Judd. Are you listening to the feed?"
"No. Should I?"
"I would," I say, and hang up on him. I put the phones back on. I don't know whether to drop into a break, or the news. I don't know what the right thing to do here. This has never happened before.
"Let's just talk then," Wade says.
"We've talked enough."
"I don't think we have."
"You don't remember me, do you?"
"Buddy, I get a lot of calls."
Stewart comes in the control room. "What's going on?" he asks me. I pull my phones off to hear him.
"I don't know. I think Wade's got a problem."
"We all know Wade's got a problem."
"...With a caller," I clarify. "He's got a problem with a caller."
Stewart grabs another set of phones and listens in, like I do.
"...this is going to be on you. My life is in your hands."
"You're in pain," Wade says. "I can hear that. I get that, buddy. Let me help you."
"You've done enough."
"I don't know what I said to you, but whatever it was, I'm sorry."
What do we do, I mouth to Stewart.
Keep rolling, he mouths back.
"You told me to get my wife to do things my way. Well, I did, and she's gone. And she's taken my kids, and I don't know where she is, and I don't know if I'm every going to see them again, and it's all your fault."
"I shouldn't have said that to you, I was wrong."
"It's too late. Too little, too late."
"It's never too late."
"How do you know?"
"I know, buddy. I do. Can I tell you something?"
"Okay."
"I remember you now. I remember what I said to you. Do you know why?"
"Why?"
"Because pretty soon after that I was cut off. I was cut off by a friend who's sitting in a room right now, looking at me like I'm crazy. I bet he's got his finger on the button to cut me off right now."
I hold up my hands and Wade shakes his head.
"I was cut off because I said some pretty bad things about that friend," Wade says into the microphone, "things that he didn't deserve."
What's he doing? Steward mouths to me. I shake my head, take a deep breath.
"And you know why I said those things? Because I'd hurt that friend, my best friend, in the worst possible way and I was feeling guilty about it. And that's something that I thought I'd never feel, for anyone. But you know, even though I did that, he's forgiven me over and over again. Because he a good man, and I'm not. I don't say the right things. I hurt people. Hey, I hurt you."
The caller says nothing. I can hear him breathing heavily on the other end of the line. Maybe he's crying.
"And this friend of mine, the guy that I hurt, he lost everything because of it, but he got it all back. He got a second chance. He changed. That's why he forgave me."
"What's this got to do with me?" the caller says quietly.
"I'm saying that it's not all lost. You can get it back. You just have to have faith, you just have to change. You have to believe that there is a second chance out there for you."
"Seriously?"
"I know it's true. I've seen it. I'm living it. Just don't give up. Please."
Now I know the caller is crying. He's sobbing.
"Just tell me where you are. I can help you."
And he tells us. He's on the side of a bridge, peached precariously, contemplating taking a leap that will only end in water and the end of his pain. I pull off my phones and make the call. People are on their way.
"Listen," Wade is saying. "Just listen to my voice. I'll help you through this. It's going to be okay. You'll see your wife again, your kids. You will."
Wade talks to him for the longest ten minutes of my life. Then we hear the help arrive and the call is suddenly broken.
"I think we'll cross to the news," he tells me, while on air. He sounds tired, emotionally drained. I do as I'm told. Wade pulls off his phones and sits back in his chair, leans back, puts his hands over his face.
Stewart and I go into the booth. Wade is laughing to himself behind his hands.
"Are you alright?" I ask him.
"I don't even know his name," Wade says.
We wait for the longest time for news. It comes through. Josh Banks, a store clerk in Boston, was stopped from jumping to his death from the Tobin Bridge by the quick work of emergency services. They also mentioned Wade and the station. We stood there while everyone clapped us and Stewart put his arms around our shoulders. I didn't feel like we deserved it, because we put that man there is the first place, or rather we started the chain of events that put him there. But Wade had done a great thing, a wonderful thing. Somehow he had found the backbone to help this man at the lowest point of his life.
This was no longer the Wade Beaufort that slept with my wife, who stole her away and then discarded her when things got difficult. This was the Wade Beaufort that talks down people from the sides of bridges, that opens himself up, that makes himself vulnerable. This was the Wade Beaufort that I was proud to call my friend.
My phone rings while people are surrounding us, shaking our hands. I pull away from the crowd and head out into the hallway.
"Judd," Quinn says.
"Hey," I say.
"I don't believe what just happened."
"You were listening?"
"No, but it's on the television. They were piping Wade though to the news. Did he really say those things? Because I just don't believe it."
"Believe it," I say.
"What's going to happen?"
"To be honest, I just don't know."
"Call me later?"
"You bet."
"You've got nerves of steel," Stewart tells me.
"Not really," I say. "Wade did all the work."
"But you kept him going. You did fine work there, Judd."
"Thanks."
Stewart's phone rings and he looks at the screen. "Management," he says and takes a deep breath. I smile and he takes the call, walks down the hallway to his office.
I don't go back into the main office. I leave Wade to his deserved accolades and head back to the control room. I sit there, staring at Quinn's photo, thinking how my story has affected Wade's and then Josh Banks, store clerk from Boston. The connections between people were invisible but tangible. None of us live in a vacuum. None of us can say that our actions, our decisions, don't affect others. The challenge for all of us is to make those actions count, to make those decisions mean something. Otherwise they are moments squandered. Wasted. Forgotten.
And I guess that's what I wanted when I got back with Quinn - to make
a positive difference in her life. I didn't want to be remembered for the ass that ruined her life. I wanted to be the best friend she could ever have, the best father for our little girl, and later, the best husband that I could be. I know I still have a long way to go, but I'm getting there. But what started all of this? What was it that got Quinn and me, got Josh Banks, off the edge?
Forgiveness. Undeserved, unreserved, forgiveness.
And we've all been redeemed by that. We've all been brought back to where we were always supposed to be. And that's because forgiveness is like a disease. It spreads without check between people, to the ones that we've hated, to the ones that have hated us. It cannot be stopped, slowed down, hampered, diluted, broken or marred. It is the raw essence of love. It is the product of our hopes and dreams and prayers. And without it, we are truly lost.
"They want us on television," I tell Quinn on the telephone later, when things have quietened down. Wade is in Stewart's office, waiting for management to call us back on a decision. "There are three networks talking to us right now. You wouldn't believe the money their offering for the story."
"I don't know. I can believe quite a lot."
"Whatever the amount is you're thinking about, it's way above it. Trust me."
"Are you going to be able to get away?"
"I will. I'll pick you up and take you home like I said I would."
"No," she says. "This is important to you. I'll catch a cab over to you."
"You don't need to be here. You should be resting."
"I'm fine," she says. "I want to be with you. This is wonderful news and I want to share it with you."
"I love you," I say.
She laughs a little. "I love you too, Judd. See you later."
The powers above us settle on a number and it's much bigger than I could have imagined. We're in Wade's office when the news comes down and we're drinking some expensive champagne from his