The Husband Hour(103)

“The waves are bringing them back,” he said.

“That’s okay,” she told him. “Let them rest here for a while.” Standing by the freezing water, she had thought that five years was a long time and yet, in the big picture of life, it was no time at all.

Lauren carefully tore open the envelope and pulled out a stiff white card.

You are cordially invited to the Tribeca Film Festival’s world-premiere screening of the documentary film American Hero: The Rory Kincaid Story. Please join director Matt Brio and producer Craig Mason at the City Cinema Paris Theatre in New York City on April 17 at 7 p.m. A panel discussion will follow.



“Can’t you just send me a digital copy of the film?” she had asked when he called. “I mean, even as just a professional courtesy.”

She had donated funds, through the Polaris Foundation, toward finishing the film.

“I want to see it with you. No—scratch that,” he said. “I want to see you.”

“You could come here,” she’d said. But he hadn’t, and she knew that he was right not to. At some point, she had to decide what he meant to her, what she was willing to mean to him. Eight months after he’d left the island, she still didn’t know.

But she did know that she had to see the movie—if not before the public saw it, then at least along with it on opening night.

She booked a hotel room and left Longport at ten in the morning on the day of the screening. By the time she was in the standstill traffic queue to get through the Holland Tunnel, she felt sweaty and her heart was beating fast. She texted Matt in a panic. He responded: That’s how everyone feels on approach to the Holland.

She wrote back, Very funny.

I have to do press now for a few hours. Do you want me to pick you up later for the screening?

She told him no, that she would meet him at the theater. A pause before the dots appeared to show him texting back, then disappeared. He still didn’t believe she would actually show up.

Finally: Okay. Your name will be at the box office. Text me when you get there.

The traffic inched forward.



Lauren stood on the corner of Fifty-Eighth Street and Fifth Avenue, next to Bergdorf Goodman and half a block from the Plaza Hotel. Surrounded by the grand buildings and bustling pedestrians, she felt her trepidation give way to excitement.

She wore new clothes she’d bought for the occasion: tapered black pants, a crisp white blouse, and a pale blue spring cardigan. The only thing that wasn’t new was the heart necklace she had on. She’d come to realize she didn’t have to throw everything away. And she didn’t want to.

Lauren expected to feel exposed and vulnerable walking into the theater, but the crowds of people helped her feel perfectly anonymous. Then she saw the theater marquee with the movie poster, the title American Hero: The Rory Kincaid Story in red, white, and blue with a close-up image of Rory in his U.S. Rangers uniform and beret in front of the American flag. It made the film seem more real, but at the same time, looking at Rory’s face, she felt like she was seeing a stranger. His time in the military had taken on a distant, dreamlike quality in her mind, while memories of high school were still so sharp, she could be walking in the supermarket, hear a song from 2004, and it was like he was right there next to her.

“Here we go,” she whispered to herself.

The line to get into the theater stretched all the way to Sixth Avenue. Adjusting her sunglasses and pulling her hair around her face, she followed Matt’s direction to check in with a festival rep at the box office.

The rep seemed very young. When Lauren gave her name, the woman startled as if she’d been confronted with a celebrity.

“Mrs. Kincaid, we are so honored you could be with us tonight,” she said. “I’ll take you to your seat.”

The theater was empty except for a group of people standing in the front, under the curtained screen and before a narrow stage. She spotted Matt immediately but he was engrossed in conversation with a guy setting up a microphone stand. Lauren followed the festival rep down the aisle to the front row.

“Thanks,” Lauren said to her. She didn’t want to sit there—wasn’t sure she should be in the very front row. But then Matt noticed her, and the expression on his face told her she was exactly where she was supposed to be. With him. She realized it was maybe the height of stupidity to have planned their reunion in such a public and stressful situation.

He came over and hugged her, holding her just a beat longer than a friendly greeting.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said. “Come meet some people.”

Before she could hesitate, she was shaking hands with the woman who had cofounded the festival with Robert De Niro. Matt introduced her to his producer, Craig Mason.

“Great to finally meet you,” Craig said. “Matt was saying you should come aboard for our next film.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said. “This film fit into the mission of the Polaris Foundation but I’m not making a habit of funding films.”

“Actually, I thought you’d be great as a researcher on the next one,” Matt said.

She looked at him. “Research? Really? What’s the next project?”

“I was hoping we could talk about it over dinner tomorrow night.”

People began filing in.