Red’s wasn’t much—a neighborhood bar with a Molson light in the window and a couple of TV screens over the bar. Where a hockey game would feel at home, and on Friday nights the familiar crowd would be knocking back a couple of beers.
Patrick waved to the white-haired guy in a white shirt behind the bar. He also gave a hug to the heavyset waitress, saying, “Hey, Steph, somewhere quiet, okay . . .”
It felt like he had known her for years.
She took us to a booth near the back and we sat down across from each other. He said, “I’ve been coming here since I was just past altar boy. On Sundays, my father would sneak us beers for Giants games.”
Steph started to rattle off a couple of specials, to which Patrick told her, “Just some drinks.” I asked for an iced tea, though a martini would have felt more like it. Patrick ordered a Diet Coke. We waited until they came. We didn’t say much. There was only one other couple in the bar. When the drinks arrived, Patrick kind of leaned his glass forward. “So here we are . . . You said you had something to say.”
I nodded, leaning back against the cushioned booth. “I said I hadn’t been entirely honest with you,” I started in, “about why I came down here. I was at the scene when your father went off the road. And I did go down and do my best to help him before Rollie appeared. I could see he was badly hurt. I tried to revive him, but I couldn’t get a response. I tried to get him out, but the driver’s door was wedged in by a tree, so I ran around to the passenger side. That was when Rollie hollered. I told him to call 911—I’d left my phone in my car. That took a while.”
Patrick took a sip of soda and waited for me to go on. “Okay.”
“I crawled inside the car and tried to get a response, but I couldn’t. I’m sure he was already dead. But there was something on the seat next to him. Not on the seat actually—on the floor. A black leather satchel. Slightly open. It was clearly knocked off the seat in the crash.”
“What was in it?” Patrick asked.
I looked at him, knowing the next word out of my mouth was going to change things. “Money.”
The word fell off my lips like a weight, and I could see Patrick, his eyes both confused and surprised, trying to reconcile his dad being up there in the middle of nowhere on some mission he never disclosed, his dad who worked his whole life in the MTA transit tunnels, with a satchel full of cash.
“How much money?”
I didn’t say. “Look, here’s where I have to tell you some things about myself.” My hands edged forward to his side of the table. “I was married. My husband and I have been divorced for four years. I have a son. Brandon. He’s a terrific kid, he’s just . . . He’s just got some developmental issues.” I shrugged. “Asperger’s . . .
“But there’s a very gray line where Asperger’s ends and full-out autism begins,” I went on, before he could interrupt me. “And that’s where Brandon is. He demands a lot of attention. For the past three years I’ve had him in this special school in Greenwich and he’s doing great. It’s just . . . It’s just very expensive. Almost fifty grand a year. And my ex . . .” I took in a breath and shook my head. “All I can say is, if you met him you’d think he’s about the nicest guy in the world, but he’s a little short when it comes to the financial responsibility department . . . And a month ago his construction company went belly up.”
Patrick leaned back against the booth. “You didn’t answer my question. How much money?”
“This is hard,” I said, ignoring what was in his mind. “Just hear me out.” I took a sip of iced tea. “The past two years I’ve paid for everything entirely on my own. I had a job as a divisional comptroller for an advertising agency. It was hard, but I made enough, barely, and when I didn’t, I tapped into whatever savings I had. Which is basically gone now. My son’s care has taken everything.
“Two Wednesdays ago I got let go. We lost our lead account and the entire division I worked for was shut down. I basically got four weeks’ severance and a couple of months on the health plan, which is crucial to me because of Brandon. That was the day before your father’s accident.”
“Which brings us to the cash,” Patrick said, beginning to put it all together. “You took it.”
“I took it.” I nodded, my throat suddenly dry as parchment. “I heard Rollie making his way down the incline. It was just one of those split-second things. You have to understand, I’ve never done anything like this before in my life. It was just—” I looked at him and shrugged, with the slightest, self-recriminating smile. “I was just so damn desperate that I didn’t see any other way. It was like this gift had fallen into my lap. Your dad was dead. I saw a way to keep my son in school and get out from under some debts that were crippling us.
“So, yes, I zipped the satchel back up and hurled it as far as I could into the woods so no one would find it. Then Rollie made it down. He never knew a thing about it. I guess my plan—such as it was—was to let it sit there until I knew for sure who it belonged to or if anyone was looking for it. Which was why I came to the funeral. I swear I intended to give it back.
“But it didn’t seem that anyone was . . . looking for it. So I guess I just convinced myself that it was somehow okay. Because how would anyone ever know? No one would know. Except they always know, don’t they? And no matter how well you think you handled it, they always find a way. Back to you . . .”
Patrick’s tone took on an edge of impatience. “I guess they do . . .”
“I waited over a week before I went back for it. I actually prayed I’d see something like it was your dad’s life savings or the proceeds from a business, and I was honestly going to write you and let you know where it was. I swear. I begged my ex-husband to ante up for the school. I did anything I could so I didn’t have to go back for it. But he basically just blew me off. He was out in fucking Vail, skiing. His new kids’ spring break. All the while he was telling me he was penniless and that his wife was going to have to take a job. My options were to take his ass to court, which would have taken weeks, if there was even anything to get. Or . . .” I looked at Patrick and it was clear what was in my eyes. “The next day I went back. I swear I didn’t want to ever see it again. But it was just there . . .” My eyes moistened over with guilt and shame. “I’m sorry.”
“How much money?” Patrick asked a last time, fixing on me
I drew in a breath and met his gaze, pushing myself back against the booth. “Half a million dollars.”