Chapter Fourteen

JUDE

I can’t afford to leave town. But I can’t afford not to, either. You’re a ticking time bomb. You’re off your rocker, and you don’t realize it, but you’re going to get us both caught. Which is why, in the end, I cancel the trip. And here’s the thing about that Kate, I love you— but I can’t let you take us both down. It’s so back and forth with you and me lately. One minute we’re fine, and the next we’re fighting. I have to admit, lately I miss being alone. I miss not having anyone to be responsible for. I miss not having such a liability on my hands.

Between nearly severing a man’s head in that warehouse, and hiring help without my permission, something has to give. You’re becoming more and more of a liability, and you know me, liabilities aren’t my style. Now, I’ve got this dead bastard in the back of my trunk, and I have to do something about him. I set the fire—not to burn him as you assumed, but in order to destroy the evidence of the murder. You’re so wrapped up in yourself that you think I handled it for you only you’re in for a surprise.

But it gets better. The next thing I know, you’re forcing me to go to this brunch with you, even though I tell you I’m going to have to skip out early. I’m hoping you’ll say never mind—that you’ll offer me a pass— but you don’t. And it only goes downhill from there. After we arrive you let those women lead you off to the kitchen, and you go willingly. I’m here for you—to be with you—but the men, several of the kids, and I, have been banished to the living room like it’s some sort of speed dating bullshit event where we’re thrown in the deep end to see whether or not we can swim. I don’t want to make small talk; I’ve got better things to do than partake in a playdate for grown men—more important things—things like dealing with another body. Thanks to you. I could have made it look like a robbery, an OD, anything but what it was. Torture.

We used to be happy, Kate. Now it’s fleeting. If I look hard enough every once in a while, I catch glimpses of that happiness but it doesn’t come easy. You think I’m the kind of guy you can toy with, like I’m some fucking puppet on a string because I put a ring on your finger, but that’s where you’re wrong.

I’m here, for now, but if I were you, I wouldn’t count on it remaining that way. Also, this house, this neighborhood, these people, they’re ridiculous. Thankfully, I have Brady in tow, it helps; at least this way I don’t have to talk to people, to avoid it I just pretend to be busy with him. It’s pretty sad when you’d rather talk to a four year old than your neighbors, and that should tell you how bad it is. I have nothing in common with these people. They drone on about sports and their jobs and literal shit, all of it I could care less about. At some point Brady wanders off, I assume to find you or the bathroom, and my morale falls to an all-time low when I’m forced into meaningless chitchat. I can’t handle much though, not today, and I’m looking for a way out when I say I’d better go in search of Brady. It isn’t easy to get away, there are people looking to cling at every turn, but eventually, I find him. He’s with Sam, Anne and Stanley’s son, in the second living area, hiding off behind the curtains. This house is as ridiculous as the people who occupy it, everything that isn’t white, is black, and it’s making me dizzy. When I spot Brady, his eyes are wide, and so I peer around the curtains, and that’s when I see that the other little boy’s face is beet red. As I lean in to get a better look—it’s dark back there in that corner, the perfect hiding spot— I realize that his face is not only red, but that it’s rapidly turning blue. Within seconds he’s clutching his neck. He doubles over, and that’s when I haul him up by his armpits, position him appropriately and perform the Heimlich maneuver. I know a lot of things. But this isn’t one of them, and that probably explains why nothing happens. He’s squirming, panicking, and I’m doing my best to hold him in place, but he’s little and slippery and he isn’t making it easy. I can hear that people are starting to gather around no doubt wondering what in the fuck I’m doing to this kid, and I’ve never much cared for being the center of attention but I can’t very well let the kid choke to death. Someone says to call 9-1-1, and before it comes to that, I give another attempt my best shot. Again, nothing happens. The third time had better prove to be the charm, otherwise this kid is going to die, and I don’t lose, not in situations where it matters. I take a deep breath and then I press into his abdomen, harder than before, and with a quick upward thrust out pops a small red object. I watch as it shoots across the room, rolling across the floor. The little boy gasps, and then when he starts crying I exhale, and I realize I’ve never been more grateful to hear a child cry.

People are surrounding me, when all I want is you. Brady is staring at me in shock. The boy is sobbing, and someone, I don’t even know who, takes him from my hands. “You’re a hero,” one of the fathers says, slapping me on the back.

“A life saver,” a woman says. By this point, you and those dreadful ‘friends’ of yours have filed in from the kitchen and are hovering, and the next thing I know people are clapping and patting me on the back, and I realize maybe it’s not so bad to be liked after all.

“We need to talk,” you say, pulling me into the bathroom.

I think you’re going to offer me a quickie, something to make this whole thing worthwhile, and well, to be frank, after all those accolades I’m feeling up for it. My mood has shifted, and maybe you were right. Maybe I was meant to be here. Only you surprise me when you lean against the wall and cross your arms. You keep your legs closed, and this is the disappointing part.

“What?” I ask, and I don’t know how you can be angry when your husband is a hero, a life saver, but I have to hand it to you, you have your ways.

You press your lips together. “Where was Brady when that boy was choking?”

I check my reflection in the mirror. You exhaust me, but heroes can’t get tired and so I continue on. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, where was Brady?” you say, and you repeat the same question again, this time through gritted teeth. “Were you watching him?”

“Of course I was watching him.”

You shake your head, uncross your arms and cross them once again. “Of course,” you say, but you don’t mean it. “Was he near the boy or not?”

I furrow my brow. “Yeah, so?”

“So—there’s something you should know about that…”

“What?”

“Brady pushed Monique.”

I hear your words, and yet I don’t. “He what?”

“It was Brady who pushed Monique down the stairs… I think he does bad things when he’s angry, Jude. And what’s worse is— I think it’s becoming a habit.”

I shake my head, trying to understand, trying to let what you’re saying really sink in. “Why are you just now telling me this?”

“I tried,” you say, and I’m not convinced.

“Not hard enough. Obviously.”

You look at me and your expression is intense. “What are we going to do?”

“We have no evidence this is Brady’s fault,” I say, and even heroes don’t have all the answers.

You look away and then back at me. “We have no evidence it isn’t.”

I check my watch. “We’ll discuss this later,” I tell you. “I have a meeting.”

“Of course you do.”

I turn to go but you scoff the second my hand clutches the door handle. “So that’s it?”

I shrug, and I don’t know what else there is to say. I’m tired of fighting, Kate.

Also, you lied.

I walk home, leaving you at the party. If I don’t hurry, I’m going to be late for my meeting. It’s warm out, and by the time I reach our house I don’t have time for a shower, even though I’m drenched in sweat. Also, given the body that’s in the trunk of my car and temperature outside, I don’t want to take any chances, and so I take the spare car we kept for the nanny. I’m meeting my guy at that little diner, the one I took you to out in the country, back when we were first dating.

It turns out I arrive after he does, and you know how much I hate that. Even so, being here now, I have to say makes me a little nostalgic, it makes me long for a time when things were simple. I don’t like feeling like this. I’m not in a good place and I need to be. Especially for this. Instead, I’m on edge, because of the brunch, but mostly because I’m here to meet the competition in order to offer him a job—a job that was supposed to be mine.

The diner, it’s packed, it always is, and I find him seated in the only booth available, even though the waitress hasn’t had a chance to clear it. He motions me to sit, and I order another cup of joe even though it’s all for show, I have no intention of drinking it. I don’t like substances that are addictive. At least not normally. But today doesn’t feel very normal, and anyway that isn’t the point. The point is when I arrive, my competition doesn’t see a hero at all. He doesn't see a man who just saved a boy’s life. He sees a man with problems, a man who’s dragging, and I get what he’s thinking, because I’ve seen it a million times myself in other men. Don’t ever let me become that, I used to say.

“Everything okay?” he asks, looking up from the menu once he’s decided on his order.

“Everything’s great,” I lie.

“Come on,” he says.

I don’t say anything.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asks.

I cock my head and wait him out.

“With your woman?”

“Ah, no.” I tell him, and I manage a small laugh, even though his lack of manners perturbs me. I can’t let it show.

“Huh,” he says, studying me closely. He isn’t buying my answer. “Well, at any rate, you look exhausted, man.”

“Yeah,” I tell him. “I mean—no—there’s no trouble. It’s just the kids…you know how it is,” I sigh, and I touch the rim of my cup. “They’re up several times throughout the night,” I confess, even though it’s you who’s causing the trouble he’s referring to, but then, I’ve gotten good at covering your ass.

“Well, sort of. But not really, to tell you the truth. My wife always dealt with that.”

I force another smile. “Kate’s pretty good about it—but you know, she gets tired sometimes, too.”

“Yeah,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. “But women are built for that kind of shit,” he adds, and if only that coffee were hot enough to burn his mouth.

“I guess,” I say, over the small talk. I’m ready to cut to the chase.

He, however, apparently isn’t. “You think our fathers were up at night? You think they were changing diapers and wiping mouths? No. I’ll tell you what they were doing: they were working their asses off to put food on the table—they were going to war. They were the kind of men that made this country great. Now, look at us. We’ve got men thinkin’ they need twelve weeks leave because their wife popped out a kid. We’ve become a nation of sissies. No one knows what their roles are anymore. It’s disgusting, to be quite frank. And my God, this whole gender thing you hear about on the news. Men becoming women and shit. I tell you—I think our whole country is having an identity crisis. We’ve forgotten what it meant to be great. We’re weak, and you don’t even want to get me started on all of that politically correct mumbo jumbo they’re spewing out these days…”

No, I don’t. I don’t bait him though. “That’s an interesting perspective,” I tell him instead. He’s about to cover my ass, and now is not the time to disagree, even though I want to. The thing is, with people like him, it wouldn’t matter anyhow. His mind’s already made up, and trying to convince anyone of anything is an utter waste of time. That’s what my mother used to tell me, anyway. Actually, on the subject of my mother… I’ve been thinking about her a lot. It started when I checked your phone and I came across your notes. You’re trying to find her. But you won’t. I know—I looked once. A long time ago. It’s best to let sleeping dogs lie, Kate. I don’t know why you can’t just let things be, and that’s another conversation I’m not looking forward to.

“Hey,” I hear him say over my thoughts. “Hey, you,” he calls tapping on the table.

I look up and shake my head.

“Boy, it’s a good thing you’ve got me handling this mess for you. You’s practically fallin’ asleep here at the table,” he says, and then he lets out a belly laugh that won’t quit. Only he isn’t laughing with me. He’s laughing at me. I’m not a hero, Kate. I’m a joke. I’m handing my job and my money over to this illiterate bigot, and what in the hell was I thinking?

“Yes,” I say and it kills me, those three letters.

“Well, while you was a dozin’, I was talkin’ about your wife… you know,” he pauses for a second to stuff his mouth and then continues despite the fact that his mouth is full of biscuit. “I get how hard it can be managing it all with little ones,” he swallows. “Okay—” he adds making sure I don’t have the opportunity to cut him off. “Well, actually, that’s a lie. I can’t…because my wife did all that. But anyway, have you ever given any thought to coming to work for us?”

And there it is, the offer I was waiting for. I narrow my brow. “Us?”

“The firm.”

I knew what he was referring to, but I wanted to make him say it.

I shrug. “I kind of like being on my own.”

He takes a swig of coffee. “But you’re here, aren’t you…”

“It’s just a one off thing,” I say. “There’s something else I have to take care of here in town.” I picture that cop in my head, and it pisses me off as much as the asshole that’s seated opposite me. “But if it’s a problem—” I say. “I could always call someone else next time. I don’t want to put you out,” I say, reminding him that I’m doing him a favor as well.

“I hear you,” he replies. “But if you change your mind,” he says, as he rifles through his wallet. “Here’s my wife’s card. Give her a call.”

I raise my brow. I hadn’t expected this.

“She’s a psychotherapist. All new hires have to go through her first.”

I study the card. “I see.”

“You seem pretty sound. And sure— I’ve known you for awhile. But how well can you really ever know a person, you know?”

I shrug, but he’s right. You can’t.

“Oh, and about your wife…I was sayin’…if you want to get her to step up a little…” he starts and then he lowers his voice so much that I have to lean in to hear the rest. “I’ll tell you how to do it.”

I feign interest, and I can’t wait to hear.

“You gotta make her think she has a little competition.”

I stick out my bottom lip just slightly. He’s a goddamned genius, this one. Seriously? That’s his advice? If he only knew the level of crazy I have to deal with.

“And this works for you?” I ask.

“Of course,” he says, not missing a beat. “It’s why I’m still married after nearly thirty years.”

“Huh,” I tell him, downing my coffee. “Maybe I’ll give it a try.”

“I’m tellin’ you son,” he chuckles, and I am not his son. “Let ‘er think there’s another woman in the picture. A real pretty one, to boot. You know, just look. Don’t touch. But make damn sure she sees.” He laughs so loudly it causes him to choke, and the people next to us stare. “I ain’t lyin’, he adds when he finally gets ahold of himself. “It works wonders.”

I smile and then I pay the tab. I hand over his money for the job, and all of a sudden I need a nap. But mostly, it irritates me that I can’t help but wonder if this asshole might have the answer I’ve been looking for.