“What happened next?”
“We heard a gunshot.”
“What were you doing at that time?”
She assumed he was trying to get her to say something about the joint, but she still couldn’t risk getting Lorenzo in trouble. Even though his parole had ended, he needed to keep his violations a secret.
“We were kissing,” she said.
“Kissing?”
“On the lips. Do you need a description?” She knew this hurt him, but she had to take him through the worst of it to come out the other side.
His jaw went rigid. “That’s fine,” he said. “Go on.”
She recounted the details she had told him the day of Kitty’s death. When she got to the part about the crowd rushing toward Kitty’s office, he asked her to identify exactly who was there, to the best of her recollection.
“And what happened next?” he asked.
She explained about getting the job and how she agreed to take on Ollie as her own personal assistant. She went through every false lead he gave her, from the carefully leaked information about Kitty and Charles Honeycutt, to the sex tape and the visitors’ log.
“The one thing he hadn’t accounted for was that I would meet Kimmo and be able to identify him as the guy who’d posed as Jason White—the supposed hit man hired by Honeycutt.”
She talked about the sabotage of her show, and how she had wondered if it was the killer coming after her for getting too close to the truth.
“And now?” he asked.
“Now I know it was Adam Weintraub, my segment producer, who thought I might discover his thefts and report him.”
“Thank you, Ms. Barry,” he said. “I think that wraps it up.”
“I’m not done,” she said. “There’s more you need to know.”
He folded his arms and leaned back, as if he were considering it. Or maybe waiting for her to change her mind. She glared, daring him to stop her. Because Dana was determined—she wasn’t leaving that room until she’d had her say.
Finally, he exhaled. “Go on.”
“During the investigation, you kept pressing me about my relationship with Lorenzo. You suspected him because he has a criminal record. Only he had an alibi—me—and that was a problem for your theory. So you wanted to believe I was willing to lie for him.”
“I was only after the truth. And let’s not forget—you did lie for him.”
“Only the part about not having a relationship. The alibi was true. You know that now. I’m sorry I had to lie to you about Lorenzo and me, but I stand by that decision. If I had it to do over again, I’d probably play it the same way.” She paused and leaned toward him. “I just couldn’t let him go to jail, Ari.”
He furrowed his brow at the use of his first name.
She continued speaking to him, not the camera. “I met his little girl.” Her voice was slow, gentle. “She’s so tiny, Ari. So young. Can’t even tie her own shoes yet, and Lorenzo is all she’s got. He takes such good care of her. You’d be impressed.”
“Are you finished?”
“No.” She paused to make sure she had his full attention. “We got into a fight. Me and Lorenzo. You need to know that.”
“About what?”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Point is, we didn’t speak for days. He kept trying to explain himself to me, but I was too hurt to listen.”
For a second, his eyes softened, and she couldn’t help adding, “Sound familiar?”
She thought he would reply with a grunt, but instead he said, “Maybe.”
She went on. “When I finally let him tell me what was happening, he explained that he had a chance at a better life for him and his daughter—a job out of state. He was just waiting for his parole to end so that if the job came through, he could move.” She was cagey in the way she presented the details, not revealing that Lorenzo had traveled out of state for the interview while still on parole. If Ari noticed, he didn’t let on.
“And this was a great job,” she continued. “Higher pay, terrific company, easier lifestyle. At that moment, I forgave him. It was over between us—it was never really right, anyway. But I was excited for him to have a chance at a better life. And then he told me the big news—the job offer came through and he accepted. I was so thrilled for him I threw my arms around him. He spun me around in a celebratory whirl and...”
“And that’s when I walked in.”
“Exactly.”
“Are you done now?” he asked.
She searched his face, looking for any indication that he forgave her. But he was so stoic she was sure she had been unsuccessful.
“Yes.” She felt like a failure, and sorrow washed over her. But at least she had explained herself. At least there was that. “I’m done.”
She sat there, her head down, as he got up to shut off the cameras. He pulled back his chair and sat down again. Then he leaned forward, snaked his fingers under the table and grabbed her hand.
She looked up into his eyes and saw it. He forgave her.
40
Dana and Ari went on a real date—dinner and a much-too-long experimental theater production starring Gwendolyn Monk, an old friend of Dana’s. Afterward, they went backstage and Dana found things to gush over. Ari was polite enough to say he’d never seen anything like it. When Gwendolyn introduced Dana to the other cast members with a reference to her job as a nationally known host on the Shopping Channel, the backstage energy shifted, and Dana found herself the center of attention. Not wishing to steal her friend’s thunder, she told Gwendolyn again how brave her performance had been, and made a quick exit.
“Watch out for cats, Scar!” Gwendolyn called as the door closed behind them.
Before Dana could explain the inside joke to Ari, he took her hand and kissed it.
“What’s that for?” she asked.
“I think you know.”
She did. Somehow, he had intuited exactly why she had made a beeline for the exit. “If you’re under the impression I’m some kind of a saint,” she said, “you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”
“Is that a warning?”
“I just want you to know I’m not always so well-behaved.”
“Actually, I was counting on it.”
This time, when she invited him into her apartment, there was no mysterious bouquet in the doorway, no specter of another man getting in the way. It was just Dana and Ari, ravenous and eager, unable to get enough of each other.
And in the weeks that followed, the heat didn’t diminish. If anything, it intensified. Dana felt herself swept into the delirious current of new love. Yet despite her joy, she was aware of a subtle but insidious undertow—the fear of heartbreak.
So when she got the invitation to her father and Jennifer’s wedding—addressed to Ms. Dana Barry and Guest—she didn’t know what to do. Sure, she wanted Ari to come with her. In fact, the idea of it was like a dream. She wanted him there, by her side. Drinking with her. Dancing with her, especially if a Motown song came on. He had a strange obsession with that genre. Fortunately, it was the only trait he seemed to share with her father.
But she was afraid to even bring it up. Because it seemed like just the kind of thing that could jinx a couple. It was exactly what had derailed her last two serious relationships. At least, that was the way it felt to Dana, as there were family events on the horizon when her last two boyfriends had cheated on her.
She tried to tell herself she was creating a superstition out of a coincidence, but it didn’t help. And so she tucked the invitation in a drawer, and vowed to ask Ari about it later, when their sapling of relationship had grown deeper roots, and was strong enough to support the weight of a commitment.
* * *
“What’s wrong?” Chelsea asked Dana a week later as she poured coffee from a French press into an oversize mu
g. She turned and handed it to her sister.
Dana took the filled-to-the-brim cup from her and set it carefully on the granite counter. “This isn’t decaf, is it?”
“It’s not decaf.”
“Last time you gave me decaf and—”
“Three sips and you’ll be bouncing off the walls,” Chelsea said. “I promise.”
Dana slurped off a sip and poured in a splash of milk before tasting it again. It was earthy and just bitter enough, with a roasted nutty finish. “It’s good,” she said.
“See? Now tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong.”
“With Ari, I mean,” Chelsea said.
As far as Dana was concerned, her relationship with Ari was wonderful. Sublime. They couldn’t get enough of each other. But Chelsea was right, there was...something. Something that was still keeping her from bringing up the wedding invitation.
“Everything is great with Ari,” she said.
Chelsea took the stool opposite her at the grand island in the middle of her pristine designer kitchen and blew across her coffee. “Except?” she prodded.
Dana sighed. “I don’t know. I can’t relax. I think the problem is that we had a fight before we even started.”
“But he’s committed now. He gets you. And he’s not an unreasonable man.”
Dana nodded. Her sister was absolutely right. Still, she couldn’t quiet that rumble of uncertainty.
Chelsea took a small sip of her hot black coffee and made a face. She went to refrigerator, where she pressed on the ice dispenser and let a cube fall into her hand. “I know what the problem is,” she said as she dropped it into her coffee.
“You do?”
“Deep down, you think you like him more than he likes you.”
Dana looked up at her sister, whose back was to the window. The late-afternoon sun sat low and white on the horizon, making Chelsea’s blond hair seem almost colorless. It hurt Dana’s eyes, and she had to look away.
“It’s true,” she whispered, and it felt like the very admission she’d been hiding from herself.
“But it’s not,” Chelsea said. “That’s my point. The guy is crazy about you. It’s just that there’s a part of you that thinks you don’t deserve it.”
“So how do I fix this?” Dana asked, feeling more like the little sister than she had in a long while.
“Just give it time,” Chelsea said. “Your heart’s a little stupid. It needs a chance to catch up.”
Dana knew her sister was right, and within a few weeks her heart was just starting to get it. By then, the wedding was perilously close, and she hoped Ari would be able to laugh over how foolish she had been about bringing it up.
“Next weekend?” he asked, incredulous. They were in her apartment, getting ready to go out for breakfast.
“This can’t be a complete surprise,” she said. “You heard me talking about it. You knew I was buying a dress.”
“But you never said anything, so I assumed I wasn’t invited.”
“I should have, I’m sorry.” Dana paused, and decided that if she was honest, everything would be okay. “I was...afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” he asked, his face strained with confusion.
“It felt like a bad omen. I know that’s stupid. But Benjamin cheated on me a week before my cousin Zoe’s wedding. And Chris started sleeping with his ex-wife just days before we were supposed to have Thanksgiving with my mom in Florida.”
Ari’s brow tightened, and it took a few minutes for him to respond, as if he needed to calm himself. “Dana, there is always something on the calendar for a couple.”
“Well, it sounds so stupid when you put it like that.”
“It is stupid,” he said. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I do. I was just worried about our relationship. I didn’t want to do anything to jinx it.” She paused and took his hand. “Can you forgive me?”
“Of course I forgive you,” he said, pulling her in for a hug. “But there’s one problem.”
She backed up to look at his face. “What’s that?”
“I’m on duty next weekend.”
Dana’s heart plummeted. “Can’t you get someone to cover for you?”
He shook his head. “Two of the detectives are away, and I’m already covering for Lee. He asked me to do him the favor, and since you hadn’t said anything about the wedding, I agreed. At this point, it’s too late. I’m committed.”
Dana stared at him, wondering if it was really too late, or if a part of him wanted to punish her for stalling. But there was nothing she could do. He was resolute. Dana sighed and grabbed her purse.
“I wish I had your police academy training,” she said as she hitched the strap over her shoulder.
“And why’s that?”
“Because I might have learned to stop shooting myself in the foot.”
41
Kenneth Barry’s backyard—with its expansive view of the Long Island Sound—had been set up for a party and a ceremony. To the right, there were tables and a makeshift dance floor under a large tent. Straight ahead, in the open air, a chapel had been created with white chairs set up in rows, facing a canopy draped in billowy gauze. Dana tiptoed across the lawn, trying to keep her narrow heels from sinking into the earth, and found her sister, Brandon and Wesley sitting in the front row. Chelsea patted the empty seat next to her, and Dana settled in.
Kenneth already stood beneath the canopy, waiting to begin. As the music started, the crowd turned to see Jennifer walk down the aisle—in a silvery white satin gown—escorted by her elderly parents. They took seats in the front row as the bride went to stand beside her groom.
Dana had been told it would be a nonreligious ceremony, officiated by a woman Jennifer had known for years—an old friend who had been ordained. Dana wasn’t sure what it took to be ordained, but she had pictured a plain woman with a bad haircut and a dull suit. Like a nun in street clothes. But the person who stood before them was more like an aging hippie guru goddess, swathed in something that resembled a sky blue toga.
“Did Dad agree to this?” Dana whispered to Chelsea, who shrugged.
Soon, Dana understood why Jennifer had chosen this fully bloomed bohemian to perform the ceremony. She was good. Inspiring. She delivered such a beautiful speech about the transformative power of love that the entire congregation of family and friends hung on her words. Dana felt herself choking up.
The biggest surprise was that her father and Jennifer had written their own vows. Dana braced herself, because she couldn’t imagine anything heartfelt and romantic coming from her dad. Sure enough, his little speech made her wince, as he had written it in a forced and singsongy rhyme, with a meter inspired by Dr. Seuss. She glanced at her sister to see if she was laughing. Chelsea’s head was down as she tried to contain herself.
Dana looked around and saw that most of the attendees seemed charmed, and she decided that there was indeed something endearing about the clumsy effort. By the time it ended she was dabbing at her eyes.
Afterward, Dana stood on the patio sipping a mimosa, talking over the three-piece band as she agreed with relatives that yes, it was a beautiful ceremony. They treated her like a celebrity, peppering her with questions about what it was like to be on the Shopping Channel, and she was grateful they were distracted from asking about her love life. As it was, Dana barely managed to tamp down thoughts of how stupid she had been to stall over inviting Ari to the wedding. If only she had brought it up sooner.
And now, the part of her that Chelsea had mentioned—the part that assumed she simply wasn’t lovable enough—threatened to make another appearance. In fact, she kept hearing a line of poetry in her head—something from an old Dorothy Parker verse—that played out like a prayer.
Let me, for our happiness,
Be the one to
love the less.
It depressed her. Because she couldn’t help thinking that if Ari was more serious about this relationship, he would have found a way to be with her at this wedding.
Dana took another sip of her drink, and her aunt Lillian came rushing over.
“There’s a man in the house looking for you!” she gushed.
“A man?” Dana asked, her heart thudding.
“I don’t know what you did to this one, honey,” Aunt Lillian said, “but he’s got stars in his eyes. Something tells me you might be next.”
Oh God, Ari had come! Dana was so excited she didn’t even bother resenting her aunt for the presumptuous comment.
“Where is he?” she asked.
“In the living room—on the sofa talking to your cousin Becca.”
Dana handed her drink to her aunt and rushed into the house, nearly crying with joy. She stopped short when she reached the living room, where she found Becca talking to the man who had been asking about her. Dana blinked as she reconciled the sight before her with what she had expected to see.
“Dana!” cried the man, looking her up and down with lascivious attention.
It wasn’t Ari.
Dear God, it was Rusty Lindemuth. She tried to reply, to choke out something as simple as hello, but she couldn’t get her voice to work. Dana turned away and rushed to the bathroom, where she locked the door. Damn Aunt Lillian. This was all her fault for raising Dana’s hopes.
There was a gentle knock on the door. “You okay?” Rusty said.
“Go away!” she yelled, and immediately regretted it. Poor Rusty. It wasn’t his fault Ari didn’t love her enough.
Dana took a cleansing breath and steadied herself. She had to go out there and face the rest of this party with a smile. And she had to apologize to Rusty Lindemuth.
By the time she opened the bathroom door, he had retreated. But Chelsea was standing there, holding two mimosas. She handed one to Dana.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Not really.”
“Let’s find a private spot,” Chelsea suggested, and led Dana out the front door, where her father kept the old porch swing from their childhood home. They sat down and began rocking back and forth as Dana told her sister that she didn’t want to talk about it. Everything was fine. She had worked herself into a froth over nothing.
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