The Mask of Sanity
Page 23
“I love you,” said Balint. “What’s that famous line of Lou Gehrig’s: ‘Today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.’ Well, that’s exactly what I feel like right now.”
“I’m so glad,” said Delilah.
And they kissed again.
Then she asked: “One question. Who’s Lou Gehrig?”
Somehow Delilah’s question added perfectly to the moment. Not only were there things he could teach her, but she genuinely wanted to learn the answers. He couldn’t remember the last time Amanda had displayed any sincere curiosity about something that interested him. Balint was about to answer, when his daughters came charging out of the petting zoo, cheeks bright pink, demanding more coins with which to purchase goat feed. Behind the girls, Balint spotted another familiar—if highly unwelcome—face. Davey Sugarman. A moment later, Balint found himself being greeted by Gloria Picardo.
“What a coincidence,” declared Gloria. “You’re everywhere.”
“I could say the same,” answered Balint. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were following me.” He introduced Delilah to Sugarman’s widow. “How are you doing?” he asked. “How is your son doing?”
Gloria glanced around. The boy still stood along the edge of the petting zoo, watching other children feed the goats and sheep.
“I won’t lie to you,” she said. “Lousy. Or somewhere between lousy and awful, if you want to be precise. Warren was the best thing that Davey had going for him. You cannot imagine what it’s like for a boy to lose a father he idolizes at a young age—and especially without any warning.”
“You might be surprised what I could imagine,” said Balint.
“But I am glad I ran into you,” continued Gloria, taking no notice of his remark, “because I’ve been meaning to thank you for weeks.”
“Thank me?”
“For what you said about Warren. At the memorial. I had no idea, you realize, but now it all makes sense . . . I can’t believe I thought Warren was cheating on me when those meetings were so obviously related to his charity work. He told me it wasn’t what it looked like—but how was I supposed to know that it really wasn’t? I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for doubting him . . .”
“He was a great guy,” said Balint. “He never stopped loving you, by the way. He told me that himself only the week before he died . . .”
“Thank you for sharing that.” Gloria reached out and patted his arm. “Even if it’s not true, it’s still nice to hear.”
When she departed, steering her son toward the restrooms, Balint experienced a visceral surge of relief. He squeezed Delilah’s hand.
“That’s the wife of the guy who . . . ?” Delilah asked. She finished the sentence by glancing meaningfully at Balint’s daughters. Their daughters now.
“Exactly,” he said.
“And did he really tell you that he loved her?”
Balint smiled. “I promised you I’d always tell you the truth,” he said. “In order to help me fulfill that promise, I’ll have to request that you not ask certain questions.”
Delilah laughed. “Request granted.”
He didn’t think about Gloria Picardo again all afternoon. They let the girls lead them from exhibit to exhibit—spending twenty minutes hunting zebra in the Serengeti and another thirty spying on Malagasy lemurs. As a final triumph, after a ride on the monorail through tropical Asia, Balint bought the girls a life-sized stuffed tiger; they had to open the sunroof in the Mercedes to accommodate the animal’s head. Jessie had worried that the wind might hurt the creature’s eyes, so they had stopped in a bodega opposite the zoo and bought a pair of disposable sunglasses and a roll of duct tape.
As Balint drove toward his new home with his new family, he reflected on how successfully he’d carried out his mission. He’d checkmated God and left no loose ends. He’d erased the lives of six people, but all had either exceeded their usefulness, like the Rockinghams, or had been rescued from future suffering, like Kenny McCord, or were, like Warren Sugarman, actively making the world a worse place. His conscience was clear, he assured himself. He had no regrets. Besides, he’d acted to protect his daughters from a broken marriage—even if matters hadn’t turned out as he’d hoped. Who could fault him for killing on behalf of Phoebe and Jessie? Who could fault a man who loved his own children as much as he did?
They turned the corner onto Bonaventure Lane and, seconds later, Balint eased the Mercedes into the driveway. Delilah went to unlock the front door while he assisted the girls in extricating the enormous tiger from the car. Tiny balls of Styrofoam stuffing leaked from under the animal’s paws and through its ears. He was carrying the creature in a bear hug when he heard Delilah’s surprise.
“What’s that?” she cried.
He saw it a moment after she did. Around the doorknob. Someone had wrapped a length of green ribbon, a light strand of satin that danced ominously in the breeze.