If I Die Tonight

by A L Gaylin

  Pearl had stopped by the hospital to tell Wade that the Havenkill PD had chipped in to pay for new tires for his car, at which he’d asked his mom, ‘You think my car will make it to California?’

  Jackie and the boys were leaving Havenkill, despite their newfound celebrity, the GoFundMe’s in Wade’s name, the song Aimee En had written for Wade – ‘Sensitive Boy’ – to be released on a major label next month.

  ‘So why are you leaving?’ Pearl had asked.

  Wade had looked at her with those black, sad, survivor’s eyes. ‘Why stay?’

  Pearl envied that in Wade – the simple ability to leave the past behind. She didn’t have it, not yet. Which was why she’d finally buckled under and called her brother and arranged to see her dying father, whose name was Milton. Milton Maze.

  She’d never referred to him by name or even thought of him by name and so, sitting in Paul’s car, on their way up to Albany, she’d wondered aloud what she should call him. ‘Milton? Mr. Maze?’

  ‘What about Dad?’ Paul said, proving for the millionth time how very different he and Pearl were.

  ‘No. Not Dad.’

  ‘Pops?’

  ‘Stop it.’

  Milton Maze lived in a white two-story row house, wedged in between two very similar-looking row houses, one yellow, the other blue, a few blocks from Albany Med. There were some cars parked out front – the place had no garage – and so Pearl wondered which of the cars belonged to her brother, just to have something to wonder about that didn’t terrify her as they walked to the door.

  ‘The roof didn’t cave in,’ Paul said. He was talking about the roof at the Havenkill police station, which, despite some very stormy weather, had remained intact long enough for the big move into the double-wide. He’d pointed that fact out a few times, whenever Pearl had expressed doubts over seeing her father. The roof didn’t cave in. See? You aren’t as doomed as you think.

  ‘Paul.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’m still working out of a trailer. I can’t turn around without bumping into another cop and whenever we bust someone who isn’t, uh, hygienic, the whole place reeks for days.’

  ‘Meaning …’

  ‘Meaning nothing. Meaning there is no meaning behind the station’s non-collapsing roof. Much as you may want there to be.’

  Paul smiled at the sidewalk. ‘I like you,’ he said.

  James was waiting for them – a tall twenty-three-year-old with Pearl’s curly dark hair and gray eyes. ‘Wow,’ he said, when he met her. Nothing more. They hugged, very awkwardly. Paul shook his hand. And then James took Pearl upstairs to Milton’s room and left her there, as much of a stranger as he’d always been, nothing really changed at all.

  Inside Milton Maze’s bedroom, Pearl’s breath caught. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to find on the other side of the door. Her memories of her father were so vague, but they all involved a tall figure standing over her, turning away. She imagined an angry shadow in the bed, so when she walked into the room and saw a frail, white-haired man with watery eyes, she was surprised enough to move closer. The sun shone through the shaded window, the air too close – medicinal and slightly stale.

  ‘Pearl.’ His voice sounded like snow crunching, and Pearl felt outside of herself, as though she were watching the moment as a movie.

  He held out his hand. She reluctantly took it. It was soft and dry, his fingernails clean. Well cared for, for a dying man. He smelled of medicine and soap, and he smiled at her. It made her feel strange.

  She heard herself speak. ‘I shot a man a couple of weeks ago.’

  His smile dropped away.

  ‘Second person I’ve ever shot. It was in the line of duty and he had a gun drawn on me. When I shot him, I figured he’d shoot me too … that he might kill me, considering where his gun was aimed. I closed my eyes. I waited for it. But when I opened them, he was down. A couple other officers tackled him.’

  Pearl’s father watched her with bloodshot eyes, silvery from cataracts. She wasn’t quite sure whether he could see her at all. ‘My gun was aimed at his foot, his at my head. But I was the one who shot. Can you believe that?’

  ‘How did you feel,’ he said, ‘knowing you were going to stay alive?’

  ‘Surprised,’ Pearl said quietly. ‘Disappointed, maybe.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. It’s just the way I am.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s the way I made you.’

  Pearl let go of his hand.

  There was a pitcher of water and a stack of cups on the nightstand. He motioned to it. She poured him a cupful and he took a few long, greedy gulps. ‘She’d been cheating on me,’ he said finally, as though coming up for air. ‘I’d just found out. I was mad, but couldn’t … I couldn’t say it. I knew if I said it, she’d leave me. Take you kids with her. You were on the floor, playing with my shoes. You always liked to play with my shoes.’

  He motioned to the water again. Pearl poured him another cupful and waited for him to drink it, a ritual that was already getting to her. She didn’t know why she was waiting. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be here.

  ‘She was putting her make-up on. The safe was under the desk and it was open. It was right next to my shoes.’ He took another swallow. ‘I saw you pick up the gun. I was standing in the doorway.’

  ‘I don’t need to hear anymore.’

  ‘You picked it up and you pointed it. Just like you’d seen me do at the shooting range.’

  ‘Please stop.’

  ‘You pointed it at her. I could have kept you from doing it but I didn’t. I stayed in the doorway. I turned my back until I heard the shot.’

  An image flashed in Pearl’s mind. Something she’d seen in nightmares. The heavy thing dropping out of her hand. Her ears ringing. A woman in a black dress, falling onto a pale pink carpet, pooling blood. And Pearl, all alone, looking for her dad …

  ‘I waited. I didn’t come in the room right away. I watched her fall, and I watched you, this little girl …’ Milton Maze’s face was red. Tears trickled down his cheeks. ‘I was glad it had happened.’

  Pearl stared at him. She knew what he was supposed to say: I forgive you. But she couldn’t do it. Her mouth wouldn’t form the words.

  ‘I couldn’t look at you after. It’s why I left you at your Aunt Ruth’s. I couldn’t look at you, Pearl, without remembering what kind of monster I am.’

  Pearl took a step back from the bed; the smell was getting to her: soap and medicine and sweat and death; the words were getting to her too. What did he want from her? What did he expect? ‘Thank you for telling me.’ She couldn’t say any more than that. She put Milton Maze behind her, swallowing tears, knowing she’d never see him again.

  Walking back to his car, Paul turned to her. ‘So what did you call him?’ he said. ‘Milton? Milty? Mr. Maze?’

  Pearl grabbed Paul’s hand more tightly than usual. She kissed him on the cheek. The roof didn’t cave in. Maybe it never will. ‘What the hell is your last name?’ she said.

  Six weeks later

  Jackie was at the wheel when they crossed the California border, Wade’s car hitched to the bumper, Death Valley spreading out in front of them like some strange, lifeless planet. Connor was asleep in the back seat and Wade was next to her, eyes closed, headphones jammed into his ears. She tapped him on the shoulder, and his eyes opened, taking it all in. ‘Welcome to Mars,’ Jackie said.

  ‘Wow.’ He grabbed his phone out of his pocket and started taking pictures.

  It was about as much conversation as they’d had during this trip, Jackie and Wade, with Connor only slightly chattier. But she found comfort now in these silences, the nodding of their heads as they listened to their music, the sound of their breathing. Their laughter. It was all she needed – the two of them, alive.

  Yesterday morning, she’d gotten an email from Helen. A long letter detailing her divorce that ended, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.
>
  Such a strange expression – as though the heart was a messy closet you dug around in, forgiveness stashed in some long-forgotten shoebox. Jackie felt sorry for Helen. She might forgive her, maybe write her back someday. But for now, she had a rental in the valley to settle into, two boys to acclimate to new schools, a real estate job to start, a half-finished manuscript to complete. So many new things to begin that the idea of looking back on anything seemed unappealing and remote.

  ‘Mom,’ said Wade. ‘Let me take your picture.’

  Jackie turned to her oldest son. He held up his phone, the desert sun shining on his floppy, two-toned hair. She’d forgotten how oddly bright California was.

  ‘Don’t look so serious,’ he said.

  Jackie flashed him a smile, not so much posing but watching him: a young man, heading into his future. Connor snored in the back seat, growing older by the second, and Jackie wanted to hold this moment in her hands, to keep it with her always.

  Acknowledgements

  Tremendous thanks to Sergeant Peter Dunn of the Rhinebeck Police Dept., Lee Lofland and cybersecurity and digital forensics expert Josh Moulin for answering all my police-related questions (and there were many.) Thanks also to Sgt. Dunn for his hospitality in allowing me to tour the Rhinebeck station.

  As ever, I am so grateful to my wonderful and insightful agent Deborah Schneider and the ever-organized Cathy Gleason, as well as the brilliant team at Penguin/Random House—particularly Sonny Marr, Sam Deacon, the spectacular Selina Walker and Richenda Todd, whose copy-edit was a thing of beauty. I am so happy to be working with you all. Big thanks also to the ever-amazing Lyssa Keusch at William Morrow.

  Thanks and hugs to so many good friends, including Sharon Breslau for letting me know how a realtor thinks, James Conrad and Jackie Kellachan of my all-time favorite bookstore, The Golden Notebook and, for their support and advice, Chas Cerulli, Jamie and Doug Barthel, Paul Leone, Wendy Corsi Staub … and of course my beloved FLs who always make it nice.

  Finally but not least, thank you to my in-laws Sheldon and Marilyn Gaylin and my mother Beverly LeBov Sloane for much-needed emotional support. And of course Mike and Marissa Gaylin, without whom the roof would cave in.

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Epub ISBN: 9781473538009

  Version 1.0

  Published by Century 2017

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  Copyright © A.L. Gaylin 2017

  Cover photomontage derived from images supplied courtesy of Getty Images

  A.L. Gaylin has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published by Century in 2017

  Century

  The Penguin Random House Group Limited

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  Century is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9781780896373