The Grift

by Debra Ginsberg

  But Eddie hated being responsible for the loss of any life. The coroner’s statement said it was possible that the blow Eddie had landed on Andrew’s head might not have killed him. When he opened the bastard up, the coroner found evidence of a massive stroke that must have happened around the same time Eddie swung his bit of pipe. There were charts and diagrams of angles and skulls that all seemed pretty impressive, but Eddie still wasn’t sure—would never be sure. But just as Marina had promised when she whispered to him through her bruised larynx, it was all right. Madeline, of all the people in the world, had made sure he had one of the best defense attorneys in the county, even though she’d done it on the down low. There was never much chance he was going to jail or even to trial for what he’d done, but Madeline’s lawyer had made certain that possibility went down to zero.

  Eddie felt a pang thinking about Madeline. Despite the bitter feelings he’d had toward her and despite the sketchy things she’d done, he might have been a little in love with her after all. The last time they’d met—in secret on the beach like something out of an old French film—when she’d handed him the money and asked him not to contact her again, he’d seen something soft and vulnerable underneath that snowy exterior that he hadn’t been able to find before. It made him want to protect her. He was genuinely and unexpectedly saddened when he’d asked her about the baby and she’d just told him, “No, Eddie, there’s no baby.”

  He shook his head as if to clear it of the memory. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have enough on his plate with the two kids he did have. Tina was intent on going through with the divorce even though he’d finally just broken down and begged her to take him back. But having just seen how much trouble domestic anger could cause, he gave up being mad at her and was working on patience and understanding. You never knew—maybe if he lost a few pounds, got a new haircut, ate a whole lot more oatmeal…You just couldn’t tell with women. At least he was working now and had a place for the boys to stay. Madeline’s money had enabled him to start his own handyman business and rent a small but comfortable place in Solana Beach. He’d become very fond of beach life and didn’t know if he could ever go back inland.

  “Small oatmeal?”

  Eddie looked over and saw one of the usual Darling’s skinnymalinks. Had his blond beauty passed him off to another waitress? “Yeah, that’s mine,” he said. “But I also ordered—”

  “Yep,” Skinny said, “coming up in a sec.”

  Eddie was starting to get really annoyed. What was it with these little chicks? He deserved better, if only because—and how he hated to admit this—he was old enough to be their father. A little respect, please. Eddie thought about that for a moment and realized that here was another one for the strange-but-true file: the one woman in Eddie’s life who actually was giving him respect, or at least offering warmth and friendship, was Marina. Well, he had saved her life. If that couldn’t get you a few props, you might as well throw in the towel.

  A few months ago, he would have given his right arm to spend any time with Marina, but now, and this was the strange part, it just made him uneasy to be around her. It wasn’t that he disliked her or found her any less attractive, even as big and pregnant as she was now. Eddie had never believed in all that psychic shit. But it was an entirely different story now. Those green eyes of Marina’s could see things he didn’t want to know and reach into places he didn’t want to go to. When it came down to it, Eddie didn’t want to be told what was in store. It was hard enough being here now.

  “All right, scrambled eggs and a side of wheat toast.”

  Blondie was back, leaning over and sliding the plate between his elbows. He gave it one more shot, smiled at her as she straightened up, and she almost returned it, the corners of her mouth quivering in a maybe. “Can I get you anything else?” she said.

  “Sure,” he said. “I’ll take some more coffee. And your name.”

  The barely there smile was gone, replaced by a look of disgust and a turned back as she flounced off to get the coffeepot. Hey, Eddie wanted to yell after her, you could do worse. I saved a woman’s life, you know.

  I saved a woman’s life.

  Epilogue

  September 2007

  The days were hot but getting shorter. Every day the sun set a minute or two earlier, the only indication of a change in season. Outside, the air was dry, sharp with the smell of wildfire smoke. Light breezes came and went, blowing dust through the screens of open windows.

  Marina’s time was getting close. She was heavy and still. She’d moved her rocking chair next to her living-room window and spent most afternoons there, staring out onto her street, her bare feet against the warm wood floor, pushing her back and forth. She watched cats darting through her neighbor’s azaleas and black crows flying over a palm in a graceful, ominous circle. People moved along the street, getting in and out of cars, walking their dogs, running with their headphones turned up loud. Marina saw bits and pieces of their lives as they passed and heard fragments of their thoughts. She was learning to focus this way, figuring out what to shut out and what to let in. It was a lot like tuning a radio to find the right frequency.

  Usually, Marina fell into something like sleep during these sessions, the scenery outside her window bleaching out to white behind her closed lids. She rested her hands on her belly and felt the baby’s feet moving under her palm. The baby was getting quiet now, too. Her movements were slower and less frequent and she had dropped down low in preparation for descent. She was waiting and suspended in that nowhere/everywhere space between death and life.

  Marina drifted, her eyes following the erratic flicker of a late-season butterfly as it searched for a bloom. A worry, small but insistent, wormed its way to the surface. What would happen when she looked into her daughter’s eyes? Marina couldn’t stand the thought of knowing every hurt and danger before it happened. If there was one thing she had learned in the last nine months, it was that destiny was unalterable and that knowing one’s part in it only emphasized how little control one had over it. It might be something close to torture to see into her child’s future. The last time they’d spoken, Ciel told Marina that things were going to change as soon as the baby was born. “Babies give, but they also take something away,” she said. “The energy gets shifted. You’ll see.” Marina felt a pulling of muscles, an almost-pain between her hips, as if her body were signaling agreement. She shifted in her chair, leaned her head back and closed her eyes. The sun had moved and was shining hot on Marina’s face. Her hands relaxed against the taut skin of her belly. A slight rumble came from inside, the gathering tension before an earthquake, and Marina breathed in deeply.

  She felt the disturbance in the space around her first—the displacement of air to make room for something solid. Then she felt his hands on hers, the fingers so warm and solid. Marina opened her eyes and saw Gideon leaning over her. His face, so clear in every detail now, was very close to hers. He was smiling. He had forgiven her, and he had come back. Marina was flooded with trembling relief. She lifted her hand and stroked the curve of his cheek, so comforting and real beneath her hand.

  “You’re here,” she said. “You’re not dead.” Water filled her eyes, blurring her vision, then splashed onto his hands. He didn’t answer, but she felt him sigh, saw his eyes cloud with something sweet and sad. “I’m sorry, Gideon,” Marina said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t get to tell you…”

  “It’s all right,” he said. “I already know.” She felt the vibration of his voice deep inside her body. He opened his hands wide so that they covered the baby beneath her skin, holding her. “You’ll know what to do,” he said. “She’ll help you. And I will always be here.”

  “I thought you were dead,” Marina said again. “I couldn’t see you. I thought you were angry…”

  “I have something for you,” he said. She saw it then, the love and reluctance in his eyes, and she knew he was going to leave her again. His lips brushed her forehead and he pressed something small and
heavy into her hand. “This is yours,” he said. “You’ll know what to do.”

  Marina opened her hand. Gideon’s ring lay sparkling on her palm between the lines of heart and fate. She stared at it, mesmerized by its deep red gleam.

  “Please don’t leave me again,” she said, but when she looked up he was already gone. Bright motes of dust swirled in his place, a vast twinkling emptiness, and Marina felt her throat constrict.

  “Gideon, come back.” Marina blinked, her tears dropping big and heavy until her face was wet and hot with them. Then there was physical pain, crashing through her in waves. It was too hard, she thought, trying to catch her breath. It was too hard to lose him again, even if it was only a cruel dream that had produced him. Marina opened her hand. The ring was gone. She pressed her empty palm flat against the tight skin of her belly.

  This is yours. You’ll know what to do.

  She was fully awake now and no longer resting easily on her chair. She needed to get up, to move. Another intense pain, sudden and brutal, made Marina gasp and clench her fists. She was in labor. The pain crested and ebbed, but Marina knew that another would soon be following. She pulled herself up and took a deep steadying breath. It was early, but she was ready. She looked at the moon-faced clock on the wall above the phone and noted the time.

  She stroked her baby one last time from the outside. “Ruby,” she said, “it’s time to be born.”

  Acknowledgments

  While writing is a solitary endeavor, a finished book represents the efforts of many people and I owe a huge debt of gratitude to those who helped me with this one. Were it not for the encouragement of my agent, Linda Loewenthal, The Grift would have remained just an idea. Her intelligence, intuition and support have made this entire process so much easier. Many thanks to my editor, Sally Kim, and the entire team at Shaye Areheart Books, whose professionalism and dedication are second to none. My deepest appreciation and thanks to all the wonderful, devoted booksellers who have supported me and my books throughout the years, and the readers who have followed me and written to me along the way. Thanks and love, as always, to my family for all their help in ways large and small. Finally, I would not have been able to finish this book without Maya and Gabe, who read and listened on demand, offering feedback that was sublime, ridiculous and invaluable.

  About the Author

  Debra Ginsberg is the author of the memoirs Waiting, Raising Blaze and About My Sisters and the novel Blind Submission. She lives in southern California. Visit her at www.debraginsberg.com.

  Also by Debra Ginsberg

  Blind Submission

  NONFICTION

  About My Sisters

  Raising Blaze

  Waiting: The True Confessions of a Waitress

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2008 by Debra Ginsberg

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Shaye Areheart Books, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  www.crownpublishing.com

  Shaye Areheart Books with colophon is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Ginsberg, Debra, 1962–

  The grift: a novel / by Debra Ginsberg.—1st ed.

  1. Swindlers and swindling—Fiction. 2. Psychics—Fiction. 3. California—Fiction. 1. Title.

  PS3607.I4585G75 2008

  813'.6—dc22 2008000947

  eISBN: 978-0-307-45002-9

  v3.0