He didn’t know. That question was never answered. She never gave them a chance to reach that stage.
He looked at Bree’s grin as she read something on her phone.
Their only child.
They had discussed having another one. Money wasn’t a problem; they could afford another one on Sheila’s nearly seven-figure annual bonus alone. But the discussions never resulted in any final resolution. They were just discussions, neither wanting to shoot down the idea completely, but neither fully embracing it either. There was the argument that it was selfish to not give Bree a sibling, a companion. But that argument went by the wayside by the time she hit four. Then there was the argument that Sheila worked too much and barely had time to spend with Bree, let alone a new baby, and she wasn’t ready to slow down and didn’t want another child just because they could afford it. That half-hearted excuse continued to linger, never resolved. And then there was the guilty confession by both that they just didn’t know if they could ever love another child as much as they did Bree.
That one, he thought, might still be true.
Whatever the case, by the time Bree hit eight all of the discussions became muted as the underlying reason behind their failure to commit to another child started to become clear, even if it was never discussed or acknowledged. At least by him.
They had their own issues to deal with.
He now knew that Sheila had known it. And, on some level, he must have known it as well.
As he kept watching Bree look at her phone, seeing her long straight brunette hair hang over her eyes, he felt his BlackBerry vibrate. He slipped it out, wondering if it was Eddie again asking him about going down to the shore, or his attorney calling about the mediation. But it wasn’t. It was a text: R u gonna just keep staring @ me?
He smiled and looked up. Bree was now looking up as well, a sly smirk on her face, the bridge of her nose all scrunched up. “I saw you as soon as you turned the corner,” she said, wanting him to be impressed with her observation skills.
He made his way toward the table saying, “And maybe I saw that you saw me.”
“Yeah, right,” she said as he sat down. “You couldn’t have.”
“No? And why’s that?”
“Because you didn’t know I had it on video. I was recording you the entire time.” She smiled. “See?”
She handed him her iPhone and he watched himself from a few seconds ago just staring at her. “Very nice,” he said, noticing the phone was longer and slimmer than her old one. “I see you have the new iPhone. What was wrong with the old one?”
“It was like a year old and slow,” she said, taking the phone back. “And the screen is a half inch smaller.”
Kyle always tried as best he could to keep Bree from being spoiled. But with an investment banker mother, and now a stepfather who was a partner in one of the largest crisis-management firms in the city with no kids of his own to spoil, it wasn’t easy. It was even tougher right after the divorce, when both he and Sheila tried to shower her with attention and gifts to blunt the emotional devastation of seeing her parents divorce. But they managed. The solid foundation they had laid before the divorce helped, as did the simple fact that she was just a good soul. Kyle always kept that fact in mind and never patted himself on the back too much when people complimented Bree for being such a good kid. He knew parenting could only do so much; a child’s innate personality often dictated who they would become, and how they would react to what the world threw at them. That was the basic building block all parents were given to work with, and what you got was just the luck of the draw.
“Greg thought it would be a good idea to get me a new phone before I head to camp next week,” Bree said about her stepfather. “You know, so I don’t have any problems video chatting with him and mom.”
“I thought cell phones weren’t allowed up at camp.”
“They’re trying something new this year. All the phones are going to be stored away except for once a week when we’re allowed to call home. This way we don’t all have to wait on line to use the same phones.”
“And they’re going to let you video chat?”
“They haven’t said yet.”
“And did you tell Greg that when you asked for the new phone?”
“I didn’t ask for it,” she said, quick to correct the statement. “He surprised me.”
Kyle’s brow arched. “Really? You didn’t ask at all?”
“Well,” she dragged out the word. “Not exactly. I think I may have mentioned to him beforehand that no one in school had a phone as old as I did, and that FaceTime on the newer iPhones was so much clearer and didn’t need wireless and then added something like, ‘How cool would it be if I had a new iPhone for video-chatting from camp?’” Then she raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders. “But I never said I could definitely do that. I was just saying how cool would it be if I could do that.”
“I should hire you as my attorney.”
The statement caused Bree to awkwardly shuffle in her seat. “That case is still going on?”
Kyle didn’t talk to her much about the lawsuit, didn’t even tell her about the mediation he had coming up in only a few days, and was angry with himself for letting the quip slip out. “Yes.”
“But it’ll be over soon, right?”
“Right. Soon. Very soon.”
She opened the menu and looked down at the selections, even though they both knew she’d be ordering macaroni and cheese. Just like she always did.
“So,” Kyle said, opening up his menu as well. “Are you excited about camp?”
“Are you going to prison?”
He looked up from his menu. “Prison? Why would you think that? I told you what kind of case it is, honey. Remember? We went over that. It’s a civil case. A case about money, not a criminal case. No one’s going to jail, okay?”
“I know,” she said, her eyes still focused on the menu, not looking up. “But what if they find that you were responsible for that man’s death? Can’t they come after you criminally as well?”
Responsible for that man’s death. He hated hearing her say that, and felt even worse about her thinking it.
“I’m not going to jail,” he said. “And no one is going to try and put me there.”
She looked up. “I don’t think you caused his death,” she said after hearing Kyle’s terse response. “I’m just saying what if a stupid jury does?”
“They won’t,” he said, looking at the menu, not meeting her eyes. “It’ll probably be settled soon, and even if it isn’t I don’t even want you to think about it while you’re up at camp, okay? It’s just a lawsuit about insurance money. That’s it.”
“That reminds me,” Bree said, digging into her bag and pulling out a box. “Here. This is for you.”
Kyle looked up and saw what she was holding—an iPhone box.
“Since the iPhone doesn’t video chat with BlackBerries,” she said, “Greg thought it’d be nice if you had one too. You know, so we can video chat without you needing your computer. He even set you up with your own account and new number so you don’t have to transfer everything over from your BlackBerry. He said he and mom are taking care of the bill.”
Kyle tried as best he could to conceal his grimace. They all knew his salary was no match for Sheila’s and Greg’s. He didn’t have the luxury of carrying two phones, especially not one just to video chat with his daughter when she only lived a few subway stops away. But he was used to their over-the-top purchases. The more entrenched Sheila became in her circle of work and friends, the less in touch she became with normalcy in terms of spending. First-class plane tickets, luxury box seats at Yankee games, tens of thousands of dollars to rent a house at the Hamptons for only one month—it had all become her new normal. And it had created a rift between them. Kyle earned a city college professor’s salary, one that wasn’t even supplemented anymore by the salary he used to draw from his practice. A salary he could quadruple and it still wouldn
’t even scratch the surface of Sheila’s world. He was sure that was one of the reasons that had caused them to drift apart. She had to see him as less successful, and maybe even less of a man, than the industry tycoons she constantly worked with. But he never received confirmation of that theory as the marriage, from his standpoint, had gone straight from internal doubt to external confirmation when she told him she was in love with someone else. The divorce came shortly after.
It was that quick.
But he wasn’t going to debate the gesture, or purchase, with Bree.
“Tell Greg I said thank you,” Kyle said, setting the box down on the table and shifting topics. “Now, tell me why your mom was home so early when I called the other day. She feeling okay?”
Bree shrugged again. “Just another checkup about the baby.”
“Baby?”
The blood drained from Bree’s face. “Oh, shit.”
Kyle stared at her as his mind quickly processed what her answer and reaction meant.
Sheila was pregnant.
He couldn’t believe it. He never expected it. But maybe he should have. Having a child at thirty-nine wasn’t a big deal anymore. And definitely not in the City.
Bree didn’t say a word, but the pale, nervous look on her face said it all.
“Don’t worry,” Kyle said, “I’m not going to say anything.” And then he paused and narrowed his eyes a bit, slipping back into his fatherly role. “And watch your language.”
“Sorry.”
He took a sip of water. “How many months?”
“Four, I think.”
She was pregnant. The news shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. He had assumed their problems were largely due to the fact that they had had a child. He thought Sheila was looking for something different, and had always assumed that was why she’d been cheating on him for so long. But Sheila having another child tore away at that theory and led to the realization he didn’t want to deal with. She didn’t want something different, she just didn’t want him.
He looked at his still silent daughter. “And are you okay with it?” he asked.
She nodded. “Are you?”
He let the question linger before saying he was.
“You sure?”
He gave the most sincere smile he could muster.
“I couldn’t be happier for her,” he said. “Couldn’t be happier.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was time. And it couldn’t have come sooner.
He needed a fix more than ever. His body and mind felt as if they were falling apart, disintegrating into a puddle of mud. He wasn’t even sure if he could wait for the night. The urge to soak in some more was too hard to ignore. But he had to. It wouldn’t work if he went too soon. So he barricaded himself inside all day, downing as much Ambien as needed to ward off the urges, and slept almost the entire day. Something that was becoming all too familiar between hits.
But the night had finally come. It was a little before midnight. If he went out now, he’d have enough stored up for the next day. And it would be needed. If he didn’t have a bounce-back outing, things would start to fall apart.
So he dressed in his usual nondescript gear, the same outfit he always wore—jeans, dark T-shirt and a baseball cap pulled low on his forehead. The muted outfit enabled his long, lean frame and unblemished skin to blend in and not draw much attention. Someone would have to be trying to recognize him to actually recognize him. And he never gave them that chance. Except maybe the guy in the alley.
He opened his car door and nestled into the seat. He paused as he slipped the key into the ignition, wondering if it’d be better to take a taxi rather than let his unsteady hands and reflexes navigate the streets of Manhattan. He took his hand off the key and held it out in front of him. There was only a small quiver. The tremors from earlier were almost gone. He took stock of himself. He definitely felt better than he had most of the day. Maybe because he was so close to getting a fix. Perhaps the adrenaline pumping through his veins masked the frayed nerve endings that seemed to be falling apart. Or maybe it was because the triple dose of Ambien had worn off, or perhaps the caffeine he’d pumped into his system was taking effect. He didn’t know, but he felt better. Much better. Definitely good enough to drive.
He turned the engine on, backed out of the spot, then made his way downtown, having decided to hit the Lower East Side again. There was little traffic, so the shot downtown was quick. He was able to find a spot on Essex Street. Keeping his head down as he shut the door, he walked down the sidewalk avoiding eye contact with any passersby. He crossed the street when he came to the end of the block, taking note of the smokers outside the bars as he continued walking, feeling his antennas pop, but holding back as he looked for a spot to duck into the shadows. But while the Lower East Side was great for its bustling young crowds, its buildings, like pretty much every other area in Manhattan, were packed close together, the developers having taken advantage of every bit of space they could get their hands on. He kept walking until he noticed a small recess covered by some scaffolding that went all the way through, which worked fine since he’d be able to exit through the other side. He didn’t know what type of foot traffic he’d get, but figured he’d settle in there for a while to see if he got any bites. He sat down on a brick ledge about ten feet from where he entered, his dark clothes covered by shadows, his hat pulled down.
Watching the vibrant young walk by, he again wished he could get his fix from the sick and elderly instead. But they didn’t have enough to give, not for what he was doing.
It had been one of the reasons he’d been so tentative to go forward with the plan at the beginning, reluctant to take those so innocent without any just cause.
But that changed when he realized how quickly time was slipping by, and how much he’d already lost. He needed to grab some of it back before it was too late.
Even if that meant taking someone else’s time before it even started.
Compartmentalize, he told himself as the thoughts began to creep up a little too much, compartmentalize.
He sat still for quite a while, quietly letting his mind and body focus on all around him, falling into the semi-meditative state he’d learned worked best for finding a match—a good match that would stimulate him in a way no drug ever could. He hoped the foot traffic would pick up to increase his odds and wondered if he should find a different spot.
But before he could act on the thought, a sudden spark shot down his spine and prickled the hairs on the back of his neck. His eyes narrowed as he peered up the block, looking to locate the source and find the person who had his entire body taut with anticipation. But before his eyes were able to focus on who it was that had set him off, he heard the cackles and laughter, a bunch of voices loudly rehashing the night.
He immediately felt his stomach sink, his body relax. He wouldn’t be getting his fix from whoever in the group had set him off. There were too many of them. No matter how much he wanted to chance it and just grab what he needed, he knew it wouldn’t be wise. Not with a group. Once it happened he’d be spotted under the scaffolding, and it’d be too much of a nuisance to justify darting away.
He stood and watched them walk down the block, waiting for the feeling to wane.
But it didn’t. Not like he expected it to.
Instead, it was re-directed.
He turned around to see where the jolt was coming from.
He didn’t have to wait long, as a young man rushed over to him, like a moth flying smack into a deadly light.
The young man had his hands on his zipper as he ducked into the alley to relieve himself.
“Sorry,” he said as he unzipped his pants and started peeing on the wall. “I never do this. But the chick’s bathroom was busted so they took over the guy’s, and it was either this or pee into a bottle.”
He didn’t return the comments with any of his own, just walked over as the young man relieved himself. As he got closer, he saw the youthful face,
scraggly spotty scruff on his cheeks covering up some acne, a spark of youthful hopefulness in his drunken eyes. He was skinny, wearing a dark blue polo shirt and jeans that were actually tight around his waist, not hanging halfway down his ass with his boxers hanging out. Looked like an Honor Roll type, someone whose parents would be proud of him.
He looked like a good son.
“Been holding it in all night,” the young man said as he continued to spray the wall. “Didn’t want to leave the girl I was talking to with my friends.” He smiled a drunk yet innocent smile. “She was way too pretty to let get away. Not sure how I got her, but I wasn’t letting one of those guys take her.”
He didn’t deserve this. This dorky, nerdy guy who probably hadn’t even been laid yet didn’t deserve this. His parents didn’t deserve this.
Compartmentalize.
The young man finally stopped peeing and zipped up his pants. “Think that was the longest piss I ever took,” he said, still smiling.
Compartmentalize.
And he did.
He compartmentalized.
Tucked it away, tucked it all away. Tucked every single thought about this little geeky nerd and his surely proud parents into a part of his mind he’d never visit again.
He had to if he wanted to get it done.
And then, without even touching him, without speeding up his slow and deliberate walk over to him, he attacked, latching onto the young man’s energy like a lion snapping down on the jugular, grabbing it like a vise.
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