Third Party

by Brandi Reeds

  “Who knows what you’ve done with this girl? Who are you paying to keep quiet?”

  “Kirsten!” He’s got me by the wrists now. “Calm down. That isn’t me in the pictures.”

  “It’s your tattoo,” I say.

  “Doug has the same tattoo. We got them together in Cabo, remember? And listen, Patrick got it, too. In New York this past summer at Doug’s bachelor party.” He takes a deep breath, and I let it all sink in.

  “We’re the same build, my cousin and me. People have been confusing us since childhood. It’s an honest mistake.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “You’re drunk,” he says, “and you’re mistaken.”

  “I know I’m not mistaken.” But I see that there’s no way he’ll admit to doing anything as reckless as being caught on film with his head between the thighs of a woman barely old enough to order herself a glass of champagne. I pull out of his embrace. “And I’m not drunk.”

  “I told you before.” He unclips his watchband, slides it around his wrist, and refastens it. “I was covering for Doug, my best friend, my cousin, my business partner. I was his best man, and that’s what you do when you realize someone’s made a mistake that could jeopardize his entire future. He slipped up with this girl, and she refused to end the relationship. She’s gone now because she couldn’t live with the guilt of what she was doing, and that’s the end of it. Donna doesn’t have to know, and if you persist, you could ruin a lot of lives.”

  “That’s a precise explanation, given you don’t know if it was your son or your cousin sticking it to this girl. So who is it in these pictures? Is it Doug? Or Patrick? Pick a team.”

  “Like I told you the first time you mentioned this girl, it’s Doug. What I’m saying, Kirstie, is that you’re hinging your beliefs on pictures so unclear that I can’t discern if the man in these images is forty-two or twenty-two.”

  “Then how do you explain the hush money? There’s money missing from our account.” I point to a statement. “Twenty grand here. Twenty grand there. All going to the same account across town.”

  “I told you, Kirstie. There have been some strange transactions. I don’t know where that money is going.”

  “Stop lying to me. I know nothing leaves that account without one of us knowing about it. You really must think I’m an idiot. I found the pictures on the flash drive in your desk. Hence . . . all of this.” I indicate the kitchen, where I’ve spread copies of the pictures on the island. “I saw the note demanding a meeting. Did you meet whoever sent it? You must have, because they didn’t follow up on their threat to send me a copy of the pictures. Is that where the twenty K’s been going?”

  “I swear to you, Kirstie—”

  “Moving on. Here’s that other interesting charge. Over seven hundred dollars at a women’s clinic.”

  “And that’s why I changed the password.” He takes a seat and folds his hands on the table. “But I figured it out. Patrick didn’t want you to know. He and Becca had been careless, and—”

  “Stop right there. That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Believe me or don’t. I’m telling you the truth. Patrick borrowed my card to pay for it.”

  “If it were true that Becca got pregnant, Patrick wouldn’t need to go to you for help. I know you pay him far better than you pay most interns. And Becca has a full-time job.” Discreetly, I FaceTime Quinn, keeping the sound on my phone turned all the way down so Ian can’t hear the alert. “If Patrick and Becca wanted an abortion, they’d get one without going to you. Additionally, if it were true about Patrick, you wouldn’t have first gone to Quinn, the more plausible of your two options, as she really would have had to ask for help if she found herself pregnant. You asked her to cover for you and lied to her about why she’d have to.”

  He stabs a finger at his phone; I assume he’s texting one of the children with a pleading to keep the story straight. “I don’t know what she told you—”

  Quinn’s face appears on my screen. She can hear us, but I’ve silenced her. I put my finger on the volume button so I can turn it up at just the right moment.

  “—and I don’t know why she’d lead you to believe such a thing, but I would never use our daughter like that.”

  And the moment is now.

  “Excuse me?”

  Ian startles when he hears Quinn’s voice.

  “Daddy, whatever you did, own up to it. Don’t expect me to cover for your bullshit.”

  “Quinn, I already told your mother—”

  “Here’s the problem,” my daughter says. “You think, somehow, that women are disposable and interchangeable. I don’t know why you feel that way. Look at what Mom’s done for you, and here you are, insulting her intelligence by thinking she’d believe such a crazy story. And she is intelligent, Dad. She didn’t go to college, but not because she’s not smart. She didn’t go because she was busy holding together the mess the two of you made together. And A: if I were pregnant, I’d go to Mom for help. Not you. B: I know you have a problem with women, but here’s a news flash. I’m a woman. Therefore, your asking me to cover up the fact that you obviously had a big oops with someone other than your wife, my mother, insults my intelligence.”

  “Quinn, be reasonable,” Ian says. “Your mother knows what happened.”

  “Stop texting me what you want me to say!” Quinn rolls her eyes. “You okay, Mom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Want me to come home tonight?”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “I gotta go to class.”

  “Love you, Quinn,” I say.

  “Kiss, kiss. Love, love,” she says.

  I terminate the call. “You’ll have some repairing to do there, obviously.”

  “I don’t know why she’s doing this,” Ian says, still sticking to his story.

  “And now, there’s the matter that this girl is dead. I’ve got all these pictures. We’ve got a decent amount of money going out the door on a monthly basis. A pair of panties. Where do we see this going?”

  “All of this is circumstantial, Kirstie. None of this would hold up in the court of law.”

  “We’re not in the court of law, we’re in our living room, and I’m asking you, for the sake of everything we’ve shared together, for everything we’ve created over the course of the past twenty-four years: come clean.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. I’ve answered all your questions.” He reaches around me and picks up my wine. “You’re creating drama where there isn’t any.” He drains the glass and sets it down. “I think Quinn and Patrick are right. I think you need to do something that makes you happy. Something satisfying to occupy you. We’ll carve out time to make it happen. I’ll take my own dry cleaning in from now on.”

  “Whatever will I do with the extra fifteen minutes per week?”

  “You’re a good mother.” He reaches for me—I let him—and he brushes hair from my forehead, trails a finger down the side of my cheek. “Maybe . . . should we have another baby?”

  “Are you kidding? Is that the only passion you think I harbor? Taking care of babies?”

  “Come on, it’ll be fun.” He plants a hand on the counter on either side of me, fencing me in. “Something we’ll do together. I’d be here to help this time. We were so young and stupid the first two times around. You were tired and overworked, and so was I. Money was always tight, and it was stressful, your folks checking out like they did, and living with my parents until I was out of law school. It could be a completely different experience this time.”

  “I don’t want to do it again. I’m sorry you missed it, all of it, but I’m not going to have another baby for you so you can feel better about being there for someone’s first steps.”

  “Again, I have to hear about how you did it all on your own?” He hangs his head, as if I’ve pulled all the energy out of him, and steps back. “I was out making money, Kirstie. Money to feed, house, and clothe all of you.”

  “That doe
sn’t make you any better than me.”

  “Did I say that?” He washes his hands over his face. “Let’s go away. Just the two of us. Maybe Greece. You’ve always wanted to go there. Doug owes me some time. What do you say?”

  “Would it serve you well to leave the country right about now? While this girl’s death is being investigated?” I pick up my wineglass and cross the room to the wine bar. I refill and sip.

  “So this is what you needed me home for? I skipped a team dinner so you could toss these ridiculous accusations at me?”

  “Dinner with a client? Or did you have an appointment with a certain detective from the Chicago Police Department?”

  “All right.” His cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink. “You need to stop checking up on me with my secretary! My schedule is privileged.”

  “And now you’re at phase two. Denial didn’t work, so you’re trying to get angry. Trying to scare me into shutting up, and I can’t blame you because it’s worked our entire lives. I’ve been at your feet for decades, and you don’t think I can live without you because I’ve never been able to try!”

  “Stop.”

  “Do you think I can’t, Ian? Watch me.”

  “I’m going to catch the end of the dinner. If it’ll help you feel better, I’ll ask my cousin to confirm everything I’m saying. Or, hell, go ahead and pass out before I get home. I don’t care. But we’re done with this discussion.”

  “That’s how it always is with you. You decide when we’re done, so you always get your way, so you always get the last word. But if you think you can bail on this discussion now . . . over my dead body.” I squint at him. Take another sip. “I wouldn’t put it past you to take that threat literally.”

  “I don’t know what you’re inferring, but—”

  “Ian. You realize they’re going to look at you for this girl’s murder, don’t you?”

  “I don’t . . .” He shoves his hands in his pockets and shakes his head, as if I’ve absolutely exhausted him, as if he’s been trying to explain to me that two plus two equals four and I’m just not getting it. “No, Kirstie.”

  “Yes, Ian. They will.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone.” He slices the air horizontally with his hand. “No one killed her. She killed herself. And you know it. We watched the report on the news together.”

  “You don’t know how her panties got into your suit coat. You don’t know how your body and hers were photographed together. But you know she killed herself.”

  “You sound crazy when you talk like this.”

  “Crazy? Do you know there are charges on our statement to a boutique lingerie store in the city? And they sell the label on the panties I found in your jacket.”

  “You need to stop with the panties, already! I’ve already explained how they might have shown up in my coat.”

  “When are you going to realize, Ian, that I’m the only friend you’ve got? And you just burned a thousand bridges between us.”

  Silence itches at the air hanging between us. Finally, with his knuckles whitening as he grips the back of a chair, he says, “So what are you going to do? Leave?”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “We live in a no-fault state,” he says. “I know the letter of the law, and I can keep this case in the courtroom for years. And the expense of it . . . I’m not sure Quinn would even be able to finish college. Do you really want to put our children through that? For something I didn’t even do?”

  “And here comes phase three: the threat to take me and the children out of this comfort zone. It’s been the same thing our whole lives. We argue, you remind me of everything you do—financially—and tell me you can take it all away.” The thought still nearly stops my heart after all these years, but I hold my head up. “If you’d do that to Quinn to spite me, you’re not half the father I thought you were. But if you do, I’ll find a way to pay her tuition without you.”

  “Ha!” Ian begins to laugh, but he shuts up the moment he sees the determination in my expression. “Good luck paying for college with a minimum-wage job.”

  “The thought of living in a two-bedroom apartment doesn’t scare me anymore.”

  “Well.” He shrugs a shoulder. “It’ll be fun to watch you try.”

  “I don’t think it’s fun to watch anything from a prison cell.” I gather the photos on the island and pick up my glass of wine. “Have a nice discussion with Lieutenant Decker. That’s who you’re really meeting with tonight, right? When I handed over the panties, he said he’d be calling you. And today must have been the day.” I wink and walk out of the room.

  THEN

  MARGAUX

  “You again.” Margaux walked around the concerned third party, who was reading by porch light on the front step of Margaux’s building, waiting for her when she dragged herself back from the Aquasphere. “Ever going to finish that book?”

  “I can’t help it. I’m distracted these days. I read a few pages, and I realize I have no idea what I’ve just read.”

  Margaux unlocked the door and held it open. “I think you should come inside.”

  “Only if you’re comfortable with that.”

  “We should talk.”

  “I agree.”

  “In private.”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  Margaux led her guest over the white hexagonal tile of the foyer and up two flights of stairs to her flat. Her hands trembled as she attempted to unlock her apartment door; she dropped the keys before managing to slide one into the lock in the door.

  “Can I get you anything?” she asked. “A glass of water?”

  “No, I can’t imagine I’ll be here too long.”

  “Would you like to sit down?”

  “No, I’m okay. We can skip the cordiality and get right to it, if you wish.”

  “Fine.” Margaux crossed her arms over her chest. “Would you like to start, or should I?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Do you want money? Is that why you’re here?”

  “If only it were that easy. If only that’s what I cared about.”

  “What do you care about?”

  “You. I’m here to take care of you.”

  Margaux frowned and shook her head in disbelief. “But why?”

  “Because we all deserve to be taken care of. Don’t you think? Imagine how different this world would be if we banded together instead of divided and pitted ourselves against one another.”

  “He got mad. He could’ve killed me.”

  “What else is new? The way he treats you when you’re intimate . . . like a whore. Like you’re his prey.”

  Margaux stared out the window.

  “I’ve seen what he does to you, and I’ve seen you react. It’s not your choice anymore to do the things he wants you to do.”

  “He won’t go away. The more I resist, the meaner he gets.” Her eyes welled with tears. “But there’s power to be had here, and I’m close. I feel it. I’m so close to having everything I’ve ever wanted!”

  “Margaux, wait. What do you want? You want to rewind time, don’t you? You want to be loved and not used. Right? You want to go back and stop good ole Granddad from putting his hands in your pants when you were too young to know you could stop him and still have a roof over your head. Goddammit, Margaux. Tell your story. People will listen to you. And walk away from this guy before it’s too late.”

  “You don’t understand. He’s not the kind of guy I can just leave. He’ll hunt me, do you understand?”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “I went out with another guy.”

  “Good for you.”

  “This is what happened when Arlon found out.” She peels the scarf from her neck to expose the bruises there. “But I can manage. He just loses control from time to time.”

  “Relationships aren’t about control. They’re give-and-take. They’re two people teaming up to make it in this crazy world. He’s no different than Akers. He wa
nts to silence you, isolate you. Keep you for the same reason a cat will bat a mouse around before killing it: amusement. Whatever he’s promised you . . . it’s not sincere. It’s to keep you under his thumb; it’s to keep him in a position of power. If you want to take care of yourself, you have to stop seeing him. I know it. You know it.”

  Fat tears rolled down her cheeks, leaving rivulets of black mascara in their wake. “You want me to stop seeing him.”

  “I want you to want to stop seeing him. You’re worth it, Margaux. Believe that you’re worth it.”

  “You don’t understand. I have nothing without him. It’s like you said: at least he can pay my tuition. I just have to be patient. It’ll happen. I just have to wait.”

  “And if he happens to squeeze too hard next time?”

  “He won’t.”

  “What if I told you I had an idea? A way to get what you want and then be free of Arlon Judson?”

  She wiped a tear from her cheek. “I’m listening.”

  Chapter 25

  KIRSTEN

  I pretend to be asleep, but I hear Ian getting out of bed and stepping into pajama bottoms. I hear the scraping of his phone against the tabletop as he pulls it from the nightstand.

  He slips out of the room and into the hallway. I hear the brush of his bare feet against the hardwood floors, then on the stairs as he descends.

  After a minute or so, I follow. I listen at the top of the stairs:

  “I need you to tell her it was you,” he’s saying. “She’s insisting it was me. She has these pictures . . . Listen, please. Please, Doug. She won’t tell Donna. I promise you—your life won’t change. I can’t lose her, and she’s one foot out the door. I know, I know. But I’m done with all that. I don’t want her to go. I feel it for the first time since we were kids. You can’t let this happen.”

  My fingertips tingle.

  “The cop?”

  He’s pacing. I hear the creak of the wood floors under his feet.

  “No, nothing to worry about. They’re looking for Arlon.”

  He laughs.

  “Yeah, Arlon Judson. Remember him?”

  Pause.

  “I know, right? Tell me about it. So I can count on you to admit this girl was your mistake?”