Cul-de-sac

by Joy Fielding

  But she didn’t come home.

  Instead, he watched her go home with Maggie.

  “It’s better this way,” his mother said.

  Was it?

  “I don’t know what to do,” he’d said to Maggie.

  “You’ll figure it out.”

  Would he?

  “I think you already know,” she’d said.

  Once again, Aiden enters the name Gordon Young into his iPad. The screen is suddenly awash with images. There are literally dozens of Gordon Youngs on Facebook. Gordon Youngs of all shapes and sizes, all ages. White, black, and brown Gordon Youngs. Aiden scrolls through the photos until he finds the one he’s looking for.

  Even though the man is decades older and twenty pounds heavier than he was the last time Aiden saw him, he instantly recognizes the man who is his father. According to his profile, Gordon Young works as a building contractor and lives in San Francisco with his wife of twelve years and their three dogs. If the photos posted are an accurate reflection, they look happy. Hell, even the dogs seem to be smiling.

  What has he missed out on all these years by stubbornly refusing all contact with the man?

  Now he’s about to become a father himself. Is that why he’s feeling this sudden overwhelming compulsion to reach out?

  Aiden presses the blue button marked Message. Hi, he types. It’s Aiden. He counts to ten, his fingers hovering over Delete, then sends the message before he can change his mind.

  It’s three hours earlier in California. There’s a chance his father is still up.

  Within seconds, he receives a response.

  My God, Aiden. Is that really you, son?

  “Aiden?” his mother calls from the top of the stairs as if she senses something is amiss. “What are you doing? Where are you?”

  Aiden promptly closes his iPad.

  “Aiden?” Lisa appears in the doorway seconds later. “What are you doing down here? Do you know what time it is?”

  “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d play some video games. I didn’t want the noise to disturb you.”

  “That’s very sweet, but you need your rest.” She guides him toward the stairs. “Tomorrow’s going to be a very busy day. We have a lot of decisions to make.”

  Chapter Forty-five

  It’s seven o’clock in the morning, and everyone in the McKay household is sleeping, except Maggie.

  In fact, she hasn’t slept at all.

  How could she sleep when every time she closed her eyes, she saw her son with the gun in his small, trembling hands? Followed by an image that was even worse: her beautiful little boy with half his head blown off, his sweet face obliterated by the force of a heartless bullet, his own kind heart forever stilled.

  “Oh God,” Maggie moans, trying to wipe the disturbing picture from her brain.

  But, like a stubborn stain, it keeps coming back.

  She is sitting at her kitchen table, her gun, now emptied of bullets, resting on the table beside her laptop, her laptop open to a list of the best ways to dispose of an unwanted firearm. Much as she would like to, she understands she just can’t throw the damn thing in the garbage.

  She has learned there are five reasons to get rid of a gun legally: that the gun is unsafe or incapable of being fired, that it’s not worth fixing, that there is a court order, that the owner wishes to create a gun-free household, or that the owner has inherited the gun and doesn’t want it. She has also discovered that there is an organization that will have the gun appraised for her, as well as cover all shipping and transaction costs.

  Maggie isn’t interested in recouping her investment. She just wants the gun out of her house.

  Which, she discovers, leaves her with four options.

  The first is to contact the federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives and explain her situation.

  But it’s seven o’clock on a Sunday morning, and it’s unlikely anyone will be around to answer her call. Plus, it seems a bit extreme to bring the federal government into what is, after all, a relatively minor personal matter.

  The second option is to surrender the gun to local law enforcement, either the sheriff or a police station. It is highly recommended that one call the nonemergency line and declare one has an unwanted gun before simply showing up at the station with it and risking getting shot or placed under arrest.

  “Sounds reasonable,” Maggie says, finishing what’s left of the coffee in her mug.

  The third alternative is to surrender the weapon to a Federal Firearms License holder, also known as FFL. All legally operating gun shops and gun dealers possess an FFL. Maggie knows she wouldn’t have any trouble finding either.

  The final option is to donate the gun to a gun safety training program or museum.

  Maggie decides on option number two. She’ll call the police, tell them she owns a firearm and wants to surrender her weapon.

  Sounds easy enough, she thinks. Almost as easy as buying the damn thing had been.

  She’s reaching for her phone when she hears a noise behind her and turns to see Heidi. The young woman has changed out of Maggie’s nightshirt back into the shorts and T-shirt she wore to last night’s barbecue. Her auburn curls have been pulled into a ponytail, and she looks surprisingly fresh and serene for someone in the middle of a marital crisis. Oh, to be young, Maggie thinks. “You’re up early,” she says.

  “I smelled coffee.”

  Maggie is instantly on her feet. “Would you like some?”

  Heidi nods, approaches the table. “Oh,” she says, stopping when she sees the gun next to Maggie’s laptop. “Your son’s toy?” she asks, not bothering to disguise her obvious skepticism.

  Maggie returns to the table and picks up the gun as Heidi takes an automatic step back. “Don’t worry. I took the bullets out last night. I’m turning it in to the police station later. Going to create a ‘gun-free household.’ In the meantime,” she says, her eyes scouting the room for a place to put it, “I’ll just put it…here.” She opens the freezer and deposits the gun behind a package of frozen peas. Then she returns to the counter and pours Heidi a full mug of coffee. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “A bit of both would be great.”

  Maggie adds a small amount of cream and a teaspoon of sugar to the mug and places it on the table. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

  “Thank you. For everything.”

  “How’d you sleep?” Maggie asks as Heidi sinks into the chair across from hers.

  “I was out the minute my head hit the pillow. Toad and Squirrel Luigi obviously did the trick. You’ll have to thank Leo for me.”

  “You can thank him yourself when he gets up.”

  “No,” Heidi says, taking a long sip of her coffee. “I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I finish this.”

  “There’s no rush.”

  “I know. And I really appreciate your generosity. But I can’t stay here forever. I have to go home sometime.”

  “Aiden was here last night,” Maggie tells her.

  “What?”

  Maggie relates the scene that unfolded on her front stoop.

  “Oh my God. I can’t believe I slept through that.”

  “You were exhausted.”

  “Still…I’m so sorry.”

  “Do you have any idea what you’re going to do?”

  “I know what I’d like to do.” Heidi looks toward the freezer.

  Maggie smiles.

  “What do you think I should do?” Heidi asks her, the same question Aiden asked last night.

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “What would you do?” Heidi immediately amends.

  “I don’t know,” Maggie says honestly. “I’m hardly an expert on marital bliss. But I remember that there was this advice columnist when I was a kid, and she always used
to say that, in the end, what it all boiled down to was: Will you be happier with him or without him?”

  Heidi nods. “I guess that’s what I have to figure out.”

  * * *

  —

  It’s just after eight o’clock when Heidi leaves Maggie’s house for her own. The door opens as she’s heading up her front walk. Aiden fills the doorway.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” he whispers, stepping aside to let her enter.

  “I’m not staying.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just came back to get a few things.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I think you do.” Heidi walks up the stairs.

  Aiden is right behind her. “Look. I’m sorry about last night,” he says, following her into the bedroom.

  Heidi grabs a small suitcase from the closet and starts throwing handfuls of clothes inside it.

  “I promise it won’t ever happen again.”

  Heidi spins toward him. “What won’t happen again, Aiden? You won’t get jealous over nothing? You won’t attack some poor kid whose only crime was helping me make a nice dinner for your mother? You won’t question who’s the father of this baby? You won’t believe your mother’s ridiculous insinuations and outright lies? What exactly won’t happen again?”

  “All of it.”

  Heidi looks toward the window, then back at her husband. “Prove it.”

  “How?”

  “A while back, I told you that, sooner or later, you were gonna have to choose between your mother and me, and you asked me to hang in there a little longer, that you’d make things right, and I said I would, and I have. But now I’m gonna have a baby—your baby, in case there’s any doubt—and I can’t hold on anymore.”

  “What is it you want me to do?”

  “Tell your mother to get out of our house.”

  “I think you mean my house, don’t you?” Lisa says from the doorway.

  Heidi’s head snaps toward her chest at the sound of Lisa’s voice. Of course, she’d been listening. “Your house,” Heidi agrees. “My mistake.”

  “You’ve made a fair number of those, haven’t you?” Lisa glances pointedly at Heidi’s stomach.

  “Look. She’ll only be here a few more weeks,” Aiden tells Heidi. “Till her renovations are finished. Then—”

  “Then what?” Heidi asks. “You’re missing the point here, Aiden.”

  “Just what is the point?” Lisa interjects.

  “You heard her, Aiden,” Heidi says. “Her money, her house, her rules. I’ve had enough, Aiden. Haven’t you?”

  Outside, a car honks.

  “That’ll be Shawna. From work.” Heidi grabs a handful of underwear from the top drawer of the dresser and stuffs it inside the suitcase before closing it. “I’ll be staying with her for the time being.”

  “Please don’t go.”

  Heidi takes a long, deep breath, deciding to give it one more try. “Come with me.”

  Aiden sways toward her, then stops.

  “I didn’t think so.” Heidi grabs her bag and walks into the hall. “Congratulations,” she says to Lisa. “You win again.”

  Lisa smiles. The smile says, I always do.

  * * *

  —

  Maggie returns from the police station at just after noon. She laughs, recalling the surprised look on the officer’s face when she’d surrendered her gun.

  “How’d it get so cold?” he’d asked.

  She notices an unfamiliar car in the Wilsons’ driveway and automatically checks the license plate.

  REL8TOR.

  What’s going on there? she wonders, exiting her car at the same time as Julia Fisher steps outside. The old woman stands on her front stoop, staring up and down the street.

  “Hi!” Maggie waves. “How’s Mark doing?”

  Julia turns around and reenters her house without answering.

  “Okay. That was weird,” Maggie says as she opens her front door.

  “What’s weird?” Leo asks, rushing to her side.

  My beautiful boy, Maggie thinks, kissing the top of his head and hugging him tight, shuddering at the thought of what might have been. “I said hello to Mrs. Fisher and she just ignored me.”

  “She’s like a hundred years old, Mom,” Erin says, skipping down the stairs. “She probably didn’t see you.”

  “She was looking right at me.”

  “Okay, so maybe she doesn’t like you.”

  “Why wouldn’t she like Mommy?” Leo asks.

  Erin rolls her eyes, heads for the door. “I have to go.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Dr. Wilson called while you were out and asked me to babysit this afternoon while he and the Mrs. go house hunting.”

  “They’re moving?”

  Erin shrugs. “I guess they’re thinking about it.”

  “Seems kind of sudden,” Maggie says. “I wonder why.”

  Erin smiles as she opens the front door. “Maybe they don’t like you either.”

  Chapter Forty-six

  Olivia sits in her car, its engine running, near the corner of Royal Palm Way and South County Road, taking deep breaths and trying to convince herself that she’s doing the right thing.

  It’s not that she doesn’t believe her husband, or that she’s checking up on him. Although, of course, that’s exactly what she’s doing. It’s just that she has to make sure. She has to still the nagging voices in her head telling her that Sean is being, at best, less than honest about his new position. There are simply too many inconsistencies, coupled with too many excuses. Too much vagueness. Not enough concrete details.

  “No, it’s not a good idea to phone me at the office. I’m so busy learning the ropes, and the company discourages personal calls during the workday.” “No, I can’t show you my new office. Maybe in a month or two. When things settle down. When I’m not so new.” “No, I really can’t discuss the projects I’m working on or the clients I’m working with. Everything is highly confidential.”

  “I don’t understand,” Olivia has said on more than one occasion. “It’s not like you’re working for the CIA.”

  “Feels like it sometimes,” came Sean’s instant rejoinder. “Honestly, hon. There’s really nothing to tell.”

  Okay, Olivia thinks. She kind of understands his reticence when it comes to talking strategy or discussing clients. But Sean has been equally vague about the people he works with. True, he’s only been at Advert-X just over a week, so it’s a little early to be passing judgment on his co-workers, but come on. Not even a “This one is a real gem” or “That one is a royal pain in the ass.” No recounting a funny story, no venting of minor frustrations. Not even any real excitement about being back in the saddle after such a long layoff, no understandable worries about his performance or how he’s being perceived.

  She remembers how excited she’d been when she went back to work, how nervous she’d been about whether she was doing a good job, and how she couldn’t wait to get home to share the details of her day with Sean. Nothing was too small or unimportant to leave out. No tidbit too inconsequential. No anecdote too dull.

  Sean had been the same way at his old job. He’d come home every day full of stories and office gossip. He’d never been shy about voicing an opinion, no matter how premature, or offering up his two cents when he disagreed. He’d never given two hoots about being discreet.

  Which was maybe why he’d been let go, Olivia thinks now, deciding she’s being ridiculous, that this little detour into Palm Beach is both unfair to her husband and a waste of her time.

  She checks her watch. Almost four o’clock. She was on her way home from a meeting with clients in Fort Lauderdale when the impulse hit to surprise Sean with a visit. Olivia shakes her head, knowing she’
s not being truthful. It’s one thing to lie to others, another thing entirely to lie to yourself.

  And the truth is that this idea has been germinating in her brain ever since Saturday night, when Erin dropped that bombshell about seeing Sean’s clone at the beach.

  God, the look on Sean’s face!

  Olivia might not have given the matter much thought had it not been for his over-the-top reaction, the unexpected flash of anger in his eyes, his overly vehement denial. “What? No! Whoever you saw, it definitely wasn’t me.” And then losing his grip on the tongs, dropping the hot dog…

  Combined with his reluctance to share his good news with the neighbors, his drinking, the lies he’s already told…

  So here she sits, near the corner of Royal Palm Way and South County Road, two buildings—one white and one bubble-gum pink—away from the bright yellow, six-story structure that is home to Advert-X. All she has to do is get out of the car and go inside. Hi, honey. I just happened to be in the neighborhood….

  “Screw it.” She turns off the engine and climbs out of the car. What’s the worst that can happen? she wonders, marching toward the entrance without considering the answer.

  The small lobby is all large white marble tile and sleek black leather furniture. Olivia approaches the directory beside the elevator, noting that Advert-X occupies the building’s top two floors. She presses the button and waits while the elevator descends, then steps back to let its two occupants—one male, one female, both young and the epitome of cool—exit. She nods hello, feeling slightly dowdy in her navy cotton dress and matching cardigan. No wonder Sean felt the need to buy that crazily overpriced jacket.

  She presses the button for the fifth floor and watches the small TV in the upper right corner of the elevator flashing the latest in headlines, weather, and stock market returns. In the few seconds it takes to reach the fifth floor, she learns that Bank of America stock is up, today’s temperature hit a high of ninety-three sweltering degrees, and there was a mass shooting in Iowa that left fourteen people dead and another sixteen injured.