A Good Marriage

by Kimberly McCreight

They headed down a short hall from the waiting area to an open room with a dozen desks occupied by other detectives interviewing witnesses, victims, maybe even suspects. It was impossible to tell the difference. Everybody seemed upset. Amanda sat in a chair alongside Officer Carbone’s desk as he took his place behind an old computer monitor.

  Already Amanda felt like a victim. Wasn’t that the opposite of how this was supposed to make her feel?

  “So, again, I’m Officer Carbone,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand. His grip was moist and his manner was stiff, as though he was following a script.

  “Hi,” Amanda said, resisting the urge to yank her hand back.

  “What is it I can do for you?”

  Amanda smiled awkwardly. “Someone is, um, harassing me. They’ve been calling and hanging up.” This was a weak start. Carolyn would not be impressed.

  “Okay.” Carbone leaned back in his chair. He seemed skeptical, of course he did. Why wasn’t she just being direct? “Any idea who?”

  “Yes, um, it’s my dad. I know that it is.”

  “Has your father made any threats?” At least he hadn’t batted an eye at the idea of a father stalking his daughter.

  “No—I mean, yes, in the past. On the phone he hasn’t said anything. He just breathes.”

  “Breathes?” The officer frowned.

  “Yeah, it’s like this panting. I, um, know it really well. It’s definitely him.”

  “Okay,” the officer said, like he was trying to decide exactly how hard to press her for more details. “And the calls are from his number?”

  “It just says ‘unknown,’” Amanda said. “But I’m sure it’s him. We moved back to New York recently from the West Coast. He lives upstate,” she said, hearing how thin her evidence sounded. “And he’s done this before,” she added. “I filed a complaint back in California, Sacramento. Back then, he only called a few times. This time it’s been … dozens, and dozens.”

  “Okay,” the officer said, seeming encouraged. “A complaint. That’s good.”

  “He also has a history of … He has a drug problem.” Even those simple words—ones that didn’t even get to the half of it—were so hard to get out. “I think he probably wants money. Actually, I’m sure that’s what he wants.”

  Carbone turned toward his computer and began to type. “Sacramento, you said? And this was how many years ago?”

  Amanda considered. She couldn’t remember exactly anymore. But it had been spring because the flowers were newly blooming and she’d had Case with her at the time, which meant he wasn’t yet in nursery school. She never would have brought him to a police station if she’d had a choice. Wait, it was right after Case had gotten that terrible food poisoning. Four whole days in the hospital because of tainted lettuce, of all things. Or so the doctors suspected. There was no way to be sure. Whatever had caused it, though, it had been absolutely terrifying to see how quickly Case had deteriorated, and how lifeless he’d become. He’d been nearly three at the time.

  “Six or seven years ago.”

  A minute more of typing and then Officer Carbone’s fingers suddenly stopped. “Ah, here it is.”

  Thank goodness. It was almost like having that stern, big-breasted female officer who’d taken the report standing at Amanda’s side barking at him: She’s telling the truth, asshole, and she shouldn’t have to prove it to you.

  “Seven years ago,” he said. “Nothing since then?”

  “No.”

  “How did it end last time?”

  “I shouted that I’d been to the police,” Amanda said.

  “Did he respond to that?”

  “No, but after that he didn’t call again, until now.”

  Amanda had forgotten that part. That she’d threatened him. And it had worked. That was something.

  “Has he ever done anything other than call?”

  “I think he’s been following me. And today he left flowers right at my house.”

  Lilacs. Amanda and her mother used to collect them from an abandoned field where they’d grown wild. Amanda had always been so comforted by that dreamy lilac smell filling the trailer afterward, while her daddy ranted about the sweetness making him feel sick.

  “Flowers?” He looked confused. “Any chance he’s trying to apologize?”

  Amanda glared at the officer. She couldn’t help it. Hadn’t they just covered this? But from the plain look on his face, it did seem to be an actual question.

  “You can’t apologize for some things,” Amanda said, an unexpected heat in her chest. Her jaw was clenched, too. She forced herself to smile. Getting angry wouldn’t help. “Anyway, he would never apologize. And he hates lilacs. They were meant to be threatening. He wants me to know that he knows where I live. Even if he wants money, I’m afraid he’ll do something horrible to get it. I threw the flowers out, but this is the card.”

  Officer Carbone studied the card for a long moment, but made no move to take it. “How does he know?”

  “Know what?”

  “You said you just moved to New York, right?”

  “Yes,” Amanda said, relieved that Officer Carbone had at least been listening that much. “Four months ago.”

  “And the calls started up right after you got here?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you haven’t been in contact with your dad since this complaint seven years ago?” He nodded toward his computer. Was his tone slightly accusatory now?

  “Yes,” Amanda said. “I mean no. I haven’t had contact with him since then.”

  “Then how did he find you?”

  “I don’t know. Not easily.” Amanda could not imagine her dad googling or something like that. Even if he did there would be nothing to find. “My husband is—he’s very careful about privacy. He always makes sure our addresses can’t be found online and that kind of thing. He has a service that does these checks and removes anything personal from the internet.”

  The officer raised an eyebrow. “Seems like maybe you should focus then on how your dad found you. Don’t you think?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s the issue of how to make this stop. But there’s also the issue of how it started. Sometimes the two are related,” Officer Carbone said. “Are you sure you’re not connected on social media somehow? Or maybe there’s family or old friends who might tell him where you are? Sometimes people think they’re helping when really they’re doing just the opposite.”

  Amanda laughed then, in a way that probably made her seem crazy. But Officer Carbone’s suggestion was crazy. Amanda had no connections to her old life. And she wasn’t on any kind of social media. Zach thought it left people too exposed.

  “No, no one told him,” Amanda said quietly. “And our lives have nothing—no one in common.”

  The only friend she had from St. Colomb Falls was Carolyn, and she would have no way of—well, not no way. Carolyn’s mom had passed, but she probably had family left upstate. Amanda hadn’t asked about them in a long time. Carolyn, of all people, would never have anything to do with Amanda’s dad, though. Carolyn hated him. And she loved Amanda.

  “Well, he found you,” Officer Carbone said. “Might be worth trying to figure out how.”

  “I just want an order of protection, something to make him stay away.”

  “To get an order of protection, you’re going to have to actually prove he threatened you in some way or another.”

  “But he is threatening me,” Amanda said quietly. “His being here is a threat. Because of the person he is, our history.”

  “I’m sure it’s difficult, but maybe you could be more specific about what he’s done exactly?” Officer Carbone asked. “If there was a previous act of violence, there’s a better chance you could make the case.”

  But the ugly details were sunk beneath miles of ocean, buried deep in the sediment. And Amanda lacked the will to dive after them. An actual tear slipped out of her eye, though she hadn’t realized she’d been about to cry
. When Amanda brushed it away, the detective shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  “Listen, I am sorry,” he said more gently. “Really, I am. And you could go down to the courthouse anyway and try for that restraining order. But I do think it would be a waste of time. My advice? Try to get something on the record, some evidence of your father’s bad intent—video, audio. These days with everyone having an iPhone, judges end up almost expecting that kind of smoking gun.” Carbone fished a card from his drawer and held it out to her. “In the meantime, if something else happens, property damage or some more specific threat, you call and ask for me personally. I’ll do whatever I can to help. Keep asking yourself how he found you, too. There might be something or someone you’re not considering.”

  Amanda headed away from the police station feeling confused, and even more hopeless. It wasn’t that she’d expected one visit to the authorities to resolve the entire situation with her dad. But maybe she had let herself get her hopes up a little. Halfway home, she tossed Carbone’s card.

  What if her dad continued to call after Case came back? What if things continued to escalate then? No. She would not allow it. She would protect her son no matter what. A restraining order might not be the answer, but she had to do something, and she had to do it now. No matter what Carolyn thought, it wasn’t as simple as talking to Zach, either. She’d tried to talk to him about her dad before and it had not gone well. She remembered one specific time their first year together.

  They’d been driving to a party at the house of Zach’s first boss, Geoffrey. Zach actually liked Geoffrey, and so Amanda hadn’t told Zach that Geoffrey put his hands on her ass whenever he hugged her goodbye. Geoffrey and his wife belonged to one of those modern ministries, the kind in a strip mall, with a hard rock band. He was always trying to get Amanda and Zach to come to services. As Zach pulled into Geoffrey’s driveway, he was talking about how they probably should go soon or they’d risk offending these “good people.”

  “Having a cross on your wall doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a good person, you know,” she’d said.

  “Oh yeah?” Zach had asked as he turned the car off. And Amanda felt this hopeful little rush in her chest. Zach was actually curious what she was getting at? He wasn’t usually. For a second, she even considered telling him about Geoffrey’s roaming hands.

  “My dad had a cross on his wall,” she went on. “And he did terrible, terrible things.”

  Zach had nodded and stayed quiet, smiling thoughtfully. But then Amanda watched his face slowly drain of all expression until it was cold and empty. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to ask, ‘What terrible things, honey?’ Because I’m not going to. We’ve all got baggage. If I’d wanted to take on someone else’s, I would have married a different kind of woman.”

  “Amanda!” a voice called out.

  When Amanda looked up, Maude was sitting there at the top of their stoop. Amanda had been so lost in thought, she hadn’t even realized she’d walked all the way home from the Seventy-Eighth Precinct.

  But what was Maude doing there? Sarah, Maude, and Amanda usually met at restaurants or bars like the Gate, or for coffee or a movie. Occasionally they’d walk the loop in Prospect Park. In the past months, Amanda had been to Sarah’s house a few times, and to Maude’s once or twice. But she’d never had anyone over, no one except Carolyn. And she didn’t count.

  Zach didn’t want strangers in the house—that was the bottom line. There were times when Amanda thought about trying to explain to him the difference between “friends” and “strangers.” But for him, there was no difference.

  And now here was Maude at the top of their steps. Amanda couldn’t let her in. Zach’s schedule was too unpredictable. He could be home anytime. Yet how could she not invite Maude in without seeming impossibly rude? Amanda inhaled deeply before waving brightly from the bottom of the steps, hoping a solution would come to her before she reached the top.

  “Hi there!” she called up.

  “I should have texted first,” Maude began, her voice unsteady. “It’s obnoxious to loom on somebody’s stoop uninvited.”

  “Don’t be silly. Besides, you’re sitting, not looming.”

  Amanda sat down on the top step next to Maude. As they hugged briefly, Amanda noticed Case’s emergency house key poking out from underneath the planter. She felt a sharp pang of missing her son as she reached behind Maude to tuck it back under. At least at sleepaway camp, Case was safe from her dad.

  Amanda turned her face toward the sun. Let’s stay out here and enjoy the glorious weather. Amanda would not say that in particular. (Glorious was not a good word unless you lived in the eighteenth century.) But she could say some version of it. Anything to keep them on that stoop.

  “It’s strange that I’m here,” Maude said. “I know. I just really needed to talk to a friend. And I love Sarah, but she can be … flip sometimes.”

  Amanda felt a flush of pride that Maude had chosen her. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Maude was gripping several brightly colored envelopes in her hand. “I got more letters from Sophia. And they’re worse.” She grimaced and shook her head, then waved the envelopes in Amanda’s direction as if encouraging her to take them. “I thought sending her to that camp, being in a new country, a whole new setting, was the right thing to do under the circumstances.”

  “Under what circumstances?” Amanda asked, finally reaching for the envelopes. Maude had made it sound before like she didn’t know what was wrong with Sophia, but it was obvious now that she did. “Maude, did something happen?”

  “A boy.” Maude’s eyes filled with tears. “I knew Sophia was upset, but I honestly thought getting away would be best.”

  “That makes total sense.”

  “But then these letters.” Maude motioned to the envelopes. “I tried calling the camp a couple times this morning to check on her, but no one is answering in the office. Such a great camp until you call them, I guess.”

  “What does Sebe say?”

  “That I’m overreacting. That she’s not a child anymore, and I need to stop smothering her.” Maude sounded hurt and angry. “I know that Sebe loves Sophia. But he’s not a mother. Or a woman.”

  Amanda nodded.

  “Listen,” Maude said, “I know none of this makes much sense because I’m obviously not telling you all the details. But Sophia—she made me promise I wouldn’t.”

  “That’s okay. You don’t need to tell me.”

  Maude motioned to the letters again. “Will you read one? Tell me if you think I’m overreacting.”

  “Oh, I …” Amanda hesitated. What if she didn’t react the right way?

  “Please.”

  “Sure, okay.” Amanda pulled a letter from one of the envelopes and unfolded it. The writing was so neat and pretty, the paper a cheerful sky blue.

  Dear M,

  I want you to know that none of this is your fault. I know you’ll blame yourself. You’ll think that if I had better self-esteem that I wouldn’t have gotten myself into this mess. Or maybe you’re going to think that you didn’t tell me all the things I needed to know. That if you’d given me some different kind of advice or the right facts, I could have protected myself.

  But it’s not your fault. It’s my fault. I’m the only one to blame. I made so many stupid choices. And you definitely taught me better. You taught me everything I needed to know. I just messed up anyway.

  I’m sorry, Mom. So, so sorry.

  Xoxo

  Sophia

  Amanda thought about her own mother’s last piece of advice right before she died, when she’d wrapped her bony arms around Amanda from her hospital bed and pulled her close. “You run if you have to,” she’d whispered. “You run as fast as you can.”

  Run where? That was all Amanda could think at the time. She’d been so very young.

  “So?” Maude asked, motioning to Sophia’s letter. “Do you think Sebe’s right? That I should back off and let her figure it ou
t on her own? Pretend like the whole thing isn’t happening?”

  Amanda considered whether there was a “right” thing to say at that moment. Probably there was. But she opted instead for something much simpler: what she actually believed.

  “I don’t think you can pretend your way through anything,” Amanda said, reaching out and putting a hand on Maude’s arm. “Closing your eyes won’t stop the bad things from finding you.”

  Grand Jury Testimony

  OFFICER DAVID FINNEGAN

  called as a witness the 6th of July and was examined and testified as follows:

  EXAMINATION

  BY MS. WALLACE:

  Q: Good morning, Officer Finnegan.

  A: Morning.

  Q: Did you report to a call at 597 Montgomery Place on the night of July 2nd at approximately 11:45 p.m.?

  A: Yes.

  Q: And what was the nature of that call?

  A: It was a report of a suspected homicide.

  Q: What occurred when you arrived at the scene?

  A: My partner, Officer Romano, and I entered the residence to assist officers already on scene.

  Q: What did you observe when you entered the home?

  A: There was a lot of blood on the stairs and the walls. There was a golf club near the body. They had marked it off so nobody touched it. The victim’s husband was there.

  Q: Anything else?

  A: The EMTs had arrived just before us, and they were attempting to revive the victim with CPR and to control the bleeding.

  Q: Were they able to revive her?

  A: No. She was pronounced dead at the scene.

  Q: What did you do then?

  A: My partner and I were standing with the victim’s husband when the crime scene unit detectives arrived, followed by ADA Lewis and Detective Mendez. The crime scene unit started taking photos so that the body could be removed.

  Q: And what was ADA Lewis doing?

  A: Just observing. The ADA on homicide duty overnight comes to the scene, but they don’t talk.

  Q: What was Detective Mendez doing?

  A: He started talking to Mr. Grayson.