I had new locks and deadbolts on my doors and sensors for every room, window, and door of the house. By the time I brought Sam home from school, I felt like I might actually be able to sleep.
* * *
My new phone buzzed as I was getting ready for bed.
There should be a better way to earn money than panhandling
40
What?
It was from Sean. It had to be. Same number as before. But I had no idea what he was trying to say.
A better way to earn money than panhandling?
I tried free association. Panhandling. Money. No money. Poor. Homeless. Street. Corner.
Street corner!
I thought—I hoped—I knew what Sean wanted me to do. There was an intersection about five minutes away, in Pentagon City, just after the exit ramp from the interstate. A man stood there every morning panhandling. Cars would back up in the left-turn lane, giving him the perfect opportunity to walk up and down the median and ask for money.
I’d made the comment more than once that some company could have a captive advertising audience if they’d just pay the man to hold up their sign instead of his. And that way maybe he’d be able to earn some decent money. A better way to earn money than panhandling. I’d just have to cross my fingers that I’d guessed right.
A storm blew in during the night. I’d expected to run into Chris at the school the next morning, the way I usually did, but I didn’t see him. Not surprising considering that the entire fifth-grade class was bunched together on the curb huddling under umbrellas, duffels and pillows in hand, as they waited to be whisked off to the county’s Outdoor Lab for an overnight. He was probably still inside, filling out last-minute forms or hauling luggage.
I walked home by myself and got ready for work.
Sure enough, as I waited in the left-turn lane at Pentagon City, I saw the man at the edge of the intersection. He was wearing the usual battered camouflage jacket and Nationals baseball cap. Rain dripped from the brim. As he stood there holding a handwritten sign, he hunched his shoulders against the wind. Today, however, the man looked a lot like Sean. I tried to time it just right so that I’d have the full rotation of lights to speak to him. But still, I had to stall for a couple of seconds before the light went red.
Several horns blasted in protest behind me.
Sean walked over, holding his sign.
I rolled down my window.
He leaned toward me.
My phone rang.
I ignored it.
“Can you maybe just leave a voice mail for me? Instead of sending crazy texts?”
“Burner phones aren’t hack-proof. They can be traced.”
True. I eyed the traffic light. Still red. “I had a security system put in. I need to identify who it is that’s doing all these things. Then we can figure out whether it’s the FBI or the DoD. We can be working on this from both sides.”
The phone stopped ringing.
“I just want you and Sam to be safe.”
The intersection cleared. My light would be turning green soon.
My phone pinged. Text message.
“You should talk to Abbott next. I couldn’t figure out what to think about what he told me.”
I glanced at my phone. Home Security. Intruder Alert. “I have to go.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Someone just broke into the house.”
He gripped the door. “Let me come.”
“You can’t. You’re dead.”
As the light turned green, I whipped around the median, making a U-turn, and barreled back onto the interstate.
41
I could have left it up to the police, but I was so close to home. I wanted to see who it was. If I saw him—them, whomever—before the police scared them off, then I would know who I was up against.
After parking the car several houses down, I jogged up the driveway and around the house to the back door. I opened it as quietly as I could and then stepped inside and listened.
Alice wasn’t barking like she would have if a stranger had forced their way in. She wasn’t even whining the way she had when she’d been muzzled.
Maybe the system had glitched?
I tiptoed into the dining room.
That’s when I heard a voice. It was out in the living room.
My phone rang. I grabbed at it, turned the ringer off, and sent it to voice mail.
The voice stopped talking for a long minute. Then it started again. This time I could hear it clearly.
“Georgie?” Is was a she, not a he. “Hi. This is June. Jim and I are over at your place and—”
I walked into the living room to see June and Jim standing by the front door.
The look on June’s face as she noticed me was one of utter confusion. “I was just—” She took the phone from her ear. Looked at it. Looked at me. Held it up. “I was just calling you.”
Turned out they’d gotten a big Halloween yard inflatable for Sam. They’d decided to leave it inside so it wouldn’t get wet. They’d used the house key but plugged in the old security code. I gave them the new one. We got it all sorted out.
But not before the police got there.
It was getting to be a regular thing with me.
* * *
That afternoon I got word that everyone was cleared for the big test in January. I put in a request with the travel office for plane tickets and hotels. Congress was still moving forward on passing a funding bill, so I was good there. But I had phone calls to make and emails to send and a list of new government requests for proposals to scan. Several to start working on. And I had a presentation for one of the American Physical Society’s conferences to outline.
When I came home with Sam that night, Jenn and Preston were sitting on the porch swing, shivering as they waited for us. A box filled with my half of our farm share sat in front of the door. At least I wouldn’t have to go into the house by myself. I’d expected that installing the security system would make me feel more secure, but it hadn’t.
Jenn hefted the box to her hip as I opened the door. After punching in the security code, I let everyone in.
Sam discovered the Halloween inflatable right away. He and Preston wanted to take it outside. I persuaded them we couldn’t blow it up in the rain and herded them toward the kitchen instead.
“Sorry about the delay.” Jenn followed me. “Got home too late last night to bring it over. But guess what’s in our box this week— You’ll never guess.”
“Kale, broccoli, turnips, onions, and cauliflower?”
“O-kay, so maybe you will guess. But there is one surprise.”
“No idea.”
“Apples!”
“Really?” I took it from her and carried it into the kitchen. Apples were a gift from heaven. I didn’t have to think about how to disguise them or make them yummy. They already were.
“I know, right? I’m thinking we should drink to them.”
Rain splattered against the window over the sink. Where would Sean go on a night like this? Where would he sleep? What would he eat? Was he safe? “You’d drink to anything.” I pulled a bag of veggie chips from the cabinet and shook them into a bowl for the boys.
Jenn raised a brow. “Let’s just say I’m not picky. Usually people think that’s a virtue, G.”
I shot her a look over my shoulder. She’d been drinking far too much lately, in my opinion. “They say women are drinking just as much as men now, but because we have a higher fat-to-water ratio than—”
“Please, don’t mention fat.” She put up a hand. “Let’s think positive thoughts: agave. There is agave in tequila. Agave is green. Greens are green, ergo, when I drink a margarita it’s basically like eating spinach.”
Divorce was tough. I got it. But she seemed manic. Borderline destructive. “I count at least three fallacies in your argument.”
“That’s just because you’re a scientist. Normal people would agree with me. I say we deserve doubles.”
“Only if you promise to drink it twice as slow.”
I held up three fingers in a Scout’s promise.
She poured herself what looked like a triple shot to me.
We sipped the drinks while Sam and Preston chattered about the Halloween party that would take place the following Friday. Sipped some more as they told us the latest rounds of their hilariously unfunny knock-knock jokes.
Sean used to knock-knock Sam right back with even crazier, screwier jokes. Whatever wavelength Sam lived on, Sean had been a frequent visitor.
Jenn leaned toward me. “Do you mind?”
“Huh?”
Jenn snaked the bottle of tequila from the cabinet and poured herself another shot while the boys acted out a scene from some superhero movie. When they ran out of the kitchen, Jenn trailed them, taking a seat at the table in the dining room.
Pushing thoughts of Sean away, I pulled out a chair across from her and sat down. “What’s going on?”
She blinked in apparent innocence. “With what?”
“The divorce.”
She made a face.
“I just worry about you.”
She downed about half the tequila in one long swallow.
“Seriously worry.”
She shook her head. “Don’t.” Jenn worked hard and partied hard. She always had.
“Have you talked to your dad lately?”
She took another drink. “Chief Justice Andrew Cunningham Baxter IV?”
I raised my brow.
Her gaze dropped toward the table. “No.” It came out in a whisper.
When Jenn’s mother died, her father had conquered his grief by pouring his heart into his career and his religion. Which left Jenn no one to help her through her own grief. No wonder she was messed up. In high school, we’d had parent envy. I gladly would have given her my type A parents for the bliss of benign neglect. She’d tried everything she shouldn’t have at least once by then. But she’d finally figured out that being the best was a better way to get her father’s attention. Therefore, Harvard. Therefore, Georgetown Law. Therefore, her position on the Hill in the office of the most powerful politician in Washington. Senator Rydel chaired the Armed Services Committee that would be conducting my father’s hearing. He was rumored to be exploring a run for president. If that happened, if he got elected, Jenn would be able to ask for any position in his administration she wanted.
“I really do worry.” About her. About Sam. And about Sean.
“It’s not worth it. I mean, think of how many times you’ve already worried about me. And here I am.” She saluted me. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’ll be drunk.”
“Too late.” She snickered.
At least I didn’t have to worry about her driving. She and Preston only lived a couple blocks away. I leaned across the table and reached for her drink, but she held it out of reach.
“I just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy. In my odd, perverse, screwed-up sort of way.”
“Is it Mark? Has he changed his mind? Is he asking for full custody?”
“No. He’s just about perfect. Except he married me. We still have to hold that against him.” She took another drink.
Jenn wasn’t the sentimental type. Especially not about her exes. “You realize you just said something nice about him.”
She nodded glumly.
“Sean always thought he was a good guy.”
“Sean.” She sighed, closed her eyes, and leaned against the back of the chair. “Here’s to Sean.” She raised her glass. “The perfect gentleman who, even when presented with the possibility of a sure thing, chose fidelity.” She tossed back the rest of her tequila.
42
“What did you just say?”
“What did I what?” She sat up, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and set the glass down, hard, on the table.
“That thing you said. About Sean.”
Something flashed across her face as her gaze shot away from me. “What did I say?”
“Something about when he was presented with ‘a sure thing’?”
“I said that out loud?”
I nodded.
“Funny story . . .”
“I don’t think I want to hear it.”
“No. Wait.” She didn’t seem drunk anymore. “I think you should hear it. I think you should hear how one day last January I came over when you were gone and asked Sean if he wanted to—”
I stood up. “You should leave. Now.”
She put a hand to her eyes. “I’m such a mess. I can’t even tell you—”
“No, really. You should leave.” I stepped into the hall. “Sam?”
He answered a moment later, yelling, “What?”
“Preston has to leave.” My call sounded more like a screech.
“Can we have five more minutes?”
“He has to leave now.”
“But, Mo-om!”
I went down the hall to Sam’s room and started scooping up Legos and tossing them into bins.
Jenn had followed. “If I could just—”
Glancing up, I saw her lean into the room. Alice nudged her aside and came in and stood beside me.
“You have to understand. Please, Georgie.”
Understand? What could there possibly be to understand? Once she’d blown up her own marriage, she’d decided to blow up mine? I ignored her, focusing instead on Sam. “Don’t worry about picking up. I’ll do it.”
“’Kay.”
I looked over at Preston. “Your mom has to go.”
His bottom lip edged out into a pout. “But we weren’t done playing.”
Jenn stepped forward to grab Preston’s hand, pulling him toward the door. “Sorry.”
I wasn’t sure who she was saying it to, but I hoped it was Preston. Because sorry wasn’t going to be enough for me.
* * *
After we’d finished dinner—after Sam had finished his dinner—I took him to the public skate session so he could practice what he’d learned in his lesson the night before. I laced up his skates and helped him over to the wall of the rink where he could wait with the rest of the kids.
“I’ll meet you down here when it’s over.”
“What if I get tired before that?”
“Of skating? You love skating!” And I knew I’d need the whole hour to process Jenn’s revelation.
“Can you skate with me?”
“Tonight?”
I could barely see his eyes through his helmet. But I probably wasn’t imagining they looked hopeful.
“I can’t, sweetie. I didn’t bring any thick socks.” And my heart was breaking.
His shoulders dropped.
“I’ll skate with you sometime next week.”
“You will?”
“I promise.”
One of the skate guards unlocked the door and swung it open.
I stayed until Sam made it to the end of the rink. The chill in the rink reinforced the chill in my heart. After verifying that there were two fluorescent yellow–hoodied skate guards on duty, I went upstairs to the mezzanine, which overlooked the rink. It was warmer there than it was rinkside, and I could keep an eye on Sam. I could have watched him the whole time if I’d wanted to. And I did want to. But my gaze kept veering off into nothingness as I contemplated Jenn’s betrayal.
* * *
Forty-five minutes into the public skate session, I’d done absolutely no work on hunting down Mr. Abbott, even though my purse, papers, and phone were strewn across the seat next to mine. On my other side, a woman had sat down, book in hand. She was a typical skater mom, dressed in one of those puffy down jackets and a pair of fuzzy boots. She spent more time watching one of the figure skaters who was using public ice to practice than she did reading.
When I looked down into the rink the next time, Sam wa
s stumbling more than he was skating, but he was making a valiant effort of it.
Far away, on the other side of the ice, two other kids were skating around in hockey gear. They were much more solid on their skates, elbowing in and out of the crowds, crisscrossing back and forth. Maybe someday Sam would skate like they did.
I glanced at the clock on the scoreboard that hung suspended over the middle of the rink. Five minutes of public skate left.
Looking down at the rink, I found Sam at the far end. He was holding on to the rail with one hand. The two would-be hockey players were at the other end, racing along, zigzagging around the other skaters. As I sat there watching, the taller one looked up in my direction. Following his gaze, I noticed a man standing by the mezzanine window.
The man gave them a thumbs-up.
The kid nodded, pulling at the arm of the other. They continued on, careening down the long side of the rink.
I looked over at the man again.
He was nodding as he watched them.
Seriously? Shouldn’t he be reining in his kids rather than encouraging them?
Sam shoved off the wall and moved toward the crowd that was circling the ice.
“Watch out!” I knew he couldn’t hear me, but it was the only thing I could do to help him.
I breathed a sigh of relief as he narrowly avoided colliding with a girl who had just completed a jump.
He threw his arms out, trying to balance.
“Just—” I held my breath.
An adult who was skating past paused a moment to steady him.
I promised myself I’d skate with him at public skate for the rest of the year. It would be less exhausting to be out there with him than to watch him.
A blur of red streaked into my vision.
Those kids.
They were bent forward, skating fast, and seemed to be heading right toward— Did they not see Sam?
I sat up straighter. “Don’t— Stop—” Dumping my computer on the seat next to me, I stood. I put a palm to the glass and pounded at the window.
It didn’t help. They couldn’t hear me.
It seemed like it happened in slow motion. One came at Sam from behind and pushed him. As Sam flailed, the other came at him from the front, slamming into him. Then my son crumpled into a heap on the ice.
State of Lies Page 15
