Hanna lowered her aviators. Her nose was bright red from too much sun on our first day. She was wearing a teal bikini that made me want to untie the knot around her neck.
“Yeah, okay, I’ll go.”
I grabbed a visor and my room key and went in search of Becky. She’d probably moved to a deck chair out of the sun. Or maybe she was in the bathroom. Hanna wasn’t usually overprotective, not compared to the other moms. But she’d been reading about some kidnappings in the area before we left. She always researched wherever we went for a couple weeks beforehand. Usually, it was a blessing. But every once in a while, she’d fall into a wormhole of abstract facts, and we all felt the consequences.
It was nearing noon. The air outside our perfectly air-conditioned condo felt hot and heavy. I was glad I had my swimming trunks on. When I found Becky, I’d throw her in the pool and jump in after her. That always made her laugh.
I spotted her in a shady corner, lying under two towels. The only thing visible was the hand holding her book.
“Becks, your mom was worried.”
The girl lowered her book. It wasn’t Becky.
“Oh, sorry, I thought you were my daughter.”
She raised her book, but not before she gave me a look that made me feel like I was a perv.
I walked among the deck chairs, a hint of alarm working its way into my bloodstream. Not Becky, not Becky, not Becky. How many times was I going to have to take that kind of inventory? Where was that girl?
When I’d checked every deck chair twice, I followed the concrete path down to the ocean. A group of teenagers were playing volleyball on the beach. Chris was among them, his shirt off, his shoulders red under the white film of sunscreen Hanna had applied before he left.
But no Becky.
“Hey, Chris!”
He caught my eye, then threw a look at the girl standing next to him. She was wearing a bright-red bikini that was more revealing than anything we’d ever let Becky wear. Her strawberry hair was a straight curtain down her back. Ashley and Chris had seemed to reconcile at the New Year’s Eve block party, but maybe not.
“Chris!”
He jogged over. “What’s up?”
“Have you seen Becky?”
“She was playing with us.”
“Was? When?”
He shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Well, do you know where she’s gone?”
“Down the beach, I think.”
“Alone?”
“Maybe she was with that Parker guy?”
My hands formed into fists. “What Parker guy?”
He shrugged again. I felt an uncharacteristic wish to throttle him.
“When did she go off with this guy? And do not shrug again, Chris. I swear to God.”
“Man, sorry, Dad. It wasn’t that long ago. Like ten minutes, maybe?”
“Which direction?”
He pointed down the beach.
I squinted into the sun. I could see two figures walking. It looked like they were holding hands.
I took off at a run. Despite the shape I was in, I found my breath laboring almost immediately. Maybe it was the humidity. Or maybe it was the vision of some oaf, some boy, laying his hands on my daughter. After a minute, I was close enough to confirm it was Becky. She was wearing a blue rash shirt we’d bought so she could learn to surf, and white shorts. I stopped a hundred yards from them to catch my breath, resting my hands on my knees. They stopped walking. The boy, fourteen or fifteen—Parker, presumably—took her hand in his. Then he reached up and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. He leaned in for a kiss. I stood up quickly.
My movement must’ve caught her eye, because she turned away from him right before his lips hit hers.
“Dad! What the—”
“You were missing,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. The primal urge I had to pound this guy into the ground was hard to keep at bay. “Your mom was worried.”
“Oh, jeez. I just went for a walk on the beach.”
“Well, let’s go back and tell her you’re okay, all right?”
Parker stood there, not saying anything. His brown hair was shaggy. His board shorts looked like they might fall off his skinny frame. He hadn’t even dropped her hand.
I was so not ready for this.
“Come on, Becks. Let’s go.”
She followed me reluctantly back to the pool, Parker trailing behind us. He stopped to play with the volleyball crew when we got to the stairs. She watched him for a minute, the red on the tip of her ears having nothing to do with the sun. When he didn’t acknowledge her, she turned and stormed ahead of me. If this boy made my daughter cry, he was going to regret it.
Back at the pool, Becky sat in her deck chair and drew her knees up to her chin. She waved up at Hanna, who was standing at the railing on our deck.
“Happy now?” Becky said.
“Please don’t go all teenager on me, okay? I’m not strong enough.”
“It was bound to happen sometime, Dad. Deal with it.”
She pulled her book out of her bag and disappeared behind it. I watched her for a moment, my heart still pumping too much blood.
“You’re blocking my sun,” Becky said.
“Right, sorry. Come up for lunch soon, all right?”
She grunted and I went searching for a free deck chair. I needed to jump in the pool. Maybe that would wash away the desire to commit a homicide.
I spotted an empty chair next to a woman who was frowning at her laptop under a wide straw hat. I stripped off my shirt as an oath escaped her. Then my heart was racing for a different reason.
I looked at her more carefully. Her skin was brown in an even way no one in my family ever achieved. Her breasts, encased in a light-blue top, were slightly larger than I’d imagined.
“Funny meeting you here,” I heard myself say.
Sometimes I’m such a fucking asshole.
The four of us had dinner together that night. Me, Hanna, Julie, and Daniel. Hanna’s parents were all too happy to watch the twins along with our kids. Shooing us out the door, telling us to go have fun in Puerto Vallarta.
Hanna gave me a look when I’d brought Julie up to our room to solve her latest tech crisis. But Julie played it smart. She’d tucked her arm through Hanna’s and told her how relieved she was to see someone she knew. How she was sorry they hadn’t had the coffee they’d promised yet.
It was all obvious lies to me. But I’d long observed that Hanna had difficultly discerning when someone wasn’t telling her the truth.
Whether by choice or by crook, after a few minutes, Hanna’s suspicions drained away. Julie and Hanna worked in the kitchen making lunch for everyone while I added yet another set of firewalls to Julie’s laptop, and changed her e-mail password to a phrase Julie wrote on a scrap of paper. You know it’s all a gamble when it’s just a game. A lyric from a Guns N’ Roses song, I discovered later when I searched for it on the Internet. I crumpled the paper and threw it in the trash, wondering at the meaning. If there was any to catch. She promised she’d change it again later to something no one but she knew.
Right before Daniel joined us with the twins, worn out from their morning in the sun at the Kids’ Club, Julie was saying how amazing the place was. Hanna remarked how odd it was, really, that we’d both ended up at the same resort.
“You must’ve gotten the same e-mail I did,” Julie said.
I turned around in my chair. Hanna’s arms were folded across her chest, her hands tucked under her armpits as if she was holding herself together.
Julie continued. “I had no idea you’d be here at the same time.”
I turned back to the laptop. I’d had to disable Julie’s MySanity settings so I could make the necessary changes.
“It’s fine,” Hanna said, her voice tight. “Forget it.”
Let it go, Hanna, I thought. You’re making things weird.
Daniel and the twins tumbled into the room. Their noisy clatter put an end to the conversati
on. At lunch, over homemade quesadillas, it was Daniel who’d brought up us all going to dinner, saying he’d heard about this Cuban place he wanted to check out. Good food, good jazz, a menu full of mojitos.
Hanna’s mother said they’d be happy to look after everyone, and we agreed to go. We left strict instructions with Hanna’s parents that neither of our kids was allowed out that evening. I’d told Hanna about Parker, and the girl Chris had been eyeing.
“Maybe this will be the end of Ashley,” Hanna said as we were getting changed. She didn’t like Ashley. She reminded Hanna too much of the suburban mean girls who’d ruled our high school in Anderson Township. She hoped for better for our son.
“It’s not like they’re going to get married or anything,” I said. “I can’t believe you’re not more freaked out by our daughter almost getting kissed.”
“She’s going to get kissed sometime,” Hanna said, applying a coat of mascara to her lashes. “And more.”
“Not on my watch.”
She looped her hands around my neck. “Okay, caveman.”
I kissed her. She ran her tongue along my teeth.
“We don’t have to go to this dinner,” I said.
“What? No way, I’m not missing out on a chance to spend a night with grown-ups.”
The taxi ride to Puerto Vallarta was uneventful. The restaurant was as advertised, a gentrified piece of Cuba brought to Mexico. We were seated at a table on the second level overlooking the dance floor. The band blasted loud notes of Cuban jazz. The walls and tables were covered with graffiti signatures. Ernest Hemingway’s famous scrawl dominated the wall behind the bar.
We started with the house mojitos, strong and fresh. I drank mine quickly. And the one that came after that. Daniel and Hanna were talking about some mutual business acquaintance. Hanna represented the company Daniel worked for. She laughed loudly at his impression of their in-house counsel. We all did, though Julie’s laugh had a tinge of I’ve-heard-this-one-before.
“You’ve got something in your teeth,” Julie said after I’d taken a sip from a fresh glass. I couldn’t taste the alcohol anymore, always a bad sign.
“What?”
“Here,” she said tapping her front teeth. “I always think it’s better to tell someone rather than let them walk around like that. Sorry.”
“It’s fine. Really.”
I plied a piece of mint out of my front teeth. Julie looked particularly lovely that night, in a coral-colored dress that flattered her curves. The humidity had curled her hair. She glowed with a kiss of sun. What was it about this woman? Two hours ago I’d been ready to ditch the evening to tumble into bed with my wife. But now I couldn’t keep other thoughts from my mind.
“Maybe I’ll stick to beer from now on,” I said.
“Sounds like a plan,” Daniel said loudly, his head snapping around for our waiter.
I picked up the menu, concentrating on the list of beers. I put myself on an internal clock. No more talking directly to Julie for the next hour.
Instead, as we ate the mix of Mexican and Cuban food, I focused on Daniel. We traded corporate hell stories as we matched each other beer for beer, then went down to the level below so we could be closer to the band. We watched them finish their set in companionable silence, then turned to the bar to get another round. I wasn’t quite sure how many that made. I was past caring.
We clicked bottles.
“Thanks for helping Julie out, by the way,” Daniel said.
“It’s nothing.”
“Nah, I know it’s more than that. You did it before, too, with that password thing. Julie can be . . . a bit paranoid sometimes.”
“Oh?”
“I’m not saying Heather The Stalker wasn’t scary, but it’s kind of like she was expecting something like that to happen. It’s hard to explain.”
“Was it weird for you, reading that book?”
“You mean Julie’s book?” He was slurring his words, but then again, so was I. “A little, I’ll be honest. I mean, she’d told me about some of that stuff before, but seeing it all written down like that . . .”
“What are you saying?”
Guilt crept across Daniel’s face. “Nothing, man. I’ve had too much to drink. Here come the girls.”
He swayed away from me toward Julie and Hanna as the band resumed their places. They began a rich salsa beat, and we all started dancing. Daniel and I were twirling the girls, passing them off between us like we were swing dancing. A few twirls in, Julie tripped against me, laying her hands flat on my chest. Her scent hit my nostrils—a mix of citrus and sweat with a hint of sunscreen this time. She leaned back and laughed, holding out her hands to me.
“My hero,” she said.
“An IT hero. That’s hot, I’m sure.”
“Ah, but it is.”
I stopped and stepped back. “We’re all pretty drunk.”
“Aw, don’t ruin it.”
She gave me a quick pout and turned to Daniel. He passed Hanna back to me, and we had an awkward moment where she went left and I went right.
“I’m so drunk,” she said.
“I think we all are.”
We left soon after that. Caught in the nighttime crowd, it took us thirty minutes to find a cab that would take us back to our hotel for a reasonable fee. The car that agreed to do it was so beat up it would’ve fit right in in Cuba. The seat belts didn’t work, and the driver drove without regard for speed limits or basic safety. Hanna sat in the front seat with her hands covering her eyes most of the way.
Julie was on the hump between Daniel and me. We zoomed through a yellow-turning-to-red light and skirted a dump truck by half an inch. Julie and I made eye contact. She flashed me an enormous smile. It didn’t take an insightful person to tell she was having fun. She was enjoying the danger even, getting off on it in a way.
Daniel was probably going to be a lucky man later.
I thought about what Daniel had said about Julie’s book. Seeing it all written down like that.
And then I got a flash of one of the scenes in it. How the murder occurred in the dead of night. How the murderer crept through the house, then stood over the victim and sliced a knife into him so many times it rendered his heart beyond recognition.
Only, as I saw it in that moment, it was Julie standing there, the same dangerous grin on her face as her arm rose and fell.
Then we hit a bump in the road.
And when I looked over at Julie, her smile was gone.
Today
John
10:00 a.m.
We’re sitting on a hard bench in the lobby of the prosecutor’s building. The grand jury meets on the fourth floor, but we won’t be allowed up there until it’s our turn to testify.
Our testifying was Alicia’s idea. An unusual step meant to stop this case at the grand jury stage, which is usually just a pass-through to a real trial. It’s what she’s known for. Ending things early, before they get past stopping. And most of me trusts her. But the part that doesn’t is convinced this will all go horribly wrong.
The space is crowded with security guards and a metal detector. A prisoner in a white-and-black-striped jumpsuit and shackles is led through and into an elevator by two police officers. Harried clerks and lawyers rush past holding case files, nodding at one another. Rush, rush, rush.
The minutes tick by slowly. The air is stale, full of worry. I already have a bad headache forming behind my eyes.
The hardest thing about today, Alicia told us, was going to be the waiting. There wasn’t a set schedule for when we’d be called to testify. Or even any guarantee that all the witnesses put down for our case would be called. That depended on what others said. What strategy the prosecutor was following. Whether he thought he’d done enough to convince the men and women who held our future in their hands to indict.
Chris is sitting next to me, absorbed in his phone. Despite all the media attention, we hadn’t taken it away. I’d wanted to, but Hanna thought keeping things a
s normal as possible was the right way to go. And since none of us had any relevant experience, I gave in.
I watch Brad and Susan Thurgood work their way through security, their faces anxious. Brad is checking his watch as if he’s late. I don’t know where they’ve spent the last hour. Maybe at a coffee shop, like us. The elevator doors clang open. A court clerk emerges, her face pale under the fluorescent lighting. She has a rash of freckles across her face, like the footprints a small bird might leave in the sand. She looks at me, then shakes her head as Susan’s name is called over the intercom.
Susan emits a small cry—“Oh!”—then puts a hand on Brad’s shoulder. He stands with her, holding her elbow, leading her to the elevator to deliver her to the clerk. She walks into the small space like a child on the way to the principal’s office. She looks much thinner than the last time I saw her. Brad watches the doors close, then shoves his hands in his pockets and walks toward the exit.
I look around. Alicia and Hanna are on the other side of the elevators in a close huddle. Who knows what they’re talking about. We’ve been over the details so many times it all seems rehearsed now. A script we’ve had to learn, rather than something real that carved its way through our life.
I’m not sure what to do. Tell them Brad left and looks like he’s never coming back? Is that even a real read of the situation, or just wishful thinking on my part? I’m not thinking rationally, I know. Brad’s probably just getting some air.
He isn’t the one who has anything to hide.
Yet something propels me to stand and follow him. Maybe I can get him to talk to me like he used to. Back before Brad and Susan broke up. When Brad had a few in him, he’d confide all kinds of things about their marriage. How Susan could only come if Brad said filthy things while they fucked. How he pissed away some of the kids’ college fund—not everything, mind you, but enough—on Internet poker. How he thought about getting in his car sometimes and driving away without looking back.
I’d always clapped Brad on the back in those days and passed him another beer. Some of it I didn’t want to know. To be honest, the thought of Brad and Susan having sex was like thinking about my parents doing it. The rest of it wasn’t that different from the thoughts that flew through my own mind, some days. But after he and Susan split, I felt like I should’ve done better by him. Should’ve noticed it wasn’t just the beer talking. Brad was reaching out. And the drinks I passed him weren’t the help he needed.
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