by Andrew Gross
“I never cared about the money, Charlie. I never cared about your stupid island. That was never going to happen. That was just our stupid dream.” She looked at him. “What I cared about was you, Charlie. I cared about us, our family. These people are onto you. They can trace you, as I did. What are you going to do, Charlie, run from them the rest of your life?”
He hung his head, ran a troubled hand across his scalp. A wistful smile appeared in his gray eyes. “You know I came back once, Karen. Sam’s graduation. I looked up the date on the school’s Web site.”
“You were there?”
He nodded fondly. “In a way. I took a car up and watched you come out after the ceremony from across the street. You had on a short yellow dress. Sam had a flower in her ear. I saw my folks there. Alex…He’s gotten so tall….”
“You were there!” Karen felt a pang grab at her heart. “Oh, Charlie, how long can you let this mess keep going on?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know,” he said. Then, “Tell, me”—his eyes brightening—“how’s his lacrosse?”
“His lacrosse?” Tears of confusion formed in her eyes. “I don’t know, Charlie, he’s second string, attack. He’s on the bench mostly. Sam had a good year, though. She scored the winning goal against Greenwich Academy. She—” Then she caught herself. “Oh, Charlie, why are we doing this? You want to know how it was? It was hard, Charlie. It was fucking hard. Do you know how they would feel if they could see you here now? It would kill them, Charlie. Sam, Alex—they would die.”
“Karen…”
Some strange force impelled her, and she leaned toward him, Charlie scared and confused, and they both took the other into their arms. It felt so strange, to have his arms wrapped around her. So familiar, yet so awkward. Like a ghost. “It’s been hell, Charlie. First with you gone, then…You hurt me so.” She pulled away, something between pain and accusation flashing in her eyes. “I can’t forgive you, Charlie. I’m not sure I ever will. We had a fucking life, Charles!”
“I know it’s been hard, Karen.” He nodded, swallowing. “I know what I’ve done.”
Karen sniffled back some tears and wiped her eyes with the heel of her hands. “No,” she said, “no, you don’t know. You don’t even have a clue what you’ve done.”
He looked at her. For the first time, he seemed to look her over. Her face. Her figure. How she looked in her dress. A faint smile came to his eyes. “You still look good, Karen.”
“Yeah, and you don’t wear glasses anymore?”
“Lasik.” He shrugged. “Occupational necessity.”
She smiled. “Finally drummed up the nerve, huh?”
“You got me.”
Karen’s smile broadened, a ray of sun reflecting brightly off her freckles.
“I want you to be happy, Karen. I want you to move on. Learn to love somebody. You ought to have happiness in your life.”
“Yeah, well, you picked a wonderful time to suddenly have all this concern for me, Charlie.”
He smiled ruefully.
“Listen, Charlie, it doesn’t have to be like this. You can turn yourself in. This detective, Hauck, he’s here with me now, Charlie.”
Charles looked concerned.
“You can trust him, Charlie. I promise. He’s my friend. He’s not here to bring you in. You can explain what you did. You didn’t kill anyone. You falsified collateral, Charlie. You lied. You can give back the money. Pay a fine. Even if you have to spend time in jail, you can get back your life. The kids, they deserve their father, Charlie. Even if we can’t go back the same, they’ll forgive you. They will. You can do this, Charlie.”
“No.” He shook his head weakly. “I can’t.”
“Yes you can. I know you, Charlie.”
“I can’t do it, Karen. I’ll be in jail for twenty years. I can’t. Besides, I’d never be safe. Nor would you. This is better, whatever it seems.” He looked at her and smiled. “And just to be honest, Karen, neither of us would want to explain this to the kids.”
“They would want their father, Charlie.” She drew in a breath. “What are you going to do, run for the rest of your life?”
“No.” He shook his head. Then a light of understanding seemed to go on in his eyes. “Listen, there are some things, Karen. You say these people are looking for me. If anything happens to me, I have these safe-deposit boxes, in different places around. St. Kitts. Panama. Tortola…”
“I don’t want your money, Charles. What I want is for you to—”
“Ssshh…” He took her hand and stopped her. Squeezed. “You still have the Mustang, don’t you?”
“Of course I have it, Charlie. That’s what you said. In your will.”
“Good. There are things you’ll want to know. Important things, Karen. If anything should happen to me. The truth. The truth has always been right inside my heart. You understand that, Karen. Promise me you’ll look. It’ll explain a lot of things.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Charlie? You have to come in with me. You can testify against these people. You can go into custody if you have to. But they’re going to find you, Charlie. You just can’t keep running.”
“I’m not going to keep running, Karen.”
“What do you mean?”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s time to be getting back. I’ll think about what you said. No promises.” He got up, looked out at the water, and waved. On the Sea Angel, Neville signaled back. Karen heard the engine start. Farther out, a larger craft had come into view from around the bend. “That one’s mine,” Charlie pointed. “Pretty much my home for the past year. Check it out on the way back. You might get a kick out of the name.”
Karen’s heart kicked up, worried, as she watched her launch putter in. She was positive there was something she had failed to say.
“Promise me about the car.”
“Promise you what, Charlie?”
“You’ll need to get in.” He took her by the shoulders and put a hand softly to her cheek. “I always thought you were beautiful, Karen. The most beautiful thing in the world. Except for maybe the color of my baby’s eyes.”
“Charlie, I can’t just leave you here.”
He took a glance up at the sky. “You have to leave me, Karen.”
Neville coasted the Sea Angel back in near the shore. Charles took Karen by the arm, led her into the warm cove water. She went ahead, wading into the lapping surf, reaching for the bow. Grinning, Neville pulled her up onboard. She turned back to Charlie. The small boat began to move away. She looked at him standing on the shore. A wave of sadness swept over her. She felt she was leaving something there, a part of herself. He looked so lonely. She was sure she was seeing him for the last time.
“Charlie!” she called out over the engine.
“I’ll think it over.” He waved. “I promise. If I change my mind, I’ll send Neville back for you tomorrow.” He took a step into the shallow water and waved again. “The Mustang, Karen…”
Then he flipped his dark Ray-Bans down over his eyes.
Karen held on to the railing as the Sea Angel’s twin engines kicked up, creating a wake. Neville backed the craft around, and Karen ran to the stern as the boat picked up speed, the sight of Charlie on the beach growing smaller. He waved to her one last time. Karen finally gave herself over to the urge to cry. “I did miss you,” she said softly. “I did miss you so much, Charlie.”
As the Sea Angel sped away from the cove, it passed within close distance of Charlie’s boat—larger, the kind he’d always dreamed of, heading in. As they drew near, Karen was able to make out the name, written in an ornate gold script on the wooden hull.
Emberglow.
It almost made her laugh, as warm, fond tears welled in her eyes. She took out her cell phone and framed a shot to remember, not knowing what she would do with it, or who she would ever show it to.
Karen never noticed the small plane circling high in the sky above her.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT
Karen didn’t
arrive back at the hotel until well into the afternoon. Hauck was in his room by then, seated in a cane chair, his feet propped on the bed, going over some work to distract himself. His worst fears had faded. Karen had called in as soon as she hit open water to let him know she was all right. She sounded vague, even a bit distant emotionally, but she told him she would say more about it when she got to the hotel.
There was a knock on his door.
“It’s open,” he said.
Karen stepped into the room. She looked a little weary and conflicted. Her hair was tousled, out of place. She dropped the bag she was carrying onto the table by the door.
He asked, “So how did it go?”
She tried to smile. “How did it go?” She could read it—anyone could read it, what he was really asking. Had anything changed?
“Here,” she said, placing the gun he’d given her on the table by the bed. “He didn’t kill those people, Ty. He committed fraud with those tankers to cover up his losses, and he admitted he went up to Greenwich after the bombing like you said—with that man’s ID. To meet with Raymond, Ty, not to kill him. To try to get him once and for all to convince his father to stop.”
Hauck nodded.
She sat down across from him on the edge of the bed. “I believe him, Ty. He said he saw the whole thing happen and that he realized there was no turning back. These people had threatened him. I showed you that Christmas card. The note about what they did to our dog. He thought he was saving us, Ty, however it sounds. But everything he said—it fits.”
“What fits is that he’s up to his ankles in a shitload of trouble, Karen.”
“He knows that, too. I tried to get him to come in. I even told him about you. I told him he hadn’t killed anyone, that all he’d done was commit fraud, that he could give back the money, pay a fine, do some time, whatever anyone would want. Testify.”
“And…?”
“And he said he’d think about it. But I’m not sure. He’s scared. Scared to face what he’s done. To face our family. I think it’s just easier to run. When the boat pulled away, he waved. I have the feeling that was his answer. I don’t think I’ll see him anymore.”
Hauck drew his legs back, tossed his papers on the table. “Do you want him to come back, Karen?”
“Do I want him back?” She looked at him and shook her head, eyes glazing. “Not the way you’re thinking, Ty. It’s over between us like that. I could never go back. Nor could he. But I realized something there. Seeing him, hearing him…”
“What’s that?”
“My children. They deserve the truth. They deserve their father, whatever he’s done, as long as he’s alive.”
Hauck nodded. He understood that. He had Jessie. Whatever he’d done. He drew a breath.
Karen looked at him, aching. “You know how hard it was for me to do that, Ty?”
Something held him back. “Yeah, I know.”
“To see him.” Her eyes filled up. “To see my husband, in front of me again. To hear him out. After what he’s done…”
“I know how it was, Karen.”
“How? How was it, Ty?”
“What is it you want me to do, Karen?”
“I want you to hold me, goddamn it! I want you to tell me I did the right thing. Don’t you see that?” She let her hand fall to his leg. “Anyway, I realized something else out there as well.”
“What was that?”
She got up and sat down on his lap. “I realized I do love you, Ty. Not something close.” She smiled, sniffing back a tear. “The whole shebang.”
“Shebang?”
“Yeah.” Karen nodded and drew herself close across his chest. “Shebang.”
He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her face against his shoulder. He realized she was crying. She couldn’t help herself. He held her, feeling her warm body and the lift in his own heart as hers beat steadily against him. The dampness of a few warm tears pressed against his neck.
“I do,” she whispered, cuddling against him. “Impossible as that may seem.”
He shrugged, bringing her face gently against his chest. “Not so impossible.”
“Yes it is. Totally frigging impossible. You don’t think I can read you, mister? Like an open book.” Then she pulled away. “But I can’t let him simply disappear again. I want to bring him home to the kids. Whatever he’s done. Their father’s alive.”
Hauck wiped a bead of moisture from her freckled cheek with his thumb. “We’ll find a way,” he said. “We will.”
She kissed him lightly on the lips, rested her forehead against his. “Thank you, Ty.”
“Not so impossible to me,” he said again. “Of course, for the kids maybe…”
“Oh, man!” Karen shook her head, brushing a wave of hair out of her face. “Am I gonna have a bunch to explain when they get back or what?”
THAT NIGHT THEY stayed together in his room. They didn’t make love. They just lay there, his arm around her waist, her body tucked closely to him, the shadow of her husband hovering ominously, like a front coming in across the sea, over their calm.
Around one, Hauck got up. Karen lay curled on the bed, sleeping heavily. He drew the covers off and pulled on his shorts and stepped over to the window, looking out at the moonlit sea. Something gnawed at him.
The Black Bear.
The boat he’d seen. It was in his sleep. His dreams. A dark presence. And it had come to him in his dream, where he had seen it before.
Dietz’s office. A photo pinned there.
Dietz’s arms wrapped around the shoulders of a couple of cronies, a sailfish dangling between them.
Dietz had been on it.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
Charles Friedman sat alone on the Emberglow, which was now moored offshore near Gavin’s Cay. The night was quiet. His legs rested up on the gunnels, and he was halfway through a bottle of Pyrat xo Reserve rum that was trying to help him make up his mind.
He should just take off. Tonight. What Karen had told him, about people on his tail, worried him. He had a house he’d bought, on Bocas del Toro, up in Panama. No one knew about that. No one would trace him there. Then from there maybe on to the Pacific if he had to…
The way she had looked at him. What are you going to do, Charles, run the rest of your life….
He shouldn’t involve them now.
Yet a new stirring rose up in him. The stirring of who he was, who he’d been. Seeing Karen had awakened it. Not for her—that part was over. He’d never again regain her trust. And didn’t deserve it. That, he knew.
But for the children. Alex and Sam.
Her words echoed: They’ll forgive you, Charles…
Would they?
He thought back to the sight of them leaving the graduation. How hard it was just to look, aching, and then drive on. How deeply the sight of them burned in his memory, and the longing in his blood. It would be nice to reclaim his life. Was that a fantasy? Was it just a drunken hope? To seize it back, no matter what the cost. Who he was. From these people.
Why do they get to win?
What had he done? He hadn’t killed anyone. He could explain. Serve time. Pay back his debt. Steal back his life.
Seeing what he’d lost made Charles realize just how sorry he was to have let it go.
Neville was on shore. At a sailors’ party. In the morning they were supposed to head to Barbados. There he would leave the boat, fly to Panama.
Seeing her had suddenly made things hard.
A year ago he’d had a similar choice to make. He had watched the boy get killed. Run over in front of his eyes. Watched in horror as the black SUV drove away. Something inside told him there that he could never turn back. That that world was closed to him. The grave already dug. So why not use it? For a moment he’d given some thought to calling a car. Directing the driver to head up the Post Road. To his town—Old Greenwich. Then down Soundview onto Shore—in the direction of the water. Home… Karen would be there. She’d be worried, pan
icked, hearing word of the bombing. After he hadn’t called. He would say he’d been confused. Confess everything to her. Dolphin. Falcon. No one would have to know where he’d been. That was where he belonged.
Instead he had run.
The question continued to stab at him. Why do they get to win?
The image of Sam and Alex shone in Charles’s mind with the answer: They don’t. He thought of the joy he’d felt with Karen, just hearing her speak the sound of his own name.
They don’t. Charles put down the rum. The answer suddenly clear in his head.
He ran below. He found his cell phone in his cabin and left a detailed message for Neville, telling him just what he needed him to do. The words kept ringing: They don’t. He went to the small pull-out counter he used as a desk, switched on his laptop. He scrolled to Karen’s e-mail address and typed out the quick, heart-felt words.
He read it over. Yes. He felt lifted. He felt alive in his own body again for the first time in a year. They don’t. He thought of seeing her again. Holding his kids again. He could reclaim his life.
He pressed send.
A noise came to him from up on deck, like a boat tying up. Neville, back from his reveling. Charles called out the captain’s name. Excited, he headed up to the deck. His heart was racing. He ran out from under the bridge. “Change of plans—”
Instead he stood facing two men. One was tall, lanky, in a beach shirt and shorts, holding a gun. The other was shorter, barrel-chested, with a small mustache.
Both were looking very satisfied, as if a long search had ended and they were staring at a prize they’d waited to see for a long time. The man with the mustache wore a grin.
“Hello, Charles.”
CHAPTER NINETY
“Ty, wake up! Look!” Karen stood at the side of the bed, shaking him.
Hauck sat up. He’d been unable to get back to sleep for much of the night, troubled by his realization about the boat.
“There’s a message from Charlie,” Karen said excitedly. “He wants us to come.”
