by Pascal Marco
“What the heck you talkin’ about?” The tone of Brian’s reply sounded like that of the guy who throws the first punch in a barroom brawl. “You callin’ my dad a liar?”
You’re damn right he’s a liar!
Stan knew he’d be entering into treacherous territory if he pushed this further. He dug down to take control of his emotions then took a deep breath before continuing.
“No. I’m not calling your dad a liar. I just know that this isn’t the bat Dick Allen hit his thirty-seventh home run with. That’s all I’m saying.”
“How do you know that?” Brian slurred.
Oh my God! He doesn’t know! His father must have never told him the story!
“Because—because I just do.” Just tell him what he wants to hear and maybe you can still get yourself out of this. “Look. I’m sorry, man. Maybe your dad was right. Maybe this really is the Dick Allen home run record bat. I could be wrong.” Still holding the bat in his hands, Stan rubbed the barrel several times, following its circular shape with the palm of his hand. He fondled the wood as if he were caressing a woman. When he got to the tip of the barrel he made an abrupt stop, closed his eyes, and dropped his chin to his chest.
“What’s up, pardner? You all right? Listen, I’m the one who should be droppin’ his noggin’ after all the brewskies I’ve had today,” Brian said. “So, tell me some more about your old man. How come you’ve never talked about him?”
Stan knew if he didn’t leave now, he’d wind up telling Brian the whole story.He’s got the bat! How can I ever get around this? He knew the moment wasn’t far off from when he would have to face reality and confront the truth, not only with Brian, but also with everyone else important to him in his life, including Maxine. Especially with Maxine. Now wasn’t the time, though. Not at a party for kids.
Like all the other times Stan had received a jolt that connected him to his hidden past, he felt the need to get out of there now, as fast as he could, before he divulged too much—before he let anyone into his protected past. He would catch hell from Maxine—I’ll be sleeping on that damn couch again!—but that was something he was willing to accept.
Claire’s chirping voice announced her return as she entered the trophy room, Maxine a step behind. “Are you boys about done in here. The food’s getting cold. Those kids are hungry.”
Stan opened his eyes, lifted his head, and turned to her. Well, what are you going to do? You better get it over with.
“Thanks, Claire, but I don’t think we’ll be staying to eat.”
Stan was fully aware that he, Maxine, and the twins had been at the Hanley’s for less than an hour. Leaving now would be difficult to explain to his friends, let alone to his wife. But his heart palpitations gave him a clear sign an imminent, full-blown panic attack was in the making after seeing and holding the Louisville. He was helpless, losing the battle that brewed inside him. Unable to control himself any longer, he pivoted. “Max, get the kids.” Stan saw the stunned look on his wife’s face but didn’t cave in to her piercing eyes. “We need to go. Now.”
Maxine felt like the rug had been pulled out from under her. Again. She watched her husband hand the bat back to Brian and walk out of the room. His demand to leave the party so suddenly didn’t come as a complete shock. Married for almost two decades, this was not the first time Stan had done this to her, insisting they leave a gathering without warning and often without a reasonable explanation. And each time he had done this he acted as if someone or something had threatened him, propelling him to get out fast.
His abrupt order caused her to flashback to the time a few years earlier when her husband had insisted they leave a reception welcoming Michael Crow, the new president of Arizona State University. Maxine, a tenured history professor, was embarrassed beyond belief when, again without warning, Stan left a receiving line in which they had waited over an hour to personally greet the new university chief.
But the ASU reception was just one of the scores of times—going back as far as when they had first dated in high school—where Stan’s bizarre mannerisms challenged her understanding of the man she loved. She had tried to talk with him about his odd behavior many times, but he’d always dismiss her claims with statements like, “You’re imagining things, Max” or “I was just tired and wanted to go home” along with dozens of other feeble excuses.
She had even thought for a time that he might suffer from some sort of social disorder. Yet when she suggested he speak to a psychologist, he flew off the handle, berating her to “mind her own business” and that nothing was “wrong” with him.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried to help him in other ways, either. But she had her own pressing concerns with the pursuit of her career at the university and the demands of a tenure-track position. And once she became a mother to fraternal twins, her focus shifted almost entirely on balancing her children and her career, both of which took eventual precedence over her husband’s trouble some behavioral oddities.
But even with the diversionary tactics Stan used to deal with his social conduct, Maxine remained convinced that his hurtful actions were the results of a deep-seated childhood fear. She often wondered what could have happened to cause him to bolt from social situations. Though she could never put her finger on exactly what it was or get to the heart of the matter by talking about it with him, she had always sensed her husband was hiding something from her.
Bringing her thoughts back to the present, she asked herself what could have possibly motivated his action today. Brian and Claire were their closest friends. Why would he want to get away from them? But this was Stan’s M.O., wasn’t it? His modus operandi as his fellow prosecutors called it. His habit was to discuss all his cases with her. She had heard him use this term a thousand times. She knew this was neither the time nor the place to challenge him, but now he had gone too far. He’d stepped over the line—dysfunctional as that line might be.
What will his excuse be now?
She knew by the tone in Stan’s voice and the disturbing look in his eyes that the party was over for Maxine Kobe. She was embarrassed at the way Stan had just spoken to her in front of their best friends. She was torn between fighting with him right there versus following him out of the party like the supportive and understanding wife she had always been. All she had wanted to do was to have a little fun at her girlfriend’s daughter’s birthday party and no sooner had she arrived than her husband was demanding to leave.
She decided right then and there his habit of putting an end to her fun without any warning or even the courtesy of an explanation was a behavior that was about to come to a screeching halt. She would not stand for it any longer.
Alone now in the room with the Hanleys, Maxine glanced at Brian, standing there with a dumbfounded look on his face. Brian shrugged a “beats me” look back at her, his glazed eyes unclear as to whether he was more confused from the beer drinking or by Stan’s inexplicable action. Maxine wondered how many times Brian may have experienced the same thing she had just witnessed when he was with her husband, perhaps while they had a drink at a bar, or were at an Arizona Diamondbacks baseball game, or even when they worked together at a crime scene. In all the years they had known the Hanleys, Stan had never acted this way when the four of them were together. But Maxine knew that even if Brian or Claire had begged him to stay, her husband’s answer would have still been no. She knew he had made up his mind.
Maxine handed her still-full margarita glass over to Claire. “Sorry. But I guess the party’s over for me and the kids.” She felt guilty as she walked out, stealing one last look at the host couple as they stood in their trophy room in silence: Claire holding the pink concoction and Brian the enormous bat.
CHAPTER 2
The only discernible noise Stan heard on the drive back to their Scottsdale home came from the drone of the car’s tires on the rubberized asphalt pavement. The twins had fallen asleep almost as soon as he steered the vehicle onto the entrance ramp to the east-bound lan
es of the Loop 101 expressway. Another beautiful Arizona sunset faded below the horizon, unnoticed behind the silent passengers.
After nearly thirty minutes, Maxine spoke and broke the tense silence. “Why do you always do that?”
Stan was well aware that these early exits from parties without warning triggered terrible arguments with his wife. Will I ever tell her why I have to do this? He focused his eyes on the cars ahead of him, occasionally glancing in his rearview mirror, not looking at his wifenor answering her.
Raising her voice, she pressed on. “Why does it always seem that when I’m just getting settled in and ready to start having some fun, you suddenly want to leave?”
Sensing her hurt but more her seething anger, he desperately wanted to give his wife a truthful explanation, but his lie was now his life. So, he continued with his modus operandi and gave her his pat answer. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t give me that ‘I don’t know’ answer ever again!”
It was obvious that she knew his answer was another lie. A coverup of the truth. Hadn’t he seen defendants do this without flinching, lie a thousand times to protect themselves from revealing their guilt? Like his adversaries in the Maricopa County courtroom experienced him, Maxine would be relentless in her questioning until he gave her a better explanation, let alone the truth. If he didn’t, they would end up fighting again and he’d more than likely be spending the night on the sofa in his home office.
“It’s just that Brian thinks he knows a lot about baseball. Ah—ah—about that bat of his? He’s so gullible. He doesn’t even know what he’s got there.”
“You mean to tell me you had me gather up my family and leave a party that I was thoroughly enjoying just because you and Brian got into some sportstrivia pissing match over a goddamn baseball bat?”
I didn’t think I’d get that excuse by her. She’s really pissed this time.
Her voice rose. “Don’t give me any bullshit that this is about some stupid baseball bat!”
Now what do I say?
“Well, I’m really not supposed to talk about it but if you really must know, you’re right, it’s not about the bat. It’s about a case we’re working on. And please, watch your language.” He looked back to see if the twins were still sleeping.
“Don’t you dare tell me to watch my goddamn language,” Maxine exploded. “You must think I’m some kind of fool!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me! I have a goddamn Ph.D. I do research with some of the finest scholars in the country. I’ve written three books and lectured across the world. I’ve got six-year-old twins who try to bamboozle me every minute of the day. And now you think you’re going to tell me that bolting from the Hanleys was about one of your cases you can’t talk about?”
Everything was unfolding in slow motion for Stan, but he knew the best thing for him to do was to clam up and not respond to her verbal barrage. Doing so would only fuel her fire, so he remained silent. As he pulled the SUV up their driveway, he pressed the button for the garage door opener. It seemed like an eternity as he waited for the oversize steel door to completely rise. As it rose ever so slowly, he felt her glare burn a hole in the side of his head. He maneuvered the vehicle into its spot. All he wanted to do was get out of the car and run away as fast as he could from further questioning.
“Okay, Stanford. If that’s how you want to play it, giving me the silent treatment, then fine with me. I’m going upstairs to my room. Why don’t you just sleep in your office tonight? I’m sure you’ll be up late working on that ‘case I can’t talk about.’ Right?”
“C’mon, Max. Please. Don’t—”
She slammed the car door closed. “Feed the twins and put them to bed,” she shouted before heading into the house through the utility room. She slammed that door behind her, too.
Waking up sore and still contorted after a night of restless sleep on the couch in his office, Stan wished he could tell Maxine the truth. He loved her more than anything in the world, but he had kept the secret from everyone in his life, including her, for more than thirty years. He had no other choice. Lying was just something he always did. He had to. It was all he ever knew.
What good would it do now to let her know? What good could it possibly bring?
He convinced himself that explaining to her the real reason he acted the way he did, telling her about his fears, about his past, would only make her angrier that he had not told her in all these years. And her knowing the truth might make her worry about the safety of their children, too. But he knew the real reason he had held the truth from her was because he wasn’t sure she’d stay with him once she knew.
There was a knock on the closed door to his den.
“Stan?”
It was Sunday morning. Sunday was their day to spend at home. The day would start with tea on the patio, then both of them futzing around the house the rest of the day with the kids. Usually, Stan would have been back from his morning jog by now; he would’ve already brewed a pot of tea and had it steeping, waiting for Maxine when she awoke. He knew it made her feel special when he had everything waiting for her on the patio outside their kitchen door. She had purchased a small, rattan bistro set just for that reason, so they could sit and have intimate conversations or read the newspaper over their morning brew.
He had always loved pleasing Maxine in this small way and would anticipate her walking over to him, still sleepy-eyed in her terry cloth robe, thanking him with a soft smile. It was the same feeling he had as a schoolboy when he would place an apple on the teacher’s desk, hoping to please his favorite teacher.
“Stan? Can I come in?” Her sweet voice barely penetrated the heavy wooden door.
He knew whenever she asked permission to come in like this after one of their fights, like the one they had last night, she would be in an apologetic mood. He knew she still loved him, but he knew, too, that she had a right to be upset about being forced to leave a party early again due to another one of his lame excuses.
He opened the door. She stood there in her bare feet with only her nightshirt on, eyes slightly crusted in the corners. Probably cried herself to sleep last night. He wanted to hug her so badly.
“The kids are both at the zoo. My sister picked them up earlier this morning. We’re alone.”
“That’s nice,” he sighed.
“Will you forgive me?” she asked, giving him a hug, squeezing him tightly around the waist.
Her breasts always seemed so full in the morning but the opaque flannel garment she wore didn’t allow him to see her erect, brown nipples she pressed against his chest, arousing him, too.
“You don’t have to apologize, Max. I’m the one who ought to do that. I acted childish yesterday at the party. It was my fault, not yours.”
“No, Stan. I understand. If you have a special case that’s affecting you and Brian, then it’s none of my business. I understand. I do.”
He felt even guiltier as she said this, letting her believe this lie.
Why don’t you just tell her the whole truth and nothing but the truth?
“It wasn’t a case, Max. It was the bat. It was about that Louisville.”
Stan froze as Maxine pulled away from him. He watched the perturbed look from yesterday return to her face. It looked to him as if a switch had been thrown inside her head, rereleasing within her the emotional tide from the fiasco he caused yesterday.
“What about that goddamn bat?”
“I can’t talk about it. I just can’t. You don’t understand. It’s for your own good—”
“For my own good? Just what is that supposed to mean? If it’s for my own good, then what about the nightmares you always have, waking me up screaming in the middle of the night. And what about all the other times you’ve demanded to leave places early, always without warning, ruining it for me so many times? And how about the constant suspicion you have of people, embarrassing me whenever I’m with you? Looki
ng over your shoulder wherever we go? I used to think it was just the pressure of your job. Sending people to prison for life, putting some to death. But this is the last straw. Either you tell me what the hell is going on, or else—”
Stan’s chest heaved with anxiety as she stopped short of completing her threat. He nervously began cracking his knuckles. He didn’t want to lose one of the very few things in his life that still belonged only to him. He had suffered too much loss in his life of people he loved and never wanted to experience that feeling again. But telling Maxine what she wanted to know—what she deserved to know—was sure to be too painful for her to hear and possibly even more painful for him to share. Without thinking further, hoping all the memories of his past would go away forever, he blurted a reply to her implied threat.
“If you want to leave, then go. I won’t stop you.”
Stan couldn’t believe those words came from his mouth.
I won’t stop you? Did I actually say that?
He waited for a response. None came, but tears welled in her deep green eyes. She wiped them with the soft sleeve of her night-shirt, then turned away and ran out of his office and up the stairs.
As she did, she yelled down to him, sobbing, “You know what? Maybe it’s you who should think about leaving!”
Regretting his words, Stan chased after her. When he got to the second floor, she was in their bedroom, already pulling clothes from her closet, throwing them on top of the unmade bed. He stood in the bedroom doorway, motionless. He wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be okay; wanted to tell her every-thing about his life and who he really was. But he remained frozenin silence.
“If you’re not going to speak to me, then please leave the room—and shut the door behind you!” she said, not looking up at him.
CHAPTER 3
Maxine Kobe had scheduled an afternoon meeting with her graduate research assistant, Barbara Reyes, at her Arizona State University office. She and Barbara had decided to work on Maxine’s latest book, knowing there’d be no pestering students, no ringing phones, and no annoying interruptions from other professors. Although she always spent Sundays at home with Stan and the kids, the six-hundred-page manuscript was overdue for her publisher’s final edit and needed to go to print by the end of the semester. She needed to confirm a critical piece of Barbara’s research work, and since she wasn’t speaking to Stan, she was glad to have an excuse to go into the office.
