“We are,” she said, nodding. Kozlowski shot her a look, but she waved him off. She clearly wasn’t about to back down.
“For how long?”
“A year or so,” Lissa replied. “Maybe a little longer.”
“Why aren’t you married?”
Finn had to admire the girl; she played rough. Lissa was now squirming as much as Kozlowski was.
“It’s complicated,” she said.
“Why?” Sally asked. “You don’t love him?”
“No, I love him.”
“He doesn’t love you?”
Everyone at the table looked at Kozlowski. He looked at the cutlery. Finn had the impression he was contemplating picking up the steak knife and gouging his own eyes out.
“No, I’m sure he loves me, too,” Lissa said, answering for him. Sally kept looking at Kozlowski for a moment, though, until he gave a slight nod.
“Okay, you love him and he loves you,” Sally said. “You both seem normal, so what’s the deal?”
“We’ve talked about it,” Lissa said hesitantly.
Finn, who had been enjoying the show, was shocked by the pronouncement. “Really?” he said.
Lissa looked back and forth between Finn and Kozlowski. Kozlowski shook his head and raised his hand, signaling that she was on her own. Then Lissa settled her gaze on Finn. “This isn’t how we wanted to tell you this,” she began.
Finn felt his eyes widen. “You’re kidding, right? You two? Married?” The expression on Lissa’s face turned like the sky during a sudden, violent summer storm. “I don’t mean that the way it sounds,” Finn stammered. “I mean why not you two, right?” Lissa’s eyes darkened further. “I mean, that’s great. I really do, it’s great. What brought this on?”
“Are you pregnant?” Sally asked. She wasn’t letting up on the attack.
“No!” Lissa said. Her voice was loud and sharp, and cut through the clamor of the restaurant. She shook her head and took a deep breath and said in a more reasonable voice, “No.”
Finn looked at the two of them, not sure what to say. “Holy crap, can you imagine that? The two of you as parents?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Lissa replied.
“Why not?” Sally asked. “You’re not getting any younger.”
Kozlowski leaned in toward Sally and said quietly, “You know, Huckleberry Finn nearly got himself killed a whole bunch of times traveling down the river. The story could’ve gone another way.”
“No sweat,” Sally said. “I feel like I know you guys a lot better already. How about you guys? Can we put the twenty questions game on hold for a little while?”
Finn took another sip of his wine. Then he raised his glass. “To getting to know each other-a little more slowly,” he said. Everyone around the table raised their glasses.
It took a moment before anyone said anything else. Finally Sally spoke. “So,” she said. “What’s the deal with my father? Is he getting out anytime soon, or am I going to have to play Trivial Pursuit with you guys for the rest of my childhood?”
Finn took a deep breath. “It’s complicated.”
“Didn’t we just have this conversation?”
“No, this is genuinely complicated. I’ll get your father a new bail hearing. It may take a little time.”
“Why did he freak out today?”
“I don’t know,” Finn replied. He didn’t like lying, but he could think of no better option.
“Maybe he wanted to get away from me.”
“You’re smarter than that,” Lissa said.
“Am I? What would you do if you found out you had a kid you never wanted? Would you run?”
Lissa considered the question. “No,” she said. “I wouldn’t.”
“Maybe you’re a better person than my parents.”
Finn said nothing. There was nothing to say. He could have tried to persuade her that he knew how she felt. After all, his own parents had abandoned him. He’d had to grow up quickly and learn to fend for himself, just as she had. There was a difference, though, and he knew it. He’d never known his parents. To him, they were specters in the mist. On his good days, growing up, he’d convinced himself that there was a reason beyond selfishness for their absence. He’d invent myths-romantic tales of intrigue that had forced his parents to leave him. The story of Moses in the bulrushes, told to the children in the orphanages by stern nuns, had always appealed to him. Perhaps, like some biblical king, he’d been set adrift for a purpose, and his mother and father lived their lives watching over him until the day when they could reveal themselves to him.
They were childish dreams, but he’d clung to them. Deep down, he still did. And that was what set Sally apart. She could hold no such illusions. She knew who her parents were, and they knew her. Her abandonment was personal. He could never convince her otherwise, because he didn’t believe it.
It took a few moments for them to finish their coffee and for Lissa to pick up the tab. They left quietly; there was a melancholy feeling they all shared in their silence. Outside, the weather matched their mood. The rain had let up enough to allow them to walk without getting drenched, but a light sprinkling continued. The air was warm and humid again. Finn could feel the barometric pressure in his ears, and it made it seem as though something in the atmosphere was getting ready to explode.
As the door closed behind them, they didn’t look back. If they had, they might have noticed the man settling his check at the table near the window, two over from their table. He was of average height and build, and the only things that stuck out about him were his black hair and eyes against his fair skin. He’d arrived just after them, and sat at the table by himself, casually listening in on every word of their conversation.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Thursday morning was a total loss for Finn. It was as though he were swimming in a pool filled with mud. It would be easier if he could go to the police and enlist their help. That wasn’t an option for him, though. His client wouldn’t allow it, and he was bound to obey
Devon ’s wishes. Sometimes it seemed as though the canons of legal ethics were drawn with an eye toward creating as many dilemmas as possible for lawyers, blind to the difficult realities faced by those who paced the courthouse halls.
He started the day by dropping Sally off for school in the morning. She seemed in mildly better spirits after a decent night’s sleep. She was still quiet, but regarded him without animosity. Perhaps, he thought, she was coming around.
He let her out in front of the school. “One of us will be here to pick you up when school ends,” he said. “Probably me or Lissa.”
She nodded and said, “Thanks.” Then she slammed the door and headed up the stairs to the main entrance and Finn pulled away.
Thanks. It was such a simple little word, said millions upon millions of times every day without thought or reflection. To the woman at the Dunkin’ Donuts counter who poured your coffee. To the man who held the elevator door for just a second longer to let you on. To the kid who bagged your groceries at the store for a summer job. It was said over and over and over, to the point where it almost lost meaning and became a part of the blur of modern reality. Said but never felt; heard but never acknowledged.
That was not the case with Sally. For her, common courtesy was a luxury-one that she clearly had rarely been afforded, and was hesitant to bestow on others. And so when she said the word to Finn-thanks-it made him feel as though, just perhaps, he was doing a good thing.
That feeling of accomplishment lasted only a moment, however, and as he swung the car around and headed for the office, he confronted reality. He would spend part of the morning putting together a motion for a new bail hearing. It made sense: he couldn’t get Devon out of jail until a new hearing was set. He would file the motion and then convince Devon that he was better off out of jail. Accomplishing that seemed a long shot. The man’s fear had been evident at their last meeting, when Devon explained the situation to him. He seemed determined to remain in jail, where he believed he was safe. Even if Finn could convince his client, though, there were no guarantees that bail would be set after Devon ’s behavior at the last hearing.