He didn’t have many belongings to move. He’d let Alison keep the house and just about everything in it because he didn’t want to make things uncomfortable for her or his daughter.
That was also what had cost him his family-his desire to protect them from discomfort.
After the confrontation in Roger Malden’s kitchen, and after being questioned for hours that day by the FBI and Internal Affairs, Wade returned to his New King City home to find Alison waiting for him. She was sitting at the kitchen table, watching the news on TV about the arrests. Brooke was at school.
Wade turned off the TV and sat down across from her and girded himself for another kitchen confrontation. But this time there were no guns, no terrified children. Just the two of them.
Somehow, he’d been more comfortable in Malden’s kitchen a few hours earlier than he was in his own kitchen at that moment.
Alison asked him when he knew that Roger and the other officers were corrupt. He told her that he suspected it almost immediately but didn’t know for sure until he’d been there about two months. That’s when he decided to go to the Justice Department and begin gathering evidence.
She was silent for a time and then said, “You should have talked with me about it before you went to the Justice Department.”
“What difference would it have made?”
“We could have discussed the alternatives.”
He shook his head. “There were no alternatives.”
“That was not for you to decide on your own,” she said, her voice steadily rising until her final words were almost a shout. “We are a family.”
“And that’s what I was trying to protect. This wasn’t about us. It was about dirty cops doing some very bad things,” Wade said. “If I told you what was going on, you would have become part of it. I didn’t want that.”
“That’s what you don’t understand,” she said, making a noticeable effort to keep her voice down, her anger in check. “I am a part of it. So is Brooke. What you do has consequences, and we all have to live with them.”
“If I told you what was happening, you would have had to live with it every day. Every time we saw Roger, Phil, Artie, and their families you would have had to pretend not to know what I knew. They would have sensed your deception right away.”
“You mean I’m not as good a liar as you are.”
“I was protecting you.”
“You were lying to us,” she said. “Every day for two years.”
“It doesn’t matter now.” He reached out to touch her hand but she yanked it away. “It’s over.”
“No, Tom, it’s all just beginning. There will be a long trial, constant media attention, and a lot of ugliness.”
“What other choice did I have?”
“You could have chosen us,” she said.
From that night on, Wade slept in the guest room. The two of them hardly talked except when Brooke was around, but then it was only a performance for her benefit. Brooke knew it and soon became as withdrawn from them both as Alison was from him.
Late one night after the trial ended, as the glare of media attention was finally dimming, Wade sat at the kitchen table eating some leftovers. Alison came in and dropped a set of divorce papers down on the table in front of him.
He glanced at the top sheet, then up at her. “Shouldn’t we talk about this?”
“Now you know how I felt,” she said.
“Is that what this is, Ally? Payback?”
She shook her head. “It’s consequences, Tom. You made a choice without us. You had to do what you thought was right. I’m doing the same thing.”
He left the next day. All he took with him were some clothes, a few boxes of books and CDs, a TV and an entertainment center, his recliner, some photo albums, a laptop computer, a mini?fridge, and all the guest?room furniture.
He put it all into the storage unit and himself into the hotel across the street, which was another storage unit, a place to shelve himself until his life started again.
And now it finally had.
Wade had all the furniture he needed for the apartment for now. He still had to buy dishes, cutlery, and cookware, a kitchen table, and a couch, but he was in no hurry. Paper plates, plastic silverware, and fast food would do fine for the time being.
He hired some day laborers who were milling around outside the storage facility with their own truck. They loaded his stuff in less than an hour and then followed him to his new home.
As he drove, Wade kept his eye on the rearview mirror, worried that his movers would turn around when they realized where he was heading, but they stuck with him. They unloaded his belongings into the upstairs apartment with amazing speed, eager to get their money and flee.
He couldn’t blame them.
While they unloaded his stuff, he taped some newspapers to the window to give himself some privacy until he could hang some drapes.
The movers dropped his box spring and mattress in the center of the living room and dumped most of his stuff around the bed. Wade hadn’t given any thought to interior design yet, anyway.
He walked them back to their truck and paid them off. As the truck drove away, he noticed that his move in had attracted a crowd across the street. They all seemed stunned by the sight. An alien invasion would have drawn fewer people and less incredulity.
A couple of the guys who’d trashed his car were among the lookie?loos, but Timo wasn’t one of them. His bashed?up Escalade was long gone, of course. It was a symbol of a humiliating defeat that Timo’s crew couldn’t let stand for all to see.
Guthrie stood outside his restaurant, leaning on his oxygen tank and smoking a cigarette. His daughter, Mandy, walked over to Wade just as the movers sped off. She was carrying a Styrofoam takeout box and a brown paper bag.
“I’ve seen a lot of people move out of this neighborhood,” Mandy said to Wade. “But I’ve never seen anybody foolish enough to move in.”
“I was won over by the warm welcome that I got yesterday,” Wade said.
“You’re crazier than I thought,” she said. “Are you moving into that upstairs apartment?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“The last person who lived there died, you know.”
“Of old age?” he asked.
“Lead poisoning,” she replied.
“From the paint?”
“From the bullets,” she said. “You really must have a death wish.”
“The wish isn’t mine,” he said.
“You’re just doing your best to grant it for somebody else,” she said and handed him the box and the bag. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“I like your wish better,” he said.
“Then you’re going to pack up and get out?”
“I’m going be extra cautious and vigilant,” he said, then hefted the box. “What’s this?”
“Fry bread dusted with sugar, some maple syrup, and a cup of coffee. A housewarming gift. Or my contribution to your wake. I guess it depends on how the day goes.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I might stop by for dinner, if I’m still around by then.”
“You do that. Be sure to look both ways before crossing the street,” she said and turned back to her restaurant. He watched her walk away and remembered the advice that his dad had given to the waitress at the roadhouse. His father probably would have given the same advice to Mandy.
He went back inside, took a quick sip of coffee, and tore off a piece of the hot fry bread to eat on his way upstairs to change into his police uniform.
The deep?fried dough, the size of a dinner plate, was sweet and delicious and instantly addictive. If he didn’t want to become morbidly obese, he’d have to start doing his patrols on foot.
Wade was back downstairs within a few minutes, and at the front counter working on the rest of the fry bread, when a blue 1968 Chevy Impala convertible pulled up to the curb. The white soft top was torn, the paint was oxidized, and rust was eating away at some of the grill.