He turned to his wife. She sat quietly for a solid twenty seconds, then slowly got out of her chair and walked around the table. “Howard is right, Mr. Diamond. You’ve taken a worst-case scenario and turned it into a golden opportunity. Thank you.” She extended her hand to her former opponent.
Irwin stood up and wrapped both of his hands around hers. “A pleasure to be of service, Madam Mayor.”
“Muriel,” she said.
“Irwin,” he responded.
“Well then, Irwin, how would you feel about staying on and helping us nail down the details? We could discuss it over dinner tomorrow night. My house.”
“I’ll be there, Muriel,” the Fixer said with a warm smile. “I believe I know the address.”
Chapter 78
At three o’clock, Kylie left the precinct and walked to the Hertz office on East 64th Street. One more chance, she thought as she got behind the wheel of the Chevy Malibu. Just give him one more chance.
How many times had she said those words? And the answer was always the same.
“I can’t, Kylie,” her mother had said. “I love your father, but I’m out of chances.”
She was ten when her parents got divorced. She couldn’t understand her mother’s logic. If you loved someone, really loved them, how could you not give them one more chance to make the marriage work?
Twenty-five years later, faced with the same life choice as her mother, she was able to make some sense of it.
She loved the man she married ten years ago, but that was not the man whose heart was filled with vitriol when he attacked her from his hospital bed. Spence’s drug addiction had taken its toll on them both. How had she become the woman who handed her husband a loaded gun when he threatened to kill himself?
They’d talked since then, and with each phone call he was starting to sound more like the old Spence. He was talking the talk, and she was hoping he could pick up the pieces and get back to walking the walk.
She hadn’t told him she was coming. He might say no, and Kylie hated taking no for an answer. It was time for her to clean up her side of the street, and as unaccustomed as she was to apologizing for her actions, there was one thing she knew for sure: you don’t phone in your amends.
She would meet him halfway. He could move back home. She’d be there for him when he needed her, but she wouldn’t try to micromanage his recovery. He had to want it as much as she did.
It was six p.m. when she got to AtlantiCare Regional. She freshened up in the ladies’ room, and then, hair, makeup, and ego in place, she went to his room.
“Can I help you?” the woman in Spence’s bed asked.
“I’m sorry. I thought this was my husband’s room.”
“This is 202,” the woman said.
“Oh,” Kylie said. “My mistake.”
There was no mistake: 202 was Spence’s room. She went to the nurses’ station.
“I’m looking for Spence Harrington,” she said. “Can you tell me what room he’s in?”
“Harrington?” the nurse said, checking her computer screen. “He was discharged this morning.”
“Are you sure?”
The nurse gave her a look: she was sure. “But don’t take my word for it,” she said. “Give him a call.”
Spence had a burner phone. Kylie dialed the number. He answered on the first ring. “Hey, how’s it going?”
“Things are crazy at work,” Kylie said. “We have a meeting scheduled with the mayor. She should be here any minute. What are you doing?”
“Nothing much. You know hospitals.”
“How about if I drive down and say hello tomorrow or Wednesday?” Kylie said.
“That’s probably not the best idea,” Spence said. “Zach gave me this NA hotline number, and I called it yesterday. There’s a real good recovery center right here in Atlantic City. They have an opening, and someone is going to pick me up in the morning and check me in.”
“That’s great, Spence. I can visit you there.”
“Not right away. They’re pretty strict. Even tougher than the rehab in Oregon. No visitors. No phones.”
“How long will you be out of touch?”
“Not long. Four weeks, tops.”
“And then what?”
“Hey, babe,” he said, laughing. “Not a fair question. I’m supposed to be doing this one-day-at-a-time shit.”
“Spence...”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
“About what?”
“About everything. Especially Thursday night when I tried to give you my gun.”
He laughed again. “Don’t try that next time you arrest some asshole. He might take it and shoot you. Hey, the guy with the food cart is here with my dinner. I should go.”
“Mayor Sykes just got here. I’ve got to go too.”
“Kylie...”
“What?”
“I’m sorry too.”
“About what?”
One more laugh — not because it was funny, but because it eased the pain. “I’ll make a list and send it to you,” he said. “I better go before my dinner clots.”
“I love you, Spence.”
“I love you too, Kylie. I always have. I always will.” He hung up.
She believed him. Not the blatant lies about being in the hospital, or the food cart arriving, or checking into a recovery center. But she believed with all her heart that he loved her.
And she knew in her heart that she would always love him.
But they were both out of chances.
Chapter 79
There had been an Evite in my email inbox that morning, and I’d printed it and carried it with me all day. The picture was a bottle of Chianti and two glasses on a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth. The copy was pure Cheryl.
You are cordially invited to Cheryl’s Lasagna Dinner: Take 2 My place. 7:30 p.m. Don’t screw it up.
I arrived at her apartment ten minutes early. She put her arms around me and kissed me sweetly in the open doorway, lingering on my lips. She tasted like heaven.
“I come bearing gifts,” I said, handing her a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine several notches up from the Chianti on the Evite.
“It would be gracious of me to say ‘Oh really, you shouldn’t have,’” she said, closing the apartment door and clicking the lock. “But who am I kidding? Of course you should have.”
“There’s more,” I said, taking a plastic CVS bag from my pocket. “A housewarming gift.”
She opened the bag. Inside was a package of men’s underwear and a brand-new toothbrush.
“Oh, Zach, thank you. It’s just what I always wanted,” she said. “And I have a gift for you.”
She took me by the hand and led me into the bedroom.
The lights were low, and the light scent of her perfume was in the air. “I’m ready for my gift,” I said. Oh God, am I ready.
She opened a dresser drawer. It was empty.
“Ta-da! It’s all yours,” she said, tossing the underwear and the toothbrush inside.
“Thank you,” I said, wrapping my arms around her and pressing her close.
“Hold that thought,” she said, breaking away. “Dinner is served.”
I followed her into the kitchen, opened the wine, and poured two glasses.
“A toast,” she said. “To the team of Jordan and MacDonald, best damn cops in the city.”
I downed most of my drink and refilled my glass. “And to the team of Jordan and Robinson, best damn couple in the city.” I took another big drink.