Derby removed the need, his own obvious glee needing further outlet. “Better still,” he added, “it also means Fred Coffin’s been handed his lunch by the same man he was ass-kissing for a judgeship. I love it when irony works in your favor. Apparently the governor’s a big fan of yours-and not so big on ambitious nitpickers.”
“Coffin’s been fired?” I asked, stunned by such a reversal of fortune.
“Oh, no, although he’ll probably wish he had been. He’s still at the AG’s, and unless he quits, nobody’ll let him forget how this turned out. Given his track record, payback’ll be terrible.”
He paused, brought up short by having flown his colors so openly. When he spoke again, it was in a much more muted tone. “Well,” he inaudibly slapped the tabletop and rose to his feet, “I’ll leave you to it. Congratulations, Joe. I couldn’t be happier for you.”
He leaned forward, shook my hand, and was gone.
Tony got up also, smiling to himself. “I didn’t realize Fred had pushed his buttons quite so hard. Interesting working in a state this small.”
He paused at the door, looking back at me. “See you tomorrow morning?” I smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Tony. I appreciate it.”
He shrugged. “I blame it all on Kunkle. He’s a bad influence on you.”
I sat still, staring at the polished tabletop after he’d left, lost in thought. Gail reached out and squeezed my hand. “How’re you doin’?”
I leaned forward and kissed her knuckles. “Let’s get out of here.”
Jack Derby’s office was on the second floor of a bank building located downtown on Main Street. When we stepped out onto the sidewalk, the evening rush hour was clogging the road. Brattleboro wasn’t designed for heavy traffic and had never figured out how to deal with it. I looked up and down the block, thinking of all I’d seen happen in this town, feeling a great sense of relief to be back on familiar ground.
“You didn’t answer,” Gail said, her hand in mine.
That I hadn’t, although less from willfulness than from simple inability. Inside, I was still as cut up and bloody as I’d felt sitting in court, listening to Coffin describe me as the frustrated, impotent, older boyfriend of a rich, indulgent woman. Self-serving name-calling by an arrogant politician, perhaps, but with elements of painful truth. Combined with everything else that had been hitting me at the time, such debasement had seemed in context. But I hadn’t been a total victim through all this. Few people truly are. Ahead of me was the task of sorting through the extent and nature of my own culpability-alone and with care. And that included scrutinizing Coffin’s portrayal of my relationship with Gail.
I gently squeezed her fingers, and led her toward the crosswalk. “I’m okay. But I’ll feel better after you treat me to a Dunkin’ Donut.” Gail came along without comment, but I felt her eyes on me as we waited for the light to turn green.