By the time I got to the fourth, and final, photo, a thousand-megaton blast in my skull had mushroomed. Paul, you bastard.
Veronica's breath was suddenly at my back.
"You're not here to ask about some car accident," she announced.
I stared at their wedding photo for another moment, dry-eyed. It had been taken on the same beach as the first photograph. A minister was there. White flowers in Veronica's blonde hair. Paul in an open-throated, white silk shirt. Smiling. Beaming, actually.
She wisely jumped out of my way as I stumbled toward the front door.
Chapter 105
IT HAD ALL BEEN FOR NOTHING! Not just everything that had happened in the past month – my entire marriage.
That thought hummed like high-voltage electricity through my head as I drifted in the direction Paul had gone with the little girl, Caroline.
All my covering up. Gutting my friendships. Blowing my police career to smithereens. I had actually blackmailed the district attorney, hadn't I?
I covered my mouth with my hands.
I had nothing left, did I?
I made the corner. Across the busy street was some kind of park.
I looked out at a trio of street musicians and a group of old men playing chess under the trees. Other people were strolling along the path or lounging around a big white fountain. Everything was dappled with sunlight, like in that famous Renoir in all the art books.
As I came past the fountain, I spotted Paul pushing his daughter on a swing. He helped Caroline down and guided her to the sandbox as I arrived at the chain-link fence. The two of them seemed to love each other very much.
I walked around to the other end of the playground and was a few feet behind the bench Paul was sitting on when the four-year-old came running over to him.
"Daddy, Daddy!" she said.
"Yes, love?" Paul said.
"Can I have a drink?"
Paul reached into the basket of the bicycle and fished out a juice pack. I felt it in my stomach when he poked the straw through the foil. Then he knelt down and gave her another hug.
Even from behind, I could sense the joy radiating off Paul as he walked his little girl back to the swings.
"Is this seat taken?" I said as he came back to his bench.
Chapter 106
AT FIRST PAUL FROZE.
Then spasms of shock, fear, concern, and sorrow crossed his face. For a second, I thought he was going to bolt and start booking for the park exit.
Instead, he suddenly sagged down on the bench and put his head between his knees.
"Where do you want me to start?" he finally said quietly as he rubbed his temples.
"Let's see," I said, tapping my finger against my lower lip. "There are so many choices. How about the first time you cheated on me? Maybe the time you robbed a ticket broker at the Sheraton? Or no, no, no. The day you secretly got married. Wait, I've got it. My favorite. Tell me about the time you had a baby without me!"
Scalding tears ran down the sides of my face.
"I was barren and you needed to have a kid? Was that it? 'Sorry, Lauren, you sterile waste of life. I need to be fruitful and multiply with some other woman behind your back'?"
"That wasn't it," Paul said, looking at me, then out at his daughter. "She was an accident."
"You think that matters in the slightest?" I said, my face raw with anger.
Paul wiped at his eyes and looked at me.
"Just give me a second," he said, standing. "Then I'll tell you. I want to tell you everything."
"How considerate," I said.
Paul rolled the bike over to where the nannies were gathered. He spoke to one of them and then returned without the bike.
"Imelda works for the people next door. She'll take Caroline back. Why don't we walk and talk. I knew this had to happen someday."
I shook my head. "I didn't."
Chapter 107
"IT WAS ALMOST FIVE YEARS AGO," Paul said as we took the strolling path at the park's perimeter.
"I picked the short straw on that bullshit analyst's-convention thing in DC, remember? I was pissed off. Things weren't going real well between me and you and… Anyway, I was in the lounge at the Sheraton, nice room, piano bar, trying to drink away the memory of yet another ludicrous meeting, when this loud, drunken moron storms in and demands that the Patriots game be put on."
"I want to hear about your secret family, Paul. Not some stupid hotel bar story," I spat.
"I'm getting there," Paul said. "Every time there's a first down, this character has another shot of orange brandy. In the middle of the fourth quarter, he downs his eighth or ninth shot and proceeds to throw up all over the bar.
"I'm talking projectile action! As the bartender tosses him out, I look over and Veronica, who was standing on the other side of the guy, is staring at me, wide-eyed as I am. And I said, 'Let's just be glad he didn't stay for the postgame celebration.' That's how we met."
"Wow, that's sweet and kind of funny," I said with a sneer. "You really had your groove on that night, huh?"
Paul looked at me.
"I can argue or I can explain. Not both."
"Or get shot in the testicles," I said. "You left that one out."
"Shall I continue, Lauren?" he asked.
"If you please would," I said. "I can't wait to hear the rest of this riveting tale."
"So, basically, she invites me to have a drink with her. It was innocent, I swear. I wasn't trying to do anything. I don't expect you to believe that, but it's the truth. After a couple of more drinks, we're just sitting there, talking, telling our life stories, and this stocky guy walks in.
"Veronica keeps staring at him, and then she says that she knows him. Turns out, Veronica used to be a Tampa Bay Buccaneers cheerleader."
"Football?" I said, tilting my head. "That's funny. Considering the basketballs under her shirt, I was leaning more toward the NBA."
"She used to go out with one of the Tampa Bay assistant coaches," Paul continued, "and she said she remembered the guy at the bar buying Super Bowl tickets from her old boyfriend. She tells me the stocky guy is some kind of bigwig shady ticket broker. She points to the briefcase the guy is carrying and says it's probably full of hundred-dollar bills. We drink some more and talk about what we would do with that kind of money. Finally, Veronica stands up to go."
Paul stopped walking and peered at me.
"You sure you want to hear this?"
"You want to protect my feelings now?" I said. "Of course I want to hear the punch line."
Paul nodded as if pained.
" 'I dare you,' she whispers in my ear. 'I'm in two-oh-six.' And off she goes.
"So, I sit and drink. Three scotches later, I see this stocky guy get up, carrying his briefcase. I let him leave. But then I find myself on my feet, following him. Just as a joke, I kept telling myself. No way I'm going to rob anybody. But I follow him to his room.
"Then, I don't know what got into me. I was wasted, upset, alone, and excited all at once. A couple of minutes later, I knock on the guy's door, and when he opens it, I'm punching him in the face."
Paul and I both stepped out of the way as a bike messenger zipped between us.
"Wait a second," I said. "The report said you had a gun."
Paul shook his head.
"No, we just fought. He must have made that up in order to make himself look better. He was strong. He bloodied my nose with a shot, but I was too scared to lose. I just teed off on him until he went down. Then I grabbed the briefcase, and I ran."