The Victim (30 page)

“
Whatever you’re smoking, I want some of it. You’ve been staring out the window for the past two minutes. Charley’s waiting for that spoon you’re holding.”

He looked down and saw his arm outstretched, bent at the elbow. A baby spoon clutched between his thumb and forefinger, the puree liquifying and dripping down his hand.

He fed the spoonful to Charley, grabbed a paper towel from the counter and wiped off his hand.

“
Sorry, just a little distracted. Work stuff.”

Gina carried the pot to the sink and poured the pasta and water into a strainer. A cloud of steam rose and hissed. “You didn’t comment on the music. I’m surprised.” He listened. Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep” played on her iPhone, mounted to a dock by the toaster. “I thought you hate this song.”

“
Never said I hated it. She’s a talented singer; don’t get me wrong. It’s just ‘Gimme Shelter’ with different lyrics.”

Gina rolled her eyes. “It is not. It’s original and I like it and your taste in music is older than you are.”

He shrugged. “She gets away with it ’cause ninety percent of the people who listen to her don’t know who the Stones are. Whatever. She’s fine, just no Boz Scaggs, that’s all.”

“
Gee, I didn’t realize my father had just dropped by for a visit.”

“
Hey. Don’t besmirch The Boz. ‘Lido Shuffle?’ ‘Lowdown?’ Don’t knock it ’til you try it.”

She laughed under her breath. “
The
Boz. That Southern California-speak creeps its way in every now and then. I remember when you first moved here, it took you a full year to stop calling 95
the freeway
.”

This was the Gina he loved. Sharp, witty. Could dish it out just as much as she could take it.

It had been a tough nine months but the therapy and medication were working. She had conquered the demon that had taken the light out of her smile. Anton looked past the kitchen to the formal living room—a needless array of expensive Ethan Allen furniture that they sat on three times a year. Above the sofa was their framed wedding photo. They stood on the edge of an outdoor patio at the Ritz Carlton on Key Biscayne. The turquoise backdrop of the Bay rippled behind them. He seemed rigid in his tux, an awkward smile pasted on his face. Anton had never considered himself one for formal photography. But that was fine. He wasn’t the focal point of the photo. It was her.

She was radiant. For a moment captured in time, the most beautiful woman to ever walk the earth. Biased, maybe. Every man thinks that about his bride. But she was truly striking. The dress clung to her figure, deftly cascading around her subtle curves. She wore her hair half up, half down, glimmering blonde under the late afternoon sun. Her pre-wedding workout and diet regimen had been borderline insane but it paid off. Her bare shoulders and arms were sleek and toned.

She was angled toward him at the photographer’s behest, her right hand cupping his shoulder, her arm gently dangling, her left hand resting on his chest. Her smile was genuine, but his seemed forced. Not that he had any reservations. There was no question that Gina was the woman he wanted to marry. He just wondered, years later, what was he thinking at that moment? Had his mind drifted back in time to 2003? The wedding that Gina’s parents had refinanced their home to afford. Did he feel undeserving?

Gina had long shrugged it off as “the Anton smile.” Flat eyes, a tight, unnatural bowing of his lips. Jaw clumsily set. He had often overheard Gina saying “he looks better in person” when showing someone a photo with him in it. With the arrival of Charlotte nearly everything else had been cleared from his mind. Nothing in the world mattered but her. And in those photos—cradling the swaddled newborn, bouncing her on his knee—he was actually smiling.

***

Anton was lying in bed, aimlessly fiddling with his phone. He wasn’t even paying attention to the screen. Just some mundane activity to distract him.

The doorknob turned softly and Gina stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind her.

She pumped her fist in victory. “Asleep in less than ten minutes!”

Anton turned his head, looking at the numbers on his alarm clock. “Jesus. You’re good.”

“
There’s a trick to it,” she said, pulling her shirt overhead and unclasping her bra. She opened the dresser drawer and slipped on an oversized sleep shirt. “Bottle, pacifier, gently rock her for a few minutes and when she starts that snoring, you know where she whistles through her nose like the tea’s ready? Then you set her down so she rolls onto her left side, then tiptoe out of there like you’re in a mine field. Thanks to your generous application of WD-40, the door doesn’t squeak. I get out into the hallway and I breathe a sigh of relief.”

“
There’s a definite science to getting a nine-month-old to bed.”

Gina disappeared into the bathroom and came back, her breath smelling like mint. She shut off the light and crawled into bed, nudging Samson out of the way. He got up and pawed a little spot for himself, circling twice before curling up at Anton’s feet.

He slid his arm around her shoulder. She rested her head on his chest. She ran her finger along the uneven bone on the bridge of his nose.

“
Your bump.”

“
My bump.”

He remembered telling her about it the first time she’d asked. Years ago when they were still dating, cuddled up in a post-coital spoon.

It was his senior year at Sagemont, the high school he’d attended in L.A.’s San Fernando Valley. Playoff game versus Calabasas, their biggest rival. His helmet wasn’t suited for a middle linebacker. The facemask was missing a crossbar. He crept up to the line of scrimmage and blitzed on the snap. The center came out of his three-point stance with his hands high. The center’s hand shot right through the gap in Anton’s facemask and broke his nose.

It was believable. Anton had told it on the fly with complete fluidity. He was equally amazed and shamed at the ease with which he could lie.

She turned away from him, inviting him to snuggle up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist. He buried his nose in the nape of her neck.

“
Everything okay?” Gina asked.

“
Yeah, why?”

“
I dunno. You just seemed so distant tonight. Anything you want to talk about?”

He could feel the strain of tears behind his eyes. He closed them, halfway believing that the tighter he squeezed the more likely he could undo the past.

“
No. Nothing outside of the usual.”

She rubbed her thumb against his wrist. “Saw Dr. Szabel today.”

“
I forgot you were seeing her today.”

“
Yeah, Luisa watched Charley while I went in. Says everything’s good. We talked about stress and went through the usual techniques for coping with it. She’s really proud of my progress. She’s cutting my Abilify in half. I told her you’d be happy.”

He kissed her shoulder. “I am happy.”

“
You know…I’m not totally in the mood. But if you want to…you know…I will.”

He squeezed her tightly, pulling her body closer to his. “Not tonight,” he whispered. “Right now, I just want to hold you.”

***

They pulled up to the park in Gina’s SUV. The Saturday crowd of parents and children filled the shaded playground. Kids ambled recklessly, climbing up slides, tearing around in wild circles. Anton unbuckled Charley and lifted her out of her car seat. It had been three days and not a word from Daniella. All a part of her game, he figured. Not knowing if or when she was going to strike was worse than anything.

Frazzled dads in their early thirties helicoptered over their toddlers, clad in khaki shorts and T-shirts, revealing those tribal armbands that seemed like a good idea twelve years earlier. Back when life was measured in kegs of beer and
forever
took on a whole different meaning.

They called after their children, all emphatically trendy names. Plenty of Emmas and Sophies and Avas. More than enough Aidans, Jaydens, and Bradens.

Gina sat on a bench, chatting with a mom she knew casually. They talked about gluten-free baby puree recipes they’d found on Pinterest and which rendition of the paleo diet was best for losing the most stubborn pounds.

Anton knelt as Charley scooted along the AstroTurf, doing a hybrid army crawl until she wiggled her legs beneath her and got up on all fours. Her cheeks spread in a two-tooth grin of achievement.

He got out his phone to record her, shooting fourteen seconds of footage that he’d send to his mother. Knowing her, she’d have it up on Facebook within minutes.

He saw the black Mercedes SUV pull into a parking spot about fifty yards away. The brights flashed twice.

He scooped up Charley and placed her in Gina’s lap.

“
Gotta run to the bathroom,” he said, briskly walking toward the Mercedes, glancing over his shoulder.

She lowered the window. He saw his reflection in the dark lenses of her Gucci sunglasses.

“
Hi.”

He looked around and leaned in, fingers on the sill. “How’d you find me?”

She reached for a Starbucks cup in her cupholder and took a sip. Lipstick ringed the lid. “Your wife’s gotta stop with the status updates and the checking in and all that crap. Surprised her profile hasn’t gone private, but then again I’m not. It’s pure narcissism. Everybody, look at me!”

“
You done?”

“
Not with you.”

He leaned back, gazing over at the playground. The Mercedes was parked just beyond the bathrooms. Gina was a speck in the distance, holding Charley, feeding her a bottle.

“
What do you want?”

“
The truth.”

“
How much?”

“
Huh?”

He did the quick math. They had $11,000 in savings, roughly $37,500 in his business checking account. There was another $4,500 in a mutual fund he had gotten into and $15,000 that could be gleaned through cash advances on his credit cards. He’d paid off Gina’s MasterCard so that freed up another $3,500. $14,000 in their joint checking. He couldn’t sell the cars; he owed more on both than they were worth. As for the house, Zillow estimated it was worth $475,000. They owed $340,000 on the mortgage. Figure a quick re-fi deal, even with a conservative appraisal, and he should have been able to squeeze out $100,000 in equity.

“
I can give you about a hundred and eighty thousand,” he said. “Most of that I can get you right away. Upfront and in cash. I’ll need a little time to put the rest together.”

“
You want to pay me?”

“
I want to do whatever it takes to make you go away.”

She lowered her sunglasses, peering out over the tops of the frames. “That Gina and Charlotte over there?”

“
That’s them,” he muttered, deadpan.

“
Huh. Cute family you’ve got. Real shame if anything happened to you. Or to them.”

He barely kept a lid on his rage, feeling a current of blood engorging his forearms. The veins in his neck pulsed through the skin.

“
Don’t.” He practically choked on the words. “This doesn’t involve them.”

She smiled and shifted into reverse. Anton stepped back from the window.

“
Hmm.” She held the steering wheel low with her left hand, glanced over her shoulder. “We’ll see about that.” She eased off the brake as the car backed up. “You can’t buy your way out of this.”

Her hand on the wheel, he noticed her Cartier watch slip down, exposing a small bluish tattoo on the white underside of her wrist.

The letters
b.a.e.b.a
.