The Body of David Hayes

take this as interest.

“I don’t remember forcing you.” He inspected her in a way that had once made her warm all over. Now it rippled fear in the form of gooseflesh. “I heard about you getting sick and all. That it was hard on you. But it isn’t true. You look incredible.”

“Don’t. You’re in trouble. I can see that. But I can’t help you, David.”

“You can, actually. If you want. If you don’t want… Then that’s another thing.”

Looking straight ahead, she reached for the ignition. “It was wrong of me to come here.”

He reached across, his right hand clasping hers, preventing her from starting the van. His gloved hand remained in his lap. “Can we talk this out, please?” She felt his temper bubble. She’d seen it boil a few times. Stand back. “You came here so we could talk, right? If not, why else are you here?”

“I don’t know.” She felt angry, on the edge of tears, and this made her angrier still. “Fear, I think. Afraid you’ll ruin my life.”

“No. Never,” he said. “Just the opposite. What I propose benefits us both. You for your reasons, me for mine.”

That reasoning of his.

“Please get out of the car. You’re scaring me.”

“I’m not talking about running off together, about jumping into bed. We’ve done that, no matter that we feel differently about it. Message received. I’m talking about freeing us both.”

She felt herself shudder. She had felt free until a few hours ago. Now she found her own eyes wandering to the driver’s side rearview mirror, hoping someone might drive by. She could jump out, flag them down. David was sure to run if she tried such a thing. Wasn’t he?

“I fucked up, Lizzy.”

“Don’t call me that. And don’t use that language with me.”

“Got the wrong people mad at me. I think they would have killed me except they want their money back.”

“Please get out of the car.”

“For Christ’s sake, Lizzy. I’m missing two fingernails on my left hand, my head’s caved in.” He touched his head. “They would have killed me.”

I wish they had.

“You’re probably wishing they had.”

“Nonsense.”

“I need your help.”

“Absolutely not. Cut a deal. They’ll protect you. It’s how it’s done.”

“From these people? I don’t think so.”

“Please get out of the car,” she repeated, her eyes desperate for traffic now.

“They described my dog, Buck. You remember Buck? They described killing Buck.”

“Please get out.” She felt frantic. Do something!

He held the car keys in his right hand, fingers blindly counting through them as if they were prayer beads.

“My mother wrote me about Buck. She was looking after him for me. Said he’d gotten into some bad food or something. Poisoned, maybe.”

“I’m sorry about Buck.”

“It’s not about Buck. It’s about my mother. The point is they know where she lives. They can get to her. They will get to her if I don’t cooperate. These people don’t care about anything but that money.”

“Then give them the money. And give me my keys, please.”

“I can’t give them the money, because I can’t get into the bank.”

She felt her heart pounding, grow painful.

“You see?”

“No. That is not on the table. Turn yourself in. Make a deal for protection if you turn over the money.”

He scoffed. “You think anyone cares about that money other than the people after me? The bank was insured. The state got their conviction. It’s over.”

“The bank would welcome the money returned, believe me.”

“You’re missing the point. The point is that these people would welcome the money returned. A few minutes, Liz-” He caught himself before he completed his nickname for her. “A few minutes of your time. If the money transfers, my mother lives.”

“Do not put this onto me.”

“Okay… Okay… Then who would you suggest? Tony? Who else has access to I.T.? Or should I call Phillip and ask for a hall pass?” Percolating, the lid still on.

She extended her open hand, awaiting her keys. “You know exactly how to help your mother, David. It is not up to me.”

He inhaled and threw himself back against the headrest. “Some money then? Maybe get my mother on a plane or something. I’m good for it.” He smiled an ironic smile.

“I feel bad about your mother. Honestly, I do. But the solution is to cut a deal.”

“The state won’t want just the money-they’re greedy-they’ll want me to set up these other people, the people I stole it from. And, for the record, I did not know who they were. An account is all. A dummy account. But there is no way… there is absolutely no way I am ever going to be that stupid, believe me.” His left hand, the one with the glove, shook involuntarily in his lap.

She felt her original intention slipping away to his reasoning. There was no way she would participate in this, but she’d done little if anything to discourage him. “I love my husband. I love my family.” She appealed to the man she’d once known. “Don’t put me in this position, David.”

The keys dangled above her open palm. “I didn’t know where else to turn. Think this through. I have. You’ll see.” The keys swung back and forth like a pendulum. “It’s going to work out.”

She snatched the keys back, though he willingly released them.

He said, “At least think about it.”

“Do not call me.”

“All I ask is that you think about it.” He slipped out of the car, looked both ways, up and down the road, and quietly shut the door. He had disappeared into the trees by the time her trembling hand worked the key into the ignition.

Seeing her family around the kitchen table like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting made Liz despise herself all the more as she walked in. It seemed so long ago that she’d returned from her morning run eager for some playful sex in the shower.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Lou was already out of his chair. “Help you with the bags?” His gleeful innocence caught her in the center of her chest, knocking the wind out of her.

“The shopping… ” She stumbled. “I never got there. Got hung up at work.”

“You called from your cell.”

Ever the detective. Sometimes she hated him for it. But not now. She reserved that emotion for herself.

“Did I? It’s possible. I ran out to a meeting with the caterers. Phillip seems to think that because I’m a woman I should be in charge of food and beverage on the big night.”

“What big night?” Miles asked expectantly. At six years old, he was sensing his approaching birthday party. He had his father’s nose for clues.

She set down her umbrella, hung up her coat in the hall closet, and left her purse by the toaster, plugging in her cell phone. Little rituals that began to settle her nerves. Better now.

“Daddy cook dinner,” Sarah said.

“I can see that. It looks yummy.”

It was meat loaf and green beans. She loved him for all his interests: jazz, anything culinary, film. He wasn’t a microwave husband. He even made his pancakes from scratch.

He stood for her, caught her chair, and dragged it back. She winced a grin of appreciation vaguely in his