squeal, and Valentine felt something drop in his stomach. In the six weeks he’d known Zoe, the best he’d done was a lame high five. Donny and Gladys tossed their plates in the trash and left.
“Hey, Ralph,” Kat said.
“Hey, beautiful,” her ex-husband said. “That was some show.”
“Didn’t know you liked wrestling.”
“No? I think I mentioned in one of my letters that I did.”
Valentine blinked. Ralph had deserted Kat and Zoe two years ago. Except for the monthly checks, Kat had said there had been no contact. Ralph crossed the room and handed Kat the flowers.
“Congratulations on your newfound fame.”
Zoe was hanging on to both her parents, a smile illuminating her face. It was as happy as a Norman Rockwell painting, and as Valentine pushed himself out of his chair, he caught his reflection in the dressing room mirror. The only thing out of place was the clown in the yellow suit. Kat followed him into the hall.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she said.
“How many?” he asked.
“Four or five. We also talked a few times.”
The cop in him wanted to grill her. Had they chatted when Valentine was sleeping, or doing errands with Zoe? “You should have told me,” he said.
“I was afraid you’d leave.”
“Should I?”
Her lower lip trembled. “Damn it, Tony. Zoe asks about him. If my being nice to Ralph means he’ll be nice to Zoe, then I’ll do it.”
“How nice?” he said without thinking.
Kat slapped his face. Hard. Valentine stepped back, fearful of falling into the chasm that had opened between them.
“You want me to leave?” he asked.
“I want you to stop acting this way,” she said.
He took his car keys from his pocket. “You shouldn’t have lied to me,” he said. Then he walked away.
Ralph was eating the last slice of cake. Kat pulled up a chair, her head spinning. Tony had never been divorced and didn’t understand that you could hate someone, yet still care for them deep down. Although their marriage had ended ugly, with Ralph getting loaded and her dialing 911, there had been some bright spots.
Ralph took some quarters from his pocket and handed them to their daughter.
“Go buy your daddy a soda pop, okay?”
Zoe skipped out of the room, her feet barely touching the floor.
“So how do you like selling cars?” Kat asked.
Ralph undid the button on his jacket. His belly fell out, as round as a party balloon. “I quit last week.”
“What happened?”
He snorted contemptuously. “A man can’t soar with eagles when he has to wallow with pigs.”
It was Ralph’s favorite line. He’d used it after he’d quit as a bartender, fast-food restaurant manager, real estate salesman, and stockbroker. He removed some legal papers from his jacket and handed them to her. Kat read the first page, then looked up in disbelief. “What the hell is this?”
“I’m cutting off my alimony payments. You’re making a good buck, and I’m not. My lawyer said you won’t have a snowball’s chance in hell if you take me to court.” He took out a Bic and handed it to her. “So, if you’ll do me the pleasure of signing the last page.”
“Is this why you wanted to see me and Zoe?”
“It wasn’t the only reason.”
“This is so low.”
He shrugged. “Happens every day in America.”
“What am I going to tell Zoe?”
He shrugged again. “I really don’t like the makeup, if you want to know the truth.”
Kat felt something inside of her snap. Zoe had appeared in the doorway, a Mountain Dew dangling in her hand. Her mother ushered her into the hallway.
“Go get in the car,” Kat said.
Zoe glanced into the dressing room. Her father held a handful of legal-looking papers in one hand, a cheap pen in the other.
“Is something wrong?”
“Just do as I say,” her mother said.
Zoe came out of the underground tunnel to the parking lot behind the Arena just in time to see Tony’s ’92 Honda Accord pull out of its spot and drive away.
“Hey, Tony!”
She waved to him, hoping he’d stop, only he didn’t. God, how she hated Tony’s car. It was old and plain and had so many miles on it that the odometer had stopped. Tony had the money to buy something sexy—like a Mercedes or a Lexus—but he wouldn’t take the plunge. Zoe hated him for that. She and her mother deserved better than a smelly ’92 Honda.
Zoe watched him drive to the lot’s exit. His window came down, and he tossed something out. Then the car crossed the street and climbed the ramp to Interstate 4. Tony was a geezer, but he could be a lot of fun sometimes. Especially when hokey magicians were on TV. They never fooled him.
Walking over, she picked up the small box he’d tossed from his car. It was a gift, the wrapping paper bruised and torn. Standing beneath a bright halogen light, she tore away the paper and opened the lid. A cry escaped her lips as she stared at Tony’s gift to her mother.
It was so beautiful, she thought.
2
Palm Harbor sat north of St. Petersburg, on Florida’s laid-back west coast. Back when Valentine and his late wife had considered retiring there, there were five thousand residents. Sleepy and small, it had seemed like another world compared to bustling Atlantic City.
Fifteen years later, the residents numbered fifty thousand, the town’s quaintness run over by a developer’s bulldozer. Every day, the roads got more clogged, the public schools got more overcrowded, and the drinking water tasted a little less like drinking water.
Winter was particularly gruesome. The restaurants were asses-to-elbows with rude northerners, as were the beaches and malls. Valentine had been a rude northerner once, but had shed that skin soon after arriving. Palm Harbor’s lazy cadence suited him just fine, and he looked forward to the sweltering summers, when the snowbirds flew home.
He sat on his screened front porch and read the paper. The stock market had been flip-flopping, and he checked his mutual funds. As a cop, he’d never made much money. Now, in retirement, he had more than he knew what to do with.
Mabel came up his front walk, wearing canary yellow slacks and a blue blouse, her hands clutching a Tupperware container. He rose expectantly from his rocker.
“Good morning,” he said. “How you doing?”
“Who cares?” she replied.
Florida’s elderly took grim delight in discussing their ailments, their deterioration becoming monumental epics of collapse and decay. Mabel was having none of it.
“You up for breakfast?” she asked.
“Sure.”
