David says yeah, they already know about the FBI guys. He says Daddy told him and Casey. He says Daddy asked them to keep it a secret from Mommy and Miss Sylvia, and if they keep that promise, they’ll both get a present.
“A really big present,” Casey says, a huge smile on her face.
We make our usual trip to the community pool. Brunette and Redhead are lounging in the shade of their favorite tree. Blondie is nowhere in sight.
I don’t want to bother with the girls—not with my face the way it is today—but Redhead spots me and points me out to Brunette, who stands up and waves me over with both hands flapping wildly.
The kids are already suited up. They race into the kiddie pool. David makes his way over to his friends. Casey, who has trouble making friends, stands off to the side. She watches everyone, bending slightly so she can graze the tips of her fingers in the cool water.
Colin and Mitchell station themselves by the entrance. They wear jeans and polo shirts. They wear sunglasses that scream they’re police.
When I reach the girls, Brunette says frantically, “Holly, you won’t believe—oh my God, what happened?”
She reaches out, touches my tender face. It takes everything I have not to flinch.
“I’m fine,” I say.
Redhead approaches, her mouth open and her eyes wide. “Holy crap, are you okay?”
“Really, I’m fine.”
“Was it him?” Brunette says, meaning I guess my fictional boyfriend. “Did that bastard do this to you?”
I hesitate, trying to think up all the different ways this could go. Finally I lower my head and nod and murmur, “Yes.”
“Oh, poor dear,” Redhead says. She steps forward, gives me a hug.
“I’m through with him,” I say, thanking God I’m wearing sunglasses and don’t have to fake tears. “I told him if he ever comes around me again, I’ll call the police.”
“Good for you,” Brunette says, like I’m a two-year-old who just used the potty by myself for the first time.
“But really, don’t worry about it,” I tell them. “It’s all over with. What were you going to tell me? What won’t I believe?”
And suddenly it’s like my own horror story isn’t news anymore and they start telling me about what happened to Blondie, both of them talking over one another in their excited, breathless voices.
“She found out he’s cheating—”
“—has been cheating—”
“—and that one of the girls he’s been cheating with—”
“—like, one of her best friends—”
“—and she’s not the only one either—”
“—yeah, there’s been like three or four other girls—”
“—and when she called me she could barely talk she was crying so hard—”
“—she told me she threw her ring at him, hit him right in the eye—”
“—she should have kept the thing, tried to pawn it or something—”
“—so terrible—”
“—yes, so terrible.”
They fall silent at the same time, staring at me, probably waiting for me to start up the chorus where they left off. I even open my mouth but then close it. I don’t want to tell them what I’m thinking. How I’m happy this happened. How I’ve listened to Blondie talk about her boyfriend all this time and how they gushed over the ring and the wedding details and how they left me out and how if anybody in the world should be happy it’s me.
It’s a terrible, selfish thing for me to think, but I can’t help it.
I shake my head and echo their chorus: “Terrible.”
Before the girls can start up again, I hear Casey’s voice rising among the rest of the voices shouting out around the pool.
I turn and see that she’s being splashed again. They might be the same kids as before but they might not. Regardless, two of them are splashing her while the lifeguard once again has his attention focused on something else. David is off on the other side of the pool, playing with his friends. He doesn’t hear his sister, or if he does, he’s ignoring her.
I tell the girls I’ll be right back, and start toward the kiddie pool.
David reaches the two brats before I do. I’m forty feet away when his sister’s cries finally burrow into his brain. I’m thirty feet away when he turns and breaks away from his friends. I’m twenty feet away when he starts hurrying through the water, then ten feet away when he reaches the two brats.
I slip off my sandals and step into the water when David grabs the closest brat on the shoulder, turns him around, and punches him in the gut.
I reach them a second later. The brat that’s just gotten punched cries out, and of course his shout catches the attention of the waste-of-space lifeguard. The lifeguard jumps to his feet, blows his whistle, hurries into the water. A woman’s voice rises up among the rest. It’s the voice of the brat’s mother, and she’s screaming as she runs to the kiddie pool.
I grab David and pull him back. He tries fighting me, looks up at me like I’m crazy, like I should let him punch the kid again.
Casey is crying. The brat is crying. The lifeguard reaches us, asking what the matter is. And the mother is now standing on the edge of the pool, her hands to her mouth. She screams like a banshee, drawing everyone’s attention, screaming like her boy is being murdered in front of her eyes.
Forty-Four
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“He was picking on Casey.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to punch the kid.”
“But he was hurting her.”
We’re out in the parking lot, grouped around my car. Casey is standing with the agents while I crouch down to look David in the eye.
“Again, that doesn’t give you
