He didn’t stop back at his locker to get his coat and felt a shiver the moment he left the building. Still, he found the fresh air helpful to break him out of the daze he’d been in since answering Jessica’s call.
An empty bench was a few feet away, overlooking the football field. Wayne sat down, covered his face with his hands, and began to cry.
Reid had not even tried to hide his annoyance at James’s rejection of his proposal, suggesting that James take the train back into the city under the rather transparent ruse that he needed to conduct some business out of East Hampton for the next few days.
The train back to Manhattan was delayed outside Bay Shore. Some type of track problem, the conductor said. The end result was what should have been a four-hour trip took nearly twice that long. James called Jessica and told her to have dinner without him, his own evening meal a slice of pizza he grabbed in Penn Station.
By the time James finally got home, he expected Jessica to already be in the bedroom. Instead, he found her in the living room, sitting almost completely in the dark but for a small reading lamp beside her. The television was off, and he didn’t see a book or anything else that could have been occupying her time.
“Sit down, James,” she said. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
He knew at once that whatever it was, it was serious. He did as she asked.
“I got some terrible news at Owen’s doctor’s visit,” she said. “It wasn’t a redo of the blood test, after all. The last test showed the cancer was back. They wanted him to retest, but they’re sure it’ll be the same result.”
Jessica was trying to keep an even keel about this news, but James knew it must be devastating her. By the time he’d met Jessica, Owen’s cancer was something spoken about in the past tense. Like a movie he had walked into in the middle, after that particular plot point had already been resolved. Still, he knew that this very possibility had always hung over Jessica like a black cloud.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry, Jessica. What . . . what’s the prognosis?”
“It depends on if you’re a glass-half-full type or not, I suppose,” she said, trying to eke out a smile that didn’t quite appear. “The doctor wants to put Owen on this experimental treatment. He said that if Owen qualifies for it, there’s a good chance—actually the doctor said a very good chance—that the cancer would go back into remission.”
“That’s good news, then, right?” James said.
He was trying to sound upbeat, even though he knew that anything short of a guarantee of survival still sounded like a death sentence when it pertained to your child.
“Not great, though. It’s going to cost a lot.”
“What about insurance?”
“It’s not covered because it’s experimental.”
James now understood. Jessica’s hesitancy was because she was asking him for money.
“I know that you didn’t sign up for this when we got married. But it means Owen’s life. The doctor said that there was no point in going back to any of the insurance-approved protocols because they were unlikely to work. So it’s this or . . . Owen’s going to die. I’m sorry to be so dramatic about it, but that’s the truth.”
Jessica began to cry. James got up and sat on her chair’s armrest, holding her hand until the sobbing subsided.
“How much?” he asked at last.
“The doctor said low– to mid–six figures.”
Jessica knew that they were not nearly as well off as they seemed to the outside world. Before they had married, James had explained that it was an occupational requirement that he present as rich so that his wealthy clients respected him. That meant he lived well beyond his means. The purchase of the loft had taken every penny he had. So much that he’d had to use the money Wayne had paid Jessica for her half of the house in Queens, plus a second mortgage, to settle up with Haley.
“You know how tight things are now, Jessica. We don’t have anything to speak of in the bank, and with the slowdown in the art market, I haven’t made a decent commission in six months.”
“What about selling some of the art?” she said, looking at the walls as if they were a life preserver that could save her from going under.
“I don’t own any of it. It’s all consigned. And I can’t even sell them at fire-sale prices to raise money because most of my deals have a contractual minimum.”
“Don’t we own anything that we can sell?”
James sighed. “Yeah. My watch might fetch fifty grand, and if I cash out my life insurance policy and my very modest retirement savings, maybe I could pool together . . . I don’t know, seventy-five grand?”
She let go of any resolve. Jessica’s entire body seemed to fail, and she fell onto him.
Of course, James did have one possible solution. Their sudden need to raise money fast made Reid’s earlier offer of a quick score seem heaven sent. Of course, that was true only if God trafficked in stolen art.
“There is a way,” James said.
It was as if she had been given an antidote to a poison. Jessica’s head snapped up. “What?”
“The deal Reid wanted me to do. I think I can raise the money that way.”
Jessica’s entire face lit up. “I . . . I don’t know what to say, James. You’re not only saving Owen’s life but mine too. I mean that. And I’ll borrow the money from you. That way, if anything ever happens between us, I’ll pay you back.”
“Nothing is ever going to happen between us, Jessica. I love you and always will. Let’s just worry about getting Owen healthy. That’s all that matters now.”
“You look like the cat that ate the canary,” Haley said,
