The last thing Callie said to me before I left was this: “If you want Kathleen, you’d better hurry!”
“The last thing I said to Callie before I left was this: “You remember when you were a kid, after you were attacked, how you stared at that window for hours at a time?”
“Of course.”
“You were trying to figure out something about the way the wooden pieces intersected, the wooden slats that frame the window panes.”
She nodded.
“You said if you could figure that out, it would be something to hold on to, a place from which to reclaim your sanity.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I’m not a spiritual guy.”
“No shit.”
“Hard to believe, right? Anyway, I was just wondering if you ever figured it out.”
She frowned. “If I did I’m not conscious of it.” She thought some more, shook her head. “Why are you bringing this up now?”
“You’re happy,” I said. “I’ve never seen you truly happy before.”
“I am happy. But what does this have to do with the wooden slats and the way they intersected on the window pane?”
“It’s like you were at a crossroad in your life. And you chose to move forward.”
“And that’s what you’re going to do?”
“It is.”
Chapter 62
I’ve always lived my life by the theory that we’re all just a phone call away from a life- changing event. It could be a phone call like the one Kathleen will get tomorrow morning, informing her that a man named Donovan Creed bequeathed an unusual gift to her adopted daughter. A financial gift that would make it possible for Addie to receive a new face and body, one that would be completely free of all scars caused by the fire that ravaged her.
We’re all just a call away from a life-changing event. But it doesn’t have to be a phone call.
It could be a guy like me, standing by an oak tree in the park, watching a little girl playing with the tiniest puppy, say, a Teacup Maltese. There might be something wrong with the little girl’s skin. She might be a burn victim. Behind her, a man and woman might be enjoying a long-overdue picnic. They might be sitting on a large blue checkerboard quilt, removing food from a wicker basket. The woman might handle the basket tenderly, almost lovingly, as if it had been a gift from someone she’d loved and lost. The quilt and basket might appear unused, as if they’d been waiting a long time to be placed into service.
I pretended to go for a long, circular walk while Kathleen and Tom ate and played with Addie and the puppy. It was clear the three of them had the chemistry to be a perfect little family, and for a minute I thought about walking away. I mean, just walk away and never turn back. Because I hated the thought of destroying Tom, hated destroying the foundation Kathleen had built these last three years.
But I hated to lose her and Addie even more.
I timed my loop to hit the ice cream stand at the same time they did, with the three of them in front of me. Addie held a tiny leash in her hand, tethered to her puppy. I wanted to wait before announcing myself, wanted to step into their world a minute, smell Kathleen’s hair, her perfume, hear her voice.
I stood motionless behind them. Addie turned and smiled at me, and my knees nearly gave out.
I smiled back.
I wanted to say something, like, “that’s an adorable little puppy you’ve got there, Miss”—but I knew Kathleen would recognize my voice, and I hadn’t heard hers yet.
Now that I was standing here I didn’t mind breaking Tom’s heart. He was young, he’d get over it. And he’d know it was for the best, he’d be able to see it in Kathleen’s eyes: she and I were meant to be together.
I stepped closer, positioning myself directly behind Kathleen. I closed my eyes and inhaled her fresh-scrubbed scent and remembered the day I snuck into her home in North Bergen and waited on her bed while she showered. On that occasion, just before making love, I thought to myself,
