—
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Kirk and I were seated at a cozy table on the art-lined lower level of the restaurant, set in a nineteenth-century home in Rutledge Hill. He still hadn’t told me what happened, keeping me in total suspense, insisting that we have a glass of wine first. I was annoyed but hopeful, as we chatted with a waitress we’d had several times before, then put in our order for a burger (him) and shrimp and grits (me), as well as one glass of wine to split.
As soon as she departed, I said, “All right. Could you please tell me now, Kirk?”
He nodded, then took a deep breath. “So. He got to the house right after you left….We went to my office and made a little small talk….Then we got into everything. At first he was a little touchy, but then I just gave it to him straight….”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning…I told him how sorry Finch is. How sorry we are, too.”
“And what did he say?”
“Honestly, not too much. He was pretty quiet. But I think he agrees that we can handle this privately….”
“He does?” I said, more than a little surprised.
“Yes.”
“Meaning he doesn’t want it to go before the Honor Council?” I asked.
“Correct,” Kirk said as the waitress brought two rolls to the table. He began to butter one of them, looking smug.
“But…how? Why?” I said. “He just agreed with you?”
“Well. Let’s just say I gave him a little…incentive….”
I stared at him, my heart sinking. “What kind of incentive?”
“A financial one,” he said with a shrug.
“What?” I said.
“What do you mean ‘what’? I just gave him a little cash,” he said, stone-faced. “No big deal.”
“Oh my God. How much did you give him?” I asked.
He shrugged again, then mumbled, “Fifteen thousand dollars.”
I shook my head and let out a whimper. “Please, please tell me you’re kidding.”
“Oh, c’mon, Nina,” he said, his expression confirming that this was no joke. “You don’t think our son’s future is worth fifteen grand?”
“It’s not the amount,” I said. “If we’re just discussing the amount, I’d question the lowball—”
“Fifteen thousand is a lot to the average person,” he interjected, always a man of the people when it was convenient to his narrative. “And this guy’s a carpenter.”
“That’s not the point!” I shouted. I glanced around, reconfirming that we didn’t know anyone seated in the galley area, but still lowered my voice. “The point is—you gave him hush money.”
He rolled his eyes and gave me a condescending smirk. “This isn’t a gangster movie, Nina. It’s not hush money. I’m not asking him to be quiet about anything.”
“Then what’s the point?”
“Well, for one, it’s a token of our apology. For another…it’s an incentive.”
“An incentive to do what?”
“An incentive to tell Walt he doesn’t want this thing to move forward to the Honor Council.”
“Did you actually tell him that?” I asked, my disapproval growing by the second.
“Didn’t have to. It was understood,” he said. “Look, Nina. The guy willfully and gladly took the cash.”
“You gave him fifteen thousand in cash?”
“Yes. And again—he took it. It was a meeting of the minds, for sure. A contract.”
I pressed my lips together, thinking. There was so much wrong with what he was telling me, I wasn’t sure where to start. “What about Finch?” I said. “Are you going to tell him about this little contract?” I said.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” he replied. “I think it’s better if we leave Finch out of this.”
“Leave out the person who single-handedly caused all the harm?”
“We’re leaving him out of the solution. Not the punishment. He is being punished, Nina. Remember?”
“Okay. But what if it gets out? What if Finch finds out his father did something shady?” I asked. “And his mother went along with it?”
He shook his head. “No way. This guy’s not going to talk….Think about it this way….When you slide someone a fifty to get a table at a restaurant, do they make an announcement? No. They don’t. Because it’s shady on both sides.”
“So you do admit you’re being shady?”
He shrugged. “You want me to admit that? Sure. I’ll admit that. It was a little shady. But I did it for a good cause. I did it for Finch. And it worked.”
“How do you know it worked?” I said.
“Because he took the money, Nina….And before that, he was giving me an immigration lecture on how Brazilians aren’t Hispanic. And that his daughter is an American. Yada yada…He had an attitude. But then I handed him that cash and suddenly he was all cool, calm, and collected. So you tell me, Nina. Did it work?”
When I didn’t reply, he answered his own question. “Yes. It did. And you can sit there and be self-righteous all you want, but deep down, you have to agree that it was worth it.”
I stared back at him, my thoughts scattered and racing. A very small, guilty part of me was relieved that Lyla’s father had been complicit. Besides, what choice did I have? I couldn’t make him give us the money back.
“Well, putting that aside, I really think it’s high time that Finch apologizes to Lyla. Face-to-face,” I said as the waitress poured our glass of wine.
I paused as Kirk tasted it and okayed it, then resumed when she left. “And I would also like for the three of us to sit down again and talk a bit more in depth…about everything. He’s been avoiding me for two days…for longer than that, really….And I can’t tell if he’s sorry or pouting,” I said, getting a little bit choked up. “I can’t tell what’s in his heart right now.”
“He’s sorry, Nina. And you know he has a good heart….We’ll get through this, I promise.”
I started to say that I thought I knew Finch’s heart—but Julie was right, the sweet kid I once knew could never have done this to a girl. To anyone. It just didn’t make sense.
But there was something so reassuring and strong about the way Kirk was looking at me that I just couldn’t bring myself to argue with him. Instead, at least for the moment, I put my faith in my husband, believing that he was right. That the three of us would get through this, somehow.
* * *
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