“So you planned this for, what, ten years?”
“Of course not. I had no idea Nolan inherited all that money. But I was online one day, reading about his campaign, and all the information was right there in the article. I knew right away what I had to do. I knew what he deserved.”
Jeffrey looked better than he had in a long time. Even his teeth looked whiter. He was definitely feeling clever, and I hadn’t counted on that. He seemed almost to be enjoying himself, revealing to me how wise and cunning he thought he was. But he didn’t know anything. I sat there looking at him, thinking about how easy it would be to change him forever. Reduce him to dust.
“Honestly, Will—I wasn’t sure I could pull it off,” he was saying, “and I was so fucking scared the whole time. But it worked. She’s a good little performer, isn’t she?”
Yes, I thought. She was a true triple threat. “You robbed me, too, you asshole. And Evan.”
“Oh, come on. Evan made partner. He’s probably pulling in a million a year. I’d say that dwarfs his contribution to the cause.”
“And what about me?” I asked.
“Now that I felt bad about from the beginning, honest to God. Hell, I almost called the whole thing off the week before. But you know all about that.”
The late-night phone call.
I shook my head. “And I talked you into coming.”
“Oh, don’t beat yourself up over it. I probably would’ve come regardless of what you said—because there’s something you don’t know about yourself that I know.”
I stared coldly at him.
“Well, don’t you want to know what it is?” he asked.
I didn’t want to take the bait. I really didn’t. But I’d flown all the way to California for this. “Why don’t you enlighten me.”
He actually grinned. “You’re a winner.”
“Fuck you.”
“You are. You’re ambitious, same as the rest of us. Even though you won’t admit it to yourself. Hell, if I know you, I’ll bet you never even lost a beat. I’ll bet you’re doing better now than ever before.”
I looked away, because I did know this about myself. I hadn’t known it before the kidnapping. But I knew it now. I was one of us. I was my own nightmare, a monster hiding in the woods, waiting for me.
“I hope you aren’t planning to tell anyone about this,” he said. “The publicity would kill Evan’s career. He’d lose his license. And it wouldn’t be good for you, either. Or Cynthia.”
And there was a dead man in the ground. There was nothing to say except for what couldn’t get said.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, and his mouth curved into a tentative smile. “And don’t pretend you aren’t a little impressed. Admit it. You’d have done it, too, if you were me.”
“You’re wrong,” I said. “There are things I wouldn’t do.” But my words rang hollow, even to me. “I’ve got to go.”
“Do you want your money back?” he asked. “Is that it? Because I’d be happy to pay you back. I could write you a check.”
“Good-bye, Jeffrey,” I said.
I was about to stand up when he said the most peculiar thing. “You know, we can still be friends. I hope you know that. I mean, we’ve been through some crazy shit together, and now we have kids the same age.” He leaned forward and put a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, man, why don’t you come over to the house tonight for dinner, and I’ll write you that check.”
All around us, people traded stories of their lives in the pungent meeting place of a new millennium. An espresso machine whirred like an alarm clock telling me it was time to rise and shine. Get a move on.
I stood up, grabbed my coffee, and left him sitting there. From my rental car, I confirmed my next appointment with Bay Area Records. They were interested in using our studio for one of their Pennsylvania bands. “Yes,” I said, unfolding my directions. “I’ll see you soon.” I hung up my cell and lit a cigarette. And before pulling away from the curb, I looked in my rearview mirror and happened to catch a glimpse of myself. I saw a thirty-three-year-old man with sleep-deprived eyes tinged with horror, but hope, too—hope for his wife, for his child, and, above all, for the day when the radioactive rock on his bedside table might cease to glow.
I took a long swallow of coffee and secured the cup in the car’s cup holder. As I pulled into traffic and slowly coasted down the steep San Francisco street, I began to rehearse my presentation out loud, so that once the meeting started I would say everything right. I would be perfect.
28
A long time ago, jeffrey told me that were he to write Sara into a story, he’d never demean her.
What would he have written? How would he have begun?
How would I?
Maybe I’d begin with the tiny mole, the dark speck so easy to miss in the tan sky of her inner thigh. Or maybe I’d describe the curve of her hip.