McCabe sighed. The anger ebbed. He didn’t like talking about his failed first marriage, but maybe it would help – and maybe Kyra did have a right to know. He sucked in a breath, held it for a minute, let it out slowly, and then began to talk.
‘My relationship with Sandy was different in just about every way from what we have between us. It was built on lust, not love. That was true at the beginning, even truer at the end. For the last few years there was nothing between Sandy and me but sex. That never stopped. She could always turn me on, and she loved proving it. My emotional life focused on Casey – and, I guess, on my job. You know how I am. When I get involved in a case I can’t just turn it on and off. It consumes me. Sandy couldn’t deal with that. She hated it.’
McCabe swirled the Scotch in the Waterford glass. A wedding present from his sister Fran. One of a set of four. Sandy had taken two to her new life. He’d broken one in the move to Portland. This was the last.
Kyra watched him as he finished the drink. ‘Didn’t you love her in the beginning?’
‘I thought I did. Unfortunately, Sandy didn’t have much use for my love. She loved herself more than enough for both of us. In the end, any feelings I might have had for her withered away.’
‘Why didn’t you split earlier? File for divorce?’
‘I thought about it.’
‘What stopped you?’
‘Fear of losing Casey. In most divorce proceedings the mother gets custody. The father gets to visit. I wasn’t about to let that happen. I was totally in love with my daughter from the instant she was born, and I wanted her with me.’ McCabe rose from the window seat and went to the kitchen to pour himself another Scotch. He held up the bottle. ‘You want another?’
‘Not for me. I’m not sure you should have one either.’
‘I’m all right,’ he said. He poured the Scotch and returned to the window. ‘In the end, Sandy solved the problem for me. She started screwing around with some rich banker. Not her first affair, by the way. Just the first who asked her to marry him. She walked out and never looked back.’
‘Then you got Casey. The perfect solution, right?’
‘Not quite perfect. I assumed at the time that Sandy would want to see her daughter occasionally. Y’know, one day a week, one weekend a month, alternate school vacations, whatever.’
‘She didn’t?’
‘No. She didn’t. She hardly even bothered to call. She was always too busy shopping. Or getting a pedicure. Or whatever the hell else it is that Sandy does with her time. Casey was ten years old and in an emotionally fragile place, and here was her own mother telling her she didn’t care enough to take a cab across town or even pick up the phone to talk to her. I found that unforgivable at the time. I always will.’
‘Did you ever talk to Sandy about it?’
‘I tried. Maybe not hard enough, but I did try. Unfortunately, every conversation with Sandy ultimately ended up being about Sandy. How busy her new life was. How difficult it was adjusting to a new husband. Especially one who doesn’t want children. How she wasn’t sure she was ready emotionally to be a mother again. Sandy just went on and on. I can repeat each of those conversations verbatim. Each time it would get to a point where I couldn’t listen anymore and I’d slam down the phone in a rage. It would take me weeks to work up the energy to try again.’
‘There’s been no contact at all in three years?’
‘No. Just some expensive Christmas and birthday presents. The last one didn’t even come with a card. It just arrived. We figured it was from Sandy because we didn’t know anyone else who’d send her something from Tiffany’s.’ There was an edge in his voice again, the anger coming back like an old familiar friend.
McCabe walked to the kitchen to pour himself another Scotch. Then he decided not to. The last thing Casey needed if she wanted to talk about any of this was for him to be incoherent. He rinsed out the Waterford glass and put it on a high shelf where it wouldn’t get accidentally bashed. Then he sat down again by the window.
‘You know, when the job came up in Portland, I told people – myself included – living in a smaller city would be healthier for Casey. The job would be less demanding. I could spend more time being a father. It was all true, but I was also using distance to help Casey rationalize Sandy’s neglect. I figured being three hundred and fifty miles away might soften the impact of having a mother who didn’t care enough to ever find out how she was doing.’
‘Do you think it worked?’
‘Not really. When Casey showed me Sandy’s picture this morning, it was obvious having a mother was something she’s been thinking about. I asked her if she wanted to see Sandy again. She said no. Then she asked me if we were getting married. You and me. She wanted to know if that would make you her mother.’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘That we might be someday, but we weren’t there yet.’
‘That was the right answer.’