The three of them spent the day at Disneyland, and it was bittersweet watching Daltrey on the rides and the look of wonder on his face when he came face--to--face with his Disney heroes. They stayed until closing, full of hot dogs and cotton candy. The next morning she woke up and got ready to go, then she called Isabeau, who was already up and came over to their room.
“Daltrey,” Nessa said, “Mommy has an appointment, so you and Isabeau are going to stay here until I get back. Okay? But first Isabeau and I are going outside for a minute to talk about grown--up stuff. Can you stay in here and color?”
He nodded and pulled his coloring book and crayons from his Bing Bong backpack.
Nessa and Isabeau went outside.
Tears stood in Isabeau’s eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Listen,” Nessa said. “Joyce is no doubt at this moment telling her public defender what to say to the National Enquirer. One way or another it’s going to come out, and it should come from me.”
The tears spilled over, and Isabeau cried. She hugged Nessa tight and sobbed. “Love you, Ness.”
“Love you too. Now let’s get ourselves together. You can drop me at the courthouse.”
Nessa carried Daltrey to the rental car, squeezing him until he squirmed, holding on to the feel of him and his scent. She strapped him into his car seat and got in the front passenger seat.
Nessa entered the address into Google Maps, and Isabeau drove them toward Nessa’s destiny. When they pulled into the courthouse parking lot, she got out and leaned into the backseat for one last hug from Daltrey.
“I’ll call you as soon as I know anything,” she said to Isabeau, who stared straight ahead, her chin quivering, tears shimmering in her eyes.
Isabeau drove away. Nessa watched until the car disappeared around a corner.
Nessa couldn’t seem to quiet her thumping heart. The seemingly endless supply of sharp adrenaline felt like ocean waves pounding through her system, making her twitch and jerk. Her mind was quiet, but her body was having none of it. She thought about touching up her lipstick but knew her shaking hands would make her look like a slasher victim instead of a contrite offender.
She was walking toward the entrance of the courthouse when “I’m Stuck in a Condo (with Marlon Brando)” began playing on her phone.
“What are you driving?” Marlon said after she said hello.
“Is that like your old--guy equivalent of ‘What are you wearing?’ ”
He ignored this. “Let me guess. White Camry.”
“Your mental powers never cease to astonish me,” she said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice, and happy for a distraction before the event that would change her life forever.
“Okay, and what are you wearing? Is it the black suit?”
“Two for two,” she said, pausing at the end of the parking lot.
“Look to your left,” he said.
She did. There stood Marlon with his phone pressed to his ear, in a coat and tie, hair neatly combed, next to an identical white Toyota.
True astonishment made her mouth drop open and she almost dropped her phone.
He walked toward her, his phone still pressed against his face.
“What are you doing here?” she said.
“I haven’t been able to sleep, thinking about you,” he said. “Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?”
“Marlon,” she said, hanging up. “Why are you here?”
He looked away and pocketed his phone. “I feel responsible.”
“You’re responsible for the effort, not the outcome,” she said, quoting one of his favorite AA aphorisms.
He smirked at her.
“Haven’t you suffered enough?” Marlon said. “I feel like you’ve made amends and then some.”
“Since when do you feel anything, Mr. Freeze?”
He just smiled at her and reached for her hand. “I got another call from that reporter at the campus newspaper.”
Nessa held her breath. “And what did she say?”
“She said as a professional courtesy she wasn’t going to run the story. She said that my friend who works for Altair called and lobbied on my behalf.”
“Those tickets to the Adele concert probably didn’t hurt,” Nessa said.
“Probably not. You are something else.”
As she grasped his hand, she felt a thrill go up her spine and spiral into her stomach, but she tried to finesse it. “Aw,” she said. “You like me. You really, really like me.”
But she heard the trembling in her own voice.
“Don’t do that,” he said, almost growling. “Don’t play it off like it’s a joke. It’s not a joke. It’s a meeting of the minds. We speak the same language, you and I. We’re from the same tribe. We fit. If you don’t see it that way, I understand. But I came to LA to tell you this. It’s that important to me.”
She tried to swallow but couldn’t, looking up at him. “Marlon, you’re just—-”
“I’m not just anything. You’re all I think about, and that’s very inconvenient for me. I need to settle this so I can go back to thinking about myself all the time.”
She laughed.
“I know I’m ten years older than you, but—-”
“Eleven.”
He ignored this and went on. “I further know you need time to grieve your husband.”
“And I might be going to prison,” she said. “You don’t have to wait for me.”