Anton nodded and began to cry. David let him. After a few moments the boy began to confess. How he’d gone to the school library and found an area map. How Pascal, the school janitor, had told him which two buses he had to catch to reach his old neighborhood. How he’d eaten his sandwich while riding the second bus and how scared he’d been because the only other passenger had alcohol on his breath and kept asking for money. How he now understood that his mam was still in jail and not at the old apartment, like he’d assumed. How he’d used his last quarter to call FM from the pay phone across from the bus stop. How, when the hairy man who now lived in their old apartment had opened the door, it had smelled weird, so unlike the nice scent of lavender that FM sprayed around their house. How tired he was and how glad he was to see David. How sorry he was for the trouble he’d caused David and FM.
David chewed on his lower lip, half-listening to the boy, busy as he was talking to God. Okay, he said. You’ve punished me today for what I did to that woman. Abuse of power, you could call it. And you reminded me of it by taking Anton away from me today. Made me stare into the void again. But there’s no going back now, is there? There’s only moving forward, so here’s my promise—I will atone. I will more than make up for what I’ve done to Juanita Vesper. And I will do it by giving Anton every tool that I can to make him the best possible man he can be. But let me keep him. You took away James, and although I felt like clawing at the skin of the universe, I did nothing. Didn’t I? Didn’t I? When Pappy said to me after the funeral, “His will be done, son,” I listened, didn’t I? I let Thy Will Be Done. So this much you owe me. Let me keep the boy. Not even for my sake. But his. There are things only I can give him. Not even Delores. She’s too afraid to push him to the heights I know he’s capable of. And isn’t that a kind of racism? To believe that a boy from Roosevelt has to be left unchallenged? But I know what this boy is made of, God. And I can help him. Let me help him.
Anton was still talking, the boy’s voice soft and teary. But what David heard was the humming of his heart as he replayed again and again the sweet moment when the boy had scrambled into the car. The word “Dad” rang like a bell in his head and guided them home.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
So how’d it go? Did she accept the check?”
Connor flashed David a look as he sat down in the armchair beside him. “Of course. In the end. But man, she sure put up a fight.”
David exhaled, the knot in his belly untying itself. “Whew. I’m glad that’s over. Who did you end up sending to deliver it?”
“One of Smithie’s clerks went, I think.”
David looked up from the armchair to flash a smile to one of the club regulars as the man walked by. He waited until they were alone again and then turned his attention back to Connor. “I just wish we could’ve left Dee out of this completely.”
Connor shook his head brusquely. “David. We’ve been over this ten times already. It’s safer this way. I told you, Smithie was more than willing to cut Juanita a check himself. I mean, it’s only five grand, right? But this way, it’s cleaner. Out in the open—Delores, out of gratitude and concern for Anton’s birth mother, writes her a check that hopefully will allow her to restart her life now that she’s out of prison. It’s beautiful, really.”
He knew Connor was right, knew that his friend had looked at the situation from all angles and given him the best advice, but still David felt fretful. Juanita Vesper was apparently planning to move back to Georgia, and as far as David was concerned, it couldn’t happen soon enough. The money would cover a plane ticket and anything else she needed to get situated down south.
“Where is she staying right now?” he asked.
“With a friend,” Connor said. “And before you ask, no, she’s not at Roosevelt. So even if Anton were to try, he wouldn’t be able to find her.”
David took a sip of his sherry. “He’s not going to try,” he said, forcing a confidence into his voice that he wasn’t sure was justified. “He—he’s accepted what’s happening.” He looked at Connor’s open, guileless face, and the lie was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. “Anton just told me last night how much he’s looking forward to the adoption going through.”
He tensed, waiting to see the skepticism on Connor’s face, but his friend merely nodded. “Hopefully, he won’t have to wait long.”
David lifted his glass. “I’ll drink to that. Cheers.”
They clinked their half-empty glasses and sat back in the plush leather chairs. David felt a sudden urge for a cigarette. He pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and tapped it with his index finger, as if tapping ash from a cigarette. Looking up, he caught Connor smiling at him.
“What?” David said.
“What is it?” Connor’s voice was bemused. “What are you agitated about now?”
“Nothing.” He looked around the room, with its Oriental rugs and wood-paneled walls. “It’s just that . . . I don’t know, Connor. I kind of wish we had made the check out to her. I mean, handing someone like her a check made out to cash? She’s a junkie, for Christ’s sake. She’s liable to lose it, and God help us if it falls in someone else’s hands . . .”
“David. Calm down.” Connor snapped his fingers. “Look at me. We’ve got this taken care of, okay? Why did you think I insisted that you call that kid—what’s his name?—Solemn, Solomon?”
“Ernest.”
“Yeah, Ernest. Him. Why do you think I had you call him to say you wanted to help Juanita get settled in her new life?”
“Yeah, but he said it would be a mistake,” David snapped. “And we ignored his advice.”
Connor looked exasperated. “Yeah, but it gives us cover, right? She can’t ever claim this was hush money, because look—” He flung out his arms dramatically. “We told the goddamn social worker we were doing this.”
David ran his fingers through his hair. “I just want to put it all behind me.” He leaned forward so that his knee was touching Connor’s. “I don’t want to have to look over my shoulder the rest of my life, worried that some guard or warden will someday spill the beans. About that night, I mean.”
“David, look,” Connor started, but David interrupted him: “No, you don’t understand. Some party folks came to see me this week.”
“Who?”
David made a dismissive sound. “Never mind who. The point is, Tufts has told them in confidence that if he wins again next year, he won’t run for governor again. So his seat will be open in ’98.”
Connor let out a low whistle. “And they want you to run?”
“They’re probably talking to a bunch of other guys, too.” David shrugged. “Hell, 1998 is an eternity away. A lot could change between now and then.”
“Sure,” Connor agreed. “But the party obviously wants you to start considering this.”
A waiter walked softly into the room and David signaled him for another round of drinks. They waited until the man left and then David said, “Maybe.” He sat back in his chair. “Pappy will be disappointed, of course. He always thought I’d be senator someday.” Something flared in him. “But I don’t think I have the temperament to be a senator, Connor. I’d be too damn bored. I think I’d be a much better . . .” He stopped as a club member he didn’t recognize walked past.
“You’d make a great governor,” Connor finished.
David smiled absently. “Thanks. But I could be happy continuing to do what I’m doing, too. I love the law.”
The waiter set down their drinks, nodded, and disappeared. “In any case,” David continued, “you can see why I’m concerned about the Vesper affair.”