He closed his eyes and brought his father’s face to mind. The sharp gray eyes, the lines carved by time and sun. A mouth that always looked as if it was smiling at some inside joke. Beckett could almost hear the sound of his laugh, a raspy chuckle. He would have laughed last night at his boys cruising the town square, razzing each other and reminiscing. John Pierce would have been there with them, riding shotgun in his worn flannel.
He would have been there if he could. But Beckett’s family wasn’t one that could be put back together.
However, Gianna’s could.
By mid-afternoon, Beckett’s curiosity got the best of him. He put aside deposition transcripts that he’d been staring at without seeing for an hour and logged into Facebook. The news had surely gotten out by now. Maybe someone had posted a picture of how Gianna was coping.
Not that he cared.
He frowned at his screen. The link was always there on the left, but it was missing now. He tried the mobile app with the same results. Dismissing it as a glitch, Beckett retreated back to his dark mood and work.
It was another thirty minutes before he gave up entirely.
He wasn’t accomplishing anything moping in his office.
Like a coward, he emailed Ellery from behind closed doors and told her he was calling it a day. He headed upstairs and changed into running clothes and headed out at a hard run toward the trail that snaked through woods and fields.
By mile three, his pace had him gasping for breath. He slowed just enough to not have a heart attack. He heard footsteps on the trail behind him, light and quick. He knew the tread.
“Hey, Beckett,” Taneisha breathed as she loped alongside him, her long legs eating up the gravel with ease.
“Hey.” His greeting sounded like someone was strangling the breath right out of him.
“Sorry to hear about you and Gia,” she said, conversationally.
Beckett stumbled, but recovered quickly. “You heard, huh?”
She shot him an “are you stupid” look. “Yeah, I heard. It’s too bad, but that Paul’s a hell of a guy.”
Beckett swiveled his head on his neck so fast he heard a snap. “Paul? You met him?”
“Yeah, he was in the lunch yoga class today. He’s incredibly limber.”
Beckett grunted. Of course he was. Dick.
“You can tell there’s a long history there,” Taneisha continued, oblivious to Beckett’s internal conflict. “Anyway, I better pick up the pace.” She winked and shoved her earbuds back in her ears.
“Break a leg,” Beckett muttered.
“What was that?” Taneisha slowed up her pace and pulled out an earbud.
“Uh, I said good luck.”
She waved and took off, her antelope strides leaving him behind to stew in his funk.
It happened everywhere. Everyone wanted to talk about Paul. And no one seemed interested in the fact that Beckett was devastated and furious over the breakup. No, Fran at the gym wanted to tell him all about Paul’s superior squat clean and how he knew one of her drummer friends.
When he ran into Ernest Washington at the gas station, he made sure to tell Beckett about Paul’s interest and extensive background in the VW culture. And Bruce Oakleigh called him just to tell him that Paul had a “really terrific suggestion” about a town battle of the bands festival for the summer.
Beckett’s own mother didn’t even ask how he was feeling before launching into singing the praises of Paul who had apparently joined Gianna and the kids at Franklin’s house for a nice family dinner. “I just think it’s so amazing that he’s instilled a love of music in his kids. Did you know that Aurora can name all the members of the Beatles?”
No, Mother. He didn’t know that. And quite frankly he didn’t really care. Not that he said that to Phoebe. But he sure thought it.
“You realize this means that Gianna and I broke up, right?”
Phoebe chuckled. “Darling, if you were serious about her you wouldn’t have let a little competition get in your way. You’re probably relieved. I’m sure it was tricky for you dating a woman with kids. Now you can go back to your Trudys.”
Beckett felt sick at the thought.
The last time he answered his phone it was Anthony Berkowicz calling to get a quote from Beckett on Paul Decker’s musician chic wardrobe. “We’re trying to expand the readership of The Monthly Moon with a fashion section,” he’d explained.
Beckett had hung up on him and narrowly avoided throwing his cellphone through the leaded glass window.
By Day Three of the breakup that nobody else cared about, he’d not only given up answering his phone, but also shaving, protein shakes, and client meetings. Whoever was calling or on the schedule was just going to tell him Paul Decker got nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize or saved Mrs. Nordeman from a choking death with the Heimlich maneuver. And Beckett could live without that knowledge.