“No, sweetheart,” Jake said. “He rode his motorcycle drunk. He crashed. He was an adult. He made an awful choice, a wretched choice—but he made the decision.”
“Life isn’t simple like that,” she said. “A choice. Boom. Done. I chose to marry you, not a crook. Noah didn’t choose a thief for a father, and he certainly didn’t decide to work for a criminal father, to be tied in so deeply with you that the world painted him with the same brush.”
“That’s the media, baby. How many times did I tell everyone you weren’t involved, that the kids—”
“No! You said you did it alone. There’s a difference between denial and honesty.”
“What, you’re a lawyer now?”
She clutched the edge of the table, feeling the cold rounded steel, imagining metallic odors clinging to her fingers. “Telling the truth would be admitting Gita-Rae and Charlie and Nanci and the rest of them were involved. Anyone could see they were. But you protected them. By denying their involvement along with ours, you lumped us right in with them. You know they’re guilty. Maybe they didn’t know exactly how much of a total scam it was, but they knew they were making false statements. They knew the investments were fairy tales. They knew they mailed out fiction. Their case comes up soon, and they’ll end up right where you are and then—”
“This isn’t about them,” Jake said.
“Bullshit. You placed loyalty among thieves in line with fidelity to your family. Jesus, you could barely look up an address on the computer. Did you think anyone would believe you could carry off that scheme alone? Thus, what did it mean when you said that I wasn’t involved? Or the kids? It meant nothing. Nobody could discern the difference between you being true-honest and lying-asshole honest. No wonder Noah fell into a black hole.”
She stood.
“You’re leaving?” Jake’s panic became a palpable mass around him. “Already?”
“I’m going to the machines.” She walked away gripping a roll of quarters.
The last time she’d been on the prison message boards, she’d become lost in a piteous discussion of vending machine choices, as wives and girlfriends advised one another on the best deals, tastiest snacks, and options for vegetarian boyfriends. Sinking into that world could have been her fate. She prayed she’d have stopped supporting Jake on her own—that it wasn’t simply Noah’s death that broke the final threads—but she couldn’t lie to herself. Or deny that Bianca’s tawdry book forced her eyes open.
A young, oh-so-young, woman stood next to Phoebe at the line of vending machines. Ten cultures seemed to have merged into this one beautiful, sad Madonna holding a baby, staring at the choices behind glass as though mentally adding figures.
“I swear they charge twice as much here,” Phoebe said.
The baby whimpered. The woman shifted her to the other shoulder and bounced her in the manner every mother knew. “It’s worse down in some other places, where they only have pop.” She patted the baby’s back. “Although I guess that might make life easier. You could figure out exactly how much money you’ll need to spend to make your guy happy.”
“They bleed the cost of prison right from our veins,” Phoebe said.
The woman nodded, seeming grateful for a moment with a prison wife who understood.
“Let me help you,” Phoebe said. “I need only one thing . . .” She took a quick glance at the machine in front of her. “Some M&M’s. Then you take the rest of my change. Less for me to carry out.”
“Oh no! Your man wouldn’t like that.”
“Trust me. He already possesses more than he deserves.” Phoebe fed twelve quarters into the chipped metal slot and then handed the remainder to the woman.
“Are you sure he won’t be mad?” She tipped her head in Jake’s direction. Even here, everyone knew who he and Phoebe were.
Phoebe got a bit closer and whispered, “Honey, when they’re in here, we’re in charge.”
The young woman’s face brightened. “So there’s an upside, huh? Thanks, Mrs. Pierce.” Renewed hope showed in her shoulders as she turned back to the machines.
Phoebe carried the candy to Jake, dropping it in front of him.
“What were you talking to that girl about?”
She ignored his question. “See this?” Phoebe held up the pack of M&M’s. “This is the last thing you’ll get from me. I won’t ever be here again.”
“You’re saying good-bye with M&M’s?” Jake scoffed as though this was just one more marital spat.
“No. I’m leaving you with words.” She pushed the small, shiny bag closer to him. “This is simply kindness.”
“You are kind, Pheebs. Always have been. Feisty, but compassionate. You’re also my other half, and I love you. Nothing changes that.”
She wouldn’t let this king of bullshit force her onto his field. “Our love is long gone. I’m destined to be known as your wife, a footnote to the biggest crook in years. I’ll be considered either a stupid woman clueless about what went on beneath her nose, or a Marie Antoinette eating stolen cake. The world will think what it thinks without my insight. I wasted too much on you already.” She laughed. “You deserved your mistress’s words. Not mine.”
“Do you realize how much shit I took for that?” he said.
“The breadth of how much I don’t care is endless.” She held up her hands to stop him from talking. “I’ll never write about you. The more I’m in the background, the happier I am, but I’ll offer you one last chance to unload. Right now. A one-day sale on bearing witness, and it’s happening today. Tell me the truth, Jake. What, when, and for God’s sake, why? Give me the honest narrative of the life I didn’t understand I was living.”
Jake broke away from her gaze, staring out the high window framing a clearing sky. “I hate looking back,” he said.
“Yesterday is the only thing you can offer me.”
He shrugged. “I kept thinking tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll make this stop, but if I thought about it too much, I choked.” He looked up, tilting his head back as though retrieving the past. “The panic attacks? Remember? They’re gone.”
Perhaps his doctor should have prescribed prison long ago. “When did it start? The shortcuts.” Phoebe used the euphemism with deliberation, hoping to lead him to the real story. She needed to know how far back his schemes started. Who he was then and who he’d now become.
He tilted his head. “It’s hard to recall, but it began—just a little bit—back in the Bronx.”
“When you were with Uncle Gus?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Was he involved?”