A Necessary End (39 page)

“Can you get home, or do you need to pull over to the side and call a tow truck?”

“We've had this problem before,” Adrienne says, “and we can get home.”

He nods brusquely and walks off, without another word. He is thoroughly done with us.

As the light turns green, I take off, making sure to go precisely the speed limit. I notice that the cop follows us for about a mile.
“Can you think of anywhere else to look,” I ask, “or should we go home?”

“Let's go home.” She looks at her cell phone and then mine, in case we might have missed anything from Leah.

My mind goes to white noise for the remainder of the ride. I can't process what I've heard about Michael or this sudden change in Adrienne. I think I still want a family with her; I'm pretty sure she's still my life, just as she's always been. What would it even take for me to let her go? What would be left of me if I did?

We open the front door to find Leah in the living room. The stroller and several bags are upended and strewn about. There's a sense of disarray that extends to Leah herself, who's obviously been crying. Michael is lying on a blanket on the floor, kicking his legs and moving his arms. It's like he's practicing to be a crab in a school play. He looks content and unharmed.

Adrienne snatches him up and strips him down just to check. He begins to cry, probably at the suddenness. “Shh, shh,” Adrienne says as she scans his body. Finding no bruises, she turns to Leah. “How could you just take him like that?” She rubs his back, and his sobs de-escalate.

“I needed to get out for a while,” Leah says, her tone defensive. “It felt claustrophobic.”

“This can't go on,” I tell her. “You don't get to fuck with us like this. You don't get to fuck with our whole lives.”

Leah's eyes are on Michael. “I think it's the other way around.”

“What do you mean?” Adrienne asks.

“I'm pretty sure you had something to do with Trevor leaving.”

“We didn't have anything—” I start.

“Not you. Trevor hates you. Her.” Leah thumbs toward Adrienne.

Adrienne doesn't answer, which feels like an admission of guilt. Michael's pupils dart back and forth, following the conversation. “Gabe's right. This can't go on. We need an answer right now. If you
want Michael, you take him with you today.” Her eyes fill with tears. “Otherwise, you sign the adoption papers. I can't live like this, in a hostage situation.”

Adrienne is going all-in. It's a big gamble, but she must be figuring that there's no way Leah can go now. Because Leah is, quite obviously, devastated. She's putting up a front but she doesn't have the kind of bravado that marked her exit conversation five days ago. She doesn't have the illusion of family anymore, no one to have her back. Part of me feels for her, even though she's been putting the screws to Adrienne, me, and our marriage for a while now.

The problem is, I don't think that even a weakened Leah is going to respond to an ultimatum. Adrienne never would.

So maybe Adrienne's got something else up her sleeve.

“It's not so hard, taking care of him,” Leah says, like she's figuring it out as she talks. “He's a mellow baby.”

“That's because I've done such a good job!” Adrienne flares. “I've made him that way! He doesn't cry because he doesn't need to, because I anticipate his every need, because I have it all at the ready. Are you going to be that mother, Leah?” She tries again, using a calmer tone. “I know I couldn't have been that selfless at nineteen.”

“No,” Leah says, “you couldn't have.”

I notice that Leah hasn't actually said she's going to take Michael. She's stalling.

“How are you going to support yourself and a child?” I ask. “If you leave today. If you don't have us to buy Michael's diapers and whatever else he needs. If we don't give you another dime.”

“I've got it covered. Don't worry about me.”

“She has her poker winnings,” Adrienne says.

“You barely broke even the night we played at the Pyramid,” I say. I resist the urge to remind her that I took a lot of her money during our big showdown hand. She doesn't need me kicking her when she's down.

“My bankroll is almost four thousand dollars.” She sounds proud,
but she has to be lying. There's no way she's made that much in the past week and a half.

“Bullshit,” I say.

“It's true,” Adrienne says. “Trevor told me she's been playing at the Pyramid since you first gave her lessons. She's been saving up.”

I stare at Leah as I roll the footage backward in my mind. She has the decency to drop her eyes, to look ashamed. But that doesn't change what she's done. It doesn't change that she faked me out at the Pyramid the other night by acting like some newbie. She's been snowing me all along, playing me for a fool, tricking me into destroying my own marriage.

It doesn't change that Leah has caused so much misery and disconnection, that she's ruined my life.

Rage builds up in me, quick as a fireball. This is the woman who's ruined my life.

I'm watching her, and then through the haze of my anger, another face superimposes itself on top of Leah's. It's Patty from brunch in San Francisco, and then it's another Patty, a Patty with darker hair, windblown, smiling on a balcony just like all the missing women, all the Summer women, and I feel like I'm on the cusp of knowing something that I just can't afford to know. As if to ward off that knowledge, as if it's an escape, I'm charging Leah.

My hands close around her throat. This has never happened to me before, this feeling, this color. It's true, you really can see red. I'm squeezing the life out of this woman who's ruined mine, but I can't see her face, only crimson, and then I'm seeing nothing at all.

I
t all goes so fast. The confrontation with Leah, the ultimatum, Michael on his blanket kicking his legs watching his two mommies, the talk about poker, and then out of nowhere, Gabe's just crazy. He looks like he really might kill Leah.

Did I think, just for a split second, that it might be the answer to a prayer? Trevor's already signed away his parental rights, and with Leah out of the picture, Michael would be mine.

But I'd lose Gabe, too, to prison, and I don't want that. Our talk in the car reminded me how far back and how deep our love goes. It's been in hibernation for a while but it's still here, waiting for the thaw.

I need to stop him. I need to bring him back to his senses. Shouting isn't doing it. Even trying to pry his hands off her neck isn't working. Has he always been so strong?

I wish I had a stun gun. That's it, I need to stun him, and I need to do it now. Leah's gasping for air, turning colors.

I spin around the living room, looking for an object. Everything's too light, insubstantial. I can't stun him with a framed photo or a candle, can I? Hurry, I have to hurry.

I run into the kitchen and see a skillet on the stovetop. It'll have to do. I dash back to find that Leah's eyes have closed.

I don't swing the skillet with much force; I'm only trying to stun him. He just needs to come back into himself and realize what he's doing, who he actually is. Gabe's no murderer. Maybe if there'd been someone in Patty's apartment to stun me, someone like Gabe, I wouldn't be a murderer now.

I
f only the skillet hadn't been cast iron. I think that a thousand times a day.

I can still see it: Gabe falling to the floor, immobile. Leah tumbling down after him, her body limp. Michael, agog, uncomprehending, his arms and legs flailing. Thank God he can't roll yet. Thank God he can't understand.

Gabe's been in a coma for more than a month. No one's talked to me about pulling the plug, and they better not. There have been incrementally positive changes, like the swelling in his brain has reduced, though the doctors never act positive at all. It's like they think that would be some sort of guarantee and they could get sued for false promises. Would it kill them to give me some hope? I just have to find it on my own, that's all.

He's not dead, I won't let him be dead, but sometimes he looks like that. He's so pale and his eyes are closed most of the time. Sometimes they're open but they can't focus.

Patty's head didn't cave in, but Gabe's did. They tried to put his skull back together, surgery after surgery, but it's like Humpty Dumpty. I don't sit on that side of him, his lumpy oatmeal side.

“Michael's getting so big,” I tell him. “He's not crawling yet, but he's thinking about it. He'll be here later. You can hold him.”

It's sort of like holding. I put Michael on the bed against Gabe's chest and let him poke around. He seems to like it. Michael, that is. I don't know about Gabe, not for sure, but I've got a feeling.

“You were ready to be a dad,” I say, smiling. I always smile when I remember that talk in the car, the breakthrough, the one that was going to turn us back into us. We couldn't find Leah—she was already back at the house with Michael—but we found ourselves. “That's what you were telling me that day. We were going to be a family. You were finally ready.”

I couldn't answer his question then: Would it be worth it to destroy Leah in order to have what I wanted most, to get Michael that way? By hitting Gabe, by saving Leah, I told him no, it's not worth it. I proved I'm not Patty. I'm not willing to do things by any means necessary, not anymore.

“I think you'd be proud of me,” I say. I'm not just talking about saving Leah that day. I'm talking about all that's followed. “But where were we? Chapter four?” I open James Patterson. Once Michael's here, I'll switch to Dr. Seuss. The machines hiss in a way that Michael seems to find soothing. He sleeps well here, against my breast.

I love being official, knowing that no one can take him from me. Leah signed the adoption papers weeks ago, in the flush of gratitude after I saved her life, but the court order only went through yesterday.

“Excuse me,” I hear. I look up and see two police officers in the doorway, a man and a woman. He's got a Cro-Magnon jaw; she's softer looking, like she could be your best friend. Instinctively, I distrust her.

They introduce themselves. He's Officer Rigby, and her name goes right by me, whistles past like wind. He says he's sorry to bother me, she says she's sorry for my loss.

I glare at her. “No one's lost around here.”

“For all you've been through,” she says, trying to amend it, phony as shit. “Could we sit down?”

“I've already been questioned. So has Leah.” I was told no charges would be filed, as I was stopping a crime in progress. They can't renege on that, can they?

Officer Rigby gives me a reassuring smile. “This is about another matter. We're here to ask a few questions about Joy Ellison. You knew her as Patty? She pretended to be pregnant?” His lip curls just slightly with a contempt that I can see is reserved for Patty, not for me. I like this guy.

“Have a seat,” I say. “I'll tell you all about it.”

I know from Summer Jackson that Joy's husband has been released and the Denver police are trying to find other suspects. But I've decided the best course is almost complete and total honesty: Officer Rigby can know everything except my revenge fantasies, everything except my revenge. That's how I'm living these days. Let the sun shine in, that's my new motto.

Also, some days, I find I just need to talk. Some days, I can't stop. Gabe's become a great listener, but for once, it's nice to hear a male voice in return. Officer Rigby's is quite sonorous.

It's quickly clear that the officers are just trying to find out more about Joy's game. They're tracing its contours. I'm happy to oblige. It's been a hell of a year, and I don't mind their knowing it. Officer Rigby is obviously sympathetic.

“I think there are a lot of victims,” I say. “She had a lot of profiles on Facebook.”

“I think you're right,” he says. “I've been at this for years, and I still can't believe what some people are capable of.”

They don't ask my whereabouts around the time of the murder. Hell, forensics still can't even determine when the murder took place. There's no physical evidence to link me, and I'm sure there were no witnesses that night. Really, there's no physical evidence at all, with the body as decomposed as it was. I'm surprised they're even bothering. Joy doesn't seem worth all this trouble, and I tell them so.

“You're preaching to the choir,” Officer Rigby says.

The female officer says almost nothing. I wonder what the power
dynamics are between them. I wonder if they're fucking. I miss fucking. Now that I can't do it, I miss it a lot.

Strange that the police are here, since even Summer Jackson has moved on. She's following a new missing woman, one with a more pristine backstory. Or so it seems.

As the officers are about to leave, I ask how they found me. “An anonymous tip,” she says.

Who . . . ? Whatever. I won't sweat the small stuff.

All I have is the here and now. If this past month has taught me anything, it's that. I need to maintain my focus. That's what it'll take to will Gabe back to Michael and me. It's all about family: Gabe and Michael. Oh, and Leah. She's just arriving. She might have even passed the police at the exit.

“Hey,” she says. “I brought you your favorites from the vending machine.” She shifts Michael in her arms as she tosses some Funyuns into my lap. Until Gabe was admitted to the hospital, I didn't even know Funyuns still existed. Funyuns and Fanta, my retro hospital snack of choice.

She places Michael in my arms and I nuzzle him gratefully. “Hello, sweet boy. I'm so happy to see you.” I breathe him in and then tell him, as always, “Say hello to Daddy.”

“Did you enjoy your alone time?” Leah asks.

“We had a good talk.” Then I level my gaze at her. Could Gabe have told her about Patty/Joy? He didn't even know that Joy was Patty, did he? Could she somehow . . . ?

No, there's no way.

“Did you finish your enrollment?” I ask. “Did you get that art class you wanted?”

She nods. “If all goes well, I'll take graphic design next semester.”

“Maybe by then, you'll have actually finished the mural.” I smile to let her know I'm only kidding. There's no rush. She smiles back.

I would never have imagined it turning out like this, with me opening my home to Leah when I didn't have to anymore. Technically,
our contract terminated when she signed the adoption papers. But after Gabe's accident, something profound changed between us. Then after the papers were signed, she was no longer the competition. I'm the mom, and that's that.

It helps that Hal's contract is practically an old-school closed adoption: Sure, I know who she is, she knows who I am, but she's got no built-in rights, no guaranteed time with Michael, not even a stipulated Christmas card. That was her idea. She said trust is earned. Then she made me an offer I was hard-pressed to refuse. “I could watch Michael while you spend time with Gabe,” she said. “I owe you at least that much. You saved my life.”

Of course, there was the incidental benefit for her of having a place to stay, an address from which to enroll in community college, but I get free child care (which will come in really handy when I return to work soon) and instead of siphoning money from the household, she's actually contributing through what I now call her poker fund. You could even argue I'm coming out ahead, since my finances are such a mess. (What with Gabe getting fired and unemployment tussling with me over whether to pay me his benefits. Bureaucratic assholes.) Poor Gabe. I should have been more approachable. He must have thought I'd just come down on him, which I probably would have. I'm much more understanding now.

Anyway, Gabe would never turn up his nose at a win-win. Neither will I.

I see myself in Leah, and I've come to think that if penance is still needed—for Patty, for Gabe's brother—then maybe it's in the form of helping Leah.

Do I know for sure that Leah is sincere? No. But I don't have the energy anymore to search for hidden motivations. I'm just going to take Leah for what she is, the way Gabe did. Maybe I'll even come to love her, like he did.

Because he must have loved her, at least a little, in order for him to go so crazy at her betrayal. I think even she understands that, because
she doesn't have any anger toward him at all, only sadness that everything played out as it did. She'd change things if she could, but none of us get that chance. Life only goes in one direction: forward.

Michael is looking into my eyes, grabbing for my nose. “Sweetest baby,” I murmur, and let myself revel in my good fortune. Then I stand up and head toward Gabe's bed.

I'm tired of thinking of love as some finite commodity. I'm tired of comparisons. More than anything? That's the wrong way to see it. Now it's about having more than enough. There's love enough to go around, there always was, and if I'd opened my heart to Leah sooner, right from the beginning . . . well, no point in dwelling.

Right now, Gabe's trying to teach me a lesson. Once he thinks I've really learned, he'll come back to me. That's what I have to believe, what I do, in fact, believe. I don't believe in God, but I believe in Gabe. I believe in an all-powerful love—more than one, even. Once I embrace Leah, genuinely, once I give her the family she's always needed, Gabe will know, and he'll return. I'm almost there, I really am.

“Look, Michael,” I say, waving his little hand at Gabe, “it's Daddy.” Then I curl up against Gabe—he's still so warm, no one can tell me he's not really and truly alive—and Michael occupies the space between us. “Look, Gabe,” I say softly, “it's your son.”

The writing's been on the (living room) wall this whole time. In the words of Thoreau: “There is no remedy for love but to love more.”

If I'd just understood that the circle of love could expand infinitely, if I'd only known it from the beginning, if I'd made room, then none of this would have happened. I wouldn't be sitting here, waiting for Gabe's return. He would never have left.

But this is no time for regrets. It's the time for miracles.