The Girl From Home: A Thriller (24 page)

“If you say so,” the officer says, now looking even more worried than before. “But if anything happens, or if you have any worries that something will happen, please call me. Day or night. My cell phone number is on the card.”

“Nothing is going to happen,” Jackie says with a smile that she hopes will put the cop at ease. “Really. I'm so sorry that you had to come out here for nothing.”

*  *  *

Rick doesn't even wait for the police cruiser to pull out of the driveway. When he hears the second car door slam shut, he turns on Jackie.

His lying face is gone. Now it's the face she fears most. The monster.

Jackie pulls out her phone. It's her only defense to keep her husband at bay, and she brandishes it as if it's a weapon.

“I have their phone number on speed dial, Rick. You take another step toward me, and they'll be back in two seconds.”

“Who is he?!” Rick screams.

“What are you talking about?”

“Who are you fucking?!”

“No one, Rick. What is wrong with you?”

He reaches into the bookcase beside him and pulls out a framed picture. He doesn't appear to notice that it's of the kids and not her before he hurls it against the wall, shattering the glass.

“I'm goddamned serious, Jackie! I want to know that cocksucker's name, and I want to know it right now!”

“I don't have anything to tell you, Rick. I don't know what's set you off, but you're scaring me. Just go to work. We can talk about this when you get home. Hopefully you'll be calmer and understand that it was just a crank call. That's it.”

Jackie is sure that Rick's going to hit her. He's got that same crazy-eyed look he gets the moment before striking. But this time, Rick's fist slackens. His restraint can only be because he fears she'll make good on her threat, and the cops will return in a heartbeat.

“This isn't over. Not even close,” he announces.

He stomps out of the house, slamming the front door hard to punctuate the point. She watches him leave through the living room window, her hand still clutching her cell phone, just in case he comes back for more.

Rick's SUV tears out of the driveway and then shoots up the street. It's not until he's out of sight that Jackie releases her grip on the phone.

Then she slumps on the floor and begins to cry.

*  *  *

Bicentennial Park was erected, as the name suggests, in 1976. It's not more than a baseball field connected to a picnic area, but it's one of the few parks in East Carlisle. Given that everyone in the town has their own backyard, and the town used the ball fields at the various schools for recreational sports leagues, erecting parks has never been a civic priority.

Jonathan figured it was a good meeting place for people hoping not to be noticed, especially in winter. Sure enough, he hasn't seen anyone since he arrived five minutes ago.

He places his phone beside him on the bench, just in case he gets a frantic call or text from Jackie. A minute later, it rings. It's a New York City number, but not Natasha's, or at least not any number he recognizes as belonging to her.

“Hello?”

“Jonathan, Alex Miller here. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Does anyone ever answer that question honestly when their lawyer calls?”

“I guess that's right,” Alex says with a chuckle. “Sometimes I feel like the Grim Reaper. No one ever wants to hear from their lawyer. But I wanted to bring you up to date with my call with the US Attorney's Office. Bottom line, I told them that you'd invoke your right not to testify before the grand jury, and the AUSA said that your refusal to cooperate with the investigation would result in greater scrutiny.”

“So, just what you said would happen, in other words.”

“Yup. They're following their standard operating procedure. But I wanted to keep you in the loop and talk about next steps.”

“I appreciate that, Alex. I do, but . . . my father died yesterday, and so I've got my hands full with arrangements. I understand how important this is, but can we put a pin in it? Just for a few days. Until after the funeral, at least? That's tomorrow.”

“God, Jonathan . . . I'm sorry. I didn't even know your father was sick.”

“Yeah. The other reason I was in East Carlisle. You know, aside from not having a place to live and no money.”

Jonathan says this with a laugh, but Alex doesn't join in. He must not see this as a time for false levity.

“I'm so sorry that I bothered you at a time like this,” Alex says.

“No, I understand that you're doing your job. And doing it for free. So I'm very grateful. It's just that . . . I can't focus on it right now.”

“Understood. One more thing, though. Again, I'm sorry, but they asked and it'll slow down the US Attorney's Office if you voluntarily turn over your passport.”

Jonathan laughs again, this time for real. Running is probably the smart move, all things considered. Still, he isn't going anywhere.

*  *  *

Jonathan watches Jackie approach from her car. She looks in every direction twice before venturing into the park, doubtless to make sure no one sees her. It reminds him of their first “date” at the Château. So much has happened since then, but the one thing that hasn't changed is that Jackie is still deathly afraid of what her husband would do to her if he knew about them.

Jackie takes a seat next to Jonathan on the bench. She wraps her arms around herself, a nod to the chilly weather. After looking around once more to ascertain that they're truly alone, Jackie puts her hand on top of Jonathan's.

“I'm so sorry, Jonathan. The last thing you should be worrying about now is my deranged husband making threats.”

Jonathan smiles. “Comes with the territory, I suppose. Small price to pay, actually.”

She smiles back. “I wish I came without any price at all.”

“So what did you end up telling Rick?”

“That I didn't know what he was talking about. That there was no one else.”

“Do you think he believed you?”

“No, I'm sure he didn't. He told me in no uncertain terms that it wasn't over yet.” She shakes her head and forces back the tears she can feel trying to burst free. “I'm so sorry, Jonathan. I always—
always
—keep my phone with me. And I always erase your number from the call list. I . . . must have forgotten this one time and he saw a number he didn't recognize. I guess he was suspicious already . . . I've been out a lot lately . . .”

“It's not your fault. And it sounds like Rick still doesn't know that it was me he called.”

“He's going to find out, Jonathan. I know he will. And . . . when he does, he's going to kill us both.”

“Don't worry,” Jonathan says soothingly. “I won't let that happen. I promise.”

She looks at him with uncertain eyes. An expression that suggests there's nothing she'd like more than to believe him, and yet she can't.

“Trust me, Jackie. We're going to be together soon.”

Jonathan's tempted to tell Jackie how he's so sure that they're going to live happily ever after, but then thinks better of it. He'd rather she believe that Rick's death was an accident.

A
my's husband, Kevin, and their two kids, Jack and Molly, land at Newark Liberty International Airport right on time at 8:30 p.m. Kevin has Molly in one arm and Jack's hand on his other when Jonathan pulls the Bentley up to the Jet Blue terminal for the second time that day.

The kids hug their mother, and Amy kisses her husband on the lips. The very embodiment of a happy family.

This was nothing Jonathan recalls from his own childhood. He has no sense that his parents were ever in love. For a while after that family barbecue, Jonathan had imagined that Phillip Levinson was his mother's true soul mate, but as he began to see the world through more adult eyes, he came to the conclusion that Phillip Levinson was likely one of many men who cuckolded William Caine. His mother's insecurity and narcissism was a particularly harmful combination to the maintenance of marital fidelity. And for his father's part, Jonathan's old man always seemed barely to be keeping his head above water, mere survival superseding any thoughts of happiness.

As Jonathan watches his sister re-engage with her loving family, he realizes that
happiness—
contentment, joy, fulfillment—was not something to which he even really aspired. He simply didn't think it was real, and so, just as the atheist pursues earthly desires, Jonathan's ambition was to obtain the one thing he believed in—money. And with it he would acquire the life he envisioned, which to Jonathan's mind included a beautiful wife, just as it did a penthouse apartment and a summer home on the ocean. Being happy as an end in itself was never part of the equation.

He sees the error of his ways now. He only hopes it's not too late to rectify the situation.

*  *  *

When they arrive back at the house, Kevin volunteers to put the kids to sleep, which apparently entails reading three stories and some singing—at least for Molly, as Amy explains that Jack has declared himself too old for the singing but not the reading.

After Kevin heads upstairs, Jonathan offers Amy some scotch, and to his surprise, she accepts. Yet another thing he didn't know about his sister—she's a scotch drinker.

“You know when Dad got this bottle?” he says as he hands the tumbler to Amy.

“Yes. I actually had a sip of it with Dad on my wedding day. He told me he bought it on his honeymoon, with the expectation that someday he'd drink it with his children when they got married.”

Jonathan laughs. “He told me he bought it the day I was born, to drink with me when I came of age. I guess he couldn't wait until I turned twenty-one, because I had a glass with him on my eighteenth birthday.”

Amy laughs, too. “Well, whatever the truth is, I bet Dad's smiling down on us right now. So, cheers.”

Jonathan's not a believer in the afterlife. And yet he can't help but allow for the possibility that his father
is
somehow smiling down on his children, drinking his crappy blended scotch together.

“To William Caine,” Jonathan says, clinking his glass to Amy's.

“To William Caine,” she concurs.

They both take a sip. Jonathan lets the alcohol roll back into his mouth, the way his father advised him that very first time, twenty-five years ago.

“You know, I never really felt like I got Dad,” Jonathan says. “Mom was kind of easy.”

“Yeah, because narcissistic borderline personality is an actual thing.”

Jonathan can't deny that. “And what's your diagnosis of Dad, Dr. Freud?”

“He was just a guy who tried his best. Living with Mom was no picnic, and I think he was happy just to have any oxygen to breathe.”

“What kind of a life was that?”

“I don't know. I always thought Dad was happy. Didn't you?”

“I have no idea. That's kind of what I mean about not really understanding what he was all about. But I know that I couldn't be happy with that kind of life.”

“No offense, Jonathan, but I'm not sure
any
type of life that didn't involve millions of dollars could make you happy. The rest of us, we get by with far less.”

Jonathan knows Amy didn't mean to hurt him with the barb, but it still stings. Amy must sense that she's crossed a line, because she tries to backtrack.

“What I mean,” she says, “is that he loved Mom, and so he was happy because he was happy with her. And I think, in her own way, she loved him, too. After all, they were married a very long time.”

He considers sharing with his sister that their mother was unfaithful, but stops himself. If she wants to believe their parents were in love until death did them part, he won't stand in the way, even if her version is pure fiction.

“My last conversation with Dad . . . I had a real heart-to-heart with him,” Jonathan says. “It's funny because over the last . . . I don't know how long, he sounded like he was talking gibberish for all the sense he made, right? But this was only a few hours before he died, and he was completely lucid. Like he understood that I needed to talk to him, and maybe on some level he understood that he had to do it then because . . . because he wouldn't be around to do it later.”

Amy rearranges herself to sit up straighter. “What did he say?”

“He said that I should start my life over, and do it better this time.”

“That seems like good advice,” she says.

Jonathan takes another swallow of the scotch. Another sentiment rolls around in his head, but he decides not to voice it.

“What?” Amy says, apparently sensing he's holding something back.

Jonathan smiles. “You don't want to know.”

“No, I do. I know we haven't been very close, and I hope you know that I wish it wasn't that way. And it doesn't have to be that way in the future. Especially if you and Natasha are really over. With Mom and Dad gone, for better or worse, I'm your only family left.”

Jonathan hadn't thought about it in those terms before, but Amy's right. Like the failings of his other interpersonal relationships, the blame for his estrangement from his sister fell squarely on his shoulders. He'd always been too busy mastering the universe to take much of an interest in Amy or her growing family. She had tried, though. Always making a pilgrimage into New York City when she visited East Carlisle to see their parents, inviting Jonathan to come to Florida for every holiday. It was Jonathan who never made any effort.

He could change that now, however. By opening up to her.

“The truth of the matter is that I'm afraid I won't be able to do it. Be a better man, I mean. Sometimes I think I'm just hardwired to be who I've always been.”