He went back to bed but couldn't fall asleep. In the morning, with sunlight streaming in, he knew that nothing had changed for anyone else. Only his life was different. His brother, Michael, and his wife, Nadine, would be getting the kids ready for school before heading out to their jobs at Boston College, and his mom and dad were probably reading the Globe as they had their morning coffee. Crimes had been committed, and witnesses would be in the precinct. Coffey and Ramirez would be gossiping about him.
He showered and had vodka and toast for breakfast. At the precinct, he was called out to investigate a murder. A woman in her twenties, most likely a prostitute, had been found stabbed to death, her body tossed in a Dumpster. He spent the morning talking to bystanders while the evidence was collected. When he finished with the interviews, he went to the precinct to start the report while the information was fresh in his mind. He was a good detective.
The precinct was busy. End of a holiday weekend. The world gone crazy. Detectives were speaking into phones and writing at their desks and talking to witnesses and listening as victims told detectives about their victimization. Noisy. Active. People coming and going. Phones ringing. Kevin walked toward his desk, one of four in the middle of the room. Through the open door, Bill waved but stayed in his office. Ramirez and Coffey were at their desks, sitting across from him.
"You okay?" Coffey asked. Coffey was in his forties, overweight and balding. "You look like hell."
"I didn't sleep well," Kevin said.
"I don't sleep well without Janet, either. When's Erin coming back?"
Kevin kept his expression neutral.
"Next weekend. I've got a few days coming and we've decided to go to the Cape. We haven't been there in years."
"Yeah? My mom lives there. Where at the Cape?"
"Provincetown."
"So does she. You'll love it there. I go there all the time. Where are you staying?"
Kevin wondered why Coffey kept asking questions. "I'm not sure," he finally said. "Erin's making the arrangements."
Kevin walked toward the coffeepot and poured himself a cup, even though he didn't want any. He'd have to find the name of a bed-and-breakfast and a couple of restaurants, so if Coffey asked about it, he'd know what to say.
His days followed the same routine. He worked and talked to witnesses and finally went home. His work was stressful and he wanted to relax when he finished, but everything was different at home and the work stayed with him. He'd once believed that he would get used to the sight of murder victims, but their gray, lifeless faces were etched in his memory, and sometimes the victims visited him in his sleep.
He didn't like going home. When he finished his shift, there was no beautiful wife to greet him at the door. Erin had been gone since January. Now, his house was messy and dirty and he had to do his own laundry. He hadn't known how to work the washing machine, and the first time he ran it he added too much soap and the clothes came out looking dingy. There were no home-cooked meals or candles on the table. Instead, he grabbed food on the way home and ate on the couch. Sometimes, he put on the television. Erin liked to watch HGTV, the home and garden channel on cable, so he often watched that and when he did, the emptiness he felt inside was almost unbearable.
After work he no longer bothered to store his gun in the gun box he kept in his closet; in the box, he had a second Glock for his personal use. Erin had been afraid of guns, even before he'd placed the Glock to her head and threatened to kill her if she ever ran away again. She'd screamed and cried as he'd sworn that he'd kill any man she slept with, any man she cared about. She'd been so stupid and he'd been so angry with her for running away and he demanded the name of the man who had helped her so he could kill him. But Erin had screamed and cried and begged for her life and swore there wasn't a man and he believed her because she was his wife. They'd made their vows in front of God and family and the Bible says Thou shalt not commit adultery. Even then, he hadn't believed that Erin had been unfaithful. He'd never believed another man was involved. While they were married, he'd made sure of that. He made random calls to the house throughout the day and never let her go to the store or to the hair salon or to the library by herself. She didn't have a car or even a license and he swung by their house whenever he was in the area, just to make sure she was at home. She hadn't left because she wanted to commit adultery. She left because she was tired of getting kicked and punched and thrown down the cellar stairs and he knew he shouldn't have done those things and he always felt guilty and apologized but it still hadn't mattered.
She shouldn't have run away. It broke his heart because he loved her more than life and he'd always taken care of her. He bought her a house and a refrigerator and a washer and dryer and new furniture. The house had always been clean, but now the sink was full of dishes and his hamper was overflowing.
He knew he should clean the house but he didn't have the energy. Instead, he went to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of vodka from the freezer. There were four bottles left; a week ago, there'd been twelve. He knew he was drinking too much. He knew he should eat better and stop drinking but all he wanted to do was take the bottle and sit on the couch and drink. Vodka was good because it didn't make your breath smell, and in the mornings, no one would know he was nursing a hangover.
He poured a glass of vodka, finished it, and poured another before walking through the empty house. His heart ached because Erin wasn't here and if she suddenly showed up at the door, he knew he'd apologize for hitting her and they'd work things out and then they'd make love in the bedroom. He wanted to hold her and whisper how much he adored her, but he knew she wasn't coming back, and even though he loved her, she made him so angry sometimes. A wife didn't just leave. A wife didn't just walk away from a marriage. He wanted to hit and kick and slap her and pull her hair for being so stupid. For being so damn selfish. He wanted to show her it was pointless to run away.
He drank a third and fourth glass of vodka.
It was all so confusing. The house was a wreck. There was an empty pizza box on the floor of the living room and the casing around the bathroom door was splintered and cracked. The door would no longer close all the way. He'd kicked it in after she'd locked it, trying to get away from him. He'd been holding her by the hair as he punched her in the kitchen and she'd run to the bathroom and he'd chased her through the house and kicked the door in. But now he couldn't remember what they'd been fighting about.
He couldn't remember much about that night. He couldn't remember breaking two of her fingers, even though it was obvious that he had. But he wouldn't let her go to the hospital for a week, not until the bruises on her face could be covered by makeup, and she'd had to cook and clean one-handed. He bought her flowers and apologized and told her that he loved her and promised it would never happen again, and after she got the cast off, he'd taken her into Boston for a dinner at Petroni's. It was expensive and he'd smiled across the table at her. Afterward, they'd gone to a movie and on the way home he remembered thinking about how much he loved her and how lucky he was to have someone like her as his wife.
21
Alex had stayed with Katie until after midnight, listening as she'd told the story of her prior life. When she was too spent and exhausted to talk anymore, he put his arms around her and kissed her good night. On his drive home, he thought that he had never met anyone braver or stronger or more resourceful.
They spent much of the next couple of weeks together--or as much as they could, anyway. Between the hours he worked at the store and her shifts at Ivan's, it wasn't usually more than a few hours a day, but he anticipated his visits to her place with a sense of excitement he hadn't felt in years. Sometimes, Kristen and Josh went with him. Other times, Joyce would shoo him out the door with a wink, urging him to have himself a good time before he headed over.
They seldom spent time at his house and when they did, it was only for short periods. In his mind, he wanted to believe it was because of the kids, that he wanted to take things slowly,
but part of him realized it also had to do with Carly. Though he knew he loved Katie--and he grew more certain with every passing day--he wasn't sure he was ready for that just yet. Katie seemed to understand his reluctance and didn't seem to mind, if only because it was easier to be alone at her place.
Even so, they'd yet to make love. Though he often found himself imagining how wonderful it would be, especially in those moments before sleep, he knew Katie wasn't ready for that. They both seemed to realize it would signal a change in their relationship, a hopeful permanence of sorts. For now, it was enough to kiss her, to feel her arms wrapped around him. He loved the scent of jasmine shampoo in her hair and the way her hand nestled so perfectly in his; the way their every touch was charged with delicious anticipation, as if they were somehow saving themselves for each other. He hadn't slept with anyone since his wife had died, and now he felt that in some way he had unknowingly been waiting for Katie.
He took pleasure in showing her around the area. They walked the waterfront and past the historic homes, examining the architecture, and one weekend he took her to the Orton Plantation Gardens, where they wandered among a thousand blooming rosebushes. Afterward, they went to lunch at a small oceanfront bistro at Caswell Beach, where they held hands across the table like teenagers.
Since their dinner at her house, she hadn't broached her past again, and he didn't bring it up. He knew she was still working things out in her mind: how much she'd told him already and how much there still was to tell, whether or not she could trust him, how much it mattered that she was still married, and what would happen if Kevin somehow found her here. When he sensed she was brooding over such things, he would remind her gently that no matter what happened, her secret would always be safe with him. He would never tell anyone.
Watching her, he would sometimes be overcome with an overwhelming rage at Kevin Tierney. Such men's instincts to victimize and torture were as foreign to him as the ability to breathe underwater or fly; more than anything, he wanted revenge. He wanted justice. He wanted Kevin to experience Katie's anguish and terror, the unending bouts of brutal physical pain. During his time in the army, he'd killed one man, a soldier strung out on methamphetamines who was threatening a hostage with a gun. The man was dangerous and out of control and when the opportunity arose, Alex had pulled the trigger without hesitation. The death had given his job a sobering new meaning, but in his heart he knew that there were moments in life when violence was necessary to save lives. He knew that if Kevin ever showed up, Alex would protect Katie, no matter what. In the army, he'd slowly come to the realization that there were people who added goodness to the world and people who lived to destroy it. In his mind, the decision to protect an innocent woman like Katie from a psychopath like Kevin was as clear as black and white--a simple choice.
On most days, the specter of Katie's past life didn't intrude, and they spent each day together in a state of relaxed and growing intimacy. The afternoons with the kids were particularly special for him. Katie was a natural with children--whether helping Kristen feed the ducks at the pond or playing catch with Josh, she always seemed to fall effortlessly into rhythm with them, by turns playful, comforting, rowdy, or quiet. In this way she was much like Carly, and he somehow felt certain that Katie was the kind of woman Carly had once spoken about.
In the final weeks of Carly's life, he had maintained a vigil beside her bed. Even though she slept most of the time, he was afraid of missing those times when she was conscious, no matter how short they might be. By then, the left side of her body was almost paralyzed, and speech was difficult for her. But one night, during a brief lucid period in the hour just before dawn, she'd reached for him.
"I want you to do something for me," she said with effort, licking her cracked lips. Her voice was hoarse from disuse.
"Anything."
"I want you to be... happy." At this, he saw the ghost of her old smile, the confident, self-possessed smile that had captivated him at their first meeting.
"I am happy."
She gave a faint shake of her head. "I'm talking about the future." Her eyes gleamed with the intensity of hot coals in her sunken face. "We both know what I'm talking about."
"I don't."
She ignored his response. "Marrying you... being with you every day and having children with you... it's the best thing I've ever done. You're the best man I've ever known."
His throat closed up. "Me, too," he said. "I feel the same way."
"I know," she said. "And that's why this is so hard for me. Because I know that I've failed--"
"You haven't failed," he broke in.
Her expression was sad. "I love you, Alex, and I love our kids," she whispered. "And it would break my heart to think that you'll never be completely happy again."
"Carly--"
"I want you to meet someone new." She struggled to take a deep breath, her fragile rib cage heaving with the effort. "I want her to be smart and kind... and I want you to fall in love with her, because you shouldn't spend the rest of your life alone."
Alex couldn't speak, could barely see her through his tears.
"The kids need a mom." To his ears, it sounded almost like a plea. "Someone who loves them as much as I do, someone who thinks of them as her own children."
"Why are you talking about this?" he asked, his voice cracking.
"Because," she said, "I have to believe that it's possible." Her bony fingers clutched at his arm with desperate intensity. "It's the only thing I have left."
Now, as he saw Katie chasing after Josh and Kristen on the grassy shoulder of the duck pond, he felt a bittersweet pang at the thought that maybe Carly had gotten her last wish after all.
*
She liked him too much for her own good. Katie knew that she was walking a dangerous line. Telling him about her past had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, and speaking the words had freed her somehow from the crushing burden of her secrets. But the morning after their first dinner, she was paralyzed with anxiety by what she had done. Alex used to be an investigator, after all, which probably meant he could easily make a phone call or two, no matter what he'd said to her. He'd talk to someone and they'd talk to someone and eventually, Kevin would learn of it. She hadn't told him that Kevin had an almost eerie ability to connect seemingly random information; she hadn't mentioned that when a suspect was on the run, Kevin almost always knew where to find him. Simply thinking about what she'd done made her sick to her stomach.
But gradually, over the next couple of weeks, she felt her fears ebb. Instead of asking her more questions when they were alone, Alex acted as if her revelations had no bearing on their lives in Southport. The days passed with easy spontaneity, untroubled by shadows from her prior life. She couldn't help it: she trusted him. And when they kissed, which happened with surprising frequency, there were times when her knees went shaky and it was all she could do to stop from taking his hand and dragging him into the bedroom.
On Saturday, two weeks after their first date, they stood on her front porch, his arms wrapped around her, his lips against hers. Josh and Kristen were at an end-of-the-year swimming party hosted by a kid in Josh's class. Later, Alex and Katie planned to take them to the beach for an evening barbecue, but for the next few hours, they'd be alone.
When they finally separated, Katie sighed. "You really have to stop doing that."
"Doing what?"
"You know exactly what you're doing."
"I can't help it."
I know the feeling, Katie thought. "Do you know what I like about you?"
"My body?"
"Yes. That, too." She laughed. "But I also like that you make me feel special."
"You are special," he said.
"I'm serious," she said. "But it makes me wonder why you never found someone else. Since your wife passed away, I mean."
"I haven't been looking," he said. "But even if there was someone else, I would have dumped her so I could be with you instead."
"That's not nice." She poked him in the ribs.
"It's true, though. Believe it or not, I'm picky."
"Yeah," she said, "real picky. You only go out with emotionally scarred women."
"You're not emotionally scarred. You're tough. You're a survivor. It's actually kind of sexy."
"I think you're just trying to flatter me in the hopes I'll rip off your clothes."
"Is it working?"
"You're getting closer," she admitted, and the sound of his laughter reminded her again how much he loved her.
"I'm glad you ended up in Southport," he said.
"Uh-huh." For an instant she seemed to disappear inside herself.
"What?" He scrutinized her face, suddenly alert.
She shook her head. "It was so close..." She sighed, hugging her arms around herself at the memory. "I almost didn't make it."
22
Brittle snow coated the yards of Dorchester, forming a glittering shell over the world outside her window. The January sky, gray the day before, had given way to an icy blue and the temperature was below freezing.
It was Sunday morning, the day after she'd had her hair done. She peeked in the toilet for blood, sure she'd see some after she peed. Her kidney still throbbed, radiating pain from her shoulder blades to the backs of her legs. It had kept her up for hours as Kevin snored beside her, but thankfully, it wasn't as serious as it could have been. After closing the bedroom door behind her, she limped to the kitchen, reminding herself that in just a couple of days, it would be over. But she had to be careful not to arouse Kevin's suspicions, to play things exactly right. If she ignored the beating he had given her the night before, he would be suspicious. If she went too far, he would be suspicious. After four years of hell, she'd learned the rules.
Kevin had to go into work at noon, even though it was Sunday, and she knew he'd be up soon. The house was cold and she pulled on a sweatshirt over her pajamas; in the mornings, Kevin didn't mind, usually because he was too hung over to care. She started the coffee and put the milk and sugar on the table, along with butter and jelly. She set his silverware out and placed a cup of ice water beside the fork. After that, two pieces of toast went in the toaster, though she couldn't toast them just yet. She put three eggs on the counter, where she could reach them quickly. When that was done, she placed half a dozen slices of bacon in the frying pan. They were sizzling and popping when Kevin finally wandered into the kitchen. He took a seat at the empty table and drank his water as she brought him a cup of coffee.