Someone Else's Husband(71)

But no, she needed money right now, regardless of how upset she felt. And upset was just a small fraction of it. Murderous. Rageful. That was far closer to the mark. But she already knew from experience that letting her feelings take over would lead nowhere good.

Cash in hand.

“I can pay you fifty thousand, certified check,” the man said when he at last rolled his stool back to her. He eyed her dispassionately over the top of his reading glasses.

“I need cash.” She realized she sounded like a degenerate, but what difference did it make what this unfriendly little man thought of her?

He frowned but did not seem surprised. “Forty thousand then, cash.”

“It’s a deal.”



* * *



—

It was nearly five by the time Gretchen was on her way in an anonymous yellow cab. It had taken so long to hail one around the corner from her building. Gretchen almost always used Sam, far more than Richard; when she didn’t, she called an Uber. She was out of practice with actual taxis, which were apparently now an endangered species. But Gretchen knew better than to leave a trail. She wasn’t going to have this nothing of a situation turned into a something by police officers monitoring her credit cards.

She was delayed further when she miscalculated the exact location of Bethesda Fountain in the park. Dead in the center but also farther south than she realized. Not the easiest place to get to from either the East or the West Side. And so she ended up having to run like a lunatic, which honestly might have been the worst part of the entire miserable day. But at least she arrived at the top of the tall staircase only three minutes late.

I’m here, she texted before descending.

Sit on the first bench to the right and wait. Put money on bench next to you.

She did as she was told, moving as quickly as she could down the steps, careful not to trip. The last thing she needed was that kind of attention.

Once she was finally seated, she tried to compose herself, watching the water spill lazily over the fountain’s edge. She’d had to get the additional ten thousand dollars from the safe, wrapping the full amount in a plastic deli bag secured with rubber bands before tucking it into the Metropolitan Opera tote that was now resting under her hand. She wanted that bag back, though it probably wasn’t worth dying for, even as a matter of principle.

She focused on the water again, tumbling. Their life would eventually tumble forward past this, too. As if it had never happened. Gretchen could make that decision. So much of truth was a choice. What we chose to see, how we decided to interpret events. Relationships were not objective facts and figures. It was for each person to keep their own accounting, to decide which costs were the right ones to bear.

Gretchen was startled by a rush of motion next to her. When she looked down, the tote bag was gone, and a tall, bald man in a khaki-colored jacket and jeans was striding away. Not running, but walking swiftly.

She jumped up to follow—she wasn’t even sure why. She wanted him to have the money. But he’d already disappeared into the fading light anyway, out of view down a path, maybe, or into the crowd of wandering tourists. Gone, for sure, and along with him any hope of closure.



* * *



—

It took hours for Gretchen to calm down after she got home. Forever to fall asleep after she was in bed hours later. When she finally did, it felt like two seconds later that she startled awake. There was someone in her room.

“What—who is that?” she shouted, scrambling back against the headboard, tugging the sheet up like a shield. The men. But she had just paid them! She blinked, hoping it was the leftover fragment of a dream, but the person was still there. “Get out of my house!”

“Mom!” Becks’s voice. “Sorry, sorry. It’s me, sorry…”

He stepped forward, then wobbled.

“Becks, are you drunk? What are you even—? You’re supposed to be back at school.”

It had taken some convincing to get him into an Uber to Penn Station. But he’d eventually agreed. Elizabeth, on the other hand, had refused to go back to the Community.

“Nah. Not drunk. Only a couple of beers with Luke.” But when he dropped down onto the bed next to her, he almost slid off.

Luke was a friend of Becks’s from Riverdale. He was taking a semester “off” from Duke, though the rumor was he’d failed out and was living downtown with a bunch of “street artists” or some nonsense. No one wanted to inquire too deeply with his parents. He’d always been Gretchen’s least favorite—which was saying something, given some of the people Elizabeth had associated with over the years. Luke was a troublemaker, plain and simple, had been ever since elementary school. Purposefully destructive.

Gretchen pressed her lips closed. What would be the point of scolding Becks? He was obviously upset about Richard, and everyone processed upset differently. Maybe Becks couldn’t process it at all. He was still so young on top of being, well, sensitive.

“Why is the room moving side to side?” he asked, gripping the comforter with his fists.

“Come on,” Gretchen said, getting out of bed. She placed her hands on her son’s shoulders and tugged. “Let’s get you to your room.”

Becks seemed to rally as he made his way down the hall, hugging the wall for support. “Why does Dad do this?”