“Fine,” Jake said, tense.
Pam continued sternly, “Ryan, in point of fact, we weren’t talking about the hit-and-run. We were talking about our relationship, about the importance of honesty in our relationship, in our marriage. So you see, it wasn’t something that includes you. It’s not the same issue.”
Ryan blinked, unusually unfazed. “Mom, you sound so much like a judge tonight. Why don’t you let it go? I think you’ve ridden Dad long enough.”
“I don’t.”
“I do.”
“Oh really?” Pam shot back, her tone sharpening. “Ryan, it’s not your place to tell me how to talk to my husband, even if he’s your father.”
“I can have an opinion.”
“No, actually, you can’t.”
“I can’t have an opinion?” Ryan snorted. “Are you serious right now?”
“Okay, you can have an opinion, but it’s not one I need to heed or even hear. You have no standing.”
Ryan pursed his lips. “Mom, why are you being such a hypocrite to Dad?”
“I’m not being a hypocrite!” Pam glared at Ryan. “How dare you say such a thing to me!”
“Mom, if you think honesty is so important in a marriage, then why don’t you tell Dad about Dr. Dave?”
Jake wasn’t sure he heard Ryan correctly, for a second.
“Ryan!” Pam barked, angry. “What are you talking about?”
Jake held his breath, betwixt and between again, knowing and not knowing.
Ryan gestured, grandly, toward Jake. “Go ahead, Mom. Tell Dad about Dr. Dave. Tell him the truth. I could tell him, but I want you to. I want to know if I was raised by a liar.”
Jake felt something give way inside his chest. He kept his eyes on Ryan, who stood motionless, because he couldn’t bring himself to look back at Pam. He didn’t want to know what she looked like right now, being confronted with an accusation. He didn’t want to see her deny it, or admit it. It had never occurred to him before, but as soon as it was given voice, he realized it couldn’t be otherwise. Because Ryan never lied, not until Jake had taught him to.
“Mom.” Ryan hesitated, evidently waiting for Pam to say something, but she didn’t. “Honesty is important in any relationship, isn’t it? What about your relationship to me? Why don’t you tell me what happened with Dr. Dave?”
“Nothing!” Pam said, but her tone didn’t sound as strong.
Jake still didn’t look at her.
“Nothing? Really, Mom?” Ryan grew preternaturally still. “Dr. Dave’s married, too, you know. So tell me, do you know the difference between right and wrong? Does he? Because I heard you on the phone with him, when you came to pick me up after practice. It was sophomore year, I forgot my French book and I had to go back inside, to my locker. Then I realized I had it with me, so I came around the corner and I heard you on the phone with Dr. Dave. I think it was Dr. Dave, but it was definitely somebody named Dave. Because you said, ‘I miss you, Dave. I love you.’”
Pam gasped.
Jake didn’t turn around. His body felt suddenly stiff, as if he were getting ready to absorb a blow, his muscles bracing for impact in a collision that had already occurred. It was his own personal hit-and-run, taking place not on Pike Road, but in his very home.
Ryan’s face fell, and he looked suddenly sad, but he didn’t cry. “Mom, you’re right. It isn’t my business. It’s more important that you explain it to Dad than to me.” Ryan faced Jake, with a heavy sigh. “Dad. I’m sorry. I thought you should know. Good night.” Ryan closed the door, leaving Jake facing the door, turned away from Pam.
“Jake,” Pam said hoarsely. “I can explain.”
Jake found himself walking stiffly to the door. He didn’t know why. He didn’t want to leave but he couldn’t stay.
“Jake,” Pam said, louder. “It’s over, it’s history. I ended it last year, before we went to counseling. It didn’t last that long, only six months. It was a symptom, and I knew it—”
Jake opened the door and walked out, not sure what came next. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have a plan.
Chapter Thirty-one
Jake found himself stopped at a red light, sitting at the wheel of the rental Toyota, without even remembering getting in. He came into the moment as if he’d been pulled into the present from his own subconscious, a black void that matched the darkness around him. He didn’t have his coat on but was still in his shirt and tie from work. He was stopped at an intersection, and there were no other cars on the street. The dashboard clock read 9:28 P.M. He’d been driving for two hours.
He checked the street sign on the corner to his right, but he couldn’t read it. His eyes were blurry and his nose leaking; he realized he’d been crying. He wiped his nose on his shirt-sleeve, looked around, and saw only the spiky black trunks and branches of trees, silhouetted in the light from the windows and front-door fixtures of the large houses, whose peaked roofs and massive entrances hulked shadowy in the night.
He didn’t recognize the neighborhood. He felt dislocated, disoriented, generally out of place. He glanced at the dashboard and determined that the car had a no-frills GPS, but he didn’t bother to turn it on. He didn’t know where he wanted to go. He had no destination, so he didn’t need a route.
When the light turned green, he was in no hurry to hit the gas, but he did anyway, proceeding straight through the intersection without knowing whether he was heading north or south, toward home or away. It didn’t matter. It was all uncharted terrain. He didn’t know how he had gotten here, not only literally, but to the point where he’d become a suburban husband and father who was driving around aimlessly, in a car that wasn’t even his own. He’d worked hard his whole life and followed all the rules. He had risen out of the ashes. He was a self-made man; he had made himself and his business. But the other things he had made were a son who was self-destructing and a wife who had fallen in love with a better suit.
Jake cruised down the dark street, hollow and aching inside, thinking of Pam. He wanted to know when her affair had started, and why. He wanted to know where they did it, how they did it, how many times they did it. Where they did it, which house, which car. If she liked it better with him, if he was a better lover. Who started it, and exactly how it ended. If it ended, why he was still calling her.
The darkness seemed to envelop Jake, swallowing him whole, but still he drove forward into the void. He didn’t know what Pam saw in Dr. Dave, other than the fact that he was so frigging helpful with Ryan. Jake kicked himself for not guessing that something was going on between them. There were too many phone calls, too many times she quoted Dr. Dave. Jake began to doubt the whole shooting-coach thing, questioning whether Dr. Dave became Ryan’s shooting coach in order to get close to Pam, in the first place.
Jake had never felt so stupid in his life, ashamed that he hadn’t realized she was cheating. He’d never cheated on her and had never really been tempted. His sin had been that he worked too hard, not that he ever dreamed of straying. He saw himself in her; they were so much alike that he never imagined she’d break the rules, or break her word, ever. That was why he’d been so surprised tonight, when she’d agreed to keep the secret about Pike Road. He always thought of Pam as the good girl to his good boy, and it was more her style to do what she had eventually done—nag him until he finally went to a marriage counselor. He didn’t want to think about her sleeping with another man, underneath another man, with her legs wrapped around him.
Jake spotted another car on the road, driving toward him in the oncoming lane, its high beams on. It was the kind of thing that usually made him nuts, and he would normally blink his lights to signal the other driver to lower his high beams. If that didn’t work, he’d been known to turn on his own high beams out of spite. But tonight he didn’t do either of these things. On the contrary, he fed his car some gas, and a different idea popped into his head:
He considered crossing the yellow line and driving straight into the lights.
r />
He drove forward and so did the oncoming car, about a hundred yards apart, then ninety, then eighty. He thought of how easy it could be, just to jerk the steering wheel to the left at the last moment. He wouldn’t have to think about it, time it, or work very hard to make it happen. It would be just like when he hit the Dumpster. Easy, peasy.
He looked directly into the high beams, and they seared into his eyes. The cars were seventy feet apart, then sixty, then fifty. He hit the gas and stared into the light, forcing himself not to squint or look away, flooding his brain with a brightness that obliterated the houses, driveways, and recycling bins, like the white-hot blast of an atomic bomb.
The other car raced toward him, its unseen driver unaware of what he was thinking, and Jake knew all he had to do to achieve the desired result was to aim his left bumper at the left bumper of the oncoming car and the impact would do the rest.
The oncoming car barreled toward him, its headlamps double-barreled beams of light, and he wondered what the driver’s face would look like, just before they crashed. Shock. Horror. Surprise.
The cars were thirty feet apart, then twenty. He gritted his teeth, squinting against the high beams. The cars were ten feet apart, and he squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing, waiting to see what would happen, and when the other car was almost upon him, he realized he couldn’t do it.
He opened his eyes and drove straight. He couldn’t kill another human being. He couldn’t be responsible for the death of anyone else, ever, in the time he had left on earth.
The other car whooshed past him, the driver not knowing what could have happened, and Jake exhaled loudly, emitting a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. It struck him that he hadn’t driven into the other car not only because he didn’t want to kill anyone else, but also because he didn’t want to die. He wanted to live. He wanted to redeem himself. For Kathleen Lindstrom’s tragic death. For Pam’s infidelity. For Ryan’s depression.
Jake steered down the darkened street, past the windows that looked into family rooms containing happier families. He didn’t have a plan, any longer. The time for plans was over. He didn’t believe in them anymore, anyway. Pam didn’t plan on cheating on him. Ryan didn’t plan on killing Kathleen Lindstrom. Nobody planned on the worst, but they got it just the same and had to deal. He knew the saying that “Man plans and God laughs,” but he’d learned the truth was exactly the opposite—Man plans and God cries.
His thoughts returned to Pam, without pain. He knew in his heart why she had strayed, but he loved her still. He didn’t want to give up on their marriage, no matter what. He didn’t know how she felt; he didn’t know if he was ready to find out. He hoped they could put back the pieces of their new life, one that they would make together, with Ryan. Their son needed the both of them now, more than ever, and the three of them had to go forward and hang together in a way they hadn’t before.
He pulled over to the side of the street, braked, and plugged his home address in the GPS, then pressed START. Calibrating Route, said the GPS, with an arrow pointing behind him. He hit the gas, pulled away from the curb, and started to head home, his mind running free. He wanted to go home, talk to Pam, and work everything out, even if it took all night. He wanted her to know that he was sorry she felt abandoned by him; that he hadn’t realized it had gotten so bad. He would tell her that he was sorry, and he flashed-forward to a heart-to-heart in their bedroom, that ended with her coming into his arms, crying and asking him to forgive her.
He wound his way through the quiet suburban streets; the GPS had been set on the shortest route, not the fastest, but he didn’t bother to reset it. The lighted blue GPS screen showed a right turn, but he’d been too preoccupied and missed it, so he went straight and the GPS screen switched to Recalibrating Route. Jake read the screen, realizing that’s exactly what he was doing too, in his life. He would be recalibrating a new route, for himself, Pam, and Ryan, too.
He stopped at a traffic light, which bathed the car’s interior in a blood-red glow. He flashed on Friday night after the crash, wiping the blood from his hands, then finding it etched in the lines of his palm. He tried to push it from his mind, to recalibrate again. He reminded himself that he was going to go home and try to move forward, with Pam and him putting their marriage back together for their own sakes, and for Ryan’s. They wouldn’t be able to get through this together unless they acted as a family. Their house, divided, could not stand. He hoped she’d be happy that he still loved her and was willing to forgive her.
So it came as a shock to Jake when he finally got home and pulled into the garage, only to find that Pam’s car was gone. Pasted on the garage door was a sheet of legal pad that read:
I will not be back tonight. Don’t call or text me. Ryan is asleep. Tomorrow, go to work your usual time. I will come home and take him to school. Leave me alone. Goodnight.
Chapter Thirty-two
The next morning, Jake was in his office as early as usual, showered, shaved, and stiff in a cutaway collar and fresh suit. He looked out his window into the dawn of a new day, another frigid one under a cloudy pewter sky. He ignored the overseas markets, his voicemail, email, a stack of tri-fold correspondence, and pink phone messages on his desk. He wouldn’t think of working until the wire transfer went through this morning, and maybe not even then.
Last night he’d hardly slept for thinking of Pam, though he’d followed her directions, not texting or calling her and leaving the house early, so they hadn’t run into each other. He prayed she hadn’t run to Dr. Dave. He’d thought of calling him, but she would be too angry. He did call the Marriott Courtyard Suites near the house, but they wouldn’t tell him if she was there. He’d even called the local hospital, in case she had an accident.
Jake racked his brain, thinking where Pam would have slept. Her best friend had moved to Singapore last year, and though she was close to all of the Chasers’ moms, she wouldn’t confide in them, given Dr. Dave’s status with the team. She was in a book club, but she wouldn’t want them to know, and as a judge, she wasn’t close with anyone in the bar. She had a secretary, Christine, who was a stodgy sort, and otherwise in her chambers, there were her three law clerks, in their twenties. Pam had no one else but him and Dr. Dave, which worried him.
Jake heard noises beyond his closed door as Gardenia came to life, but he kept his eyes to the window, idly watching as his employees filled in the spaces in the parking lot. Amy parked her car next to his rental, and he took his receiver off the hook, so she’d think he was on the phone and wouldn’t interrupt him. She knew him well enough to know that something was really wrong.
Jake’s cell phone rang. The screen read Harold, and he grabbed it, knowing it would be about the wire transfer. “Hey, everything okay? I was just about to call you.”
“Not exactly. We have a glitch, but I trust it won’t be a problem.”
“What glitch?” Jake asked, his gut churning. “There can be no glitches.”
“The woman who usually does our wires, Barbara, called in sick this morning. I just found out. I’m out of the office and I won’t be in until later.”
“So what does this mean? You can still transfer the money by eleven, can’t you?”
“No. I can do it by noon, but not eleven.”
“What?” Jake exploded. If the money wasn’t there on time, Voloshin would go to the police.
“I won’t be in. I’m out of the office at a meeting. I stepped out to call you.”
“I need it by eleven!” Jake shouted. “I have to have it by eleven! You said you could do it!”
“I know, sorry. It’ll just be an hour later—”
“That’s too late!” Jake checked his watch—9:02. Voloshin would take the photos and video right to the police. It would ruin Ryan and him, and now, even Pam. She’d kept their secret, a judge who kept quiet about her son’s hit-and-run.
“Harold, leave the damn meeting! Where are you, Timbuktu?”
“North Jersey. It’s too imp
ortant, and if I did, it would raise questions.”
“But this matters more! Leave!”
“Jake. I would leave if I could, but I can’t make it back in time anyway.”
“Make somebody else wire the money!”
“No. We have another woman in the wire room but it wouldn’t be prudent to use her.”
“Why not?” Jake heard himself panicking. “All she has to do is push a button!”
“But it’s going to an offshore account.”
“Harold, don’t tell me I’m your only client to wire to an offshore account!” Jake found himself on his feet. “I wasn’t born yesterday!”
“I’m not saying that.” Harold’s voice stiffened. “What I’m saying is that only Barbara handles such transactions. I can’t ask anyone else to do it. I’ll do it myself as soon as I get back to the office.”
“There’s nobody else? Not even one of your other bankers?”
“No, not possible.”
“You can’t trust one of your other bankers to send a wire for one of your best clients? Are you kidding? You have all my personal accounts, all of my business accounts, and Gardenia’s!”
“Jake, that would be imprudent. Trust me, I have only your interests at heart. I’ll be in by noon—”
“Can’t I go over and do it? I know how to do a wire transfer—”
“Hold on, I got a better idea. Let me go to Plan B. I may have a way to get it done ASAP, but I can’t be sure.”
“What way?”
“Let me hang up and see if I can make it happen. I’ll call you as soon as it’s done.”
“Call me as soon as you fix it!”
“I will. Talk soon.”
Jake pressed END, sat down in front of his computer, and got online and plugged in GreenTech. Blood pounded in his temples. His mouth tasted dry. He had to go to his own Plan B. He couldn’t take the risk that Voloshin would go to the cops. The GreenTech site came on the screen, and he clicked to the Contact Us page, found the main number, and pressed the link to make the call.