I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, sure.”
Justine and I made it to the elevator just in time for the doors to close. Justine was the smart one that stared at the lit numbers above the door. She was way better at this than I was. I looked at her peculiarly, wondering why she was studying the elevator with a blank stare.
“Fifth floor,” she said, pushing the button.
“How do you know?” I asked, puzzled.
“It stopped on five and then came back down. He’s on the fifth floor.”
“Fifth floor is physical therapy,” I acknowledged, reading the hospital map. Was Matt hurt? Why would he be doing physical therapy?
We caught the tail end of Matt, rounding the corner. We followed, Justine in front. “Why are we hunkered down?” I asked, feeling silly.
“We’re investigating. Why are you whispering?” she countered. I laughed. We were both crazy.
“Ouch,” I called, running smack into Justine’s boney back. She could have warned me before she stopped.
“Shhh.”
“How’d you do today, champ? Ready for some batting practice?” We heard Matt ask, right around the corner.
“Why? You want your butt kicked again?” We heard the voice of a younger boy. Did Matt have a kid? Who was that? I peeked around Justine, witnessing the tough-guy handshake Matt gave with the teen boy in a wheelchair. Who was that? Realizing I knew nothing about Matt, Justine did it again. Turning to get the hell out of there, we bumped heads. My eyes watered from the jolt. Ouch.
We ran down the hall with Matt right behind us, making it to a waiting area just in time. Justine held a newspaper over both our faces and we pretended to read the upside down newspaper.
“Who is that?” Justine asked.
“How am I supposed to know? Come on, let’s take the stairs.”
“Why?”
“I want to follow him,” I answered her stupid question.
“But you already heard him say they were going to bat balls. I don’t want follow him. Let’s go, Cass. Harry Walter was in the studio today. He told me about an abandoned amusement park over there. Let’s go check it out.”
“You hate doing that?” I reminded her, descending the stairs two at a time.
“No, I don’t. I just hate it when you make me climb through windows and fall through floors.”
“That was once, and it was only a foot. You didn’t get hurt.”
“I could have.”
“But you didn’t. We’ll go some other time. I want to see what Matt is up to.”
“Oh my god. Only on one condition.”
I had a feeling that condition had something to do with Mason, but asked anyway. “What?”
“Take me to see Mason.”
I knew it. I ignored the request until we were in the car, following Matt in his Starsky and Hutch looking car. We sat in a parking lot and watched Matt and this kid bat balls. He was way better than Matt and he was handicapped. He would have been a hell of a baseball player had his legs worked.
“You weren’t even going to tell me, were you?” Justine accused.
I moved my eyes to her, sitting in the driver’s seat and rummaging through my purse. “Tell you what?”
“I knew it. What? Were you just going to go hang out with everyone without telling me that I was invited, too?”
“What are you looking for?” I asked. “I didn’t tell you, because I’m not going. I can’t see Becker anymore. I mean it this time. This is too hard for me. I don’t want it, Justine.”
“Why? I do. I can be number three. I would love to be number three. Did you know they don’t have sex until they’re married? I bet they do that because they have little dicks. That way the girls fall in love with them before they realize they suck in bed. Why do you have a candle in here?”
“You can stay warm for a long time if you’re ever stranded in a car. Put it back. Why would you want to be a third wife? Why would you want to share your man?”
“What are you going to light it with?”
Hmm. Okay, maybe I needed a lighter. “Shut up. Get the hell out of my purse. I can’t do it, Justine. I’ve tried, I’ve tried for the last couple months. I can’t. It’s not me. I don’t want to be Becker’s fourth wife. I want him all to myself.”
“What’s this?” Justine asked, holding up the little sewing kit. “I thought you liked the girls.”
“I might need to sew a button on. I love the girls. I would love to be their roommate, but not their sister wife. I can’t.” Justine gave me a frown at the button comment, but didn’t reply. I knew what she was thinking and she was right. I wouldn’t even know how to thread a needle.
“I would like to try, Cass. I really like Mason, a lot. I love Grace and Chloe. I like the idea of not being tied down with a ball and chain the way most men expect. Mason sent both Grace and Chloe to business school. Chloe was a hot mess when he saved her. She was homeless. Did you know that?” Holding up the can of cheese spray, she shook her head, calling me a weirdo without words.
“No, but I know Becker has done the same for his girls. I don’t need saving, Justine. I’m fine where I am.”
“Are you?” she asked with a sad smile that puzzled me. What the hell?
We watched Matt and this handicapped boy hit balls in a batting cage for almost an hour. I poured my heart out to Justine, explaining all my fears of being number four. The one and only thing that it came down to was sharing. I wasn’t going to do it. I couldn’t. No matter how much I loved the girls, I couldn’t share.
Justine said she understood, and agreed to stay away from Mason as well, admitting that she was more intrigued with the money, his house, and all that he could do for her. She was hoping for her own little shop close to the agency where I worked.
I knew Justine liked Mason, and she was making excuses for me, but I also knew she liked me more, and just like I expected, she chose me. Justine promised to stay away from Mason like the true friend that she was.
“Duck!” Justine yelled. Damn. Lost in conversation, neither of us even noticed Matt and his wheelchair friend packing it up. He was strong for a boy in a wheelchair.
Peeking my eyes to watch, the boy lifted himself into Matt’s car with his arms, dragging his body behind him. Matt folded the chair, carrying on a conversation about some ball game they were going to attend. I was attending, too, I decided at that moment. Maybe investigating Matt was just what I needed to get my mind off Becker. That’s what I would do, I would investigate Matt and figure out why he was befriending a teenage boy. Or were they just friends? Who was this kid?
“Follow him.”
“No, let’s go do something fun. Let’s go find this abandoned amusement park,” Justine complained. She didn’t want to play detective anymore.
“No, I want to see where he goes. He might be going to his house.”
“You don’t know where he lives? Haven’t you known this guy like your entire life?”
“Not really. I was twelve when he came to work for my dad. He never talked to me much, not until I started doing what he does anyway. Let’s just see where he goes. Please?” I whined.
Justine groaned but started her car. I felt a hint of déjà vu, driving toward West Philadelphia, but wasn’t sure why. The neighborhood was familiar but not.
“You think that’s his kid?” I asked Justine the question she didn’t know the answer to any more than I did.
“Maybe. You don’t even know if he’s married?”
“Uh-uh.”
“How old do you think Matt is?”
“I’m guessing close to forty, late thirties. He could have a kid that old.”
We parked down the street a little, across from the house he pulled up to. That, too, looked familiar, but why? I was never in this neighborhood, was I?
“There, detective Benson. You know where he lives. Can we go now?” Justine asked.
“Benson?”
“Yeah, Olivia Benson.”
Ignoring Justine’s at
tempt to be funny, I watched Matt carry a duffle bag and help push the chair up the ramp with one hand. “You can go,” I said, feeling puzzled, confused, and knowing for some off the wall reason there was something about Matt and this kid. I was going to make it my mission to find out what it was.
Justine and I decided to have a girls’ night. We ate Mexican and went to the movies. I didn’t really pay attention to the horror show. I hated scary movies, Justine knew that. She also knew I wouldn’t protest after begging her to not go to the bar and spend the evening with me. I did want to find this abandoned amusement park, just not with her. She wouldn’t be there for five minutes before she was complaining, wanting to leave.
Chapter 22
Ignoring Becker was actually simple. I changed my cell number. I had to. He was making it impossibly difficult for me to move on. I regretted it the first day I did it. I had gotten used to the begging text messages, the nonstop phone calls, and even the shallow attempts he put the girls up to, pleading for me to call him.
I focused my attention on Matt, becoming his “friend” for the first time since he came there. At least it helped in forgetting about Becker, and the happy life I could’ve been having. Matt, too, was a hard one to figure out. He’d dodge my attempts to carry on a conversation, ask about is the weekend, or what he’d done the night before. I even went to him with a couple cases, feigning the need for his help. He would mostly tell me to figure it out, give me the cold shoulder, and blow me off.
“I brought you a sandwich,” I said, sitting in front of my dad’s desk. He was lost in paperwork and only half paid attention. Great. He wasn’t going to be any help, either. Biting into his sandwich, he didn’t even look up. He grumbled a thanks around food in his mouth.
“Do you know anything about Matt?” I nonchalantly asked. Hmm. Expression change noted.
“What about him?”
“I don’t know. Where did he come from? I saw him with a kid in a wheelchair a couple weeks ago. Do you know who it was? I don’t even know his last name. What is it?”
“Why all the sudden interest in Matt? It’s Matt M. You know that.”
“Yeah, but the M has to stand for something. Nobody has the last name of M.”
“How about you focus on the Steinberg case and not Matt. Have you talked to any of his coworkers yet?”
My dad was trying very hard to get me off the subject of Matt. Why? I let it go, sort of. I’d just have to go another route. Matt nor my dad were going to tell me anything. I dropped it. For now.
“I’m going to stop over later. I want to get my rollerblades. Justine and I are going to use them this weekend.”
“Come over around supper tonight. I’ll order us pizza.”
“Nah, I had pizza last night. I want to do some research on this missing person’s case. I’ll just stop in and grab them. Maybe tomorrow,” I offered.
Driving through my old neighborhood always left a sour taste in my mouth. I didn’t get that homesick feeling of nostalgia when I’d go to my dad’s. I didn’t play in the backyard, with the neighbor kids, or at the part a few blocks away. I watched. I watched the other kids ride their bikes up and down the street, playing kickball in the road. And the worse one of all was trick or treating. I wasn’t allowed to go the first year after my mom passed and we turned off all the lights in the house. I watched from my upstairs window, and the next year my dad took me and left. It didn’t help a lot. Kids were out everywhere for the festivities.
Finding the key behind the house numbers 718, I unlocked the door. Gross. He was smoking again. The stint of vanilla cigars lingered stale-like in the room. And this is where I got my organizational skills from. The living room was in shambles. Newspapers were piled to my knees beside the couch. Unlike me, he did at least read them. Mine were still in rolls. Oh wait. No, they weren’t. Becker canceled them. Shaking my head, trying to rid the thoughts of Becker, I took the steps two at a time.
My rollerblades still looked brand-new. They should’ve, I was only allowed to use them when my grandmother would take Justine and I to the outside skate park. I could count on one hand how many times that was. He was furious when she bought them for me for my fourteenth birthday. Yes, they still fit. My seven and a half size feet hadn’t grown since I was fourteen.
Looking around for anything else I should take while I was there, I grabbed an old hoodie. It was my mom’s, and one of those things that you can’t really picture in your mind anymore, but can still see her wearing it. I could picture her in it. I just couldn’t see her face or hear her voice while she did.
Hesitating on the door right across from my room, afraid of what I might walk in to, I opened it. My dad moved up there after my mom was killed. He couldn’t go in the room anymore. I was right to be afraid. It was worse than mine. Clothes were strung about the room, an ashtray ran over with brown cigar butts, and empty beer cans were on every space possible. I closed the door without entering.
I don’t know why I chose to go in there. I was just like my dad when it came to my mother’s room. I felt the exact same way. We should have sold the house after it happened. Maybe my dad would have been different had he not been reminded of what he had walked in to that day. Life is full of woulda, shoulda, coulda’s. Becker could have chosen not to have three wives, only me. I could have been great for him. He would have been great for me.
Standing at the door, I saw it all. I was sitting right there. Right on that bench, six and three-quarters, blowing on my toes while I kicked the legs with my heels. My mom was so pretty. She was so young and it was a shame that I had to grow up without her. I missed her so much and barely even remembered her. The floor was bare. I didn’t remember my dad doing that. I didn’t remember the carpet being removed. The dark spot was still there. Even though it was just a darker shade of brown, I knew what it was.
I almost closed the door and left when something greater than myself pulled me in. Walking to the closet, I dropped my skates and the hoodie to the floor. It was like she was still there, like she never left. I ran my hand across all her clothes, all the pretty dresses. My mother always wore dresses. She said they made her feel pretty.
I wondered if I would like dresses more if my mother was still around. My dad never bought them for me. He shopped from a Sears or JC Penny catalogue. What was the point in little girls wearing dresses that never went anywhere? I wore cartoon sweat suits mostly. I think my dad did that because the sizes were a lot easier to get right. It didn’t matter if they were a little big, or a little high on the ankle.
I pulled the photo album from the top shelf and sat on the bench, the one I hadn’t sat on since I was six and three-quarters. Opening the cover, I took the legal document from the envelope. Philadelphia County Physicians/Coroners Amendment. Three boxes were just below that, birth, death, and fetal death. An X filled the square next to the death field. Sliding it back in, I noticed the word homicide typed just below the date of death. Wait. That wasn’t right. She died in September. I remembered that. It was right after her birthday. September 10th. It was only a couple days past that. I knew that to be fact. Why did this say March 16th?
Something was off. Something was extremely off. The next legal document confused me even more. I was born in January of ninety-one. The marriage certificate to my father was dated June of ninety-three. I was two before they married? My dad never told me that. Why wouldn’t he tell me that?
Slamming the book, I put it back before I could do any more digging. I heard the loud muffler pull into the drive, but not before I saw the photo. The photo of me and my mom. I was a baby, maybe a year old. We were standing on Matt’s porch. The porch that I knew was familiar. Why were my mom and I on Matt’s porch?
Great. Now I was investigating my dad, too. Grabbing my rollerblades and my mom’s hoodie, I put the album back and met my dad at the door.
“I forgot about you stopping by. Found ‘em eh?”
“Yup. You’re home early,” I said, stammering my words, and lookin
g to the floor. “I’ll see ya Monday, I’ve got to meet Justine.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you later,” my dad replied with a peculiar look. Damnit. I could never hide anything from him. I didn’t even try. I got the hell out of there, wishing I would have somehow gotten the photo album.
***
“You’re about as fun as a baby rattlesnake tonight. What the hell? You act like you lost your best friend. I’m right here. See me?” Justine taunted, spinning on her wheels in front of me.
“Sorry,” I responded coming to my feet. I sucked at rollerblading. I spent most of my time holding on to the wall. Putting on a happy smile, I held the wall and pretended to skate around the rink. Justine gracefully skated off. Bitch.
“You look like you’re having as much fun as me.”
“Yeah, loads of it,” I replied, smiling at the guy hugging the corner wall.
Superb. Just what I wanted to deal with.
“How about we look like fools together? I’m Cooper.”
“Cass.” I smiled, moving away from him, sliding my feet in some sort of attempt to skate. It was a lot easier on the upstairs carpet at home. It wasn’t that Cooper wasn’t nice-looking. He was, and he looked as out of place as me. I had too much going through my mind, and Becker was too fresh. I just wasn’t interested in Cooper.
“How about we blow this joint, and walk over there for a cup of coffee?” he asked, not giving in.
“Oh, thanks, but I can’t. I’m here with someone.”
“The chick there?” He nodded to Justine. Of course, she was giving me that look. The one that said go for it.
“Yeah, that one.” I frowned. If anyone would turn me over to a man, it was Justine.
Although I wasn’t ecstatic to have a drink with Cooper, I was happy to get off the wheels and back in my flip-flops. This was a horrible idea. We should have gone to the bar.
“You live around here?” Cooper asked, holding my elbow while we crossed the road.
“Not too far.”
Cooper and I shared a basket of cheese fries while we had a coke. I actually liked Cooper. His younger sister dragged him to the skate park. He was only there for the weekend, home from school. He was studying to be a photojournalist. Cooper reminded me a lot of Matthew McConaughey. He had a receding hairline already. I bet he would be bald by the time he was forty.