Honeymoon

Chapter 102

MITCH GUNNED IT and turned ten minutes of driving into five. We arrived in front of my house with a fifty-foot skid. The street was aglow with police patrol lights, the red and blue twirling all around and up into the night. Pockets of neighbors stood and watched from their lawns, wondering what was going on at the O’Hara house.

At that moment, not much.

I hurried through the open front door to find four cops talking in the foyer. They’d just completed a room-to-room search.

“Empty,” one of them told me.

I went into the kitchen. There were a few dishes in the sink, a roll of Saran Wrap on the counter. They’ve eaten dinner. I checked the phone on the wall by the refrigerator. The message light was blinking, but there was only one message. Mine.

All the cops, including Will and Mitch, had gathered in the adjoining den. I went over to them.

“We need a plan,” I said. “I don’t have one, either. I’m not at my best right now.”

A small dark-haired officer named Nicolo took the lead. He was very organized and said there was already an all-points bulletin out for Nora’s red Mercedes in the entire Tri-State area. Airport security had been notified. He was in the middle of telling me he wanted to use the house as a “command center” when I realized something.

The red Mercedes… a car… the garage. I hadn’t looked to see if the minivan was missing.

I had taken two steps when over my shoulder the room let out a collective sigh of relief. I turned to look at what they were seeing.

There, standing in the kitchen’s entrance, were Max and John Jr., followed by their mother. They all had ice cream cones. Baskin-Robbins from in town.

Their jaws had already dropped at the sight of the police. When they saw me, and how beat-up I looked, those same jaws just about hit the floor.

I rushed over to hug everybody. I was so caught up in the moment that I didn’t even hear the phone ring.

Mitch Cravens did. He walked over and was about to pick it up when his father stopped him. Will Cravens put his index finger to his mouth for quiet. Then he hit the speakerphone.

“Good, I have an audience,” came her voice.

Every head in the room whipped around. Nora did indeed have an audience. Complete, undivided attention, especially mine.

But I wasn’t the one she was calling this time.

“I know you’re there, Mrs. O’Hara,” she said in that same calm tone. “I just wanted to let you know something. I’ve been fucking your husband. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Nora hung up.

The room was deathly silent as I looked my wife in the eye. Actually, my ex-wife for the past two years.

She shook her head. “And you wonder why we got a divorce, you prick!”