Lethal Experiment: A Donovan Creed Novel

I backed out of the opening and retrieved a pair of heavy duty bolt cutters from my equipment bag. I passed the cutters through the hole to Callie. It took her a minute to cut the cuffs, then she said, “Donovan, give us a little privacy.”

I backed out of the opening again and waited while Alison used the toilet. I heard Callie say, “This will hurt less if I go slowly.” Then I heard the tape coming off Alison’s mouth. She gagged and coughed and sputtered. Callie kept saying, “It’s okay, Quinn’s dead, everything’s going to be all right.”

Callie got her cleaned up and dressed and helped her through the wall. When Alison emerged she gave me a cold look. Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared.

“Your fault,” she said.

“My fault?”

“That’s right,” she said, launching the words aggressively. “It’s your fault. All of this.”

Callie said, “Donovan’s the only one in the world who figured out what happened to you. You’re safe because of him.”

Alison pushed me. “That’s the slowest rescue of all time,” she said. “Where’ve you been? You promised me a job.”

I said, “You ready to start tonight or you want to yell at me some more?”

Chapter 57

We got the hugely ungrateful Alison out of there, checked her into the hotel room between mine and Callie’s, got her fed, and got her story.

After I was declared dead, Alison had indeed entered into a romantic relationship with Quinn, hoping to cash in on the work I’d promised her. Like Quinn said, when Alison realized it wasn’t going to happen, she took off . Unfortunately for her, Quinn was the best guard in the business, and she didn’t get far. When he caught her they had some words and he kidnapped her and brought her to the warehouse.

When he was home, which was most of the time—Quinn doted on her. But whenever he left, he chained her to the wall, his way of making sure she was glad to see him when he came home. If he planned to be gone more than a few hours, he’d use a longer chain, one that allowed her access to all her comforts. Quinn had been gone about three hours and was on his way home when I caught up to him on Walnut Street.

So again, according to Alison, my fault.

“Did he beat you?” Callie asked.

“Occasionally,” Alison said.

“Did he force himself on you?”

“At least twice a day.”

“You ever put up a fight?”

“The times I did, that’s when he’d beat me.”

Here in the well-lit room she looked white as a ghost. I said, “Before tonight, how long had it been since you’ve been outdoors?”

“More than three years,” she said. “And the only reason I know that is that I had a TV.”

Callie gave her a sleeping pill and sat up with her until she fell asleep. Then she joined me in my room and we broke the seal on a bottle of mini bar wine and drank it while working out Alison’s training schedule.

I said, “I’ll give Lou the second and third weeks, you get the next three, and I’ll take the next two. Then she can shadow you on a couple of jobs. After that we’ll test her out on something easy, see how she handles it.”

“What’s the going rate for nurse maids these days?”

“Twenty grand a week, plus whatever you make on jobs.”

“Works for me,” Callie said. “Who gets her the first week?”

“Dr. Crouch. Because if Nadine doesn’t think she’s ready, we pass on the project, and try to help Alison get her old life back.”

I punched a key on my cell phone and winked at Callie. “Listen to this,” I said, pressing the speaker button.

Dr. Nadine Crouch answered by shouting, “Unacceptable!”

I said, “I’ve got a patient for you.”

“What’s the matter with you? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“This is a good gig,” I said. “It will appeal to your avarice.”

“I’m trying to sleep, Donovan. Don’t ever call me in the middle of the night like this again. Unacceptable!”

“How’s twenty-five hundred a day sound?”

“I’m sure it will sound a lot better when I wake up in a couple of hours. Call me then,” she said, and hung up.

“She’s a bitter old bitch,” Callie said. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, she doesn’t care much for people, though she seems to like me.”

Callie shook her head. “You ever hear yourself talk?”

Chapter 58

Myron Goldstein was already parked at the rest stop at mile marker 177 just outside his home town of Cincinnati when I pulled up. I got out of my car and made a wide circle around his, checking for possible snipers. As I approached his passenger door, he unlocked it, and I got in.

“Sal says you want to die,” I said.

“You’re Creed?”

“I am.”

“I thought you’d be younger.”

“I thought you’d be older.”

Myron Goldstein nodded. He was a gaunt, sad-faced man with thick lips and sagging jowls. A thatch of wiry black hair protruded from each of his nostrils. He kept a wet, mucus-soaked handkerchief in one of his shaky hands, and used it to dab at the slimy fluid that steadily dripped from his nose. He wore thick horn-rimmed glasses.

I said, “The way this works, you tell me what’s on your mind and I’ll tell you what I think.”

“Have you always been a healthy man, Mr. Creed?”

“Can we just get to it?”

He smiled a thick-lipped smile. “Yes, of course,” he said. He paused for a moment to dab at his nose, and then said, “Are you familiar with ALS?”

“Lou Gehrig’s Disease?”

“Yes, that’s the one. ALS is a progressive, fatal, neurodegenerative disease that slowly but steadily robs your body of voluntary movement. The disorder causes your muscles to weaken, day by day, until they are unable to function. You can see it already in my hands. That’s not Parkinson’s, it’s called fasciculation, and it signals the beginning of the end.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” I said, and meant it. Looking at Myron Goldstein made me ashamed of myself. For the past seven weeks I’d been hosting a pity party over losing Kathleen and Addie, while this poor son of a bitch has been dying by inches. Of course it hurt to lose the people I’d wanted to grow old with—but Myron Goldstein wasn’t going to grow old at all. Maybe Kathleen and her fiancé would someday break up, allowing me to slip back into her life. Or maybe not. But at least I had a future to dream about, which was a hell of a lot more than Myron Goldstein was going to get.

“So what you’re saying, you want me to kill you, put you out of your misery.”

“Yes.”

“Why not just commit suicide? You’d save fifty grand.”

“I have insurance policies worth much more. But they don’t pay for suicide.”

“I have to say no,” I said.

“Why not?”

“This money, fifty thousand dollars. It’s money your wife and kids should have.”

He tapped the envelope on the console between us. Beyond this, I have no other money,” he said. “The insurance will pay off most of my debts and allow my wife to keep the house, the car, and have a comfortable life. It may not be enough to put my kids through Dartmouth, but there are state schools available if they can’t qualify for scholarships. More than anything, if I go now it will spare my family having to care for me the last year of my life. I don’t want them to go into debt, have to put their dreams on hold, watching me die a slow and horrible death.”

“What’s so great about Dartmouth?” I said. “Their football program sucks.”

“Don’t get me started,” he said, laughing. “I might wind up killing you!”

I couldn’t help but like the man. When Callie put a bullet in Robbie, I finished him off , to end his suffering. Myron was suffering too, but—

“Killing you,” I said, “It doesn’t seem right, somehow.”

Myron laughed hard enough to start coughing, which caused him to hack up all sorts of disgusting elements.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“No offense, but you kill people for a living. Does that seem right?”

“The people I kill, they don’t have a choice. You do.”

“And I’ve made it. So which is the better kill?”

We went silent a minute, me thinking about it, him giving me time to do so.

“Put yourself in my shoes,” he said. “What would you do?”

I thought about my heart, wondered if there was any way to fulfill this contract without causing a relapse.

“You ever kill a man?” I said.

“Heavens no!”

“Ever cheat on your wife, beat your kids, anything along those lines?”

“No.” He saw where this was going. “I’ve yelled at my kids a lot, and scolded my dog.”

“Scolded your dog?”

“More than once.”

“You bastard!” I said.

He smiled.

I smiled.

Then I slit his throat.

Chapter 59

It was about four in the afternoon when the dry wall guys finished laying their last coat of mud. A bunch of them planned to meet up afterward at a nearby tavern, but I said they’d have to celebrate without me this time.

The temperature was mild, and several hours of daylight remained. I loitered around the lot of the newly-constructed 8,500 square-foot home, picking up trash until the last worker drove away. Then I set to work.

The house at 2010 Dunvegan sat on the cul-de-sac of a new development called Rock Hill Gardens. Several homes in the neighborhood had already made it to closing, but none were inhabited yet. When seeking an attic to live in I prefer high income spec homes like these in new, protected neighborhoods. I cordon off a cubicle in a strategic gable of a house like this and use it as a safe house. I had a number of these safe houses scattered in major cities throughout the country, but this would be my first in Atlanta.

This particular lot was just under an acre, and featured a steep, wooded fall-away that afforded me access to the rear of the house while being sheltered from the view of future neighbors. It would be ready for occupancy in a month, but probably wouldn’t sell as quickly as the others because it didn’t overlook the Rock Hill Country Club golf course.

I had come to Atlanta because the leaders of a local terror cell had been identified and needed killing. Before I’d had a chance to get them, our informant learned that my old nemesis, Abdulazi Fathi, was coming to town in two weeks to give his people final instructions and a proper sendoff. Reasoning that killing Fathi along with the others would deal a severe blow to al Qaida, Darwin decided to put my mission on hold until Fathi arrived. With two weeks to kill (pardon the pun), I decided I might as well establish a safe house, so I checked out the neighborhoods until I found an upscale one in the final stages of construction. Then I called the number on the builder’s sign in front of the house and got myself hired on his construction crew.

For days I’d been hiding tools and wire and dry wall under rolls of insulation stacked in the attic above the garage. In a few minutes I’d start walling off the interior gable above the guest bedroom. I’d lay wire for electricity to run my computer and keep my cell phone charged. Then I’d tap into an HVAC vent for heat and air to keep me comfortable, and splice a line into the highspeed internet signal. Thirty days from now, give or take, I’d be living in a mini mansion with all the comforts of home.

Dry walling a gable is a simple way to steal part of a family’s home without paying rent. All I need is a few square feet and a couple hours of uninterrupted time to nail it up. If the builder were to notice the dry wall in the attic, he’d just think his guys made a dumb mistake. But that hasn’t happened yet, because in these late stages of new home construction, no one ever looks into the far ends of the attic. In older homes there’s always a risk of detection because when homeowners decide to renovate, my gable might need to be accessed to run phone or cable wires or TV antennas for better reception. But new construction at this price point always pre-wires. If the particular gable I want has been pre-wired, I simply re-route the wires around my living space.

My early years as an army sniper required me to remain perfectly still for hours at a time, useful training for my later years of living in the attics of occupied homes. To hedge my bet, I try to select an unused gable, located as far from the attic access doors as possible. I’m safest just off the far side of a rarely-used upstairs guest bedroom, in case an unexpected cough or snore might alert a family pet. Usually that isn’t an issue, since most of my construction time is spent sound-proofing my living space. I lay a top-quality, non-squeak floor. Then I mix sawdust and baby powder into the caulk I lay between and below the floor joists and in the nail holes to keep the floor from squeaking. My access door is always located on the far side, indented a couple of feet into my living area to avoid detection. Several times a day I don a blindfold and practice escaping. The blindfold forces me to memorize the location of the floor joists in case I have to escape in pitch darkness.

Once completed, I move in and try to adapt to the routines of my host family. When possible, I sleep when they sleep and remain quiet when they’re active. I monitor their personal computers, their phone calls, and watch family interactions through pinhole cameras I’ve hidden throughout the house. Within weeks I’ll know their habits and schedules better than they do, at which point living with them becomes more enjoyable. If they’re going to be away a few hours I’ll use their toilets, enjoy a hot bath or shower, nap in their beds, share their food and liquor, and use their computers instead of mine when sensitive work needs to be done without leaving an electronic trail.

The most fun I have is playing with their pets.

Dogs and most other pets are easy, but I can’t live with a cat. Once a cat discovers me, things are never the same. It never stops looking up at the ceiling and always tries to find a way to get to me. It moans and fusses all night every night and never seems to get over it. I’ve got a soft spot for all types of pets, but when one of my families brings a cat into the house I have to find it a new home ASAP. Otherwise, the owners keep sending exterminators into the attic to check for mice.

Chapter 60

It took four evenings to complete my living space on Dunvegan, and wouldn’t you know it, Fathi never made it to Atlanta. That’s the problem working with informants: they’re usually worker bees who have access to little more than rumors. But I was content to kill the two local leaders, and did so with ease.

I’d followed them to a lively nightspot in downtown Atlanta. The place was so jammed it took me ten minutes just to find them. They were part of a crowd that was watching two hard-bodied women dancing to the loudest music I’d ever heard. Every thirty seconds the cavernous room went dark, and strobes and laser lights flashed from all directions.

It was a perfect killing field.

I positioned myself behind the terrorists, put a syringe in each hand, and waited for the strobes. When they flashed, I plunged the needles into their lower backs and stepped aside as they fell to the floor. A couple of people shouted, but the dancers kept dancing, the music kept blaring and I was out of there before anyone figured out what happened.

My new living quarters were complete, but because the construction crew was still on site, it would be weeks before I could move in. The two weeks I planned to spend training Alison were still in the future. My dinner with Callie and Eva had been postponed twice due to Eva’s tireless rehearsal and performance schedules, but I had a firm commitment from them for Sunday night.

Finding myself with three days of free time, I decided to meet Dr. Nadine Crouch in Jacksonville, Florida. For five thousand dollars and a beach vacation, Nadine agreed to help prepare my daughter Kimberly for the news that I was alive.

I could have contacted Kimberly sooner, of course, but I wanted to wait until I was certain I wouldn’t have a relapse. Now I’d killed a dying man and two terrorists without incident, so I figured to be okay from this point on. Since I’d missed a big part of Kimberly’s life, I planned to make up for it, starting now. But first I had to pave the way. I couldn’t just walk up to her with this new face and say, “Hey, Kim, it’s me, your dead Daddy!”

Kimberly had inherited my entire estate—or to be more precise, the entire estate identified in my will and supporting documents. Naturally I had secret stashes of money tucked away in case I needed to fake my own death.

Lou Kelly had spoken to Kimberly a few times over the years, but my funeral was their first face-to-face meeting. Since then, he’d called every month to see how she was doing. It was Lou who presented my “Last Will and Testament” to the attorneys settling the estate, so it seemed natural to have Lou phone Kimberly about this. He taped the exchange and emailed it to me in an audio file.

“I want you to meet someone,” Lou said. “Her name is Dr. Nadine Crouch. She was your father’s therapist.”

“There must be some mistake, Mr. Kelly,” Kimberly said. “There’s no way my father would ever see a therapist.”

“She only saw your dad a few times that last year. But she has some information you’ll want to hear.”

She went silent a moment, then sighed. “I’m not so sure I want to hear it, Mr. Kelly.”

“Kimberly, you’re just going to have to trust me on this.”

“You obviously know what it is,” she said. “Just tell me now.”

“Nadine’s going to be in Jacksonville this week anyway. Plus, the type of news she’s got for you—well, let’s just say she’s better trained to deliver it.”

Kimberly agreed to meet Nadine in the lobby of the hotel where Nadine was staying. Kimberly showed up, the two exchanged pleasantries. After a while Nadine said, “It’s a beautiful day. Can we walk on the beach while we talk?”

I’d never been to Jacksonville Beach, but I was mildly surprised to find it as nice as it was. Located on a barrier island east of the city, Jax Beach had plenty of sand, decent but not overwhelming surf, and was relatively un-crowded. Nadine, Kimberly and I walked north along the beach, though I remained fifty yards back. If you saw the big guy in the Penn State ball cap, sunglasses and earbuds, that was me. The earbuds allowed me to listen to their conversation.

Nadine said, “Your father and I spoke about you many times.”

Kimberly said, “Can we just skip to the part where you tell me he’s alive?”

“Excuse me?”

“My father. Donovan Creed. He’s alive. You know it and I know it. So where is he and why hasn’t he contacted me before this?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Kimberly knew?

Nadine was speechless as well. Kimberly started looking around the beach. It took her all of five seconds to spot me. “What a ridiculous disguise,” she said, laughing. She and I ran toward each other like actors in the worst forties movie ever made. When we got close, she leapt up in the air and I caught her in my arms. I spun her in circles as I’d done when she was four, and she hugged me like a long-lost teddy bear she’d rediscovered.

I placed her gently back on her feet and looked at her. She was older, more mature, but she was still Kimberly. She slapped my face.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me!” she said. “You don’t trust me enough to call or send a message? What the hell kind of father are you?”

“The kind who was in a coma for more than three years,” Nadine said, catching up to us, out of breath.

Kimberly looked into my eyes. “I believe it.”

“You do?” I said.

“Yes. If you’d been conscious, you wouldn’t have chosen that face!”

I laughed. “It’s so great to see you!”

“You too,” she said. “But you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

“I’ll tell you everything. But first, you’ve got to tell me how you knew I was alive.”

She reached into my pants pocket and pulled out my silver dollar, the one my grandfather gave me all those years ago. “This was not among the personal effects they gave me.”

I grinned proudly. Nadine said, “Well, you are certainly your father’s daughter.” To me she said, “Just so we’re clear, I still get to keep the money, and the vacation.”

“You’re the most mercenary shrink I’ve ever known,” I said.

“It’s always nice to be number one,” she said.

I gave her a hug.

“Unacceptable,” she said, pulling away.

“Thanks for trying to help,” I said. “I think I can take it from here. Have a great vacation.”

“I plan to.” She headed back toward her hotel.

The next three days were the best Kimberly and I ever spent together. Hours into the reunion, when the subject of Kathleen and Addie came up, I told her everything and she said, “If Kathleen made you that happy you need to tell her you’re alive. More importantly, she deserves the right to choose what makes her happy.”

“I’m afraid she might choose me out of guilt.”

“And that bothers you because?”

“Tom’s a good man, much better husband material than me.”

“How can you say that?”

“I checked him out.”

She shook her head. “Can you really know so little about women?”

“I can, and you know it.”

“Dad, listen to me,” she said, assuming the role of parent, a role that suited her better than me. “You need to tell her four things: you’re alive, what happened, why it happened, and how you feel.”

Sure, I could tell Kathleen those things, but I felt she’d have a better chance at happiness with a steady, normal guy like Tom. Addie was also a major part of the equation. Addie had lost her first family, then, three years ago, she’d lost me. Then Tom came into her life, and I had no doubt that she loved him and accepted him as a father figure. If I came back into Kathleen’s life Addie would be forced to lose either me or Tom. The poor kid had been through enough, she didn’t deserve to lose a third father figure. To further complicate things, I still wasn’t certain that life in the suburbs would suit me. Last but not least, if Kathleen chose me, she’d always wonder if I was the right choice. If she rejected me, she’d always wonder if Tom was the right choice. It wasn’t fair to put her in that situation.

But I did love Kathleen, and wished things had turned out differently.

“Dad?” Kimberly said, bringing me back to the present. “Will you tell her the four things?”

I sighed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Is it simpler than losing her?”

Chapter 61

Eva LeSage was a doll.

Maybe five feet tall, she weighed about the same as my left arm. Her face and everything else about her was delicate to the point of seeming fragile. She had almond, cat-like eyes, frosted hair, and a young girl’s voice that still retained the slightest hint of a Russian accent. Looking at her up close, it was hard to find any similarity between her and Tara Siegel, other than height and general facial resemblance. If Darwin had truly intended to cover Tara’s death with Eva’s body, our people would have had an uphill battle convincing anyone they were even related. All I could think was that Eva must have changed dramatically over the past few years, and no one told Darwin.

I wondered if Callie had done something to alter Eva’s weight or features. A half drop of arsenic taken once a week might keep the weight off and produce a complexion similar to Eva’s.

Callie, watching me like a hawk, caught me staring, probably understood what I was thinking. She shook her head at me, a subtle reminder that I was on her turf, and therefore my life was in her hands. I nodded back, hoping to send the signal: okay, none of my business, everything’s cool.

We were in Callie and Eva’s luxury high rise condo, overlooking the Vegas strip. These types of units start above two million dollars, and from the looks of the upgrades, the furniture and wall coverings, I’d say this one was somewhere north of three.

Eva turned out to be a gourmet cook. She prepared a wonderful four-course dinner, one that partnered different wines with each course. Whenever I complimented Eva, Callie beamed. It was clear that Eva was her treasure.

My cell phone rang. I checked the caller ID and excused myself to the foyer.

“What’s up, Sal?”

“You see the paper today?”

“Which one?”

“Cincinnati.”

“I’m in Vegas, Sal.”

“Yeah, whatever. Anyway, paper says someone—whatcha call—anonymously donated two hundred thousand dollars scholarship money for Myron Goldstein’s kids to go to Dartmouth.”

“So?”

“Goldstein was a guy got his throat slit at a rest stop here a few days ago, as if you didn’t know.”

“So?”

“So what do you think about that?”

“I think his kids would rather have their father alive.”

“My kids wouldn’t,” he said.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Sal. I’m sure your kids love you.”

“They love money, sex and drugs more.”

“But you’re still on the list, right?”

He thought about it a minute. “Yeah. I’m still on there somewhere.”

“Stay on the list, Sal. That’s what it’s all about.”

We hung up and I found the girls in the kitchen.

“Let me help you with the dishes,” I said.

“No, please,” Eva said. “You and Cal go in the den and visit. I’ll finish up and join you in a few minutes.”

Callie escorted me to the den.

“Well?” she said.

“She’s a doll.”

“I told you.”

“You did. And listen, Callie, if you girls want to make out in front of me, or play a little slap and tickle, I hope you know I’m cool with it.”

“Slap and tickle? Oh. My. God!”

I looked at her. Eva might be adorable, but Callie was peerless. She was wearing high-waist, navy pinstripe pants and a white V-neck Tee with cap sleeves. Her hair was wild tonight, almost electric. Slung over one side of the armchair beside her was a navy leather Dior handbag with a buckled strap. A substantial diamond tennis bracelet graced her wrist.

“Looks like you’ve managed all right without me these past three years,” I said.

“A girl’s gotta do,” she said. Then she fell silent. Something invisible came over her eyes and her expression changed the slightest bit.

I’d been out of commission for more than three years, and my reflexes were bound to be shot, and I’d probably lost a step or two since I was in peak shape. But my instincts were still sharp.

“There’s something on your mind, something you’re not telling me,” I said.

“Yes.”

She got up, took a few steps to the window and stood there a bit with her back to me. I gave her some time. From my vantage point I could only see the dark Vegas sky and a haze of casino color out the window, so I focused instead on Callie’s perfect backside, which I knew to be eminently more interesting than whatever she was staring at. Three years ago she’d been a perfect ten. But somehow she’d gotten prettier.

She turned and faced me.

“It’s Kathleen,” she said.

“What about her?”

“They’ve set a date.”

The news shouldn’t have had a major effect on me. I mean, I knew they were engaged. But Kimberly’s words suddenly started ringing in my ears. Kathleen did deserve to know. Maybe I’m not the best man she could have fallen in love with, but she chose me three years ago knowing there were better men in the world. Certainly Addie deserved a better father than me, but what if she didn’t want the world’s greatest father? Maybe Addie would rather have me in spite of my shortcomings. Bottom line: Kathleen had a right to choose.

The last thing Callie said to me before I left was this: “If you want Kathleen, you’d better hurry!”

“The last thing I said to Callie before I left was this: “You remember when you were a kid, after you were attacked, how you stared at that window for hours at a time?”

“Of course.”

“You were trying to figure out something about the way the wooden pieces intersected, the wooden slats that frame the window panes.”

She nodded.

“You said if you could figure that out, it would be something to hold on to, a place from which to reclaim your sanity.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I’m not a spiritual guy.”

“No shit.”

“Hard to believe, right? Anyway, I was just wondering if you ever figured it out.”

She frowned. “If I did I’m not conscious of it.” She thought some more, shook her head. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

“You’re happy,” I said. “I’ve never seen you truly happy before.”

“I am happy. But what does this have to do with the wooden slats and the way they intersected on the window pane?”

“It’s like you were at a crossroad in your life. And you chose to move forward.”

“And that’s what you’re going to do?”

“It is.”

Chapter 62

I’ve always lived my life by the theory that we’re all just a phone call away from a life-changing event. It could be a phone call like the one Kathleen will get tomorrow morning, informing her that a man named Donovan Creed bequeathed an unusual gift to her adopted daughter. A financial gift that would make it possible for Addie to receive a new face and body, one that would be completely free of all scars caused by the fire that ravaged her.

We’re all just a call away from a life-changing event. But it doesn’t have to be a phone call.

It could be a guy like me, standing by an oak tree in the park, watching a little girl playing with the tiniest puppy, say, a Teacup Maltese. There might be something wrong with the little girl’s skin. She might be a burn victim. Behind her, a man and woman might be enjoying a long-overdue picnic. They might be sitting on a large blue checkerboard quilt, removing food from a wicker basket. The woman might handle the basket tenderly, almost lovingly, as if it had been a gift from someone she’d loved and lost. The quilt and basket might appear unused, as if they’d been waiting a long time to be placed into service.

I pretended to go for a long, circular walk while Kathleen and Tom ate and played with Addie and the puppy. It was clear the three of them had the chemistry to be a perfect little family, and for a minute I thought about walking away. I mean, just walk away and never turn back. Because I hated the thought of destroying Tom, hated destroying the foundation Kathleen had built these last three years.

But I hated to lose her and Addie even more.

I timed my loop to hit the ice cream stand at the same time they did, with the three of them in front of me. Addie held a tiny leash in her hand, tethered to her puppy. I wanted to wait before announcing myself, wanted to step into their world a minute, smell Kathleen’s hair, her perfume, hear her voice.

I stood motionless behind them. Addie turned and smiled at me, and my knees nearly gave out.

I smiled back.

I wanted to say something, like, “that’s an adorable little puppy you’ve got there, Miss”—but I knew Kathleen would recognize my voice, and I hadn’t heard hers yet.

Now that I was standing here I didn’t mind breaking Tom’s heart. He was young, he’d get over it. And he’d know it was for the best, he’d be able to see it in Kathleen’s eyes: she and I were meant to be together.

I stepped closer, positioning myself directly behind Kathleen. I closed my eyes and inhaled her fresh-scrubbed scent and remembered the day I snuck into her home in North Bergen and waited on her bed while she showered. On that occasion, just before making love, I thought to myself, when I look at her I am reminded of all that matters. It was the day of Sal’s party in Cincinnati, and we hadn’t left New York yet. That day she came out of the bathroom, smelling the same way, pretending not to notice me. Then she jumped into bed and practically devoured me.

Addie turned back to me for a second look. Not because she recognized me, but because most people are so shocked by her face, their first reaction is to look away. I didn’t. Instead, I lifted my hand and mouthed the word, “Hi.” She gave me her full-wattage smile and I almost choked on the lump in my throat.

For a tough guy I was having a lot of trouble with this.

I felt a tear collect in my eye, wimp that I am. It slid down my cheek, where my scar used to be, the one Addie and the other burn kids traced with their fingertips the day I met her, the same day I met Kathleen. See? Like I said, the three of us were meant to be together.

I wiped the tear from my cheek. I’d wait until they ordered their ice cream before saying anything. That way I’d get to hear Kathleen’s voice. I knew if I could hear her voice just once, everything would be all right.

At that moment Kathleen turned to face Tom, leaned her body into his, and said, “I love you so much.”

III

I’ve always lived my life by the theory we’re all just a phone call away from a life-changing event.

But it doesn’t have to be a phone call.

It could be a guy like me, standing in an ice cream line, a guy who suddenly gives up his place in line and starts walking away, a guy who hears a small, raspy voice say, “Goodbye,” and knows that voice will stay with him the rest of his life.