Most Wanted

Chapter Twenty-seven

“That was enlightening,” Marcus said, exhaling, when they were outside the tony brick building that housed Gary’s offices. It was located on the business end of Main Street, which morphed into one of the most expensive shopping blocks in town, containing ritzy boutiques, interior designers, a custom wedding-cake baker, and imported English antiques so exclusive that a sign in the window read BY APPOINTMENT ONLY.

“Marcus, maybe he’s right, we should just go sit down and talk a minute.”

“I can’t, I have to go, my car’s over there.” Marcus gestured to the right, where there was a small parking lot between restaurants that opened only for lunch. Dappled sun shone on the sidewalks, which were neatly swept or hosed down for the day, and the stores were just beginning to open. A pretty young salesgirl unfurled a navy-and-white striped awning over the gourmet chocolate shop, her long hair swinging each time she turned the old-school brass crank.

Christine said, “Let me walk you to your car. We can talk on the way.”

“No, where’s your car? You shouldn’t walk that much, and we don’t need to talk any more.”

“Marcus, please. Don’t you think-”

“I can’t talk right now. I have to get to work.”

“Marcus, you own the firm, you can be late. You’re clearly pissed.”

“Yes, I am. What are you going to do about it?” Marcus eyed her, his lips pursed.

“I can’t do anything about it except help you understand it.”

“I don’t need your help, and I do understand it. I disagree with you.”

“What do you disagree with?” Christine asked, pained.

“Everything you did. That you went there. That you’re fine with that. Even that he’s fine with that.” Marcus nodded in the direction of Gary’s office. “He thinks he understands, but he doesn’t. You think you understand, but you don’t.”

“Then make me. Explain it.”

“How do you think that makes me feel, finding out that you helped Jeffcoat get a lawyer? That the lawyer is calling you? That you call him by his nickname? That you would even consider giving him our money?”

“I wasn’t going to use our money, I was going to use my own, and I didn’t.”

“Still,” Marcus shot back, and the young girl looked over, having unfurled the awning.

“Marcus, I’m sorry if it makes you feel bad.”

“Try humiliated.”

“It shouldn’t be humiliating.”

“Well it is.” Marcus’s blue eyes looked wounded and tired. “Didn’t we learn in therapy that you’re not supposed to tell me how I should feel? Isn’t that what I learned from you and Michelle? What do you want from me?”

“Okay, well, I’m sorry you feel humiliated.” Christine felt for him, because she could see he was hurt, not angry. “I didn’t mean to humiliate you.”

“Fine, but that’s not the point either.”

Just then, Christine’s phone began ringing in her purse. “Sorry, I’ll send it to voicemail.”

Marcus stepped closer. “Check your phone. I want to see if it’s that lawyer.”

“Fine.” Christine bristled, but she slid her phone from her purse. They looked down at her phone screen, which read: GRIFF.

Marcus pursed his lips. “Man, he wants his money. Are you going to help pay for his defense?”

“I don’t know.” Christine’s hands fumbled as she hit the button to decline the call.

“You better not give him a cent, Christine. Not one cent.” Marcus’s tone turned bossy, and Christine looked up sharply.

“Don’t speak to me that way.”

“What way, like a good husband? I’m trying to protect you.”

“I’ll spend my money the way I see fit, and I’ll take the calls I want to. I’ll decide about the retainer, but it’s a bigger issue than that.” Christine tried to think of a way to reach him. “We can’t ignore reality. We used a donor, we agreed to. We know his name now. He exists, and we can’t pretend he doesn’t.”

Marcus stepped away, waving her off. “I have to go to work. Everything blew up this weekend and I have to deal with it.”

“Then we can talk about it tonight?”

“No, we’re going out to dinner with Dad and Stephanie, remember? It’s his birthday.”

“Oh, right.” Christine had forgotten or maybe blocked it. An evening with her in-laws would be the perfect end to a perfect day.

“I got him that putter, but if you could pick up a card, that would be great. You have the time, right? I have to go, bye.” Marcus walked away without another word.

“Good-bye,” Christine called after him. She watched him go, then realized her car was in the opposite direction. She turned around and walked the other way, trying not to see it as symbolic.