The Fury - Jason Pinter [13]
went into the kitchen. I heard a few clanking noises,
turned to see what was going on, but the door frame
blocked my view.
Amanda came out carrying two plastic cups, and a
bottle of red wine. She sat the bottle down on the coffee
table, peeled off the foil and uncorked it. She did so
without a problem. She then poured two generous
glasses, handed one to me.
"I thought we might need this," she said.
"It's amazing how you can read my mind even if I'm
not thinking something."
She took a healthy sip, and I did the same. Then I sat,
twirling the cup in my hand.
"What are you going to do?" she asked. I shook my
head.
"I don't know what I can do," I replied. "It's a police
investigation. As far as the Gazette, they'll cover it, but
nothing more than standard murder reporting unless
something else breaks that gives the story legs."
"Do you feel," she said hesitantly, "I don't know...
sad?"
I thought about that. "I don't think sad's the right
word."
"So what is?"
"Angry," I replied. "Mad. Pissed off. I want to know
why I've lived nearly three decades without knowing any
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of this. If this is true, how could my father not have told
me? I mean I know he's a bastard, but this is a life he
chose to ignore. And I want to know why Stephen
Gaines, after all this time, came to me for help. He'd
lived thirty years without Henry Parker as his brother,
and all of a sudden he decides to have a family gather
ing outside my office one night? I don't buy that for a
second."
"You didn't know about him," Amanda said. "Do
you think he knew about you?"
"I honestly don't know. He knew about me right
before he died. I don't know when he learned. If Helen
Gaines told him about his family, or kept him in the dark
like my parents did with me. I wish I knew."
"So find out," Amanda said. "At least that much is
in your hands."
"What do you mean?"
"You know where your parents live. Where your
father lives. Go ask him. Make him tell you the truth."
I stood up, paced the room. "I don't know if I can do
that. I haven't seen him in almost ten years. Bend isn't
really my home anymore. I don't know if it ever was."
"Your heart might be here, but the truth is there," she
said. "Today's Thursday. I can call in sick tomorrow."
"Why would you do that?"
"To go with you," she answered. "We're going to find
out how much your father knows."
5
We woke at five in the morning having purchased
plane tickets online the night before. We threw a few
days' worth of clothing into a suitcase, then caught a cab
to La Guardia. The minute the cab pulled away I
realized I forgot my toothbrush.
Living in New York had become increasingly diffi
cult over the last few years. After some time when it
looked like Manhattan would be the only city unaf
fected by the subprime crisis, real-estate prices came
tumbling down. Of course, we were renting, and there
fore unaffected, and inflation was still rising faster than
a hot-air balloon. My salary at the Gazette had barely
seen a bump in my tenure, and working at the Legal Aid
Society, a not-for-profit organization, Amanda wasn't
exactly rolling in dough. At some point we would have
to make a decision about our future. Where to live,
where we could afford to live.
I didn't want to leave the city, but I also wanted to
think long-term. Many reporters commuted. Yet the
fantasy of living in New York City always captivated
me. It was one of the motivating factors that led me to
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the Gazette. And the possibility of working in the big
city, seeing things I couldn't see anywhere else in the
world, was one of the motivators that kept me going
when I could barely stand another day in Bend with my
family.
We got to the airport and loaded up on coffee, a fat
tening muffin nearly crumbling in my hands as I
shoveled it into my mouth. We stopped at the magazine
stand, where Amanda picked up her fashion and celeb
rity mags and I bought a selection of newspapers.
"I brought something else to read," she said,