The last secret_ a novel - Mary McGarry Morris [67]
She has to protect her family, fragile as it is right now. She can't call the police. What would she say, that an unwelcome ghost from her past keeps showing up? That she wants him gotten rid of? The only crime is the one he accuses her of. And how on earth can she defend herself after all this time? Far better to make it worth a con man's while by giving him what he really wants. Before, when she offered money he became enraged, so she needs to wend her way to that point. In an interview her surest tool was always empathy. And the unspoken suggestion of friendship.
“You're still here.” She tries to smile, but his grin is disturbing. Greasy somehow, exuding a film into the air between them.
“You sound surprised.” He picks up the paperweight. “Or disappointed, I'm not sure which.”
“It can be pretty dull around here. You're probably used to a lot more—”
“Oh, there's a lot here. A lot going on.” His mouth is less smile than slow, gum-chewing trap of his jaw. “You just have to know where to look.”
“Yes. Well, I suppose that's true anywhere, isn't it?”
He shrugs. “Pretty much.” He rubs his thumb over the convex glass, the knuckle whitening with pressure. “But you, you got your finger on the pulse, right?” With a gesture, the sweep of his hand reduces everything to insignificance. The deep red and blue Persian carpet, the antique console and alabaster lamps, Annette's oil paintings, props to authenticate her false life. “Can't get much more informed than a newspaper, right?”
“There's a lot we don't know.” Her desk drawer rattles as she jams her knees up into the bottom of it.
“Yeah?” He chuckles. “Well, that makes sense. I mean, who's gonna come running in with their own dirty, little secrets, right?”
Blackmail. She's relieved. At least they're headed in the same direction. That she can deal with. Her fifteen thousand and ten thousand more from Ken, who thinks it's to help poor, abandoned Carol pay her bills. “You'd be surprised, Eddie.” Forces herself to say the name, just old acquaintances catching up, bridging the gap of lost time. “Sometimes people need to. They need to bare their souls. Getting it all out can be a great relief” Purgative, she almost adds.
“You think so.” Staring, he pushes his tongue through his gum, makes a little pop, then removes the green wad from his mouth, and sticks it up under her desk. “Well then, that makes everything a hell of a lot easier.” He's studying her. “See, one night I'm in this bar.” He grimaces. “Real skunky you know, not the kind of place I'd—”
“Expect to meet my husband?”
He grins. “Yeah. Exactly.”
“You didn't run into him, though, did you?” she says coolly so he'll know she's not quite the easy mark he thinks. “You followed him there. You wanted to meet him. No. What you wanted was for me to know you'd met him.”
“Actually? I was thinking of it. But the girlfriend, hey, I wasn't expecting that.”
Dullness descends. Mental jet lag, this odd detachment, like suddenly finding herself in another time zone. Trying to think straight, groping through fog. All his promises. The night of Oliver's stroke. More lies. He'd been with her.
“You got yourself a situation, huh? You know”—again, his raspy chuckle—“I'm sitting there, watching, and I'm thinking, what the hell's your problem, buddy? Someone like Nora, and you're out skanking around? I don't get it.” He shakes his head. “You deserve better than that.”
His concern is loathsome. He's despicable, and so is she, lowering herself to his level. Once again. But this time she has no choice. Her hand shakes as she places the envelope on the desk. My God, all this money. It should be going to a better cause, Sojourn House, the food bank, anyone, but what does it even matter anymore? Ken and Robin are still together. Her life is a lie. Here. It's for him, she explains, keeping to her script. Knows her lines. Rote to sustain her until reason returns, and calm. She understands how difficult it's been for him all these years, and how in need of help he must be. This way, it'll be a fresh start—
“A fresh