Daniel Annechino - Hypocrisy

“Hey you,” T.J. said.

Dupree had just stepped in the door of her apartment, balancing her cell phone between her ear and shoulder.

“Did you do everything you had to do?” T.J. asked.

“I did.”

“Great. I know tomorrow is Saturday, but any chance I can see you in the afternoon?” T.J. asked.

His request caught her completely off guard. “What did you have in mind?”

“How about a casual stroll around Central Park? It’s supposed to be seventy-five and sunny tomorrow.”

“I’d like that,” Dupree said. “What time did you want to meet?”

“How about two o clock?”

“That works.”

“Let’s meet at the fountain in the Conservatory Garden.” T.J. suggested.

“Perfect.”

“Sleep well. Looking forward to seeing you, Amaris.”

Something in his voice sounded different than normal. Not bad-different. But different. “Have a good night, T.J.”

Moments after ending the call, Dupree’s mind kicked into warp speed. Why did T.J. want to meet her—on a Saturday afternoon no less? The only other time they had spent personal time together was when they went for drinks and she poured out her heart and told her story. Something was up. And she didn’t have a clue what it was.

In spite of the many issues whirling around in Dupree’s mind, she’d not only slept peacefully without awakening once—not even for a bathroom break—but didn’t roll out of bed until after ten a.m. Had it not been for Alex jumping on the bed and head-butting her in the back, wanting her undivided attention, she might have slept the whole day and missed her rendezvous with T.J.

She lounged around for a while, then took a quick shower, got dressed, pulled her hair back into a ponytail, gulped a cup of coffee, inhaled a pumpernickel bagel, and cruised out the door.

The subway that ran from the Village north to Central Park—the “C” train—was only a few blocks away. As always, the train was standing room only. Dupree was about to sit in the only available seat, but she surrendered it to a senior citizen. During her ride, she couldn’t help but wonder what was up with T.J. Her curiosity was almost unbearable. She hadn’t the slightest clue what he wanted. Suddenly, she recalled his hand on her cheek. Brenda’s observation. The chair massage. Could it be that he…? She didn’t even want to think about it.

Dupree got off the train at 105 thStreet and leisurely strolled into Central Park toward the fountain in the Conservatory Garden. She looked at her watch. One-forty. Plenty of time. On her way, she took in all the wonders of this beautiful, eight-hundred-forty-three acre marvel, letting all her senses enjoy the smell, the view, and the sounds of nature. As she made her way along the path deeper into the park, she inhaled deeply and could smell the sweet aroma of cherry blossoms, daffodils, and morning glory. People whizzed by her on rollerblades, skateboards, and bicycles. She saw families enjoying private picnics, people tossing Frisbees, couples walking hand in hand.

As much as Dupree loved the park, it served as a poignant reminder of her solitary life. Aside from her newfound relationship with Leona Crawford, she had no family, few friends, and the focal point of her existence was her career. She had no idea where she’d be in five years, nor did she anticipate that any factors might change her situation.

There was also another issue that troubled Dupree. Whenever she closed a case, she felt an immediate rush of adrenalin, an inexplicable feeling of accomplishment. But like a drug, the euphoria wore off quickly, and then she’d crash, needing another “fix.” In fact, after closing an investigation, she would often feel terrified that she’d never solve another murder case again. She’d never really spoken to anyone about this phenomenon, but maybe it was time for her to lie on a leather sofa and bare her soul.

Dupree could now see the fountain; its perimeter, a circular bench around the water, accommodating dozens of people resting their feet, sipping sodas, eating ice cream cones, and munching popcorn. Several wooden benches were positioned across from the fountain. On one particular bench, she spotted T.J.

He wasn’t alone.

A woman Dupree didn’t recognize was sitting next to T.J. As she moved closer, she could see them talking, laughing, and sitting unusually close to each other. The young woman had long, wavy auburn hair, and from that distance, she looked very attractive. Approaching them slowly—Dupree didn’t think that T.J. had noticed her yet—she could see that the woman was very young. Early twenties. Maybe even younger.

As Dupree moved closer, she could see T.J. pointing at her and he whispered something in the young woman’s ear. The woman fixed her eyes on Dupree and watched her walking toward the bench.

T.J. looked at his watch. “Right on time.” He moved closer to Dupree and gave her a quick hug. “I’d like you to meet someone.”

The young woman stood and smiled. Now close enough to get a good look at her, Dupree thought that she was as attractive as a Glamour Magazine cover girl. She felt a twinge of envy.

“Amaris Dupree,” T.J. said. “Meet Ashley Martin.”

She offered her hand to Ashley and the young woman firmly grasped it. Still holding Ashley’s hand, Dupree carefully studied her face and saw something familiar in her eyes. Images of Dupree’s mother flashed through her mind. Her cheeks blushed red. Could it be?

“T.J. has told me a lot about you,” Ashley said, her voice a little shaky.

Like three mannequins, they stood motionless, staring at each other as if lost for words.

Ashley moved closer to Dupree. “Um, I don’t know quite how to say this, so I’ll just be blunt. I’m…”

“My daughter ?”

Dupree could feel her hands trembling and her heart flutter in her chest; it felt as if a giant butterfly was trapped in her lung. Her knees nearly gave out. She studied Ashley’s eyes again and could now see the resemblance. She had her grandmother’s high cheekbones and wide set eyes. Dupree looked at T.J. and then at Ashley, her eyes cloudy with tears.

“I need to sit down,” Dupree said, her voice unsteady and barely audible. Tears were now running down her cheeks. She tried to suppress the sobbing but had no control over her feelings. “This can’t… be happening,” she whispered.

Ashley nestled beside her and draped her arm around her mother’s shoulders.

“How did you find me?” Dupree asked Ashley.

“T.J. found me .”

Dupree looked at T.J. and swallowed hard. “How did you do this?”

T.J. cocked his head to one side. “Let’s just say that I know people who know people. And when you have the right contacts, you can find almost anyone—even Osama bin Laden.”

Wobbly-legged, Dupree carefully stood up and wrapped her arms around T.J. and gave him a bear hug for what seemed like an eternity. She kissed him on the cheek. “I just don’t know what to say, T.J. I… I—”

“You two have a lot of catching up to do. Call me later and we’ll talk.”

“It was wonderful to meet you, Ashley,” T.J. said. “I hope to see you again.”

The two women watched T.J. walk away.

“He’s quite a guy,” Ashley said.

“That he is.”

As cliché as it seemed, Dupree literally had to pinch herself to be sure this wasn’t a dream. All these years. All the pain and emptiness and tears. And here she was. Her daughter. Standing only inches away from her.

Dupree grasped Ashley’s hand and squeezed it. “I want to know everything about you.”

They engaged in small talk for a few minutes but neither asked the obvious, most compelling questions. Dupree was still reeling.