Joel Goldman - No way out

“Well, one thing is for certain. She knows more than she’s telling me.”

“Or she thinks she does and she’s afraid she might be right. How strong is her relationship with Brett?”

“She says he’s in love with her but she’s not so sure how she feels about him. They’ve been together a long time, since they were kids, really, but she comes across as more resigned than committed.”

“What makes you say that?”

“We were talking about their relationship yesterday. She said they were comfortable, and I told her she didn’t have to settle for that, but she acted like she did, said that Brett was all she had.”

“Sounds like she’s put too much in the relationship to let it go even if she’d be better off without him,” Kate said.

“Seems likely.”

“And now she’s making bad decisions because of that, maybe passing up better options without realizing it.”

Her voice was loaded with the unmistakable sardonic tone of can you believe anyone could be so stupid? the message clear. She wasn’t only talking about Roni and Brett. She was talking about us. I didn’t want to go down that road and pretended not to notice.

“She told me to butt out, leave her alone.”

“She fired you?”

“Sort of. I don’t think you can fire someone you never hired and who works for free.”

“Which means you won’t leave her alone. That’s called stalking.”

“I’ll get Ethan to defend me. He’s good at getting people off, no questions asked.”

“I’ll give you that. What about the phone call?”

“What call?”

“The call you got right after Roni left.”

“It was nothing.”

She sighed. “Fine. We both know you’re lying. Your face was twisted like a man possessed the instant you answered your phone. You pulled it back together, but the expression was there long enough for me to see it. If that was nothing, I’d hate to see you when it’s something.”

“I thought you didn’t make snap judgments.”

“About Roni Chase? No. But you’re another story. I know you.”

“Don’t thin-slice me.” The words came out like razors, the look I gave her just as sharp.

It was an old argument, one that had burdened our relationship from the beginning. Kate couldn’t help what she saw, and there were too many times I didn’t want to be seen. She had no difficulty keeping her observations to herself when she was working, disclosing them as her professional obligations required. It was different with us, she said, love giving her a license to care and share. We had struggled to find a balance between her need to know and my need to hold back.

“Fair enough.”

She bit her lip, turning away, making my stomach churn, the hurt in her voice a reminder that time and distance hadn’t healed the raw places that drove us apart or buried the sweet spots that had brought us together. She was trying to help me, and I’d returned the favor by jumping her because I was angry at Jennings and Roni.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I can’t talk about it right now, but I’ll tell you when I can.”

She gave me a soft half smile, nodding. “It’s okay. I forget that you’re like one of those Chinese boxes full of hidden compartments.”

“And I forget that you can’t resist taking them apart and putting them back together again, a perfect combination for driving two people nuts. Looks like we’re picking up where we left off.”

“I know. And,” she said, pausing and taking a deep breath, “while we’re at it, how’d it go with Joy last night?”

I shuddered, a mild flurry. “It didn’t. She was in her room with the door closed when I got home, and the door was still closed when I left this morning.”

Kate raised her eyebrows. “Separate bedrooms?”

“When she needs the space.”

“What do you call that?”

“I don’t know what to call it. It’s not what it was when we were married or when we were first divorced. All I can say is that we’re feeling our way.”

“Are you in love with her?”

I hesitated, searching for the right words, saying things out loud that I’d struggled to piece together in my mind.

“Crazy, can’t wait to see her, rip her clothes off, suck all the air out of the room in love? No. Build a life, laugh and cry, retire and die love? Not that, either. Help each other through the night because we can’t do it alone and that’s all we’ve got left and we owe it to one another. If that’s being in love, then yeah.”

“I’d call that noble and a little bit sad, but I’m not sure I’d call it being in love.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m just saying that’s what it is.”

“And you’re willing to settle for that for the rest of your life?”

I smiled, shaking my head. “It’s not my life we’re talking about. It’s Joy’s, and she’s dying. The cancer has spread, and there’s not much the doctors can do about it except to tell us to think in terms of months, not years.”

Kate paled, her hand at her throat. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry, Jack.”

“Like you said before, you don’t walk away from someone you care about even if you have a good reason.”

“Well, that’s enough to make me feel heartless, rotten, and small.”

“Me too. So you get my point.”

“Yeah, I get it, but you could have told me, you know, before I made a complete ass of myself.”

I nodded. “I could have, but I didn’t know how to fit it into…”

“Into what?”

“Us.”

She thought for a moment, staring at me. “Duty always comes first for you, doesn’t it, Jack?”

I took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“And what comes next, when you’ve done your duty?”

“It seems like I never get that far.”

“I hope you get the chance to find out. You deserve that. At least your night ended uneventfully.”

“Depends on your point of view. Ammara Iverson was waiting for me with copies of the KCPD files on the Martin and Montgomery cases when I got home.”

“Another gift horse about which I don’t ask any questions and you don’t tell any lies?”

“You catch on quick.”

“Okay. Where are the files?”

“At home. Lucy is going to pick them up this morning.”

“What’s in them that we don’t already know?”

“I haven’t had time to go through them. I’ll let Lucy and Simon pick them apart. Let’s go grocery shopping.”

Staley’s Market was near the intersection of St. John and Monroe; a thirty-foot brick and glass storefront shielded by wrought-iron bars, the name spelled out in flickering purple neon stretched across the center panel, flanked by promises of everyday low prices, fresh produce, and cold beer painted in twelve-inch red and yellow script. The aisles were empty, no cashiers ringing up sales, no baggers offering paper or plastic, and no shoppers sorting coupons. A hand-drawn notice was taped on the door, papering over the hours of operation, announcing the market was closed, out of business, impossible to tell which was cause and which was effect. An American flag hung limp from a bracket bolted into the frame.

The lights were off, but there was enough daylight to illuminate narrow aisles of canned goods, cereals, snacks, detergents, lightbulbs, toilet paper, and toothpaste. Refrigerated and frozen cases lined one wall; meat, poultry, and produce the other. Three abandoned check-out lines stood at the front. Powerball tickets offering billion-to-one odds against turning a dollar into fairy dust were looped around spindles next to the registers alongside packages of cigarettes and copies of the National Enquirer. I tried the front door, pounding when it wouldn’t open.