Jeff Abbott: Cut and Run

‘Dad, she came. That’s all that matters.’

‘Yeah, right. You’re not gonna drive a wedge between me and my sons, Ellie,’ Babe said. ‘Especially in the last five minutes of my life. You hurt my boys again, I’ll kill you.’

‘I owe Whit my life. Hurting him is the last thing I would ever do.’ She turned for the door, waited for Whit. ‘I won’t bother you again, Babe.’

‘Give him time,’ Whit said.

‘Yeah, he’s got time to spare,’ Eve said. The day had bloomed into bright sunshine and they sat on a deck at the Water’s End, an old bar on the beach. The other patrons were tourists and winter Texans, a quiet group.

Eve didn’t sip her beer. ‘Put me in a trailer; I’ll tell everyone I’m from Michigan. I’ll fit right in for the next month or so.’

‘There’s a plan.’

‘This secret between us,’ Eve said. ‘It’s a nasty thing, isn’t it? Living with what you know and you don’t tell?’

Whit sipped his beer. ‘Yes. I’ve been outlining my resignation letter in my head.’

‘Why? What good does resigning do? Stay on the bench, keep doing good.’

‘I can’t. I killed for you.’

‘In self-defense. Screw the law books. Saving your mother is instinct.’ She tasted her beer.

They had survived – both the mob and the possibility of prosecution – but he felt emptied. His mother smiled a lot at him. Like she was seeing herself in him, truly, for the first time.

Whit saw the bar door open, Claudia step outside onto the deck. She headed straight toward him, toward Eve.

‘A family reunion,’ Claudia said. She didn’t pull up a chair, but she gave Eve a quick, dismissive glance, then looked back at Whit. ‘It’s been a few days since we spoke.’

‘How are you?’ Whit asked.

‘Did you lose my phone number in the past week?’ she said.

‘I only got back this morning.’

‘This is your mother,’ Claudia said. Statement, not question.

‘Yes. Eve Michaels. Mom, this is my friend, Claudia Salazar.’

Eve offered her hand. Claudia let three beats pass then she took it, with the barest politeness.

‘Whit speaks so highly of you,’ Eve said.

‘Does he,’ Claudia said. ‘I used to be able to say the same about him. Until he threw away everything he stood for.’

‘Really,’ Eve said. ‘I suspect he stands for something greater than you know.’

‘I’m sitting right here while you talk about me,’ Whit said.

‘I know what you are,’ Claudia said to Eve. ‘I don’t believe for two seconds that you were Tommy Bellini’s simple-minded accountant who didn’t know squat.’

‘Claudia. I totally understand why you’re upset,’ Whit said.

‘It’s okay, son,’ Eve said. ‘What am I, Claudia?’ Her eyes were a little bright. ‘Tell me.’

‘A woman who would let her son ruin his life to save her own sorry ass.’

‘That’s enough,’ Whit said. ‘You don’t know the truth…’

‘Because you’ve told it all, right, Whit?’ Her voice was low but it was worse than if she was shouting.

‘Whatever you believe about me,’ Eve said, ‘is true. Not that Whit and I care, do we, honey? We’re a team.’

Claudia’s jaw trembled. ‘I have nothing to say to you.’ She glared at Whit. ‘Do you ever think about Harry?’

‘Yes. All the time. I hope the police find Frank Polo really soon.’

‘Frank Polo. Because he was the one bad guy in the picture, right, Whit?’

‘I didn’t know he killed Harry. I didn’t.’

‘But you knew this group of people were connected to his death. You knew and you said nothing.’ Every word like a small little explosion between them.

‘I told you about Greg Buckman,’ Whit said, keeping his voice low.

‘You didn’t tell anyone the whole picture. All you cared about was protecting your mother. I can’t prove it, but I know it. You walked away from every value you once held dear, Whit. Like this woman walked away from you and your family. I guess the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree, even when the tree hauls ass.’

‘Nice that you have this moral clarity about my life,’ Whit said.

‘You know, Harry has a mother too. Two sisters, an ex-wife. People who loved him. He was worth about a dozen of… her.’ She jerked her head at Eve.

‘Can we please discuss this later?’ he said.

‘Why? Are there voters here, Your Honor? Maybe I’ll keep my opinions to myself. Maybe not. I don’t know yet. We still have to work together. For now. But I don’t like it.’

‘I’m grateful to you for trying to help me,’ Whit said. Aware now of people on the deck starting to stare.

‘Screw your gratitude. You made your choice, Whit. And I’m making mine. It was nice knowing you, once.’ Claudia turned, walked out. She tried to slam the bar door but it was hinged to shut slowly, and even the angry yank she gave it couldn’t overcome the mechanism. She stormed out.

‘People are very territorial about you, Whit,’ Eve said, but her voice was subdued.

‘Yes.’

‘She cares about you.’

‘She did.’

‘She will again,’ Eve said.

‘I don’t think so,’ Whit said. ‘Or it will be a long road for her and me.’

She touched his hand. ‘What have I cost you, son?’ Eve asked.

Suddenly he thought of Lance Gartner, that boy dead from heroin in the bay, his mother’s pleas for Whit to change the death certificate. I can’t go against the law, he had said, and a sudden hard shame rose in him. Whit took a long swig of his beer. ‘It’s okay, Mom. It’s okay.’

He took Eve back to the guest house. He poured good cabernet and she went into the guest bathroom, came out smiling, holding a bar of soap. ‘Gardenia,’ she said.

‘Isn’t that what you used?’ He had bought it as a surprise for her.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ He drank wine while they made phone calls. Five of them, with Whit talking first. To Whit’s brothers. Teddy hung up on her when she started to speak and did not answer when they called back. Mark talked to her for nearly an hour. David and Danny weren’t at their homes, and Whit simply left them short messages saying he had important but good news and to please call, anytime, night or day. Joe talked to Whit but said no on talking to Eve. At least for now. Give him time.

Eve sipped at her wine. ‘I didn’t expect hugs right away.’

‘No.’ Whit felt as tired as he’d ever been. ‘You want to watch a movie?’

She studied a long line of DVDs on the shelf. ‘Who is Monty Python?’

‘British comedy. Hilarious.’

She’d moved on to the next section of films. ‘I don’t much like Woody Allen. He whines a lot.’

‘He’s self-deprecating. It’s an art.’

‘Caddyshack,’ she said. ‘That one I like.’

So he put in the movie, one of his favorites, and they sat on the couch and finished the bottle of cabernet. He laughed where he usually did and so did she.

When he was putting away the disc she said, ‘Did I tell you that if any of the boys ever came looking for me, I figured it’d be you?’

‘Why?’

‘Fiercely independent. Strong. Like me,’ she said. ‘No holds barred about getting what you want.’

He was suddenly unsure if this was a compliment or not.

‘I love you, Whit.’ She kissed him with a quick, almost embarrassed smack on the cheek. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

‘Yeah, I love you, too,’ he said, the words and the idea still a little strange. They stayed up late, hoping for Joe or Teddy or the twins to call back, her opening a bottle of zinfandel, him drinking more, and finally he dragged himself back to bed, happy and dizzy-sick and wondering exactly what the rest of his life was going to be like.