John Katzenbach - The Wrong Man

Ashley nodded.

“I mean, he hasn’t hit you, has he?” Scott asked, although Ashley had already given him the answer.

“I said no. He just says we’re made for each other.”

“Yes, well, I may not know who made him, but I know who made you, and I doubt that you were made for him.”

A small smile creased Ashley’s face.

“And, trust me,” Scott said, trying to make a small joke that might leaven the mood a little further, “it doesn’t seem like such a substantial problem that any well-respected historian couldn’t figure it all out. A little bit of research. Maybe some original documents, or eyewitness accounts. Primary sources. Some fieldwork. And we’ll be right on track.”

Ashley managed a small laugh. “Dad, we’re not talking about a scholarly paper here.”

“We aren’t?”

This made her smile again. Scott turned in his seat, just enough to catch all of the smile, which reminded him of a million moments and was more valuable than anything else in his entire life.

Saturday was game day at Hope’s private school, so she was torn between getting over to the campus and waiting for Scott to arrive with Ashley. By experience, she knew that the morning sunshine would help dry the pitch, but not completely, so she expected something of a slogging, muddy game that afternoon. Probably a generation ago, the notion that girls would play in the mud was so alien that the game would have been canceled. Now, she was certain that the girls on the team were looking forward to the sloppy, messy conditions. Dirt-streaked and sweaty were positives now. Mud-defined progress.

She was hovering in the kitchen, half-watching the clock on the wall, half-peering out the window, her ears attuned to the unmistakable sound of Scott’s car as he downshifted at the corner and came winding down their block. Nameless was waiting by the door. Too old to be impatient, but unwilling to be left behind. He knew the phrase Want to go to a soccer game? and when she spoke it, no matter how quietly, he would instantly go from near comatose to wildly overjoyed.

The window was cracked open and she could hear sounds from her neighbors’ homes that were so routine for a Saturday morning that they were nearly clichéd: a lawn mower starting up with a cough and a roar; a leaf blower whining; high-pitched voices of children happily at play in a nearby yard. It was hard to imagine anything even vaguely approaching a threat to their orderly lives existed anywhere. She had no idea that nearly the same thought had struck Ashley only a few moments earlier.

When she looked away, she saw Sally standing behind her in the doorway.

“Will you be late?” Sally asked. “What time is the game?”

“I have some time.”

“Today’s game is important?”

“They’re all important. Some are just a little more so. We’ll be okay.” Hope hesitated a bit, then added, “They should be along any second. Didn’t Scott say he was leaving early?”

Sally, too, paused before replying, “I think we should ask Scott in, because he’ll want to be a part of any decisions made.”

“Good idea,” Hope said, although she was less sure.

Anything that involved Scott put her in what would once have been termed an awkward position, but which went far deeper and was far more complicated. She believed Scott hated her, although he had never said anything so explicit.

At the very least, he hated the sight of her. Or maybe hated what she stood for. Or hated what she’d done to attract Sally or hated what had happened between them. Regardless, he carried within him a package of anger toward her, and she believed she was helpless to ever make him change.

“I wonder,” Sally said, “whether it’s a good thing for you to be here when he arrives and I tell him to come inside.”

Hope was immediately angry with Sally, and disappointed at the same time. It seemed to her that it was completely unfair; enough years had gone by so that civil behavior was the norm between them, even if the undercurrents were always much stronger. She was pitched into fury by the idea that Sally would want to somehow accommodate Scott’s feelings and trample over hers at the same time. She had put years into raising Ashley and, while she could not claim her as blood, felt that she had as much a stake in her happiness as anyone else.

She bit her lip before replying. Be judicious.

“Well, I don’t think that’s really fair. But if you think it is important, well, I’d bow to your superior knowledge in these matters.”

This last bit might have sounded sincere or sarcastic. Sally was unsure which.

She took a step back, a little shocked at herself for even asking Hope to stand aside when Scott arrived. What am I doing?

“No-” she started to reply, but was interrupted by the sound of Scott’s car coming up the slight rise to their house. “There they are.”

“Well,” Hope said stiffly, “I guess I’ll be here, then.”

Nameless bounced up, recognizing the sound of the car. They all went to the front door, and the dog shoved his way past their legs just as Scott slid the Porsche into the driveway. Ashley was out of the car almost as quickly as the dog exited, and she immediately bent down and stuck her face into his muzzle, then let him cover her with wet dog affection. Scott, too, stepped out of the car, a little unsure what the drill was going to be. He half-waved at Sally and nodded toward Hope.

“Safe and sound,” he said.

Sally crossed the lawn to the drive, pausing only to embrace Ashley. “Don’t you think you should come in, and we can figure out some sort of plan?” she said to Scott.

Ashley lifted her head toward her father and mother, waiting for a second. She was aware in that second how rarely they were ever within arm’s length of each other. A well-defined distance always marked their meetings.

“It’s up to Ashley,” Scott said. “She might not want to just dive into the whole thing right now. Maybe she needs some lunch and a moment or two to decompress.”

They both looked at Ashley, and she nodded, although she sensed that she was doing something cowardly.

“All right,” Sally said with her take-charge lawyer’s voice. “This afternoon, then. Say around four or four thirty?”

Scott nodded. Then he gestured toward the house. “Here?”

“Why not?” Sally said.

Scott could think of a dozen good reasons why not, but he managed to stifle them all. “Well, four thirty it is, then. We can have tea. That would be very civilized.”

Sally did not respond to the sarcasm. She turned to Ashley. “Is that all you’ve brought with you?” she said, pointing at the overnight bag.

“That’s it,” Ashley said.

Hope, standing aside, watching and listening, thought that Ashley had in truth brought much more. It just wasn’t quite as obvious.

Ashley gingerly hip-hopped around the edge of the muddy field and took up a spot where she could see Hope coaching. Nameless was leashed to the end of the bench, but he thumped his tail when he spotted Ashley, then put his head back down. Lions, she thought as she looked over at him. They often sleep as much as twenty hours in an African day. Nameless looked to be closing in on that standard, although he wasn’t very lionish in his attitude. Sometimes she wondered whether any of them would have survived if not for him. She was always disappointed that her mother didn’t fully recognize Nameless’s importance. Rescue dog, she thought. Seeing Eye dog. Guard dog. Nameless had metaphorically managed every role, and now he was old, nearly retired, but still almost a brother.

She let her eyes scan across the distant range of hills. The locals called the Holyoke Range a group of mountains, but she understood that that was exaggerating their significance more than a little. The Rockies are mountains, she thought. The local hills were given some undeserved grandeur, although on a fine fall afternoon they made up for their lack of elevation with generous streaks of red, brown, and russet.