James Grippando - Hear No Evil

Jack wanted to defend himself, but his thoughts were drifting back to Jessie. Beautiful, brilliant, and incredibly egocentric Jessie. He hated to think it, too. But maybe that was the reason she had opted for adoption.

And he had a little better understanding of Lindsey’s resentment.

She rose and threw a ten-dollar bill on the table to cover her share of the bill. “Good-bye, Mr. Swyteck. And congratulations. I think there’s probably just enough room for both you and Mr. Pintado in your self-absorbed little world.”

Jack sat in silence, staring at nothing, not sure what had just hit him as Lindsey turned and walked away.

She is totally yanking your chain,” said Theo.

“You think?” said Jack.

“How many times did I fire your ass when I was on death row?”

“About every other week.”

“See. Ten years later, I still can’t get rid of you.”

Jack was about to point out that this was his house, they were cooking his food, and Theo had his carcass parked on Jack’s couch every weekend, all of which raised some pretty serious questions as to who couldn’t get rid of whom. But Jack decided to leave it alone.

Theo turned his attention back to the stove. He was searing two thick tuna steaks in a crispy coating of lemon pepper, sesame seeds, and ginger. He looked like a short-order cook, spatula in hand, greasy white apron wrapped around his waist. To most people, Theo came across as the kind of guy whose idea of a seven-course meal was a six-pack and a bag of chips, but he was actually quite a good cook, and he enjoyed it. And like most good cooks, he hated meddlers in the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” he asked Jack.

Jack was standing at the sink, washing the mixing bowl. “Cleaning up,” he said.

“Can’t it wait?”

“I suppose. But I guess it’s sort of an old habit.”

“We talking about your ex again?”

“Yeah. Cindy never used to let me near the kitchen unless I cleaned up as I went along.”

Theo looked at him as if he were from another planet. “Clean up while you’re cooking? That’s like stopping in the middle of sex to do the fucking laundry.”

Jack shut off the water, considering it. “I think Cindy actually did that once.”

“Jacko, that’s one woman you don’t need back in your life. But this Lindsey, she’ll be back. Trust me.”

“Aw, the hell with it. I’m better off without her.” He shook his head. “But then there’s Brian. I mean, what if his mother is innocent? He’s getting the worst of it at both ends.”

Theo smiled knowingly as he flipped the tuna steaks. “She’s manipulatin’ you, man.”

“If she is, she’s doing one heck of a good job of it.”

“Which sort of makes you wonder, don’t it?”

“Wonder what?”

Theo lifted the pan from the flame, then slid the steaks onto dinner plates. “Maybe you should be listening to that Mr. Potato.”

“Pintado.”

“Whatever. My point is this: Just maybe-she’s not innocent.”

Theo grabbed the plates and started toward the family room. Jack stood frozen at the kitchen counter. He’d had his doubts, to be sure. But coming from Theo’s lips, just hearing it out loud, gave it an entirely different impact.

“You coming?” said Theo.

Jack was sifting through a stack of mail at the kitchen counter.

“Hey, Clarence Darrow. I said it’s time to eat.”

Jack held up a large manila envelope. “It’s from Lindsey.”

“Wow. That is the fastest ‘I still love you’ card in the history of the U.S. Postal Service.”

“No. It’s postmarked three days ago. Before our blowup.”

Theo laid the plates of fish on the table. “This should be interesting.”

“It’s addressed to me, Theo. Not us.”

“I slave all day, cook your meals, and this is the thanks I get?”

“Go away.”

“Fine.” He took both plates of tuna and threw his nose into the air, a bit like an all-pro linebacker pretending to be a ticked-off housewife. “There’s Cheerios in the cupboard.”

Unless you already ate them, thought Jack.

He waited for Theo to sink into the couch and lose himself in ESPN before opening the letter with a kitchen knife. He hesitated, then reached inside and pulled out a handful of photographs. He sifted through the stack quickly, then went through them again more slowly. They were all snapshots of Brian, some of them quite old, others more recent. A picture of Brian with his soccer team. A picture of Brian and his mother. Another one of Brian and his dad. They were saluting the flag. Oscar was wearing his khaki Marine uniform.

The last photograph was of Brian as a newborn. His mother and father were with him, locked in the awkward and tangled embrace that was so typical of new parents who had no idea how to hold a tiny infant. Jack couldn’t be certain, but it appeared to be Brian’s first day with his adoptive parents. They looked so happy together, which gave him a good feeling. But then he wondered how Jessie must have felt at that very same moment, the birth mother all alone, far removed from any celebration. Jack’s sense of joy faded, and it vanished altogether as he thought about his own life on that day. By the time young Brian had looked into the eyes of his proud adoptive parents, Jack had completely moved on from Jessie, unaware that she was even pregnant. He’d already attained a remarkable level of self-delusion, having convinced himself that Jessie was not “The One,” that Cindy Paige would spend the rest of her life as Cindy Swyteck.

Jack put the photographs aside and removed the letter from the envelope. He unfolded it slowly, not sure what to expect. It was handwritten in smooth, beautiful cursive.

Dear Jack,

I wanted you to have these photographs of Brian. He is a special little boy, and he’s becoming a young man in a hurry. I know that one day he will be so grateful for everything you are doing to help keep our family together, now that Oscar is gone.

Jack, I know it’s important to you that I be innocent. Believe me, I understand that. And I respect it, too. I would have no right to raise my son if the things people are saying about me were true. I don’t know how to give you the comfort you need, but if it would help, I would be more than happy to take a lie detector test. Just let me know when and where.

Thank you again for being there for us. Fondly, Lindsey.

Jack started to read it again, then quickly laid it facedown on the counter as Theo returned to the kitchen. His friend nearly broke two fishless dinner plates as he dropped them into the sink. In less than five minutes he’d eaten enough seared tuna to feed a Tokyo suburb.

“What’s the matter with you?” said Theo.

“Lindsey sent me some photos.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “We talkin’ hot-moms-dot-com material?”

“No, pervert. Photographs of her son. And a letter.”

“What she say?”

“She offered to take a polygraph. And remember, this was written before our fight today.”

“Heh. Ain’t that a kick in the head?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you don’t believe in polygraphs.”

“I don’t. But I tend to believe a recent widow and single mother who offers to take one. Especially when she says you pick the time, you pick the place, you pick the tester. You see the difference?”

“Yeah, I do. So, now what?”

“I don’t know. You got any suggestions?”

“Yeah,” he said as he walked toward the fridge. “How ’bout dessert?”

Jack stared at the letter, hopelessly confused. Finally, he looked at Theo and said, “That’s the best damn idea I’ve heard in a long time.”

Jack went food shopping with Abuela. This wasn’t just the dutiful grandson taking his grandmother to the grocery store. This was Jack’s biweekly lesson in Cuban culture.