Jonathan Santlofer - Anatomy of Fear

“Maybe I’ve been looking for absolution or redemption,” I said, “but I know now that’s never going to happen. Knowing the truth about what happened that night hasn’t changed the facts. I still feel responsible, but…I was a kid. I don’t know, but…maybe now I can let that kid off the hook. Just a little.” I thought about the cartoon I had of myself, the one I’d been carrying around for a long time: the little boy looking for his dad. It wasn’t that it had completely changed, but the cartoon had morphed into a fuller portrait of a man and his father.

“Good idea,” she said, and I thought I saw some tears gathering in her eyes.

“Hey, tough-cop Terri Russo isn’t going all soft on me now, is she?”

Terri wiped her eyes and put on a really great fake smile. “Fuck, no. It’s just the damn smoke in this place.”

I didn’t bother to point out that no one was smoking because she knew that. I clicked my beer bottle against hers. “Is it okay if we don’t talk about this anymore?”

“You kidding me, Rodriguez? I thought you’d never stop.”

I laughed, then got serious. “You took a chance on me, put everything on the line-your job, your reputation; I know that, and I appreciate it. I probably wouldn’t be sitting here if it weren’t for you.”

“Damn right. You’d be in an Attica cell with Montel calling you honey. ”

“Nice,” I said. “I open my heart and what do I get, a knife.”

“Just telling it like it is, Rodriguez.” She smiled and tilted her head and I could see she wanted to ask me something.

“What?”

“I’m wondering…Am I wasting my time on you?”

“No way. I’m your man.”

“I’m serious, Rodriguez.” She took a swig of her beer, put it down, and looked at me, one eyebrow cocked. “I just don’t want to spend six months on some goon who is never going to commit.”

“Wow,” I said.

“That’s your response: Wow ? What the fuck does that mean?”

“Hey, give me a minute to think about it, okay?”

“What’s there to think about? I didn’t ask for your hand in marriage. Hell, I don’t think I ever want to get married. Just that I’d like to-”

“I heard you.” I tried to collect my feelings, but she didn’t give me a chance.

“What a cliché you are, Rodriguez. And so am I. Here we are, the thirty-something man who can’t commit to anything past dinner and the thirty-something woman who is on her way toward bitter.” She waved a hand. “Never mind. Let’s just enjoy our beers and forget I ever said anything.”

“I swear I can make plans past dinner,” I said. “You want to set up brunch next Sunday, I’m there.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Oh, come on, Terri.”

“No, forget it, seriously. I’m sorry. I made a mistake. Not my first and probably not my last.”

“How about we have dinner and see where it leads.”

“I know where it will lead, Rodriguez. Into your bed.”

“Is that so bad?”

She sighed. “I don’t know about you, Rodriguez, but Terri Russo is starting to want more out of her life than a good lay on Saturday night.”

I chewed a cuticle and studied the damage. I thought about the apartment I hadn’t turned into a home and probably never would; I thought about Julio and Jess and how they were always trying to fix me up and would probably not stop; I thought about their kid growing up and me playing “Uncle Nate”; I thought about dinners once a week with my abuela, whom I loved, but how three years from now she’d still be asking me why I didn’t have a girlfriend. Then I thought about my father taking me to ball games and reading me bedtime stories, and I started to feel so bad I didn’t know what to say.

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” she said.

“Do I look that bad?”

“Yes. And it’s not the bruises or the stitches on your chin, which, to be perfectly honest, I find sexy as hell. But you look like I just punched you in the gut.” She laughed a little. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Go ahead,” I said. “Take your best shot.”

“Think I already did.”

I looked at Terri and tried to figure out what I wanted to say, but I was feeling too many things at once and couldn’t come up with the words.

“I’m not going to beg you, Rodriguez. My life is fine the way it is. I didn’t ask for you to come into it, and if you don’t want to stay in it, that’s fine too.” She stood up. “Maybe it’s better if we just called it a night.”

I got up and pulled her toward me, but she pushed me away.

“If you want me to stay-and I don’t mean here, now-I mean, if you want me to stay in your life, you’re going to have to say it, Rodriguez.”

She only took a few steps back, but it suddenly looked as if she were disappearing. I grabbed hold of her and held on. “Don’t go. Let’s see if we can make this work.” I said it fast so I wouldn’t check myself and stop.

“Hey, that was pretty good, Rodriguez.”

“Are you going to call me Rodriguez forever ?”

Terri smiled. “I can’t believe you just used the f-word. I’m speechless.”

“Now that’s a first, you speechless.” I smiled back. “But you should know better than to listen to my words. You want to know what I’m really thinking, look at my face.” I gave Terri a look that I hoped conveyed the warmth I was feeling.

“I think I’m getting it,” she said, then gave me the look she’d had so many times over the course of the case-brows knit, eyes narrowed, as if she were trying to see into my brain.

“It’s not that hard,” I said. “I want you to see me.”

My thanks to the following people for their help with this book: The brilliant Suzanne Gluck; my superb editor, David Highfill; Janice Deaner, invaluable reader and friend; Ryan Ernst, who lent his computer expertise and his face; Gabe Robinson, Dan Conaway, Elaina Richardson and the Corporation of Yaddo, Reiner Leist, and SJ Rozan; Anthony Romero, Manuel Marinas, and Saraivy Orench-Reinat, who corrected my Spanish without complaint or derision; the William Morrow/HarperCollins family, who continue to support me-Jane Friedman, Lisa Gallagher, Michael Morrison, Debbie Stier, Danielle Bartlett, Carla Parker, Lynn Grady, Carl Lennertz, Tavia Kowalchuk, Sharyn Rosenblum, Mike Spradlin, Christine Tanigawa, Brian McSharry, Juliette Shapland, and everyone else who has helped behind the scenes. For their creative effort beyond the call of duty, Betty Lew, Richard Aquan, and Jimmy Iacobelli deserve medals.

More thanks to my sister Roberta; my mother, Edith; my daughter, Doria; and always my wife, Joy.

To the many booksellers and readers I have met in my travels who have supported my work: Where would I be without you?

One final note: To truly comprehend the work of face-reading expert Paul Ekman, Ph.D., I recommend reading one or more of his fascinating books, among them Unmasking the Face: A Guide to Recognizing Emotions from Facial Clues, The Facial Action Coding System, and What the Face Reveals: Basic and Applied Studies of Spontaneous Expression Using the Facial Action Coding System (FACS).

JONATHAN SANTLOFERis a highly respected artist whose work has been written about and reviewed in the New York Times, Art in America, Artforum, and Arts and appears in many public, private, and corporate collections such as Chase Manhattan Bank and the Art Institute of Chicago. He serves on the board of Yaddo, one of the oldest artist communities in the country. Santlofer lives and works in New York City. This is his fourth novel.