Lisa Gardner - Touch & Go

No doubt, Z took many precautions on that front. Given that, in the end, he saved my life, I haven’t gone out of my way to provide information that could aid with his capture. Ashlyn knows what happened that night, and shares my opinion. So we do our thing, and let the cops do theirs. I doubt they’ll ever catch Z or Radar. But I also doubt they’ll ever bother us again. Job over, they’ve moved on. Maybe, someday, we will, too.

I miss my husband. Maybe that’s perverse of me. But you don’t love a man for nearly twenty years and not feel his absence. Yes, I had signed a prenup forfeiting all claims to Denbe Construction, in return for half of all our personal assets. And, yes, Justin ran all our personal possessions through the business, so that had I decided to divorce him, I would’ve been entitled to nothing at all.

He cheated on me. Physically, emotionally, even financially. And in that regard, I still can’t feel special because it turned out he cheated on everyone. Stole from his own company, denied assets to his own employees. In his own way, he tried to compensate by giving out generous bonuses during the boom years, but still… He drained thirteen million dollars from the company coffers, denied even his closest and most loyal employees the chance to buy into the firm, all while presenting himself as a great guy and considerate boss.

In the end, I think there were two Justins. The one I cherished as my husband. The one Ashlyn loved as her father. The one his guys respected as their leader.

Then, there was the one who stole from all of us, while constructing an elaborate ruse in order to leave us forever. Because thirteen million dollars apparently mattered more to him than the love of his family and the admiration of his firm.

I don’t understand that Justin. I can’t picture what would make someone already so successful value money over his family and friends. All I can guess is that he really wanted his freedom. No more responsibility, no more decisions, no more obligations. Though ironically enough, we would’ve helped him with that, too. He could’ve sold the firm to his management team. He could have run away to Bora-Bora with Ashlyn and me. We would’ve gone. We loved him that much. Or thought we did.

This is the part both Ashlyn and I struggle with. The Justin we knew had strong values, rigidly upheld expectations of himself and others. Whereas the kind of man who betrays his whole family, going to the extreme length of kidnapping and terrorizing his own wife and daughter just so he can make a clever getaway…

Would he have ever looked back? Missed us? Mourned us at all?

Because we mourn him. We can’t help ourselves. We mourn the man we thought we knew, the father who taught Ashlyn how to use a cordless drill, the man who used to hold me at night. The man we thought we watched die for us.

Because we’d believed in that man. And we miss him still.

The DA brought charges against Chris Lopez. He pleaded guilty to all counts, sparing my daughter the trauma of a trial. I wonder if that makes him feel noble. He seduced a vulnerable fifteen-year-old girl, but this one act somehow makes it right.

I haven’t spoken to him. Frankly, I have nothing to say.

I am working on myself these days. Whether my husband was a liar or not, I’m trying to make good on the promise I made: to quit prescription painkillers and be there for my daughter. I am working with a detox specialist now, having gone from hydrocodone to methadone and now weaning off the methadone. I made Ashlyn go with me through the entire house. I showed her all my little hidey-holes, and one by one, we emptied out the pills, then handed them over to my doctor.

I can’t say it’s been easy. I dream of oranges all the time. I wake up tasting birthday cake and I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. I had wanted to save my family. Even after discovering Justin’s affair, even after popping that first pill, I still thought we’d somehow make it. We’d get our acts together, forgive, forget, carry on. Justin, Ashlyn and me against the world.

I work with an excellent therapist now, who likes to ask me questions. Such as, Why? Why should our family have survived intact? Because we were so happy? So loving? So nurturing of one another?

Justin wasn’t the only one with problems. I’d become an addict and my fifteen-year-old daughter was sleeping with a forty-year-old man. Maybe, just maybe, the three of us together wasn’t working out so well.

And maybe now, the two of us surviving can do better.

Ashlyn and I are talking again, sharing our pain, but also our fledgling hopes and dreams. My daughter is officially a wealthy young woman. In keeping with the tradition of his father, Justin left the entire company to her, by name. Meaning she now owns one of the largest construction firms in the country, not to mention two homes and a nice collection of cars.

She doesn’t want them. We are working with Anita Bennett and Ruth Chan to put together a deal for the employees of Denbe Construction to purchase 51 percent of the firm. As for our Boston brownstone, Ashlyn would like to part with that as well.

We both agree it’s too big and filled with too much regret.

We like the idea of leaving Boston, maybe heading west, to Seattle or Portland. We’ll buy a charming Craftsman-style bungalow, maybe something with a detached garage we can turn into an art studio. I can work on my jewelry. Ashlyn would like to take up pottery.

We can nest for a bit. Have less. Do less.

Find more.

I like the idea and, being a wealthy older woman, can afford for the first time in my life to do as I please. That piece of paper Z delivered on Radar’s behalf? It bore the number of an offshore bank account held in Justin’s name. Justin had three go-to passwords. In this case, it took me only two tries to guess the right one. At which point, I electronically transferred all 12.8 million dollars to a new fund under a corporate name I invented on the spot. A few more transfers here and there, and Justin’s Exit in Case of Emergency fund became my Sole Surviving Spouse fund.

Imagine, after all the lengths Justin went to in order to make sure I would never be entitled to a single penny of his money, I got it all.

I wonder if he’s rolling over in his grave.

And I confess, some days that thought makes me smile.

This is what I know:

Pain has a flavor.

But hope does, too.

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Author’s Note and Acknowledgments

I’ve always wanted to kidnap a family. It’s one of those ideas that has spent years churning around in the back of my head. Then one day, I had the opportunity to tour a recently constructed prison, and my writer’s brain immediately fell in love.

Endless coils of razor wire. Solid bars of saw-proof steel. Narrow slivers of ballistic-rated glass. All combining to help form one vast, soulless structure where footsteps echoed for miles and the clang of heavy doors slamming shut sent shivers up my spine.

Yep, it was love at first sight.

Meaning first and foremost, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Michael Duffy for providing a tour of the facility his company helped build. He also educated me on the number of unopened and mothballed penitentiaries nationwide, as ongoing budget crises have frozen the funds needed to open and/or operate the facilities.

In this particular case, the prison has since opened. Also, the building I describe in this novel is a work of fiction. Having toured one prison and read about many others, I amused myself by cherry-picking the particular details I liked best. It’s good to be an author, where I can construct anything I want out of pure words.

Along those same lines, any mistakes are mine and mine alone.