Chapter 3
“What happened?”
“There was an argument outside the restaurant. Anthony was young, scared, and trying very hard not to show it. I saw someone reach inside a jacket and thought things were getting dangerous. I pulled Anthony toward the doorway.”
“And you were shot.”
“Yes.”
Myra stared at the pear on her plate.
“The police report said you were caught in the middle.”
“I was.”
“That sounds different from deliberately helping someone.”
“Reports don’t always tell stories very well.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I didn’t want your mother worrying about what sort of people were involved.”
Myra gave him a look.
Daniel sighed.
“Yes. I realize I am now participating in the exact behavior you are criticizing.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why did you refuse Leo’s money?”
His eyes sharpened.
“You spoke to Leo?”
Myra hesitated.
“Last night.”
Daniel sat straighter.
“Alone?”
“In his office.”
Her father closed his eyes.
“Myra.”
“What?”
“There are easier ways to make a father’s blood pressure rise.”
“He was perfectly polite.”
“That is not particularly comforting.”
She almost smiled.
“Dad, answer me.”
Daniel considered.
“I didn’t want to owe anyone.”
“But he paid anyway.”
“Through a charitable fund. I found out months later.”
“How?”
“Anthony told me.”
“Why were you still talking to Anthony?”
Another pause.
This one was longer.
Myra noticed.
“Dad?”
Daniel looked toward the window.
“Because he came to see me.”
“When?”
“A few times.”
“Why?”
“To thank me.”
“And?”
“And because he was trying to change his life.”
Myra blinked.
“What does that have to do with you?”
“Not everything is a mystery, sweetheart. Sometimes a young man needs someone older to tell him that making one bad choice does not require making fifty more.”
“You were mentoring him?”
“That sounds formal.”
“What would you call it?”
“Coffee.”
She stared at him.
Daniel smiled faintly.
“A lot of coffee.”
Myra sat back.
Her father had almost died, recovered quietly, discovered who had paid his bills, and then apparently begun meeting one of Leo Casaro’s employees at diners without telling anyone.
“Mom knows?”
“Some of it.”
“Of course she does.”
Before Daniel could answer, her mother entered carrying laundry.
Elaine Bennett stopped.
“Why do both of you look guilty?”
Myra pointed at her father.
“He has secrets.”
Elaine placed the basket down.
“He alphabetizes his vitamins. He doesn’t have the personality for secrets.”
Daniel looked offended.
“I have layers.”
“You wear the same three sweaters.”
“That is unrelated.”
Myra laughed.
It escaped before she could stop it.
Her mother immediately smiled.
And for perhaps ten seconds, the previous night disappeared.
Then Elaine sat beside her.
“So,” she said gently, “do I need to dislike Nico now?”
Myra looked down.
“You can feel however you want.”
“That bad?”
“He lied to me.”
Elaine took her hand.
“About?”
Myra told them.
Not every word.
Not Chloe’s laugh.
Not the particular phrase Nico had used.
Just the facts.
There had been a bet at the beginning of their relationship.
Nico had allowed her to believe he was responsible for the financial help her family received.
And Chloe had known at least something.
When she finished, Daniel’s face had become very still.
Elaine squeezed Myra’s fingers.
“Oh, honey.”
“I feel stupid.”
“No.”
“I believed him.”
“That is not stupidity.”
“I should have noticed.”
Daniel shook his head.
“Trusting someone is not a detective assignment.”
Myra looked at her father.
That sentence stayed with her.
Trusting someone is not a detective assignment.
She repeated it silently that afternoon while walking home.
And again when she entered her apartment and saw the photograph of herself and Nico on the bookshelf.
They were standing beneath cherry blossoms in the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.
Nico had his arm around her.
Myra remembered that afternoon clearly.
He had complained about pollen, bought her lemonade, and spent twenty minutes helping a lost little boy find his grandmother near the conservatory.
That kindness had been real.
Hadn’t it?
That was the unbearable complication.
Bad lies did not erase every good afternoon.
But good afternoons did not erase bad lies either.
She placed the photograph facedown.
Her phone rang.
Chloe.
Myra watched it ring until it stopped.
Thirty seconds later, a message arrived.
I’m outside.
Myra walked to the window.
Chloe stood across the street in a green coat, hands buried in her pockets.
Myra’s first instinct was anger.
Her second was curiosity.
She went downstairs.
Chloe looked exhausted.
“Hi.”
“Why are you here?”
“Because you won’t answer.”
“That usually means someone doesn’t want to talk.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
Chloe looked at the pavement.
“Because if I leave without trying, I’ll regret it.”
Myra crossed her arms.
“Five minutes.”
Chloe nodded.
They walked to the coffee shop on the corner.
The afternoon crowd was thin.
They sat at a table beside the window.
Chloe wrapped both hands around a cup she did not drink.
“I knew about the bet,” she said.
Myra felt the truth settle between them.
“How long?”
“Since before your first date.”
That hurt.
More than Myra expected.
“You helped me choose clothes for that date.”
“I know.”
“You told me Nico seemed different around me.”
“He did.”
“Chloe.”
“I’m not defending myself.”
“Then explain.”
Chloe looked close to tears but held them back.
“Nico made that stupid bet with some friends after seeing you at Julian’s birthday party. I told him he was disgusting.”
“But you didn’t tell me.”
May you like
“No.”
“Why?”
