Evening Bags and Executions(55)

“I hope it works out,” I said. “And thanks for taking care of my cake.”

“No problem,” she said.

I walked back to my car, figuring that Shuman should call me any time now. I drove to the Subway down the block, went inside, and bought sandwiches, chips, and sodas, and with the help of my GPS I headed for the park in Simi Valley. Just as I transitioned onto the westbound 118, he called and said he was about fifteen minutes away.

I exited the freeway and drove north through a residential neighborhood, then turned into the parking lot. Not a lot of cars were there. I spotted two moms with toddlers in the grassy field off to my right. No sign of Shuman.

I got out and opened my trunk. All kinds of things accumulated in there. I scrounged around and found a pair of flats that I had no memory of buying—maybe one of my breakup fog purchases that never made it into my second bedroom—along with a quilt my dad had insisted I keep in there when he’d given me a roadside emergency kit not long ago, after my car had broken down on the way to Las Vegas—long story.

I changed my shoes, grabbed the quilt and Subway bags, and set up lunch on a nearby picnic table beneath several tall, shady trees. Just as I was spreading the quilt over the bench—no way was I roughing it while wearing my awesome gray business suit—Shuman walked up.

Yikes! I hardly recognized him.

He had on black pants, T-shirt, a hoodie, and CAT boots. A black baseball cap was pulled low on his forehead, almost touching his wraparound sunglasses. What little of his face I could see was covered with a full beard.

This wasn’t the Shuman I knew. Not at all.

I was scared. Scared about what he was doing, what he might do, and what it might turn him into.

I was kind of scared for myself as well, thinking what I might do to keep that from happening.

“I brought lunch,” I said.

He didn’t sit down. Instead he threw both arms around me and pulled me full against his chest. He buried his nose in my hair and held on as if his life depended on it. I wrapped my arms around his waist.

We stayed like that for a long time, then slowly Shuman released me and stepped back.

“Thanks for coming, Haley, for meeting me,” he said. “I—I just . . . I just needed . . .”

“I’m glad you called me,” I said, and I truly meant it—which was totally unlike me but there it was.

“I had to—” Shuman pressed his lips together, then forced himself to go on. “I had to tell somebody what really happened with Amanda.”





CHAPTER 17


Shuman was about to lose it big-time.

“Sit down,” I said. “We’ll eat, then talk.”

He didn’t say anything, but allowed me to guide him around the picnic table. He dropped onto the bench. By the time I unrolled our sandwiches, opened bags of chips, and screwed the tops off our bottles of soda he’d pulled himself together. He ate everything; I didn’t have much of an appetite.

“Let’s walk,” Shuman said.

We dumped our trash and strolled into the park. The gently rolling meadow was shaded by tall trees. A little stream meandered over rocks worn smooth by the water. Birds chirped.

I realized why Shuman had wanted to meet here. It was quiet, peaceful. Whatever he intended to tell me about Amanda was too painful to talk about in a public place.

“Amanda and I broke up,” Shuman said.

I froze and touched his arm, stopping him next to me. This was the very last thing I expected to hear him say.

“It was what she wanted,” Shuman said. He gulped hard. “And I—I went along with it.”

“I don’t get it,” I said. “You two seemed so solid.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” he said. “We had some differences, but I was okay with everything. I mean, I could live with them. You know?”

I knew exactly.

“She was so special in so many ways,” Shuman said. “My days could be grim sometimes, and she was always my bright spot.”

We started walking again.

“I guess she wasn’t okay with some of our differences,” Shuman said. “She wanted to work in Boston. She asked me if I’d go with her. I didn’t want to leave my job here. So she said maybe we should end things.”

I pictured the two of them having that last conversation, saying those things to each other, making that decision. It made my heart hurt.

“That must have been a tough decision for you two. Really painful,” I said. “But I guess it was the right thing to do.”

“No.”

The word exploded out of Shuman. He laid his hands on my shoulders and leaned closer.

“No, Haley, it was wrong, all wrong,” he told me. “I shouldn’t have gone along with what she wanted. I should have fought for our relationship, for us. But I didn’t fight her on it. I was stunned and hurt, and she seemed so sure it was the best thing. I let it happen, Haley. I just stood there and let it happen—and look how it turned out. Look what happened to her.”