Alex couldn't speak, could barely see her through his tears.
"The kids need a mom." To his ears, it sounded almost like a plea. "Someone who loves them as much as I do, someone who thinks of them as her own children."
"Why are you talking about this?" he asked, his voice cracking.
"Because," she said, "I have to believe that it's possible." Her bony fingers clutched at his arm with desperate intensity. "It's the only thing I have left."
Now, as he saw Katie chasing after Josh and Kristen on the grassy shoulder of the duck pond, he felt a bittersweet pang at the thought that maybe Carly had gotten her last wish after all.
* * *
She liked him too much for her own good. Katie knew that she was walking a dangerous line. Telling him about her past had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, and speaking the words had freed her somehow from the crushing burden of her secrets. But the morning after their first dinner, she was paralyzed with anxiety by what she had done. Alex used to be an investigator, after all, which probably meant he could easily make a phone call or two, no matter what he'd said to her. He'd talk to someone and they'd talk to someone and eventually, Kevin would learn of it. She hadn't told him that Kevin had an almost eerie ability to connect seemingly random information; she hadn't mentioned that when a suspect was on the run, Kevin almost always knew where to find him. Simply thinking about what she'd done made her sick to her stomach.
But gradually, over the next couple of weeks, she felt her fears ebb. Instead of asking her more questions when they were alone, Alex acted as if her revelations had no bearing on their lives in Southport. The days passed with easy spontaneity, untroubled by shadows from her prior life. She couldn't help it: she trusted him. And when they kissed, which happened with surprising frequency, there were times when her knees went shaky and it was all she could do to stop from taking his hand and dragging him into the bedroom.
On Saturday, two weeks after their first date, they stood on her front porch, his arms wrapped around her, his lips against hers. Josh and Kristen were at an end-of-the-year swimming party hosted by a kid in Josh's class. Later, Alex and Katie planned to take them to the beach for an evening barbecue, but for the next few hours, they'd be alone.
When they finally separated, Katie sighed. "You really have to stop doing that."
"Doing what?"
"You know exactly what you're doing."
"I can't help it."
I know the feeling, Katie thought. "Do you know what I like about you?"
"My body?"
"Yes. That, too." She laughed. "But I also like that you make me feel special."
"You are special," he said.
"I'm serious," she said. "But it makes me wonder why you never found someone else. Since your wife passed away, I mean."
"I haven't been looking," he said. "But even if there was someone else, I would have dumped her so I could be with you instead."
"That's not nice." She poked him in the ribs.
"It's true, though. Believe it or not, I'm picky."
"Yeah," she said, "real picky. You only go out with emotionally scarred women."
"You're not emotionally scarred. You're tough. You're a survivor. It's actually kind of sexy."
"I think you're just trying to flatter me in the hopes I'll rip off your clothes."
"Is it working?"
"You're getting closer," she admitted, and the sound of his laughter reminded her again how much he loved her.
"I'm glad you ended up in Southport," he said.
"Uh-huh." For an instant she seemed to disappear inside herself.
"What?" He scrutinized her face, suddenly alert.
She shook her head. "It was so close … " She sighed, hugging her arms around herself at the memory. "I almost didn't make it."
22
Brittle snow coated the yards of Dorchester, forming a glittering shell over the world outside her window. The January sky, gray the day before, had given way to an icy blue and the temperature was below freezing.
It was Sunday morning, the day after she'd had her hair done. She peeked in the toilet for blood, sure she'd see some after she peed. Her kidney still throbbed, radiating pain from her shoulder blades to the backs of her legs. It had kept her up for hours as Kevin snored beside her, but thankfully, it wasn't as serious as it could have been. After closing the bedroom door behind her, she limped to the kitchen, reminding herself that in just a couple of days, it would be over. But she had to be careful not to arouse Kevin's suspicions, to play things exactly right. If she ignored the beating he had given her the night before, he would be suspicious. If she went too far, he would be suspicious. After four years of hell, she'd learned the rules.
Kevin had to go into work at noon, even though it was Sunday, and she knew he'd be up soon. The house was cold and she pulled on a sweatshirt over her pajamas; in the mornings, Kevin didn't mind, usually because he was too hung over to care. She started the coffee and put the milk and sugar on the table, along with butter and jelly. She set his silverware out and placed a cup of ice water beside the fork. After that, two pieces of toast went in the toaster, though she couldn't toast them just yet. She put three eggs on the counter, where she could reach them quickly. When that was done, she placed half a dozen slices of bacon in the frying pan. They were sizzling and popping when Kevin finally wandered into the kitchen. He took a seat at the empty table and drank his water as she brought him a cup of coffee.
"I was dead to the world last night," he said. "What time did we end up going to bed?"
"Maybe ten?" she answered. She put the coffee beside his empty glass. "It wasn't late. You've been working hard and I know you've been tired."
His eyes were bloodshot. "I'm sorry about last night. I didn't mean it. I've just been under a lot of pressure lately. Since Terry's heart attack, I've been having to do the work of two people, and the Preston case starts this week."
"It's okay," she said. She could still smell the alcohol on his breath. "Your breakfast will be ready in a few minutes."
At the stove, she turned the bacon with a fork and a splash of grease scalded her arm, making her temporarily forget the pain in her back.
When the bacon was crispy, she put four pieces on Kevin's plate and two on hers. She drained the grease into a soup can, wiped the frying pan with a paper towel, and oiled it again with cooking spray. She had to move fast, so the bacon wouldn't get cold. She started the toaster and cracked the eggs. He liked his over medium, with the yolk intact, and she'd grown adept at the process. The pan was still hot and the eggs cooked quickly. She turned them once before sliding two onto his plate and one onto hers. The toast came up and she placed both slices on his plate.
She sat across from him at the table because he liked them to have breakfast together. He buttered his toast and added grape jelly before using his fork to break the eggs. The yolk pooled like yellow blood and he used his toast to sop it up.
"What are you going to do today?" he asked. He used his fork to cut another piece of egg. Chewing.
"I was going to do the windows and the laundry," she said.
"The sheets probably need a wash, too, huh? After our fun last night?" he said, waggling his eyebrows. His hair was pointing in different directions and there was a piece of egg at the corner of his mouth.
She tried not to show her revulsion. Instead, she changed the subject.
"Do you think you'll get a conviction in the Preston case?" she asked.
He leaned back and rolled his shoulders before hunching over his plate again.
"That's up to the DA. Higgins is good, but you never know. Preston has a shyster lawyer and he's going to try to twist all the facts around."
"I'm sure you'll do fine. You're smarter than he is."
"We'll see. I just hate that it's in Marlborough. Higgins wants to prep me Tuesday night, after court finishes for the day."
Erin knew all of this already and she nodded. The Preston case had been widely publicized and the trial was due to start on Monday in Marlborough, not Boston. Lorraine Preston had supposedly hired a man to kill her husband. Not only was Douglass Preston a billionaire hedge-fund manager, but his wife was a scion of society, involved in charities ranging from art museums and the symphony to inner-city schools. The pretrial publicity had been staggering; a day hadn't gone by in weeks without one or two articles on the front page and a top story on the evening news. Megamoney, lurid sex, drugs, betrayal, infidelity, assassination, and an illegitimate child. Because of the endless publicity, the trial had been moved to Marlborough. Kevin had been one of several detectives assigned to the investigation and all were scheduled to testify Wednesday. Like everyone else, Erin had been following the news but she'd been asking Kevin questions every now and then about the case.