Reunion at Red Paint Bay - By George Harrar Page 0,70
how I felt?”
She stood up and slung her pocketbook over her shoulder. “No, I don’t understand how you could let a man drown and maybe rape a girl. I don’t know what to do with that information, Simon. It’s just incredibly disturbing.”
“So …?”
“I need some time to sort things out.”
Take as much time as you need occurred to him as a sensitive response, or I’m sorry this is so hard on you. But he didn’t feel like being sensitive. He didn’t care if it was hard on her. “You expect me to just sit back and give you time to sort things out?”
Her hand fished around in her pocketbook. He couldn’t imagine what she was looking for. “That’s exactly what I expect.”
“Am I exiled to my office, or can I come home?”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she said quickly.
Not a good idea right now or for a while, but open-ended, for as long as she deemed it so. Her choice. She took out two twenty-dollar bills and tossed them on the table.
He stared at the money, taking a moment to comprehend. “You’re paying your half like we’re on a date?” She took a step and he grabbed for her. “Amy—”
She looked down at his hand circling her forearm. “Let go of me, Simon.”
“I will, but listen for a minute.”
“I said let go!”
Conversations stopped at the other tables. The waiter coming out the swinging door pivoted on his heels and went back in. An elderly couple leaned into the aisle, not to miss a word.
Simon’s fingers loosened their grip. “Don’t do this,” he whispered.
Amy shook off his hand and it swung over the edge of the table, knocking over her wineglass. Red ran across the white linen cloth. They both watched it for a moment. Then she walked away, a few quick steps to the door, and was gone. Through the front windows he saw the shadow of her get into the Volvo. He had no chance to tell her to drive carefully, as he always did.
It was the first time he had ever slept overnight at the Register. The old sofa in the conference room was comfortable enough, just a few inches short for him to stretch out all the way, but wide enough that he could curl on his side, his legs pulled up, the way he slept anyway. A day passed, then two. He found small reasons to call home, things that he normally took care of and she wouldn’t think about. The mortgage payment was due. The painter might stop by to give an estimate on the house. She should double-check the back door at night because the lock often popped open on its own. He didn’t ask to come back during these quick calls, and she didn’t invite him.
The last time he phoned she said she was cooking dinner and turned the phone over to Davey. “Hey Dad,” the boy said, “what’s going on?”
Mom kicked me out of the house—he couldn’t bring himself to say these words. There was too much to explain. “I’m staying at the office for a few days.”
“Because you and Mom had a big fight, right?”
How much had she told their son? He assumed she would be charitably vague. Still, he had promised Davey the truth. “You remember when I came home wet?” Simon said. “Mom got upset when I told her how it happened.”
“Told you lying’s better.”
Was that the lesson—lie and you get to sleep in your own bed, tell the truth and you’re kicked out of the house? “Lying is what got me into this problem in the first place, Davey.”
“So when are you coming home?”
Ask your mother—that’s what Simon wanted to say. But he wouldn’t put Davey in the middle. “It’ll be a little while longer, kiddo.”
“You have to come home. Mom won’t let me out of her sight.”
“She’s just upset, Davey, hang in there.”
“She’s calling for dinner, Dad, gotta go.”
“Love you,” Simon said, just after the click on the other end.
The postcard said TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES, NEW MEXICO on the front, over a picture of a Western resort town nestled among the sandstone hills. Simon turned over the card and read, “The Bible says the truth will set you free. Has it? Faithfully …”
Paul Walker—undeniably Paul Walker. Simon looked closely at the postmark—just two days ago, three days after he had supposedly disappeared in the bay. Paulie was alive. Not drowned. Not killed.
“Good news, Mr. Howe?”
Simon looked up to see Rigero standing on the