driver’s back. Peter took up a good deal of the bench seat, what with his wide ass and tree-trunk thighs, but I was compressed into as small a space as possible, afraid to move.
Peter guffawed. “You always look so scared when I see you, Alison.” He apparently found this very funny.
“You scare me, Peter. You didn’t use to, but you do now,” I said as directly as I could.
He looked chagrined. “I hate to hear that.” He opened a small refrigerator next to his seat and waved a hand in front of it. “Orange juice? Iced coffee? Soda?”
I shook my head. “No, thank you.”
“How was Max’s wedding?” he asked.
I had gotten over the shock of knowing that Peter Miceli knew everything I did and every place I had been; I was actually becoming bored by it. I sighed. “It was fine, Peter. What is it that you want?” I asked, out of patience.
“Why didn’t you ever have children, Alison?”
That question did shock me. Not having children was something that I had made my peace with a long time ago, but hearing the question come from him made me feel sad and vulnerable all over again. I decided to keep the truth from him—that I wanted children desperately but had married a man who would go to great lengths not to have any—and offered a noncommittal shoulder shrug.
“Every woman wants children, don’t they?” he asked, studying my face for some indication of the truth.
“Some do. Some don’t. I’m one of the ones who don’t.” Tears were pushing at the back of my eyes, but through sheer force of will, I kept them there. He had hit a nerve and, emotional terrorist that he was, he knew it.
He nodded slowly. “I see.”
I stared back at him, holding his gaze.
He rubbed a hand over his bald head. “Well, as hard as it is for me to admit this, Alison, Kathy was pregnant when she died.”
I knew exactly where he was headed with this.
“Cut to the chase, Peter.” I lurched slightly to the right as the limo took a corner at a sharp angle.
He shot me a look, unhappy at being instructed as to what to do. “And as hard as it is for me to say this, Alison, I have become convinced that your ex-husband, Dr. Stark, was the father of Kathy’s baby.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “Oh, no, Peter, you’ve got that all wrong,” I said. “That’s not possible.”
In his expression was the apparent surprise that someone had questioned his judgment. Apparently, nobody ever told him that he was wrong. “I don’t think so, Alison.”
“Peter, Ray had a vasectomy while we were married.”
He looked confused. “Why would he do that?”
“Because we didn’t want children,” I lied. Ray was the one who didn’t want children.
It was Peter’s turn to laugh. “Alison, nice try, but that’s a ridiculous story. You don’t strike me as the career woman type.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know, career woman, all job, no kids. Not you, Alison. No way.”
This guy was good. He could see right through my lame story. But how could I make him believe the truth: that Ray had waited until I left for a teaching position overseas, had a vasectomy, and never told me?
Peter leaned forward and put his hands on his knees, staring at me. “You’re a terrible liar, Alison.” He put a hand on my knee and gave me a little squeeze. “Now why don’t you own up to the fact that your ex-husband was a sleaze and got a nineteen-year-old girl pregnant?”
I got a little panicky; we were treading in very dangerous waters. I looked out the window and saw that we were indeed heading toward my destination, but I knew that one false move, one transparent lie, and I would end up in the South Bronx with no way home again. Or worse.
Peter looked at me, his black eyes glistening slightly at the corners. “Cat got your tongue?” he asked, his voice getting hoarse.
“Here’s the deal, Peter,” I said, knowing that nothing was worse than an angry Peter Miceli. I decided to tell him the truth. “Ray didn’t want kids, but I did. He knew that from the day we got married. I went to Ireland one summer to teach and he had a vasectomy. He never told me until we were getting divorced.” I was babbling. Even I didn’t believe the story despite the fact that it was the truth. “It was a horrible betrayal. I’ll never forgive him.