Mrs. A finally reaches out to set her hand on mine. She waits for me to meet her eyes before she says, “And you’re a good man who’s never hesitated to do a single thing around this house. You helped with groceries and more, even though we never knew. And you introduced us to your wife, despite the fact she could have spilled all your secrets.”
Kate almostdidspill my secrets… And I can never tell the Andersons how satisfying her punishment was for both of us. Honesty is one thing. There are some things parents don’t need to know.
Kate should be in Baltimore by now. I should be with her. I should be helping her face whatever new hell has broken out with the Canton Crew.
But I say, “Of all the lies I told, that one felt the worst. When Kate and I got married…” This isn’t the time to burden them with stories of Irish mobsters. Instead, I say, “Both of you should have been there, but I was so wrapped up in the lie I was living… That’s another decision I wish I’d made differently.”
Talking about Kate is making me twitchy. I need to make sure she’s safe. I need to know what’s happening with Tarasov—how far our feeds have reached, if the crowd caught up with him or cops or the bratva.
“I know that look,” Mrs. A says. “Let me guess. You have some multi-million-dollar business deal you need to close by midnight tonight.”
I shake my head. I won’t lie to them. But I say, “It’s complicated.”
Mr. A huffs gently. “It always is, son.”
Mrs. A squeezes my hand. “Sometimes complicated things have simple solutions when you work on them with family.”
My heart squeezes hard in my chest.
Everyone deserves this sort of love. This sort of acceptance. I think of all the thrown-away kids I’ve known in my life, the ones I schemed with in detention, the ones locked up in juvie. What could they have done if they’d had Mr. and Mrs. A in their lives?
The Anderson-Wolf Family Foundation.
The words come to me, as if someone is whispering in my ear. We could help kids find the things they’re good at. Match them with adults who care enough to teach. To mentor.
An evil voice immediately whispers at the base of my brain—I’m just looking for a way to drop a hundred million dollars. I’m searching for another business deduction to offset my looming tax bill.
Another voice says I’m once again trying to buy the Andersons. I’m dreaming up the largest grocery-store-coupon scam in the history of the world. I’m slipping a gigantic wad of cash into the oatmeal box.
A third voice says to wait. To think. To plan. I have time. Not all our healing has to happen today. The Andersons and I can explore this idea together. We can test it. See if it works out.
The same way they tested bringing a juvenile delinquent into their home thirteen long years ago.
Mrs. A insists, “Cole Plutus Wolf, Iknowthat look on your face.”
“What look?” I try to seem innocent.
“You’re plotting something.’
“Plotting?”
“Planning,” Mr. A says, ever the peacekeeper.
“I’m not!” I protest. But then I remember I’m not lying to them anymore. “I am,” I say. “But I’m not sure it’s the right thing to do. I want more time to think about it.”
“That sounds like a very good idea,” Mrs. A says. She pushes back her chair. “Will we see you and Kate on Sunday?”
“There’s nothing in the world I want more,” I say. And that is absolutely the truth.
I stand to kiss her cheek. Mr. A reaches out to shake my hand. They both walk me to the door.
I’m already checking my phone for news about Tarasov as I cross the street to where Jacobson waits by the car.
45
KATE
Ilook up from my phone as we pull off the freeway for Baltimore. I just sent a text to Breagha, one she’ll see in an hour or two, when she wakes in Indonesia.
