Rachel fully recovered from her injuries. I ended up doing the reconstructive work on her ear myself. Her bravery got major play in the press. She received credit for smashing the baby-smuggling ring. The FBI rehired her. She requested and received a post in St. Louis. We live together. I love her. I love her more than you can imagine. But if you are expecting a totally happy ending, I’m not sure I can give you one.
As of now, Rachel and I are still together. I cannot imagine living without her. I think about losing her and it makes me physically ill. Yet I’m not sure that’s enough. There is a lot of baggage here. It confuses things. I understand about her making that late-night call and showing up outside the hospital—and yet, I know those acts eventually led to death and destruction. I don’t blame Rachel, of course. But there is something there. Monica’s death has given our relationship a second chance. That feels strange. I tried explaining all of this to Verne when he visited. He told me that I’m a dumb-ass. I think he’s probably right.
The doorbell rings. There is a tug on my leg. Yes, it’s Tasha. She is fully acclimated to having me in her life now. Children, after all, adapt better than adults. Across the room, Rachel is on the couch. She is sitting with her legs curled under her. I look at her, then at Tasha, and I feel the wondrous blend of bliss and fear. They—bliss and fear—are constant companions. Rarely does one venture out without the other.
“One second, pumpkin,” I say to her. “Let’s go answer the door, okay?”
“Okay.”
The UPS man is there. He has packages. I bring them inside. When I look at the return address, I feel the familiar ache. The little sticker tells me that they are from Lenny and Cheryl Marcus of Kasselton, New Jersey.
Tasha looks up at me. “My present?”
I never told the police about Lenny. There was no evidence anyway—only his confession to me. That wouldn’t stand up in court. But that’s not why I decided not to say anything.
I suspect Cheryl knows the truth. I think maybe she knew from the beginning. I flash back to her face on the stairs, the way she snapped when Rachel and I arrived at their house that night, and now I wonder if it was out of anger or fear. I suspect the latter.
The fact is, Lenny was right. He did do it for me. What would have happened if he had just left the house? I don’t know. It might have been even worse. Lenny asked me if I would have done the same in his place. Back then, probably not. Because maybe I wasn’t that good a man. Verne, I bet, would have. Lenny was trying to protect my daughter without sacrificing his own family. He just messed up.
But man, I miss him. I think about how big a part of my life he was. There are times I reach for the phone and begin dialing his number. But I never finish the call. I won’t speak to Lenny again. Not ever. I know that. And it hurts like hell.
But I also think about little Conner’s inquisitive face at the soccer game. I think about Kevin playing soccer and Marianne’s hair smelling of chlorine from her morning swim practice. I think about how beautiful Cheryl had become since she had the children.
I look down at my daughter now, safe and with me. Tasha is still gazing up. It is indeed a present for her from her godfather. I remember the first time I met Abe, that strange day at the Airport Marriott. He told me that you shouldn’t do the wrong thing for the right reason. I thought about that a lot before deciding what to do about Lenny.
In the end, well, chalk it up as “too close to call.”
I mix it up sometimes. Is it the wrong thing for the right reason or the right thing for the wrong reason? Or are they same? Monica needed to feel love, so she deceived me and got pregnant. That was how it all started. But if she hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t be staring down at the most wonderful creation I would ever know. Right reason? Wrong reason? Who’s to say?
Tasha tilts her head and twitches her nose at me. “Daddy?”
“It’s nothing, sweetheart,” I say softly.
Tasha gives me a big, elaborate kid shrug. Rachel looks up. I see the concern on her face. I take the package and place it high up in the closet. Then I close that door and pick up my daughter.