Page 8 of Two Kinds of Stranger (Eddie Flynn #9)

Eddie

On the drive to Riverhead, I thought how strange life can be.

I loved my ex-wife.

Christine was one of the smartest people I know, which made it somehow even more incomprehensible that she had married me at some point.

Maybe the fact she divorced me speaks more to her intelligence than hooking up with me in the first place.

We met in law school. She was idealistic.

I was realistic. That was the conman in me.

She was a better lawyer. Fastidious and straight down the line.

She stuck by me, through alcohol rehab and beyond, for longer than I could ever have expected.

It was never going to end well. Of course, we have Amy from that marriage, and I know she’s the best thing in both of our lives.

My practice brought the wrong kind of attention to our family, and I found myself keeping my distance from my wife and child.

In the final years of our relationship, we were separating and getting back together and then falling apart again.

I think Christine did the right thing when she pulled the plug.

I had romantic ideas of finding a no-risk job and enjoying the quiet family life.

But I am not a quiet man, and sooner or later someone would come to me for help, and I would not be able to turn my back.

That’s part of what makes me a bad father and a bad husband.

I help those in terrible need and sometimes that brings trouble.

No matter how much I wanted Christine, I knew she and Amy would have a happier, safer and more contented life without me in it so much.

When Christine met Kevin, at first I was jealous. I hated him. But I came to realize that Christine’s and Amy’s happiness meant more to me than my own. I knew he would make her happier than I ever could.

And being apart from me would keep them safe. It broke my heart to let Christine go, but I did it because I loved her.

Amy wouldn’t say what was going on over the phone.

Just that Christine was in trouble. Her mom would never call me and ask for help.

Too proud and probably too smart. And, more than likely, she didn’t need my help.

Christine was a strong woman, stronger than her new husband, Kevin, and my solutions to some kinds of problems are a little too unorthodox for my ex-wife’s liking.

I pulled up outside Amy’s school, killed the engine and sent her a text message.

Do you need me to come in and sign you out?

Her reply was quick.

I already faked Kevin’s signature.

The doors to the school opened and Amy walked out with her book bag slung over her shoulder. It had been two weeks since I’d last seen her. She looked like she’d grown. Her hair seemed longer and it had definitely lost its summer shades.

Shrugging the bag from her shoulder, she got into the passenger seat, kissed me on the cheek and buckled her seatbelt.

‘Thanks for coming, Dad,’ she said.

‘What the hell is going on with your mother? I’ve been worried sick driving over here.’

It was right then that I noticed Amy was looking over her shoulder, checking the side mirrors.

‘Did you just ditch school? You worried the principal is going to come chasing after you?’

‘Nah, it’s fine. I signed out. I promise. Look, Mom is worried about some asshole coming after Kevin . . . ’

It wasn’t like Amy to use bad language in front of me. I guessed she was at the age where it was kind of acceptable. As long as the language didn’t get too salty.

‘What asshole?’

‘I overheard Mom and Kevin arguing about it a while back. One of Kevin’s cases. Some guy lost a lot of money because of a problem with inheritance law, or something. I don’t know what. All I know is this guy is bad news and your name was mentioned.’

‘My name?’ I asked as I pulled out onto the street, headed for Christine and Kevin’s home.

‘Mom and Kevin were arguing. She was mad at him. She said she wanted a quiet life. That she divorced you because of all the trouble you got into . . . ’

Amy suddenly realized what she had said, and the uncompromising way it had come out.

She always told the unvarnished truth and often it was only after a word had been spoken that she realized the weight of it.

In this way, like so many others, she was just like her mom.

I was afraid that forging Kevin’s signature was a little too much like me .

‘Sorry, Dad. She was pretty upset about the whole thing. She cried.’

‘She cried?’

Amy nodded.

Christine hardly ever cried. She wasn’t the type. Kept all her emotions bottled up inside, the Irish way.

‘Must be serious,’ I said. ‘So has he threatened your mom, or Kevin?’

‘I don’t know. I think so. Kevin seemed afraid of this guy.’

‘Kevin’s afraid of his own shadow,’ I said, without meaning it. It was a cheap shot, and I regretted it almost as soon as I’d said it.

‘He’s different from you, Dad. If that’s what you mean.’

‘So why didn’t you call me before? More to the point, why didn’t your mom call me?’

‘I asked her to call you yesterday. She said it would only make things worse.’

She knew me too well.

‘So has he done anything, this guy?’

‘We don’t know for sure. He hasn’t broken the law, anyway. Kevin says he thinks the guy followed him home last night. This morning Mom found a letter on the porch, addressed to Kevin.’

My hands tightened on the steering wheel, making the leather squeak.

‘What did the letter say?’

‘I don’t know, but it mentioned our family. I heard them arguing about it.’

My jaw clamped down.

‘Your mom should’ve called me. She contact the police?’

‘I think so. They’re both trying to act normally so they don’t freak me out.

I saw this guy across the street once, from my bedroom window.

He’s creepy. They tell me not to worry, but I know they’re really worried.

Mom is working from home. Won’t go out. Insists Kevin drives me to school and back.

I just don’t want to see her like this. She’s acting really strange.

She even got a new home-security system. ’

‘Thanks for calling me – I mean it. I hate to see your mom upset.’

‘I know,’ she said, with some sadness in her tone. ‘That’s why you gave her the divorce, right? So she could be happy.’ There was a little bite in that sentence that she probably meant.

‘I tried, Amy. But I couldn’t give her what she wanted, what she deserved. What you both deserved . . . ’

‘I wanted you to be my dad. That’s all I ever wanted from you,’ she said, and my chest tightened to absorb the impact from that one. ‘I need you to make her feel better. You can do that for me.’

Nobody can hurt you like the people you love.

I didn’t argue. She was right. I was wrong.

We drove on in silence, regret filling the space between us like a bad smell.

I pulled into the pea-gravel driveway of Amy’s home. A white house sitting on a wide green lawn in a quiet suburban area where most American families can only dream of living. A big house, with large windows and a porch. Two-car garage.

As I stopped the car and got out, I heard footsteps approaching, with purpose, on the gravel. The footsteps belonged to a pair of black leather boots, with light blue jeans pulled over them, a white knitted sweater and dark hair tied back.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Christine, her arms folded. Then she saw Amy and her expression changed – like her question had already been answered. ‘Oh, I see. Anything you want to tell me, Amy?’

‘I called Dad. He can help . . . ’

Throwing up her arms in frustration, Christine did a one-eighty on the gravel and marched right back to the house, shaking her head the whole way.

Amy ran after her, shouldering her bag. I followed, around the corner of the house to the front porch.

I saw Amy follow her mother inside, and there, standing on the porch, was Kevin.

He wore tan chinos and a blue button-down Oxford shirt.

His hands were by his sides. His right hand held a silver revolver.

Kevin forced a smile as he saw me approach.

‘Eddie,’ he said, nodding in greeting.

‘Hi, Kevin, maybe we should talk.’

He gestured for us to go inside. As I stepped over the threshold, I glanced over my shoulder, saw Kevin scanning the neighborhood, the gun tight in his fist. As he turned his attention to the house, he saw that I’d noticed him checking the street.

He tried to force another smile, but gave up halfway.

The hallway had black and white tile and a grand staircase, with an alcove underneath it.

In it was a coat rack and a bench with shoes stored underneath.

Kevin was in his thick woolen slippers. I heard Amy’s voice in the kitchen and followed the sound of her protests and her mother’s bootheels on the tile.

Then Christine’s voice. She was speaking through clenched teeth – always a bad sign.

On the Christine scale of pissed-off , clenched teeth ranked way above shouting.

I had a lot of practice in gauging my ex-wife’s levels of rage.

Both Amy and Christine bit their tongues when I entered the kitchen.

‘Somebody want to tell me what’s going on? Amy called me and said you were in trouble. Something to do with a guy stalking you because of an inheritance case.’

‘Amy, you should’ve told us you were going to call your father,’ said Kevin, but in a placatory tone. He was making a point, in an attempt to close the matter and move on.

‘I need permission to call my dad, now?’ said Amy.

Christine gave her a look, side-eye. A warning – don’t you dare. That shut up Amy. She was just as smart as her mother.

‘There’s nothing you can do, Eddie,’ said Kevin. ‘I’ve already obtained a restraining order.’

I’d had no idea this thing, whatever it was, had gotten that far.

‘Who is this guy? Who exactly is threatening you?’ I asked.

Kevin approached the kitchen counter and upon it, lying open, was a lockbox, with a digital number keypad, for the gun in his hand. He put the piece inside.