She sits in the High-Ho Saturday evening, which closed early today and will not open again until Tuesday. She has left the car she’s using, a bright red Toyota with Maryland tags, in the lot. From where she’s sitting—behind the bar, but to the side, so she has a view through the window—she can see the light on in room 3 at the Valley View. She decided to leave the door unlocked, which is a little risky, but the manager knows where she is if anything happens, says he’ll keep an ear out.
But for the first time in almost a year, Polly can admit to herself that she has no idea what’s going to happen. Which is not to say that all her careful plans have proceeded as she hoped over the past year. Quite the opposite. She did not foresee how long things would take, that’s for sure. She was not prepared for Gregg’s reactions—the macho posturing of last summer, the sudden dedicated daddy game he’s playing now.
She did not plan for Adam, for love. No one plans for love, much less decides to love a man she cannot trust. But maybe that will be okay. She can work out the Adam problem later. First, she needs to get through the next few hours. She has left her trail of bread crumbs and all she can do is wait and see who comes through the door.
The door at which she is aiming Mr. C’s gun.
The crunch of gravel, the rattle of a doorknob. A man’s shape fills the door, backlit by the neon of the Valley View sign. Even in silhouette, she knows him instantly. The shoulders are broad, the posture perfect.
Adam.
Fuck, she’s wrong again.
46
“Polly?”
“Hi, Adam.”
“What are you doing?”
“Working a little overtime.”
She puts the gun down on the bar. Adam walks over to her. It is nine o’clock, the eve before Christmas Eve, Christmas Eve’s Eve. Was it really only forty-eight hours ago that he thought he would be down on one knee in this spot, asking a woman to marry him? This woman, standing vigil with a handgun she probably doesn’t even know how to use.
“Whose car is that out front?”
“Mine. Or used to be. But I would think you would know that. I assumed it was in your dossier on me.”
“My dossier?”
“Isn’t that what private detectives call their reports? Remember I didn’t go to Oberlin, only community college. But you knew that, too. You know where I went to high school and the dates of my marriages, all that stuff. It must have gotten confusing at times, trying to remember what you were supposed to know and what I hadn’t told you yet.”
He wants to hold her. But there is the bar between them. The bar and the gun.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “There never seemed to be a right time to tell you. Once we were in love—did it really matter?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t have the luxury of thinking about things like that. There are more pressing matters.”
Adam looks at the gun on the bar. He remembers thunder, an explosion. Which came first?
“Polly, did you kill Cath?” he asks.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“That’s honest, at least.”
She still hasn’t answered his question.
“Where did you go, Polly? Where have you been?”
“I went to Baltimore. Gregg told me earlier this month that he’s going to pursue full custody of Jani. That he might even expect child support from me, down the road, although he’s waiving it for now. Isn’t that rich? Of course, he doesn’t know that I have money coming to me. That was the whole point, to get out of that marriage before Gregg found out about the settlement. I’m guessing you know about that, too? I assume that’s why Irving hired you. He heard I had money, he wanted it. And not because he needed it, just to make things hard on me.”
“I get why you don’t want your ex to have your money, but if you’re not going to raise your kid, would it be the worst thing in the world to pay support if you can?”
“You don’t get anything.” Her tone is weary, impatient. “Come with me.”
She leads him out of the bar, across the street, to room 3. As she opens the unlocked door, he’s saying, “I don’t think this is the time to—” Although part of him thinks maybe it’s exactly the time, maybe it’s the only thing to do now. Maybe if they make love, he’ll remember why he loves her.
But the bed already has someone in it—a little girl with high color in her cheeks and dark, tight curls. It’s only seeing the girl, close up, that Adam registers how much she looks like her father—and how much she looks like Adam. He couldn’t see that before, but he and Gregg bear a strong resemblance to each other.
“Jani,” Polly says. “But, again, you know that. You’ve seen us together, right?”
He nods. “At the beach. Before you left her.”
“I figured I was only going to be gone for a few months, tops. I didn’t realize how long things would take. I thought I could get to Reno, get a divorce in six weeks. Belleville wasn’t part of the plan. Neither were you. I had so many lovely plans. I sure didn’t expect her father to fight me for custody. I assumed he’d be going crazy after a few months alone with her, would beg me to take her off his hands.”
“You kidnapped her.”
“She’s mine. There’s no custody order, no law broken. I took a bus to Baltimore Thursday afternoon. Spent the night in the bus station, which was interesting. On Friday, while Gregg was at work, I went to the old house, packed up a bag for her, put it in the trunk of the Toyota. I still had my keys, after all. Then all I had to do was let myself in about eleven, when the house was dark, and pick her up. She wasn’t even that surprised to find me carrying her. I think she always knew I would come for her. I drove straight to the Valley View, checked in about one a.m.”
“Why did you bring her to the motel instead of our place?”
“I didn’t want to involve you.” It’s the first thing she’s said that doesn’t ring true. After all, she was sitting across the street, in the dark, with a gun.
“Involve me? Like you said, there’s nothing illegal about a mom having her kid. He could call you in for auto theft, I guess, although if your name is on the title—”
“It is.”
“Then I don’t think the cops can get involved. But your ex must be going crazy.”
“He shouldn’t be. I left a note that I was taking her for Christmas and would bring her back next week. He had her for all other holidays this year. It’s only fair.”
Adam has never had a kid, but he’s pretty sure that sneaking into your estranged husband’s house and taking your daughter two days before Christmas is guaranteed to make a man crazy. And he’s pretty sure that Polly knows that, too.
The girl stirs in her sleep. “Let’s go back to the High-Ho,” Polly says. “She’s a light sleeper.”
“Is that safe, leaving her here?”
“Safe enough. I told the desk clerk to keep an ear out for her, that I had to do some inventory for overtime pay, but that my daughter was sleeping.” Her voice positively caresses those last few words.
“What about the gun?”
“I heard someone pulling up and I got a little scared.”
But Mr. C keeps his gun in his desk. And you don’t do inventory in the dark.
They cross the highway, head into the still-dark bar. Now they are on the stools, just as he imagined it. Where is the velvet box? Back at their apartment, still hidden in that little grove of tampons. Maybe that’s for the best. This isn’t the time for a romantic proposal. Instead of a blue velvet box between them on the bar, there’s a gun.
“Polly, what are you really up to?”
“I’m going to run, Adam. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. I’m going to disappear with her, make him divorce me in absentia. Once we’re divorced, I’ll be okay to use my money. With money, I can fight for her.”
“He has rights, Polly.”
“Don’t talk to me about his rights. There’s already a new woman, with her own kid. I know Gregg. He’ll marry her. She’ll favor her kid. Then they’ll probably have a kid together and Gregg will favor that kid. Jani’s a strong little girl. That’s why I could risk being away from her for a few months. But she’s not strong enough to rely on Gregg. No one is that strong.”
“Polly, did you kill Cath?”