Center of Gravity (28 page)

“This took some doing. I searched for hours.” He turns over the envelope in his hands. “I found it in my Bible, of all places. No wonder I hadn't seen it in a while—Big Guy's probably trying to tell me something,” Frank jokes and points at the ceiling.

His face gets flat and serious then. “I think this might give some solid answers. You know, about Karen and Mitchell. How their relationship was at the end.”

“Really?” I unfold the papers inside. It's a travel itinerary. Airline tickets, a hotel, rental car. I look up at Frank.

“The Bahamas. I remembered about the trip a few days after you left. It was for their anniversary, but Karen had planned on bringing Jack too.” Frank puts his elbows on his knees, leans forward. “So there you have it. Luckily I don't throw much out.”

My pulse quickens. I look at the dates of the trip, check my calendar, and do the math. “The trip was scheduled for after the book tour ended. She had the whole thing planned.”

She wasn't leaving him.

Frank replies, “She left the itinerary here because it was supposed to be a surprise. She knew Mitchell would find it at the house. There were no secrets there, as you could guess. He'd go through drawers, open all of the mail, any packages. Karen knew he'd come across it, one way or another.”

The numbers and words blur. “Mitchell told me, and Jack—everyone—that Karen left him.” My hand shakes. “This proves . . . this means . . . he wasn't honest with me. With us.”

“I'm sorry, sweetheart.” Frank heaves a sigh. “In his defense, Mitchell might have actually talked himself into believing it. He's always had an overactive imagination, jumping to this conclusion or that.” He rubs the back of his neck.

I stare at Frank, still clutching the itinerary. I smooth it out, study it again. “Do you remember how she was . . . when she dropped this off?”

“She was always cheerful, but Karen was tired then. She had a lot on her mind.” Frank rubs his forehead. “Getting ready to start the book tour. She wasn't happy about being away from Jack, I know that much.”

Pain pierces my heart. “Of course,” I whisper.

We sit in silence, both absorbed in thought.

Finally, Frank clears his throat. “After Karen was gone, I always hoped they'd come visit. That Mitchell'd have a change of heart once he had time to heal. An epiphany about needing the only family he's got. Or I figured Jack would call and get someone to drive him down. He'd show up on my doorstep, like you did.”

Frank wheels over to the bureau. He picks up a small, rectangular package and clutches it to his chest with one hand. “This was Karen's birthday gift to Jack. She brought it over before the accident, said it was a big surprise. I never opened it. Maybe I should have, but it didn't feel right.”

Frank stretches an arm out so that I can reach Jack's gift.

“I'll make sure he gets it,” I promise, taking the package and easing it into my bag. “He's a special, special boy. You know, I adopted him.”

“Then you
can
bring Jack here.” Frank smiles broadly and slaps his thigh. “Great! I'm sure he's so grown up.”

“He's taller than me. And I'd love to bring him here, Frank,” I answer and try to choose my words carefully. “But it's complicated with Mitchell right now. And Jack.”

“How complicated?”

“Very. There's no good way to say this.” I take a deep breath. “Jack thinks you've . . . passed away.”

Frank's smile collapses. “What?”

I wince, furious at Mitchell for the hurt he's causing his father. Heart in my throat, I reach into my bag and pull out a photo. The
one of Jack and baby Sam. He examines the picture.“Jack doesn't know a thing about you living here. I'm certain.”

Frank tugs out a white handkerchief and wipes his forehead. “Why? What did I do to deserve being cut off from my own grandchild?” He crumples up the cloth in his wrinkled hands. “I asked a few questions. Mitchell didn't like it.”

“You did nothing wrong,” I say, move closer, and touch his shoulder, the flannel shirt soft under my fingertips.

“I pressed him so hard because I wanted him to get some help after Karen died,” Frank insists. “I drove him away.”

“No. Mitchell chose to leave and take Jack. Now he's done the same to me.”

Frank's head jerks up. “What did you say?”

“He left. He filed for divorce without me knowing. He wants full custody of the boys and is doing everything in his power to get it.”

“Ava!” Frank rubs his temples, distraught.

I cross my arms, clenching my elbows tight. “I'm worried, Frank,” I tell him. “If he finds out I'm here, I don't know how he'll react. He's been irrational. So angry. I don't want anyone else to get hurt.”

“Don't worry about a thing.” Frank tips his head toward his gun case, tries to look offended. “I'm a lot tougher than I look.”

We share a smile. “Good,” I say. “Maybe what you found, the itinerary, will help convince Mitchell about Karen. It's a start. We're working with a psychologist. She's seeing me and the boys—”

Frank holds up a shaking hand to stop me. “Ava . . . did you say . . . boys?”

Heart in my throat, I reach into my bag and pull out a photo. The one of Jack and baby Sam. He examines the picture.

“I did, Frank. This is your new grandson.”

CHAPTER 51

MITCHELL

THURSDAY, APRIL 29

Isabel dresses me down in Spanish the second I walk into the apartment. She's made one of my favorite dishes—roasted Poblano peppers battered with her airy egg coating—but tonight I've kept her waiting.

“Chile rellenos will be cold.” She urges me toward the kitchen. “Eat!”

Dutifully, and only for Isabel, I oblige, taking a forkful of the dish, smothered in her spicy roasted tomato salsa. The flavors burst in my mouth—lime, cracked pepper, and garlic. The fried coating is toasted to golden perfection, matched only by the smooth melted Monterey Jack cheese.

“Mmm.” I widen my eyes as she hovers close. “Isabel, you've outdone yourself this time.”

She beams with pride and clucks a few more times, pointing at the clock. Nodding and smiling, I guide her toward the front door, anxious to shoo her home.

“Yes,
sí
,
sí
.” I promise to be home on time for tomorrow's Bingo game, offer my best smile, and slip her an extra hundred-dollar bill. “
Gracias
, Isabel.”

As I pat the small bulge in my jacket and smooth the lapel, I look around the kitchen, searching for a hiding place.

“Dad?” Jack's hushed voice floats from the bedroom into the hallway.

I stiffen, my eyes darting from the shelves to the cabinets and back again. I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhale, and duck my head into the boys' room.

Sam is snoring on his back, arms above his head. The moonlight finds a path to his chest, rising and falling with each breath. Jack is next to him, flipping through channels, the light from the small television flashing and dancing off the walls.

“Yes?” I ask, not stepping inside.

“Sam had a bad day,” Jack says, almost to himself. He doesn't look up.

A flash of annoyance stabs at me. “What'd you do to fix it, son?” The gun pokes at my rib cage. It was my intention to hide it first thing. But Isabel, the chile rellenos, and my kids have made that impossible.

He rolls on his back. “I tried a bunch of stuff. He didn't want to play,” Jack mumbles and turns away, clutching a pillow.

I grit my teeth. “Well, I guess everyone has a bad day, even babies. He seems fine now. I'm going to grab a glass of water, son. Be right back.”

In the kitchen, I rummage on the top shelf, far out of Isabel's reach. After sliding the weapon between firm sacks of flour and sugar, I pat the thick bags back in place.
There.

As I move away from the shelves, something glints. A silver rectangle wedged behind a pasta holder. I resist the urge to flick on the lights, rub my tired eyes.
Forget it. Get some sleep.
It's probably a toy, almost drained of batteries, or a kitchen appliance in need of resetting. It blinks again.
Argh. The last thing I need is a timer going off at midnight.
I push the container to one side and snatch up the object.

At first my mind refuses to comprehend it. I know what it is. It's the why that bothers me more. Why is a brand-new cell phone hidden in my kitchen? One I've never seen before. Isabel's? I turn it over
in my hand and shake my head. Isabel's is several generations old and small, a dinosaur. As I power on the screen and stare at the lock code, I clench my jaw.
Might as well have Ava written all over it.
Slowly, deliberately, I walk back to Jack's room. This time I lean against the door frame, keeping my stance open and casual.

“What'cha watching?” Inside, my ribs contract with fury. My blood is on fire, ready to spew.

He barely glances back.
Super Friends. Justice League of America
. Jack turns down the volume a notch. “Season 1, Episode 7: ‘The Giants of Doom.' ”

“Really?” I say the word carefully, as if it has to be measured. My body tightens, but I gaze at Jack with forced calm.

This time he looks up. “ ‘The Final Challenge' is on next.”

How appropriate.

“Want to watch it with me?” he asks, unable to muster an ounce of enthusiasm.

This is the thanks I get.

“Actually, we need to have a talk.”

Jack's expression sours. “But, Dad,” he complains and points at the television. “It's almost over.”

I step in front of the screen and click off the program. “It's over now. And we'll talk when I say so.” The cell phone is in my back pocket. “Has Ava tried to get in touch with you?”

Jack squirms in his seat, pokes out his bottom lip.

“Have you talked to her? I need an answer.” The air-conditioner kicks on, drowning out his reply. “I can't hear you.”

There's a struggle going on behind the invisible wall he's building up. I have to break through before the last stone is in place.

“Don't make me.” Jack's eyes fill with tears. “It's not fair.” He tucks his legs under his body and shrinks down farther.

I kneel down and grab his shirt. “You need to answer the question.”

“No,” Jack says, struggling. “I'm not taking sides. You can't make me choose.”

He wants to leave too.

“Choose?” I clench my teeth and pull at the material, balling it in my fist. “There is no choice. You don't get to choose. Family sticks with family. Blood with blood. It's you and me. And Sam. Forever.”

Jack rears back, closes his eyes, and clamps his mouth shut.

I will not be ignored.
With both hands I yank Jack to his feet, digging my fingers into the flesh and bone. I stick the cell phone in front of his face. “She gave this to you, didn't she?” I squeeze tighter and shake him until his head bounces like an arcade pinball, then toss him back into the chair.

Jack falls, arms and legs askew. “Y-yes, sir.” Then he raises his chin, a flash of defiance in his dark eyes. “But listen—”

Rage builds in my throat, then, bubbling up and bursting out of every pore. “Don't you dare talk back to me!” I raise my hand back and slap his face hard. A whip-crack sound. My fingers leave a perfect imprint on my son's cheek. At the corner of his mouth, a tiny bead of blood pricks to the surface, dark on his fair skin.

Jack grabs his face. Reddish-purple blotches appear on his arms where I shook him. His shirt collar is torn. His breath, ragged, heaves with the rise and fall of his chest. Most surprisingly, his cheeks stay dry.
It's Ava. She's turned him against me. Brainwashed my child. Told him lies.

“Son.” I cup his chin and turn his head as if I'm handling the tips of butterfly wings. “I'm sorry. I need to make sure you hear me and pay attention. Your mother—sneaking around like she does—slipping you cell phones and God knows what else . . . that's what caused all of this. She made me lose my head, just for a minute.” I step away and tap my temple. “We just have to forget about her. Stick together—you, Sam, and me. We're a team.”

Jack, wide-eyed, manages a slight nod.
Poor kid. He's just worn out. All of this stress from Ava.

A surge of excitement rushes through me. “Listen, buddy, I have a great idea. Let's just get away. The three of us. We'll go somewhere, kick back, take a little vacation. Who knows, Disney World, Universal, one of those theme parks? What do you say? It'll be fun. We'll leave tomorrow night!” I say with a flourish and rub my hands together in anticipation.

A flicker appears in Jack's eyes.

“Sure, Dad.”

“Good, son,” I say. “That's the right answer.”

When I pull him close, Jack's body stiffens. Finally, one thin arm reaches around my waist. The other follows. It's then that I release him.

Without another word, Jack shuffles toward the bathroom. He shuts the door behind him, a soft click.
Tomorrow. A fresh start. And everything will be different. I promise.

CHAPTER 52

JACK

FRIDAY, APRIL 30

We're on the way to Ava's. Our old house. I want to tell Sam—he'd be so excited if he knew. I watch out the window for a while, especially when we pass the country club. Men in bright pink and blue shirts cluster together, all holding silver clubs. The greens, rolling and smooth, are movie-perfect, the Crayola colors of shamrock and mountain meadow.

When we pass the last hole, and rows of white carts, I glance over at Dr. Bennett. She sure uses her inhaler a lot. I think she's kind of worried about having Sam in the car. It took her twenty minutes to wrestle him into his car seat. She checks on him every five seconds in the rearview mirror.