Chapter 6.

6.

I’d packed a small overnight bag with clothes and a toothbrush but I didn’t bother finding a hotel; I wasn’t sure if I’d need one. I remembered that the penthouse apartment had a guest bedroom and I hoped Maggie might invite me to stay over. Maybe we’d stay up the whole night talking. Maybe we’d find a Waffle House in the morning and go out for pancakes.

These were stupid thoughts. I know that now. There are no limits to how far parents will go to deceive themselves.

It was late Tuesday afternoon when I crossed the Zakim Bridge and followed the familiar road back to Beacon Tower. This time, I simply left my Jeep in a vast employee parking lot, then crossed the street to enter the lobby. Once again, the beautiful Olivia was working the front desk and she welcomed me back with a warm smile. “It’s wonderful to see you, Mr. Szatowski,” she said. “How was your drive?”

“Pretty good, Olivia. Thank you. Do you need to see my license?”

“Oh, no, sir, you’re all set. Elevator D is right behind you. Enjoy your visit.”

I entered the familiar black metal box without buttons, and once again the elevator seemed to move of its own free will. The small digital screen flickered to life and tallied the numbers of the passing floors: 2–3–5–10–20–30–PH1–PH2–PH3. Then at last the doors parted and I was back in the apartment and Maggie was waiting for me—all dressed up in a shiny sleeveless gown and diamond earrings. “Dad! You made it!”

Her hair was longer and two shades darker than I remembered—she must have colored it since the wedding. She wore tall spindly heels that lifted her face to my level. She greeted me with a gentle embrace, taking great care not to jostle my sling. I pulled her closer and assured her that my arm was already healed. The doctor was going to remove the cast at the end of the week, so she was free to hug me without the risk of breaking anything.

The apartment had been redecorated. It still had the same floor plan with the same big windows overlooking the city skyline. But all the furniture was new and the black-and-white paintings were gone. They’d been replaced by a couple of tasteful prints from Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts. Sailboats and flowers in vases, that sort of thing.

“No more faces?”

She laughed. “Thank God, right? Those things always gave me the creeps.” She shivered at the recollection. “I was glad to put them in storage.”

I realized I was underdressed again. I’d worn a sweater and jeans because the bulky plaster cast made most other choices impossible, but Maggie looked like she was ready for the Academy Awards. “I didn’t realize we were going out,” I told her. “You said we would eat here.”

“We are. You’re totally fine. Everyone else is on the patio.”

I followed her across the living room, and with a sinking feeling I realized Errol Gardner and Gerry Levinson were waiting outside on the balcony, leaning against the railing with tumblers of bourbon. Maggie opened the sliding door and they greeted me with fake smiles.

“Frank Szatowski!” Errol said. “How’s the arm, my friend? We heard you took a real tumble.”

I ignored him and turned to my daughter. “What are they doing here?”

“This concerns all of us, Dad. I think it’s better if we work together. Just be transparent about everything.”

I realized Hugo was there, too. Standing at the far end of the patio and pretending to ignore my arrival. He studied the skyline with a flat, neutral expression.

And on one of the sofas, Sierra was slumped face down with her eyes closed, gently snoring. She’d kicked off her heels and the hem of her dress was riding up, leaving parts of her thong exposed.

“What happened to her?” I asked.

“Too many cocktails,” Gerry explained. With an affectionate smile, he reached for a blanket, shook it open, and carefully draped it across his wife’s body. “When you only weigh ninety-eight pounds, you really have to pace yourself.”

I couldn’t resist turning to Errol and asking after his wife. “How’s Catherine doing? Is she going to join us, too?”

He seemed disappointed with me, like I’d made a joke in poor taste. “It’s been a difficult year for her, Frank. She’s lost her only son.”

“But instead of staying home to support her, you’re here to see me. I’m flattered.”

Because I just didn’t care anymore. Or as the young Capaciti employees might say, I had zero fucks to give. Errol didn’t seem troubled by my sarcasm but Hugo tensed up, like he was just waiting for a signal to throw me off the balcony.

“Frank, I came here to express my appreciation to you. The information you found has a lot of value to a lot of people, and I know you could have made a different choice.”

“I brought it for Maggie. Not for you or anyone else. She’s the only reason I’m here.”

The glass door slid open and a smiling Lucia stepped outside, dressed in a white chef’s coat, and I thought I recognized a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. I imagined that she’d overheard a lot of conversations while doing her invisible labors in the kitchen, that she was probably burdened with lots of ugly and unpleasant secrets. Maybe she’d always known the wedding was a farce, that my daughter had been lying to me from the start. Because she seemed to understand how much it hurt me to be there. “It’s nice to see you again, Frank. Could I bring you something to drink? We have beer, or cocktails, or really anything you’d like.”

Over on the sofa, Sierra flopped onto her side and her blanket slipped to the floor, exposing her thong and bare bottom to the entire city skyline. Lucia was unflappable and pretended not to notice.

“Thank you, Lucia, but I’m only staying for a minute. Just a quick hello and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Maggie put up a small, polite protest. “Dad, are you sure? She’s made her famous roast duck. It takes seventy-two hours to prepare and it’s out of this world.”

I said I was very sorry to miss it but insisted I needed to get back to Stroudsburg.

“Some other time,” Lucia promised, and I think she knew the truth before I did: I was never coming back to the apartment; I would never sample Lucia’s cooking again. I waited until she was inside with the door closed before reaching for the map and passing it to my daughter.

“Aidan called it protection. I think he was trying to give me some kind of leverage. But I’m never going to do anything with it, Maggie. I only want good things for you. So you might as well have it.”

“Thank you, Dad. I appreciate it.”

My daughter studied the map before passing it to Errol and Gerry, and then they signaled for Hugo to come take a look as well. They all seemed unafraid to handle it with their bare hands, and I understood why a moment later, when Errol brought it over to the firepit and carefully fed the map to the flames. It took a moment to catch—and then with a flash the fire engulfed it, reducing the paper to a few flecks of ash. Over on the sofa, Sierra rolled onto her back and softly whispered in her sleep: “Don’t, don’t, don’t—”

Errol gently clapped his hands together, suggesting the problem had been resolved. “Frank, are you sure we can’t get you a drink? The traffic’s crazy right now. You may as well stay for a beer.”

I didn’t want to stay any longer than necessary. And I really didn’t want to say goodbye to Maggie in front of all these assholes, but she hadn’t left me with any choice. “Three years ago, you asked for my help and I let you down, and I’ve always felt bad about it. So I hope this makes up for it, Maggie. I only want the best for you.” There were a million other thoughts going through my head—so many more things I wanted to say—but I realized there was only time to make one last point: “If you ever get tired of all this, if you don’t want to be here anymore, you can always come home. Anytime you need a place to stay, I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I know, Dad. Thank you. Let me give you a hug.”

She stepped forward and put her arms around me, and I sure hoped this wasn’t the last time I’d ever see her but I realized it might be.

And I really couldn’t make sense of it. Somewhere inside her was this kid who loved to read Good Night, Gorilla . A kid who loved to play Hug Monster, a kid who loved strawberry pancakes with extra whipped cream. A sweet little girl who ran laughing through lawn sprinklers on hot summer days. I didn’t know what had happened to that kid. I didn’t know where I went wrong or how I screwed up, but I knew I would always love her, despite everything that came after. I broke away because I felt myself starting to cry and I was not going to let Errol see that. Come on, Frankie. Keep it together. I said goodbye and my voice was barely a whisper: “I love you, Maggie. Be good, okay?”

“All right, Dad. Safe travels.”

Then I turned and went for the patio door, and I heard Gerry clear his throat. “Frank, there’s just one more thing,” he said, reaching into his pocket for a small notebook. “Where’s the girl staying now?”

The question hung in the air, and I was still too choked up to understand it. “What girl?”

“Abigail Grimm. The girl who found the map.”

“She’s with my sister.”

Hugo brought his tablet computer over to Gerry and showed him the screen. “And your sister’s still at Eighteen Conover Road, unit one-zero-six?”

“Yes, but why does it matter?”

Gerry dismissed my question with a wave of his hand. “Just checking.”

“Checking for what?”

I looked from Errol to Maggie. Neither was willing to answer my question. “What’s happening here?”

At which point Gerry finally spoke up: “Our understanding is that Aidan gave the map to Abigail. Possibly by mistake, as you suspect. Or perhaps it was intentional. Maybe he wanted Abigail to have it. Maybe he shared other information with her. The truth is, we don’t know. And that’s a problem.”

“She’s only ten years old,” I reminded them.

“A very bright ten years old,” Gerry said. “With an incredible memory for detail. Your sister thinks she should go on Jeopardy!”

“Little pitchers have big ears,” Errol said. “She probably heard all kinds of rumors that weekend.”

Maggie reminded me that Abigail had even met Brody Taggart, when we’d first arrived in New Hampshire. “Brody told you that Aidan killed Dawn Taggart and hid her body at the camp. Then three days later, Aidan gave Abigail a map of the camp with an X on it. Sooner or later, she’s going to connect the dots.”

“And do what? She’s in fifth grade. She sleeps with stuffed animals.”

Errol spoke in a calm, level voice that suggested everything would be fine. “We’re just trying to stay ahead of the situation, Frank. The bottom line is: you’re family and we trust you. We know you want the best for Margaret. And we trust Tammy for the same reason. But the girl is a wild card. An unknown variable. She’ll piece together the puzzle, eventually. And one day when she’s grown-up and homeless and pregnant and addicted to drugs, she might try to trade on this information. So our challenge is: How do we prevent that from happening?”

As Errol explained all this, I noticed Hugo typing a message into his phone. “What are you doing?”

He ignored me until he’d finished typing the message and sent it off. “You needn’t concern yourself, Mr. Szatowski. You’ve already done the most important thing, which was bringing the problem to our attention. We can take care of the rest.”

Over on the sofa, Sierra awakened from her nap, sat up, and smacked her lips together. She looked like she’d accidentally swallowed a bug. “Sorry,” she murmured, before looking down at her legs and tugging her dress to a more modest length.

“No need to apologize,” Gerry assured her. “You’re just sleepy.”

She pinched two fingers between her lips and then carefully extracted a long length of hair, then studied it through bleary eyes. “This is definitely not one of mine.” Then she walked unsteadily to the edge of the balcony, tossed the hair over the railing, and watched the wind carry it away. Everyone seemed unconcerned, like this behavior was all perfectly normal.

“Maggie, I need you to translate this conversation. What are we actually talking about?”

She said a translation wasn’t necessary. “I think you understand the conversation perfectly.”

“And you’re okay with it?”

“I’m not happy about it. None of us want this to happen. But I understand why it needs to happen.”

And I suppose that’s when I knew I’d completely lost her. Up until that point, I’d been willing to rationalize just about anything. But this? It was so monstrous, so barbaric, so immoral and evil—

“There’s a silver lining we can all feel good about,” Gerry continued. “Next week, the Capaciti Cares Foundation will make a generous donation to foster care charities in Abigail’s name. Enough money to fund twenty-five college scholarships for disadvantaged young women. That’s twenty-five little Abigails getting a boost out of poverty toward a brighter future.”

At some point I stopped listening. I tried to imagine how it might happen. Every weekday, Abigail walked home from school through several busy intersections; there were multiple opportunities for a hit-and-run accident.

Or maybe it would happen at the condo. An attempted burglary gone wrong, an accidental house fire, maybe some glitch with the toaster oven.

Or maybe she would simply go missing. Maybe the police would discover her sweatshirt in the woods behind Tammy’s condo.

“Dad?” Maggie snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Did you hear what Gerry just said? About the scholarships?”

“When would all this happen?”

Gerry promised me I had nothing to worry about. “By the time you get home, it will all be over.”

He spoke with the confidence of an experienced attorney assuring his nervous client that everything was going to be fine. The plan was already in motion. Everything had been decided before I’d arrived. I checked the urge to reach for my phone and call Tammy, call the police, call anyone.

Errol leaned closer to me, interlacing his fingers and studying my expression. “Frank, are you okay? Is there anything we need to talk about?”

I forced myself to mirror his behavior. I knew I had to stay calm, to react in a way he would understand. Suddenly I wished I had asked Lucia for a drink, just so I could be holding a glass. A prop to draw attention away from my face.

“I didn’t want to bring her to the wedding,” I reminded him. “It was all Tammy’s idea. I told her it was a mistake.”

“I remember,” Errol said. “As I recall, you seemed pretty unhappy about it.”

“Exactly. She never should have been there in the first place. So I don’t really care how you handle the problem.”

Errol relaxed. “That’s good, Frank. That’s very understanding of you.”

“But if you want me to be okay with it, I’m going to need five thousand shares.”

For a moment, I worried that I hadn’t asked for enough, that my figure was too low to be convincing. But then Gerry started to object, saying I was in no position to make demands, and I realized I’d hit the bull’s-eye.

“You gave my sister a thousand shares just for coming to the wedding,” I reminded him. “And I brought you the map tonight on good faith. I was happy to leave here with nothing. But if you want me to be okay with this last part, if you want me to live with it, I need five thousand shares. In a brokerage account. By end of day tomorrow.” I turned to Maggie to finish making my case. “You know this is going to wreck your aunt Tammy. She’ll be devastated.”

“She’ll be fine, Dad. There’s a long line of kids waiting to take Abigail’s place.”

“No, Maggie. They’ll never trust her with another foster placement. They’ll take away her license and she’ll never forgive herself. And I’ll have to deal with the fallout. You know I will. Now tell them this is fair.”

My daughter showed the slightest hint of a smile, and then I recognized something in her expression that I hadn’t seen in a long time: respect. For the first time in years, I’d finally impressed her.

“I do think it’s fair,” she said. “But it’s not my decision to make.”

“You’re damned right it’s not,” Gerry said.

“I can handle this,” Errol told him. “Five thousand shares is a lot of money, Frank.”

He was looking into my eyes again, trying to measure the depths of my conviction, and I didn’t dare look away. I didn’t even blink. This was it, the moment of truth, and the best thing working in my favor was that Errol Gardner had never bothered to get to know me.

So now I could pretend to be anyone.

Finally, he reached for his bourbon and shrugged. “I can’t transfer that kind of stock overnight. There are certain precautions we take to avoid scrutiny. But give us seventy-two hours and you’ll have it. Fair enough?”

In other words: he believed me. But then of course he believed me. To men like Errol Gardner, my response was perfectly rational. In his worldview, every relationship was transactional—and when you found yourself with the upper hand, it was natural to exploit your advantage for maximum gain. Cooperation was for chumps. Grace was for losers.

“Seventy-two hours is fine,” I said.

He smiled. “Well, I guess this dinner is going to cost a little more than I expected. Are you sure you won’t stay and join us?”

I pointed out that I still had a long drive back to Stroudsburg—and much to deal with upon my return. “But I will use the restroom before I go.”

Maggie offered to show me the way but I told her I remembered how to find it. I left them on the balcony, crossed the living room, and followed the short hallway past the powder room and the closets and all the way back to the master bathroom. The door was ajar; I went inside and locked it. Someone must have recently showered, because there were traces of condensation on the mirror and wall tiles.

I immediately reached for my phone and called my sister. “Hey, Frankie, how’s—”

“Tammy, listen: Abigail isn’t safe.”

“What?”

“Get her out of your condo. Right now. Go to a hotel and don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Do you understand?”

“No! Not at all! Why would I—”

“The map, Tammy. They know she saw the map. They’re worried she’ll talk. Someone is coming to your condo right now.”

My sister called for Abigail, asking her to come downstairs and put on her sneakers. “We need to take a ride, kiddo.” Suddenly I could hear her bustling around her kitchen, gathering her wallet, keys, and coat. “This is all my fault,” she said in a low voice. “You were right, Frankie. I should have listened to you. What’s going to happen?”

“Just get out,” I told her. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

She had more questions but I didn’t have time to explain. I ended the call and then reached for the lid of the toilet tank. It was awkward and clumsy work with just one hand; I used the front of my leg to keep the lid from sliding out of my grasp, then carefully knelt down and set it on the tiled floor. The black plastic pouch was still duct-taped to the bottom, and I opened the medicine cabinet in search of something sharp, hoping for scissors and settling for pointy tweezers. I scraped at the plastic until it ripped and then used a finger to gouge it open. Inside was a narrow metal box about the size and shape of my checkbook. One of those things people use to back up the data on their computers.

My first night in the apartment, I’d suspected Aidan was hiding secrets from my daughter. But on Maggie’s wedding day, she’d made a confession to me. She said she’d recorded hours of conversation with the Gardners: Errol, Catherine, Aidan, even Gerry. If they ever try something, I’ll bring them all down with me. All this time, the person hiding secrets in the apartment was Maggie. And I was taking her secrets with me.

I put the box in my pocket and then turned my attention back to the porcelain lid. I was tempted to rip off the rest of the plastic and duct tape to eliminate every last trace of the thing. But it was clumsy, difficult work with one hand and there wasn’t enough time. I needed to hurry. So I lifted the lid with my good hand and in my rush to stand up I felt wet porcelain slip through my fingers.

It hit the floor and shattered into pieces.

I froze, too scared to move, and waited for footsteps to come rushing down the hallway—for the sounds of Maggie or Hugo or anyone hurrying to inquire about the crash. Surely, they all had heard it.

Unless they were still outside, on the balcony. Surrounded by the noise of the city. After a few more seconds of silence, I allowed myself to think that maybe I would be okay.

As long as I left immediately.

Cleaning the mess was impossible. There was simply too much of it, too many fragments and shards of porcelain, and a white powdery dust all over the floor. Instead I just opened the bathroom door and found Sierra standing in the hallway, rubbing a knuckle into her eye.

“Do you got any saline?”

“I’m sorry?”

“For contacts. My lenses are so dry.”

I opened the medicine cabinet and tried to direct her attention to the shelves, but she was already staring at the toilet tank and the mess on the floor. “What happened?”

I found a bottle of Bausch many more were staring mindlessly into their phones. Three firefighters in bright yellow coats rushed past me, their boots trampling up the plaza stairs. A second fire truck was already pulling into the lot, lights flashing and sirens pealing, and over the din I thought I heard Maggie calling for me.

“Dad! Dad! Dad!”

I might have imagined it. I wasn’t sure. I didn’t dare turn around to check. The sirens rang louder and people clapped their hands over their ears, swelling toward the building to escape the deafening noise.

“Dad! Dad! Dad!”

I walked alone against the crowd, the only person actively moving toward the sirens, until my ears were numb and I couldn’t hear her voice anymore.

Don’t turn around, Frankie.

Keep walking and don’t look back.