One Last Lie (27 page)

“Are you kidding me, Jonny?” Philip stuck a bookmark into the book he was reading and placed it on the nightstand beside the bed. He then imitated Jonathan’s actions by puffing up his pillow and lying on his side so he could peer at Jonathan straight on. “It’s just three things we have to do. And they’re personal, between us. Why would we put them in a will?”

Jonathan shrugged. “So we’ll remember?”

“We’ll remember,” Philip assured him. “Just remember the three C’s. Cremate. Celebrate. Circulate.”

Jonathan hugged his pillow, awaiting an explanation, but none came.

“I get the cremate part, but what’s the celebrate and circulate all about?”

“Celebrate the life. No depressing funeral or wake. Just a celebration.”

“Got it,” Jonathan agreed. “And circulate?”

“Spread the ashes, babe. Circulate. Take Max’s boat straight out to the ocean, right off Montauk Point. Open the urn and let it fly!”

Jonathan smiled and swept Philip’s hair from his forehead. “Just don’t celebrate too hard or I’ll have to come back and haunt your ass.”

Philip turned onto his back, closed his eyes, and released a breath through puckered lips. “You’re not going anywhere. If anyone’s going to do any haunting, it’ll be me. Now let’s get some sleep. I’ve got a shitload of reports due tomorrow.”

Jonathan propped himself up on his elbow, leaned over, and kissed Philip softly on the mouth. “You wouldn’t leave me, would you?”

Philip kissed him back and whispered, “Only if you don’t let me sleep.”

“Promise me,” Jonathan insisted, “or you don’t get to sleep.”

“I promise,” Philip said, turning on his side. “I promise.”

*

But the promise was broken, and to even the score Jonathan decided there’d be no celebration. He couldn’t execute their agreement even if he wanted to. He just didn’t have the energy. He felt as though his veins had dried up, his heart beat slowed to half its normal pace, sending only a minimal amount of blood to his body. His limbs were always cold, his head would not stop hurting and he hadn’t slept more than six hours during the week since that horrible day at Angela’s house.

“You look like shit.” Max took a seat beside him on the sofa, placed his arm around Jonathan, and gently squeezed his shoulder. “Not that I can blame you, for God’s sake.”

Jonathan laid the back of his hand on own forehead and held it there.

“What is it, Jonathan? Are you sick? Do you have a fever?”

“I don’t know. I feel hot. Then I feel cold. I feel sick, then I feel okay. I can’t figure it out.”

Max tightened his embrace. “It’s okay Jonathan. You’re not supposed to know how you feel right now.”

Jonathan remained as tight as a drumhead, his fists clenched. “Thank you for doing this. The food, the invites, the cleaning crew. I really appreciate it.” He looked around the room at all the familiar faces. He might have greeted them, but he couldn’t be certain. It was possible he had thanked them for coming, but that could’ve been on another day. Everything was a blur and the murmuring and soft cries were only making it worse. “But maybe it was a mistake. I know this should be a celebration of Philip’s life, but I can’t get there yet and I’m not sure I ever will.”

“Please, no apologies, my dear friend. We’ll consider this little get together an
acknowledgement
of Philip’s life. And once you’re up for it, next month or next year, we’ll have a celebration. How’s that?”

Jonathan nodded and let his gaze fall back to his lap.

“By the way, Jonathan, I was thinking it would be nice for people to feel as though Philip was here with us somehow.” Max moved uncomfortably on the sofa, unsure which way to sit. “I was wondering… where’s the urn?”

Jonathan stiffened and pulled away. “It’s in the bedroom, why?”

“Well, I was thinking if it was out here, the guests could…”

“Could what?” Jonathan’s voice grew louder. “Stare at it? Talk to it? Cry on it? What could they do with it, Max?”

Max squirmed and started to rise. “It’s okay, Jonathan.”

“Forget it!” he shouted. “It stays in my room with me!”

Before Max had the opportunity to try to reason with him, G appeared and gave Max a kiss on the cheek.

“Hi, Max, how are you?” She looked at Jonathan then back to Max. “Is everything okay over here?”

“As well as can be, I guess,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. He bit his bottom lip and looked at Jonathan. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

Jonathan nodded and turned to G, who now sat beside him. She took his hand in both of hers and brought it to her lips. “There are no words, Jonathan. No words to tell how much I hurt for you. I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through and I won’t pretend I can. Please just know that I’m here for you no matter what you need or when you need it.”

He pulled her hands to him and kissed them back.

“You’re the best G,” he said, letting go of her hand. “What’s the latest with Flynn? Please tell me he’s going to get a lethal injection.”

Suddenly the room grew quiet and G looked around at the faces gazing in her direction. She grabbed Jonathan’s hand, stood up, and drew him towards her.

“Let’s talk in the study, okay?” She pulled him gently, but with enough force that he remained only inches behind her.

When they reached the study, Jonathan walked in first and sat on the sofa. He watched G softly close the door and then walk toward the chair behind the desk — Philip’s chair, the Herman Miller they’d bought when Dr. Jesup prescribed it for his back pain. Within days the pain disappeared, never to return. Philip had been so excited, he’d sent the doctor flowers along with a note promising free investment consultation for life.

G looked at Jonathan, stopped mid-track, walked back around the side of the desk, and made her way to the sofa. She fell back into the plush cushioned chaise and dangled her legs off the side.

“As far as Flynn goes, I have two of my guys working with the DA’s office to make sure nothing falls through the cracks. They’re going to try and convict him for first degree murder, but right now we can’t say whether that’s going to stick. He might plead guilty, go for second degree, and try to get life. It will be a long time before this trial goes to court, Jonathan. So it’s good to be prepared for that. In the meantime, he’s on suicide watch.”

Almost in slow motion, Jonathan shook his head.

“Suicide watch? Why bother watching? Let the shithole kill himself and get it over with. He’s a waste of life. He doesn’t deserve to breathe.” Jonathan kept his voice down by breathing through clenched teeth.

G nodded and twisted the rings on her fingers.

“And what about that bitch, Angela? She’s guilty too. Can’t she be tried for being an accessory or something?”

G’s bottom lip disappeared inside her mouth. She shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. The evidence at the crime scene along with Flynn’s confession and the fact that both her and Flynn’s story match in every detail basically proves she had no part in what happened.”

“Bitch,” he whispered. Deep down he’d known she couldn’t be charged, but he couldn’t help fantasize about her living out life in a prison cell. In the smallest of ways it made him feel better.

“By the way, she’s in Bridgeport Hospital… also on suicide watch.”

Jonathan laughed softly. “We should be so lucky,” he said, gazing at the painting on the wall behind G.

It was a vividly colorful abstract of the Grand Canyon he and Philip discovered in Taos a few years back. At first he didn’t like it, arguing it didn’t go with the room’s décor. But Philip fell in love at first sight and talked him into it. Within a few weeks of its delivery, Jonathan was glad he’d been convinced. The painting brought life to an otherwise muted color palette, adding such energy to the room that it became a conversation piece.

“Jonathan,” G gasped. “She’s carrying your child, for God’s sake. I know you’re hurting and I know you have to grieve. But there’s your baby to think about.”

“My baby?” he feigned a smile. “Are you sure? She’s been screwing Flynn behind our backs for God knows how long. Another one of her endless lies. How do we know it’s not his?”

G leaned forward. “Do you remember the chorionic villus sampling we did back in January? It proved your paternity, Jonathan. We can do another one if you’d like, but I don’t think we’d get a different result. It’s totally up to you.”

He did remember the sampling and vividly recalled the day G phoned with the results. He was driving to a client meeting when his cell phone range. He switched on the Bluetooth and listened to her shout through the car speakers: “Congratulations, Daddy!”

Until a week ago, he’d thought that was the scariest moment of his life.

“I remember. And no, we don’t need to do it again.”

He looked at G then back to his hands, fiddling with his fingers as he struggled to find the right words.

“I’m not a bad person, G. You know that, right?”

She leaned over and rubbed his knee. “Of course I know that. You’re one of the best people I know on this planet. You and Philip have always been…”

“Let me finish, G, please.” He picked the raw skin around his fingernails and took a deep breath as he forced back tears. “I want you to know that I don’t give a shit. I don’t give a shit about Angela and I don’t give a shit about the baby. I want them both out of my life — like neither one ever existed.”

G removed her hand from his knee and slowly reclined against the chaise. The ticking of the pendulum wall clock was the only sound in the room.

“I’m not sure I understand, Jonathan.” G crossed her arms, the blue silk fabric of her shirt scrunched beneath them. “For just a moment, let’s forget we’re in the midst of child support proceedings. You’ve helped to create a life that in less than three months will be brought into this world. It’s something you can’t decide to ignore like an annoying relative or nutty friend. This is your baby, Jonathan. Your son.”

Jonathan stopped picking at his fingers and sat motionless. He looked at G and a sudden sadness seized him when he realized the limit to her empathy. But he didn’t blame her; there was really no way she could understand. She wasn’t the one crying and pacing the floors all hours of the night; she didn’t hear noises in the house and wonder, for a split second, if it was Philip walking into the room to comfort him; she hadn’t stayed in bed every morning searching for a reason to get up, unable to find one. Her sympathy, he knew, was endless. But her empathy, like everyone else’s, could only go so far.

“It was
our
baby, G. Philip’s and mine. It might’ve been my sperm, but it was the two of us who fantasized about it, planned for it, and talked about it every night. If I’d lost Philip under different circumstances and Angela wasn’t the monster she is, I might not feel this way. But this is the way it’s turned out and that’s how I feel.”

“Of course it’s the way you feel, Jonathan.” Her voice held compassion in every word. “But please know your feelings will change. You’ll always have that sadness and emptiness inside, but please don’t take it out on your son. Don’t allow him to grow up without knowing the wonderful person you are. It wouldn’t be fair to either of you.”

Jonathan attempted to smile, but couldn’t find the will. “G, I could sit here all day and try to explain things to you. How I blame Angela for everything that’s happened and everything I’ve lost. I’m sure once she’s out of the hospital, she’ll be back stronger than ever fighting to get the money she thinks she deserves. That’s just how she is. There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind anymore that she planned this whole thing from the beginning. She first targeted Philip and then manipulated the two of us with lies and deceit to get exactly what she wanted. I don’t think she wanted Philip dead. That was an unfortunate occurrence that sidelined her goal for a few weeks.”

G tightened the grip around her arms. Her eyes filled with tears and she tried to blink them away.

“Think about it, G. How can I look at this baby and not see her? What about when he starts to talk like her or look like her? When he tells me how he and mommy went shopping or saw a great movie?” He shook his head and started to pick at his fingers again. “I’m not like most people. You know that. The parent-child bond isn’t as strong for me as for others. The initial desire to have a child was as much Philip’s as it was mine. Sometimes I think he wanted this baby more than I did. Either way, any desire I once had to have a child died with Philip.”

G sat up and scooted to the end of the sofa. Leaning her elbows on her knees, she wiped away a tear and clasped her hands.

“And what about the child support battle? Fiona Wilder called me yesterday and…”

“I don’t want a battle,” Jonathan interrupted. “Give her what she wants. Like I said before, I don’t care.”

“I will not do that, Jonathan.” She stood up and walked to the desk. “I know I’m your attorney, but I’m also your friend and I refuse to let her have what she’s asking for. Especially after everything that’s happened.”

“G, listen to me. I don’t want the drama. I really don’t think I could go through it. No mediation sessions, no courthouses and all the other shit I’d need to do in order to fight this. I just don’t have it in me. I’ll be getting insurance money and I make a decent living. Please strike a deal that’s as fair as possible but keeps me out of it so I never have to see that evil bitch again. And while you’re at it, please see how much it’ll cost me to get her to move out of Connecticut and never come back here again.”

G leaned back against the desk and hooked her fingers onto its rim until her knuckles turned white. She looked to the floor, then back at Jonathan.

“I really can’t believe I’m hearing this, Jonathan. You’d actually give her Philip’s insurance money just so you don’t have to go to court? Yes, there’s child support you have to pay. But why give her extra money if you don’t have to?” She walked over to him, knelt down, and took his hand in hers. “Off the record, I want this bitch to suffer and I don’t want you paying one more penny than you have to. And I especially don’t want her to have any of the money Philip left for you.”