Little Secrets(49)

“People can change,” she’d told Sal, which, in hindsight, was stupid. “You said he’s been better since the separation. He’s opening the door. All you have to do is walk through it.”

“You don’t know him like I do, Mar.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” she said. “But remember, I’ll be right there with you.”

Sal Sr. was already drinking by the time they arrived. By the time the party was over at two a.m., he was completely blotto, arguing with Sal, belligerent. Marin was in the apartment’s small kitchen throwing paper plates and Solo cups into a garbage bag, but she could hear them shouting on the balcony. The sliding door was open, and there was a cool breeze fluttering into the apartment. She was tying up the garbage bag when she heard Sal say, “Mom shouldn’t have to divorce you, you sonofabitch. I should just kill you.”

She heard Sal Sr. laugh. Laugh, as if what Sal had just said was the funniest and most ludicrous thing he’d ever heard. Then he said something back that Marin couldn’t make out, something low and threatening. It filled Marin with fear. She left the kitchen, heading straight for the balcony. She should never have encouraged Sal to come. It wasn’t her place. And they needed to leave now, before things got completely out of hand.

But when she stepped onto the balcony, only one of them was still there.

When a body lands on pavement, it doesn’t sound like anything from sixteen stories up. You only imagine the smack, the sound of bones snapping and flesh compressing into the sidewalk, but you don’t actually hear anything from that height. Marin didn’t see the fall, didn’t hear the landing, but it was all she could do not to scream when she looked over the railing and saw the tiny body on the ground below, sixteen floors down. It almost didn’t seem real.

Maybe if the man hadn’t fallen from such a great height—maybe if it had only been, say, six floors, or eight, and daylight—she’d have gotten a better, closer look at the horrific way Sal Palermo Sr. had died, and made a different decision. But it was the middle of the night. And the residential street below was completely deserted at two a.m.

“Oh my god Marin oh my god what did I do—” Sal was sobbing so hard, he could barely get the words out.

“Shhh,” she said to him, when the reality of what had just happened finally sank in. She put a finger over his lips and pulled him back inside the apartment. “Never say that again, do you understand me? Listen to me, Sal. Are you listening?”

He nodded, his eyes glazed. He’d had a couple of beers, but they’d been consumed at least an hour before. He wasn’t drunk. He was in shock.

“We were inside the living room, and you went to use the bathroom before driving me home. I went outside to find your dad to say goodnight, and when I didn’t see him, I looked over the railing and saw his body. I called nine-one-one—”

“Marin, no—”

“I called nine-one-one,” she repeated, taking the cordless phone off the charger, “because a terrible accident happened. Your drunk fucking father fell off his fucking balcony. You were nowhere near the balcony when it happened. Do you understand?”

He nodded, and she made the call, and the cops bought the story. Several people at the party earlier attested to Sal’s father being drunk and stumbling around. He’d had a history of injuring himself while intoxicated—once, when Sal was in high school, he fell into a mirror when nobody was home, and cut his own face.

She and Sal broke up for good a month after that. Neither of them admitted that Sal’s father’s death was the thing that finally fractured them. How could they, when Sal refused to talk about it? But it was the last straw in a romantic relationship that, as Marin told Lorna, was never meant to be.

Her email alert chimes, bringing her back to the present. It’s a confirmation from her financial adviser that the money’s been received on the other end. It’s official. No refunds, as Julian said. It’s done.

If letting go of her little boy’s hand in a busy farmers’ market is the worst thing Marin has ever done, then this is the second worst. Except this time, she’s done it on purpose.

She checks the Shadow app. There have been no new texts between Derek and his mistress since he tried to end the affair this morning, only to change his mind a few minutes later. It’s the grief talking, of course it is, because the Derek who’s been sleeping with a twenty-four-year-old is not the man she married. Everyone handles loss differently. Marin screwed up. Derek screwed up. She can’t fix her mistake. But she can fix Derek’s.

What else did Lorna say to her? I believe in forgiveness.

McKenzie Li deserves no more of her time or energy, not one more second, not one more ounce. Marin presses the icon on the Shadow app until the little “x” appears, then taps it decisively. A notification window appears.

Delete “Shadow”?

Deleting this app will also delete its data.

She hits Delete. Then she sends Vanessa Castro a quick email.

VC — It’s no longer necessary to investigate the affair. I’m handling it.

Thanks,

MM



The investigator replies almost immediately.

Understood — VC



And then, because she’s already showered and dressed, and since what’s done can’t be undone, Marin goes to work.