Run Away(107)

“So that’s what I did,” Paige said. She tried to say it with bravado and confidence, but it just fell flat.

“No, sweetheart, you didn’t. That was why Luther shot Mom. He saw her that night. That was what he was going to tell me before he got killed. Luther saw her leave your apartment or maybe he saw the actual killing, I don’t know. So then a few days later, when he sees your mother near Rocco, he figures maybe she’s going to kill him too. Aaron worked for Rocco, right? That’s why Luther pulled out his gun. That’s why he shot Mom first, not me. That’s why he kept insisting it was self-defense.”

Fagbenle had been right from the beginning.

“Occam’s razor. You know it?”

“I’m not in the mood, Detective.”

“It states—”

“I know what it states—”

“—that the simplest explanation is usually the right one.”

“And what’s the simplest explanation, Detective?”

“You killed Aaron Corval. Or your wife did. I wouldn’t blame either of you. The man was a monster. He was slowly poisoning your daughter, killing her right in front of your eyes.”

Fagbenle had even noted that Ingrid could have sneaked over to the Bronx during a work break. They had her on CCTV leaving. Ingrid knew the timing. She made sure that Aaron was alone.

“Paige?”

“I didn’t know Mom was going to kill him.”

She pulled away from him now and sat all the way up.

“I came back to the apartment early and saw…Mom wore hospital scrubs. They were covered in blood. I guess she dumped them later. But when I saw her, I freaked out. I ran.”

“Where?”

“Another basement. Like Rocco’s. I got two fixes. Laid down there for hours, I didn’t even know how long. And when I woke up, I finally saw the truth.”

“What truth?”

“My mom had killed someone. Think about that for a second. They say you need to hit bottom before you can get better. When you realize that you made your mother kill a man, that’s rock bottom.”

They were silent for a while.

Then Simon asked, “How come Mom didn’t call the retreat and see if that’s where you’d gone?”

“Maybe she did. But I wasn’t there yet. It took me days to make my way up.”

And by then she was in a coma.

“Dad?”

“What, sweetheart?”

“Can we please let this go now?”

Simon thought about it. “I think so.”

“And it never leaves this car?”

“Never.”

“That means Mom too.”

“What?”

“Don’t tell her you know. Okay? Just let it go.”





Chapter

Forty



In the weeks that passed, as Ingrid started to recover and life got better, Simon wondered about his daughter’s request.

Should what they said never leave the car? Was it really best not to tell his wife he knew that she had killed a man?

Was it best to live with that secret?

On the surface, the answer seemed to be yes.

Simon watched his wife come back to him and his family.

Eventually Ingrid regained enough strength to come home.

Weeks turned into months.

Good months.

Paige continued to improve too. Eventually the retreat let her come home.

Sam headed back to Amherst with the start of a new semester. Anya was doing well in school. Simon was back at work. Soon too, Ingrid returned to her patients.

Life was more than returning to normal.

Life was good. Really good. And when life is good, maybe it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.

There was laughter and joy in their lives. There were gorgeous walks through Central Park. There were dinners with friends and nights at the theater. There was love and light and family.

Ingrid and Simon both embraced Paige’s return. They gave her all the support they could, while worrying that whatever demon Aaron had placed in her body may be weak or dormant, but it was still there, still waiting to pounce.

Because demons never die.

But neither do secrets.

That was the problem. All of those good things were in the room. But so too was that secret.

One night, during their walk through Central Park, Ingrid and Simon stopped in Strawberry Fields. Simon normally avoided this route. This had been where he’d seen Paige strangling out that Beatles tune. Which song was it again? He didn’t remember. Strike that. He didn’t want to remember.

But Ingrid wanted to sit on the bench. Out of habit he read the inscription:

This is for Jersey, the good dog, who would be happy to share this bench with you



Ingrid took his hand and stared out and said, “You know.”

“Yes.”

“You understand why I did it.”

He nodded. “I do.”

“It was like she was drowning. And every time she came to the surface he would drag her back under again.”

“You don’t have to justify it to me.”

Ingrid took his hand. He squeezed hers and held on.

“You planned it,” he said.

“As soon as she called.”