The Perfect Marriage(42)

That was the kind of thing Zukis would bet on. Especially to pull something over on someone who enjoyed movies because they were fun and didn’t see them as an opportunity to demonstrate how smart you were.

“Um, I’m afraid I’m not in the mood for that today,” Wayne said.

“There’s twenty bucks on the line,” Zukis said. “Not to mention the pride of the science department, which she’s mocking by her challenge.”

“Just google it,” Wayne said.

Zukis was laughing. “A parsec is a unit of distance. Three point two six light-years. So when Han Solo claims the Millennium Falcon could do the Kessel Run in twelve parsecs, he’s not saying anything that anyone can’t do. Hell, I could crawl the Kessel Run in twelve parsecs, because a parsec is a distance of measure, not time. It has nothing to do with speed.” He was laughing again. “But I won’t have to crawl, because I can take a cab with the twenty bucks I just earned from Lori.”

Lori was smiling, but it was the smile of someone who knew she was being laughed at, not with. As she reached into her purse to satisfy the bet, Wayne decided to be her knight in shining armor.

“What were the actual terms of the wager?” he said.

“That, given enough time, my Honda could do the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs,” Zukis said. “It might take my Honda forever, but it would eventually cover the twelve parsecs.”

“Well, I’m not an expert, but because George Lucas isn’t here, and since you’ve empowered me with this decision, I call it a push. The Kessel Run might not be a race, after all. It could be a route. Maybe he was saying that he found a unique way to make it through that path and was able to reduce the distance to get there. Like saying you made it to the airport in fourteen miles by taking side streets. And since it’s in space, I’m not sure your Honda could navigate that path, Sandy. Even if you had all the time in the world.”

“Good enough for me,” Lori said with a victory smile that a Super Bowl champion would envy. She put the twenty dollars back in her purse. “Wayne, I owe you a drink. The Smith? After work.”

“Thanks, but I’m gonna need to take a rain check on that. Today’s not a good day for me.”



Owen’s mother told him to go to his father’s home.

That was the first significant thing Owen had learned about his parents’ divorce. He had no home of his own. Before, they’d told him to “go home.” Or they’d meet him “at home.” No qualifier needed. It was as much his as anyone else’s. But after, he was going to his mother’s apartment, or his father’s house. Neither belonged to him. He was, essentially, homeless, despite the fact that he had two bedrooms filled with his stuff.

“You sure?” he said. “I mean, I don’t want you to be alone tonight.”

She smiled through her tears. “That’s so sweet. But, yeah, I’m sure. I’m going to be at the police station for a while, and then I have some phone calls to make. It will take one thing off my plate if I know you’re being fed and getting to school in the morning. I’ll call your doctor too and set up the chemo.”

“Are you sure about the treatment?”

This question seemed to strike his mother as odd.

“Of course. Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know. I just thought . . . I mean, I know that James was paying for my treatment. I just didn’t know if . . . I guess I just don’t know.”

“I’m so sorry you need to worry about these things, Owen. But don’t. I know that this is a shock to all of us. But your treatment, that’s the most important thing in my life. Believe me about that. And we can pay for it, so at least that is going to be fine.”





13

The last time Jessica was in a police station had been when she was sixteen. She had made the mistake of accepting an offer from Ricky Solowosky to drive her home from a party at Andrea Levy’s house. They hit a DUI roadblock as soon as they reached Ryder’s Lane, and although Ricky was under the legal limit, the fact that he was seventeen and had been drinking was enough for the cops to scare the bejesus out of him.

She didn’t remember anything about the police station from that first time except that she was scared to death. She wasn’t scared this time, however. She felt nothing. As if she were dead herself.

The room she was placed in could scarcely have been made more unpleasant if that had been the police department’s intent. It was almost as cold as it was outside, forcing her to keep on her gloves and coat. There were zero windows, battleship-gray walls, a single metal table, and four metal chairs. At least it didn’t have the one-way mirror, although Jessica figured that meant only that they were filming her from somewhere else.

The young woman with an Arabic-sounding name said that she and her partner, the handsome man who’d broken the news of James’s death, would return shortly. She asked if Jessica wanted anything to eat or drink, even offering to go out to get her something. Jessica declined. She was already sick to her stomach, and the thought of food, or even coffee, made her want to throw up.

Jessica had watched enough TV to know that the spouse was always the first suspect. Another thing she knew from television was that many a suspect made the mistake that ended up getting them convicted in this exact setting. On the other hand, she also knew that cops found it suspicious if the victim’s spouse was uncooperative. Which meant that, no matter what she did, she was about to make a grave mistake.