The Second Life of Nick Mason (Nick Mason #1)(30)

Mason got out of the car and started walking toward the fields. There were three fields, with a couple dozen kids running around on each of them, all coed games, with a hundred adults standing around, watching and cheering. Or just standing and talking to one another, enjoying the summer day. He wandered around the perimeter of the first field, watching the kids chase the ball.

Mason wasn’t sure if he’d recognize his daughter right away. Not after five years. More than half of her life. He kept looking at one young face after another.

Then he saw Gina.

She was on the far side of the field, standing with another woman, half paying attention to the game. A low stand of bleachers on this side of the field was half full of spectators. Mason was about to sit down, then stopped himself.

I have every right to be here, he thought, no matter what Gina might say to me. But maybe it would be better to stay out of sight.

He took a few steps back until he was standing against the backstop of the softball field. With his sunglasses on, he was virtually invisible, and yet he still had a good look at the field.

He kept scanning the far sidelines. He didn’t see a man near her. Either the new husband was one of those guys who works even on Saturdays, Mason thought, or else he’s one of the coaches.

Mason saw two men on the near side of the field, standing with the kids who weren’t in the game yet. One looked a little too old. The other was tan and filled out his polo shirt like a man who ate right and took care of himself. That had to be good old Brad.

Mason turned his attention back to the kids on the field. That’s why he was here, not to watch his ex-wife or her successful new husband, who swims his laps at the club every morning. He was just starting to scan the players when a girl in the middle of the field turned his way.

It was her.

It was his daughter. Adriana.

Nine years old, he said to himself. God damn, look at her. She was a younger version of her mother. Same dirty-blond hair, same build. Tall and rangy, with that dead-serious look of determination on her face. She was fast, too. Running circles around most of the boys.

He remembered the day she was born. Rushing Gina down to the hospital on Fifty-first Street, then waiting eighteen hours at her side until Adriana made her appearance.

Bringing her home. The room Mason had made for her. Painted green, the compromise when Gina took her stand against pink.

The first Christmas in that house. The tree in the corner. The first time she looked at him. Really looked at him. The first time she said, “Daddy.”

The first time she walked across the room to him, her arms spread wide.

His chest felt tight. This was the exact moment he had been waiting for, finally being able to see her again, after five years.

It had been sixty months since the last time he saw his daughter. Over forty thousand hours.

But he couldn’t talk to her. He couldn’t explain things. Not yet.

A boy tried to take the ball away from her and knocked her to the ground. Mason was already leaning forward, like he’d actually go out there and do something about it, when the ref blew his whistle and gave her team a free kick.

“Shake it off, Aid!” It was the coach who was probably Brad yelling at her. Aid, he called her. Everything about this guy he already hated.

Mason watched his daughter play for the next half hour. He never took his eyes off her except for the few times he glanced over at Gina and saw her talking to her friend, barely paying any attention to this miracle that was happening on the field. This nine-year-old girl they created together who was so much faster, so much more graceful, than anyone else on the field.

At one point, the ball came over the line on his side of the field. Adriana came to pick it up and seemed to look right at him. They were still a good twenty yards apart, but he was about to lift his hand into a wave. Then she grabbed the ball and threw it back out on the field.

As the game was winding down, he started walking back toward the car. He passed a sheet of paper tacked onto the other end of the backstop. It was the league schedule. There were games every Wednesday and Saturday.

He was in his car before the rest of the kids and parents started streaming into the parking lot. He sat in the Camaro and watched his ex-wife and the coach, who was now confirmed beyond all doubt to be Brad, get into their Volvo SUV. Adriana followed after them, getting into the backseat. He watched them drive away. Back to their perfect house. Back to their perfect life.

He sat there for a few more minutes, thinking about what he had done the night before. It couldn’t all be just for this, he told himself. This one chance to see his daughter, for just a few moments. Then to sit here and watch her drive away to another man’s home.

Jameson chose his own fate, Mason said to himself. I chose mine. Now I just have to keep it all separate. Keep that part of my life as far away from her as possible. Keep doing my job. Keep living for moments like this. Because that’s all I have right now.

Someday, I may have more. A lot more. Whatever I have to do to get there, that’s what I want. A real life with my daughter. Then maybe, just maybe, this will all be worth the price I’ve paid.





16




Five years in prison had given Nick Mason convict eyes. It’s a certain way of looking at the world, your primal reptile brain watching every movement, every change, measuring it for danger. The body language of a man approaching you in the hallway. Or the way his eyes track you across the yard. After a while, you don’t even think about it. It’s just a basic part of your awareness. Your survival.