The Second Life of Nick Mason (Nick Mason #1)(33)

He stood up straight and gave Mason a smile.

“Enjoy your dinner.”





17




The bruises reminded Mason of what he had done in that motel room. Even on the second day, as the bruises were beginning to fade, he would replay the scene in his mind every time he looked in the mirror. He wondered if that would ever change even when the bruises were gone.

He went downstairs to the gym, put on some gloves, and worked on the heavy bag. For the last year, he’d been keeping himself in the best physical shape of his life, once he got into SHU with Cole. But, even there, his workouts had been rushed, grabbing whatever reps he could for the one hour the equipment was available. Now it felt strange for Mason to take his time and to have so many options to choose from. He didn’t get on the treadmill, and he didn’t even look at the elliptical trainer, but when he was done with the bag, he did a full-body workout with the weights, keeping everything in balance, a push for every pull—back, chest, arms, legs—all good compound movements. Deep into his head while he was doing each rep, Mason shut out everything else in the world.

Keep moving, he told himself. Don’t think. Move.

When he was done, he went outside. It was a choice he could make after five years of having no choices. A little breeze was coming in off the lake. He walked down the path, past the gardens, past the entrance to the zoo. He had a sudden ache as he walked past a father with a little girl up on his shoulders. The man was buying their tickets to the zoo, and as Mason looked at them, he couldn’t help imagining what it would feel like to spend the day here with his own daughter. Maybe she was too big to ride on his shoulders, but they could still walk down the paths and look at all of the animals. She could ask him questions and he’d do his best to answer them, just like any father would. Yes, the giraffe has a long neck so he can reach the leaves on the upper branches. He’d give everything he had. Hell, he’d seriously consider going back to prison for the rest of his sentence if he could just have one day like that with his daughter. It would be something he could take back. Something nobody could ever take away.

That brought him back to the visit he’d gotten from Sandoval the night before. The story he’d told him about Sean Wright and his young family. And the promise that he’d be putting him to bed every night and waking him up in the morning. He looked behind him, expecting to see the man twenty feet away. But there was nobody following him.

Mason walked south down the beach path, the park on one side of him and, beyond that, the soaring buildings of downtown. On the other side was sand and water. People were wading in up to their waists and screaming about how cold it was. A few brave souls were in up to their necks. A woman came out of the water, dripping wet in her bikini. I have not touched a woman in five years, Mason said to himself. That is a fact.

He went all the way down to the south end, where men were playing beach volleyball. He looped around back under Lake Shore, past the ball fields. He stopped and watched a game of bare-handed softball—he knew it was a game that once ruled Chicago, but he didn’t think anyone played it anymore. When the game was over, he kept walking.

I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do on a day like this, he said to himself. Or how many days like this there’s gonna be. All by myself, just waiting for that phone to ring again . . .

As he got closer to home, he hit another row of shops, all with blue canopies outside. Pricey salons, coffee shops, wine bars. Then he came to a pet shop. There was a dog sitting there, looking out the window. To Mason, it looked like part boxer, part pit bull, part dinosaur. He was about to keep walking, but the dog looked him right in the eye and started wagging its little stumpy excuse for a tail. Mason stopped and the dog sat down, still staring at him.

He went inside the store, feeling the instant chill of the A/C. There was a gated-off area by the front window, with separate sections for a half-dozen cats and the only dog in the shop, who now came over to Mason and did his best to body-slam the gate right out of the way.

“Easy there, Max!”

The voice came from the back of the store. A woman emerged from the storeroom, carrying a large bag of dog food. She put it on the counter and came over to Mason.

“He seems to like you,” she said. She had short brown hair and brown eyes. Her cheeks were red from the summer sun. She was wearing jeans and a blue polo shirt with the name of the pet shop on one side of her chest. On the other was her name: Lauren.

He reached over the gate and rubbed the dog’s head. The dog wagged his tail even harder.

“What kind of dog is he?” Mason asked.

“I’m guessing Cane Corso, mixed with something else. We don’t usually sell dogs here, but he came in as a rescue.”

“Cane Corso? Never heard of that.”

“Smart dog. Athletic. Obedient.”

“If I wanted this dog . . .” Mason said.

“I bet Max would like that very much. He’s three hundred dollars.”

Mason looked down at the dog. Max was sitting patiently as if waiting for the next chapter in his life to begin.

“Okay,” he said, trying to convince himself.

“There’s a twenty-four-hour waiting period,” she said, “after we fill out all the paperwork.”

He was already starting to feel the dog slipping away from him. Paperwork meant personal history. This might be a bad idea, he thought.