Chương 6
I smelled it before he entered the front hall.
“Black, no sugar,” he said.
“You remembered.”
“I remember useful things.”
The remark was probably innocent.
That morning, everything sounded like testimony.
He handed me the paper cup.
My fingers touched his.
His hand was cold.
Outside, a car engine idled beneath the portico.
“Who’s driving?”
“I am.”
“You haven’t driven me in three years.”
“You told me not to involve anyone.”
“I told Hannah that.”
“Yeah, she mentioned it.”
I turned toward her.
Hannah’s shoes shifted behind me.
“I told him you wanted privacy about the appointment, not why.”
Cross opened the front door.
Cold air moved across my face.
“Everybody relax,” he said.
“I’m driving a blind man to an eye doctor, not invading Cuba.”
“Comforting,” I said.
We left.
Cross drove too fast for the first ten minutes and then too slowly after I told him he was driving too fast.
That was Daniel in miniature.
Correction always became overcorrection.
Traffic thickened near the parkway.
A truck horn sounded close enough to make my shoulders tighten.
Cross noticed.
“You all right?”
“Yes.”
“Still hate highways.”
“I don’t hate highways.”
“You grip the door every time a truck passes.”
I released the handle.
“I hate your driving.”
“That too.”
We rode in silence for a while.
The car smelled of leather, coffee, and the peppermint gum Cross chewed when he was trying not to smoke.
He had quit nine years earlier because Caroline told him his clothes smelled like an ashtray.
After she died, he almost started again.
I knew because I once found a sealed pack of cigarettes in his desk.
He never opened it.
That memory made suspicion hurt in a way fear did not.
“Daniel.”
“Yeah?”
“If I asked you for everything you knew about Pier 17, would you tell me?”
The gum stopped moving.
“Everything?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve asked before.”
“I’m asking now.”
He changed lanes.
The turn signal ticked three times.
“You know the official version.”
“I didn’t ask for the official version.”
“Grant.”
“What do you know that I don’t?”
Another truck passed.
This time I did not touch the door.
Cross breathed through his nose.
“I know you nearly died.”
“That’s not information.”
“I know Caroline wasn’t supposed to be there.”
My heartbeat changed.
“She went to bring me Emma.”
“Yeah.”
“Because the sitter canceled.”
“That’s what you told me.”
“What do you mean, what I told you?”
Cross hesitated.
“She called you that morning.”
“Yes.”
“And you said bring Emma down because you’d only be another hour.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t remember?”
“I remember pieces.”
“I was there when you took the call.”
The car slowed.
Cross continued.
“Caroline sounded pissed.”
I almost smiled.
“That was not unusual.”
“No.”
“She said something about you forgetting dinner with her parents.”
“That was also not unusual.”
“She threatened to feed your portion to the dog.”
“We didn’t have a dog.”
“I know.”
That sounded like Caroline too.
For a few seconds, she was alive between us.
Then the warmth vanished.
“Why did you say she wasn’t supposed to be there?”
“Because she wasn’t.”
Cross cleared his throat.
“The meeting at Pier 17 was restricted.”
“What meeting?”
He did not answer.
My head turned toward him.
“What meeting?”
“You remember the inspectors.”
“I remember an inspection.”
“No.”
His voice had changed.
“There was a closed meeting before the inspection.”
“With whom?”
“Port Authority people, Mercer legal, two insurers, some federal safety consultant.”
“And me.”
“Yes.”
“And you.”
“Yes.”
“What were we discussing?”
Cross’s gum started moving again.
“A series of freight discrepancies.”
“What kind?”
“Container weights.”
The words did not mean anything at first.
Then something old shifted.
A conference table.
Coffee.
My father’s compass in my pocket because I had carried it on difficult days.
A man saying the numbers did not reconcile.
The memory disappeared before I could hold it.
“Smuggling?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“Nobody did.”
“That was the point of the meeting.”
Cross turned onto a quieter road.
“We had containers listed at one weight when loaded overseas and another when scanned in New York.”
“By how much?”
“Sometimes a few hundred pounds.”
“That isn’t a clerical error.”
“No.”
“What happened to the records?”
“Explosion destroyed most of the pier office.”
“Most.”
“Digital backups existed.”
“And?”
“Some were corrupted.”
My mouth went dry.
“Why has nobody mentioned any of this to me in five years?”
“I did.”
I turned toward him.
“When?”
“At the hospital.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“You asked me what happened.”
“I was drugged.”
“You asked.”
“And you decided that was sufficient?”
His hands shifted on the steering wheel.
“I tried again later.”
“When?”
“About six months after.”
I searched for it and found nothing.
“You were drinking then,” Cross said.
“I stopped.”
“I know.”
“You could have told me after.”
“You didn’t want to hear about the company.”
“That is not the same as withholding the circumstances of the explosion.”
“I didn’t withhold them.”
“You just waited for a convenient moment while I was blind, drunk, medicated, or grieving.”
Cross hit the brake harder than necessary at a red light.
The seat belt caught my chest.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Turn every bad decision into betrayal.”
“I haven’t decided what this is yet.”
“You’re halfway there.”
The light changed.
We moved again.
Neither of us spoke until he pulled into what I assumed was the medical complex.
He put the car in park.
“Grant.”
I reached for the door.
He locked it.
The sound was unmistakable.
My body went cold.
“Unlock the door.”
“Listen to me.”
“Unlock it.”
“I am not keeping you here.”
“Then prove it.”
The locks clicked open.
I kept my hand on the handle.
Cross spoke quickly.
“I didn’t tell you because every time Pier 17 came up, you went somewhere I couldn’t follow.”
“That was my choice.”
“Yes.”
“And you took it away.”
“Yes.”
The admission stopped me.
Cross exhaled.
May you like
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“That sentence is becoming very popular.”
