Lonesome Point (5 page)

Leo sat up straight and stared at the intercom a full ten seconds before he punched the call button.

Patrick’s voice: “Hey, Lee, is that you? Come on in,” and the gate swung back slowly.

Leo rolled up the circular driveway past rows of royal palms on either side, a sprawling manicured lawn that sloped down to a seawall and Biscayne Bay. The house with its barrel-tile roof loomed high, casting shade over a section of driveway, the three
garage doors, and Patrick’s black Porsche Carrera parked there, shiny like a trophy.

Leo walked along cobblestones that curved through hibiscus hedges around to the front, and the waters of the bay came into view across the lawn. He trotted up wide stone stairs, the tall front door opening before he reached it and Patrick still in work shirt and tie standing there to greet him, a hand out.

“Leo, come on in,” one hand gripping Leo’s, the other touching his shoulder. “You’re looking good. Put on a little weight?”

Leo walked into the house, which was always impeccable down to the caramel bamboo floor. “What do they call it? Sympathetic weight gain, something like that? Tessa puts on a pound, I put on a pound,” Leo waiting for Patrick to lead the way, the house with its high ceiling and dark wood furniture and plush rugs, Everglades paintings on the walls.

Patrick said, “How’s she doing?” touching his stomach, lean from those downtown club exercises.

“No morning sickness. She’s lucky. Though I have some nausea now and again when I think about changing diapers.”

Patrick grinned, beckoned to him with a tilt of the head toward the living room. They walked through the house, floor-to-ceiling tinted windows overlooking the bay, passed the kitchen, granite countertops, Sub-Zero fridge, glass and maple cabinets. A kitchen like that, Tessa would love. Leo heard movement behind him. He prepared himself, then he turned.

Celina said, “Hi, Leo.”

Leo nodded. “Hey, how’s it going?”

Celina, his old girlfriend and Patrick’s wife the last nine years;
sometimes Leo still could not believe it. Celina, still shapely and petite, black hair as thick and shimmery as it was on the night of the prom.

Patrick said, “Hon, we have any beer? Can I get you a beer, Leo?”

“Water’s fine,” and Patrick frowned, so Leo said, “Unless you’re having …”

“Scotch for me. But you’re a beer man, I’ll get you a brew. We have, Cel?”

Celina nodded. “In the fridge, at the bottom.”

Patrick crossed over to the kitchen and Leo and Celina stood looking at each other. Celina broke the tension. “So. How’s … how’s …”

“Tessa.”

“Yes. Sorry. How’s Tessa?”

“Fine. And I’m pretty good myself.”

“Of course. You gained weight?”

What was it with these people?

She said, “No, no, it looks good on you. You needed a few pounds. Um, so, you know if it’s a boy or girl yet?”

“Next ultrasound. She says she doesn’t want to know, but I do. Don’t care if it’s a boy or girl—”

“As long as it’s healthy,” Patrick said, returning with a bottle of Beck’s and a highball glass of scotch. “I felt the same way with Ethan and Cassie, isn’t that so, Cel?” He handed Leo the beer.

Celina said, “Tell Tessa I said hi. I might come by and see her if that’s okay? I liked her, that time we met. I think she’s great, Leo.”

He said, “Yeah? Thanks,” and turned around, giving her smile his back. Her performance had been Oscar-worthy.

Out on the terrace, Patrick slumped into a basket-weave chair. Leo waved down to the kids in the pool. “Hey, guys.”

Ethan, the younger one, was doing backflips off the diving board; Cassie was sunning her long limbs in a bikini, impersonating a teenager. She shouted up, Uncle Leo, Uncle Leo, saying she was coming up to see him, but Patrick told her to give them a minute, he and Uncle Leo needed to talk.

Ethan kept saying, Uncle Leo, look, watch this one, as he executed another splayed-legs backflip.

Leo took a swallow of beer and sat down in a chair next to Patrick.

Patrick looked over the bay. “So what’s going on, Leo?”

“Freddy came by to see me.”

“Robinson?”

Leo said the very.

Patrick rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger and shook his head. “I figured it would be somebody like that ass to start something. What did he want?”

Leo told him about the visit. Patrick steepled his fingers under his chin, jaw working. Afterward he drank some whiskey and tapped the rim of his glass. “Freddy told you specifically that he would inform the authorities about what happened at Lonesome Point?”

“He didn’t say that exactly. He said—well, come to think of it he didn’t say who he was gonna tell specifically. He
implied
. Made it sound like if I didn’t let them have their little talk with
this guy, Herman Massani, I wouldn’t be happy about the consequences. Talking about the people he represents, he kept saying that: The people I represent want this to happen.”

“I’m asking because who is he going to tell? Somebody with a rap sheet like his, who’d believe him? And that was so long ago. And it didn’t even happen in this country. It’s crazy.”

“So you’re saying I should tell him go screw himself?”

Patrick set his drink on the ground and stood up, walked over to the railing. He hitched up his pants, pulled his shoulders straight, the trial lawyer now, eyes on the causeway across the bay. “I saw him once, about a year ago, did I tell you?”

Leo said no, thinking, You and I hardly talk, Patrick, of course you didn’t tell me.

“At the airport, I believe it was, he’d just gotten out of prison. Apparently he was still pissed at me for not attending his cousin’s funeral, dropping little hints here and there, you know how he does it.”

“Sounds like him.”

“Talked about how Fonso suffered, the family could hardly pay for the funeral, et cetera?” Leo nodded, and Patrick said, “Cancer is a terrible thing but he shouldn’t blame us for it. Fonso was a good guy, no one would wish that on him.”

Leo waited to see where this was leading. He didn’t know how to handle this situation. He realized he was hoping Patrick would help, maybe give him the word: Yes, go ahead, let him out. Or: Tell Freddy to go to hell.

Patrick was saying, “Freddy is an ingrate. He could still be behind bars. He was very fortunate I agreed to defend him, I should remind him. He could’ve been stuck with a public de
fender and where would he’ve been? Doing ten to twelve in Florida State, that asshole.” Patrick turned around, leaned back against the railing. He inhaled deeply, shoved his hands in his pockets. “If there’s anything I learned … ,” shaking his head. “You know I built my career, built everything I have through hard work, sure, but through preparation, too, mainly preparation is what I’m talking about. Anticipate some event, then prepare for it.” He returned to his seat, this time dropping elbows on knees, leaning close. “Two months ago one of my secretaries was causing some trouble, I suspected where it might end up so I sat her down, we had a chat, found out she wanted severance. We signed off on a little agreement, now that matter is settled. What was happening, she was making noises about my campaign, accusing it of improprieties, who knows what else. If I hadn’t talked to her? God knows what else she would’ve cooked up. With Freddy, now, it might be a little different. I expected something like this could happen but I still have to be careful,
extra
careful now. Now it matters to me more because I’m not just another Joe Blow, I’m a county commissioner, Lee, I have much more to lose. It’s a bigger pot. I’ve worked too hard for my career, my family, my kids. See where I’m going with this?”

“You’re saying go ahead and let the man out.”

“I’m not saying that at all. What if this is a shakedown? Or what if Freddy comes back with some other demand? I’m not prepared to give that piece of shit any control over me. Do you understand the complexity of this, Leo?”

“I’m not an idiot, Patrick.”

“Look. We give Freddy what he wants, maybe he goes back
under the rock he came from. Or we bend to him now and watch him come back and then watch us keep on bending.”

Leo shrugged. “So then …”

Patrick sipped his drink. “So we do nothing.” He looked directly at Leo. “Understand? Nothing. We wait.”

“And if he comes back?”

“Then we
burn
that bridge when we come to it.”

Leo thought that sounded so fucking easy. He took a swig of beer, rubbed his eyes, already tired of this conversation. “If I let this man out, they discover it was me, I might be out of a job. I just want you to know that.”

Patrick straightened. “Don’t worry about this. Come on, Lee. Am I your brother or am I your brother? If it ever comes to that, I’ll take care of you. Till you find something else.”

Leo thought of saying, That’s what I’m afraid of. But he held back, sucked on the beer.

Patrick said, “What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t know.” Leo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Aren’t you tired of this?”

Patrick leaned back and looked at him. “Of what?”

“You know what. It’s like a ghost. Chasing us. We can’t seem to shake it.”

“Leo.”

“Always around the corner, something else nasty or looking to threaten your happiness. All this fallout from Dad’s business, like it won’t go away, it can’t just fucking lay down and
die
.”

“Leo, cut it out.”

“I’m telling you, Patrick, believe me, the old man messed us up good.”

“Quit it, you hear me?” Patrick’s voice rising as the French doors behind them opened and Celina popped her head out.

They all looked at each other in silence.

Celina said, “Leo, you staying for dinner?”

Leo gave it a moment, for manners. “Thanks, but, uh, I got to be someplace in a little bit. Thanks, though.”

Celina said to Patrick, “We’re having pork chops, sautéed baby bella mushrooms, and steamed broccoli. What kind of wine?”

“The Shiraz would be perfect.”

Celina said okay and glanced at Leo before she closed the door, or maybe Leo only imagined the glance.

Patrick said, “I understand you’re worried. How do you think I must feel? I feel like I’m at risk. I say let’s keep our heads and we’ll get through this fine.”

Leo was having difficulty with the “How do you think I must feel?” Whenever he talked to Patrick too long he felt tension knotting his throat, like now. He decided it was time to leave.

Patrick said, “You’re gonna say hi to the kids?”

Leo said sure he would and felt guilty for hoping Patrick would forget. They walked around the terrace to the back stairs, getting another view of the bay.

It was sweet the way Patrick lived, in his little piece of paradise, a beautiful wife, two good-looking kids, a Porsche out front. Leo was envious: There, he admitted it. While Patrick had climbed the status ladder, Leo had gotten serious and practiced the habit of following rules, working hard, and if honest employment meant living one step up from poverty, so be it.

Maybe it was better than having political ambitions and a crick in your neck from forever looking over your shoulder.

“Uncle Leo!” Cassie screamed and came running, arms wide for a hug.

Holding her aloft by her thin hips, Leo whirled her around, and felt himself hoping for a daughter just like her.

D
USK HAD SETTELED while Patrick sat with his second scotch and soda by the pool. He leaned back and spat out an ice cube high, watching it arc down into the water with a plop.

A door opened on the terrace and Celina appeared in the shaft of light from the house. She sashayed over to the railing. “How long will you be down there, Mr. Worrywart?”

He raised his drink. “I’ll be up in two sips.”

“Ethan needs help with his geometry. Which one’s an isosceles triangle again, I forget.”

“Tell him I’ll come up in a sec to explain. Hey, give me a moment, will you, Cel?”

Celina pursed her lips, tapping the railing. “Sure.” Spinning around and stalking back inside.

When he went up he’d be in for a frosty few minutes. Then she’d probably launch into one of her we-don’t-spend-any-time-together harangues and he’d have to sit down and reassure and talk softly and promise he’d knock off early one day this week, Friday maybe, they’d go to Joe’s Stone Crab just the two of them, leave the kids with the babysitter.

Jesus, marriage was exhausting sometimes. Some days he wanted to tell her, You don’t know how good you’ve got it. Never worked hard a day in her adult life. Everything she ever wanted,
more money in her weekly allowance than some of his firm’s secretaries took home in a month, she needed to quit whining.

But he’d never dare say any of that because that would mean a huge fight and she’d only retort like she did once: Oh, and I have you to thank for all this happiness? Don’t you ever forget who has been behind you all these years, you didn’t make it all on your own, sir.

She was right. Through all his major challenges—law school, his first year of private practice, his first political race—she’d been his rock. The woman was strong-willed, but difficult sometimes. She’d never forgiven him for the fact that he grew up with money and she didn’t, had always needed to work summer jobs as a teenager while he caroused, his father being … Well, whatever Ivan Varela had been, he was wealthy. But when did Patrick ever brag about that?