Читать книгу Mourn The Living - Henry Perez - Страница 9

Three days earlier

Chapa stood in the middle of what he now understood to be the living room, though it was at least four times the size of an apartment he’d once rented. Unlike the other three large rooms he’d been led through on his way there, this one was two stories in height.

Carla was looking down at him from a balcony on the second floor. She smiled, nodded, turned then vanished, only to reappear across the room from him a minute later.

“You look good, Alex.”

Carla looked better. She always had. Chapa wondered if his ex-wife had some work done, but he knew she didn’t need any. Carla’s high cheekbones, like her light blue eyes and thick blond hair, all came naturally.

She walked toward Chapa, then stopped just a couple of feet from him, like she wasn’t sure whether to hug him, offer a handshake, or do nothing at all. Chapa didn’t move, and he wasn’t interested in any niceties, let alone physical contact. The smell of her fragrance, deceptively gentle, encircled him like a coy predator.

“You could’ve called, let us know you were coming, Alex.”

Chapa shrugged. “I was in the neighborhood. The court order says our time together begins today. Would you like to read it again?” he started to reach inside his jacket.

Carla shook her head and turned away.

This was Chapa’s first trip to Boston. The first time he’d been to the house his daughter had moved to with her mother and stepfather. Several years of court battles had seen his ability to have some say over his child’s life dwindle down to an afterthought.

Chapa hadn’t spoken with Nikki for more than two weeks, and had not seen the ten-year-old in nearly six months. When Carla began making some noise about her husband Stephen adopting Nikki, Chapa fired his attorney and replaced him with a far more aggressive one. Though he was still trying to figure out how he would manage to afford the guy, his new lawyer wasted no time in shutting down any talk of an adoption and doing what he could to make certain Chapa’s rights as a father were protected.

“Where’s Nikki?”

“She’ll be home in a short while. We’re part of a carpool, and today it’s one of the other moms’ turn to bring her home.”

“If I’d known that I would’ve picked her up from school.”

“No need. She’ll be home soon.”

Chapa nodded, then continued to take in his surroundings. Lush carpeting gave way to tiles that disappeared down each of the four hallways leading to the rest of the house. Various tchotchkes, which Chapa assumed had come from other countries the couple had visited, rested on tables and otherwise useless pedestals. A mirror that had been placed far too high on a wall for anyone to look into, reflected the elaborate light fixture hanging from the middle of the ceiling.

“Alex, are you sure you can take care of her?”

“She’s my daughter. I took care of her for six years. I’m not new at this.”

Chapa saw the concern on his ex’s face. No matter his problems with Carla, and they were great in both number and scope, he knew she had worked to be a good mother from the moment Nikki was born. Though Chapa also understood it wasn’t something that came naturally to her.

Some of the choices she’d made for their daughter troubled him. He had objected to the way Carla’s new husband had been brought into his daughter’s world. There had been very little time for Nikki to adjust to a major change in her young life.

So many changes in such a short time.

“She’s a small child, she’ll adapt,” was how Carla had defended her decision.

He had fought the decision to move to Stephen’s hometown of Boston, where his family had established a name for itself five generations ago and spent the last hundred years building a series of successful businesses.

But none of Chapa’s objections had ever made much of an impression on Carla. Until now.

Standing in the middle of the multi-million dollar home in one of Boston’s most exclusive neighborhoods, he knew the polite thing to do was ask how things were going, and about her legal career and her husband’s various real estate deals. But Chapa was never much into small talk. And he knew he’d never get over the fact that Carla had taken his daughter from him, then done everything in her power to keep them apart.

“Nikki’s homework?” Chapa asked, breaking through the heavy silence.

“Will be waiting for her every morning, along with her assignments. She just has to log on to the school’s site and put in her password. Have you been able to afford a computer?”

Chapa was poised to deliver a response he might later regret, when the sound of a door closing stopped him. He turned and saw Stephen put down a briefcase and start walking toward them. Carla’s husband was wearing a beige suit that clung to his sides as his brown loafers clacked across the floor. There was some sort of a bright green shirt under his sport coat that maybe harkened back to his preppier, Reagan-worshiping days. He forced a smile across his face as he extended a hand in Chapa’s direction.

Chapa didn’t take him up on the offer, instead he simply stared at the Boston Celtics polo shirt inside the thousand-dollar suit.

“I know, kind of loco,” Stephen said without prompting. “It was a casual day, and we decided to take a golf meeting. A conference on the fairway, if you will.”

Chapa had never liked Stephen, and it wasn’t just that he’d married his ex-wife, and conspired to take his daughter from him, though that would be more than enough. Stephen was decent, more or less, and very successful, but also something of a schmuck. He just didn’t come across as a regular guy. Chapa didn’t like the way Stephen wouldn’t look him in the eye, his gratuitous use of foreign words and phrases, and his chronically soggy handshake. The fact that he was a Celtics fan made Chapa dislike him all the more.

Chapa looked at his watch, then back at Carla.

“Any minute, Alex,” she said. “But she doesn’t even know you’re here. None of us knew you were coming. Maybe we should all ease into—”

“I have twelve days with my daughter. It’s not much, but it’s the most time I’ve had with her in two years. I’m not going to wait until you’ve decided we’ve eased into it enough.”

“Let’s turn down the heat a little, why don’t we, no need for agita,” Stephen said, then smiled wide, exposing dueling rows of unnaturally white teeth. “If there’s anything I can do to make all of this run smoothly, just ask. That’s how I roll.” Then Stephen affected what Chapa assumed was supposed to be a look of empathy. “Alex, just like you, our first concern is what’s best for our Nikki.”

Chapa nodded as he let all of it sink in. Cocking his head away from Carla, he said, “Can we have a word, just you and me?”

“Sure, which room would you prefer, mon ami?”

“Like I give a shit,” Chapa said, then noticed how the expressions on their faces suggested this house was at the epicenter of a No Swear Zone.

Chapa pointed to a door in the next room. Stephen nodded his approval and asked him to lead the way. They walked into a home office any Manhattan CEO would be proud to call his own. One wall was lined with bookshelves, another with framed photos of Stephen with various celebrities and politicians. A large window behind an oak desk looked out over lush green grounds that were neatly landscaped. But there wasn’t a hint of playground equipment or any sign that a child had ever set foot on the evenly trimmed grass.

“Would you like a drink, Alex, there’s probably a lot you and I—”

Chapa interrupted him by invading his personal space, close enough that he could smell how Stephen’s expensive cologne was competing with his overpriced aftershave. Chapa wasn’t wearing either.

“If you ever try to take my child from me again—”

“Alex, I wouldn’t—” Stephen started, but Chapa stopped him by raising a single finger.

“If you ever try to take my child from me again, I will punch those veneers through the back of your fucking throat. Do you understand me?”

“Of course.”

“Good. That’s how I roll,” Chapa said, then smirked, and added, “Capiche?”

Chapa heard the front door open. He hurried past Stephen, who started to say something, and stepped out into the hallway. Nikki was wiping her feet on the mat, a bulging backpack draped over one shoulder.

She looked up, and her face was overtaken by a spontaneous smile.

“Daddy!”

Nikki broke into a full sprint as Chapa knelt down and extended his arms in anticipation of the massive hug that was rushing toward him.