Page 29 of Delusional

Gary looked as if he were considering the offer. Rob gave him some time to make up his mind. He didn’t want his brother to feel like there were no choices. Ultimately, this would be his decision. But as the seconds ticked by, Rob began to get nervous that his brother was going to take the offer. What would that do to their grandfather?

Then Gary shook his head and said, “No, no, I’m sorry, Mr. Marks. I mean Arnold. I can’t sell this place.”

Rob noted the immediate change in Arnold Marks’s demeanor. He tried to keep calm. But he didn’t try very hard. This was not a man used to being told no. It made Rob wonder exactly what this guy was into. Surely a real-estate developer from California could better handle things not going his way.

Marks slowly rose to his feet. “That’s very disappointing. I thought you had better business sense than turning down an offer like this.”

Gary said, “Well, that’s the problem. This isn’t a business decision. It’s a personal one.”

“I hope you don’t personally regret it.”

That’s when Rob spoke up. “What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”

Arnold Marks glared at Rob, then at Gary. He stomped out of the building without another word. He did manage to spin the tires on his Humvee as he peeled out of the driveway, kicking a couple bits of icy gravel against the office door.

Gary was sweating as he turned to his brother and said, “I don’t think he took that very well.”

Rob shook his head. “We better be ready for anything.”

CHAPTER 33

I COULDN’T BELIEVE there were still a few rays of sunlight when I made it back home. Between the caseload and the early darkness of winter evenings, I barely remembered what the outside of our building looked like in daylight. It was nice to be home a little early. But, as usual, I felt guilty for not doing more on the bombing cases.

It was hard not to be consumed by investigations with so much at stake. The more we looked at everything, the more I believed these bombings were connected. It didn’t matter if the devices were different—someone was guiding the entire effort. Then a flash of my conversation with Abby Boyd’s mother ran through my mind. It didn’t really matter if this was the work of a serial bomber. That young woman’s mother deserved some closure and justice.

I was heartened when Rodney, our doorman, made a big deal out of seeing me arriving home before dark. “It does my heart good to see you home at a reasonable hour. Most people don’t give any thought to what a cop’s life is really like. But I’ve seen the way you have to tear out of here at all hours and then stay away even longer. I’m glad all those kids have such a good father.”

The warmth I got from Rodney’s compliment evaporated as soon as I stepped through the door of our apartment. I felt as if I’d entered a combat zone. Fiona and Bridget were both yelling at Shawna and Chrissy, and no one was listening to Mary Catherine. To be honest, the way that Mary Catherine was trying to raise her voice above the bickering children didn’t seem to be calming the situation in any way. But I’d been involved in too many of these arguments to judge anyone’s attempt at ending the conflict.

I said, “What’s this all about?” As soon as I said it, I realized my mistake. All it did was focus all the yelling toward me. I caught nothing but bits and pieces with a lot of “Dad!” and “So annoying!”

I raised my hands over my head, the universal signal in our family that everyone needs to be quiet at least for a moment. It was much more effective than yelling “Shut up!” and certainly less embarrassing in public. Once silence descended on the room, Mary Catherine pointed at Shawna and Chrissy. “These two need to burn off some energy. A lot of energy. If you take the two of them for a walk, I’ll clear up the mess here. Sound fair?”

I immediately recognized that whether it was fair or not, that’s what I was going to do. I looked at my two youngest kids and said, “Where do you two crazed dogs want to go?”

Both of the girls hopped up and down, saying in unison, “Dinosaur!” Then they started chanting it until it became three separate words. “Dine-oh-saur! Dine-oh-saur! Dine-oh-saur!”

In less than five minutes, we were all bundled up in warm outdoor clothes and stepping out onto the sidewalk from the front door of our building. Our destination had been made clear by the girls: Dinosaur Playground in Riverside Park. I was a little surprised that my tween girls wanted to go to the playground, but I was all in on the idea. I intended to wear these two out before we lost all remaining daylight.

It seemed like there were fewer kids out in the park than I remembered from the past and it made me wonder why. Was it the cold? Winter’s early dark? Parents overscheduling their kids and not allowing playtime? Or iPad kids preferring their screens to the swings? Whatever was behind it, I was determined that at least my kids were going to know the joy of the outdoors and exercise. Whether they wanted to or not, dammit.

I did the standard dad trick of having the girls race each other to the far end of the park, touch a particular tree, then race back to me. The only thing I had to do was time them on my phone. There was something about watching a kid run as hard as they could that made me happy. Of course after the first race, I had to tell them my timer on my phone had malfunctioned. Then I declared Shawna the winner at twenty-two seconds. On the next run, it was Chrissy at thirty seconds even. Now they were both panting hard and I had them on the ropes. Nothing like outsmarting a kid. Then they had one final race, which I declared a statistical tie at thirty-seven seconds.

We moved on to the playground itself, which had a dinosaur motif. Or at least some modest dinosaur sculptures. The girls particularly liked the triceratops, but I suspected that was mainly because they could easily identify it.

I couldn’t believe how this was restoring my energy and clearing my head. I was happy to have no thoughts of bombs or children without mothers. It was getting dark as the girls played on the swings and the little-kids’ slide, then I finally decided it was time to make our way back to the apartment.

I was holding their hands and swinging both girls around when an older woman walking past us stopped and said to the girls, “You sure are lucky to have such a fun father. I’m sure he’s nice too.”

Shawna looked at the woman and said, “Well, Dad’s not nice all the time. He’s a cop.”

I had to chuckle at that one.

CHAPTER 34

BACK HOME, WE had a lovely dinner of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and coleslaw, courtesy of a fast-food franchise I usually don’t visit. It was actually at Seamus’s insistence; my grandfather said he had far too many leftovers after a meeting of the clergy, and the food would go to waste if we didn’t finish it today.

After dinner and once the majority of the kids’ homework was completed, Mary Catherine and I lounged on the couch. She snuggled up next to me and I draped my arm over her shoulders. I noticed she had a tendency now to tuck her stomach toward me. I liked the feeling of having the baby so close.