Chapter Eleven
“I’ve never stopped loving you” was such a TV cliché, or the kind of thing one saw in romance novels. It wasn’t true, which Jackson could attest to. A love lost didn’t linger forever, and time erased a little more of it each day. It was more like a scar, something that was part of you, a reminder of a past trauma, but something easily forgotten unless you were staringright at it.
He thought about that while he was stuck in the mother of all traffic jams on the way between the courthouse and his office, because he thought it would save time to take a cab. Ha. The cabbie had on the local AM news station, and Jackson had already heard the same traffic and weather report three times in the time it had taken them to travel four whole blocks.
“Lord almighty,”said Jackson.
“Sorry, sir,” the cabbie said. “Traffic on Canal. Bad accident in the Holland Tunnel. Backed up all afternoon.”
“All right.”
“I could let you out here if you want to take the subway. No charge.”
They were stuck behind a grocery delivery truck. To the right, a bunch of bikers whizzed by in the bike lane, and on the left, an SUV tried to squeeze into a parking placereally only long enough to fit a Smart Car. Getting out of the cab seemed like a good way to get his foot run over. “No, it’s fine. Think it’ll clear up once we get past Canal?”
“Yes. Much less traffic uptown.”
“Good.”
Jackson pulled out his phone. As he checked his email, the news report changed topics.
The newscaster said, “And now to the story of Senate candidate and businessmanParker Livingston. As we’ve been reporting all week, the body of New York socialite Zoe Haufman was found in Livingston’s apartment Sunday night. Livingston continues to assert his innocence and has, by all accounts, been cooperating with the police. No arrest has yet been made, and an official from the NYPD says they are still investigating. Livingston held a press conference yesterday in whichhe announced his campaign would be suspended until further notice, though his opponent, Howard Thompson, still continues to campaign. Thompson made a campaign stop in Schenectady this morning, mentioning Livingston.”
There was a pause, and then the booming, Brooklyn-accented voice of Howard Thompson came through the radio. “The death of Ms. Haufman is a tragedy. I trust the NYPD to find herkiller and bring him to justice.” The newscaster returned. “Mr. Thompson also said he hoped the campaign can stick to the issues.” Then Thompson: “My opponent is a friend to Wall Street, who would have the banks run wild, ensuring more money stays with the one percent. Mr. Livingston has been enormously successful in business, but do you really want your government run by a CEO?” That seemed toget an enthusiastic response from a crowd.
Then the newscaster came back on again. “Parker Livingston could not be reached for comment, but a spokesperson from his campaign said that he plans to continue to cooperate with police and he wishes justice to be found for the Haufman family. Now to the Sports Desk.”
There’d been a time when hearing Park’s name on the news had been like pickinga scab off a wound. It felt a little like finding out Jackson’s most recent ex, Jeremy, had gotten back together with an old boyfriend and adopted a dog. The photos Jeremy had plastered all over his social media accounts—of both the dog and the boyfriend—were admittedly pretty cute, but still, Jackson felt a pang every time he saw them, as if they were a reminder that Jackson had failed Jeremyand their relationship. He was happy for Jeremy and knew better than to think that he and Jeremy had been good together, but he still felt that little gut punch every time he saw how great Jeremy’s post-Jackson life had turned out.
Except having to see video of Park on the evening news or glancing at a photo of him online was worse, because so much of Jackson’s formative years had been spentwith Park, and not having him around anymore had been like a shock to the system for the six months after Park left. When Park started making more media appearances, Jackson felt them like an ice pick to the heart every time. That got easier over the years. Until a week ago, he’d gotten to the point where he still felt a little tingle whenever he saw or heard something related to Park, but thatgot easier, too, more like hearing that an old friend from his law school class had gotten a promotion or something.
Because after five years without Park, Jackson didn’t feel that same gut punch whenever he thought of Park anymore. He didn’t feel much of anything. To say he’d forgotten Park would be a lie, but after some time had passed, Jackson remembered him less frequently. He’d spentthe weeks after Park’s departure blasting “Love Don’t Live Here Anymore” and singing along whenever he was home, bringing himself to tears almost every time, but after six months, a year, he’d been able to go out and flirt with other men without feeling like he’d betrayed Park somehow. After two years, he could meet a new man and bring him home without thinking of Park at all.
He’d fallenout of love. Park had hurt him so badly, Jackson had been convinced for a while that he’d never recover, but things did get better. He’d gotten on with his life. He’d focused on his career. He didn’t love Park the way he once had. He’d never forget Park, and he held part of his heart aside permanently for Park, because Park was his past, an experience that carved out the man Jackson was now. But hedidn’t love Park anymore. He couldn’t if he expected to extricate himself from this case with his heart intact.
“You think he’s guilty?” asked the cabbie.
“Huh?”
“This Livingston guy. Think he’s guilty?”
“No. I don’t think he is.” He’d said it on instinct, but he wasn’t prepared for a big argument on this.
“I liked him, you know? Thought he had smart things to say. Probablywould have voted for him. But this murder. It seems shady.”
“Why would a man running for office leave a dead body in his own apartment?”
“I heard he was dating that girl. They could have had a big fight.”
Jackson held his tongue and stared out the window.
By some miracle, the cab managed to cross Canal Street, and once they were free of Chinatown, traffic cleared up. After a seriesof death-defying turns through the streets of the Village, they were headed uptown on Sixth Avenue at a reasonable clip. Jackson tried to focus his attention back onto the work he had to get done that afternoon, though of course his mind kept drifting toward Park, toward what it had been like to be with him again, how this fucking case had undone five years of healing in one fell swoop.
Hedidn’t love Park. But Park had shown him last night that he could again.
At long last, the cab pulled up to the curb in front of the Sixth Avenue high rise where Kane & Reed had their offices. Jackson paid and gave the cabbie a generous tip before grabbing his briefcase, taking a deep breath, and walking across the plaza in front of the building. As he rode up the elevator, he reasoned nothinghad changed; realistically, Gavin would solve the case, Park would be exonerated, and they’d part ways again, leaving Jackson to look on from the sidelines.
When Jackson walked into his office suite, Reed was leaning over the reception desk, grinning at Penny.
