ON A HUMID late July day in Detroit, Page Kosinski paused at the intersection and waited for the light to turn so she could cross the street. The coffee shop where she had agreed to meet her ex-husband, Chad, was up ahead. He’d called and said he had something to tell her. Begged her to meet him at their once favorite place. She wondered what he was about to tell her. Did he want to get back together?
She had to admit that she’d thought about it herself every once in a while, but then she reminded herself that she didn’t need him to mess with her life or her heart anymore. The thing she really missed was being part of a couple. Her pride would never let her admit it to anyone, especially her best friend, April, but she liked having someone to come home to. She liked waking up with him every morning and going to bed with him every night. She liked knowing she had a standing date on New Year’s Eve and Valentine’s Day. She reveled in being one half of a group of two. Her marriage to Chad had hardly been the stuff of fairy tales, but at least he had been there. For a while anyway.
The light turned and she hurried to cross the street. She didn’t want to seem too anxious, but she was running late as usual. She opened the door to the coffee shop and groaned at the sight of him waiting at a table. With his perfectly coiffed blond hair and chiseled features, Chad didn’t have the right to look so handsome, although the scruffy chin was new. He stood and moved the chair opposite his out for her. He kissed her cheek. “You look...different, Page.”
She reached up and touched her bald head. She knew exactly how she looked—like someone fighting cancer. She’d beaten it twice, but it had come back a third time in her ovaries. She only had a few months of chemo left, and then she’d find out if it was gone for good. “You look like you always do.”
She took a seat, and he left to order their coffees. He didn’t need to ask what she wanted since she always ordered the same thing. She didn’t like surprises.
He returned with their drinks, and she put her hands around the mug in order to give them something to do. “How are you, Chad?”
“Good. Really good.” He looked her over. “Should I even ask how you’re doing?”
“Why would you? You never liked hearing about all the icky details of my cancer when we were married. That was an inconvenience to your precious life.” He winced at her sharp tone, and she regretted the words after they were out. They might be true, but he clearly wanted some kind of truce. She swallowed her bitterness by taking a sip of her coffee. “On the phone you said you had some news.”
He shifted in his seat and looked out the window before turning to face her. “I wanted to be the first to tell you before you heard it from anyone else.”
Oh. She gripped the mug tighter. “Are you getting married to her?” Her being the anti-Page: blonde, bubbly and buxom. She couldn’t even say her name.
Chad ducked his head. “Nikki and I are getting married next month.”
“So soon? What is she, pregnant?” She smirked at the thought of Chad with kids when he was little more than a child himself. He blushed and was unable to meet her gaze. The bottom fell out of Page’s stomach. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Get out.”
His perfect features hardened into a familiar scowl. “I knew you’d take it wrong.”
“How should I take it? You cheated on me with her while I was going through chemo. You divorced me when I was still sick so that you could move in with her. And now you tell me you’re having a baby?”
“It just happened.”
“I’m a labor-and-delivery nurse, so I know exactly how it happens.” She pursed her lips. The words she wanted to say fought to come out. The emotions that she kept buried deep inside bubbled up, but she kept quiet and took a long sip of her coffee.
He reached across the table to touch her hand, but she snatched it away. “Please be happy for us. You know how much I always wanted to have kids.”
The urge to punch him grew stronger. “Really? The way I remember it I was the one who wanted kids, but you told me we needed to wait. First, until we had more money. Then it was a bigger house. And we waited and waited until I was sick and then it was too late. But you didn’t wait very long for her, did you?” She put a hand to her flat belly. “Get. Out.”
Chad rose from his chair and put a hand on the table near hers. “Page, you don’t want to end up like your mother, do you? Mean? Spiteful?”
Page summoned all the anger inside her and glared at him. He almost tripped over his own feet hurrying away from her. Once he was gone, she put her hands around the still warm mug. She glanced at the other patrons. They looked as if their lives were continuing as normal, while hers had crumbled a little more.
She finished her coffee and left the shop, vowing never to set foot in there again.
* * *
THE KID SITTING opposite him had his head down on the table, and his long dark hair covered his face. He hadn’t looked up since Mateo Lopez had entered the interrogation room of the Detroit Police Department, and Mateo tried to squelch the desire to leave Scotty to deal with the consequences of his actions alone. But he’d been hired by the kid’s mother to represent him in front of a judge, who wouldn’t likely turn a blind eye to a repeat shoplifter.
Mateo asked a question that he already knew the answer to. “What was it this time, Scotty? What was it that you had to have and didn’t care that you’d end up in juvie for? Again?”
Scotty kept his gaze on the table as he shrugged. “Don’t matter.”
“Really? Because we seem to end up at the police station too often for it to mean nothing.” He sat quietly, waiting for the kid to say something, anything. After five minutes, he took out a legal pad and pen. “This is your third strike, so you’re looking at a year of lockup.”
Scotty raised his panicked eyes to meet Mateo’s. “A year?”
“Minimum. The judge isn’t going to give you a slap on your wrist since you’re a repeat offender.” Mateo leaned closer. “Why did you do it?”
“I don’t know.”
Mateo doubted that. The kid knew more than what he said. “How about I tell you what I know? I know that your group of so-called friends dared you to take the cell phones. That when you got caught, they all ran off with the merchandise and left you to take the blame. Then you told the cops that you were alone and wouldn’t give any names. And now they’re all free while you’re in here and looking at a year in juvie. Those don’t sound like very good friends.”
The kid’s eyes lowered, and he once more concentrated on the table. “You don’t know nothing.”
“The truth is, I know the law. Which is good for you, since I can try to get a reduced sentence if you’ll give me the names of those friends.”
“No.”
Mateo