High Crimes

“No, wait. Whatever the truth is about these murderers, he was a member of this top-secret military unit that parachutes into places or whatever, into some foreign country where they’re not supposed to be, carrying false ID, shoots the place up, then pulls out. I mean, you want to talk about symbolic? He parachutes into your life out of nowhere, takes it over, carrying false ID—”

“Very clever.” Claire began scrubbing, with deep concentration, the detritus of Annie’s Alpha-Bits cereal encrusted on a bowl.

“And we don’t really know who he is.”

“Whatever they throw at him, he’s still the man I fell in love with.”

Jackie stopped and turned to look directly at Claire. “But you don’t know who that man is. He’s not the man you thought he was — he’s not the man you loved.”

“Oh, now, what does that mean, really? When you come right down to it? I wasn’t being fatuous or naïve when I said he’s the man I fell in love with. Whoever he is, I got to know him as he was, for what he was. I loved him — love him — for who he is, who I know him to be. Everyone has a past, everyone conceals something. No one’s ever totally open about their past, whether they’re hiding stuff intentionally or not, whether it’s their sexuality or—”

“And there you go, rationalizing it.” Jackie raised her voice. “You don’t know, bottom line, who he is and whether he did what they say he did—”

“I know he didn’t do what they’re charging!”

“You don’t know anything about him, Claire. If he could lie to you about his family, his parents, his childhood, his college, practically his whole fucking life, do you really think he couldn’t lie to you about this?”

Annie was standing at the entrance to the kitchen in her Pooh pajamas, sucking her thumb for the first time in years.

“Annie!” Claire said.

Annie removed her thumb with a liquid pop. She looked sullenly, suspiciously at her mother. “Why are you and Aunt Jackie fighting?”

“We’re not fighting, baby. We’re talking. We’re discussing.”

Accusingly, Annie said: “You sound like you’re fighting.”

“We’re just talking, kiddo,” Jackie said. To Claire she added: “I’m going to smoke a cigarette.”

“Outside, please,” Claire said. “I may well join you after Annie goes to bed.”

“I’ve created a monster,” Jackie said.

“No, you’re not tucking me in,” Annie told her mother. “Jackie is.”

“Oh, but can I? I hardly ever see you anymore — I miss you!”

“No,” Annie said loudly. “I don’t want you to tuck me in. I want Jackie to.”

Jackie turned back. “Kiddo, let your mommy tuck you in.”

Claire added, “Sweetie, your mommy—”

“No! You go work! Jackie will do it! Go away!” She ran out of the kitchen, her feet pounding up the staircase to the second floor.

Claire looked at Jackie, who shrugged.

“Go for it,” Jackie said. “You can’t blame the kid.”

Annie’s temporary bedroom was a guest room whose only personalizing touch was the toys she’d scattered about the floor.

Annie had already climbed into bed, looking at Madeline and the Bad Hat, sucking her thumb furiously. “Go away,” she said when Claire entered.

“Honey,” Claire said softly, approaching the bed and kneeling next to it.

Annie pulled out her thumb. “Go away! Go work!”

“Can I read to you? I’d really love to.”

“Well, I don’t want you to, so you can just go away.”

She replaced her thumb in her mouth, staring balefully at the book.

“Can I talk to you?”

Annie ignored her.

“Please, baby. I want to talk to you.”

Annie’s eyes didn’t leave the book.

“I know you’re upset with me. I haven’t been a good mommy at all, I know that. I’m so sorry.”

Annie’s eyes seemed to soften for an instant; then she lowered her brows, frowned. Still she said nothing. Claire had told her that her daddy was on trial, but how much did she really understand?

“I’ve been so busy trying to get Daddy out. I’m out of the house early, and I come home late, and I’m exhausted, and we haven’t done any of the things we always do. And I want you to know that I love you so much. More than anyone in the world. I do. And when this is all over, we’re just going to play together a lot, and go to the zoo, and get ice cream, and mostly just be together like we used to.”

Annie pulled the blankets up to her chin. Without moving her eyes from the book, she said sullenly, almost demanding: “When’s Daddy coming home?”

“Soon, I think. I hope.”

A pause; then Annie said grudgingly, “Jackie says he’s in jail.”

Claire hesitated. She was loath to lie to her anymore, and right now Annie, ferociously observant like all small children, appeared almost to be daring Claire to tell the truth.

“He is, but it’s a mistake.”

Annie frowned again. “What’s jail like?” She seemed to be demanding the details, as proof of Claire’s credibility.

“Well, they keep him in a room, and they give him his supper there, and they give him books.”

“Isn’t there bars and locks and everything?” Annie asked warily.

“Yes, there are bars.”

“Is he sad?”

“He’s sad he can’t be with you.”

“Can I go see him?”

“No, babe, I’m sorry.”

“Why not?”