Eyes of a Child (14 page)

She sat across from him with Chris standing to the side. Carlo was pale; the effort to look stoic made him seem younger than his age. But his eyes did not waver.

‘I never touched her. Not that way. Not even close.'

His voice had a slight hoarseness. Terri fought to withhold her sympathy. ‘Richie claims she was upset.'

‘She wanted to take a bath, she told me.' His words were shot with pain. ‘Jesus, Terri, she's a
little kid
.'

Terri glanced up at Chris. Impassive, he seemed to be appraising Carlo. ‘Did you help her undress?' Terri asked. ‘Anything like that?'

‘No way. She had her clothes off before I even started the water. All I did was make sure she wouldn't drown.'

‘How did taking a bath come up?'

‘Kids
do
things, that's all.' He shook his head in wonder. ‘What
else
does she say?'

‘Nothing. Just folded her arms and denied talking to Richie. Which is a lie.'

Carlo exhaled. ‘She's a nice kid,' he said finally. ‘But I wish I'd never met her.'

Terri felt a sliver of sadness; whatever the truth, the good between Carlo and Elena had vanished. And, perhaps, between Carlo and Terri herself.

‘I've got something else to say.' Carlo's voice was tight now. ‘Maybe
he
believes this shit. Maybe he doesn't. Either way, he thinks he's going to put me through a lot of crap –social workers, shrinks, whatever.' His voice turned raw. ‘Let him. I didn't do this stuff.'

Terri leaned forward. ‘They'll be an investigation, Carlo. The evaluator will want to interview you. Give you all sorts of tests . . .'

‘So let's get it over with. So I can go back to some sort of normal life.' He stopped, seeming to imagine the questions he would face, and his voice grew strained again. ‘I have a
girlfriend.
I'm not some pervert.'

Terri watched his face. Abruptly, Carlo turned to his father. ‘Is that it, Dad?'

Chris's gaze filled with sadness and affection. ‘Yes,' he said. ‘That's it.'

Carlo left the room without looking at Terri. Chris watched him climb the stairs, until he disappeared.

‘
This,'
he murmured to Terri, ‘is one of the worst nights of my life.'

What would be left of them, Terri wondered, however this might end? ‘How is he?' she asked.

‘Exactly as you saw him – scared, angry, confused.' Chris's voice was level. ‘I know Carlo better than I know anyone. If he'd done what he's accused of doing, Carlo would lie about it. Most people would. But Carlo's not lying.'

‘Are you saying that Richie put her up to this?'

Chris turned to her. ‘Think about it Terri. I know you're worried for Elena, and so am I. But the first time you sat down with Keene, Richie asked him to spell out the hot-button custody issues – including child molestation. The hardest thing to prove or disprove.' Chris's tone filled with contempt. ‘When Elena came home that weekend and told him about the fun bath “with Carlo,” Richie must have salivated. All he had to do was tack on the disturbed behavior you'd already described to him and take it to Keene.'

‘The behavior is
real.
And Elena won't talk.'

Chris shrugged. ‘That's why you need an evaluation.'

Terri held his gaze. ‘Even one that involves Carlo?'

‘
Especially
then. He didn't do this, Terri. How would he feel if he ran away from it?'

Terri walked to the window. ‘Richie also mentioned your Senate race,' she said after a time. ‘What would people think, he asked me, if they knew that Carlo was a child molester? He's
desperate
, Chris, looking for money –'

‘Richie,' Chris cut in, ‘doesn't know what desperate is.'

Turning, Terri gave him a questioning look. She saw Chris's anger as a change in his eyes, nothing more.

‘I'm going to wait,' he told her softly, ‘until you've got Elena. And then I'm going to destroy him.'

Terri tried to imagine what Chris meant. She went to him, grasping both arms. ‘What about
us
?' she asked.
‘All
of us. Whoever he is, he's Elena's father.'

Chris's face turned cold. ‘That's not a father. That's a sperm donor. Elena would be better off without him.'

When Terri returned home, she was exhausted.

Rosa waited in the living room. With a calm that seemed accusatory, she said, ‘Elena had the nightmare again.'

The child lay sprawled in her bed. The position in which she had at last found sleep looked like someone running.

Terri thanked her mother and then showed her out as quickly as she could.

Closing the door, she leaned against it. Then she walked to the kitchen, picked up vase of flowers, and flung it against the wall.

It shattered: shards of glass on the floor refracted dull light from the ceiling. Terri stared at the jagged pieces then walked away.

In the morning, Terri cleaned up the glass. She was paying bills when Richie called.

‘We have a deal, Ter?'

Terri had not slept; she was far too tired to, temporize. ‘No deal,' she said. ‘No money, no custody agreement. Nothing except an evaluation.'

For a long time Richie was silent. ‘I can't tell you,' he said quietly, ‘just how sorry you both will be.'

She waited for more. He said nothing; still Terri listened, connected to him by his silence. When she heard the click at last, she imagined him placing down the receiver with exaggerated softness.

Die, Terri told him. Please, just die.

Chapter
13

Although Terri could not have known this, their fatal turning point began with a call from a reporter.

It came at a moment of frustration. Terri had just put down her office phone after talking to the evaluator Alec Keene had recommended, a warm-sounding child psychologist named Denise Harris, only to learn that Harris could not start with Elena for at least eight weeks. The phone rang and Terri, distracted, picked it up again.

‘Ms Peralta? Jack Slocum. Have a moment?'

Slocum worked for the morning paper, Terri recalled; his voice had the nervous aggression of the daily reporter. ‘Concerning what?' she asked.

‘The article in this week's
Inquisitor.
I wonder if you have any comment.'

Terri could not fathom why she should care about a supermarket tabloid filled with celebrity gossip and citings of spaceships. ‘I missed that one,' she said. ‘Did Elvis die?'

‘They didn't call you?' Slocum's voice was incredulous. ‘On page seven, your husband claims that Christopher Paget broke up your marriage.'

It was as if, Terri thought, she were dreaming.

‘Ms Peralta?'

‘Let me ask
you
something,' she said at last. ‘The
Inquisitor
pays for slime like this, right?'

‘Uh-huh. Mr Arias got ten thousand dollars.'

Terri sat back in her chair. ‘This isn't news,' she said. ‘It's compost.'

‘Come on, Ms Peralta. Christopher Paget may well run for the Senate. You don't think we're obliged to explore questions of character?'

‘Whose character?' Terri snapped, and hung up.

She found Chris at his desk. He did not look up Slocum had called him, she realized: the
Inquisitor
was spread out in front of him.

At the center of page seven was a news photo of Chris and Terri emerging from the Carelli hearing, and next to that, a color picture of Richie holding Elena. Elena looked bewildered; Richie's expression was pained and resolute, the abandoned and embattled father. The photo caption read: ‘Ricardo Arias raises six-year-old Elena by himself. “She's all I have now,” Richie says. “We're barely making it.”'

‘What's so pathetic,' Chris said quietly, ‘is that all he has to offer is lies and self-pity, and all it's worth to him is ten thousand dollars. It's like something from
Queen for a Day
.'

Terri felt a rush of shame. She forced herself to keep on reading. The writing was florid but effective: the story of a stay-at-home father, abandoned by his wife for her rich and powerful boss. ‘We had so much in common,' the article quoted Richie. ‘We were both Hispanic and poor, working together for a better life. Our first years were so happy with Elena, and I thought our marriage was strong. Then Terri became caught up in another world.
His
world. One day she just demanded a divorce and then ran away to be with him.' Terri did not know what made her angrier: the grotesque portrait that Richie had sold them, or the way the
Inquisitor
referred to the ‘alleged' affair to prevent Christopher Paget from suing.

‘It seems,' Chris said in a flat voice, ‘that there's a price for everything we do.'

Terri shook her head. ‘Has anyone else run this drivel?'

‘Not yet. But there's not a chance in hell that James Colt won't find out about it. And even without his encouragement, journalists love this sort of thing – in some newspaper, somewhere, some reporter with the ethics of a slug is already looking for a libel-proof way to print this. Something like: “Political insiders are privately concerned that the
Inquisitor
has placed a cloud over Paget's embryonic campaign.” Sound about right?'

It was as if he were discussing a client. Terri kept herself from apologizing for Richie: it was pointless and would sound too pitiful. ‘
I
could sue him,' she said. ‘I'm not a public figure. It's easier for me to bring a lawsuit.'

‘Not as long as he's got Elena. It can't seem like you're seeking custody to spite him.' When he looked up at last, his expression held sympathy. ‘If it weren't for my flirtation with politics, Richie would rate no intrest at all.'

Terri looked away. ‘I can't believe he's done this.'

She knew that it was the wrong thing to say even before she saw the look in Chris's eyes. But all he said, very quietly, was ‘Really?'

She made herself gaze back at him. ‘What are you going to do?'

‘Play by the rules of course.' Suppressed anger crept into his voice. ‘Within the rules, I've already done what I can. Our friend Slocum's publisher agrees with me that this isn't news – at least for now. If all this turns out to be is an
Inquisitor
story, it'll probably go away.

‘But you don't think it will.'

He stood and walked to the window. ‘That may depend,' he finally answered, ‘on what else Ricardo feeds them. Or what the media, or perhaps someone like Colt, dig up on their own.'

Terri hesitated. ‘Carlo, you mean?'

‘Yes.' He turned to her, eyes hard now. ‘It's time for me to have a talk with Richie.'

Terri felt her nerves tingle. ‘You
can't,
Chris. Not yet. It will only make things worse.'

‘Carlo's my son, damn it.' Suddenly Chris's anger burst into the open. ‘This little weasel thinks he's
immune,
Terri. We sit here like two corporate lawyers, discussing our legal remedies, while he distorts our lives and victimizes my
son
. How he must laugh.'

Terri forced herself to be calm. ‘Richie and I are contesting custody. Whatever he's done to Carlo, or you, you're not in court with him. I don't want Richie telling Scatena that you tried to prevent him from learning the “truth” about Carlo and Elena. And that's exactly what he'll do.'

Chris stared at her, and then his voice turned cool. ‘He has a certain genius, doesn't he. He's put us on opposite sides: anything I can do to protect Carlo may hurt Elena. And as long as he can keep on claiming that Carlo abused her, no one can touch him. Especially me.'

It seemed so long ago, Terri thought sadly, that Chris had dismissed Richie as a nuisance and a failure. Perhaps what was most painful was that Richie had become
real
to Chris: in his complete lack of scruples, the absence of anything to lose, Richie was beyond the weapons a normal man would use. ‘I'm so sorry about him,' Terri said finally. ‘But if he keeps on doing stuff like this, he's going to reveal who he really is. I'll try to tell him that.'

Chris's shrug was dismissive. ‘Do whatever you like. I'm sure he'll listen.'

There was no point in saying more to him, Terri realized – not now. She went back to her office and picked up the phone.

‘Richie Arias,' he answered in a cheery voice.

‘I've read the article,' Terri said calmly.

‘Terri?' His tone was still upbeat. ‘What did you think?'

‘That it captured you perfectly,' Her own voice remained level. ‘In a way I'm glad you did it. You're usually better at concealing what you are.'

‘Oh. And what is that?'

It was stange, Terri realized. Richie was trying to sound derisive, but part of him was insecure without her. ‘I won't bother to tell you,' she answered. ‘It's much better if you're still in the dark about how normal people think.' She kept her voice flat. ‘You're tone-deaf, Richie. You can read the notes, but you can't hear the music.'

‘What the hell does that mean?'

‘I'll give you one example.' Terri paused, speaking slowly and succinctly. ‘If you drag Carlo Paget into the newspapers, you'll be publicly exploiting a teenage boy
and
your six-year-old daughter. And no competent psychologist can miss the meaning of
that
.'

‘Look, I'm out of money.' His voice rose. ‘You think I wanted to embarrass myself? You and your boyfriend made me.'