“If you want it. But it’s been five months, and you haven’t visited once.”

But she has, in her own way. She has sneaked into Baltimore every chance she has using Adam’s truck or taking the Peter Pan Bus.

“I don’t have a car. And now you’re selling the one I do have.”

“See, that’s all you can think about, the car. You have a kid, Pauline. You left her.”

This is indisputable. But there are, as Gregg’s lawyer would undoubtedly write, mitigating factors.

“The postcards—did she get my postcards?” She has sent one every week since Gregg found her at the High-Ho. True, they were only scrawled hearts and “I love yous,” but it’s not like a three-year-old can read.

A pause. She knows that pause. It’s the pause that always followed certain questions, questions that Gregg found inconvenient. Where were you last night? Did you remember to get the things I needed from the store on your way home? First a pause, then a lie.

“No,” he says. “I thought it would confuse her.”

It has the ring of truth, which throws her off more than anything else in this conversation.

“She’s only three,” he continues. “She can’t read. She didn’t want postcards. She wanted you. And you never came.”

No argument there.

She says, “I know I’m the one who said ‘no lawyers,’ but if you insist on full custody, then—”

“Don’t, Pauline.” His voice is infuriatingly kind. “I’m not going to pay you for the privilege of keeping our kid. You’ve got your freedom, which is clearly what you wanted. I’m not going to give you money on top of it.”

“You think that’s how I am?”

“I know, okay? I know everything, Pauline.”

It feels as if her heart rises up her throat, all the way to her teeth. If he’s found out about the settlement, then everything—everything—she’s done is for nothing. She’s been told he has no legal rights, but she doesn’t want to spend a penny fighting to keep what’s hers, and Gregg will fight for money. “Know what?”

“It came out in the papers over here. You’re a killer, who’s already lost custody of one kid, then got a second chance. Well, you had it. Maybe the third time will be the charm for you. This, us—we’re over.”

Close to being over, she thinks. So close. But then, every time she thinks she’s close to the end, something else happens, another bump in the road.

“Okay,” she says. Now she knows exactly what he wants. Wasn’t that Barry Forshaw’s advice? Trick Gregg into revealing what he wants, and then you’ll have true leverage. Gregg wants Jani. He’s probably bluffing, but maybe he thinks that’s the only way he gets the other stuff. He’s expecting her to counter. She wins by not doing what he expects.

Still, she can’t help allowing herself one little zinger.

“You can’t rely on your mother for child care forever, you know.”

“Who said I was?”

“I just assumed that’s what you were doing.”

“Fact is, I found a really good day-care center near the office last week.”

Interesting. Gregg always said day care wasn’t right, that it was for welfare mothers or people who didn’t really love their kids.

“Are you dating?” she asks.

“Pauline.” Kind, beseeching, as if he thinks the information could hurt her.

“You’re entitled,” she adds.

“There’s a woman at work. But she’s more of a friend. She has a little boy about Jani’s age.”

Gregg has never had a female friend. Gregg doesn’t believe in female friends. They specifically had that argument after watching When Harry Met Sally on video one night, with him maintaining that “real” men didn’t have female friends.

“That’s nice for you.” She tries to think of what a normal woman would say in this situation, a woman who’s not trying not to conceal how much she wants a man out of her life, how much she loathes him. “Do the kids like each other?”

“Pretty well. Look, Pauline—”

“Yes?”

“Whatever happens, we’ll make it work,” Gregg says. She wonders who the “we” is—Gregg and her? Gregg and his mother? Gregg and Jani? Gregg and his friend? But that’s secondary. He has established his terms. She knows what he wants, what he’s willing to give.

“Could I get this in writing?” she asks. “The financial stuff. Have your lawyer draw up something based on what we talked about today, about the property, and I’ll sign it. Have it notarized if that’s what it takes. But then we’ll be on our way. Just the financial stuff, though.”

Polly also knows what she wants and what she’s willing to do to get it. She swallows hard, dials Barry Forshaw collect, and tells him what she needs. He asks a lot of pesky questions, complains that it’s not really his kind of thing, but in the end, he’s happy to do what she wants. For a price. When you help a man make more than a million dollars with very little effort, he tends to be kindly inclined toward you. Paper trail commenced, now she has to mark another kind of trail. Lead the horse to water. Make him drink.

That night, when she goes to work, she checks to see if Mr. C really does keep a gun in his desk.