Epilogue - Lucidity

DECEMBER, A LITTLE MORE THAN SEVEN MONTHS AFTER CANDACE had died and Ronald was exonerated, Fremmer was with Denise in the Starbucks on 76th Street and Columbus Avenue. He was working on his laptop when a man in a Yankees hat and glasses approached him. Fremmer didn’t recognize him but the man clearly knew him.

“I’ve been to about every Starbucks on the Upper West Side. I knew I’d find you.” He turned to the woman behind him, who was standing there a little shyly. “I told you he’d be in one of them,” he said to her.

They were both in their forties. She petite, he very tall. Fremmer knew him from somewhere but couldn’t remember where.

“You remember me?” the guy said.

“Yeah,” Fremmer said, searching his memory. Was he from his spinning class? An old client?

“Brian.”

“Hey, good to see you,” Fremmer said, his delivery a little too disingenuous. Brian realized Fremmer didn’t have a clue who he was.

“Brian Tynan,” he said. He took off his hat, revealing his wavy salt-and-pepper hair.

And then it came to Fremmer.

“Brian,” he said. “Your wife ran off with your contractor.”

“Yeah,” Brian said. “I mean no. He was a contractor. Not our contractor.”

“Oh, yeah,” Fremmer said. He stood up and extended a hand. “You look good, man.”

“I feel good,” Brian said. He pulled his companion closer to the table and introduced her. “This is Sylvia, my fiancée.”

Nice dark eyes. Mediterranean complexion. Thin. She was attractive, Fremmer thought, shaking her hand. “Wow, fiancée,” he said to Brian. “You got right back on the horse, didn’t you, you maniac? I had fiancée once. Tell them about her, Denise.”

“She was taller than me,” Denise said. “And had a better sense of humor. Nice to meet you both.”

“We saw you on TV,” Sylvia said to Fremmer. “Brian talks about you all the time and how he was there that day the police came to speak to you.”

Fremmer suddenly remembered Brian was there, he was the prospect he was speaking to when Chu first approached him.

“That was up the street,” Fremmer said. “The 81st and Columbus Starbucks,” he said. “You’d come from work. You were in your suit. That’s why I didn’t recognize you now. Now you’re all like hip and cool.”

Brian wasn’t all that hip and cool. But he was dressed in jeans and a thin ribbed down jacket that were better tailored than his suit.

“That was a pretty amazing story,” Sylvia went on.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Denise said.

“You were the only one who believed that homeless person didn’t push her,” Sylvia said. “No one else did, did they?”

“Well, no,” he said, thinking about it a moment. “I guess not.”

“That guy owes you his life,” Brian said. “And so do I, frankly.”

Fremmer looked at him. The guy seemed quite emotional. Were those tears welling up in his eyes? What am I missing here, he thought.

“I sold my book,” Brian announced.

Fremmer blinked. “Really?”

“That’s wonderful,” Denise said.

“I did what you said. I made the main character a woman and I sold it. I gave him a vagina,” Brian explained, letting out a laugh. “A few houses wanted it. There was an auction in the end. Closed bids.”

Fremmer was so shocked he couldn’t say anything. He didn’t even remember what his story was about. He vaguely remembered the villain. Evil Steve Jobs. That was it.

“They sold the movie rights, too,” Brian added. “But it’s not big money unless it gets made.”

This was getting more absurd by the second, Fremmer thought.

“It totally changed my life,” Brian said. “All of a sudden my ex-wife was trying to get back with me. But I’d met Sylvia already, so I wasn’t even tempted. We’re looking to get married this coming summer, or maybe in the spring if we can nail everything down quickly enough.”

“You picked a spot yet?” Fremmer asked.

“We’re thinking maybe Maine. It’s a second marriage for both of us, so we’re probably going to keep it small.”

“Oh, no,” Fremmer said, glancing over at Denise, who knew exactly where he was going. “You gotta go big. You’re doing destination, you gotta do real destination, none of this Maine shit. How ’bout California? We’ve been working for this guy who has a winery out in Sonoma. He just started doing weddings on the property. We can probably get you a deal. Check this out.”

He motioned for the two of them to sit down—there was an extra chair at the small table because Denise wasn’t using it—and then he went off in search of a third chair for himself. When he returned and sat down, he turned his laptop toward the couple and pulled up a link from Madden.

Marcus had posted a slick promotional video on the winery’s website. The wedding he shot took place a couple of months ago, in late October. Fremmer had never met the bride, a lawyer named Carolyn Dupuy, who married Ted Cogan, a doctor who’d been a suspect in a murder case Madden had worked on several years ago. Fremmer didn’t know the full story, nor did he want to, but Madden had arranged an extremely attractive rate for the wedding.

The video was beyond impressive. Almost the entire thing was shot using drones. The opening shot had the bride and groom walking down the aisle with the panoramic views of the hills and valley around. It was magnificent. So, too, were the shots of the guests who’d gathered on the hill.

The reception footage, interspersed with video shot from the ground, was equally compelling. Whoever booked the music was a genius. The first act was a talented Sinatra impersonator. That alone would’ve been enough for any glorious wedding. But act two was J.J. Carradine performing five songs from a new album that hadn’t been released yet.

“Isn’t that J.J. Carradine?” Sylvia said when she saw him appear on the small stage. “Oh, my God, it is. I used to love that guy. I always wondered what happened to him. His band had all those hits. And then he disappeared.”

“Writer’s block,” Fremmer explained. “Musicians get it, too.”

“That looks beautiful,” Brian said, mesmerized by the sweeping closing shot. “But I don’t think I can afford it. The book deal wasn’t that good.”

“Let me see what I can do,” Fremmer said. “It doesn’t have to be as elaborate as that one.”

“You work for the owner?” Sylvia asked.

“They have a small office here. I do real estate marketing and acquisition for him in New York. Denise has been helping me out. They’re really a West Coast operation, but they’re expanding.”

“So you’re not a book doctor anymore?” Brian asked.

“Hung up my cleats on that,” Fremmer said.

“His fans are still distraught,” Denise deadpanned.

“I tried to email you,” Brian said. “But I never heard back. Now I know why.”

“Sorry about that. I kind of started ignoring emails from that address. And a lot of other things for a little while. But I’ve got this new gig now. Better pay, less hustle.”

“Well, you were good,” Brian said. “Your advice paid off for me. I got my advance check last week. Which is why I wanted to find you. I have something for you.”

He stood up, reached into his front pocket, pulled out his wallet, opened it, and took out a check. Fremmer thought for a moment he was going to show him his advance. But the check he placed on the table beside Fremmer’s laptop was made out to Max Fremmer.

For five thousand dollars.

“I want you to have that,” Brian said. “That’s what I was supposed to pay you.”

Fremmer looked at the check, envisioned it briefly in his own wallet, then decided nah, he couldn’t. He picked it up, folded it, then tore it half, not once but three times. He handed the little pieces to Brian.

“You’re an honorable man,” Fremmer said. “But keep your money. I said the advice was free. And I meant it.”

Brian put the pieces in his pocket and shook Fremmer’s hand.

“I’ll never forget what you said, Mr. Fremmer.”

“Max.”

“I’ll never forget what you said, Max. ‘Do whatever you do with conviction. Always.’ I say it all the time now.”

“Words to live by, my friend,” Fremmer said. “Words to live by.”