Charley's Web by Joy Fielding

talked her into anything. He’d been opposed to her telling Jill’s story. The truth was she was the one who’d persuaded him.
    “What’s the matter?” Michael was asking.
    “What?”
    “What’s on your mind?”
    “Nothing. What do you mean?”
    “You were a million miles away.”
    More like seventy-five, Charley thought, calculating the distance to the prison in Pembroke Pines. “Actually, I’m thinking of writing a book.”
    “Thinking or planning?” Michael asked, cutting right to the chase.
    Charley smiled. “Planning.”
    “Does that mean you’re also planning to ask for some time off?”
    “No,” Charley said quickly. “Unless, of course, you disapprove of the subject.”
    “The subject being?”
    “Jill Rohmer.” Charley immediately filled Michael in on the details of Jill’s letter and her visit to Alex’s office. “You think it’s a bad idea?”
    “On the contrary—normally I’d say it’s an excellent idea.”
    “Normally?”
    “Well, you’ve just received an e-mail threatening your children. Do you really think this is the best time to go one-on-one with a convicted child killer?”
    Charley gave the question a moment’s thought. Maybe it was precisely the threat to her children that was contributing to her willingness—indeed, her eagerness—to meet with Jill Rohmer. Maybe she had a need to understand the kind of mind that could do such horrible things.
    Or maybe I just want to be famous, she admitted silently.
    “Of course, if you do decide to proceed, I get first serial rights,” Michael added, turning his attention to the papers on his desk. His way of signaling the meeting was over.
    “Consider it done.” Charley rose from her seat and left his office.
    Her phone was ringing when she reached her cubicle. “Hello,” Charley said, answering it just before her voice mail could click in.
    “Charley?”
    “Steve?”
    “How are you?” he asked, as Charley pictured her son’s father standing proudly beside a swimming pool he’d just helped install, shirt off, a glass of lemonade in his hand, courtesy of the wanton woman from the house next door.
    That was how she’d met him, after all, she thought with a smile. After several weeks spent watching his gorgeous, half-naked body dig and plaster and tile a neighbor’s new pool, she’d poked her head over her backyard fence and asked him if he’d like a glass of something cold. “What’ve you got?” he’d asked, following her inside her house.
    Nine months later, James was born, the spitting image of his father, and while Steve had never been a permanent fixture in either of their lives, he made every effort to see his son several times a month. He was two years younger than Charley and still content to drift from job to job, yard to yard, lemonade to lemonade.
    “I’m fine. You?” Charley wondered if something was wrong. It wasn’t like Steve to call her at work.
    “Great. Except listen, I have a slight problem with this weekend.”
    “What do you mean, a slight problem?”
    “I can’t make it.”
    “What do you mean, you can’t make it?”
    “Is that a problem?”
    “Yes, it’s a problem. I’ve made plans.”
    “I’m really sorry, Charley. You know I wouldn’t do this unless it was really important.”
    “More important than your son?” Charley asked, then immediately wished she hadn’t. It wasn’t like her to lay a guilt trip on either of her exes. The truth was that neither of them had asked for parenthood, and the bigger truth was that she was more than happy to be a single mother. She’d never wanted either man to be a staple in her life, and had never asked them for anything, including child support. Still, Franny’s father, Ray, had always insisted on being an active participant in his daughter’s life, giving Charley money every month without fail, and even Steve contributed a little something from time to time. Both men had proved to be far more responsible than she’d had any right