“Did she take it down?” Georgia asked.
“No. Graham asked if she wanted him to, but she said she’d do it later.”
“Well, I won’t miss that painting,” Karen remarked. “It was trouble. So. Who do you think did it? I can’t imagine it was a random thing.”
“Not quite,” Georgia said.
Amanda agreed. “Whoever entered the house had a mission. That painting was the target.”
“Then it wasn’t theft,” Georgia reasoned, “which means that whoever did it bears a grudge.” She slid Karen a crooked smile. “We have you on motive.”
Once, they all would have laughed aloud, Amanda realized. They would have been of like mind and shared humor. They would have been a team, particularly where Ben’s lovely, young, blond-haired wife was concerned.
Karen didn’t smile now, though. “Ha-ha,” she said soberly, then, “Did you see the way Bobby Chiapisi was looking at Gretchen?”
“He wasn’t,” Georgia replied.
“Precisely. He wouldn’t look at her. It was like he wanted to be anywhere but there.”
Georgia scowled. “You think that he and Gretchen . . . ?” She shook her head.
Amanda agreed with her. “I’ve seen him around town. He wasn’t avoiding her. He’s like that all the time—stiff, formal, starchy, awkward.”
“He’s the right age,” Karen said. “He’s single. He’s always standing right out there in the open, manning the traffic light in the center of town. She could have seen him. He could have come on to her.” Her brows went up. “Wasn’t he part of the police detail on the day of Ben’s funeral?”
“He might have been,” Amanda said, though she didn’t actually remember.
“The department is small,” Georgia said by way of agreement.
Karen seemed satisfied with the possibility. “So”—she turned to Amanda again—“did you go upstairs with her?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Was the bedroom pretty?”
Amanda thought for a minute. “Pretty? Enough so. Seductive, no.”
Georgia returned to the intruder angle. “Should she be staying alone there tonight?”
“I asked her that,” Amanda said. “I asked if there was anyone else she could stay with—family or a friend. She said there wasn’t.”
“I’m not having her stay at my house,” Karen declared. “Neighborly concern is one thing, but having her down the hall would be pure suicide.”
There was a heavy silence.
Karen waved a hand, as if to erase the words. “Oh my. That was an unfortunate slip of the tongue. Let’s not go there.”
But how not to? Amanda thought. All three of them had been at a sixteen-year-old boy’s funeral that morning. It put vandalism into perspective.
Apparently agreeing, Georgia said, “Allison is shaky. When she’s home, she sticks to me like glue.” She glanced at the Cotters’ porch. “How’s Jordie doing?”
Karen followed her gaze. “He’s quiet.” Her voice dropped. “Let me see if I can talk with him.” She set off, but before she had even reached the steps, he disappeared into the house. She stopped, hesitated, then more slowly followed him inside.
“Now there’s a problem,” Georgia breathed. “Mother and son do not get along. Some of it has to do with the age. But why is it so bad with them?”
Amanda didn’t answer at first. She didn’t like analyzing friends, and the fact was that she hadn’t been inside Karen’s home watching the Cotters in action since Christmas.
But she trusted Georgia. She wanted to share her thoughts and get feedback. So she set off down the driveway, heading for the Langes’. Georgia was beside her by the time she hit the sidewalk.
“I think there’s tension in the house,” she said. “I think things aren’t good between Karen and Lee. Kids pick up on that.”
“Has Karen said anything to you?” Georgia asked.
“No. But you’ve heard her talk.”
“She sounds bitter. There’s no sense of humor. No laughter. No gossip. No give.”
“Only suspicion.”
“She didn’t used to be like that,” Georgia said, validating Amanda’s memories. “This must be hitting too close to home. Do you think Lee’s the father of Gretchen’s baby?”
“I don’t know.” Amanda was truly undecided here. “Gretchen didn’t react one way or another when he arrived. I was watching her. She didn’t react to Bobby, either. I cannot imagine it’s him.”
“Probably not,” Georgia said. In front of her house now, they sat down on the curb side by side. “But it makes me think, y’know?”
“About Bobby?”
“About Russ. I’m gone a lot. Oh, I don’t think he fooled with Gretchen. I don’t think he’s that lonely. Not yet.”
“He loves you to bits,” Amanda argued.
“Yeah, but there’s a limit to that, too. I saw part of a column he’d written. It was about the loneliness of the stay-at-home parent. He’d printed it out and thrown it away, but without folding it or crumpling it up or anything, like maybe he wanted me to see it.”
“Did he submit it to the paper?”
“No. He would have shown it to me directly if he had. That’s the deal. He always shows me things that are at all about us.”
“Why’d he toss it out?”
“Good question. Because it’s too revealing? Not manly enough? All I know is I was happy I came home early.”
“Did things get messed up with your buyer because you left his men in Tampa?”
“Yes. But it was worth it. Allison needed me. Tommy did, too, because he knew Quinn enough to feel sadness—or shock—or fear—or whatever it is he’s feeling. He can’t express it. But he likes my being there. He keeps saying it.”
Amanda admired Georgia. The woman hadn’t needed schooling in psychology to understand her family and its needs, and she did that on top of being a successful businesswoman. Even now, at the end of the day, she looked clean and chic in her tailored slacks and blouse, with her neat, short, straight hair.
Amanda worked in a local setting. Georgia’s world was far broader, and while Amanda didn’t aspire to that, she was awed by her friend’s potential. “So, is this company going to buy you out?” she asked.
“The lawyers are negotiating. Mine says they’ll make an offer. The question is whether I can live with their terms. They want me to stay on for three years, basically doing what I’ve been doing, but on a salaried basis. That would mean just as much travel as I’ve had. I don’t know if I want that. I may just want out.”
“And if you tell them that?”
“They may want out, too. They seem to think that I single-handedly run every aspect of this company and that without me it would fall apart. Hey, it’s flattering. But it’s dumb. I mean, who are we kidding? The company would survive without me. But they want me there because they know I care and would jump into action if something went wrong, and they’ll keep me there until someone in their own organization learns the ropes. I just don’t know if I want to be the teacher.”
“What if they do want out? Are there other buyers in line?”
“Two possibilities, but this is the one I want. It’s a good company. If they bow out, it’d mean starting the dog-and-pony show all over again, and I’d hate to do that. But I can’t see jumping from the frying pan into the fire. I mean, if I’m selling the company to get off the road, and then I find myself back on the road, only answerable now to someone else, that stinks.”
Finding the sentiment familiar, Amanda smiled sadly. “A lot of life does.”
“The baby thing?” Georgia asked.
“That’s part of it.”
“And Graham?”
Amanda nodded, looking out across the street toward Gretchen’s. It was twilight, the denouement of a long day.
“Still not talking?”
“Well, we are. We’re starting to.”
“What about sex?” Georgia asked.
Amanda shot her a qui
ck glance and laughed. “Trust you to cut to the chase.”
Georgia put an arm around her and said quietly, “I wouldn’t with everyone. I just care more about you and Graham than I do about some. You listen to people’s problems all day. So who listens to yours?”
“You.”
“I’m listening.”
With dusk spreading blue shadows about, Amanda felt less exposed than she might have in broad daylight. That made it easier to speak. “He holds me at night. There’s a wonderful warmth. I lie there and imagine we’re old people just seeking comfort. Only we aren’t old, and we want more.”
“If you want it, what’s the problem?”
Amanda tried to put it in words. “It’s like there’s a block. Like when we think sex, we get tense. Like sex has become a conditioned reflex.”
“But it wasn’t always that way.”
“God, no,” Amanda said with feeling. “I adore his body. He totally turns me on.” Her eyes crossed the street again, as the men emerged from Gretchen’s house and stood on the porch. Gretchen had turned on the lights. Amanda focused on Graham. “I mean, look at him. He’s tall, dark, and handsome. Can anything be more clichéd than that—or more alluring? I love his eyes. I love his smile. I love his beard.”
“Russ tried to grow one once,” Georgia mused affectionately. “Poor guy. He thought it’d make him look cool, only it came in motley. I have to say, Graham’s is a good one.”
“And his touch,” Amanda went on, because she was into it now—the confiding, the sharing, the venting. “He knows how to make love. He’s considerate and gentle. He senses needs and reads moods. He knows how to please a woman.” She stopped short, exhaled. “That’s who he is. And I respond to it and become someone I want to be.”
“It sounds perfect.”
“It was. Right up until the past year. When we make love now, we aren’t ourselves. We aren’t even who we want to be. We’re just going through the motions.”
“You’re still thinking about the baby.”
Determinedly, Amanda said, “Not this month. I’m not thinking. I’m not counting. I put everything away, all the paper and stuff, out of sight, out of mind. I’m not taking my temperature or popping pills or running to the clinic.” She released a helpless sigh. “But it doesn’t seem to matter. It’s like we can’t move on. Like we forgot how to enjoy each other that way. Like we can’t make that.. . make that final...”
“Commitment?”
That was it. “Yes.”
“Commitment to the future?”
“Yes.”
“Looking at the big picture and wondering what’ll happen.”
“Yes.” Amanda smiled her gratitude. “Thank you for understanding.”
“I try. It’s hard for me to imagine what it’s been like for you. I had babies when I wanted them.” There was movement across the street as the four men came down the walk toward the police car. More softly, Georgia said, “You don’t really think Graham is Gretchen’s guy, do you?”
Amanda heard what Georgia didn’t say. “Because she came looking for him just now? That did cross my mind. But if I were her, I’d have done the same thing. Graham is good in situations like that. He’s calm and clearheaded.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Georgia chided. “No, I do not think he fathered that baby.” “Then who did?”
***
“She’s not telling,” Russ said an hour later. “Her lips are sealed.”
The three men were shooting hoops in the Langes’ driveway under floodlights mounted on the roof of the garage. Graham stole the ball from Lee and pivoted away when Russ tried to block his approach to the basket. He aimed and let the ball sail. It went through the basket touching nothing but air.
“Good shot,” Lee said, getting the rebound and dribbling a bit.
Russ pushed his glasses up his nose with a forearm, then watched the others with his hands on his hips. “I’m surprised the cops didn’t prod. You can’t blame them for wondering about the baby’s father, when she’s so closemouthed about it. We’re living in an era of domestic abuse.”
“Speak for yourself,” Lee said as he began a layup shot.
Graham easily stole the ball, dribbled around on the far side, came in fast, jumped, dunked. He made the rebound himself and lobbed the ball to Russ.
“You know what I mean,” Russ said, catching it but not moving. “If she won’t tell who the father is, and someone went in there destroying the painting that her first husband—whom she loved— whom she worshiped—whom she idolizes to this day—bought her, it stands to reason that the father of the baby may be green with envy.”
Lee gestured toward the ball. “Are you gonna stand there talking or play?”
Graham tried not to smile. Russ wasn’t an athlete. He wore the requisite tank top and baggy nylon shorts, and he was sweaty and disheveled. Between that and his height, a passerby would think he was the star of the team. In truth, he liked the camaraderie far more than the game. At Lee’s gibe, he passed off to Graham.
Graham dribbled in place. He liked the sound—that rhythmic boom boom boom—always had. It took him back to his childhood, playing for hours with his brothers. It was a normal sound, a predictable sound, a controllable sound.
Putting out an arm to ward off a lunge by Lee, he asked, “So who’d want that picture destroyed?” He dribbled out of reach and around the driveway. “My money’s on one of Ben’s sons. They wouldn’t give her the time of day when Ben was alive, and they were downright rude to her when he died. I’m surprised they didn’t contest the will.” He took aim and shot. The ball bounced off the rim.
Lee went in for it. “They wanted to. I convinced them not to.” He caught it and put it up. This time it went in.
Graham took the rebound leisurely. Behind him, Russ asked Lee, “Do you talk with them much?”
“Once in a while. They’re nice guys. We used to talk stocks and bonds when they came visiting Ben and June.”
“Whose side is the lawyer on?” Graham asked. Poised for an outside shot, he aimed, jumped, put a victorious fist in the air when the ball went through the net.
Lee grabbed the ball. “Deeds?” He faked a pass to Russ, who put his hands out to catch nothing. Then he spun around and executed an uncontested layup shot. He let Graham take the rebound. “Deeds is on the brothers’ side. But he’s a wuss. He wouldn’t want to go to court. Wouldn’t know what to do with himself there.”
“So, what do you think?” Graham asked to the rhythm of that comforting boom boom boom. “Think either of the sons would damage that art?”
“Themselves? No.”
“Would they hire someone to do it?”
“Maybe.”
“Can you ask if they did?”
Lee laughed. “Why? It’s done. Over. Gone.”
Graham shot the ball at him harder than he would have if the guy had shown an ounce of compassion. Lee caught it. Graham wasn’t surprised. The man had the reflexes of a fox.
“What if it wasn’t them?” Graham asked. “What if it was someone else, someone who might just break into your house next, only when your wife is right there?”
Lee put the ball on his hip and stood there with his eyes on Graham’s. He didn’t say a word.
Graham was appalled. “Christ, why don’t you just divorce her? If you dislike her that much, get the hell out. Let her off the hook. Let her get on with her life.”
“Why? It works for me. We have a home. We have a family. There are still good times.”
“So what happens when the kids leave home?” Russ asked. “I think about that a lot. Seven more years, and it’s just Georgie and me. What are you gonna do when it’s just Karen and you?”
“Ahhh,” Lee said, shrugging off the question and making an underhand pass toward the basket. “It’ll never be just Karen and me.”
Graham was annoyed enough to let the ball just bounce off into darkness. “Okay. Forget Karen. What about you? Are you happy living thi
s way?”
“Yes. I’m happy. I provide for her, and she’s busy. That gives me the freedom to do what I want.”
“So freedom’s the key?”
“For me it is. I can’t live without it. Karen knows that. She accepts it.”
“And the kids?”
“The kids love me.”
Graham wondered how long that would last. He’d heard Jordie. There might be love, but there was also a whole lot of resentment. No child should have to live with that. Not in his own home. For whatever differences Graham had with his mother, he couldn’t fault her there. His parents had been deeply in love. He wanted that for his own children.
What if there’s never a baby? Amanda had asked. What happens to us then? If we go through another round of artificial insemination and then move on to in vitro and still don’t conceive, what then? Will you still want me?
The thing was, she was only looking at one side of the coin. He could as easily turn the questions around and ask what she would do if there was never a baby. The doctors had no proof that the problem was hers. Despite what his well-meaning family insisted at every turn, the problem could well be with him, and if that was the case, she might be the one to turn away. He could argue that it had started already.
It was an unsettling thought.
Had they been alone, he might have shared it with Russ, gotten a little encouragement, felt a little better. But Lee was a different story. Graham wasn’t sharing personal stuff with him.
Having lost his taste for the game, he said a sudden, “I gotta go,” and walked off into the dark.
Chapter Thirteen
Despite the dark cloud hovering in the back of Gretchen’s mind, Tuesday broke sunny and warm. Spring scents rose from the cul-de-sac in wisps. Up at dawn, she brought several of the first lilacs inside to perfume her kitchen. She had cut an armful of tulips— red, pink, and yellow—and had put them in vases around the house. She hadn’t put any in the living room. She hadn’t gone in there since the men had left the night before. Instead, she had set the alarm, gone to her bedroom, and cleaned the place top to bottom. She had washed every washable piece of clothing and had made a pile of others to be dry-cleaned. Though she still didn’t think that anyone had been in her room, she wasn’t taking any chances. She had worked too hard to take the dirt from her life to allow even the tiniest speck of it in.
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