I nodded, marveling at my own blindness. “She knew I was going nuts not being able to contact Neil. I’d told her that I felt strange being in his house, not having ever met him, and I really didn’t understand why you hadn’t told me how to get in touch with him. So it definitely makes sense that she would come up with such a neat solution.” It was deviously brilliant, in any regard. But there was something that still needed answering.
“The postmark on that letter,” I said. “How did you arrange that?” I paused, another question flashing through my brain. “And the keys to the house?”
By this point, I was more fascinated than furious. It was all so involved and intricate, the planning that had gone into all the arrangements. I supposed I might have been able to come up with something like this if I’d had enough preparation time, but I wasn’t sure I could have carried it off for so long.
Ray’s mouth twitched with the beginning of another smile.
“I know a guy,” he said simply, as though that explained everything. “He was able to get them postmarked for me, so that was easy enough. And Neil gave me his keys when he left.” The broad grin on his face was unapologetic. “He was trusting me to watch after his house, so naturally I needed to have a set of keys for that.”
“Naturally,” I echoed, narrowing my eyes at him. “Tell me this, though. Why did the e-mails stop?”
“I think the simplest answer to that question would be that it was getting harder and harder to keep up the charade. It was just easier to let your e-mails go unanswered and hope that you would just…lose interest? Or that you would assume Neil was just too busy to answer.”
I stared at Ray in amazement. “So what now?” I asked cautiously.
Ray regarded me thoughtfully. “Now we stop with the games and really get serious about a home for you.” He took my hands in his and locked his eyes with mine. “I’m sorry, Zoë,” he said earnestly. “Really sorry.”
I looked back at him, the corner of my mouth curling into a half smile.
“I’m not, Ray,” I replied, shaking my head very slightly. “I’m not.”
And I wasn’t.
As bizarre as it might have sounded, in giving me those keys and playing those games, Ray had given me a gift. And for that, I would always be grateful.
“Zoë Trent,” Sara barked, her fingers tented in front of her face as she sat across from me at her desk. “I’m sure this isn’t something you haven’t heard before, but you have quite the enviable credit rating. What I can’t figure out,” she continued, arching an eyebrow at me in condescension, “is why you came in here pretending to be looking for an apartment to share with Ray McPherson.”
She let out a throaty, derisive laugh, shaking her head.
“This is the twenty-first century, Zoë. Don’t humiliate yourself into thinking that you need a man to help you get an apartment.”
Her tone dripped with disdain. In her eyes, I was the antithesis of the modern, independent woman. I felt like I was in the principal’s office being scolded for chewing gum in class. Relying on a man wasn’t humiliating, I wanted to tell her. This was.
But I didn’t. I sat silently in the visitor’s chair, wondering how she had figured it out.
I didn’t have to wonder long.
“I have my sources,” she said, answering my unasked question. “I know that you were engaged and that your fiancé died shortly before you were going to be married. I know that Ray is engaged to a woman in Atlanta who is your best friend, so the two of you couldn’t possibly be looking for an apartment together. Could you?” She pressed her lips together in a tight smile.
“I’m sure Ray has told you that we know each other through a mutual acquaintance,” she continued. “No doubt his account of things didn’t paint me in the most flattering light, either.”
Again the tight-lipped smile, though it resembled more of a smirk. Maybe she enjoyed having a reputation as a cold-hearted sadist. Maybe she thought it gave her an edge.
I wasn’t sure how much I should let on that I knew, so I decided the best approach would be the noncommittal one.
“Ray didn’t really tell me very much,” I said, looking at a spot on the wall just to the right of her head. I didn’t know if I could trust myself to meet her gaze while I was telling her such a bald-faced lie. “He just said that the two of you used to know each other.” I clamped my mouth shut, willing her to move on to a more benign subject.
Sara cocked her head.
“Yes, well. Some things are best forgotten.” She straightened in her chair and shifted her steely focus to the computer screen. The interrogation seemed to be over.
“I spoke with the owners of the warehouse apartment on Belmont,” she said. “They’ve agreed to come down in price to accommodate the changes and repairs that still needed to be made to the place, so all that’s left is for you to sign the papers,” Sara said, sounding quite pleased with herself.
Not that I could blame her. The original price for the apartment, though reasonable by some people’s standards, had been too lofty for me to manage. But Ray and I had noticed some things in the floor plan and in the construction that had the potential of driving the price down to something well within my range. We’d pointed them out to Sara, and she had worked her magic—or witchcraft, depending on your perspective—to make the negotiations successful. I knew I couldn’t have done it on my own, but I still had a strange feeling that I’d somehow sold my soul to the devil. I wondered if I’d have to promise her my firstborn when I signed the papers, or if she’d just be satisfied with me signing in blood. It was a morbid thought, I knew, but something about her was just so very manipulative.
She rearranged a thick sheaf of papers on her desk, licking her index finger to separate the top sheet from the rest. She extended it to me, her mouth curved into a smug arc. It almost made me want to get up from my chair and walk out, leaving her there with all the unsigned papers still on her desk, but I fought the urge and took the proffered page from her. It was blurry with paragraph after paragraph of legalese and signature lines, and I looked down at them hoping that I wasn’t blindly signing my life away.
But here it was again. Another decision I was going to have to make alone. Another step into self-sufficiency that, while making me feel very grown up, also made me feel very lonely.
I skimmed the page in my lap, making a desultory attempt to understand some of what I was signing, and leaned forward to take a pen from the holder on her desk. Sara explained the papers I was holding, but it didn’t seem to translate to my brain. I felt a little like I was listening to the teacher in a Charlie Brown special.
“Should I sign my full name?” I asked, stalling for time.
“Just your first name, middle initial, and last name will be fine,” she replied with practiced patience.
She watched from her chair as though she would pounce if I changed my mind. I supposed this was the way all realtors behaved at this stage of the game, but I wasn’t used to the strange little dance and found it to be somewhat unnerving. I looked up at her to find her still watching, silent and intent.
Make that very unnerving, I thought.
I found the first signature line highlighted and flagged, signing my name with a scribble that sounded loud in the otherwise silent room. As nervous as Sara made me, I was beginning to wish she’d start talking about something. Anything.
There seemed to be a million flagged lines to sign and date, and I wondered how long it would take me to actually get through them all. Maybe it was a good thing that I’d come alone after all, I thought as I signed. Ray had wanted to come with me; but I’d been insistent that this was something I needed to do on my own, without him. Realistically speaking, I knew that I couldn’t expect that I would always have someone like Ray to rely on. Besides, weren’t all those magazine articles and talk-show hosts and psychologists always saying that women needed to become more self-reliant and learn not to expect a man to help them?
My signature be
came less and less legible with every stroke of the pen. I wondered what Sara was thinking as she gave me each page, explaining the documents as I signed them. Did she believe that Ray had done nothing more than character assassination, or did she suspect that I knew the full story? I reached the last page and signed with a relieved flourish, looking up to see her staring off into space, momentarily absent from the present.
“There,” I said finally, hoping the sound of my voice would catch her attention.
Sara sat suddenly bolt upright in her chair, fully focused on me. It was intimidating, to say the least. Kind of like having the laser beam of a rifle sight pointed at your forehead. Did this woman ever relax?
“Wonderful,” she said, sounding sharp rather than truly pleased. She held out a hand for the last of the pages, and I had the distinct impression that she would have snapped her fingers at me if my movements weren’t quite fast enough for her. The woman seemed to live according to a finely tuned clock, with no tolerance for anything that disrupted it or slowed it down.
As I handed her the paper, its feather-lightness seemed a stark contrast to the actual significance of the words on the page. I sat at the very edge of my seat, silently praying that this was the right decision, hoping that I would be happy in my new home.
Chapter 25
“Hi, honey, I’m home,” I called out.
The words echoed back at me in an empty way that was unsettling, and I sighed softly to myself as I gently placed my keys in the dish on the hallway table. Much as I’d been trying to get used to the new apartment, it still didn’t feel quite right. I knew it was going to take some time, but part of me was afraid I’d never get used to it. I still missed the lived-in feeling of Neil’s house.
Or maybe, strange as it sounded, I just missed Neil.
I shook my head at the absurdity of the thought and took off my coat, carefully hanging it on the coat stand I’d placed by the door.
The apartment had a few touches here and there to herald the coming of Christmas, but I still didn’t have a tree up. Not that I wasn’t planning to put one up, but there had been too much other chaos over the past week to be overly worried over my current lack of a Christmas tree.
I was determined that this year would be completely different than last year, since I was completely different. I was different even than the woman who’d been engaged to Paul, and sometimes I wondered if he would have loved this one the same way that he’d loved the woman he had known. It might have been a strange thought to have, since I would have never become this person if I hadn’t lost Paul. I felt, on good days, that I was stronger now, more self-assured and confident in ways that I hadn’t been before. It hadn’t come easily or through my own doing, though. I had so many people to thank for the strength they’d lent me and still continued to give without hesitation.
The light on my answering machine was blinking, and I smiled at how strange it seemed to me to have an answering machine. I’d gotten so used to not having a landline that having one now was almost a foreign concept. It was, for me, a representation of the home I was now trying to establish for myself, on my own.
My name was printed neatly on a label next to the buzzer in the vestibule, and a yellow change of address form rested on the hall table. It was filled out in pen, ready and waiting for me to take it to the post office, where I would close out my PO Box. All the steps that would firmly declare that this was my home.
Home. My home. I was in my home, and Neil was in his. I looked at the date on my watch, estimating that Neil had been home for about twenty hours now, just under a full day. It was odd, knowing he was so close and knowing so much about him, when he had no idea of my existence. Much less the fact that I had lived in his house for nearly nine months, coming and going as though I’d belonged there.
It was a fact I’d never considered, a small detail that slipped by without my notice, that none of his neighbors had ever seemed to question the oddity of my presence in his absence. I knew they had noticed, but had they all merely assumed that I might have been the new owner? Would the few neighbors with whom I’d grown friendly miss seeing me? Would they ask him about my disappearance, wondering where I’d gone?
I paced the floor, listening to the sound of my footsteps over the hardwood flooring. It resonated, hollow and lonely to my ears. I hated how empty it felt here, how impersonal it seemed, and I suddenly craved activity and distraction.
First, though, I needed to listen to the message on the answering machine.
“Hi, Zoë, it’s your mother. I just wanted to call and be the first person to christen your new machine. Am I? Well, if I’m not, that’s okay. Anyway, I know you’re probably still getting situated and used to your new place, but give me a ring when you have a minute.” She paused, and I knew she was choosing her next words carefully. “Your life is changing in a lot of ways again, and I know you feel like you’ve lost a friend. There are still possibilities, here, Zoë, so don’t close the door too early. I love you,” she said finally.
“I love you, too, Mom,” I said, smiling down at the answering machine. “Very much.”
My mother, a woman of so much wisdom and so much faith. She knew all about Ray’s manufactured correspondence, yet she still seemed to maintain a sense of optimism I found inspiring. I had a feeling that most people, looking at the entire situation with any amount of detachment, would have told me that I needed to just throw in the towel and distance myself from all the drama. That was one thing that my life certainly never seemed to be lacking: drama.
I’d never cared much for emotionally-charged, high-intensity situations, but the past two years had held so many that it was pretty exhausting just to recount them all. I wondered if life would ever really be normal again, or if this was my new normal. It’s amazing to realize what human beings can adapt to.
I grabbed my coat and keys and went out the door, unsure of where I was headed but feeling the need for some kind of social interaction. Maybe I would give Ray a call later and see how Neil was settling in, or maybe I would just walk around a bit and watch the people passing by.
Nothing prepared me for what was just around the corner.
I decided I’d walk downtown, take a stroll along the sidewalks on Palafox and Government. People bustled in and out of the restaurants and quaint little bars lining the streets, the sounds of Christmas parties tumbling from open doorways as I passed. The shops that threaded the streets were closed up tight for the evening, their windows dressed in holiday finery, and I found myself smiling in childish anticipation as I walked.
It was Christmas.
I stopped in front of a jewelry store, elegantly fronted in dark slate tiles with small windows warmly lit to display exquisite necklaces and earrings. One in particular caught my eye, a simple platinum disk pendant with a dusting of small diamonds hanging from a black velvet cord. It was beautiful, something I knew I’d never be able to afford—one I’d never want to buy for myself. It was the kind of thing given as a gift, by a lover or a husband.
I looked away from the window, not wanting to allow my thoughts to take the turn that seemed inevitable and felt my breath catch.
In the streetlights that washed the sidewalks in their yellow glow, I saw a silhouette I’d memorized as well as my own. Even though I’d never seen him in person, I knew without a doubt that the man I was looking at was Neil.
He stood facing me, his attention directed to a small cluster of people, deeply involved in a lively discussion. Someone said something, and he threw his head back in hearty laughter. It was a nice sound, deep and rich and genuine. I wondered what had been said to make him laugh, wishing I could walk over and become part of the group that was so happily interacting with one another. Most of all, I wished I could welcome him home.
I felt somehow voyeuristic, standing there on the street, watching a man about whom I knew so much, while he was so unaware of me. Would he ever know me?
The small group shifted and began to walk toward me, and I
realized I was now openly staring. I tried to turn quickly to face the jewelry store window again, but not before I caught Neil’s eye. It was a strange sensation, having my eyes lock with his. I knew him so deeply, yet to him, I was a stranger on a street corner. He smiled then, lengthening his gaze as he passed, a split second that lasted an eternity.
Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion for that instant, and then it was over. As suddenly as I’d seen him, he was gone, leaving me standing on the street in a daze. I hadn’t been prepared for such a chance meeting, though I doubted fair warning would have changed the odd complexity of the entire situation. Nothing would change that until he knew everything.
Until then, I would just remain another random face on the street.
I realized as I stood there that the man I had known in the abstract, the illusory man I had created, was close enough to touch—but still so far away he might as well have still been in another country. I would never be able to reconcile the real with the imagined until Ray did what he should have done so long ago and trusted his friend with the truth. He owed Neil that much. He owed us all that much.
“I saw him,” I said, still feeling a little numb.
“Saw who?” Ray asked with a confused look as he closed the door behind me.
I’d wandered my way back home and gotten into my car, not really thinking about where I was going or what I was doing, and found myself at Ray’s tiny apartment. I’d been there a scant few times, since we’d both preferred the spaciousness and comfort of Neil’s house, so I was startled at the reminder of just how cramped this place was.
“Neil. I was walking downtown, and he was in this group of people standing outside one of the bars. I’m not even sure which one it was, I wasn’t really paying attention. I looked up, and he was just…there.” I sank down onto the arm of the couch that swallowed most of the space in the living room. “It was very strange,” I said, remembering the look that had passed between us.
Coming Home to You Page 20