Surviving Goodbye

by Morgan Parker

  “Likewise,” I admitted. But in order to put all of this behind me and in the past, I didn’t have much of a choice about the Chrysler.

  I had my happiness, but I still needed the truth.

  “See you in a few minutes,” Veronica said, then disconnected before I could respond.

  I drove straight down Maple despite the traffic, which eased up once I crossed over Woodward and passed through Birmingham. As I turned onto the Country Club grounds just beyond the overhead pedestrian bridge, I followed the slight curve and noticed Veronica’s delivery truck. She had parked just beyond the fountain, right outside the Club’s front entrance. But I couldn’t see her; I looked a little too long, nearly missing the stalker’s Chrysler, which was backed into a parking spot in front of a Maserati sedan. The Chrysler’s driver recognized me and started the engine—the day-time running lights snapped on—but not quickly enough. I hammered the gas and stopped in front of the other Chrysler, blocking it from escaping. I stared out the window and noticed the same female from before—blond curls, big glasses, and a face that hinted at innocence. Leanne?

  The tinted glass kept the interior dark enough that I couldn’t be sure. I needed to get a closer look.

  Harmless, right?

  I killed the engine and stepped out of my car, walking around to the other Chrysler’s driver’s door. I hammered on the window, fully exposed. Concealed weapons behind the tinted windows of a motorized vehicle weren’t exactly unheard of in Detroit, but I wasn’t thinking clearly.

  “Open up,” I shouted at the driver. “Open your fucking window!”

  I watched the shadow behind the dark glass and imagined the woman’s eyes growing wide with worry. Fuck, is that Nathan’s wife?

  I couldn’t see her eyes, not past those big sunglasses, and I didn’t know if she had a gun behind that door, or a tazer or some other concealed weapon.

  I hammered on the window a little harder. “Open the fucking window!”

  Then, from behind me: “Elliot.”

  I felt her hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it away.

  “Elliot,” Veronica repeated, flinging her phone in front of me. “You want to take this call.”

  I kept my eyes on the driver as I considered the phone. I saw the timer on the screen—0:46 and counting.

  “It’s Nathan,” Veronica told me. “Nathan Darien.”

  Frowning, I took the phone. “Not a good time, Nathan.”

  His voice oozed through the phone with the type of clarity that belonged to a hostage negotiator. “I want you to take a deep breath,” he coached me. “That’s right, calm down and step away from the Chrysler.”

  Confused, I glanced back at my car and saw there was no other escape for Leanne, or whoever this female driver really was. So I backed away, I still had her trapped between my car and the Maserati behind her.

  “That’s good,” he said. “That’s good. Now, I told you I would look into this, didn’t I?”

  “Nathan, no offense but—”

  “You don’t trust me,” he finished for me. “Sure, I can understand that.”

  “Where are you?” I asked at last, looking around the parking lot for another car “Are you here? Where?”

  He chuckled. “Soon, Elliot. Now, can I trust you?”

  I turned around and spotted Veronica, her face ghostly as she stood a fair distance from the Chrysler; she obviously had some kind of defensive training when it came to approaching suspicious vehicles.

  “What’s going on?” I asked the phone, but Veronica shrugged like I had asked her.

  “That girl driving the car?” Nathan asked, still sounding like he was trying to negotiate some kind of deal here.

  “I see her,” I admitted. “Sort of.”

  “That’s Leanne. My wife. Your wife, Karen’s, friend. Close friend. And once you’re in your car, Elliot, I’ll instruct her to go with you.”

  I frowned. “What?” Leanne? Nathan knew about this? My world spun, my breathing accelerated. What is this, a fucking joke?

  “I want you to bring her home. Because I can trust you, right?”

  “Wait. No, no, what? This is getting really fucking confusing,” I said. “I was just at your house, Nathan. What is this? You keep talking about trust, but…” I gulped. “You know what, I don’t even care who the father is. Not anymore. I’m done. Fucking done. Just keep her away from me.”

  Silence. Then a sigh, followed but a confused chuckle. “Elliot, I don’t know what you’re talking about. So bring my wife home and we’ll get to the bottom of it. All of it. Okay? Together, we’ll figure this out once and for all.”

  I turned my attention back to Veronica.

  “I need you to trust me, Elliot,” Nathan said. “Just this once, I need you to trust me.”

  I hung up and handed the phone back to Veronica, opening my Chrysler’s door and dropping myself behind the wheel. Now it was my turn to experience some pounding on the window. I jumped back and saw Veronica standing there, her closed fist punching the window.

  “What’s going on?” she asked through the glass.

  I opened the window and held my hands out so she could see just how badly they trembled. “I’m taking her to Nathan. Her husband. Her house.”

  “I’m coming.”

  “You’re working.”

  “Fuck work,” she said, staring at me with a hostage negotiator’s alertness. Like I might just jump off a bridge. “I’m coming with you. I don’t trust him.”

  I studied her closer, watched her unfaltering attention. She was right to be a little worried. I wanted to jump. “What is this, Veronica?”

  She seemed to consider a response. “It was his wife that I spoke to. That night I went to his house, he wasn’t there. I spoke with her, with Leanne.” She pointed over her shoulder at the other Chrysler, and that panic in my chest got impossibly worse. It felt like betrayal, the worst kind. Except Veronica was still here. “She’s the one who invited me over for a few drinks. It’s because of her I got those bank statements, how I knew Nathan was away for those months when Karen got pregnant. That’s why I recognized her in the wedding video.” She hung her head. “I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. But I still don’t think Nathan is Lena’s father.”

  We heard the other Chrysler’s door open and shut, and we both turned our attention to Leanne. My stalker was pretty, petite, and looked younger than I imaged or remembered. She moved with a frightened fragility to my passenger door, then sat down next to me.

  “Let’s go, Elliot,” she said, her voice quiet and soft.

  I glanced over at Veronica.

  “I’m coming,” she insisted and ran back to her delivery vehicle.

  With the morning traffic dying down, we sailed a little easier along Maple to Telegraph, where I made a right and a quick U-Turn, hitting the lights perfectly. Having this woman next to me felt strange, like I was driving with several dozen eggs on the passenger seat; careful not to break them because then things would get really messy. She barely moved, barely breathed.

  “I’m sorry about all of this,” Leanne finally said in the passenger seat. “Do you love her?”

  I slowed at the next intersection, my luck expiring with the traffic lights. “Pardon me, Leanne, but you’ve been stalking me for…how long has it been? And you want to know if I love her? What the fuck for?”

  She shrugged one slender shoulder. “Only since you hooked up with the blue-haired girl.”

  “Why are you asking me that question? What’s this all about?” I had my own questions, didn’t know who to believe—is Veronica a part of this sham, too?

  She swallowed hard. I expected something revealing, a revelation that would set off fireworks. Instead, all she gave me was, “The light’s green, Mr. Fitch.”

  We reached the John C Lodge highway, riding it in absolute silence with Veronica trailing a couple of car-lengths back. I hit the radio, hoping the classical station might work its magic and, once we merged onto t
he I-94, Leanne spoke again. Except she repeated her original question, asking me if I loved her.

  “I don’t know how we’ve become best friends all of a sudden,” I said with a tired sigh. “So I’m not answering you. Instead, why don’t we start with why you’ve been following me.”

  Her lips pulled back with uncertainty, and she sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry about what happened with your wife.”

  “We’re done talking,” I declared, my jaw clenched.

  The gates at Nathan’s estate were wide open, welcoming us. I waited just inside those gates for Veronica to pull in behind me, fully aware that if I idled here, Nathan couldn’t hit a button and shut her out. I wanted her with me, not only because I wanted a witness to all of this, but because her presence protected me… and possibly Nathan as well.

  We parked side-by-side outside Nathan’s closed garage doors and, as we all stepped out of our vehicles, I noticed the side door open up—the same one that led to the mudroom. Nathan appeared, a phone held to the side of his face. He waved us inside and finished his conversation while he escorted us into the dining room. I noticed he hadn’t even looked at his wife, not even a disgusted or angry glance, something I found odd.

  In the middle of the room was a large table, big enough to accommodate dinner for twelve.

  I sat, Leanne sat across from me, and Veronica claimed the seat directly beside me, her hand sliding into mine while we waited for Nathan to return. Two against one for now; after he ignored Leanne like he had, I was interested to see which side of the table Nathan would choose once he appeared.

  But he didn’t pick sides. As he came into the room, he stared at the middle of the table; he looked too pissed to pick sides, like a mean referee or a crusty old judge. He bared his teeth as he leaned onto the table, and squeezed out a repulsed huffing sound as he finally acknowledged Leanne with an angry stare, then moved his attention to me.

  Silence.

  It became a little awkward. I wanted to smack the table and get the conversation started, but Nathan finally beat me to it.

  “What’s going on here, Leanne?” Nathan demanded, but he kept his eyes on me. He gave me a simple nod, a friendly gesture that suggested we were on the same team before he started on his wife again. “You’ve been stalking Karen’s husband. And his girlfriend.” Maybe my comparing him to a crusty old judge hadn’t been too far off the mark. His statements sounded like something straight out of a court show.

  When Leanne opened her mouth to speak, he shut her down. Mr. Judge Judy.

  “I’ll get back to you, Leanne,” he promised with a wink, the entire time keeping his eyes on mine. It started to feel a little intimidating. “Elliot, we met just last week. We talked about this. I told you I knew the car.”

  “You didn’t say it was yours,” I muttered.

  “It’s not,” he snapped back. “And I told you I’d look into it, I told you I’d get back to you, and today I find out you’ve actually gone after my wife? I can’t ignore that, just like you wouldn’t have ignored it if it were me doing it to Karen.” He gave a sideways nod toward Veronica. “Or her.”

  I didn’t have much patience left. So I asked the question, the only thing I cared about. “Why are you so interested in me, Nathan? What is this? Is it about Lena? Because I had every right doing what I did today!”

  He ignored me. “Tell me what you planned on doing to my wife if she got out of the car at the golf club, hmm?” He shook his head in disbelief. “This is fucking nuts. All of you!” At last, he pushed away from the table and stood straight, crossing his arms.

  I ignored Nathan and his time-wasting posturing. Maybe he didn’t know, maybe it was all… and then it sunk in. I focused on the root of the problem: Leanne. “Why are you following me? You were in Karen’s wedding party, you—”

  She shot back a firm and simple, “Do you love her?”

  “What the hell does that have to do—?”

  “Do you love Veronica Murphy?” Leanne asked again, her voice hard and demanding, her eyes tightening into narrow cracks. At last, the importance of the question sunk in.

  I glanced over at Veronica, savoring her blue eyes, the blue streak in her hair, the collar of her shirt that hid the words underneath—Never let me go. I imagined the other words—I am the biggest what-if of your life for starters—and wondered whether these past few weeks, months had been the start of love, the same kind—or maybe an even deeper and more real love, like the kind that had inspired those tattoos.

  I turned my attention back to Leanne. Her eyes were so focused on me that, like Nathan, she noticed nothing else. I didn’t understand her interest, but I knew that if I wanted my answers, I had to offer hers first.

  I don’t believe in love. Love is a delusion. That delusion destroyed me when Karen confessed the truth about Lena. Love is a word, and words are weapons.

  I allowed a somber nod. At last. Leanne didn’t care for it, though; she kept studying me like she might be weighing the authenticity of my response. So I admitted. “Yes. I love Veronica.”

  Something changed in her face. It looked like release. Or relief. Maybe a bit of heartbreak in there too. That was when she broke her stare, too, then glanced up at Nathan. I followed Leanne’s stare and noticed that he had softened as well. Maybe they felt some kind of proxy betrayal on behalf of Karen because the tone in the room had changed that much. But neither of them understood betrayal, not like I did, not like the betrayal I had wrestled over the past year.

  “Nathan,” I said, starting to piece things together, bit by bit. “You want me to trust you.”

  He allowed a sober nod. “I do. Yes.”

  “Then tell me what’s going on,” I begged. I glanced over at Leanne, who had pushed her chair back from the table. She appeared as defeated as I felt, but at least she looked like Spring with the good months ahead; I felt like Fall. Glancing back at Nathan, I asked, “What was your real relationship with Karen? Tell me because I know, I know, I know you’re involved.”

  At last, I felt Veronica’s hand in mine again, squeezing and keeping me planted in the chair. “Elliot,” she whispered, “you need to let this go.”

  “Nathan,” I repeated, standing up.

  The redness in his face didn’t promise a lullaby. Or a confession. “You need to sit down, Elliot.”

  I shook my head, no fucking way. “Just tell me already!”

  “Sit down,” he repeated, then glanced over at Leanne. “The envelope Karen gave me, go get it.” Then back at me.

  I felt Veronica’s fingers tighten around my hand. “Let’s just leave, Elliot,” she whispered.

  “I don’t care how bad it is,” I said, as much to Veronica as Nathan and Leanne, who walked out of the room. “I don’t.” I glanced over at Veronica, but she avoided my eyes and, for the first time since meeting her, I wondered if and how she was involved in this. First she had kept the truth about those bank statements from me—she had obtained them from Leanne, not Nathan. Her entire knowledge of Nathan had come from Leanne, so what else might she be keeping from me. I drew my hand from hers.

  “Yeah?” Nathan asked. “You ready for this?”

  I nodded.

  He pointed at the hall where Leanne had disappeared. “My wife was supposed to follow you. See what you were up to. Which was her,” he explained, nodding to Veronica. “That’s it. And then it was supposed to be a harmless waiting game. Wait and see what happens next. A sleepover, a trip, anything.” He considered that, then shook his head.

  I didn’t understand. “Nathan, what are you saying?”

  Before Nathan could offer more of an explanation, Leanne returned. She held her back a little straighter than before, but her face revealed the truth. This—whatever this was—hurt her, too. I glanced over at Veronica and saw the thoughtful confusion in her face. She didn’t know any more than I did.

  Leanne leaned over the table and handed me a letter-sized envelope, then looked over at Nathan, who nodded once.


  “What is this?” I asked, twirling the envelope in my hands.

  “It’s my involvement,” Nathan admitted, and then looked down. I saw that Leanne had her head bowed as well. “This is and was all I know.”

  “Nathan, enough with the bullshit,” I said.

  “This letter,” he continued without seeming to have to have heard a word from me.. “Karen wanted me to deliver it to you once you found happiness again. It was the last thing I would do for her, the only thing I could offer her as a thank you for those years of friendship, advice, and wisdom.” Tears pooled in his eyes.

  “Your wife was an angel, Elliot,” Leanne offered from the other side of the table. “You might not know that anymore, but everyone else does.”

  I fingered the envelope.

  “I tried everything,” Nathan went on. “Everything I possibly could do to help her carry out whatever she had in mind for you—a trip, an experience, whatever she wanted—but this was all she asked for. So I made it happen as best as I could.” He shook his head and started pacing again. Like he questioned whether he could’ve made it happen better, more seamlessly, and a lot less conspicuously by involving his own wife.

  With my stomach in my throat, I opened the sealed envelope and unfolded the single sheet of paper, littered with words that had been scrawled in Karen’s perfect handwriting. Seeing it made me anxious and excited at the same time—more final words from my dead wife. I wanted to inhale her message, breathe it deep into my soul. But the handwriting also aroused uneasiness, the kind that could be mistaken as dread. Because the truth of Karen, of her false love, was not something I wanted to revisit. Not now, not ever.

  I folded the letter, my heart pounding so hard I thought I might collapse right there in Nathan Darien’s dining room.

  I tucked the note back into the envelope.

  “Not here,” I said. As I spoke, my racing pulse caused tremors in my voice. It was the same kind of heartbreak that I had endured at the hospital a little more than a year ago.