Before I Say Goodbye

by Mary Higgins Clark

  So the night is mine, Adam thought. I can do anything I want to do. I can even go downstairs and take the model out of the window, since my design was rejected. Which is something Mac won’t be sorry to hear, he thought bitterly. But after an hour of reviewing his options step by step, he decided to go home. The office felt claustrophobic, and he realized he did not want to sleep on the pull-out couch there.

  It was nearly two o’clock when, with careful, quiet steps, he entered the apartment and turned on the small foyer light. He showered and changed in the guest bathroom, then methodically laid out his clothes for the morning, after which he tiptoed into the bedroom and slipped into bed. Nell’s even breathing told him that he had succeeded in his goal of not waking her, for which he was grateful. He knew that if she had awakened, it might be hours before she would fall asleep again.

  He had no such trouble, however: fatigue hit him almost immediately, and he felt his eyes closing.

  Friday, June 9

  four

  LISA RYAN WAS AWAKE well before the alarm was set to go off at 5:00 A.M. Jimmy had had another restless night, turning and tossing, muttering in his sleep. Three or four times she had reached over and put a soothing hand on his back, hoping to quiet him.

  Finally, a few hours ago he had fallen into a heavy sleep, and she knew that now she’d have to shake him awake. She didn’t have to get up yet, though, and was keeping her fingers crossed that after he left, she’d be able to doze off until it was time to rouse the kids.

  I’m so tired, Lisa thought. I’ve hardly slept at all, and today’s my long day at work. A manicurist, she was booked straight through from nine until six.

  Her life didn’t used to be this exhausting. Everything had started to go wrong when Jimmy lost his job. He had been out of work for nearly two years before he connected with Cauliff and Associates, and while they had managed to make some inroads, they still had bills that had accumulated during the time he was unemployed.

  Unfortunately, the circumstances under which he had lost that previous job had not helped the situation. Jimmy had been fired because the boss overheard him commenting to a coworker on his belief that someone at the company was on the take. The reason for this conclusion: the concrete they were pouring was not nearly the quality listed in the specifications.

  After that happened, everywhere he applied he heard the same story: “Sorry, we don’t need you.”

  The realization that it had been naïve, stupid and useless ever to have made the comment brought about the beginning of change in him. Lisa was sure he had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown—then the call came from Adam Cauliff’s assistant that his application to Cauliff for a job had been passed on to the Sam Krause Construction Company. It had been a great relief that shortly thereafter Jimmy had been hired.

  But the emotional turnaround Lisa expected to see in Jimmy after he went back to work didn’t come about. She’d even talked to a psychologist who warned her that it sounded as if Jimmy was in a state of depression, adding it probably wasn’t something he could get over by himself. But Jimmy had become furious when she suggested that he go for help.

  In the last months, Lisa had begun to feel infinitely older than her thirty-three years. The man sleeping next to her no longer seemed to be the man who as her childhood sweetheart had joked that he’d climbed out of his playpen to ask her for their first date. Jimmy’s emotional state had become erratic. One minute he would fly off the handle at her and the children, then the next he’d have tears in his eyes as he apologized. He’d begun to drink, usually having two or three scotches every evening—and he didn’t handle them well.

  She knew this aberrant behavior couldn’t be traced to an affair with another woman. Jimmy was home every night now, having even lost interest in going to the occasional baseball game with his buddies. Nor had there been any instances of his infrequent problem of risking too much on a horse or a ball game. On payday he handed his uncashed check to her; the stub showed his accumulated earnings.

  Lisa had tried to make him realize that he needn’t be depressed about finances anymore, that they were getting caught up with the credit-card charges run up when he was out of work. It didn’t seem to make a difference. In fact, nothing seemed to matter to him anymore.

  They still lived in the small Cape Cod in Little Neck, Queens, that had been planned as their starter home when they’d married thirteen years ago. But three children in seven years had meant buying bunk beds rather than a larger home. Lisa used to joke about that, but she didn’t anymore—she knew it got under Jimmy’s skin.

  As the alarm finally rang, she reached over and turned it off, then with a sigh turned to her husband. “Jimmy.” She shook his shoulder. “Jimmy.” Her voice became louder, although she tried to avoid showing any trace of the concern she felt.

  Finally she was able to rouse Jimmy. Listlessly he muttered, “Thanks, honey,” and disappeared into the bathroom. Lisa got out of bed, went to the window and pulled up the shade. It was going to be a beautiful day. She twisted her light brown hair into a knot, pinned it up and reached for her robe. Suddenly no longer sleepy, she decided to have coffee with Jimmy.

  He came down to the kitchen ten minutes later and looked surprised to see her there. He didn’t even notice that I’d gotten out of bed, Lisa thought sadly.

  She studied him carefully although with caution lest he see the concern in her eyes. There was something terribly vulnerable in the way he looked at her this morning, she thought. He thinks I’m going to start in on him about getting psychological help, she decided.

  Careful to keep her voice light, she announced, “It’s too nice a day to stay in bed. Thought I’d join you for a cup of coffee, then go outside and watch the birds wake up.”

  Jimmy was a big man, with hair that once had been fiery red and was now a copper brown. Working outdoors had given him a ruddy complexion, but Lisa realized that his face was becoming deeply lined.

  “That would be nice, Lissy,” he said.

  He did not sit down but stood at the table as he gulped the coffee, shaking his head at her offer of toast or cereal.

  “Don’t wait dinner for me,” he said. “The big shots are having one of those five o’clock meetings on Cauliff’s fancy boat. Maybe he’s going to fire me and wants to do it in style.”

  “Why would he fire you?” Lisa asked, hoping her voice didn’t convey anxiety.

  “I’m kidding. But if it happens, maybe he’d be doing me a favor. How’s the painted-nail business? Can you support all of us?”

  Lisa went over to her husband and put her arms around his neck. “I think you’re going to feel a lot better when you let me know what’s eating at you.”

  “Keep thinking that.” Jimmy Ryan’s powerful arms pulled his wife close to him. “I love you, Lissy. Always remember that.”

  “I’ve never forgotten it. And . . .”

  “I know—‘likewise, I’m sure.’ ” He smiled briefly at the dumb expression that had tickled them when they were teenagers.

  Then he turned from her and moved to the door. As it closed behind him, Lisa could not be sure, but she thought Jimmy had whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  five

  THAT MORNING, Nell decided to make a special breakfast for Adam, then instantly became irritated at the thought that she was using food to try to cajole him into going along with a career choice she had every right to make for herself. That realization did not keep her from going ahead with her preparations, however. With a rueful smile, she remembered a cookbook that had belonged to her maternal grandmother. The book’s cover had carried the legend, THE WAY TO A MAN’S HEART IS THROUGH HIS STOMACH. Her mother, a career anthropologist and herself a terrible cook, used to joke about that sentiment to her father.

  As she got out of bed she could hear Adam in the shower. Nell had awakened when he came into the apartment last night, but had decided not to let him know that she was awake. Yes, she knew they needed to talk, but two o’clock in the mornin
g did not seem the time to discuss her meeting the afternoon before with her grandfather.

  She would have to bring it up at breakfast this morning, though, because they would be seeing Mac that night and she wanted to get the discussion out of the way beforehand. Mac had phoned her last night to remind her that they were expected at the seventy-fifth birthday dinner he was having for his sister, Nell’s great-aunt Gert, at the Four Seasons restaurant.

  “Mac, you didn’t really think we’d forget that, did you?” she had asked. “Of course we’ll both be there.” But she didn’t add that she’d rather not have the subject of her possible candidacy raised as a topic of conversation; there was no point, since it was inevitable that it would come up during dinner. So that meant she had to tell Adam this morning about her decision to run. He would never forgive her if he got the word from Mac.

  Most mornings Adam left for the office by 7:30, and she tried to be in their study by 8:00 at the latest, working on her column for the next day. Before that, though, they typically had a light breakfast together, albeit a fairly silent one as they both read the morning papers.

  Wouldn’t it be nice if Adam would just understand how very much I want to try to win Mac’s old congressional seat, or at least be a part of the excitement this election year? she thought as she pulled a carton of eggs from the refrigerator. Wouldn’t it be terrific if I didn’t have to keep walking a tightrope between the only two men in the world who are important to me? Wouldn’t it be nice if Adam didn’t view my desire to pursue a career in politics as a threat to him and to our relationship?

  He used to understand, she thought as she set the table, poured fresh-squeezed orange juice and reached for the coffeepot. He used to say that he was looking forward to having a good seat in the Visitors’ Gallery on Capitol Hill. That was three years ago. What had happened to change his mind? she wondered.

  She tried not to be bothered by Adam’s preoccupied air as he hurried into the kitchen, slid onto the bench at the breakfast bar and reached for the Wall Street Journal, all with only a nod of acknowledgment.

  “Thanks, Nell, but I’m honestly not hungry,” he said, when she offered him the omelet she had prepared. So much for the extra effort, she thought.

  She sat across from him and considered what tack she should take. From the closed expression on his face, she could tell this wasn’t the right moment to begin any discussion about her possible run for a congressional seat. And that’s just too bad, she thought, feeling her irritation begin to mount. I may just have to go ahead without his blessing.

  She reached for her own coffee and glanced down at the front page of the Times. One of the lead articles caught her eye. “My God, Adam, have you seen this? The district attorney may press bid-rigging charges against Robert Walters and Len Arsdale.”

  “I know that.” His voice was controlled, level.

  “You worked with them for nearly three years,” she said, shocked. “Will you be questioned?”

  “Probably,” he said matter-of-factly. Then he smirked. “Tell Mac he has nothing to worry about. The family honor will remain unstained.”

  “Adam, that’s not what I meant!”

  “Come on, Nell, I can read you like a book. You’re trying to find a way to tell me that the old man has talked you into running for office. When he opens his newspaper this morning, the first thing he’ll do is call you and say that having my name associated with an investigation such as this might well hurt your chances. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “You’re right about my wanting to run for office, but the possibility of your hurting my chances certainly never entered my mind,” Nell said evenly. “I think I know you well enough to know that you’re not dishonest.”

  “There are varying degrees of honesty in the construction business, Nell,” Adam said. “Fortunately for you, I stick to the highest standards, which is one of the many reasons I left Walters and Arsdale. Do you think that will satisfy Mac the Icon?”

  Nell stood up, her irritation flashing. “Adam, look, I can understand why you’re upset, but don’t take it out on me. And since you brought it up, I’ll tell you. Yes, I’ve decided I am going to go for Mac’s seat, since Bob Gorman is giving it up, and I think it might be nice if you supported me.”

  Adam shrugged and shook his head. “Nell, I’ve been honest with you. Since we’ve been married I’ve seen that politics is an all-absorbing way to spend a life. It can be tough on a marriage. Many don’t survive. But it’s clearly your decision to make, and clearly you’ve made it.”

  “Yes, I have,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. “So please have the good grace to put up with it, if that’s what it takes, because I have news for you, Adam: it’s a lot worse for a marriage if one spouse tries to keep the other from doing something he or she wants. All along, I’ve tried to help you in your career. So please give me a break. Help me in mine, or at least don’t make it so hard for me.”

  He shoved his chair back and stood. “So that’s that, I guess.” He moved to leave, then turned back. “Don’t worry about dinner tonight. We’ve got a meeting scheduled on the boat, and afterward I’ll get something to eat downtown.”

  “Adam, it’s Gert’s seventy-fifth birthday. She’ll be so disappointed if you’re not there.”

  He faced her. “Nell, not even for Gert—whom I like very much. Forgive me, but I just do not want to spend this evening with Mac.”

  “Adam, please. Surely you can come after the meeting. It’s okay if you’re late. Just make an appearance.”

  “Make an appearance? Campaign language is starting already. Sorry, Nell.” In quick strides he headed for the foyer.

  “Then, damn it, maybe you should skip coming home at all.”

  Adam stopped and turned to face her. “Nell, I hope you don’t mean that.”

  They stared at each other in silence for a long moment, and then he was gone.

  six

  SAM KRAUSE’S NEWEST GIRLFRIEND, Dina Crane, was not at all happy when he called on Friday morning to cancel their date that evening.

  “I could meet you at Harry’s Bar when you finish,” she suggested.

  “Look, this is business and I don’t know how long it will take,” he said brusquely. “We’ve got a lot of stuff to go over. I’ll call you Saturday.”

  He hung up without giving Dina a chance to say anything more. He was seated in his private office at Third Avenue and Fortieth Street, a large, airy corner room, with walls covered by artists’ renderings of the skyscrapers built by the Sam Krause Construction Company.

  It was only ten o’clock, and his already edgy mood had been exacerbated by a call from the district attorney’s office requesting a meeting with him.

  He got up and walked to the window, where he stood staring sullenly at the street activity sixteen stories below. He watched a car skillfully weave through the choking traffic, and then smiled grimly as the car became boxed in behind a truck that had stopped suddenly, blocking two lanes.

  The smile vanished, though, as Sam realized that in a way he was like that car. He had sidestepped a number of obstacles to get to this point in his life, and now a major hurdle was being thrown in his path, threatening to block it completely. For the first time since he was a teenager, he found himself suddenly vulnerable for prosecution.

  He was a fifty-year-old, large-boned man of average height, with weathered skin and thinning hair, and an independent nature. He had never bothered to give much thought to his appearance. What made him attractive to women was his air of absolute self-confidence, along with the cynical intelligence reflected in his slate-gray eyes. Some people respected him. Many more were afraid of him. A very few liked him. For all of them, Sam felt amused contempt.

  The phone rang, followed by a buzz on the intercom from his secretary. “Mr. Lang,” she announced.

  Sam grimaced. Lang Enterprises was the third factor in the Vandermeer Tower venture. His feelings about Peter Lang ranged from envy, over the fact that he was th
e product of family wealth, to grudging admiration of his seeming genius at optioning apparently worthless properties that turned out to be real estate gold mines.

  He crossed to his desk and picked up the receiver: “Yeah, Peter? Thought you’d be on the golf course.”

  Peter was in fact calling from his father’s waterfront estate in Southampton, which he had inherited. “I am, as a matter of fact. Just wanted to make sure the meeting is still on.”

  “It is,” Sam told him, and replaced the receiver without saying good-bye.

  seven

  NELL’S NEWSPAPER COLUMN, called “All Around the Town,” ran three times a week in the New York Journal. It contained a potpourri of comments on what was going on in New York City, its subjects ranging from the arts to politics, and from celebrity events to human-interest features. She had started writing it two years ago, when Mac retired and she had declined Bob Gorman’s request that she stay on to run the New York congressional office.

  Mike Stuart, the publisher of the Journal and a longtime friend to both Nell and Mac, had been the one to suggest the column.

  “With all the letters you’ve written to the op-ed page, you’ve virtually been working for us for free, Nell,” he had told her. “You’re a damn good writer, and smart too. Why not have a try at getting paid for your opinions for a change?”

  This column is another thing I’ll have to give up when I run for office, Nell thought as she walked into the study.

  Another thing? What am I thinking about? she asked herself. After Adam left that morning, she had gone through her usual routine with anger-fueled energy. In less than half an hour she cleared the table, tidied the kitchen and made the bed. She remembered that Adam had undressed in the guest room last night. A quick check there revealed that he had left his navy jacket and his briefcase on the bed.