Forget You Know Me
Page 13
He might have reached a decision by now if he weren’t preoccupied with so much else.
The fact, for instance, that this did not seem a good time to leave Molly home alone. A week had passed since the incident with the intruder, and in that time they’d been more careful with each other—hesitant, yes, even a bit awkward, but nevertheless kind. Which seemed a sign that he might have gotten through to her—that they might be on the verge of some kind of progress, something other than standing still.
Then again, maybe stepping away when by some miracle neither of them wanted him to would be for the best. Absence and growing fondness and all that.
There was something else, too. Some assigned reading. From her neighbor friend, the one who might as well be starring in his own prime-time drama for the housewives to coo and cry over. Rick was his name, and Daniel had taken note of how seldom his wife said it, of how cautious she was to avoid it, though Daniel knew from his daughter’s chatter that the pair from the house in the woods had become a regular fixture in her days. “We’re letting Rosie get used to us so she’ll learn it’s okay to talk to strangers,” Nori had explained sweetly. How was that for a message that could backfire? But when he tried to bring it up to Molly, she refused to discuss it. When it came to Grant and especially Nori—where Daniel could claim no gender-specific expertise worth consulting—he was vice parent at best, and Madam President never hesitated to use her veto.
Previously Rick and Daniel had talked only in passing, trading the kinds of fascinating observations about crabgrass and leaf blowers that made him pine for his and Molly’s old Clifton apartment, where his maintenance efforts began and ended with a call to the landlord and even the hallway pleasantries were more interesting, about an indie flick playing at the Esquire or the new latte on special at Sitwell’s. Yet Rick had come by the office, found Daniel somehow, gifted him a book on managing a loved one’s pain. It had the word mindfulness in the subtitle. Said he’d bought it when his wife was diagnosed. He’d seemed to think he was doing the couple a great service by passing this guide along, leading Daniel to wonder what had brought this on now and not before. Unsure whether to thank him or deck him, Daniel had done neither, only nodded and stared blankly at this physical, written-out acknowledgment of what he didn’t want to acknowledge. That Molly was not okay.
Still, he’d brought it with him. It was worth a look.
He might have walked right past Liza if not for the dress she was wearing. Molly had an identical one, purchased just last week on sale at the Kenwood mall for a family photo shoot his parents had scheduled, so it turned his head and then, once he realized who was wearing it, made him marvel that the once sister-close friends were still so obliviously in tune.
He’d practically had to surgically separate the pair in order to marry Molly, though it wasn’t that Liza was a clinger. She’d have kept a respectful distance had Molly not constantly pulled her back in. If Daniel took Molly alone to a great concert, she’d remark, more than once, how much Liza would have enjoyed it, too. If they found a solid new restaurant, Molly would be texting Liza highlights from the menu right at the table. To his wife’s credit, she never actually said the words it’s not the same without Liza, but she didn’t have to. Daniel had succumbed and, even after they were married, took to making plans for three, four if Liza was seeing someone who’d been around for longer than five minutes.
After she’d moved to Chicago, it was as if Daniel and Molly had an unspoken agreement not to outwardly lament her absence. It took some time, but the point did come where his wife began to enjoy things even he knew Liza would love without that wistful look in her eye. Molly was fine without Liza. Of course she was.
But she wasn’t quite the same. And for that reason, Daniel had missed Liza, too.
Now he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen his wife’s best friend—aside from watching, out of sight, as Molly closed their door in her face.
She was perched on a chair outside the Sky Galley holding a thin stack of good letterhead—résumés?—in a pose of nervous anticipation, and her presence registered with an odd mixture of happiness and alarm. How had she maintained the superhuman ability to track both of them down at the moments they least wanted anyone to observe? And why was she in Cincinnati at all, much less at the tiny regional airport he was only today flying out of for the first time? Last week’s cold reception from Molly would have been enough to send even the kindest, most patient of souls riding a giant wave of good riddance back to Chicago. And Liza possessed a perfectly average amount of kindness and patience.
Was she still here, or was she back? And did Molly know?
“Liza.” He fixed a smile and made his approach. Her expression flickered from surprise to that of someone seeking an escape hatch and then quickly to something purporting to be warmer. She stood for a one-armed hug while holding the paperwork at a crumple-safe distance.
“How about that,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“Interviewing, believe it or not.” She looked over her shoulder toward the restaurant door, but no one was there. “I know it’s a step down,” she murmured confidentially. “But the place has charm.”
“You’re thinking of moving back?” He raised his eyebrows. “That would be great. But why? Everything okay with your parents?”
“They’re fine.” She hesitated. “Other than freaking out on my behalf. My apartment building in Chicago—there was a fire.”
“Oh, God. It was bad?”
She scrunched up her face and nodded.
“I’m so sorry. Tell me you had renter’s insurance.”
“I did. I just—I wasn’t sure I wanted to start over there. My heart wasn’t in it anymore.”
He nodded. “You know … Don’t take this the wrong way, but I sort of had the impression you liked the idea of relocating to Chicago more than the reality of relocating to Chicago.”
“That would be accurate. Although I thought I’d put up a better front than that.”
“Well, Molly will be over the moon. She doesn’t know yet? I assume she would’ve said something.…” He kept his eyes as blank as he could, his voice as even.
She shook her head. “It’s been kind of … sudden.” He noticed she did not add that she’d been meaning to call. Would she assume Molly had told him about her showing up at their door that morning? And if not, would she tell him herself?
“Guess so. Well, I’m so glad you’re okay.” She paled a little at that, looked away. “What can we do to help? Where are you staying?”
“With my brother. I’m set, thanks. Working on it, anyway.”
Her voice warbled in a very un-Liza way, and he faltered. “Listen, I owe you a huge thank-you. That call you made about the man you saw enter our house—I don’t even want to think about what might’ve happened if you hadn’t been watching.”
At that, her eyes dimmed. “I just did what anyone would’ve done.” She didn’t share in his relief—not that he blamed her. But she didn’t ask after Molly, either.
Maybe it was a good thing, him running into her like this.
Maybe he could turn it into a chance at something.
“Such heroic modesty.”
She smiled a little. “I learned it from you.” It was an inside joke, a reference to how he’d met Molly on a night when she’d been caught alone in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or the right place at the right time, depending on how you looked at it. Because he’d come across her when she needed him. And that had been the beginning.
“I think you have me beat. As soon as you’re sorted, you’ve got to come to dinner. Wait until you see the kids—I’m only leaving for two days, and they’ll be even bigger by the time I’m back.” He’d calculated the angle. She could act too busy to see Molly, but she could hardly avoid feigning interest in the kids. Liza was blunt, in a #nofilter sort of way, but she wasn’t rude, unless people deserved it. Which Molly maybe did, but Daniel did not.
As far as s
he knew, anyway.
At best, having Liza here—on the off chance that she and Molly could patch things up somehow, chalk it up to a weird situation all the way around—could be the boost his wife needed, a way to reconnect with who she’d been before the past few years wore her down. Maybe that was too optimistic—reconciliation might not be possible without a level of effort both women were unlikely to muster. But at worst, Liza could be a liability—someone who could, at any moment she felt like it, tug this whole intruder ordeal back up to the surface even if they managed to make peace with it. And he didn’t want that hanging over them indefinitely.
“Are you Liza?” A woman in black pants and a white button-down stood in the restaurant doorway, unsmiling, and Liza nodded. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“No problem at all.” She turned back to him. “I’d love that. Thanks, Daniel. Are you flying out of here?” He gave her a crazy, huh? nod. “Well, have a safe flight.”
She turned and shook the white shirt’s hand, the interview practically under way right here in the doorway—but he’d come too close to let her slip away without committing. “How about next Saturday?” he called, biting back a cringe at his evident inability to take a cue.
Liza shot an annoyed glance at him, then checked herself. “Maybe. I’ll let you know.”
“Don’t tell me your calendar’s already full!” His voice sounded bizarrely jolly, and she looked at him oddly. Damn it, he’d overplayed this. She’d suspect, now, that he knew something, if not everything. That he was trying to get her and Molly to kiss and make up. Even if that was an oversimplification … He was just so tired of guessing at what Molly wasn’t saying. And Liza’s reverse lie detector hadn’t failed him yet.
“Fine,” she relented, her smile tight.
“Great! Let’s say seven. Bring Luke and his wife, or a date, whoever you’d like. We’ll make it a welcome back party.” He hurried off before she could change her mind. He wasn’t sure why the hell he’d offered that last part. More people around the table would make a real conversation between her and Molly less likely. It just—slipped out. He wasn’t used to seeing her like this. Something about her had turned stricken, timid. Welcome back seemed like the thing to say.
Molly was going to be secretly, unable-to-tell-him-so furious.
* * *
What little novelty Daniel allowed himself to enjoy in flying out of Lunken evaporated the instant Toby slid into the aisle seat next to him and started breathing the same recycled air. Just his luck.
“First time on the air shuttle?” Toby asked brightly, and Daniel nodded. He tucked his laptop bag under the seat in front of him and leaned back. “Thought so. Well. You’re in for a treat. I mean, not only can you literally show up fifteen minutes before takeoff and stroll right on, but the flight only takes an hour. With the time difference, you land at the same exact time you took off. It’s like some science-fiction warp or something.” Toby ran a finger down the leather seat back in front of him. “How the other half lives. A guy could get used to it.”
Daniel nodded again, wary. The shuttle was nice, especially for anyone who spent as much time hauling strollers and boosters around as Daniel did. The simple act of leaving the house as a family sometimes seemed so complicated he wished they didn’t bother. But nothing would ever feel first class with this sorry excuse seated next to him. Daniel reached into his bag and removed the book Rick had given him. He placed it cover side down in his lap—not wanting to open the subject for discussion, especially with this audience—and folded his hands on top of it, hoping Toby might take the hint and get some reading material of his own.
“How’s your wife?” Toby asked. The exact wrong question.
He cleared his throat. “Fine, thanks. Never too excited to see me go, of course.” It seemed a conversational enough thing to say—and for once, maybe even true.
“I guess not. Especially not now.”
The hairs on the back of Daniel’s neck bristled to attention, and he glanced sidelong at the man. Toby was no more than five-foot-six, and his hair was trimmed in a deceptively boyish cut with the uneven look of someone whose mother still did the honors. He had no right to be looking at Daniel the way he was now—with a challenge in his eyes.
“What do you mean?” Daniel asked, trying not to sound uneasy.
“Well, with the incident the last time you were gone. Just last week, wasn’t it?”
Daniel looked at him sharply. “How do you know about that?”
“Did I not mention that my sister lives in your neighborhood? Cathy McCreedy is her married name. You might know her as the original Chatty Cathy.” Toby rolled his eyes, and Daniel had a vision then, of a fussy woman who did, come to think of it, look a bit like Toby, walking a hefty Rottweiler mix on an intimidating chain harness at all hours, stopping to talk with everyone she passed. Daniel avoided her like the plague. “Makes it her business to know everything. She isn’t above chatting up a cop at the curb, if you know what I mean. And she relays it all to me, as if I care about all these people I don’t know.” He laughed easily. “But I figured out a while back that one of them was you. Could have sworn I mentioned it?”
Daniel shook his head. This just kept getting better. Now Toby was keeping tabs with his own neighborhood spy.
“Well. How terrifying for your wife. For all of you. An intruder, Cathy said. Or a false report of one? She wasn’t sure. Do the police have any idea what happened?”
They were interrupted by the intercom announcement to turn their attention to the flight attendant’s safety demonstration. She was tall, blond, the perfect updated picture of a retro stewardess. Guys like Toby probably never left the poor woman alone. Daniel cleared his throat and spoke in the lowest audible tone he could muster. “Probably just some random thing. We were lucky he was spotted and got scared off.”
Toby turned to him, eyes merry. “Is that your party line, or is that what you really believe?”
Daniel inched closer to the window, taken aback. God, it was hot in here. He reached up and twisted the overhead vent, but it was already open as far as it would go. For such a small plane, the loudspeakers didn’t work very well, either. Or maybe Daniel just couldn’t make out the finer points of the droning-on demonstration over the sirens of alarm blaring in his ears. A ringing—tinnitus, it was called—was among Molly’s litany of complaints in recent months, and it had sounded like an awful thing to endure. She couldn’t stand silence, was always turning on the radio or cranking the white noise of the baby monitor next to her pillow to drown it out. He’d resented her efforts, though, craving the quiet that apparently he didn’t get to have, either. The alarm bells now felt like payback for his lack of sympathy, and he could only hope they were temporary.
“None of my business, I’m sure,” Toby whispered. “I just know people do better work when they’re happy at home.”
“Just seems a little personal,” Daniel said, opening the book in his lap to a random page and staring at it blankly. Who did this guy think he was? “I try to keep my home life separate.”
“The two have a way of bleeding together whether we want them to or not,” Toby said easily. “Plenty of people know the basic details of my personal situation, even though I don’t talk about it.” Daniel kept his eyes down. “I know your wife has medical issues, and that you have two small kids. And your house is the cedar with the window boxes, right?” A chill ran through Daniel, even as he told himself these details could ostensibly be gleaned from his employee file, from the benefits records HR kept, and from Toby visiting his nosy sister.
“How about the other way around?” Toby persisted. “Do you talk about work much at home?”
“About as much as anyone, I guess.”
“What are your wife’s feelings on your job these days?”
Daniel’s breathing stilled. Until that moment, he’d thought maybe he was imagining the crossing of the line. But the last time they’d talked, Toby had assumed—rightly—that Daniel
was on to him. Daniel’s attempt at buying time by playing dumb had fallen short. And now Toby wanted to know whether he’d talked to anyone else.
Only he wasn’t asking about their coworkers. He was asking about Daniel’s wife.
“I take it from your silence they’re not overwhelmingly positive. That’s too bad.”
Do not engage, he ordered himself. “She’s not a huge fan of the increased travel,” he ventured, trying to make the gripe sound ordinary.
“Ah. Well, maybe she’d feel differently if she knew you weren’t really away for business on that particular night.” Toby’s eyes were bright, and he leaned closer. “Unless I’ve missed something? Some … secret assignment?”
The flight attendant hung up her mic and took her seat, and the plane made a brisk turn onto the runway. But as it began to accelerate, Daniel was already flying above himself, horrified at the scene below—at how easily he was reduced in his mind’s eye to the diminutive stature of the terrible man seated next to him.
“You’ve missed plenty,” Daniel tried, his mouth dry, and Toby laughed.
“I didn’t know you had it in you,” he said, delighted. “I hope she’s a real looker, worth the risk. Anyone I know?” He held up a hand. “Wait. Don’t answer that. We might be friends, but I am HR. And we’re a family company.”
It was Daniel’s turn to laugh. He couldn’t help himself. “If that’s true, I feel sorry for your family.”
“Tsk-tsk. Those in glass houses…”
“And where were you that night?” Daniel growled. He hadn’t known he was about to ask, but now that the question was out, it seemed disturbingly relevant.
“I beg your pardon?” Toby was the one averting his eyes now, glancing down the aisle as if expecting a cart of refreshments, though the crew was strapped in for takeoff. Daniel felt the break from gravity, the pop of his ears.