Authors: Margaret Carroll
W
ESTBOUND
A
MTRAK
C
ALIFORNIA
Z
EPHYR
C
aroline settled into a state that was neither full wakefulness nor sleep, willing herself to be lulled by the rhythm of the rails racing past beneath the train car.
She tried, unsuccessfully, not to dwell on her chance encounter with Lindsay Crowley yesterday morning, and the possibility that this information might work its way back to Porter.
It could be the death of her.
Porter would use this information to his advantage, the way he always used every shred of information to his advantage in every situation, especially when it came to Caroline.
Lindsay had spotted Caroline in CVS drug store at just after nine A.M., had seen Pippin with her, and might or might not have noticed the box of blond hair dye in Caroline’s shopping basket. It was not likely Lindsay would have had a chance encounter with Porter over the last two days and, if she had, it was even less likely she would have mentioned any of this to him. Caroline was
certain Lindsay disliked Porter. Still, Caroline couldn’t help but think of the older woman’s easy chatter with everyone she met.
That fact had made their friendship possible in the first place, despite Caroline’s goal of keeping to herself once she and Porter moved to Georgetown. The tall, elegantly dressed woman was impossible to ignore, despite the fact that Caroline had learned early in her marriage that she would pay dearly for any remark or interaction of which Porter disapproved. Caroline came to dread social occasions.
So when an invitation to dinner was extended from their friendly neighbor across the street, Caroline murmured something about having other plans. The fact was she had no intention of telling Porter about it.
“You must come and meet everyone, my dear,” Lindsay had said. “It’s so nice to see a young family move into our neighborhood. You’re adorable and I can’t wait to meet your adorable husband.”
The next day an invitation was dropped inside their brass mailbox. The envelope was ivory, of an expensive vellum stock.
Porter set it down in the center of the table. “What do you know about this?”
Caroline’s heart sank. She picked up the envelope, turned it over, and knew by the address engraved on the back that it was the invitation to the Crowleys. “Oh, yeah,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “I think I remember.”
The envelope had already been opened. Caroline removed the card that was engraved with a hot pink monogram.
Porter watched her in silence. Waiting.
The pleasure of their company was requested for supper at the home of John and Lindsay Crowley the following night.
Lindsay had scrawled a note along the bottom in a loping hand as big as Texas. “Welcome to the neighborhood. Look forward to chatting more. Can’t wait to meet your DH!”
Caroline’s heart raced. She took a breath and tried to sound nonchalant. “I guess I forgot to mention it. I met one of the neighbors.”
“When?”
“Yesterday. I was out walking Pippin and we got to talking.”
Porter removed his glasses, revealing two red spots on the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes and rubbed them. It was something he did when he was upset. “Caroline.” He sighed, not bothering to open his eyes.
Caroline searched for the right thing to say. “She seems really nice,” she offered finally.
Porter’s eyes widened. “Nice?” He spat the word out with a mirthless laugh. “Is that your word for everything? Nice?” He stared at her, incredulous.
Still, she said nothing. She didn’t suppose he wanted her to answer that question.
Porter shook his head as though he had trouble grasping the situation he found himself in. He frowned. “Do you just walk around all day, talking to people who look like they’re nice?”
This time he wanted an answer.
“No,” Caroline said, trying not to sound defensive. “Not at all. That’s not it at all. We just got talking, that’s all. She’s a sweet older lady, she lives right up
the block and she was having this party and…” Her voice trailed off. She licked her lips and swallowed. She didn’t want this to turn into something that would last all day. “She wants to meet you, Porter. She seems really ni—” Caroline stopped herself. “You’d like her.”
Porter’s eyes narrowed. His voice was low, his tone steely. “Then why didn’t you tell me about her?”
In the end, they went to the Crowleys’ dinner party. Lindsay and her husband were a good deal older than Caroline and even Porter, and Caroline hoped this fact would make Porter fit in and feel comfortable. Porter showered for the second time that day after work, then dressed with care in his usual black collarless shirt under a dark charcoal jacket. He combed his hair, then went back to check his reflection in the mirror and combed it again. He hated meeting new people.
Caroline felt sorry for him.
She had chosen her own outfit after much thought and planning. She wore a royal blue tunic, high-cut with long sleeves, over wide white palazzo pants. The clothing was new. She had stopped wearing short skirts except when they dined at home, which was their usual routine. The tank tops that had been a staple of her college wardrobe were long gone. Tonight she chose ballet flats with enclosed toes even though the summer night was warm. Porter was just half an inch taller than her five feet, seven inches, and hated when she wore heels. She pulled her hair back in a tortoiseshell clip he had bought for her on their honeymoon.
He gave her an appraising look, his gaze lingering on her hair.
“I’m wearing the clip you got me at Harrod’s,” she said with a smile.
He blinked. “You look like a little girl with your hair like that.”
“I can wear it down,” Caroline said, reaching up to remove the clip.
“Don’t touch it,” he said, raising his hand. “Leave it the way you want it.” He gave her a once-over. “You choose the way you present yourself to the world, Caroline. And you prefer to present yourself as a little girl.” He checked his watch. “Come on. We’re already late.”
He hated to be late. His tension was contagious. She felt his energy run through her like an electric current when she took his arm, stiff and rigid, on the short walk across the cobblestone street to the Crowleys’ townhouse.
Lindsay threw her arms around Caroline when they arrived. “Johnny, come and meet the new neighbors,” she called. “This is the adorable young bride I told you about and this must be her husband.”
A tall, distinguished man appeared, welcoming them to the neighborhood in a booming voice that left no doubt he hailed from Texas. Lindsay ushered them inside to a living room that was lavishly decorated with walls covered in what looked to be works of notable modern art. Porter stopped to examine a wall hanging, dropping out of the round of introductions.
Caroline found herself surrounded by older couples, mostly Texans, who seemed to know and like one another well. Uniformed staff passed trays of hot hors d’oeuvres. Somebody pressed a glass of white wine into her hands and she took a big gulp. She joined in the conversation as best she could, feeling like a fish out of water standing there alone.
Lindsay reappeared, steering Porter through the crowd to Caroline’s side. Caroline flashed her a smile of gratitude. The only thing worse than feeling self-conscious at a party, Caroline thought, was feeling self-conscious at a party when you were the only one on your own.
Porter did not return the squeeze Caroline gave his hand, maintaining his conversation with Lindsay about her new art collection.
Caroline took a few more gulps of wine and listened, smiling and nodding occasionally. Porter seemed like he was doing okay. He enjoyed talking about art, a subject he was knowledgeable in, and as far as she could tell she hadn’t said or done anything to irritate him.
“Now tell me,” Lindsay said, “what brings a couple of young newlyweds like yourselves to our little neck of the woods?”
Young newlyweds. Porter had a chronic condition that had turned his hair white prematurely, making him appear even more than twelve years older than Caroline. She maintained a careful smile now, aware that Porter had stiffened at her side.
There was a bit of a pause before he replied. “I work out of the home.”
“And what is it you do?” Lindsay asked.
Caroline felt her heart leap into her mouth and hang there. She took another big gulp of wine.
“I am a psychoanalyst,” Porter replied.
“Oooohhh,” Lindsay exclaimed, clapping her hands in glee. “A shrink!”
Caroline winced. Porter had explained to her countless times that people’s issues came to the fore when confronted with a psychoanalyst. Anybody who had unresolved anger toward authority figures was likely to
express it with sarcasm, he said. This irritated Porter no end, and although Caroline noticed he never confronted anybody about it, she kept this fact to herself.
There was a round of giggles as Lindsay let out another whoop. “Perfect,” she trilled, laying one hand on Porter’s arm. “It’s nice to know we finally have a trained professional on the block.”
Trained professional. It was a fortunate choice of words.
Laughter rippled through the room.
Porter smiled.
Caroline felt the lump in her throat start to dissolve.
Someone asked Porter if he carried prescriptions for Xanax.
More laughter followed, and Porter explained that he practiced the sort of therapy that involved lying on a couch three to five times a week for seven to ten years.
Someone pointed out it was the same as time served for a felony conviction, and now it was Porter’s turn to laugh. He even cracked a joke.
Caroline allowed herself to relax a tiny bit as the conversation drifted, eventually returning to the subject of modern art and collecting. Porter seemed to really enjoy Lindsay’s company, and if their hostess found his intense style of one-on-one conversation too much to bear, she hid it well. Porter expressed an interest in a mural at the far end of the room, and the two of them wandered off.
Caroline had downed most of her third glass of wine when she excused herself to go in search of the bathroom.
“I’ll go with you,” said one of Lindsay’s friends, taking Caroline’s arm in her own. “We can snoop around. Lindsay flew in the top man from Dallas to decorate this place.”
Caroline felt better than she had since they moved to Georgetown, as if she would make friends here. She had visions of throwing dinner parties like this one and inviting all the neighbors. She would have a reason, at last, to use her wedding china. Things would work out. She followed Lindsay’s friend down a narrow hallway to the rear of the house, only to discover the door to the bathroom was locked.
“Occupado,” the woman said. “Let’s go outside. I heard they redid the yard with tumbled stone from Milan and a koi pond.”
They exited through a pair of French doors to the patio of tumbled stone, where a lone man stood smoking a cigar. His face lit up when he spotted Caroline’s companion.
“Darling, hello.”
They exchanged air kisses, and brief introductions were made. The man pulled the cigar from his mouth and grinned. “Where’s your better half? Or excuse me, other half?”
They broke into gales of laughter. Caroline longed for the sense of ease other married couples had. She wondered when, and how, it would come for her and Porter.
The three of them chatted for a minute, until the woman spotted her own husband inside and went to fetch him.
Caroline hoped she would return with her husband before Porter chanced upon them, she and Cigar Man alone in the dark. He was old enough to be her father, but that wouldn’t matter to Porter.
Oblivious, Cigar Man took another puff and watched the smoke rise. “New to D.C.? Or just Georgetown?”
Caroline explained that she and her husband had just moved in, and that she was recently graduated from the George Washington University.
“Great school. If you just graduated, the world is your oyster,” he said with a smile. “Congratulations, young lady, you’ve got your whole future ahead of you.” He offered his hand, and Caroline shook it, smiling back.
His smile faded a moment later, however, as he caught a glimpse of something behind her. Caroline heard swift footsteps approach, followed by a hand on her elbow squeezing so hard it sent a sharp pain through her arm. She forced herself not to flinch.
“So this is where you got off to while my back was turned.” Porter’s voice came low and tight, so close his breath stirred her hair.
She shivered.
Cigar Man’s smile did a quick fade.
“I was looking for the bathroom and…” Caroline’s voice trailed off.
“The bathroom?” Porter repeated her words slowly so they sounded stupid.
Cigar Man stopped puffing.
Caroline felt tension mount like a rising tide, engulfing them.
Porter tightened his grip on her arm.
She searched for something, anything, to say to break the tension, so this man could see past Porter’s prickly side and Porter, hopefully, would realize he had not stumbled onto anything untoward.
“I got sidetracked,” Caroline said, trying to sound breezy and gushing and carefree, like Lindsay Crowley and her friends. But her voice sounded weak, defensive. “I came out to look at Lindsay’s gorgeous new poi pond.”
“Koi.” Porter arranged his lips into a tight line. “It’s a koi pond.”
Cigar Man chuckled and pulled the cigar from his mouth. “Poi, koi? It’s just fish. Where I come from, we’d drop a line and eat ’em.” He winked at Caroline, which only made things worse.
There was silence as Porter chose to say nothing and Caroline didn’t dare speak.
The man popped his cigar back into his mouth and rolled it around, considering things. “You haven’t done anything wrong, my dear.” He shot Porter a look that was hard as steel.
“Right. Just fish.” Porter’s voice, flat and low, managed to be insulting.
Caroline cringed and tried not to show it.
“My wife and I were just leaving, if you’ll excuse us,” Porter said stiffly.
My wife.
The emphasis was unmistakable. Caroline nodded farewell and turned to follow.