Damien pressed his lips together and nodded. “I’m sorry. I know you’re not. There’s so much . . . It’s just that life is complicated, and it’s hard sometimes to explain why people do what they do . . . and why adults act like they do. That’s even harder to explain, but—”
“Dad. I know.”
Damien reached for Hunter’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I know you do, Son. Forgive your old man for being a buffoon sometimes.”
“I practice forgiveness every day.” Hunter smiled. “Now I guess you better go talk to Frank. If this is Angela,” he said, pitching a thumb toward the computer screen, “and she’s talking about Frank here, it can’t be good.”
Damien let out a laugh. “Okay, yes, obviously you’re following the situation. Better than I am, I think. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late. And make sure you hug your mom before you go to bed.”
Downstairs, Damien kissed Kay good-bye and headed over to Frank’s. He checked his watch. Normally Frank liked to go to bed early, but Damien figured he’d probably still be up. He shut off his lights as he pulled into the driveway. He should’ve called first, but Frank would’ve sensed something was off, because Frank was a cop and he could always smell bull.
Lights from the living room glowed. Everything else was dark, including his porch light. Among other things, Frank was a conserver of all things costly, and electricity was at the top of his list,. He’d been known to go through Damien’s house turning off lights.
Damien pulled his coat around him and climbed the steps of the porch, tapping lightly on Frank’s door. He tapped again, listening for movement. Maybe he was in the bathroom. Damien leaned to get a look into the small window by the door, but a lightweight panel revealed only vague shadows.
“Frank!” Damien knuckle-tapped the window. “Frank, hey! It’s Damien. You in there?”
Silence.
Damien reached in his pocket for his cell phone only to find lint. In his rush to leave the house he must’ve forgotten it on the counter.
“Frank!” Damien pounded the door. Maybe he’d fallen asleep on the couch. His fist hit the door again, but this time the door popped open slightly. It was unlocked?
Slowly Damien pushed the door wider, looking for any signs of movement. “Frank, it’s Damien. You here?”
The television was on, flickering through sports highlights on ESPN. Damien stepped in. His heart thumped erratically. It just seemed like something wasn’t right, and that was what Frank always talked about . . . the gut instinct of a cop. He could drive the streets and sense when something was going wrong.
Damien swallowed, stepping lightly on the well-vacuumed carpet. He glanced back and forth, gauging whether danger was indeed nearby. Was Frank’s truck in the garage? He should check that. But the garage door was accessible only through the kitchen, which was at the back of the house.
Damien stepped closer to the basement door. It was open, which wasn’t unusual. But the lights were out, and it was pitch-black down there. “Frank?”
Nothing.
Should he go down and check anyway? or check around ground level first? Damien looked toward the hallway. No light came from that part of the house, not even a night-light. What if he’d had a heart attack?
Damien began flipping on any lights he could find. He headed to the back of the house, throwing open doors, calling Frank’s name. Within seconds he’d flipped on every light in the back of the house and explored every room and closet, but there was no sign of Frank.
He should check the basement, but first he decided to check the garage, see if Frank’s truck was here. There was certainly a chance that he’d left the front door unlocked accidentally. A slim chance but a chance.
Damien hurried down the hall and around the corner—
“Ahhh!” Damien clutched his chest.
Frank stood there, gun drawn, looking aggressive. When he saw Damien, his hands dropped to his side, but his expression was hard. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you!” Damien said. “Where have you been?”
“Why are you in my house?”
Damien drew in a deep breath, trying to slow his heart. “I knocked on your door and it swung open.”
Frank turned and observed his door for a moment. “You didn’t call.”
“I had something I needed to talk to you about, and I thought I’d just come over.”
“You never come over without calling first.”
Exactly,
Damien thought. Already Frank sensed something was askew. Damien sat on the couch and turned to look at Frank, who still stood by the open door. Frank slowly shut it, and Damien observed him studying the lock. Did he think he picked it?
“Where have you been that you forgot to lock your door?”
“I just left in a hurry,” Frank said, walking into the living room. He sat down in his recliner. “Quick errand. I ran up to the QT for a two liter of Coke.”
It was a strange moment, an invisible glint against the air that held hesitation and caution and awkwardness. Damien stared at Frank’s hands because he was not holding a bottle of Coke, and nowhere nearby was a bottle of Coke.
Frank blinked. Once. Then said, “They were out, so I came home.”
“Ah.” Damien smiled, but it was uneasy.
Frank suddenly grinned as he got up and strolled toward the kitchen. “You want something? I got a cold pizza in here.”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks. Kay cooked tonight.”
Frank disappeared for a few moments. Sounds of silverware and plates rattled into the living room.
Damien eased himself to the edge of the couch. This didn’t seem like the kind of conversation one should have sitting casually with feet swung up on the coffee table.
Frank returned with a plate full of pizza. “So what’s so important that you had to come all the way over here to talk to me?” His tone was playful, but there was something in his eyes. Scrutiny.
It made Damien look at the carpet. “It’s just that . . .”
Frank paused, midchew. “What?”
“Angela came by tonight. At my house. To talk to me.” Damien finally looked up. “About you.”
Frank sighed, slapping the pizza back onto his plate. “Let me guess. She’s enraged about the missing person report.”
“To say the least.”
“She already complained at the station. It was a mistake,” Frank said. “An honest mistake. That’s all.”
“That’s what I told her.”
“Thanks. It’s good to know someone doesn’t think I’m a raging lunatic.”
“I didn’t say that,” Damien said. “I mean, you could push her over the edge. You know? She might do something crazy, like sue you.”
“Whatever. Angela would never sue me.” Frank crammed more pizza into his mouth.
Damien sat there, watching Frank watch him. He wondered if he should tell him that his ex-wife intended very much to sue him. That if Frank made another false move, things could get very nasty for him. Could Frank take it at this point?
Damien folded his hands together, placing his elbows on his knees. “I think she’s really on edge right now. I’m just saying, be careful. She was mad enough to come over to my house, possibly run into Kay. The woman is angry.”
“Yeah, yeah. I get it.”
“You’re not, like, spying on her or something, are you?”
Frank’s face lit up. “Did that little zit of a rookie say something to you?”
“Your rookie? No. Why?”
“We’re doing some investigating on this Web site thing,” Frank said, looking irritated. “Seeing whether people’s places are bugged. That Web site has already caused enough trouble. We need to get to the bottom of it.”
“Okay.” Damien smiled and stood.
“What? You’re going already? I thought you came over to hang out.”
“Gotta get back. Busy day tomorrow.”
“All right, fine. I gotta get to bed myself.” Frank rose, put his food on the coffee table, and embraced Damien, giving him a hearty pat on the shoulders. “Thanks for always watching my back.”
“Sure thing. That’s what friends are for. Talk to you tomorrow.”
The cool air hit Damien as he left the house. He walked to his car in the drive, bypassing the sidewalk as he crossed the lawn. He got in his car, not bothering to let it warm up, and drove straight to the QT, where a huge stack of two liter Cokes was visible from the front window.
13
Kay watched her children gather their things for school, grabbing notebooks, jackets, backpacks. Years and years of hustling them out the door. Yelling at them to hurry up. Now she wanted them to linger.
Jenna stuffed her backpack and wrapped a scarf around her neck. Wasn’t it just yesterday that Kay knelt down and tied the scarf around her, pulled on her favorite fuzzy Strawberry Shortcake hat, and embraced her? At what point, exactly, did she stop hugging her children? It was like it was there one day and gone the next. Should she try now?
Hunter glanced at her and Kay grinned but maybe not fast enough. She didn’t think he saw it. He was struggling to zip his backpack.
“Here, let me help you with that.”
“I got it,” Hunter said, wiggling it until it suddenly zipped freely.
“Hunter, hurry up!” Jenna snapped from the front door. “If you want a ride from me, you have to come now. I can’t always be waiting for you.”
Hunter rushed toward Jenna as she swung open the door.
Kay hurried to follow them out.
Jenna groaned. “Hunter, you stink! What’d you do, use the entire bottle of Axe?”
“Shut up!” Hunter barked.
It was freezing but Kay continued going outside without a coat. “Hey!” she called.
They both stopped and turned. Kay waved. They stared.
“Hey, have a good day. I love—”
But they’d both already hopped into Jenna’s VW. Before Kay could wave again, Jenna had thrown it into reverse, backed out of the driveway, and they were gone.
The wind snapped, blowing her hair against her face and sending a chill through her sweater. She hurried inside. She had a showing in thirty minutes. Just enough time to go through Starbucks. Creamy, sugar-laden coffee never rejected her. She slid on her coat and grabbed her briefcase. She checked the oven and coffeepot and then headed to the front door, opening it so she could put out the trash before she left.
She gasped. “Jill?”
“I’m sorry. I was just about to knock. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Jill stared straight into Kay’s eyes, a stare so intense that Kay took a step backward, which Jill apparently assumed was an invitation in. She walked forward, backing Kay up a few more steps.
Usually very juvenilely coifed and dressed, this morning Jill wore stained sweats and a baggy T-shirt. Her hair was pulled into an unruly ponytail. Her skin, normally as clear as porcelain, looked weathered and flaky. She appeared self-aware, with a hand covering one splotchy cheek and the other combing through the hair at her scalp. “I’m sorry to drop by unexpectedly.”
“I was just on my way out.”
“Yes, I see that. Do you have a few minutes, though? I won’t take up much of your time.”
Kay found herself completely indecisive, unable to even answer. She was shaking her head one instant and nodding the next, giving plenty of mixed signals. She was only going to Starbucks, after all. But did she want this woman in her home?
“I know we don’t know each other well. But I don’t really . . . It’s just that I don’t have anyone to talk to. Some bad things are happening . . . and I . . .” Jill bit her lip and searched Kay’s eyes.
Kay’s fingers drummed against her thigh as she tried to figure out what to do. Did she really want to be in the middle of Jill’s drama? Plus, what would the other moms think?
Yet Jill seemed so desperate. For a woman with as much pride as Jill Toledo, she had to have a good reason for coming here looking like that. Was she drunk? This early?
Kay took a long look at her watch. “I’ve got a few minutes, I guess.”
“Okay.” Tears streamed down Jill’s face. “I know we only know each other from school, our girls knowing each other. This probably seems really odd.”
Kay gave a polite smile. “What’s on your mind?”
She took a tissue from the pocket of her coat. Tears now gushed down her face. She didn’t appear to be trying to get ahold of her emotions.
Kay gestured to one of the entryway chairs that was mostly used to throw coats on. “Maybe you should sit down.”
“That’s kind. Thank you.”
Kind? She was just trying to keep this woman from having a nervous breakdown in her entryway.
“My husband, Mike, is having an affair.”
The words hung in the air. Kay had to glance away. What was she supposed to say? And was it true? She’d observed Jill being the flirtatious one, wearing tight-fitting clothes. “How do you know?”
“I saw him. With her.”
“Aren’t you two getting a divorce?”
“How did you know that?”
Kay couldn’t even begin to backpedal on that one. “It’s just something that’s going around.”
“We’re trying to work through things,” Jill said, frustration lacing her tone. “We’ve been going to counseling. I thought there was a chance we could save the marriage. But he’s been acting very weird, very erratic. Sometimes he’s . . . I just don’t know what he’s capable of.”
Kay made an obvious glance at her watch. “I’m very sorry to hear that, but I don’t see how I can help.”
Jill, slouched in her chair and looking utterly pathetic, didn’t respond at first. Her bottom lip quivered. Through the front windows on either side of the door, the normal traffic sounds of the neighborhood filled in the silence. “I don’t guess anyone can,” she said, patting her face with the tissue. “It’s my problem, isn’t it?” Suddenly her tone took on an edge of defensiveness.
Kay tried a soft smile. She was probably coming off rude. She wasn’t trying to. Then again, she wasn’t really trying to help either. But what could she do? “Have you talked to your marriage counselor?”
“It’s three hundred dollars an hour. I’d sit there and spill my guts, and she’d just nod and tell me my feelings are normal. But honestly, this doesn’t seem normal. None of this seems normal. My whole life is falling apart. And Natalie . . .” Her words trailed off.
“Does she know?”