Forever (18 page)

“Can I drive you home?”’

“As much as I’d love that, Kate’s already drunk. I’d better stick around to drive her home.”

They exchanged one final deep, lingering kiss, and she left him standing alone.

At home, he parked the car in the garage and entered the kitchen. Max woke and started toward him, but stopped ten feet away and then backed up, teeth bared and snarling.

* * *

Julie stood in the too warm great room, trying to make sense of the scene before her. Tom was asleep in his recliner with the TV off and the patio door wide open. Falling asleep in his chair while watching TV wasn’t strange, but with it turned off and the chair not even reclined?
Oh, God.
What if he’s
not
sleeping
? She dropped her purse and ran to him.

“Tom?” She shook him. Slowly, his eyes opened. They were unfocused, but that was miles better than milky dead. But now that she knew he
had
only fallen asleep, she was back to being mystified. “Why are you sleeping in your chair? And why is the door standing open?” She glanced around the room. “And where is Max?”

Tom was looking at her, but she couldn’t tell if he actually saw her. He certainly wasn’t answering her questions. She could smell alcohol on him—the hard stuff, not his usual beer. Anyway, Tom was a talkative drunk, not a catatonic one. And that other scent, the feminine one, the one that might break her heart, she tried to ignore, but its presence amped her irritation to anger.

“What the hell is going on, Tom?”

No response.

Julie turned her back on him and crossed to the door. Startled by a sudden movement on the patio, she slammed the door and locked it, flipping the switch for the outdoor lights as she jumped back. Relief bubbled up a half-laugh. It was only the dog getting to his feet. She reopened the door.

“Come, Max.”

The dog slunk toward her and entered the house, but he skirted the perimeter of the room, looking sideways at Tom, as though ready to bolt if need be. He went to his water bowl and looked up at her. She filled the bowl and watched as he nearly emptied it again.

“Good boy. Everything’s okay now.” She wasn’t sure the words were true, but she felt a need to assure Max he was safe. As if still doubtful, he retreated to the far corner of the unlit breakfast nook.

Equally wary, Julie stood in the kitchen, behind the island, peering into the sitting area at Tom. His eyes were closed again. He was so quiet. Unnaturally quiet. And the dog, though awake, was acting just as weirdly. Her mind scrabbled for an explanation. Had the two of them been terrorized in a break in? She gasped. Could burglars be upstairs? She held her breath, looking at the ceiling and listening, but all was quiet above her. She scanned the great room, no signs of robbery—except for, maybe, the open doors. But the lock still worked, so . . . no break in.

And Max wasn’t just scared, he was scared of
Tom
.

My phone
! It was in her purse and that was on the floor. She reached out a foot, hooked it by the strap, and pulled it to her. Keeping her eyes on Tom as long as possible, she snatched the purse off the floor. The second she palmed her phone, it rang, shooting a scream up her throat. Tom showed no reaction. She took the call.

“Hey there, Julie,” Eddie said. “I’m checking to make sure you got home safely.”

“Yes.” Simple truth. She’d gotten home, but here’s the bigger question—was home safe?

“Good. Good.” Then Eddie whispered, “Go to
sleep
, Julie. Forget it all and just
sleeep
.”

Julie laid her phone on the counter. And then she laughed. Her imagination had done a number on her. “Tom!”

He blinked and then rubbed his face. “Shit. Fell asleep watching TV, I guess.”

“You left the patio door standing open.”

“I did?” He stood and checked it. “
Dammit
. Electric bill’s going to take a hit from that.” He walked past her, took a glass from the cupboard, and filled it from the water dispenser in the refrigerator door. He drained it in one gulp and set the glass in the dishwasher. He looked at her and smiled. “You coming up to bed?”

She followed behind. As they climbed the stairs, her mind niggled her about Tom and Max and open doors and blank TV screens. She told it to shut up. Shut. Up. Obviously, Tom had let the dog out, forgot to close the door, had a few beers while he watched TV, and then dozed off. There was no point in thinking about any piece that didn’t fit that scenario.
Forget it all
.

She just wanted to sleep.

Fearing Julie was in the mood to talk, Tom pretended to fall asleep immediately. The truth was he thought sleep would be hard won tonight. When he’d gone in the bathroom to take a leak and brush his teeth, he’d discovered the unmistakable evidence of an ejaculation in his underwear. Long dried. Not the product of a wet dream from the nap he’d taken downstairs. Worse, when he tried to think back to any activity that could have produced this evidence, he came up blank. Totally blank.

The last memory he had, prior to waking up ten minutes ago, was dropping off Julie at Patricia’s house. And then he’d driven home. Hadn’t he? Of course he had. He was here. But he didn’t remember
arriving
here. That was the problem. And now it was seven minutes after eleven, which meant he had approximately three hours unaccounted for. Missing. Blacked out.

Start at the beginning. He woke up. He went to work. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for seeing Eddie the Creep. Took Julie to Delvecchio’s—fuck! Annie and her sister. That was bad, but he’d played it off. He and Julie were cool. They had a good dinner. Talked. Took her to Patricia’s. And then . . . then . . .

June 15

T
om stubbed out his cigarette and drank the last sip of his coffee. Max followed him into the house. Damn he was hungry. Too bad this wasn’t one of those mornings Julie woke up early and surprised him with a hot breakfast. He was debating whether he should pop a slice of bread or a frozen waffle in the toaster when his phone buzzed. Displayed on the screen was a reminder to make a vet appointment. He flashed back on last night’s dinner conversation with Julie, which reminded him of Annie, which reminded him that his phone might hold a clue to the missing three hours.

He brought up the call log. The last number he’d dialed was Annie’s, at ten minutes after eight—approximately five minutes after he let Julie out of the car. He had no memory of making that call. Had she phoned him first? He switched to incoming calls. Evidently,
Unknown
had phoned him just about the time he was sitting in Patricia’s driveway. Maybe Annie had used a pay phone. Or maybe Kate’s cell phone. What had they talked about?

Wow. Talk about asking the wrong questions. What he really needed to know was why the hell he couldn’t
remember
talking to her, no matter what the topic.

All work and no play
.

He frowned. What an odd thing to pop into his mind. He placed his empty cup in the dishwasher and headed to his truck. No play today. He was off to work.

As he started the truck’s engine, pain slammed his head.

“
plaaay, tom, plaaay
”

Tom had his phone in hand and was dialing as he backed out of the driveway.

* * *

Annie lived in one of those tiny tract homes built after World War II. The kind that might have been painted pink at one time, like in the Mellencamp song. He estimated the square footage of his great room would nearly equal the living space of her entire house.

Annie let him in and then excused herself to finish getting ready. Tom noted with approval that the living room was immaculate, but it surprised him it was so tastefully decorated. As soon as the thought formed, he chastised himself for thinking like his snobbish mother. When Annie reentered the room, he flushed with guilt, as though she’d somehow overheard his petty thought. Like a child practicing the art of diversion, he blurted out the first thing that popped into his mind.

“Nice finish on your hardwood floors.”

“Thank you,” she said. “After I took out the carpeting, I had them refinished. I hate wall-to-wall carpeting.”

He nodded. “I’m starved. Let’s go eat.”

“Do you live around here?” she asked as they climbed into his truck.

He cast a wary glance at her. “Not exactly, why?”

“Well, after last night, I wondered if we should . . . if we ought to be careful about where we’re seen together. Or maybe it doesn’t matter to you.”

As if his brain was short circuiting, Tom couldn’t make sense of her words. Last night? They hadn’t been
together
at Delvecchio’s. He rubbed his forehead.

“Tom?”

“About last night—”

“Yeah, that was pretty risky . . . even for the Coach House.”

What the hell was she talking about? Hoping she’d shut up, he gave her no response. He clenched his jaw, seething, but at first, he wasn’t aware why.

(You know why you’re angry.)

Okay. Yes. He did know. It was because he’d thought he could keep his relationship with Annie in a separate compartment of his life, separate from his
real
life. But her bringing up the wisdom of being discreet had forced him to face the impossibility of that plan.

(No. You’re angry at yourself for even being with Annie, again.)

Despite the sunshine, the day now seemed dismal, and he regretted inviting her to have breakfast with him. He should have gone straight to work. He didn’t have any experience at having a secret life; he didn’t know the rules. He breathed in twice, forcing his diaphragm down, filling his lungs to capacity before reversing the process. It did nothing to stop the frontal assault being waged inside his head.

(Tell her this is the last time you will see or phone her.)

Annie leaned on the console and laid her hand on his thigh. “Are you all right, Tom?”

The heat of her hand shot straight to his groin and deepened his breathing. Over the screech of his conscience, he said, “I live in Chatham Estates. About twenty miles from your house.”

“I know where that is,” she said. “Those are very nice homes, but I figured you’d built your own . . . being in the business, I mean.”

“Well, like they say, the cobbler’s kids go barefoot.” He dared a smile. “I did some of the customizing, though. And I did build a house myself. My in-laws owned property out on Buckeye Lake, and when the old man died, Julie inherited that land and . . . uh . . . I started drafting the plans for a log home. Dee lived only five months longer than her husband. A year later, we demolished the old cabin and built the new one.”

He’d almost swallowed his tongue when he realized he’d mentioned Julie by name. Surely, Annie had caught it.

“I’ll bet it’s great having a house on a lake,” she said. “Maybe you could take me there sometime.”

They pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, but Tom made no move to get out of the car.
Take Annie to the lake?
How could she even suggest that?

“You’re probably right about our need to be more discreet,” he said. “And yes, it
does
matter. Because the real question you’re asking is whether I’m in the habit of cheating on my wife. And the answer is no, I’m not.”

There was a minute of awkward silence, and then he spoke again. “And what about you? Should I be watching over my shoulder for your ex-husband?”

Annie’s mouth sprung open, but she only stared at him for a moment. “No,” she said finally. “He’s dead. I told you that.”

“Dead. No, you didn’t bother to mention that. I won’t offer my condolences. From what you did tell me, I doubt you grieved too long.” Staring stone-faced through the windshield, he reached for his cigarettes. Was he really going to live two lives? “I wasn’t looking to have an affair, Annie. This . . . situation took me by surprise. Can you understand that?”

She nodded. “We only met ten days ago. It’s sort of overwhelming for me too.”

Tom pulled the keys from the ignition and opened the door. Only ten days had passed, and yet he hardly knew himself anymore.

Just as they were finishing breakfast, Tom’s cell phone rang. He checked to see who was calling, and Annie knew by the look on his face it was his wife. Before he could say hello, she left the table, heading for the restroom.

“Get used to this or get out,” she said to her image in the mirror. But the words rang hollow. She already loved Tom too much to get out.

Tom said nothing about the phone call when she returned to the table, but his guilt hung heavy between them. She sipped her tea and he drank his coffee in silence as they waited for the waitress to bring their check. He seemed so distant, she imagined herself invisible to him and knew he would drop her off at home with hardly another word between them.

He said exactly three, and he said those as she climbed out of the truck. “Call you later.”

* * *

Julie had called Tom’s cell phone in a moment of weakness, a moment of loneliness born of secrecy. He had no idea she’d been to her gynecologist. She’d grown tired of the burden of her fear and needed to share. He told her he’d woken up hungry and stopped for a real breakfast before going to work. Although he’d done that only a few times before—usually he was a
toast is fine until mid-morning
kind of guy—she tried to accept this aberration as normal. But something, maybe only a nuance in his voice, pricked her heart and gave rise to a mental picture of Tom sitting in the restaurant, phone to his ear, with a shadowy figure sitting across the table from him. Then, though she tried to fight it, that figure took on the shape of a woman.

She’d given him some lame excuse for calling. Just something she wanted him to check in the house she’d said, no biggie. Still, he must have sensed her deception because he told her he would stop by the house before going to work. As she waited, she browsed the morning paper. After reading the same paragraph three times she gave up, admitting she couldn’t care less what colors would be hot in fall fashions. Her life would change considerably by fall. Lindsay would be living away from home, and she’d miss her terribly. If Tom left her too, she’d be all alone. Alone to face the ordeal she feared loomed ahead.