In Medias Res (3 page)

I ended the call and dialed the next number on my list. The one saved in the phone’s directory as “Home.” No answer there, either.

I scrolled down to “Jack Work,” but the phone rang before I could dial the number. The display panel read “Jack Cell.”
He
was calling
me
.

I put the phone to my ear. “Hello?” I asked tentatively, only to have the phone ring again. The ringer was set to a samba beat, which could have been fun in other circumstances, but was profoundly annoying in my present one.

I pressed buttons at random, hoping one would let the incoming call through without cutting it off.

“Hello?” I said again.

Jack’s voice was deep and soothing—as if he should be churning out audiotapes to help insomniacs fall asleep instead of practicing medicine. “So you
have
landed. You said you were going to call me the minute you touched down.”

His palpable relief at hearing from me threw me even further off balance. He didn’t sound like the author of a Dear Jane letter speaking to its recipient.

If he hadn’t written the note, who had?

“I—I was about to call you,” I stammered, “but you beat me to it.”

“It’s about time I beat you at something. Do you have any idea how emasculating it is for me to have my wife be a better athlete than I am?” he asked with a chuckle. “At least I’m better with my hands. I do have that going for me. How’s the weather down there?” He answered before I could. “To die for, I bet.” He sighed. “I wish you had let me come with you.”

So traveling alone had been
my
idea. But why? If things were normal between us, wouldn’t I have wanted him with me?

“Are we happy?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away. When he did respond, his jovial, self-effacing tone was nowhere to be found. He sounded concerned. More than that, he sounded scared.

“You are my best friend, my lover, and my wife. I have loved you from the moment I saw you. I love you more than anything else in the world,” he said. “When you told me you wanted to spend some time on your own, you said you needed to get your head together but it had nothing to do with us. Has something happened to change that?”

“I wish I knew.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I don’t know who I am,” I said. “I don’t know what’s going on with me and I need time to figure it out.”

“I knew this would happen. It was noble of you to quit the firm the way you did—you’ll always be a hero to a lot of people for taking a stand when no one else would—but how are you going to replace the thrill you get when you’re trying a case no one except you thinks you can win?”

Speaking in a rush as if he were afraid he might forget something if I interrupted him, he didn’t give me time to answer his question.

“You agreed to chair the fund-raising committee this year, and I’m sure you’ll twist as many arms as it takes to reach the administration’s stated goal, but, my little adrenaline junkie, hospital politics won’t provide adequate excitement for you. You’re too independent to be a housewife so don’t even think about giving that a try. Before you say it, I know staying at home all day was good enough for our mothers, but you aren’t your mother—or mine, thank God. Our legal department might be contacting you to see if you’d like to join our team of in-house counsels, but don’t feel obligated to say yes if you don’t want to. You
are
allowed to have a life that’s separate from mine.”

“I just want a life,” I said. “At the moment, any will do.”

Either he couldn’t hear or he chose to ignore the desperation in my voice.

“A cynic would say you’re too young to be having a mid-life crisis,” he said. “Speaking as a cockeyed optimist—one that’s hopelessly in love with you, I might add—I’m telling you to take all the time you need. But when you find the answers you’re looking for, make sure they lead you back here.” He paused, then surged forward. “All I want is to make you happy, Sydney. I told you that when we were dating. I told you that when I asked you to marry me, and I’m telling you again now. Forget what my mother said. We don’t have to have a baby right now. She’s waited this long to be a grandmother. What difference would a few more years make?”

I hadn’t thought of children until he mentioned them. I was grateful to hear that we didn’t have any. I didn’t think I could bear the thought of not knowing anything about them. Of not remembering the day they were born. The day they spoke their first words. The day they took their first steps. It would have been too much.

“If you want to go back to work, that’s fine with me,” Jack continued. “Whatever you decide to do, I will support you one hundred percent. You know that, don’t you?”

Even though I’d essentially just met him, he had me convinced. He was a man with my best interests at heart. And he loved me so much I could feel it through the phone.

“Yes, I know.” His support seemed to be limitless and unconditional. I thought I could trust him, but nagging doubts prevented me from letting him in on my secret. “I feel so lost, Jack,” I said, my resolve weakening. “Help me.”

“I wish you would let me help you with this.” He sounded as frustrated as I did. “But I know you’re only asking now to humor me. Your stubborn streak is the stuff of legend. Just know that I’m here for you.”

“I do.”

“And don’t think too hard. Sometimes we can go around our elbows to get to the truth when the truth is staring us right in the face. We just have to open our eyes and see it. Or find the courage to admit that we’ve known it all along. I hope you find your truth. And that it still involves me. I love you, Syd.”

“I love you, too” didn’t feel right and “Thank you” didn’t feel appropriate so I said nothing.

The amount of information he had given me was dizzying. I would have to sort through a dozen possible reasons in order to find the one that had sent me over the edge.

After I ended the call, I scrolled through the directory again. I highlighted the entry saved as “Jen Home.” It was time to put that best friends for life theory to the test.

The phone was picked up on the second ring.

“This is Marcus,” the voice on the other end said.

Not expecting anyone else to answer, I nearly hung up. “Is Jen there?” I asked cautiously.

“Oh, hi, Syd,” Marcus replied, recognizing my voice. “No, she’s off saving the world again.”

“I thought she just got home.” According to the notation in the day planner, I’d thrown a party to mark that occasion just four days before.

“She did. She was supposed to be home for a month, but she decided not to stay that long. As she put it, she wanted to be someplace she could do some good. Everyone needs a purpose in life. I think it’s safe to say that Jen has found hers. I suppose I should be grateful—her organization does wonderful things over there—but all I do is worry about her, not the people she’s trying to save. I have a hard time believing she didn’t tell you she was leaving. You two tell each other everything.”

He sounded skeptical. As if I were testing him and he didn’t know why.

“She might have mentioned it to me,” I said, trying to cover, “but I have so much going on right now that I don’t know which end is up.”

“I hear you. She probably thought you would have tried to talk her out of it, anyway.”

“I’d love to talk to her.”

“To beg her to come to her senses and come home to a nice, cushy private practice? I’ve already tried that. It didn’t work.”

“Even so, is there a number where I can reach her?” In the address book, her cell phone number had been crossed out. Had she changed it and not given me her new one? That didn’t sound like something a best friend would do.

“In the middle of the desert?” he scoffed. “I don’t think so. E-mail’s your best bet. Considering she doesn’t check it every day, even that takes a while. If she gets her hands on a sat phone, though, and deigns to check in with me, I’ll tell her to give you a call. But you two are as thick as thieves. You always have been. It still amazes me that Jack was able to pry you apart long enough for your father to walk you down the aisle. If you think she’s going to call me before she calls you, you’re dreaming.”

“But she might not know where to reach me.”

“The vacation house, right?”

I started. How much had I told him? How well did I know him? If he were my best friend’s husband, very. He would have had to meet with my approval—just as Jack would have had to meet with Jennifer’s.

“Are you okay, Syd?” Marcus asked. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

That was the understatement of the year.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “I just wish I’d had more time with her, that’s all.”

“You and me both. I assume you heard about the verdict. Ten years, huh?”

Ten years? What was he talking about? Then I remembered the headline I had seen during the flight from Chicago. Something about the Subway Slasher. Had I been involved with the case in some way? How was that possible when Jack said I had quit the firm I worked for?

“Looks like the powers-that-be should have listened to you. When they call begging you to come back to the fold—and you know they will—I hope you hold out for a six-figure raise. You deserve it after what they put you through. I’d better go. I have to plug a hole in a client’s firewall before a hacker tries to walk through it. Take care, Syd.”

He hung up and I wandered back over to the luggage carousel. The number of bags to choose from had dwindled to a more manageable sum. I found mine with little effort. As I headed outside to hail a cab, I reflected on my conversation with Marcus—and what it meant.

J for Jennifer?

It was theoretically possible, but it made no sense. Not if we were as close as Marcus said we were. Then again, I had no way of knowing if she’d told me about her sudden departure or if she’d kept me in the dark. If we’d had a rift, she could have written the note.

Cars, taxis, and shuttle buses fought for space in the tiny parking lot. From the outside, the squat one-story airport looked more like a strip mall—minus the hair salons and nail shops. I headed for the cab at the head of the line. The driver leaned against his car, a bright yellow Chevrolet Caprice with advertisements for traveling road shows painted on both of its rear doors. Dressed in sandals, a garish Hawaiian shirt, and knee-length shorts, the cabbie looked readier for vacation than I did.

As he stowed my luggage in the generous trunk, I slid into the roomy backseat. I pulled forty dollars out of my wallet to pay for the cab ride so I wouldn’t have to flash my money in front of him later.

He climbed into the front seat and slammed the door. “Where are you headed?” he asked, turning on the meter as he pulled away from the curb.

I gave him the address of the house on United Street.

“Sure thing.” He flipped through several radio stations before settling on one that was playing upbeat reggae. “Is this all right?”

“It’s fine.”

I pulled out the note and took another look at it. The message was unchanged.

I won’t be the lie you tell
.

Jack said I was searching for the truth. I thought I might be better served trying to uncover a lie.

The cab driver dropped me off in front of the house on United Street but didn’t see me in. He deposited my bags on the porch and left to pick up another fare. It was just as well. I didn’t want him to see me fumbling with the keys as I tried to find the one that fit the front door. He might have had a few questions for me. Questions I wouldn’t be able to answer.

The front door sported two locks, the ring in my hand four keys. I tried each key in succession until I found the right combination that fit the locks. The tedious process tested what little patience I had left.

A four-digit number was taped to the back of the key that turned the deadbolt. I quickly found out why. The security alarm screeched to life when I opened the door. The alarm code had probably been ingrained in my memory less than twelve hours before. It, like everything else, was lost in the fog that had enveloped my brain.

Unprepared for a confrontation with the police, I tried to stem the tide of rising panic within me. I turned to the keys clutched tightly in my fist. I punched the handwritten numbers into the control panel next to the front door and prayed they were the right ones.

My prayers were answered. The alarm immediately fell silent.

I pulled my bags inside the house, then closed and locked the door. I stripped off my shirts—both of them—and dropped them on the floor. Then I kicked off my boots. My wool socks were plastered to my skin. I peeled those off, too. As I walked around, I could trace each step I made via the prints my sweaty feet left on the dark wood floor.

The temperature controls were in a hallway off from the small kitchen. The thermostat was set to an energy-conserving eighty degrees. I cranked it down to a more comfortable seventy-two.

With one mission accomplished, I put my hands on my hips and wondered what to do next.