No Safe House (14 page)

“Okay, I’ll check in on him. Thanks for this.”

Cynthia set her phone down on the counter and watched Nathaniel spoon in some ground coffee from a tin into the coffee machine, spilling some of it.

“Shit,” he said, using his hand as a broom to clear the spilled coffee into his other hand. He slapped his hands over the sink, then rinsed his hands to get all the granules off. “I always do that.” He forced another laugh. “Maybe I’ve caught something from the dogs. Distemper or something.”

Cynthia smiled. “Might be fleas. You need one of those collars.”

He nodded. “That might stop me from trying to scratch my neck with my foot.”

“That’d be something to see,” she said.

“Oh, I’m flexible,” he said, then, maybe thinking the comment had some sexual connotation, quickly added, “It’s all that stooping and scooping. It’s better than yoga. You ever tried yoga?”

“No.”

“I gave it a shot, didn’t like it. Took all kinds of things. Yoga, spinning—you know, the stationary bikes. A step class, but that was really a chick thing. Karate, but only until I got to the purple belt level, which is not all that impressive. I can still remember a couple of things, but those katas? You know, the movements you have to go through? I could never get those right. Tried jogging, too, and I still sort of do that, with the dogs. Instead of just walking them, we’ll run flat out for a half mile or so.”

The coffeemaker gurgled as the pot began to fill.

“So how many people’s dogs do you walk every day?” Cynthia asked.

“I’ve got ten. I zip from house to house, do four in the morning, six in the afternoon, walk each one for about forty-five minutes. I can jam a couple extra in after lunch because some of my clients live on the same street and I can walk two at a time.”

“They get along? The dogs, I mean, not your clients. Although if you have some gossip on them, I’m all ears.”

“Yeah, the dogs get used to each other, like to play, although sometimes I don’t cover as much territory with them. They spend more time sniffing each other than walking.”

Cynthia shook her head. “You really have to love dogs to spend your day doing what you do.”

“We always had them when I was a kid. Never more than one at a time, but when one died of old age or got hit by a car or whatever, we always got another.”

She winced. “Your dog got hit by a car?”

He made a V with his fingers. “Two. We lost O’Reilly when I was three years old, and Skip when I was ten. We were on a country road, up near Torrington—I’ve still got a lot of family up there. My brother lived up that way. I got nieces and nephews there still. Anyway, my parents never kept the dogs tied up. Wanted them to run free. My dad said if that meant one of them got run over, well, so be it. Better a dog have five great years running its ass off than fifteen years chained to a tree.”

“Gee, I don’t know,” Cynthia said.

“Anyway, after I left home and was working all the time, I never had a dog, and my ex, may she get crabs, was allergic, so there was no dog in my life for several years. Then, when the shit hit the fan and I needed something to do, well …” He threw up his hands.

“But you’re getting by okay.”

“Oh yeah. Twenty-five bucks a dog, ten dogs, that’s two-fifty a day, twelve-fifty a week, and it’s all cash, so it’s almost like making eighteen hundred a week or so if you had to pay Uncle Sam.” He eyed her suspiciously. “This isn’t where you tell me you actually work for the IRS and not the health department.”

“You’re so busted,” she said.

“And you know, there’s the odd other bit of cash coming in. The one thing I wanted to hang on to after my company went south was my ATS.”

“Your what?”

“My car. The Cadillac.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, it’s not exactly a hybrid where gas is concerned, and the insurance ain’t cheap, but damn it, I just wanted to hang on to my wheels.” He laughed. “You should see people’s faces, I show up to walk dogs in a Caddy.”

Cynthia asked, “So these dogs don’t go crazy when you come into the house when their owners are away?”

“You have to get to know them first, yeah, or they might go nuts on you. And I got one Doberman and a German shepherd—I don’t walk those two together—which are not the kind of mutts you want going squirrelly when you come through the front door.”

“So people give you their keys?” Cynthia said.

He pointed to a ring by the toaster with what looked like a dozen keys on it. “Some places I need the security code, too. But
if they don’t mind giving that stuff out to their babysitter, they don’t mind giving it to me.” He sighed. “I must seem like the world’s biggest loser to you. Guy my age, and this is what I do. You know, I used to be worth hundreds of thousands? What I make in a week walking goddamn dogs I made in ten minutes. I could buy anything I wanted. I’d walk into a store, see a pair of shoes that cost three hundred bucks—I wouldn’t even think about it. I’d say, Yeah, I’ll take those. And I’d get them home, wear them once, find out they hurt my feet, and I wouldn’t even try to return them. Didn’t give a shit.”

Cynthia shook her head. “I don’t think you’re a loser. What do they say? Life’s a journey, and when you think about it, yours is more interesting than most people’s. Like you said when I first met you, you’re taking a breather. You won’t be doing this forever. At some point you’ll think, Okay, it’s time to move on.”

And that was when it hit her.

It was time to move on.

She was going to give up this apartment.

She was going to go home.

You didn’t solve your problems at home by moving out. You solved your problems by staying home and solving the goddamn problems.

I’m not going to run away. I’m going to go home
.

“Cynthia?”

“Hmm?”

“You there?”

“Yes, I’m listening.”

“I said maybe you’re right. Everything just takes time, right?”

She nodded slowly, then said, “I’m going to move out this week.”

“And go where?”

“Home?”

“You’ve only been here a few weeks,” he said.

“It’s been a few weeks too long. This was … this was a mistake.”

“No,” Nathaniel said. “Maybe you had to move here to find out that moving here was a mistake. As goofy as that sounds. I figured you were here kind of clearing your head, figuring yourself out. Maybe living here has made you appreciate whatever it is you left. Your husband and—you’ve got a kid, right?”

“Grace,” she said wistfully. “I abandoned my family because I thought I was sick, but they’re the only thing that can make me better.”

“What do you take?”

“I’ve tried a couple of things, like Xanax, but I don’t feel right being on them. For me, I have to solve my problems on my own, without any artificial interference.”

“I meant in your coffee.”

“Oh!” Cynthia laughed.

“Cream, sugar?”

“Just black, thanks.”

Nathaniel removed the carafe and filled two mugs. He set one in front of Cynthia, then banged his forehead with the heel of his hand. “What the hell am I making coffee for? Tonight’s a special night for you. If you’re moving out, going home, that calls for a celebration.”

He took the mug back before Cynthia could touch it and emptied it into the sink. He swung open the door to the refrigerator and brought out a bottle of white wine.

“No, that’s okay,” she said.

“Nonsense.”

“Really, it’s—”

“Hey, look, it’s a screw-top pinot gris, and it’s already been opened. This isn’t as grand a gesture as it looks. Unless—you do drink, don’t you?”

She sighed. “I do.”

“Well, fine, then.” He found two peanut butter glasses in the cupboard, twisted the cap off the bottle. He glanced at the label. “A very nice vintage. March, I believe.”

Cynthia smiled uncomfortably. Having a coffee with this boy across the hall—and really, compared with her, he was a
boy
—was one thing, but sharing a bottle of wine, that was another, wasn’t it?

Stop it. He’s just trying to be nice
.

He filled the two glasses, handed her one. “Cheers,” he said, raising his, clinking it lightly against Cynthia’s. “To fresh starts.”

“To fresh starts.”

“Mine’s just going to come a little later,” he said. “I used to belong to a wine club. Very, very snooty. My wife and I, we’d get invited to tastings, fancy cheeses and chocolate. They’d send me the latest chardonnay or merlot or whatever in these fancy wood boxes. Cost a fortune. This bottle here, this ran me seven bucks. And you know, it gets me drunk just as efficiently as the expensive stuff. Which, by the way, I do quite frequently, and often by myself.”

He tipped the glass to his mouth, emptied it in one go, refilled it.

“I was something,” he said. “And now I’m not.”

“I’m sorry, Nathaniel,” she said. “You got a raw deal.”

“Have I never told you to call me Nate?”

“I—”

He smiled, patted her hand. “Call me Nate.”

“Okay, Nate.”

“In some ways, it was a blessing. I was so stressed out all the time. Every minute was about work. I think, even if I hadn’t lost everything, I’d have found myself heading for a nervous breakdown. But I did lose everything. Ev. Ry. Thing. Worst of all, I lost Charlotte.”

“She’s your …”

“My wife, yeah. Once the flow stopped, man, she started looking for the exit. Ended up with this asshole—someone I
thought was a friend of mine—who’s still got his platinum card. Runs a computer game company. Made that guy rich, and now—” He shook his head.

Cynthia didn’t know what to say.

“You ever lost everything?” he asked her.

She hesitated. “I know a bit about that.”

He grew curious. “Really? You had a fortune and then it was gone? Big house, fancy car? All that shit?”

“No. It wasn’t a financial loss.” She put the glass to her lips and sipped.

Nathaniel’s eyes softened. “Oh, sorry. Shit. But you don’t mean your husband and your kid. You’ve still got them.”

She moved the wine around her tongue, as if it cost more than seven dollars a bottle, then swallowed it slowly. “It was a long time ago. My family. I lost my family.”

“What do you mean? Like, your parents died?”

Cynthia had neither the energy nor the desire to tell the story. “More or less,” she said. “And my brother, too. I was the only one left. After that, I went to live with my aunt.”

“Jesus,” he said. “What happened?”

She shook her head.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s not even any of my business. God, I’m such an ass. I’m all ‘pity me’ and you’ve been through something probably a thousand times worse.” He grabbed his glass and the bottle and came around the island, parked himself on the stool next to her so their shoulders were just touching. Cynthia felt a kind of charge come off his body. “Really, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Don’t feel bad. What happened to you, what happened to me, they’re both life-changing. They’re both traumatic in their own ways.”

“Yeah, but still. Let me top you up there.”

Cynthia had had only half a glass but let him refill it. He’d nearly finished his second glassful and helped himself to more, which emptied the bottle.

“Do you ever think,” he said slowly, “when you’ve been through something really horrendous that … I don’t know how to put this. You ever think, I’m sick of playing by the rules? Like, the hell with it. I just don’t give a fuck. Like you want to get even. Not just with some person, but the whole world.”

Cynthia took another sip. “I went through that, when I was in my later teens. You think you’re entitled to do whatever you want because you got the short end of the stick. But I got over it. I didn’t want to be a huge pain in the ass to my aunt. I mean, she was good enough to take me in. If she’d kicked me out, I’d have had no place to go. Just because something shitty happens to you doesn’t mean you get to make life harder for those around you.”

“Well, yeah, sure. Your aunt, she still around?”

Cynthia felt a constriction in her throat, a moistening in her eyes. “No.”

They sat there, shoulders touching, for a while, neither one saying anything.

Cynthia finally said, “Look, I should go.”

“I’ve got another partial bottle in the fridge. Seems stupid not to kill it off.” She felt the pressure from his shoulder grow ever so slightly.

“Nate,” she said.

“I feel like I’ve wasted these last few weeks. Having someone like you across the hall, and now you’re getting ready to leave.”

“Nate.”

“I’m just saying, I like you. You’re nice to talk to.
Easy
to talk to. Maybe, because of what happened to you, maybe you have more empathy than most people.”

“I don’t know about that.”

He opened his mouth to say something, stopped, tried again. “I think I may have done something I shouldn’t have,” he said.

He shifted on the stool so that he was facing her more directly, his face only inches from hers.

“Nate, it’s okay. Whatever it is, don’t worry.”

“Your husband, he’s lucky you’re coming home. If you were my wife, I’d have never let you go in the first place.”

“I should really—”

“No, I mean it. You’re a very—”

“I’m old enough to be your mother,” Cynthia said.

“Bullshit, unless you got knocked up when you were ten,” he said quietly.

“And you’re wrong—you haven’t done anything you shouldn’t have, and neither have I. We’re just having a drink. And now I’m going home.”

“No, wait—that’s not what I meant,” Nathaniel said. “The reason I asked you over here—I mean, I did ask you over here because I like you, you know? But there was something I wanted to ask you about.”

Hesitantly, she said, “Okay.”

“It’s about your friend.”

“My friend?”

“The one who dropped by here a couple of weeks ago.”

Cynthia recalled the encounter he was talking about. “What about him, Nate?”

“Remember he asked what I did, and I told him. About the dog walking.”

“Yeah.”

“So you must have told him a bit more about me that after, right?”

She tried to recall. “If I did, I didn’t have a lot to say, Nate, honestly.”