The Follower (24 page)

She felt the stems and said, “Wow, they’re beautiful,” and he said, “A beautiful girl deserves beautiful flowers.”

He hadn’t planned to say this last line and he hoped he’d pulled it off. He wanted to impress her, but he didn’t want her to think he was trying too hard.

“Thank you,” she said, blushing, and he took this as another sign that he was totally in. He could tell she wanted to kiss him, but he didn’t want to go there—not yet. They would only have one first kiss together and it had to happen at the right time or he’d regret it forever.

After giving him a peck on the cheek, she said, “Hey, what’s that?”

“Oh, just some stuff for a picnic.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you did all of this. You’re so incredibly nice.”

She took the roses and said she was going to put them in water. But as she approached the dining room table, and the vase holding a dozen wilted, browning roses, she stopped suddenly.

“What is it?”

“Andy bought me those.”

Figured Frat Boy would cheap out. He’d probably spent less than ten bucks on her. If that wasn’t an indication of the guy’s character, what was?

“If you want to keep them in there, I totally understand.”

“No, it’s no big deal,” Katie said. “I just won’t throw them out yet, that’s all. Bad karma.”

While Katie was replacing the old flowers with the new, Peter wandered into the living room. He’d been so involved in dealing with her grief last night that he hadn’t taken a good look around the apartment. He browsed the books on the shelves—mostly self-help, pop psychology stuff, and beach novels. On the CD rack, he noticed the expected Norah Jones, Josh Groban, and KT Tunstall, mixed in with the more surprising Ja Rule, the Killers, and the Damien Rice album, which included the theme from the movie
Closer
. The DVDs were mostly recent Academy Award winners, but surprisingly no chick flicks. All of this information was good to know. Any details that he could file away about Katie—and even her roommate—could be useful later on.

Looking toward the kitchen, watching Katie fill the vase with water, Peter smiled. He felt a lightness inside, a pure happiness that he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. It was in sharp contrast to how he’d felt a couple of days ago, when he thought he’d lost her forever. It amazed him the way one simple event had changed everything, and if he wasn’t an atheist—that stuff he’d told Katie had been total crap—he would’ve thanked God for giving him the strength to do what he’d done.

Katie looked over and saw him smiling at her and she smiled back, blushing. Peter was aware that they were experiencing one of those great moments people have when they’re falling in love. While they were looking at each other, the water in the vase started overflowing onto Katie’s arm. They both started laughing and Peter came over with some paper towels.

“Thanks,” Katie said. Then, as she dabbed her arms, she said, “Oh, I called the police before. You won’t believe it—they got the guy.”

She was right: He didn’t believe it. He thought he must’ve misheard her.

“Guy?”

“Who killed Andy. He came into the police station and confessed. At least that’s what the detective told me.”

Peter had to resist the temptation to jump up and down. Maybe he was wrong about God because
somebody
was answering his prayers.

“Wow,” he said in an interested yet not overly excited way. “That’s—that’s great.”

“I know, isn’t it? I was so relieved, you know?” Katie put the vase with the sterling silver roses on the table. “They’re beautiful. Thanks again for getting them.”

“You’re welcome.” Peter was desperate to know what was going on. He wondered if this was getting news coverage; he assumed it was. “So did they say, uh, who the guy was?”

“No, he said he couldn’t tell me that yet. I mean, he didn’t say it was definitely the guy, but he seemed pretty confident.”

It was impossible for Peter to feel any anger toward Katie, but his frustration was building.

“I thought you said they got him?”

“They did. I mean, he’s in custody. But for some reason the detective said they weren’t sure yet or something.”

Peter didn’t want to press too hard, but he had to know more.

“So did he tell you anything about the guy? What his motive was?”

“No, he didn’t tell me anything. I was like, ‘Did Andy know him?’ and he was like, ‘I’m sorry, we can’t tell you anything
right now, we’re still conducting the investigation.’ Stuff like that. But he seemed very confident.”

“Is that what he said? That he’s confident?”

“I don’t know if he actually
said
it. But it was definitely the vibe I got.”

Peter knew it would start seeming weird if he kept grilling her and seemed overinterested so he said, “Well, it sounds very hopeful anyway. Let’s just pray it’s the right guy.”

Katie started talking about something else, but Peter wasn’t paying attention. He was too absorbed in wondering who this guy was and why he’d confessed. There had to be something wrong with the guy, that was for sure. Then Peter caught on that Katie had asked him something about the picnic.

“Yeah, it’s going to be great,” he said.

“I asked where in the park do you want to go?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I know the perfect spot.”

They left the apartment and headed toward Central Park. It was an ideal day for a picnic—bright sunshine, a cool breeze. Now that the police had a suspect in custody, Peter felt even more at ease walking along the Upper East Side streets. As he talked to Katie about her job and traveling and people in common they knew from growing up in Lenox and anything else that came to mind, he felt extremely close to her and had an urge to hold her hand. He was positive she would’ve let him, but he resisted. He had a plan for how this day would go, and he wanted to follow it to a T.

At Fifth Avenue and Eighty-fifth Street, near the Metropolitan Museum of Art, they entered the park. Katie asked where they were going and Peter playfully said that it was a surprise and that they were almost there. He led her around the Great Lawn and onto the grass near the pond. There were other people around, but they had a nice-sized area to themselves.

“Right here,” he said, and he spread the picnic blanket along the grass, about ten feet away from the pond. They sat next to each other and he opened the picnic basket and took out two wineglasses and the chardonnay. He uncorked the bottle, poured two glasses, and said, “To the future.”

It was the perfect toast because it had a double meaning. It could mean, To getting on with life after Frat Boy’s death. If she took it to mean that, it would’ve been fine, because it would’ve been another example of how sensitive he was. But the toast could also allude to the future, as in
their
future. By the way she’d smiled after he said it, he was certain that to her, it clearly meant the latter.

The wine was outstanding. He’d studied wines while he was living in Mexico and he commented to her about its oakiness. Again, his delivery was perfect. He’d impressed her without going overboard, sending her the message that she was with a mature, cultured guy, unlike any guy she’d been with before, and that he was much better for her than a dolt like Frat Boy.

Katie gushed about how much she loved the food and the wine and, overall, the conversation remained lively. Then, after she swallowed a cracker with paté, she said, “I’m stuffed. That was so delicious, thank you again.” Smiling, she looked at him in a way that told him it was time to hold hands for the first time. This moment wouldn’t stick in their memories the way their first kiss would, but it was still important.

Maintaining eye contact, Peter moved his right hand slowly yet steadily toward her left. He could tell that she’d been wanting to touch him as badly as he’d been wanting to touch her. Her hand turned to meet his, and then their fingers squeezed softly. To say it was amazing would be an understatement. It was so much more than holding hands. In that moment they formed a bond that they both knew would last forever.

He could tell that she desperately wanted him to kiss her, but he resisted. The first kiss couldn’t happen here.

After maybe ten minutes of hand holding, he said, “Hey, do you want to go look at the ducks?” and she said, “I’d love to.”

They had to let go of each other’s hands to pack up the picnic stuff and his hand felt naked without hers, and he knew she felt the same way. When they had everything packed and were heading away, they immediately held hands again.

They went around to the platform overlooking the pond.
Peter had been worried that there would be other people there—if there were kids around, it would’ve been especially annoying and he might have had to bail on his plan—but the timing was perfect because they had the platform to themselves.

After feeding some crackers to the ducks, Katie went on about what a great time she was having and Peter knew that was his signal. He held both of her hands, looked at her headon, and told her he was having a great time, too. Then, hearing the romantic music swelling, he leaned in and kissed her. It would’ve been exactly as he’d imagined except for the raw onion in the seafood salad they’d eaten. He was angry at himself for not thinking about this earlier—after all, he’d been planning the menu for their first picnic for weeks. He could’ve packed mints or onionless food. He tried to forget about the taste of the kiss and just enjoy it, but the more he tried to forget, the more he thought about it, until it was
all
he could think about. Then she pulled away and the first kiss was over.

He was devastated. There would be no way to get those moments back. For the rest of his life, whenever he thought about his first kiss with Katie Porter, he would think about the taste of raw onions.

Still, he covered well, with a smile, and said, “Wow,” and rubbed noses with her gently, the way lovers in movies always did.

They decided to take a walk in the park. For most of the afternoon, he was able to maintain his charm, and he was certain that she had no idea anything was wrong, but inside he was a mess. They went to the Sheep Meadow and then farther down to the carousel. She said she’d always wanted to go on it, so they did, and he was glad because it was romantic, in a Parisian kind of way, and it distracted him—for a little while anyway—from how badly he felt about the botched kiss.

Afterward, they walked some more, to Wollman Rink, and then they sat on a large rock nearby. She asked him if something was wrong, and he said absolutely not.

“Are you sure?” she said. “Because I know you and your
girlfriend just broke up and it makes sense that you’re thinking—”

“I’m not thinking about her at all—I’ve just been thinking about this,” he said, and leaned in for another kiss. Although the onion taste wasn’t as strong, he still couldn’t lose himself in the moment the way he wanted to, and now he was angry about their second kiss being forever marred.

They strolled some more, holding hands—at least the first-time-holding-hands memory was intact—and wandered back uptown along a path on the east side of the park. It was nearly five thirty when they exited at Seventy-second Street. Peter had been so preoccupied, he had no idea how much time had gone by.

As they headed toward Madison Avenue, Katie started talking about how she’d been planning to work out this evening, but might skip it now because she was tired after all the walking she’d done. Peter sensed the date was ending, and he didn’t want it to, not without some more romance. Although they weren’t dressed up enough to go to Café Boulud, he suggested that they go out to dinner at a more casual Italian place he knew on Lexington.

“You mean right now?” she asked.

“Yeah. Why not? It’s not even six o’clock yet. You’re having a good time, aren’t you?”

“You kidding? I’m having an amazing time.”

“Then why not have dinner with me?”

He hadn’t anticipatéd or rehearsed for any of this conversation and was proud of himself for ad-libbing so effortlessly.

“That’s a good point,” she said. “Why not?”

The restaurant was nearly empty and they got a nice table near a window. She had the eggplant rollatini, he had the portabello ravioli, and they drank from a carafe of very good chianti. It turned out they both loved biking and they planned to go one day over the weekend. They also talked about “doing a movie” sometime. At one point, as they held hands across the table, Peter felt so close to her that he was tempted to come clean to her about a lot of things. He was going to tell
her that he only started working at the health club because he wanted to meet her in a natural way, and about the apartment he’d bought for them, and about how even after buying the apartment, he had over two million dollars in the bank for them to live on, and how she never had to work again, and how he wanted to have kids with her. But after he said, “I have to tell you something,” his better sense prevailed. He decided to stick with his original plan and tell her all this after they knew each other better, maybe next week, after they’d gone on a few more great dates.

“What?” she asked.

He hesitated, then said, “You’re incredible.”

She tried not to blush, but couldn’t help it.

“Thank you.”

After dinner, the waiter brought mints, thank God. Katie didn’t want hers, but Peter went on about how great they were—even though they were very average chocolate-covered after-dinner mints—and Katie gave in and had a bite. Peter figured it would be enough to cleanse her breath.

Leaving the restaurant, Peter said, “I want to take you someplace special.”

“Now?”

“It’s not far from here.”

Katie looked at her watch, then said, “Okay. Whatever.”

Peter loved how carefree, adventurous, and easy to please she was. There were never any battles with her. He could say let’s go on a plane right now and go to Paris and she’d probably say yes. She was so trustful—that was the best part.

As they headed back toward the park, Katie asked, “Looks like we’re going to the park, huh?” Said it just like that, as an observation, with no suspicion or impatience.

They didn’t enter the park. They went downtown, along Fifth Avenue, to the area near the Plaza Hotel where the horse-drawn carriages were.