by Sonja Yoerg
“Yeah.”
Jackie studies Nasira, judging whether it’s time to touch the third rail. It is. “That was the day the formulas were changed.”
“So you told me.” Nasira’s gaze intensifies. “I did not go into that spreadsheet that day.”
Jackie’s heart tells her this is the truth. “I believe you.”
“You should. It’s the truth.”
Jackie nods. “But someone was responsible, clearly. Where do you keep the log-in info?”
“On my phone.” A sheepish look.
“I’m sure you’re not the only one.” She opens her desk drawer and pulls out a sticky note. “Here’s my top-secret system for dealing with the mandatory password updates.”
Nasira’s face relaxes in relief. “I’m glad you believe me. I’ve wanted to work with you since the first day Harlan told me about your work and mentioned you had an opening for a postdoc.”
“Wait.” Jackie is flabbergasted. “You learned about the position from Harlan?”
“Yes, in Chicago. Last June.”
“I thought you were in Boston.”
“I had been in med school at Tufts, but after I left, I was living with my parents. They’re in Evanston, outside of Chicago. I went to the University of Chicago to hear Harlan talk, just out of interest.”
“I assumed you met here. I’m feeling a bit blindsided, honestly.”
Nasira sighs. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t hiding the information; it just never came up, and I didn’t want to mention Harlan to give me an edge. If he wanted to say something, that’s different. Of course, given what I know now, it might’ve been more of a negative.”
Jackie exhales slowly. The mess they are attempting to straighten out is only getting worse. And it’s damn odd that Harlan would not have mentioned Nasira at all. Why didn’t he put in a good word for her? “Can I ask when you started dating?”
“Oh, after I moved here. I honestly didn’t have much contact with him through the summer. Madison’s a ways from Chicago, but I did meet him again there at a regional conference.” She recrosses her legs, bounces her foot. “As soon as I got here, though, he was so attentive. So, I don’t know, eager. It was a bit overwhelming—and also flattering.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
“But now I’m—” She makes a fluttering motion with her hand.
They both sip their drinks, retreating into their private thoughts. Jackie digests the news that Harlan was responsible for Nasira applying for the postdoc position, but initially didn’t show any sexual interest. Then, as soon as Nasira was here, he swooped in.
Since talking with Grace yesterday, a thought has been lurking in the back of Jackie’s mind, like a tip-of-the-tongue memory. It breaks into the daylight. “Nasira? I don’t quite know how to say this, but do you get the feeling both of us are being played?”
“By?”
“Harlan.”
She opens her mouth, presumably to protest, but frowns instead. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Off the high dive and straight into the deep end. “I’m just going to relate the facts, okay? Harlan meets you in June, tells you about the postdoc, but doesn’t do the obvious thing, which is tell me about you, put in a good word, or at least a mention. He doesn’t show any interest in you until you get here, but then right away invites you to a dinner with me and my husband, texting me that he’s bringing a friend, but not saying it’s you.”
“I didn’t know that. I mean, you seemed surprised that night, but I never thought much of it.”
“Right. Then Harlan starts seeing you on the exact schedule we had when we were dating.”
“Why does that mean anything?”
“It doesn’t necessarily. I’m just laying everything out.”
“Okay.” Nasira thinks a moment. “How do you even know that?”
“I was stalking you, remember?” Nasira’s eyes turn a shade darker. “We promised to be honest here, so that’s what I’m doing.”
“Okay.” She sounds doubtful.
Jackie can’t blame her; the honesty is new and Jackie’s credibility sucks. She pushes away her embarrassment at the reminder of her stalking, and lines up the events in her mind. “Did you go to Greenbrier with Harlan?”
“Yes. Is that significant?”
“Like I said, I wasn’t granted vacations for two years, so maybe.”
Nasira sips her tea. “Where is this going?”
Jackie isn’t sure, but the facts are aligning in perfect order, a set of fallen dominoes, one leaning on top of the next. She saw them fall, but did not discern how they were connected. Even now, as she speaks to Nasira, she can’t see the whole picture. She needs to watch each domino fall or she might miss something. “Let’s just keep going. So, what, a month, no, six weeks go by, and your apartment is broken into. You move in with him.”
“Right. I was really spooked.”
Are Harlan and Nasira, in fact, still living together even though Harlan has soured on her? Jackie suspects Harlan is treating Nasira the way he treated her after his mother’s funeral, but exploring that now would derail them. So would asking whether Nasira has sublet her apartment. The woman is twenty-seven, not seventeen, and Jackie is trying to tread carefully. She pulls up the next logical question. “Did they ever find the burglar?”
“No. I don’t think they looked very hard to be honest.” Nasira’s gaze has been elsewhere, unfocused, but now she stares at Jackie and leans forward. “You don’t think that Harlan—”
Jackie spreads her hands. “I don’t know what to think. All I know is that every one of my personal nightmares is coming true. After all those years with Harlan, he knows what I wanted from him, for us, and he’s serving it all to you.”
Nasira sits up straight, sets her jaw, clearly angered by the suggestion. “I’m just a pawn? He doesn’t actually feel anything for me?”
“I didn’t say that, and I can’t know the answer. I’m just looking at what’s in front of me, and asking you to help me figure it out.” She pauses, hoping Nasira will lower her defenses. “Think about it. After you move in, what’s the very next thing that happens?”
She shakes her head, disbelieving. “The data.”
“The data. The only thing as precious to me as my jealous pride is, apparently, my integrity.”
“But how could he have altered the data?”
“Vince Leeds tells me ‘how’ is easy.” Jackie waits for the next domino to fall. She hopes Nasira gets there on her own.
“You thought it was me.”
“I did. I’m sorry.”
“Because of the timing of the breaches.”
“Yes. And only the other people in the lab knew what you were working on, unless the hacking was deeper than that.”
Nasira shifts in her seat. “Harlan knew. He always asked what I was working on. He’s interested, and not just superficially.”
“I know.” Harlan’s interest is like stepping out of an air-conditioned building into the warmth of the sun. Jackie can feel it now, the way it made her pause to soak it in, made her want to stay in his golden circle forever.
She is definitely outside it now.
“Listen, Nasira. I don’t even know if I believe all the crazy things I’m suggesting.” Nasira’s shoulders relax an inch. “Just think about it.”
“I will.”
Nasira is now more subdued than defensive, and Jackie wonders if she’s wondering how it will feel to walk into Harlan’s house this evening.
Perhaps she won’t. To Jackie’s surprise, she feels no victory in this. If Harlan is as twisted as her theory proposes, then Nasira—and every other woman on the planet—is better off elsewhere. “I appreciate you giving me a chance to talk it through. See you tomorrow, Nasira.”
After her postdoc leaves, Jackie considers the biggest revelation of their conversation: that Harlan was instrumental in placing Nasira in her lab. Everything that falls from that is logical if Harlan’s goal is to pus
h Jackie to the edge. But why? It’s been years since they broke up, plus Harlan had been away for a year before this semester started.
The sabbatical. Jackie recalls being surprised when he told her he was taking a year in Madison. When had that conversation taken place? She vaguely remembers they had been walking together across campus, and the sun had a warmth it never had during winter. March perhaps?
Jackie had asked Harlan where he had taken sabbaticals before.
“I haven’t. You know how I prefer to be at home.”
“Why now, then?”
He stopped walking and looked at her with an expression she could see even now and still did not understand. “I don’t want to be utterly predictable, I suppose.”
They talked a little about people they knew or knew about in the University of Wisconsin Psychology Department, then changed the subject.
But today, sitting in her office, Jackie questions Harlan’s account of his motivation. He decided to do something new and unexpected only a few weeks after she had also done something new and unexpected: she had gotten married. Would he have fled to a different university because of it? She and Miles had been seeing each other for two and a half years before they married. Had Harlan held out hope that she would come to her senses, drop Miles, and return to him? She cannot imagine why he would believe that. She has given him no reason to hope. She is careful not to flirt with him or talk about their past in a sentimental way. She has tried to remain a friend, but never a confidant. Miles is closer to him than she is.
Jackie drinks her coffee, but it does nothing to stop the cold chill settling along her spine. If her theory is correct, Harlan has gone to great lengths to unsettle her emotionally and threaten her career. What else is he planning? What is his endgame? The events of the last three months might have brought out her worst self, but they have also made her fight for everything she has achieved. What is left?
She needs an ally and is disheartened to know it is probably not Miles, not at the moment. How much of her suspicion can she convey via FaceTime? It’s too convoluted. She closes her eyes against the pain of what this says about her marriage. While she accepts a large portion of the blame for their current distance, Miles hasn’t exactly made it easy for her to be transparent. He has been adamant that she stay out of Harlan’s affairs. What sort of reception will she get if she tries to convince him that Harlan is really and truly out to get her?
CHAPTER 23
Jackie and Jeff are at a corner table at the Festive Hen. Jeff texted her in the morning to say he had no dinner plans, and she couldn’t think of a reason not to accept. She had been considering going out on her own to celebrate having survived a tense phone conversation with Deirdre Calhoun. The director listened without comment to Jackie’s account of the timeline of her investigation and the updated security measures. At the close of the call, Calhoun reiterated the necessity of an audit, and Jackie replied that she would find someone from outside the lab to conduct it at her expense.
“Plug the dike, Jackie, and plug it fast,” Calhoun said.
With monumental restraint, Jackie did not utter one of several pointed comebacks that rushed toward her tongue.
Jackie has said nothing to Jeff, yearning to put Calhoun and the entire mess behind her.
The waiter approaches and arranges a wedge of ricotta cheesecake topped with dried fruit compote, two forks, and two glasses of sauterne in front of them.
“Enjoy.”
They lift glasses.
“To old friends,” Jeff says.
“I’m not toasting the old part, but cheers.”
Jeff smiles, sips his wine, and nods in approval. “You seem less tense tonight. Is the shitstorm clearing?”
“Maybe a little? I had some problems with my research and the foundation that funds it. It’s not solved, but it’s likely it will be.”
“That’s great. You do important work.”
“I try. Some days—like the last hundred of them—I start thinking about doing something simpler.”
“Like?”
She imagines her sister, Grace, at home with her children, then remembers about Jeff’s child. “Oh, an accountant or an Uber driver.”
He laughs.
They finish their meal and walk back to the university lot where Jackie left her car. The air is much warmer than it has been recently, and both their coats are unbuttoned. Jeff was easy company at dinner; it was as if they were friends who caught up every year or so. Jackie breathes in deeply, savoring the unusual sensation of relaxation. If she could stay in this moment for a while longer, she might be able to cope with all the rest. How do you make a reprieve last? Maybe she should scrap the idea of becoming an accountant and become a monk, living in the moment.
She fishes in her bag for her keys and clicks open her car. “Sure I can’t give you a lift?”
“I’m sure. I’ve been imprisoned in meetings all day and need to walk.”
“By the river is nice.”
“That was my thought.” He sighs and spreads his hands. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’m sorry I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“It’s been so wonderful to see you.”
An awkward space fills up between them. Jeff reaches out and pulls her to him. He holds her tightly and she can feel his muscles through layers of clothing, and it makes her a little dizzy. He kisses her ear. “Stay in touch, Jackie,” he says softly.
“I will. I promise.” Her voice catches. Before she knows what’s happening, his lips meet hers. Warmth spreads through her veins, and she catches herself midfall and pulls back. Drinks and dinner and conversation are one thing; kissing is another. She’s married. Whatever problems she and Miles have won’t be solved this way. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
He lets go of her. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have.”
Jackie takes a half step back for good measure before meeting his gaze, which is full of concern.
“It’s okay. Really.” She wants to touch his cheek but stops herself. No more contact. She opens her car door and slides in. “Bye, Jeff.”
“Bye, Jackie.” He stands there a moment, a wistful expression on his face. As he walks away, he extracts his phone from his pocket, presumably to pull up directions. He reaches the corner of the science building and is gone.
Movement to the right catches her attention. A figure stands near the covered entrance to Wolf Hall, fifty feet away, in the shadows between the entry and the streetlight.
She inserts the key in the ignition and waits a moment, sure whoever it is will step forward into the light. It’s a strange place to wait, in the dark. She looks around for another person, someone approaching the shadowed figure, or a waiting car, but there is no one. Nothing.
Fingers trembling, she starts the engine, backs up, and swings the car onto the road. Her hands grip the wheel. She checks in the rearview mirror, half expecting whoever it is to be running headlong toward her.
The figure is gone. And for some reason she cannot pinpoint, this is worse.
Ten minutes later she is inside her house, taking off her jacket, kicking off her shoes. Her hands are trembling. She checks the dead bolt and tells herself not to be paranoid. Whoever it was couldn’t possibly have followed her home.
She proceeds to the kitchen, contemplating another glass of wine, but decides against it. Exhaustion spills over her like a mudflow. It’s only nine thirty, but maybe, just maybe, if she goes to bed now she will get several hours of sleep. Six uninterrupted hours would be wonderful. No appointments tomorrow, none whatsoever; dare she hope for eight hours? The thought of the oblivion of sleep fills her with such longing her eyes well with tears. This must be how the babies in her lab feel when the world is too much for them, and they howl and howl in their desperation to close it out and sleep. Jackie is even too tired to howl.
She mounts the stairs and goes directly to the bedroom, foregoing any preparations other than undressing in the dark. If she pauses to brush her t
eeth or wash her face, this trance might vanish. She climbs under the covers, her eyes already closed, and succumbs.
She awakens from a dream that runs away from her consciousness in an instant. Her arm is pinned underneath her, numb and tingling, and she turns onto her back to free it. A weak light seeps around the edges of the curtains. Rising on her elbow, she reads the bedside clock: 7:15.
Good Lord.
She throws off the covers, pads to the bathroom. Her limbs are leaden, her mind stuffed with cotton. She runs the shower and tidies the clothes she discarded last night while she waits for the water to get hot.
Fifteen minutes later Jackie is downstairs, dressed in leggings, a T-shirt, and a fleece, starting the coffee. The house is unusually still, as if it, too, were struggling to rouse from a deep sleep. Outside the kitchen window, the clouds are steely. A blue jay lands on a fence post, fluffs its feathers, picks up one foot, then the other, and flies off.
Miles is coming home this evening, which means he is probably at the airport in San Francisco, or at least preparing to go. She can’t remember exactly what time he was due in, but can check his calendar on her phone. Jackie looks around for her bag and finds it by the front door. She searches the external pocket for the phone, but it’s not there, nor is it in the main compartment. Recently she’s been misplacing her phone, a behavior she attributes to stress. She checks the pockets of the coat she was wearing last night and pulls out the phone.
“Gotcha.”
She turns it on, but the battery is dead, so she plugs it into the charger in the kitchen and pours coffee into a mug. How long has it been flat? The last time she remembers using her phone was to text Antonio to say she hoped his last exam went well. She sent it shortly before she left the office to have dinner with Jeff. Jackie leans against the counter and sips her coffee, her alertness ratcheting up in response to the anticipated caffeine hit. The phone screen lights up.
Oh crap.
Three missed calls from Miles, all from last night, the first at 11:35.
A series of texts from Miles.
Antonio is at the Adams jail. Drinking charge. Can you pick him up so he doesn’t have to sleep there?
