by Merry Jones
The scent, the memories it evoked, were jarring. So was the physical contact. Paul’s hand gripped her arm firmly, with entitlement. Probably, that same hand had caused Barbara’s bruises. But surely, Paul wasn’t going to hurt her. He wouldn’t dare, couldn’t risk bad publicity. Still, Nora’s breath was short, her chest tight with fear. Where was Dave? When would he be home? Oh God, what if he and Barbara walked in now, with Paul here? She had to make him leave.
Paul steered Nora directly into the living room. She pretended she was his hostess, inviting him in. She flipped on the light switch.
“Have a seat.” She smiled, tried to take charge.
He didn’t release her arm. His hand felt solid and lean. Decisive. Had she and Paul ever touched before? Had they hugged hello or goodbye at rare New Year or Fourth of July parties? She didn’t think so, no. She would have remembered. Paul was movie-star beautiful, a celebrity. A public figure. The few times they’d met, Paul had seemed aloof but charming, as if perpetually on a campaign stop. If he’d greeted Nora at all, it would have been with an impersonal nod in her direction. But now, here he was with her, alone in her living room, his hand gripping her, his body smelling like an old boyfriend. She glimpsed his clear nail polish. His Rolex. His simple gold wedding band. He was so close that his breath brushed her face. She wondered if his nose had always been perfect or if it had been cosmetically enhanced like Barbara’s. And she noticed an almost imperceptible scar—pale, thin, and spidery—under his left eye.
You don’t know him. He isn’t who he seems to be.
“So, tell me. Where is my wife really?” He released Nora’s arm, perched on the arm of the sofa, crossed his arms. Was he trying to seem casual?
“Actually, I’m not sure.” She backed away, placing distance between them. Aware of his eyes on her, the intensity of his
attention.
Paul rubbed his chin, scowling. “You know nothing about a girls’ night?”
“I didn’t say that,” she improvised. “A bunch of us went out, but I got a headache and came home early.”
Paul peered into her eyes. Had she sounded at all believable? She looked away, hoping he hadn’t detected her lie.
“I’m surprised to see you. I thought you were out of town campaigning.” Nora changed the subject, eyed the wingback. Hesitated to sit. She hoped the girls wouldn’t hear voices and come down.
“I had a change in my schedule and came home early. I texted Barbara about it, expected she’d be there to greet me.” He stood, took a breath. Stepped closer. “Nora, can we speak frankly?” He studied her. “Even though we’ve only met a few times, I feel as if I know you well.” Paul’s gaze was heavy, penetrating. “Barbara talks about you so often. She considers you one of her closest friends.”
He stood only inches from her, looming. Nora tried not to squirm. She wasn’t prepared for scrutiny, certainly not by a man as stunning as Paul. She hadn’t tweezed her eyebrows lately. Hadn’t put on mascara today. She felt flawed and exposed, nowhere near as perfect as Barbara. But why should she give a damn what Paul thought of her? He was a wife beater who’d shown up at her home late at night, uninvited. Nora cleared her throat, swallowed. She kept up her standard smile, her go-to, unthreatening, noncommittal facial expression.
“Well, I don’t know where they went after I left, but I’m sure Barbara will be home soon. She might be tipsy, but I’m sure she’ll be glad you’re home.” Nora started for the door, hoping he’d follow.
“Wait, Nora.” He sat on the sofa. “There’s more. You and I need to talk.”
Talk? About what? Did he suspect that she knew he was an abuser? Or—Oh God—that Barbara was about to leave him? He must. Otherwise, why would he want to talk?
“Do you have—would you mind if I had a drink?” Abruptly, Paul’s demeanor changed. His brows furrowed and he gazed at the floor, looking worried. Or wounded.
Nora smiled her smile but wanted him to leave. She didn’t want to get him a drink. “It’s late and, like I said, I have a
headache—”
“Just a quick one?” He was relentless. “Sorry. I know I’m being pushy.” He backed off, smiled dashingly, almost bashfully.
“No, it’s fine.” Nora sighed and stepped over to the Chinese lacquered liquor cabinet.
“Scotch, please.”
Everything sounded harsh and unfamiliar. The clink of glass, the slosh of liquid. Nora poured two fingers into two glasses and handed one to Paul.
He took a sip, closed his eyes as if savoring the heat. And opened them again. “Now then. Let me ask, where’s your
husband?”
“Dave?” Nora stammered. Stupid question. What other husband could he have meant? “Oh. Working late. On a legal case.” Stupid stupid stupid answer. Of course it would be a legal case. Dave was a lawyer, what else would he be working on? Other than helping Paul’s wife leave him. Outside, a car circled the cul-de-sac. Oh God. Was it Dave and Barbara? He’d said he’d be home as soon as he could.
“Join me?” Paul gestured to the sofa.
Nora remained standing. How was she going to get rid of him?
He sat back, looking up at her, comfortable and entitled, as if he had every right to be there with his Old Spice wafting cloudlike around her. “Does your husband often work this late?”
Damn. Did he suspect that Dave was with Barbara? Nora took a drink, felt the burn of alcohol sliding down her throat. “When he has to.”
Paul sipped, his eyes digging at her, making her blush. Or maybe it was the scotch.
“I like you, Nora. Of all my wife’s friends, you’re the only one who seems worth her time. Even so, I’m trying to decide whether or not to confide in you.”
Nora took another drink, dodging his scrutiny. Confide in her? Why would Paul want to confide in her? She thought of Barbara’s bruised arm. Of her warning, “You don’t know him. He isn’t who he seems to be.” Nora glanced again at the door. It seemed miles away.
“I want to pick your brain.”
“My brain? Why?” Nora stiffened.
“As you know, my campaign has been demanding. I’ve had to travel quite a bit these last few months: pressing flesh, raising funds, giving speeches, talking to the media, kissing babies. You know the drill. It’s been a very stressful time, and I haven’t been home much. My wife, well. Barbara has not been happy about that. I’m sure she’s talked to you about it.”
Nora gave a patient smile, didn’t know what to say.
“In any event, I’m worried. I think my prolonged absences have taken a toll on her. My stress has spilled onto her. Bottom line, my sweet Barbara hasn’t been herself lately.” His eyebrows peaked. They were honey-colored, a shade darker than his hair.
“What do you mean?”
“Has she seemed, well—moody to you? Depressed? Perhaps a bit secretive?” Paul sighed. “Nora, I found pills.”
Pills?
He leaned forward, watching her, his eyes burning. “Why is Barbara making up stories, lying to me about where she is and what she’s doing?”
“She wasn’t lying.”
“Spare me. Of course she was. We both know you weren’t out drinking earlier. You’re a terrible liar. So, yes, Barbara lied. And she’s hiding pills. Don’t cover for her. Because I think—no—I’m pretty damned sure that Barbara’s in trouble.”
Yes, Barbara was in trouble. But probably from bruises more than pills. He’ll never let me leave. Nora hesitated, figuring out how to reply. She shook her head. “Really? She seems fine to me.”
“I see.” He studied her face, assessing her reply. “Actually, that’s no surprise. She’s good at covering things up.” Paul looked into his glass. “You wouldn’t know this, Nora. But Barbara isn’t who she seems to be.”
Nora shivered. Paul had echoed Barbara’s words, just turned them around.
He swirled his scotch. “Today, she’s the epitome of class. The perfect political wife. But when I
met her, that was hardly the case.” He smirked as if remembering. “Far from it. Barbara ran with a decidedly questionable crowd. Big time gamblers. Lowlifes. Connected guys. I’m talking about seriously rough, criminal characters. She partied hard, indulged in drugs. I have no doubt she had regrettable sexual relations—”
“Please, Paul, that’s not my business.”
“Which thing? The sex? Or the fact that she received payment for it?”
“How do you know that?”
“How do you think I met her?”
Nora took a breath, then a gulp.
“That’s shocking to you.” Paul’s smile was thin. “Despite that, I saw something in her. She stood out, shining like a rough diamond. I saw her potential, and I fell for her. Hard. I was certain that, with the quality of life I offered her, she’d put her sordid past behind her and blossom. But now, with me being away so much…” He looked at her and sighed. “I think she’s lonely, maybe even depressed. My fear is that she’s fallen into her old ways, reconnecting with old habits, even old acquaintances.”
He paused again, watching Nora, who searched for an appropriate response. Should she nod sympathetically? Shake her head doubtfully? In the end, she mimicked Sophie, tilting her head as if in a question. She bit her lip to look concerned. That seemed to work; Paul continued.
“I’m convinced she’s struggling, trying to handle her problems on her own. I wish she would come to me for help. Because I swear on all that’s holy, I’d do anything for that woman. Anything.” Paul’s voice tightened, became metallic. His gaze moved to the painting above the fireplace, a sailing ship being tossed in a roiling sea.
Nora felt queasy, as if on that ship. Was Barbara really taking drugs? And—oh my—had she really been a hooker? Nora had never known a hooker before. God. What had it been like, taking money to have sex with strangers? How had Barbara done that, with her perky spirit and freckled nose? It didn’t seem possible.
But then, neither did it seem possible that Candidate Paul Ellis would beat the crap out of his wife.
Paul chugged the rest of his drink. He set his empty glass on an end table, looked at her. “You know something about this. I can see it on your face. Tell me. Whatever it is, I can handle it. Is it an affair? With Richie What’s-his-name, that slimy coke dealer? Or—” He slapped his forehead. “How have I not thought of this before? I bet one of those creeps is blackmailing her.” He sat back, stared into air.
“Paul, you’re inventing—”
“That would explain everything. Because until now, Barbara’s kept a low profile in my campaign. But we plan for her to become much more prominent as election day nears. I bet someone’s threatening to sabotage my candidacy by exposing her past. That’s probably what she’s doing tonight. Meeting the blackmailer, paying him off. That explains why she left a note saying she was with you, so I wouldn’t worry.” A vein on his forehead pulsed. His nose seemed sharper, more severe than before. His eyes gleamed. “Nora, tell me. Am I right?”
Tears welled in his eyes, almost but not quite convincing. He was no longer the confident candidate for Senate. He was now a desperate husband, creating outlandish scenarios to explain his wife’s lie. As if he’d somehow forgotten that, a couple of days ago, he’d given that same wife a purple arm and black eye.
Nora took a breath, softened her smile, and tried to sound reassuring. “I honestly don’t know, Paul. But I don’t think she’s being blackmailed.”
“Really? Then where is she?” Paul’s tears disappeared, his gaze hardened. “For God’s sake, Nora. She’s taking pills again. Hell, I’m scared to Christ she’ll end up in the hospital.” His voice became a whisper, “Or worse.” He leaned back, pressed on his eyes and sniffed.
Oh God. Was he crying for real?
Nora sat next to him and put her free hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know where she is. But I know that she’s okay. She’s with a friend.”
When he looked up, his lashes were wet, his breath shallow. “Who?”
Her smile was wearing thin, but her face wouldn’t do anything else. She tried not to let her eyes shift as she lied. “I’m not sure. She has so many.” Did he believe her?
Paul frowned. Sighed. Stroked his jaw. Finally, his gaze drifted away. “Okay. I understand your position.” His voice was toneless, emotionless. “No need to say more, Nora. I despise being lied to, so I won’t press you further. I won’t waste my time. As long as I have your word that she’s safe.”
“You do.”
Paul held her eyes for a moment, then stood.
Nora made no comment as she led him to the door.
“You’re a good friend, Nora. Barbara’s lucky to have you.” He leaned down, and his whisper tickled her ear. “We’ll talk again.”
Nora watched him drive off. When his taillights’ red glow was out of sight, she moved to the liquor cabinet and poured another scotch.
Tuesday, August 14, 2018, 8:20 a.m.
T
here was a dent in Dave’s pillow, and the covers on his side of the bed were rumpled. Nora sat up, looking for him. The bathroom door was open. Behind her temples, a headache pulsed. Oh God. Paul. He’d been in the house. And then she’d sat up alone with a bottle of scotch.
“Dave?”
No answer.
Where was he? The clock said eight-twenty. Had he left for work already? Without even waking her up? And the girls—the camp bus would be there in minutes.
“Girls?” Nora flew out of bed and checked their room. “Girls?” She ran down the stairs.
Ellie was in the kitchen, finishing a bowl of Frosted Flakes.
“Ellie, where’s Daddy?”
Ellie regarded her spoon. “Gone.”
“He left for work?”
“Yup.” She lifted the bowl and drank the remaining milk.
Nora called to Sophie who was getting dressed in front of the TV. Nora told her to hurry because the bus would be there any minute. She made sure their swim bags were packed, slapped peanut butter and jam onto whole wheat, threw fresh nectarines and chocolate chip cookies into sack lunches, and silently fumed.
Dave had come in after two a.m.—when she’d last looked at the clock—and he’d left this morning without a word? Without explaining where he and Barbara had gone, what they’d done last night? Without hearing about Paul?
Paul had cornered her, rattled her. He’d made her uneasy in her own home while her husband had been off somewhere, oblivious, with Paul’s wife. Putting her in the middle. Well, Dave’s departure was not okay. As soon as the girls left for camp, she’d call him at the office and have a word with him.
Meantime, she smiled and kissed the girls. Told them to have fun. When the bus pulled up and she walked them outside, the phone rang behind her.
It had to be Dave. Good.
She waved to the bus and ran to answer, grabbing her phone before it would go to voicemail. “Hi there. Did you get any sleep?”
“Not really. My wife didn’t roll in until three.”
What did Paul want from her? What was wrong with him?
Nora tensed, pushed her hair away from her eyes. She stared at the window. “Well, I told you she’d get home safe. Look, hey, I’m kind of in the middle of something—”
“By the way, the number you gave me didn’t work. I got the correct one from Barbara’s phone.”
Oh. Nora said nothing.
“Listen, Nora, you and I have to talk.”
The edge in his voice chilled her. “Why?”
“Don’t insult me. Stop pretending you don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“Oh please, Nora.”
“I’m sorry?”
“We have to meet.” His voice was hushed, almost a whisper. “Today. Privately. I’ll clear an hour. How soon can you get here? It’s imperative.”
Imperative? “I’m busy today.”
“Please. It’s for your sake as well as mine. I’m p
leading with you.”
Nora sunk onto a kitchen chair and moved Ellie’s empty cereal bowl aside. How had she inherited Paul? Until last night, she’d barely ever spoken to him. Now he wanted her to meet with him privately? What should she do? Hang up on him? Tell him to get lost? Warn that he was irritating her husband?
And speaking of her husband, why hadn’t he called? Why had he left so early without a word?
“Sorry. I can’t—”
“Believe me, Nora. You have to.”
“Honestly, whatever’s going on between you and Barbara, I can’t help.”
“Actually, you’re probably the only one who can.”
Nora rolled her eyes. Why was Paul hounding her? “I’ve got to go.”
“Listen, Nora.” He paused. “I’ve learned the truth.” His voice was guarded, shadowed. “Because I’ve been worried about Barbara, I hired someone to be my eyes while I was away. I’ve just received his report. So, now I know. And you need to know, too.”
Wait, eyes? Someone had been following Barbara. Watching her. Had the “eyes” figured out that she was preparing to leave? “This doesn’t concern me.”
“I’ll explain face to face, Nora. Not on the phone. Before I take action—well, you and I need to have a conversation.”
A conversation? “Like I said, I have plans.”
“Change them.”
Who did he think he was? “How about later in the week?”
“Nora. My schedule is obviously far tighter than yours. I’m in the midst of a Senate campaign for God’s sake. If I can clear my schedule for an hour, surely you can clear yours. I’m sorry for being so pushy, but this cannot wait.”
She imagined Paul in the study at his home, hunching over his phone, whispering so Barbara wouldn’t hear. Or maybe he was at campaign headquarters surrounded by volunteers and campaign posters bearing his face and name. What was so important that it couldn’t wait? Why didn’t she just say no and hang up?
“I’ll send a car for you at noon. We can talk over lunch.”
Damn. She’d hesitated too long. Paul had taken her silence as a yes.
