“Hide me!” Hadley grabs the spotless duvet and plunges beneath it, onto Kimber’s sheet-covered legs.
Diana peeks around the open bedroom door. “Did Hadley wake you up? I’m so sorry.”
“Hadley? Hadley who?”
A muted giggle erupts from underneath the covers.
“I haven’t seen anyone named Hadley. I’m sorry.”
Diana shakes her head. “Well, then I don’t know what’s going to happen to those three dozen cookies I baked for Cookie Day at camp. You wouldn’t want three dozen cookies for breakfast, would you?”
Hadley wiggles beneath the duvet for a moment and emerges at the foot of the bed, her hair in her face and her pajama shirt twisted. “Mommy! Kimber smashed my arm, just like I was a big, nasty spider.” She smacks her hands together. Then she runs over to show Diana the darkening bruise. Kimber’s heart sinks.
Diana’s brow furrows as she inspects her daughter’s arm, and she looks up curiously at Kimber.
“I was dreaming. She had this…” Kimber takes the plume from the bedside table and waves it back and forth.
“I was trying to tickle her, Mommy. I accidentally woke her up. Please don’t be mad.” Hadley’s voice is pleading. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Did you tell Kimber you were sorry?” Diana rests a hand on Hadley’s head. “Are you okay now?”
Hadley nods vigorously, her messy curls bobbing. Kimber wonders if she’ll be happy having thick, curly hair like her father’s or if she’ll envy her mother’s smooth, fairer hair. Michelle often complained about having hair like their father’s and spent hours blowing it out so it wasn’t too wavy. Kimber’s hair is like her mother’s, full but prone to lankness, especially in cooler weather.
“Go on, then. Go brush your teeth and put your clothes on. They’re on your bed.”
“Okay, Mommy.” Hadley runs from the room but runs quickly back in and grabs the plume from Kimber’s hand. “Bye!”
When she’s gone again, Kimber apologizes, embarrassed.
Diana laughs, but does Kimber hear an edge in it? “Well, if the camp therapist calls because Hadley tells the class that her friend Kimber punched her and left a bruise, you’re the one who’s going to have to explain. Because even in summer programs, they look out for that kind of thing. Though God knows I suck up to those people enough. I’ve baked about five hundred muffins and cookies—half of them gluten- and allergen-free—and the program runs only eight weeks.”
Kimber starts out of bed. This is the fourth day she’s awakened here, in Diana and Kyle’s house, yet it still feels strange. In the thin nightgown, she’s self-conscious in front of Diana and glances at the doorway, wondering.
“Kyle’s gone. Though I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” Diana flashes a rueful smile.
“What? What do you mean?” Kimber wonders if she’s playing too dumb and suspects she probably is.
Kyle pushing her down on the bed in the darkened room. Lying on her, almost crushing her, so desperate is he to be inside her. They’re both turned on by the idea of doing it in the house while his wife and daughter are away. She won’t do it in the bedroom he shares with his wife (she doesn’t think of her as Diana, not yet), even though a part of her wants to. A part of her wants to do it among his wife’s clothes, her expensive shoes and beautifully trimmed underwear. She has never seen his wife’s underwear, but she imagines that it’s decorated with lace or made of sheer silk. Underwear that charms and seduces. Kimber needs no charms. She and Kyle fuck, and fuck often, anywhere they can. Sometimes in his car, though there she usually just goes down on him as he knots his fingers in her hair, as he groans with pleasure.
Diana sits on the edge of the bed, and one of her slender hands picks at then smooths the rumpled duvet. She looks worried, and won’t meet Kimber’s eye, but stares at the bright white sunlight limning the window shades. Window shades and curtains. Not blinds. Diana is old school, and she knows what she likes. Finally she speaks so softly that Kimber has to lean closer to hear.
“Has Kyle ever made a pass at you? Has he ever tried to kiss you or called you when I wasn’t around?”
When she realizes what Diana is saying, she recoils as though she’s been slapped. No, she can’t react this way. I must be careful. She doesn’t know anything. She can’t.
But is that right? She could, of course, know everything.
“Diana. What’s he done?”
It’s the right thing to say. Diana doesn’t break down, but she comes as close to it as Kimber has ever seen her. She knows that if she pushes even a little Diana will break. She doesn’t want to break Diana. Then she would be alone.
Diana sniffs and stands to walk to the window. Her back is to Kimber, and she pulls up the shades so that light fills the room. “I think he might be having an affair. Sometimes he stays at the office or on a site much later than I know he needs to be there, and he has a lot of meetings in the evening. And you know what’s really funny? He wants to have sex with me more. A long time ago that’s how I knew he was seeing someone else. How bizarre is that? He’s screwing around, but he wants me more than ever.”
“I guess I’ve heard that,” Kimber says, trying not to betray any alarm. She knows he was seeing someone else. “I mean about people who are cheating. That it makes them more loving to their partner.”
“How predictable, then.”
“Kyle doesn’t seem all that predictable to me, but it makes sense.”
Diana turns from the window. The bright glow around her blurs the delicate features of her face. Even the snow-white sleeveless blouse she wears looks almost silver against the vibrant light. “Do you think I should trust him?”
“Are you worried he’ll leave you? Do you care all that much what he does? I mean you’ve been pretty honest about the fact that…well, about the fact that sex sucks for you. That mostly you’d just rather not. Have you ever wanted to leave him?”
Down at the end of the hall, Hadley is playing one of her favorite Taylor Swift songs at top volume. Kimber finds it disturbingly coincidental that it’s about leaving a lover behind, and just plain disturbing that a six-year-old is singing along.
“I don’t think I’d ever leave him. Sex isn’t everything, is it? It’s not like we don’t love each other. Hadley is happy. All I need is for her to be happy.”
“Then you don’t need me to tell you anything, hon. You’re a big girl. What do I know anyway?”
In a moment that feels more awkward than any moment she can ever before recall, Diana lifts a hand to Kimber’s face and pushes her hair behind one ear, just as she might do to Hadley. “You know men so well. But sometimes I wonder if you even like them. I think you like to hurt them, but I’m not sure why.”
Kimber isn’t certain how to answer, and isn’t even sure if Diana is looking for an answer. She decides that it’s some weird psychological gambit. Diana is projecting. Diana is uncomfortable with sex, and maybe she doesn’t like men very much. Maybe, Kimber thinks, Diana needs to tar another woman with that brush to see what it looks like.
Sufficiently satisfied that she’s at least partially figured out what Diana’s up to, Kimber laughs and says, “Hey, you know what they say: ‘Men. You can’t live with ’em, you can’t just shoot ’em.’”
Kimber is waiting for Mr. Tuttle to do his business in the patch of grass beyond the butterfly bushes in Diana’s backyard when her phone rings. It’s the radio station, Brianna’s number, so she answers.
“What’s up, Brianna? You won’t believe what I’m doing.”
“Hi, Kimber. Bill wants to talk to you.” Brianna’s voice is hushed but urgent. “I’m supposed to transfer you.”
Shit.
Before she can ask Brianna if she can hold him off—which she knows is next to impossible because nobody puts Bill Gustafson off—Brianna is gone.
“Kimber. Bill here. How are things out your way?”
As though she’s simply off living her life somewhere else. As though he’s just c
alling to catch up. Bill doesn’t call staff directly unless there’s some kind of problem.
Kimber tries to keep her voice steady when the inside of her head is screaming, Shit! Shit! Shit!
“Hi, Bill. Good to hear from you.”
“I understand you’ve been having some trouble. Hope everything is working out. Strange days, eh?”
“You could say that.” She gives a thin laugh. Then she adds, “I should be back to work full-time next week. By Tuesday, I hope. Also, Leeza and I are getting together sometime today.”
Why am I talking so much?
“Good, good, good. Glad to hear it,” Bill says. He pauses, and Kimber holds her breath. Is he going to fire her? Has Lance Wilson gone to him with accusations? No, that’s impossible. He’s not that far into my life.
“I actually need you to come in this morning, Kimber. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or so. Shall we say ten-thirty? Leeza will be sitting in too.”
“Sure. Ten-thirty works.” She takes a chance. “Mind if I ask what it’s about? Is there trouble with an account? I’ve been in touch with everyone who has something happening this week.” This isn’t strictly true. She’s only been in touch with the ones who are likely to complain if she isn’t available.
“Just come on in. It’s an internal matter. You don’t need to bring anything. See you then.”
He ends the call before she can say goodbye. She’s seen coworkers on the other end of Bill’s perfunctory calls, but this is the first time she’s gotten one herself. Brianna has been trying to warn her about something, but no radio station tempest-in-a-teapot can compete with what’s going on in her real life.
What now?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Leeza and Bill have both chosen to wear black suits, as though they’re presiding over a fashionable funeral. Though Bill’s white shirt isn’t sheer like Leeza’s peach silk with its pussy bow. Leeza once told her she saves her black clothes for meetings when she wants to be taken very seriously. Kimber has heard her complain often enough about not being taken seriously, though she thinks Leeza would have a better shot if she stopped trying to look like a Kardashian, right down to the Botox and butt fillers. Leeza perches on the edge of a chair, further exaggerating the S curve of her figure, her feet in their four-inch heels tucked neatly beneath. When Bill stands and tells Kimber to take a seat, Leeza glances away, unwilling to meet Kimber’s eye.
Shit. Kimber realizes that she should have talked to her directly more than once this week. Now it’s too late. Even with the addition of one of Diana’s simple navy cardigans to the less casual of her new dresses, Kimber feels inadequate to the meeting. A suit would have at least put her on equal footing on the clothing status front. Bill’s handshake is brusque and firm. The shine of his bald head is nearly as glossy as Leeza’s hair. Today there’s no glance at Kimber’s legs or chest from him.
“Sit down, Kimber. Thanks for coming in.”
There’s yet another person in the room.
“You know June Hicks, from corporate human resources.”
Kimber nods to June, whom she’s only met at corporate meetings and spoken to on the phone. Her elfin face is heavily made up to make her look younger, but her eyes are faded, and there are smoker’s wrinkles squeezing her thin lips. Human resources. This is bad.
“I know this has been a tough week for you.” Bill sits down behind his enormous antique desk. The room is furnished differently from the rest of the station, decorated in mahogany, brass, and subtle stripes by Bill’s expensive wife, so it looks like a banker’s digs.
Leeza sits out of Kimber’s line of sight, but Kimber tries to address them all. “It has been a pretty weird week. I’m hoping to get back to work on Monday. Or maybe Tuesday. I might even be back in my house by the middle of next week.” Her voice falters. “It’s complicated.” Her eyes fall on a stack of papers on which Bill’s right hand rests, but she draws her gaze back to his eyes. Might as well deal with this head-on.
“I’m not sure I know exactly what’s happening at your house. Someone moved into it?”
Kimber explains as best she can, trying not to let her emotions get the better of her. Bill and Leeza nod, though she wonders if Leeza has explained it to him already.
“You have no idea who this man is?”
Kimber shakes her head, but Bill looks briefly skeptical. “Damned strange.”
There’s an awkward silence before he continues. “Well, we certainly hope you’re able to get it straightened out soon.”
The “we” puts Kimber on edge. “We” meaning Leeza and him? “We” meaning the company?
“I’m using vacation days, if you’re worried about that. I’ve only used two days of my two weeks this year.”
“That’s not why we called you in.” Bill’s sturdy face flushes, and he sighs. He indicates the papers on the desk. “It’s these expense reports. Yours. The comptroller found a large number of irregularities going back almost two years.”
She laughs nervously and turns her head to look at Leeza full-on. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“I tried to reach you several times this week. I wanted to talk to you before your retreat, but I didn’t get a chance to. The comptroller made his full report yesterday.”
“I don’t understand. What kind of irregularities? Let me see.”
Bill picks up the sheaf of papers and passes them to her. They feel heavy in her hands. As she reads, she feels sweat begin to form along her hairline. The cover page is succinct: $8,900 of reimbursements for meals and mileage and gifts that don’t match up with logged meetings. Potential clients whose companies don’t actually exist. The other three people in the room might be breathing or talking, but all Kimber can hear is the blood pounding in her head. This can’t be. Looking through the papers, she sees copies of receipts, the pinched scrawl of her signature sprinkled throughout. Copies of business cards for companies she’s never heard of. But it’s the report on top that she keeps coming back to: $8,900.
She lets the papers fall into her lap. How much time has passed? June inspects her yellowed, unpolished nails. Leeza stares at the side of Bill’s desk. But Bill is watching Kimber.
“There’s no way. I didn’t submit the bogus charges.” She shifts in her chair. “Sure, there are plenty of real charges in there, but…Bill, you were in sales. You know everyone cuts a few corners: a few extra miles here and there, stuff like that. But this is major.” She steels her voice. “And it’s not me.”
“We have all the records. We have your signatures.”
“I have a guy living in my house who has a lease with my signature on it too. But it’s not mine. Signatures can be faked.” Kimber is standing now, her hands trembling with anger.
“Sit down, please, Kimber.”
“You’re claiming I’m some kind of criminal, and you want me to calm down? How is that supposed to work? Did you people bring me here to fire me?” She points at June, who looks up at her with unexpected animosity in her eyes. I’ve seen this all before, they say.
“Please sit down. We can handle this calmly.”
Shaking, she takes her seat.
“We want to give you a chance to resign. Corporate wants to prosecute, but you know as well as I do that no one wants that kind of publicity. You’ve been a great producer for the company.”
“What about Brianna? She handled my reports. Did she come to you about this? Maybe she’s the one who’s faked them.” She turns to Leeza. “You signed off on every one of them, didn’t you? Maybe Brianna didn’t even see the bogus ones. I know how much you paid for that Stella McCartney suit, by the way. No way you can afford the clothes you wear on your commissions. They aren’t anywhere close to mine.”
Leeza starts from her chair, and Kimber leans back a fraction. Bill shuts them both down.
“There’s no need to make this difficult. Let’s keep it professional.”
Difficult. Always difficult. I might as well be fifteen.
“
I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m not just going to go along with this. You can talk to my lawyer about it.”
June sits up straighter, revived by the exchange.
Now Leeza speaks. “You mean Gabriel? Are you sure he’s up to it?”
Kimber stares. Leeza has a certain kind of intelligence, but she’s never been clever. Kimber has joked for so long about Leeza being out to get her that she’s forgotten to take it seriously. Forgotten that Leeza caused her predecessor to leave and was promoted in his place. A crack about what Leeza probably did with Bill to get her job rises to her lips, but, for maybe the second time in her life, she keeps her mouth shut.
“Bill, you’ve got to let me fight this. There’s some huge misunderstanding.”
He sighs. “The numbers don’t lie. The comptroller has run them several times. Legal is behind us.”
June, silent until now, says, “It’s the best offer you’re going to get, Ms. Hannon. Otherwise we will initiate legal action.”
Suddenly the room is too warm, and Kimber feels the heat rise again in her body. Why me? Why now? Surprising them all, she gets up again and goes to the door. “I have to think about this,” she says. “I can’t do that here. I’ll be in touch.” She opens the door and escapes before anyone can stop her.
Outside Bill’s office, a half-dozen faces stare purposefully at their screens or their coffee as Kimber hurries to her office to grab her purse, then heads for the lobby and the front exit. Screw you all.
“Wait! Are you okay?” Brianna follows her outside. With her Goth makeup and black lace and leather clothes, she looks out of place in the sunshine. She’s like some bizarre, exotic flower that might wilt if exposed to too much sun.
“Not okay.” Kimber fumbles with her car’s key fob, eager to get the hell out of there.
“What did they say?”
“They said it’s none of your goddamn business.” Kimber doesn’t wait for a reaction but gets into her car, throwing her purse into the back, and drives away as fast as she dares, knowing she might have just blown off the last friend she has at the station. Brianna has nothing against her, and she’s been at the station only for what—four months? It has to be Leeza’s fault. Sleazy Leeza. How bizarre that Leeza’s mother didn’t think of that possible rhyme when naming her daughter.
The Stranger Inside Page 13
