by John Saul
“What did the agent say?”
Kara chuckled hollowly. “You won’t like it.”
Steve looked down at the deposition. If he called a driver, he could finish it on the way home. But he couldn’t afford a driver—not with what it cost to keep the apartment. “Kara, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve got to finish this deposition tonight.”
“Okay.” Her voice was small now, and he knew she wasn’t going to argue anymore, which only made him feel worse.
“Let me see what I can do,” he finally said.
“Okay. ’Bye.”
“ ’Bye.”
He heard her say “Love you” just before he put the phone back in its cradle.
Crap!
First the damn janitor had thrown him off his concentration, and now Kara was angry at him, and he couldn’t blame her.
And Lindsay was hurt and upset, and that made his stomach churn.
And on top of everything else, he was going to hate what the agent had to say.
Enough was finally enough. He glanced down at the deposition one more time, then flipped its cover closed, turned off his desk lamp, and headed for home.
Lindsay dialed up the volume on the iPod her father had given her for her last birthday, but no matter how loud the music coming through the headphones was—even if it drowned out the argument going on downstairs—it couldn’t cover the tension that filled the house.
And it was her fault—all of it.
She grabbed a pillow and pulled her arm back to hurl it at something—anything—but the warning stab of pain in her injured wrist made her change her mind. She dropped the pillow to her chest instead and hugged it, tears of frustration stinging her eyes and clouding her vision. “Grow up,” she told herself.
The song she’d been listening to ended abruptly, and now she could hear her parents’ voices drifting up the stairwell.
Though the anger was clear, the words themselves were not. Not that it mattered; she knew perfectly well what they were arguing about.
Her.
In fact, it seemed that all they did anymore was argue. But until tonight, it had been mostly about her father’s new job, and the little apartment he had to rent in the city, and the fact that so many nights he couldn’t make it home at all.
But their argument now was focused on her, and with every angry sound she heard, she felt worse. All she wanted was for everybody to be happy, and even without hearing what they were saying, she knew that nobody in the house was happy.
She lay on her bed, listening to the muffled words as long as she could stand it. She heard her mother’s voice rising, but her father’s voice stayed steady. What’s happening? she wondered. What’s Mom yelling about? And even though part of her wanted to clamp the pillow against her ears, shutting out the sound of her parents’ argument, she knew she couldn’t.
No matter how much it hurt, she had to know what they were saying. Putting the iPod on the nightstand, Lindsay got up from the bed, opened her bedroom door and listened.
“You’re asking too much of her,” Kara said for what she was certain must be at least the third time, if not the fourth or fifth. She was perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, and could see by Steve’s expression that she looked every bit as shrill as she knew she was starting to sound. But how many times did she have to go over all this before he would actually hear her? “She’s only seventeen years old, and you’re asking her to give up everything. I know being on the cheerleading squad doesn’t mean much to you, but so what? She’s your daughter, Steve! And it’s not just cheerleading! You’re asking her to move away from all her friends—friends she’s known since kindergarten—and start all over again in a new school where she doesn’t know anybody. And it’ll be her senior year. Believe me, I remember what it was like when I was her age. The cliques are formed, and they’re rock solid. There won’t be any room for Lindsay.”
Steve spread his hands helplessly. “I don’t know what else to do,” he said, his own voice starting to rise, though not as much as hers. “There just doesn’t seem to be any other answer. We can’t afford—”
“Another year,” Kara broke in. “Let’s stay here just until she graduates.” Seeing his expression harden, her voice rose another notch. “For heaven’s sake, Steve—the real estate market is down so badly, we’d only get about three-quarters what we would have gotten a year ago, and you know as well as I do that even though the market’s dropped out here, it hasn’t in Manhattan. We’ll be lucky if we can afford a tiny little two bedroom, and you better believe it won’t have more than one bath!”
Steve shook his head and picked up the glass that sat on the table next to his chair, downing the last of the scotch in a single gulp. “We’ve been over the numbers, Kara,” he said, his voice taking on a steely edge. “We can’t afford to keep this house and pay for the apartment, too. We have to get a place in the city that’s big enough for all three of us.”
“But we won’t get enough for this place,” Kara insisted. Hadn’t he heard anything she said?
Steve set his empty glass on the end table and ran his hands through his hair. “I thought we’d already had this whole conversation.”
“That was before I met with the agent,” Kara shot back. Seeing Steve’s eyes narrow angrily, she added, “And it was before I watched Lindsay’s heart break.”
“She’s young,” Steve said, his voice taking on a tone she’d only heard him use in court when he was trying to make a point to a recalcitrant witness. “She’ll survive. In a year she’ll be off to college anyway. Frankly, I don’t understand why—”
“Don’t take that tone with me,” she suddenly flared. “This isn’t a case you’re defending! It’s your family! And moving to the city is not the best thing for your family. Remember when we first decided to have kids? We said we’d always put their best interests first.”
“And what’s best for her—for all of us—is that we start living together like a family again,” Steve shot back. “You know—having dinner together every night, with me actually coming home? How many times have we had dinner together in the last week? In the last month?”
“Whose fault is that?” Kara demanded, almost able to taste the bitterness in her voice.
Steve’s eyes glinted. “That’s a cheap shot, Kara. If I’m going to be the sole provider for this family, then maybe this family needs to rally around a few of my needs, okay?”
Kara felt what little control she still had over her emotions start to slip away. “This family does nothing but cater to your needs,” she said, her voice rising yet higher. “All we ever do—”
She was interrupted by a new voice.
A voice even louder and more furious than her own.
“Stop it!” Lindsay yelled. “Just stop it!”
Kara’s breath caught in her chest, and Steve looked as if he’d been struck. Both of them looked toward the stairs to see Lindsay, clad in her pajamas, her wrist wrapped in an Ace bandage, tears streaming down her face. “Just stop it!” she cried again. “I can’t stand your arguing anymore! I thought—” Her voice broke and she raised her hands to cover her face as her body began to shake.
“Whoa, kitten,” Steve said, quickly getting up and going to her. Sobbing, Lindsay fell into his arms. “Take it easy.”
Kara thought her heart would break as she watched them, and the anger she’d felt toward Steve only a moment ago dissolved as she saw him comforting their daughter.
“It’s just an argument,” he said. “It doesn’t mean anything at all. Your mother and I love each other and we both love you even more.” He held her, stroking her hair as she cried. Slowly, he guided her to the sofa, where they sat down next to Kara.
Kara took Lindsay’s hand. “I’m sorry, darling,” she said. “We’re just trying to work out what’s best for everybody.”
“Everybody,” Steve echoed, looking pointedly at Kara, “because we’re a family. And we all agree we need to be together—we’re just trying to figu
re out the best way to accomplish that.”
“You need to stop arguing,” Lindsay said, sniffling and wiping away a tear with the back of her good hand. “I—I just can’t stand it.”
“I’m sorry, kitten,” Steve said.
“It’s okay,” Lindsay said, but with a catch in her voice. Beseechingly, she looked first at her father, then her mother. “We can move, okay? I’ll adjust. Just don’t fight anymore, all right?”
Steve gave her a hug. “Hey, it’s not the end of the world, sweetie. It’ll be all right, I’m telling you. You’ll like living in the city. It’s an exciting place.”
Kara gazed uncertainly into Lindsay’s eyes. “You’re sure?” she asked. “You’re not just saying it’s okay because we were arguing?” Lindsay hesitated, then nodded. “Okay,” Kara sighed. “I’ll call the agent and tell him we’re signing the listing. They can start doing their thing, and we’ll see what happens.”
Steve nodded. Lindsay was sitting with her head down now, her hands in her lap, and as he watched, a tear rolled down her cheek and fell onto her pajamas. “Tell you what,” he said, lightening his tone. “Let’s go into the city on Sunday. We’ll look at some places—maybe hit some open houses and see where we might like to live.” He tipped Lindsay’s face up so she couldn’t avoid looking at him. “We might get lucky and find the perfect place. Something we all love.”
“And we can have lunch at that Thai place on West Sixty-seventh,” Kara said. “Remember their cabbage salad?”
Lindsay nodded, sniffling once more, but her eyes were no longer flooding with tears.
Kara gave her a nudge. “And we’ll go shopping at Bergdorf's.”
“Whoa,” Steve interrupted. “This is a trip for—”
“Shopping at Bergdorf's,” Lindsay broke in, a smile lighting her face.
Steve threw his hands up in mock resignation. “Okay—I get it. I’m outnumbered. Again.”
Lindsay shoved her elbow into his side. “You think you're outnumbered? How do you think I felt when I was listening to you two fighting about what we should do?”
Kara gave her daughter’s shoulders a squeeze, and for the first time in months felt that just maybe things would turn out all right. With a silent prayer of thanks, she smiled at her husband.
He smiled back.
Chapter Four
I think perhaps I’ve found her at last!
I can’t be sure, of course—not yet.
But when I first got the alert on my computer this morning, I felt a tingling in my belly.
The same kind of tingling I used to feel whenever she was near: a tightening in my groin, and cold fear in my belly.
Though it wasn’t strong, it was enough to make my fingers almost vibrate as I typed the keystrokes that took me to the listing.
But not just one listing! No! This morning there were two! My heart beat faster as I went to the first listing, but as the image of the house came onto the screen, the tingling began to fade. It was an ugly house—a kind of squat, shapeless bungalow. Not at all the kind of home I like.
But then I saw the other house, and my heart started to pound, and when I took the virtual tour, my excitement only grew. It may be the house.
I am almost sure it is the house!
A teenage girl lives there, and something inside me tells me she is perfect for me.
I know it. I know it!
I could tell from the first moment I saw the pictures of her room, but I had to be sure. But now I am sure, because I’ve gone over the photographs so many times that I have every detail memorized. Even as I write these words, I can see the room—her room—as clearly in my mind as if I were standing in it.
Touching it.
Smelling it.
Oh, yes—she is the one.
But I mustn’t be hasty, mustn’t let my hopes get too high. After all, I’ve had these thoughts before, and been so often disappointed.
This time, I won’t get ahead of myself.
No, this time I’ll hold some part of myself aloof, and force myself to wait. After all, the address won’t be posted until the house goes into the Multiple Listing Service, and I’ll just have to contain my excitement until then. But it’s so hard—I am so tempted to get into the car and drive around, and keep driving until I find the house.
The perfect house.
Her house.
I know the idea is ridiculous. I could drive for weeks and never run across it—never find her—yet the feeling is almost overwhelming.
It is as if the house itself—and the girl who lives in it—are drawing me like filings to a magnet.
Yet I have to be patient. After all, it will only be a few days.
In a few days, I shall get the address.
And in a few days, she will still be there. . . .
Still, I’m not used to being patient.
I hate being patient.
But soon . . . soon I shall see her, and touch her, and smell her.
And she will know all the feelings I knew so long ago.
But this time it will be different.
This time all the feelings will go on forever.
Chapter Five
Manhattan is impossible, Kara thought. Traffic was unaccountably snarled, there were no places to park, and if there was a parking lot anywhere in this part of town, neither she nor Steve had seen it.
“Is something going on?” Lindsay asked from the backseat. “Why is everything so messed up?”
Kara could feel Steve’s nerves starting to fray as everywhere he turned the streets were barricaded and traffic hopelessly snarled. She turned on the radio, and Lindsay’s question was instantly answered.
“The vice president’s motorcade has the entire West Side gridlocked from Forty-second Street north to 125th,” a soothing voice intoned. “Motorists are advised to—”
Steve snapped it off. “Who asked the vice president to come to town today?” he grumbled. “I don’t recall his office calling to see if it was convenient for me.” He scowled, funneling his frayed nerves into a comically exaggerated mask of anger. “And if they had, I’d have told them to keep him in Washington! Who needs him? Especially on Sunday in Manhattan?”
“Bad luck,” Kara sighed. If the motorcade didn’t hurry up and get where it was going, they were never going to make their appointment with the agent who claimed she had the perfect apartment.
“We should have taken the train,” Steve said through clenched teeth, and Kara sighed again, knowing he was right.
And knowing it was her fault they hadn’t done it. After all, she was the one who’d thought a drive in the family car would be a better idea.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sighing again.
Steve’s thin-lipped expression didn’t change.
“This sucks,” Lindsay muttered from the backseat.
Kara sighed a third time, silently agreeing with her daughter, and checked her watch. Their appointment was in five minutes. The agent wouldn’t wait around for long if they were late.
Miraculously, a car pulled out of a parking space just in front of them, and Steve quickly slid their Toyota SUV into it, ignoring the blare of the horn from a Ford Focus whose driver seemed to think he was the rightful heir to the slot. “There is a God,” Steve muttered. “C'mon, we’ve got to hurry.”
Just in the nick of time, Kara thought, certain that if the parking space hadn’t seemingly dropped from heaven, Steve’s temper would have given way.
He locked the car and they hustled along the sidewalk, threading through the pedestrian traffic far faster than they’d been able to maneuver through the car-jammed streets. In less than five minutes they made the three short blocks uptown and the two long ones over and found themselves in front of a tall brownstone. Steve checked the address. “This is it,” he said, pressing the bell.
Kara eyed the building and decided it looked presentable, if not perfect. She checked her watch again when there was no response to Steve’s buzz. “We’re not late. She c
ouldn’t have left, could she?”
Steve took a deep breath but said nothing, and Lindsay dropped onto the front step and put her chin in her hands.
“Ring again,” Kara said.
Silently, Steve pressed the buzzer a second time.
Still nothing.
Then Kara saw a tall, thin woman in a long black coat striding around the corner, a folio clutched tightly in one hand, a set of keys in the other. “Mr. and Mrs. Marshall?” she asked as she came abreast of the building.
Thank God, Kara thought. She smiled and nodded in response. “This is our daughter, Lindsay,” she said as Lindsay stood up.
“I’m Rita Goldman,” the agent said, her hand coming out to grasp first Kara's, then Lindsay's, and finally Steve’s hand. “I’m so sorry to be late. The traffic—”
“We know,” Steve said, his mood lightening as finally something seemed to be going right. “It almost made us late, too. In fact, we were afraid we might have missed you.”
The woman opened the front door and held it for them. The building seemed well-maintained, with a clean marble floor in the foyer and contemporary art on the walls. But the dark mahogany moldings and vaguely Victorian light fixtures made it seem older than it was. Still, the elevator moved smoothly and looked modern, with mirrors on the walls.
Kara began ticking items off her mental checklist. So far, so good.
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, decided her makeup had survived the drive into the city, then noticed Lindsay’s unhappy face. Leaning over, she whispered, “Thai salad,” which made Lindsay smile.
The fourth floor hall was carpeted and nicely lit.
Two more check marks on her mental list.
The agent, chatting with Steve, walked them down to 409 and used three keys to open the door.
A black mark on the checklist.
Then the door opened, and suddenly Kara felt better. Light. Lots of light, let in by lots of windows.
