The irony was that she’d come to work just hours ago with Paul’s face in her mind, a smile on her lips. She’d been planning how she’d make her way over later, maybe with something homemade to share—was dinner too much? Or would dessert be better?
She’d gotten his note, but it had only made her feel awful. Though she’d promised Clara she’d think more carefully about Paul—and had thought of little but him in the week since their kiss—it wasn’t doubt or caution that kept her away. It was guilt. She couldn’t help feeling as if she’d betrayed him by so much as listening to the ugly comparisons Clara had drawn. She needed the cleanse of a little time, like a hot shower or a good night’s sleep.
Finally, this morning she’d felt ready. The sting of her own betrayal by proxy had faded enough for the tingle of possibility to take its place.
And then he’d gone and called Second Date Update.
It wasn’t the humiliation of being laid out like a buffet to Sonny and Day, though there was that too. Worse was the simple fact that he’d placed the call at all: glaring evidence that he didn’t know her in the least. Anyone who did would know there was nothing she’d have hated more.
The clarity cut sharply through the flush of self-consciousness. In all their conversations, he’d asked almost nothing about her life, or where she’d come from, or where she wanted to go. It was evident from his words that he was focused entirely on how she made him feel, not on what made her tick. And while that was understandable with what he was going through, it was also not likely to change anytime soon, and was not at all what she wanted.
Never mind the painful contrast with Josh, who knew her better than anyone else.
Paul was a smooth talker, she’d grant him that. Maybe’s Clara’s picture of him as a manipulator had a shade of truth in it after all. Or maybe not. It didn’t really matter, now that she was no longer interested.
She just had to figure out how to back out of it.
* * *
Izzy baked an entire batch of soft pumpkin cookies, the cakey ones she could never stop eating, then thought better of taking them with her. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking—only, she supposed, that when she’d awoken that day she’d had a mind to bring something homemade to Paul.
Back in college, she’d once delivered chocolate chip cookie bars to a boyfriend only to be dumped on the spot. Having planned to cut her loose, he was not about to be deterred by a sweet gesture, nor did he see anything wrong with asking, “Is it okay if I keep the cookies?” as she’d headed out the door. Stunned, she’d merely nodded and scurried away. Only when her roommates echoed their collective “What?” of disbelief around her dorm room did she have the presence of mind to be enraged too.
“We could be stress-eating them right now,” one of them had lamented.
“You should have thrown them in his face!” another chastised her.
No, cookies and breaking things off did not go together.
And how would she look to her new friends now? Randi and Rhoda had yet to miss a beat when it came to the radio show. She’d go from being the pitiful neighbor who was stuck on her brother-in-law to the third wheel in the domestic drama playing on the public stage. Just great. She felt a flash of annoyance at Paul for putting her in this position, and used it to propel herself across the street before she lost her nerve.
It was darker and colder than she’d expected as she made her diagonal to Paul’s. Soon they’d change the clocks and be plunged into blackness by dinnertime—but maybe this year, in her little nest of a house, she’d find the longer nights more cozy than depressing. She’d been thinking of enrolling in yoga at the studio where Randi and Rhoda had their meditation class; perhaps its warm glow would follow her home.
Paul’s face lit up to match the garish brightness of his foyer when he answered her knock, and she swallowed hard. “Are we doing the date now?” he asked, grinning. He seemed relaxed, in uncharacteristically worn jeans and a flannel, and she couldn’t help feeling a pang that she’d never seen him look so good. “The sooner the better.”
She steeled herself to stick to the script. “I was just hoping we could talk for a minute. Can I come in?”
If Paul sensed what was coming, he didn’t let on, merely stood to the side and gestured gallantly for her to enter.
Glancing into the dining room, Izzy stopped short. Large rubber storage bins were stacked on all sides between the table and the walls. Each was labeled in stereotypically messy doctor’s handwriting: Aaron clothes. Abby clothes. Kid books. Outdoor toys. “What’s all this?” she asked, unease hovering over her. Who packed up his kids’ stuff when they were missing? Her eyes flickered up the stairs, where cardboard boxes lined the hallway more haphazardly, with Kristin scrawled angrily across the sides in thick black marker.
“Sorry about the mess. Come around, into the kitchen.”
The dread that had been accumulating since morning collected in her throat as she followed him to the eat-in area adjoining the family room. Only then did Izzy realize she’d never been this far into the house before. Straight ahead, sliding glass doors were closed against the black nothingness beyond. The kitchen itself was cheery and appeared largely untouched—with the twins’ crayon and construction paper creations covering the fridge and a bulletin board. But she caught sight of a stack of empty bins on the other side of the couch, their lids propped against them, waiting to be popped into place as they were filled.
“Doing some housecleaning?” she asked, as he pulled out a chair for her.
“It’s what it looks like—packing,” he said. “Glass of chardonnay? Or an IPA, maybe?”
“Just water, thanks.”
“Cheap date.” He took a glass from the dish drainer and filled it at the dispenser in the refrigerator door. “There are a few factors,” he began. “One, as much as I hate to move anything from just how they left it, the fact that I’m living in a shrine is wearing on me. It’s hard to disturb it, but it’s hard not to disturb it, you know?” He cracked open the door and took a bottle of beer in his free hand. “Two, I had anticipated a divorce settlement being, you know, settled soon.”
Izzy nodded as he handed her the water and took a seat across from her. “I’m stuck paying rent on the apartment until the lease runs out, plus carrying the mortgage on this house alone. Presumably either she was going to buy me out of the house, or she and the twins were going to wind up moving too. And delaying the inevitable is expensive. Especially with legal fees, plus the cost of hiring a private investigator.”
“You’re going to do that?” Izzy sat up straighter. “What do the police think?”
He looked at her strangely. “Who cares what the police think? They haven’t found them. They can hardly object that I’m not content to let this just fade into the forgotten files.”
“Is that what’s happening?”
He shrugged. “I think we’ve at minimum segued into a ‘Sorry, pal, we tried!’ phase. No one’s exactly been jumping to my defense as stepdad of the year, right? Aside from having better things to do with their time, they probably think I had it coming.”
Everything he was saying made sense. So why did Izzy suddenly feel almost panicked, as if he’d trapped her here at the table? Just over a week ago, she’d been kissing him on the overlook. But that slight should-I-be-doing-this? thrill she’d felt then was taking a different form now. She looked out into the night, wondering if any of the neighbors could see in.
No one knew she was here.
“I have better things to do with my time too,” he said softly, smiling at her.
“Paul, listen. That phone call, it was—”
“A little over the top, I know. But I couldn’t get it out of my head after I came to fix your gate and heard the end of your interview with Hallie. I have to say, that was a pretty pathetic excuse for a happy ending on your show. I had a feeling we could do better.” Oh, Paul. He was proud of himself. “Good ratings for the show are good for you, right?”
<
br /> She sighed. Maybe his heart had been in the right place, but everything else about it was still all wrong. Even that day in the garden, he’d come in too late to hear her admit she didn’t like the job at all. At best, he had habitually horrible timing. With her own history of the same, they were either a perfect match or a laughably bad one.
“I was flattered. I mean, I am flattered. But—” She took a deep breath. “I don’t think a date is a good idea.”
A self-assured disbelief surfaced in his eyes, then was gone. “You said yes just because people were listening?”
“No. I mean, you did kind of put me on the spot—but no.” He held his smile, as if he thought she might be setting him up for some hilarious punch line. “Now that I’ve had time to think about it, though, without being caught up in what you were saying…”
His face clouded over. “Did I give the impression a moment ago that I didn’t mean what I said? I meant it all. Those aren’t just words to get caught up in. That’s how I feel.”
“And it’s sweet. Really. It’s just—”
He gestured emphatically toward the dining room. “Don’t say bad timing. You can’t accuse me of not moving on. You can see that I’m moving on.”
It was so close to what she’d been telling herself about her time with Paul—Hey, look, I’m moving on! And so equally insincere.
“It’s me,” she blurted out. “I’m sort of on the rebound myself. I’m not sure I’m ready.”
“I have always believed,” Paul said quietly, “that with all that self-analytical stuff, if we don’t let it hold us back, it will work itself out.” There was still hope in his expression. “I say that as a trained medical professional, you know.”
She couldn’t bring herself to humor him, but she didn’t know what to say. This was turning out to be harder than she’d imagined.
He faltered, looking down at his lap, and when he peered up at her, it was with such intensity that she couldn’t look away. “I’m sorry. I’ve been…” He gave a nervous laugh. “Those relentless DJs already called me John Denver, and now I’m going to botch this too.”
They were relentless—he had that part right. “John Denver was a great lyricist. And you don’t have to—”
He put up a hand. “I want to say this. This past year has been the worst of my life, and then came rock bottom. It’s meant so much to me that you’ve been there. Everyone else looks the other way when I come by, but not you. That alone makes me feel like I’m still the person I’ve been all along. That alone makes me believe I’ll be able to crawl out of this.”
Oh, God. He seemed to have feelings for her—not just the possibility of feelings, but actual emotions. How could she add to his disappointment when he’d already lost so much? She couldn’t help the way she felt—or, rather, didn’t feel—but had he really done all that much to deserve it? So he’d called the radio station. Plenty of other women would have swooned.
“It’s not just about me,” she heard herself say.
“Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. Let me be there for you the way you’ve been there for me.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?” He threw his hands up in the air, looking so despondent that she faltered.
“It’s…” She couldn’t do it. And there was something more to this tightening in her gut than run-of-the-mill discomfort. She needed to be out of here, now. For good. Her mind presented her with an emergency exit, and without stopping to see where it might lead, she took it. “My dad—he’s sick.”
He frowned. “Oh, no. Sick how?”
What was she doing? “We’re still not sure of the, um, stage, but … well, I can tell my mom knows more than she’s letting on, and it’s not good.” Even as the words escaped her, she wanted to take them back, to start over. “They’re going to need me. My sister is starting a family, and I’m the one who’s available to help. It’ll be a lot of back-and-forth to Springfield.” She could already see the depth of the hole she was digging, but there was nothing to do but press on. “I need to focus on my family right now. It just doesn’t make sense, in my head space or on my schedule, to be starting a relationship.”
“I could be a support.” He leaned in. “I know I’m not that kind of doctor, but I know more than you might think about—”
She held up a hand. “I don’t doubt it,” she said, with surprising conviction. “But I like to do things with my whole heart, and my heart’s just not in this right now. I’m sorry.”
“With your whole heart,” he said, his voice low and impassive. He seemed to finally accept this explanation, the hint of anger receding, the will to protest ebbing away.
“I like that, the way you put that,” he said finally, smiling a little sadly at her. “I might steal that.”
“I hope you don’t need it,” she said. And it wasn’t a lie, exactly.
34
The realization that someone is not just capable of killing you, but very well may, is surreal enough that you can almost talk yourself back into a state of denial. When he breaks in through your kitchen window and you jolt from sleep to find him standing over your bed, eerily holding the stuffed elephant that signifies you’re not the first one he came to see, you wake up in more ways than one. You have two choices: You can stay, biding your time, but knowing he’ll always be a threat. Or you can go, hoping he doesn’t find you but knowing he will try.
It hardly seems fair that he’d go to so much effort to track down someone he seems to hate with an intensity he equates with love. But he is that proud, that determined to have what he considers rightly his.
Or that determined that no one else will have it.
35
NOTICE: WHAT IS YOUR EMERGENCY?
Please use the main police line ONLY for URGENT matters. If you’re not sure whether it’s urgent, it isn’t. Direct all other calls to the non-emergency number below.
—Sign posted outside the police station
“Thanks for making time to see me.” Clara accepted the steaming paper cup Detective Bryant handed her as he took his seat across the table. She felt ill at ease being back in the station, willingly risking more of the scrutiny that was finally starting to fade, and a bit let down, too, that it was not the more forthcoming Detective Marks who’d taken the appointment. He’d offered to meet her out for coffee, but the idea of being somewhere that Paul or Izzy might see them together the day after the Second Date Update call was a far worse thought. They might think she was intervening, doing something drastic.
She wasn’t.
Not really.
She didn’t want to do anything, she just wanted some answers. And she had a valid enough cover story, one that happened to be true.
“Your kid’s school seriously said he couldn’t be there because of the case?”
She nodded. “Too distracting to the learning environment.”
He rolled his eyes. “By those standards, no one in an urban school would ever get an education.”
“I thought if I could give them a little more information on where things stand, they might relax.”
“Well, there’s nothing distracting about it. I wish there was. A couple of times I thought we were on to something, but no dice.”
“So you’ve stopped looking?”
“Not yet. But unless we turn up something new to go on soon, we’ll have to shelve it with the cold papers.” He seemed to be measuring his words, waiting for her to protest.
“How much longer?”
“Usually we’ll work a missing persons hard for about a month. In this case, with the children involved, I pushed for two. Resources are tight around here. Halloween is a busy time, thanks to the petty idiocy it inspires. My boss met me in the middle at six weeks.”
“So not quite a week left, then.”
“It’s getting pretty chilly.”
“That helps to know, thanks. Is it, um, okay to share that?”
“Between you and the ridiculous schoo
l director, yes. I wouldn’t, you know, start your own newspaper or anything.”
Clara flushed, but when he laughed, she granted him a weak smile. “Too soon,” she chided him. If they were on good enough terms to get this far, maybe she could nudge him just a bit farther.
“I’m curious: What sort of thing might prompt you to reopen the case, down the line?”
“When a missing persons case goes cold, it isn’t like with a homicide,” he began.
“Even if you don’t know that it isn’t a homicide?” The words stuck uncomfortably in her throat, and his eyes narrowed. Still, she couldn’t regret asking. It was now or never.
“It’s a missing persons case until we have reason to think that it isn’t,” he said, and she wondered if the exhaustion in his voice was thanks to her, or the process, or his job in general. “And when it goes cold, we need a reason to open it back up.”
“What kind of reason?”
“A sighting. A credit card purchase. Some sort of traceable activity.” Clara nodded. They both knew anything that concrete was unlikely.
“Look,” he said, “I know you care about Kristin and the kids. But you might need to accept that you just need to move on from this, questions unanswered. So does the school. The whole town, for that matter.”
She nodded, and a beat of silence fell between them. “Just one more thing I’ve been wondering, since I’m here.” He crossed his arms but didn’t object. “If something was going on with Paul, would there have been a … a better way?” she asked. “I mean, if she’d come to you for help, if she’d come to you and said, ‘I need to get away from my husband, I need to disappear,’ would you have helped her?”
The detective looked genuinely surprised by the question. “Us? Help someone disappear? No. But there are proper measures. We could issue a restraining order—”
She shook her head. “You know as well as I do those things don’t stop anyone with a strong enough desire to be unrestrained.”
“You get cynical working these things, year after year. These women, you feel sorry for them, but…”
Not That I Could Tell: A Novel Page 26
