To make himself feel better, he called Michelle on his cell phone just to make sure she was okay.
“Hey, Matthew. Strange. I was just going to call you.”
“Yeah, why?”
“Look, I just talked with Donald, and I’m going to take the rest of this semester off. He said he can get a permanent sub and that he’d hold the job for me if I wanted to come back in January.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s just that . . . with everything going on, with what happened with Scott and with what’s happening with my father, I just don’t think I have the time and energy to focus on work. I’m going to go home and live with my parents for a while—God, just saying those words out loud . . . No, it’s the right thing to do. I feel good about it.”
“Well, that’s what matters the most.”
“I feel good about it.”
“Then I think you’re doing the right thing.”
“You do? It makes me happy to hear that.”
“I do, just so long as you eventually come back. If not in January, then hopefully next year. You’re a good history teacher.”
“Okay, now I’m going to cry,” Michelle said.
“When are you going to leave?”
“I’m driving to my parents’ house tomorrow morning.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I know. Donald already has a sub—it’s the same woman who stepped in when Mandy was on maternity leave, you remember her?”
Matthew pictured a semiretired public school teacher, silver hair and purple dresses. “Yeah, I do. Your students will be okay.”
“They will, won’t they?”
“I can’t believe we didn’t get a chance to say good-bye.”
“Want to come over tonight?” Michelle asked, the words coming out rushed, almost as though they’d been planned.
“Um,” Matthew said, hesitating.
“I know it’s last minute, but Mira’s still away, right? It would be great to see you.”
“I’m busy,” Matthew said, “but sure. When would be a good time to drop by?”
“Now? Or anytime. I’ll probably be up all night packing and getting organized. Come by anytime.”
After eating a bowl of cereal—it was all his stomach could really handle—and FaceTiming with Mira, Matthew drove to Country Squire Estates, a sprawl of cheap apartment buildings with fake beams crisscrossed on the exterior siding. The sign at the entrance was forest green, country squire spelled out in a faux medieval script. Matthew parked in the visitors’ lot next to the swimming pool, which was covered with a tarp for the season. The tarp, filled with brown rainwater and fallen leaves, sagged in the middle, and Matthew suddenly had second thoughts about what he was doing. He knew that Michelle harbored romantic fantasies about him and that coming here to say good-bye would only encourage her. Still, he did value her as a colleague and maybe also a friend. He wanted to say good-bye. Unable to decide what to do, he asked himself: What is best for Michelle? What is best for Mira? He decided to return home.
Back in his house, the lights still turned out, he watched out the window for signs of his neighbor. Her living room lights were on, and he occasionally saw a shadow cross the sheer curtains of the side window. He couldn’t believe that there was another human being so close to him who now knew all his secrets. Not all of his secrets, of course, but she knew who he was. He pressed a hand to the windowpane and felt an ache of longing, something he hadn’t felt for many years. He was startled out of his trance by Richard, calling him.
“It’s late,” Matthew said.
“Is it?”
“You know it is. If Mira was here you’d have woken her up.”
“I know she’s away,” he said.
“Why are you calling, Richard?”
“I just wanted to talk,” he said, his words slurring a little. Matthew assumed he’d been drinking. “Do you think Mom knew about us?”
“How drunk are you?”
“No, I’m serious. Do you think that Mom knew?”
“Do I think that Mom knew what?”
“That we’re like Dad, that we think like him and act like him.” The way that Richard put emphasis on the word act made Matthew suddenly very nervous.
“You’ve done something,” he said.
“I don’t want to talk about what I’ve done or haven’t done. I want to talk about Mom. Remember Sally Respel in high school? Remember what we did to her?”
“We didn’t do anything to her. You did it.”
“It was you she was in love with. It was you who seduced her.”
Matthew hadn’t thought of Sally Respel in years. She’d been in the tennis club with Matthew, a year younger than he was, too tall and with a shiny face. Matthew had spent an afternoon helping her with her backhand, and after that, she’d been smitten with him, calling him every afternoon, always running into him in the hallway between classes, laughing explosively at everything he said. When she’d finally gotten up the courage to ask him to her junior prom, Matthew had gone to her house to let her down gently. They sat together on the swings of her childhood jungle gym, and he explained to her that he was interested in someone else (“She’s from another town, the daughter of my parents’ friends,” he lied) and that he’d just like to be Sally’s friend. She’d cried, but not for too long, and Matthew knew, even then, that he’d done her a favor by giving her a dramatic moment to remember. The two of them on the swing set, discussing love like adults.
He should never have told Richard about Sally, but he did, mostly because Richard, at that age, was already brimming with his own perverted fantasies, always trying them out on Matthew, and Matthew just wanted him to shut up for a while.
On the night of the junior prom, Richard called Sally up on her bedroom phone—she’d decided to stay home—and, disguising his voice by whispering, pretended that he was Matthew and said he’d changed his mind. Could he come over later, sneak in through her bedroom window? He was dying to kiss her.
Matthew never knew exactly how much Richard had done to Sally in the dark bedroom before she figured out she was with Matthew’s brother and not with Matthew, but it was enough. Her terrified screams woke up her parents, who chased Richard away. The next day Sally’s mother went directly to Matthew and Richard’s mom, wanting to clear up the situation without getting the authorities involved. Richard had gotten off easy; all he ended up having to do was to promise he would never go near Sally again.
“I sometimes wonder what Mom thought about me after that happened,” Richard said. “I wonder if she knew then what I was.”
“Honestly,” Matthew said, “I don’t think Mom gave it a second thought. She had her own troubles, you know. I don’t think what you did to Sally meant anything to her.”
“What we did to Sally.”
“You can say that all you want, but it doesn’t change the facts.”
“You were the same then as you are now. You love nothing more than to make women fall in love with you and then to let them down. It’s your kick. Why was it worse for me giving Sally what she actually wanted?”
“Because she didn’t want you, Richard, because no one has ever wanted you. She wanted me. What you did was disgusting.” Matthew’s stomach was beginning to hurt, and he really wished he hadn’t picked up the phone.
“Hey, I didn’t call you to get into an argument.”
“Why did you call?”
“Do you think I could come and stay the night?” Richard’s voice was suddenly smaller, almost pleading.
“Why?”
“I’ll sleep on the sofa in the office. Mira will never know I was over, I promise. Look, you can go to sleep now, and I’ll just let myself in. You’ll never know I was there.” His voice still sounded funny to Matthew, reminding him of how Richard had sounded as a messed-up, frightened kid.
Matthew sighed. “Just for tonight, okay?”
Richard was true to his word, and Matthew didn’t see him until the next morning. Richard had made the coffe
e and was sitting at the kitchen table, head cocked slightly, one leg jittering up and down and the other spread out along the cork floor. He looked like their father. “Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey,” he said, arrogant and loud.
“Sleep well?” Matthew asked.
“Like a baby,” Richard said. “I always sleep well on that sofa. Sleeping in my house is like sleeping inside of a skull. Just a bunch of stuff rattling around.”
“Well, don’t get used to it here.”
Richard held up the palms of his hands. “Trust me, I know. You’ve made your feelings well known on the subject.”
“Thanks for the coffee, Richard.”
“Not a problem. I’ll get out of your hair, but I do have a little gift for you, something you’ll appreciate.”
Matthew, filling his coffee cup, didn’t like his brother’s tone. He turned toward him. “What have you done?”
“Nothing that you haven’t done many times. Trust me. I’ve got to go. There’s an envelope in your office.”
After Richard left, Matthew stayed frozen in place for a minute, the coffee bitter in his mouth, his stomach a hard ball. He put the coffee down and, steeling himself, went into his office. There was a single white envelope propped up on the mantel against the replica Rosetta stone. Matthew went to it, felt that there was something hard inside, and ran his finger under the seal, ripping the envelope open. Inside was a set of two keys attached to a key ring. Also attached to the ring was a pink M made from plastic. Matthew felt the coffee rise at the back of his throat, and he closed his eyes, breathed in through his nostrils until the feeling passed. He recognized the key ring. It had belonged to Michelle Brine.
Chapter 28
Back in her enormous hotel room, Mira shucked off her flats, sat on the edge of the queen-sized bed, and rubbed her feet. As part of her most recent promotion, she had to attend only two trade shows a year instead of four or five. It was a mixed blessing; standing all day at a booth doing software demonstrations was hard work, but now that she did fewer of these events, she found her feet hurt so much more. She assumed she was out of practice, but maybe she was just getting older.
Her phone buzzed. It was John McAleer, texting to see what her dinner plans were. Years earlier, John had worked at her company. They’d been sent together to Clark County School District, and after two long days of presentations they’d gone out to dinner at Le Cirque in the Bellagio. Afterward, they’d had one more drink, at his insistence, back at the bar in their hotel. She’d expected him to make a pass—it wouldn’t be the first time she’d been hit on during a business trip—but she hadn’t expected him to tell her that he’d fallen in love with her, that his own marriage had collapsed after half a year, and that he was the loneliest man in the world. He’d actually cried, prompting Mira to almost suggest shifting the conversation to one of their hotel rooms, which could have been disastrous. Instead, she told him they could continue the conversation in the morning and she left the bar, going straight to her hotel room. Over breakfast the next morning he’d apologized profusely, but ended by saying that his feelings stayed the same. He was in love with her and that would never change, but he wouldn’t bring it up again, and he would start looking for a new job. He was true to his word. He never mentioned it again, and six months later he left Mira’s company for a job at one of the big textbook companies. Three months after that she heard he got a divorce.
And now he was here in Wichita, having swung by to see Mira on the exhibitors floor. He’d gained weight and lost some hair, and he greeted her with a lot of friendly chitchat. “I was wondering if you’d still be working here,” he said, laughing.
She thought the drop-by would be the extent of it, but now she was staring at a text from him. It sounded innocent—Mira, great seeing ya. A bunch of us are doing bbq, and wanted to see if you had plans. No biggie if you’re busy—but she did wonder if he’d been planning this encounter, knowing she’d be working the booth, contriving to “casually” walk by and ask her out to a group dinner. She remembered his words—“I will always be in love with you”—made herself wait five minutes, then texted back, Thanks, John, for the invite. I’ve just ordered room service. Exhausted!
She scooched back on the bed, grabbed the remote from the side table, and turned the television on. Maybe she just attracted obsessive men, she thought. She was thinking of Jay Saravan (she’d been thinking about him a lot lately, because of everything that was happening with Matthew). He’d been her first serious boyfriend; they’d met at freshman orientation during her first week at the University of New Hampshire. On just their second date, Jay had told her he loved her. It had been a shock, but not necessarily an unwelcome one. For one, he was incredibly handsome; he’d reminded her of a real-life version of the cartoon Aladdin she’d been obsessed with for much of her childhood. He had wide shoulders and a slender frame and perfect hair, with a dark lock that fell across his forehead. Like her, his parents were originally from Pakistan, but unlike her, he’d been raised somewhat religiously—he fasted during Ramadan and celebrated Eid—and had actually been to Pakistan. They’d had a whirlwind courtship and stayed attached at the hip all through freshman year. Mira had found him a little bit possessive and demanding, but his assertiveness was thrilling, and he was unswervingly romantic.
And then it all went terribly wrong during sophomore year. Jay convinced Mira to move to her own off-campus apartment, and once she was there, he began to insist that she end the few friendships she’d made her freshman year. She was allowed to attend classes, but not to attend any social events. He started telling her what to wear and what to eat. When she suggested that maybe they should take a break—that maybe they were too young to be in so serious a relationship—he’d twisted her arm so hard he’d broken the skin. After that, she’d learned to be careful about what she said, but he still had outbursts, mostly centered on the clothes she wore to her classes. His anger would start with almost innocent remarks—“What size is that skirt?”—and would usually end with him squeezing her arm (sometimes her face), yelling at her that she was a slut and a whore.
Mira knew that her downstairs neighbor—she lived in the converted attic of a three-story house—heard what was happening. She knew because Matthew Dolamore was always attentive and chatty when she ran into him on her own, but he never acknowledged her if Jay was there. He must have known that if he’d said hi to her when she was with Jay then Mira would suffer for it. He was protecting her, in his small way, but the gesture seemed enormous to Mira. Once, to thank him, and knowing that it was an enormous risk, she invited him to her room for tea while Jay was away at a squash meet. They talked about everything except relationships. He was somewhat stiff, but one of those incredible listeners. Even as she told him the most banal stories, she felt his eyes on her, his entire attention on her.
After the afternoon tea date he’d asked her—only once—if she wanted to come to his apartment for coffee. She declined, saying that her boyfriend was back in town and it wouldn’t be appropriate, hoping that he’d understand that nothing could change between them, that if he saw her with Jay he’d still have to pretend that he didn’t know her. He clearly got the message, because the next time Mira and Jay passed Matthew—they were returning from the grocery store, and Matthew, backpack slung over one shoulder, was heading out—he entirely ignored Mira, only briefly nodding at Jay.
Despite this, Jay asked, “What do you know about that guy downstairs?” later that evening, after Mira had put away all the groceries.
“My neighbor?” she asked.
“Yeah. The one we passed tonight, the one you’ve obviously been thinking about.”
“I don’t even know him, Jay,” she said. “I’ve never talked to him.”
It got steadily worse, the conversation finally ending with Jay pushing Mira’s head against the headboard of the bed, digging his fingers into her scalp while he screamed at her. She considered just telling him then and there that she’d had Matthew up to her apar
tment for tea, just to get it over with. He’d kill her, of course, but then it would be over. And if he didn’t kill her, would he leave her? Unlikely, but it was a possibility.
But before she could get up the nerve to confess to him, he finally left. Mira lay on the bed, weeping for a while, then listening to the house, wondering if Matthew had heard that evening’s entertainment. He’d clearly been going out to the library when they saw him earlier. Was he back now?
The only good thing about the fight was that Jay would be nice to her for a few days, at least. He’d be contrite, unless, of course, he ever found out that she really did have a relationship (of sorts) with her downstairs neighbor. No, she told herself, he must never know. It isn’t to protect me, but to protect Matthew.
One week later—a week during which Jay had been contrite (even buying her white roses)—a police officer arrived at Mira’s door on a Wednesday morning, asked her if she was Jay Saravan’s girlfriend, then reported that Jay was dead. He’d been found in his BMW—his most prized possession after Mira—parked a few miles away down a dead-end street. He’d committed suicide by attaching a pipe from his exhaust pipe in through his window. He hadn’t left a note.
During the next few weeks, a surreal period in which she was treated as a grieving girlfriend but felt like a fortunate survivor, Mira didn’t see Matthew once. It didn’t matter. Down deep she knew that her downstairs neighbor had something to do with the death of Jay Saravan. It wasn’t just that he was the only one who had witnessed the true nature of their relationship, or that she knew for a fact that an egotist like Jay would never have taken his own life; it was that a few days before Jay’s death she’d looked out her bedroom window and seen Matthew and Jay talking in the parking lot. Jay was showing off his car, and Matthew was enthusiastically asking questions. Mira understood now that that was how Matthew had worked it. He’d shown interest in Jay’s BMW, then on the night of Jay’s death, he must have caught him as he was leaving the apartment, maybe said something like, “Hey, wanna go for a ride in your car?” Jay would have said yes, and then somehow Matthew overpowered him, set it up to look like a suicide.
Before She Knew Him Page 18
