by Jill Orr
“Riley, calm down. You can do this. You’re a pro.”
“No, I’m a librarian, and not even a real one!”
“You’ll be fine. All you have to do is see if you can get him to admit to dating Jordan. If he doesn’t, then you will know he’s hiding it for some reason.”
“And what if he is hiding it?”
“Then that’s another piece of data we’ve collected. We will need a lot more in order to figure this out, but it would be a start. In my experience, people lie for a reason.”
I sighed loudly, hoping to convey how thoroughly I did not want to do this.
Holman was unsympathetic. “You’ll be fine. Call me after.”
I parked just across from the coffee shop and saw Ajay’s BMW parked out front. Even though every nerve in my body was on high alert, I took a deep breath and opened the car door. I’d never been much of an actor, but I told myself I’d better get ready, because it was showtime.
“I’m so glad you called,” Ajay said after we’d gotten our drinks. “But when you said we had to talk, I was a little nervous.”
I felt a pang of guilt. I wasn’t sure if it was for lying to Ajay or to Ryan, but either way, I wasn’t used to faking things. “Bad choice of words, I guess,” I said, and a jumpy giggle bubbled up. “I’m, um, really sorry about last night.”
“It’s okay. I understand. We all have a past.” He smiled.
A past—yes, that was my opening. “Yeah,” I said, fiddling with the lid on my latte. “Speaking of pasts, do you have any exes I should know about?” Great, Riley. Not exactly subtle.
“Uh,” he said, “no, not really.”
“Oh.” Maybe Holman’s paranoia was getting to me, but it didn’t seem likely. Ajay was a good-looking, successful, smart guy in his early thirties. I was supposed to believe he’d never had a serious girlfriend before? Doubtful.
“I’ve been trying to meet someone but haven’t had any luck until recently.” He reached across the table and took my hand.
I jumped. How could he sit here and lie to my face like this? I saw his quiver! I saw how many arrows he had! Plus, I knew for a fact he’d gone out with Jordan at least twice.
He pulled back. “I’m sorry—are you okay?”
“Yes! I mean, yes.” I forced my voice to sound calmer. “Why do you ask?”
“Does this have something to do with your ex?” He sounded concerned, and I felt bad for about two seconds until I remembered he was hiding something.
“No.” I made myself reach for his hand despite every cell in my body screaming against it. “He’s…old news. I just know how hard it can be sometimes to move forward. And before we, um, get any closer, I just wanted to make sure there aren’t any surprises out there.” I scrutinized his face for any hint of deceit.
“No surprises here.”
An awkward silence settled around us. I decided to try another angle. “So, have you ever been to Hilton Head?”
“Yeah, a couple times,” he said. “You?”
“Totally. I love it there,” I said, thinking about whether or not he was the mystery man Jordan had taken to Hilton Head Island. “Have you been recently?”
“Nope.” His brow furrowed, but the corner of his lip tugged up. “Riley, are you okay? You seem a little on edge.”
My eyes snapped up to meet his. “Uh…” I needed to give him a reason for my weird behavior. Since I couldn’t tell him the truth, I said, “I’m sorry. I’ve just been thinkin about my friend who died. You know, that girl I told you about?”
“Oh, that’s right. It’s so hard to lose a friend like that.”
“Awful.” It was the first truthful thing I’d said since I walked in. “We hadn’t been in touch lately, but still. She was my age, and we’d grown up together. It’s just so sad to think she’s gone. Her parents are a mess.”
“I can’t even imagine.”
I was thinking about telling him I was writing her obituary when my cell vibrated. I turned it over to peek at who it was and saw Holman’s name. I swiped the message open. AJAY IS MARRIED. HE’S LYING TO YOU. BE CAREFUL.
CHAPTER 21
After reading Holman’s text, I faked a stomachache. It was all I could think to do. I said, “I have to go, like immediately.” Ajay seemed a little confused, but I think he believed me. I’m sure I looked freaked out, pale, nervous, sweaty—exactly the way you would look if you were about to have an attack of diarrhea on a date.
“What do you mean he’s married?” I yelled at Holman once I was safely in my car.
“Dr. Ajay Badal married Isabella Aggarwal six years ago in the state of New Jersey on April 11th.” Holman paused to let the information sink in. “I found no record of divorce or annulment.”
The hair on my arms stood on end. I had hoped Holman was mistaken but now had a sinking feeling he wasn’t. Ajay had been pretty evasive about his past, not to mention a little too good to be true.
“What the hell is he doing on Click.com?”
“Good question,” Holman said. “We need to collect more data. But if I had to make a guess, I’d guess he is cheating on his spouse.”
“Really, Sherlock?” I snapped. Then I immediately felt badly. This wasn’t Holman’s fault. I softened my tone. “I’m sorry. But I think it’s kind of obvious he’s cheating.” I thought back to last night and that kiss.
“There are lots of reasons why people have affairs, and we will just have to keep looking for Ajay’s. But I’m bothered by the coincidences here.”
“What do you mean?”
“First, Ajay finds Jordan via Click.com. Then he finds you. Jordan was investigating Romero at the time they dated. Now, you are investigating Romero. When you combine that with the fact that he recently moved here from New Jersey, where Romero is rumored to have family involved in organized crime, the fact that he is married, on a dating website, and hiding the fact that he knew Jordan—it paints a bad picture.”
I think deep down I agreed with him, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t want Ajay to be involved in Jordan’s death, or married, for that matter. I waged a weak argument. “But why me?”
“When did Ajay first contact you for a date?”
“It was the day after—” Oh, crap. It was the day after Jordan died. The day after her mother asked me to write her obit. The same day I called Kay Jackson and asked if I could come to the Times to learn more about Jordan’s life.
“It was after you were looking into Jordan’s death, wasn’t it?”
I nodded, too numb to speak, forgetting that Holman couldn’t see me through the phone. “And we were the only two women he ever contacted through Click as far as I could see.”
“We have a lot more work to do, Riley,” Holman said, but I was only half-listening. “You need to set up another date with Ajay and gather more information, okay? We can talk later about specifics, but I am going to need you to be strong.”
“Okay,” I said. The shock I felt when I first found out Ajay was married was now being replaced by anger, a far more useful emotion. I was pissed off that Ajay was lying to me, that he lied to Jordan, that he fooled me into believing he was someone else—someone who cared about me.
Holman said he was going to try to find a way into Jordan’s electronic files to see her notes on the Romero story. I was nearly to my parents’ house, so I told him I’d call him the next day.
“Sure. But one more thing,” Holman asked. “Who is Sherlock?”
“What?”
“Is it me?”
I thought of what his face must look like on the other end of the phone, blank, not a trace of anger or offense, just those wide-set eyes covered by wire-rimmed glasses, waiting patiently for an answer. Clearly, Holman wasn’t much for sarcasm. Despite his professional success, there was something childlike about him, and I found myself not wanting to hurt his feelings.
“Yes!” I said, and then followed up with, “um, remember how I was supposed to think of your code name?”
“Yes.�
��
“Well, I decided on Sherlock.”
He was quiet on the line for a brief moment. “I guess I am a little like a young Sherlock Holmes.” I could picture him trying to suppress a smile.
“Um-hmm,” I said, relieved I hadn’t hurt his feelings. “I’ve got to go now, Holman.”
“Don’t you mean Sherlock?”
“Right. Goodbye, Sherlock.”
“Goodbye, Obit Girl.”
CHAPTER 22
My parents always liked to have me over for dinner before they left town, and they were leaving the next day for their annual Star-Spangled Tour across upper Virginia. They had a whole set of songs for kids about the Revolutionary War, including, “Don’t Tread on Memaw,” involving a stuffed long-tailed cat and a room full of rocking chairs; “Give Me Licorice or Give Me Death”; and “Yankee Doodle Candy.” They’d be gone five days with stops in Loudoun, Fairfax, Prince William, and Stafford counties, mostly at the public libraries. They were big with the under-six set, and late June/early July was a busy time of year for the Rainbow Connection.
Mom made orange lentil and kale soup, which was my favorite of her (vegan) recipes. We settled around our usual places at the table. There was something comforting in the ritual, and I definitely needed a little extra comfort after the day I’d had.
“How’s the obituary coming along?” Mom asked as we dug into our soup.
“I’m working on it.” I knew I had plenty of work left to do, but it felt impossible to write a fitting obit while I had suspicions about how Jordan had died.
“I know it’ll be real special, Raccoon,” Dad said, giving me an encouraging smile.
“Thanks.” I didn’t want to talk about Jordan anymore. Since there was no way I was going to bring up that I was working on trying to prove that she might not have killed herself or the mess with Ajay, I changed the subject. “Did you guys know Ryan’s back in town?”
A look passed between Mom and Dad. A weird look.
“What?”
“Nothing, honey. That’s nice. Have you seen him?” Mom asked, suddenly very interested in her soup spoon. My parents knew where Ryan and I stood. I’d never tried to hide my feelings from them. They knew how devastated I’d been when he left and about my hopes for a reconciliation. And while I knew it bothered my mom, I think my dad wanted us back together as much as I did.
“Yeah. Why are you acting funny?”
“We’re not!” Dad said, plastering a huge, cheesy smile on his face that might have been indistinguishable from his normal cheesy smile to anyone but his only daughter. “How is ol’ Ryan doing these days?” I thought I heard an edge in his voice. Dad never had an edge.
“He’s fine,” I said slowly. “Didn’t Barb and Hank mention he was coming to town?” My mom played bridge with Ryan’s mom every other week. I figured Barb would have at least brought it up.
Mom said, “Oh, um, gee, I don’t remember if she did.” It was clear where I got my bad-lying skills.
“Guys, please.” I clanked down my spoon. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing—it’s just, um, have you and he had a chance to catch up on things?” Dad asked, his voice higher than usual.
“Yeah, he came by last night.” Now it was my turn to be evasive. I didn’t exactly want to admit to my parents what had gone down on Salem Street last night. There was a limit to how much I shared with my parents.
“And what did he have to say?” Mom’s voice went up at the end of her question, like she was trying to sound extra casual. God, if this is what I sounded like when I lied, I’d better get it together before my next date with Ajay.
“Nothing really. We just hung out.”
Dad cleared his throat again. Another meaningful look passed between them. Then he blurted out, “We have to tell her, Jeannie.”
“Skip,” she warned.
“Tell me what?”
My dad opened his mouth to speak, but my mom cut in. “It’s not our place.”
“Well, he clearly isn’t going to tell her, or else he would have last night.” Dad was dangerously close to raising his voice. I honestly cannot remember the last time he raised his voice, except to belt out a song.
“Someone better tell me something.” I leaned back from the table. “You guys are scaring me.”
Mom looked at Dad for another long moment. Some sort of silent communication passed between them, and she let out a big sigh. “Fine,” she said wearily. “Riley, honey, Ryan has…well, the thing is that Ryan has recently—or I guess not so recently—but recently enough, I guess…um, Ryan has.…”
Ryan has been diagnosed with a brain tumor? Ryan has enlisted in the military? Ryan has been named ambassador to Peru? “Spit it out!” I cried, my patience at its end.
It was my dad who finally came out with it. “Honey, Ryan is going to be a daddy.”
CHAPTER 23
I don’t even remember the drive over to his house. The first thing I can recall is walking into the Sanfords’ house in the middle of their dinner and dragging Ryan out by the collar. And then I remember hitting him. Multiple times. And then I remember tears. Mad, hot, angry tears. And then later, the softer, slower tears of heartbreak.
“It was an accident, I swear!” He knitted his hands together on top of his head, his eyes wild with guilt and fear. He obviously had hoped I wouldn’t find out.
“An accident is when you knock over a Coke, Ryan! Making a baby isn’t an accident. I’m pretty sure you know how it all works!”
“She said she was on the pill. I’m such an idiot. I should have used a condom anyway.”
Hearing him talk about having sex with Ridley—no, not just having sex with her, but impregnating her—made me want to peel my skin off. How could he have done this to me? How could he have come into my house, into my bed last night, and made love to me like everything was fine when all the time he knew he was having a baby with another woman?
“You lied to me!” That was maybe the worst part. Okay, maybe not the worst part, but it was close. Ryan had let me down in so many ways over the past year, but I had always thought he was being honest with me. It was a deluded sense of propriety, but I felt like as long as he was telling me everything that he was doing—smoking weed, hanging out with Ridley, whatever—our bond remained solid. But I had been wrong. He’d been lying to me for months now. God, I felt so stupid.
“I know,” he said, pacing in front of me on his driveway. “I know. I should have told you last night, but I just missed you so much and wanted some time with you without all this stuff getting in the way.”
“‘This stuff’? Ryan, you’re going to have a baby. A baby! With someone else. You don’t get to omit that piece of information.”
“I know,” he looked at me through red-rimmed eyes. “I know. But you gotta know it’s always been you, Riles. I’ve always loved you. She was just…she was just supposed to be my rebound girl. I always knew I’d come back to you. You knew it too, didn’t you?” He tried to grab hold of my shoulders, but I wrenched away from him.
“I waited for you,” I said through stifled sobs, “and you ruined everything.”
“I know.” He started to cry too. “But we can work through this. Say we can get through this.”
“Get through what? You’re going to have a baby with a woman who lives two thousand miles from here.” Saying the words out loud made the whole thing seem even more surreal.
“Actually,” Ryan said slowly. The look he gave me from under his lashes warned me I wasn’t going to like what he was about to say.
“What?”
“The thing is…Ridley doesn’t have any family in the States ’cause she’s from Sweden, you know. And she doesn’t want to go back there…so we’ve, um, decided to move her here. To Tuttle Corner. So Mom and Dad can help out with the baby.”
Ridley. Tuttle. Baby. With every word, I felt more and more irrelevant.
“But me and her—we’re not together anymore!” He added hastily, �
�It’s over between us.”
“Except you’re going to have a baby together.”
“Yeah, except for that.”
I looked at Ryan standing in front of me in his UVA T-shirt, madras shorts, and Tevas. He looked like an overgrown kid with his teary eyes and hopeless expression. For a second I almost felt sorry for him. He was going to be someone’s father in a few short months. He had a lot of growing up to do before then.
“Please.” He grabbed my hand. “I can’t do this without you.” Tears shone in his eyes, and I could see the desperation he felt etched onto his face.
I squeezed his hand, then let it drop. In a voice barely above a whisper, I said, “But you already have.”
“The death beat is supposed to be the worst job in the newsroom. For those of us who understand, it’s journalism’s best-kept secret—a place of raw emotion and endless wisdom, a place where you find lessons of life more brilliant than anything you’ll ever find from the traditionally designated ‘noteworthy’ people who usually appear in the rest of the newspaper.”
—JIM SHEELER, Obit
CHAPTER 24
I woke up the next morning feeling hung over, even though I hadn’t had a drop to drink the night before. I was still wrung out from Ryan’s bombshell. I could not believe that he was bringing the bizarro-me back to Tuttle Corner and was going to have a baby with her. Perhaps even more unbelievable than that was the fact that he thought we could still have a future together. I’m not sure what he thought—that we’d get married and raise bizarro-baby together in the house on Salem Street?
Okay. That was mean. I’m sure the baby won’t be bizarre. It’s half Ryan, so it’ll be at least half smart and funny and charming (when it isn’t being an idiot). And who am I kidding? With “badass” Ridley as the mom, its other half will probably be athletic, laid-back, and double-jointed. It’s probably a good thing I’m not involved, because any offspring of mine might inherit my terrible sense of judgment and misguided loyalty.
