Lindsay wasn’t at Walgreens tonight; she was home, Brandon-less. He found her sprawled on the couch, TV on, laptop open on the coffee table, talking to someone on her cell, which was set on speakerphone. When he walked in, she said, “Say hi to my dad,” and a girl’s voice yelled, “Hi, Lindsay’s dad.” He heard a scrap of melody in the background. Every teenage life had its own soundtrack.
He shook his head and grinned. Teenagers were mercurial; their pendulum swung from aggravating to delightful and back again. The in-between was rare. “Hi, Lindsay’s friend,” he said back, leaning over the phone.
“You don’t need to get close like that, Dad,” Lindsay said, laughing, and then told her friend, “My dad thinks he has to get his mouth right over the phone, like it’s a walkie-talkie.”
Dan had learned not to be insulted by this kind of thing. Christine had told him long ago it was important for Lindsay to feel like she had the upper hand in some areas, and, as it turned out, technology was definitely one of those areas. Someday, Christine had said, Lindsay would realize their wisdom and then she’d be turning to them for advice. So much of life was about timing.
Dan set the mail on the kitchen counter, hung up his coat and put away his gloves and hat, then heated up some leftover meatloaf and green beans. He finished his meal around the same time Lindsay wrapped up her conversation. Before she could move on to the next thing, he called out, “Linds? Do you have a minute? I want to talk to you.”
“Sure.” When she came into the kitchen, she pulled up a chair and eased into it, her phone in her hand like it was part of her. At least her eyes were on him. “What’s up?”
“You were right about Anni and the nursing home.”
“What do you mean?” She set the phone down on the table. Now he had her complete attention.
“She was there. A nurse identified her. She was with a woman and they’d just left right before I got there.” He told her the whole story, how he’d been so close, but hadn’t been able to beat the elevator down to the first floor. Lindsay was silent during the telling, hanging on every word, nodding like he was giving her instructions. He’d felt like a failure and had been afraid she’d feel let down, so her reaction surprised him.
“Oh, poor Dad,” she said, uncharacteristically reaching out to squeeze his hand. “How awful. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.” Empathy shone through her eyes and she gave him an understanding smile. In an instant he had a flash of Lindsay as a sixth grader, all arms and legs and flyaway hair, and in another instant she’d morphed to how she looked now, a vision of young womanhood, soon old enough to live on her own. And after that it could be anything—traveling the world, buying a house, getting married. She’d grown up before his eyes. How had this happened? “But the good news is,” she said, brightening, “that we know she’s okay. She’s not dead. And now I feel like we’re going to get her back for sure. Didn’t I tell you?” A smile spread wide across her face. “I think Mom is working on this for us.”
“I hope you’re right.” It was the best he could manage.
Later, after Lindsay had gone to her room to do homework, he shuffled through the stack of envelopes on the counter. Sorting the mail had always been Christine’s job. After she passed away, he acquired a habit of letting it pile up. Most of it was junk, but there were always a few key pieces that needed actual attention: bills to be paid, notices from the DMV to renew license plates, birthday and Christmas cards. He’d learned to weed through the pile pretty quickly and tonight he sorted expediently, tossing aside two catalogs and a postcard from a Realtor who’d sold a house down the road, before setting aside the cable and the energy bill. At the bottom of the stack, he came across a handwritten envelope addressed to him. He pulled out a beige-colored card with the initials DKR on the front and opened it to find a note from Doreen reminding him of her dinner invitation on Sunday. A place at the table will be reserved for you, she said.
He almost laughed at her certainty. She’d also written: I will expect you at five o’clock. Doreen was a sly one. Here he’d been living his life, minding his own business, thinking he was safe, and now he’d been snared by a senior citizen determined to pull him out of his comfort zone. Well, there were worse ways to pass a Sunday evening, and the food was sure to be good. Five o’clock? He’d be there.
THIRTY-SIX
Marco couldn’t just leave it at one message. He called her every day, several times a day. At first the messages were more of the same: pathetic, begging ramblings asking for forgiveness and saying how much he missed her. As the week went on, his voice began to have an edge to it. He demanded to know why she didn’t return his calls, insisted she was rude for not getting back to him. The last message, on Thursday, said he was getting worried about her, that something terrible must have happened to her, that the Andrea he knew would never ignore a phone call. And that’s all he wanted, he reiterated, a chance to talk to her, to explain where he was at right now. It wasn’t too much to ask, he thought. His voice sounded strained and frantic at the same time.
Andrea played the messages over the phone to Jade. “That is one scary, egotistical dude,” Jade said. “You want my advice?” If history served, the question was rhetorical; Jade was going to offer her take on the situation regardless. “Call him when you know he won’t pick up and leave a message saying that you got his messages, you aren’t interested in talking to him, and if he persists you’ll take legal action, because this is harassment.”
“What kind of legal action would I take?” Andrea wondered aloud.
“I don’t know,” Jade said. Andrea could picture her waving her concerns away with the flick of her manicured fingers. “But it’s not important, because you’re just trying to make a point here. You have rights. This is bordering on stalking. Tell him to knock it off.”
So she did. The next morning, when she knew Marco would be in the shower (he was predictable in his grooming), she left a brief message. “Hi, Marco, this is Andrea. I did receive your messages, but I’m not interested in talking to you or meeting with you. I wish you well and I don’t want to have to take legal action, but I will if you continue these phone calls.” She’d been reading off a piece of paper, and kind of trailed off at the end, losing her resolve. “Okay, that’s all I have to say. Take care.” She improvised that last bit and thought she came off pretty well overall. Message sent, and she’d soft-pedaled it too. Saying it Jade’s way would have pissed him off and she didn’t need more drama. She did wish him well and hoped he’d take care. Despite what he’d done to her, she didn’t lie in bed at night imagining scenarios where his car would careen off an overpass into a river or that Desiree would turn out to be a serial killer, the kind who’d thrust a knife into Marco’s heart in the middle of sex. No, she’d evolved beyond that. Marco could go off and live his life and she’d live hers, and with any luck the two would never meet again.
After that, the only message she got was from Cliff, telling her they didn’t have to drive together to Doreen’s for Sunday dinner, since he was going over early to help her get everything ready. He said he’d meet her there. His tone was apologetic, as if he were the one who’d reneged on the favor. Oh well, it didn’t matter all that much, although having Cliff with her would have made walking into Doreen’s house that much easier. But of course, he’d be there when she and Anni arrived.
By the weekend, Marco and his messages had nearly slipped Andrea’s mind. On Sunday afternoon, she dressed for her big dinner at Doreen’s. The invitation had said casual attire was fine, but she wasn’t falling for that. Over the years she’d found it was better to be the best-dressed woman in the room than the worst. The word “fine,” too, was nebulous in her view. Did it mean it would be fine to show up in jeans, as in, you wouldn’t be turned away, but everyone would think a little bit less of you? No, better safe than sorry. She had to find middle ground. Not dressed up like going to a wedding, but more than going to the of
fice.
Andrea tried on several outfits before settling on a knit dress with a colorful scarf, hoop earrings, and black dress boots. Once it was all assembled, she stood in front of the mirror checking her reflection from every angle. She nodded approvingly; the outfit would do. Andrea puffed up her cheeks and exhaled, then said to Anni (who was also looking in the mirror), “Now I look almost as pretty as you.”
Getting ready took more time than she’d anticipated and they still had to pick up a bottle of wine on the way. Andrea attached the leash to Anni’s collar, put her in the car, and they headed out. It was dark already, and the air was chilly, but she found it tolerable, which was what happened when she got used to winter’s bite. She kept her gloves in her pockets and her coat unbuttoned, as if spring might come around the corner any minute. When they arrived at the store (it was called “Spirits,” but it clearly specialized in wine, based on the display in the big front window), she pulled into a space on the street in front, noticing that they closed at five. She would be cutting it close.
Anni whined when she turned off the engine, anticipating being left behind. Uncanny how she knew when Andrea was making a stop herself versus when both of them would be leaving the car. This time, the whine was particularly heartbreaking, making her hesitate. “It’s only going to be a minute. All I’m doing is buying a bottle of wine.” Once again, she was talking to a dog, this time expecting her to understand the concept of a minute. Anni whined again, and she begrudgingly said, “Okay, let’s go.” She grabbed the leash and got out, letting Anni out as well. As the dog trotted after her, she tied the leash to a signpost in front of the car. “I’ll be right back. Be good,” she said, and then hesitated. Was it okay to leave her? She debated for a second, glancing up and down the empty sidewalks and taking note of the store’s big front window before deciding it would be fine. She was running late as it was and would only be in the store for a minute. Glancing back, she watched as Anni squatted and did her business.
A bell jangled as she entered the store, and a young man standing behind a counter off to one side said, “Welcome to Spirits. My name is Carter. If you need any help, just let me know.” He had a magazine open in front of him and turned a page as he spoke. “We close at five, just so you know.” He patted the register, as if to make a point.
“Got it. Thanks.” Andrea fast-walked through the store, aware of Anni waiting out in the cold. The bottles were lit from behind, glowing amber, red, and clear, a certain beauty to them. She walked past the whiskey and the bourbon, past the brandy and vodka and all the other liquor, to the wine section, which turned out to be bewilderingly expansive. She was in a hurry, so she narrowed down the wine by type, then by price, and grabbed two bottles chosen solely for their appealing labels. Hopefully the store had gift bags. She didn’t notice any on the way in, but they had to have them. It only made sense. Up at the register, she plunked both bottles on the counter, labels facing Carter. “If you were going to be a guest at a dinner party for senior citizens, which wine would you pick?”
“I would bring both,” he said, with a merchant’s grin.
“Yeah, maybe you would, but I’m not going to.” She grinned right back at him. “Nice try, but if you won’t pick, I will.”
“This one, then,” he said, taking the one costing five dollars more. An incredibly mercenary move. He had to be the owner of the store.
She asked about a bag and he added it to the purchase, making a show of sliding it into the bag. As she was signing her credit card receipt, Carter said, “Wasn’t that your dog?” She glanced up to see his head turned and followed his gaze to the front window. The signpost now stood empty, no dog attached. Before she could say anything, Carter said, “That guy that took him; is he with you?”
Her breath caught in her throat, and she ran to the front, her purse banging against her side, the wine still on the counter. The bell jangled when she threw open the door, and she slipped through the opening, hearing Carter call out, “Hey! You forgot your—” before the door slammed shut. Cars were parked up and down the street and vehicles drove past, but there was no sign that a dog had ever been attached to that signpost. No sign of Anni anywhere. Andrea looked up and down the street, her insides hollow. Frantic, she screamed, “Anni!” over and over again, until she heard a faint barking carried on the wind.
Her head whipped in the direction it came from until she saw Marco pop up from behind a parked car on the other side of the street, holding Anni, who was straining at the leash and really barking now that she spotted Andrea in the distance. Andrea ran toward them, her arms and legs pumping, the slush in the street spitting every time her foot hit the pavement. “How dare you!” she managed to yell. “How dare you.” When she approached, her hands flew out, hitting him in the chest and trying to get the leash away from him. “You stole my dog.”
Marco held the loop of the leash over his head, keeping Anni close. “Slow down there, Andrea. Just calm down.” Anni strained at the leash and alternated a low-grade growl with a weird yipping, completely overwrought. “I’ll. Give. You. The. Dog.” He spoke slowly, still holding the leash out of her reach. “If you’ll just hear me out.”
“I will kill you,” she said, in a voice she didn’t even know she had, and she meant every word. “You are a vile, horrible human being.”
Anni stopped barking and just looked at her, worried. “See,” Marco said. “Even the dog thinks you should give me a minute.”
“I’ll give you ten seconds.” Her hand grasped the section of leash near the collar. “And then so help me God I’m going to start screaming for help.”
“It didn’t have to come to this,” he said. “All you had to do was answer one of my messages.”
“Nine.”
“Okay, okay. I wasn’t planning on taking your dog. I just needed to tell you something important and then I saw you going somewhere all dressed up, stopping to buy liquor, and I just, I don’t know, lost it. Jealous I guess. Old habits die hard. In my heart, you’re still mine.”
She felt a wave of disgust. There was no important thing he had to tell her. This was more Marco being a bully while pretending he cared. Cars slowed as they went past, and Andrea felt helpless. He’d put her on display. After all this time, he still felt he had power over her. “Eight,” she said with granite fierceness.
His face contorted in anger, two vertical forehead ridges forming above his nose. “Stop it,” he said, yanking on the leash with such force that it jerked Andrea’s hand, causing Anni to yelp in pain.
Anni’s cry shot like an electrical jolt up Andrea’s spine. “That’s enough. We’re done,” she screamed, and went to disconnect the collar from the leash, but Marco was pulling on it at the same time, making it difficult. Andrea stamped on his foot with the heel of her boot, and he jumped back, pulling so hard that he lifted Anni off her front paws. “Stop it!” she said. With fumbling hands, she finally disengaged the catch from the leash, but she didn’t grab the collar quickly enough and Anni took off in a panic, darting down the sidewalk and between two parked cars.
Andrea heard the horror before she saw it, the thump of what had to be Anni being struck by the car, and the awful screech of brakes, and then a horrible silence. Andrea ran down the block into the street, and knelt in the slush next to Anni’s small body, as perfect looking as she was motionless. Just the way she would sleep at home, sprawled out on the bed, flat on her side, except she now was in the road, alongside a car, which had stopped. A car door slammed and an older man’s voice from above said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see her, honest. She just came out of nowhere.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Dan felt shy about attending the dinner party at Doreen’s. She’d sent an actual written invitation, which made it seem formal, so he dressed accordingly in dress pants and a button-down shirt. He debated wearing a tie and even laid three on the bed, but ultimately decided against it. Better to
be slightly underdressed than look like a pretentious jerk. He also debated wearing a V-neck sweater over his shirt before remembering how Doreen kept her house overheated in the winter months. Between getting dressed and stopping at the store on the way over, his timing was thrown off, so instead of being really early he arrived exactly at five. Surprisingly, he didn’t notice any other cars in front of Doreen’s house. He wondered if he’d gotten the date wrong.
“Welcome, welcome. Come right in!” said Doreen, opening the door in her usual sprightly manner. Dan stepped over the threshold, handing her a box of candy. He’d spent a lot of time wandering the aisles at the grocery store debating what to bring. He seemed to remember Christine saying that flowers, although gorgeous, sometimes put the hostess on edge if things weren’t going well in the kitchen. They have to stop what they’re doing, unwrap the bouquet, hunt for a vase, cut them down, and arrange them. And then if they already have a centerpiece, it’s awkward. Do they switch it out with your flowers or not? The idea is to bring a present, not to give them more work. Funny, sometimes he had trouble remembering Christine’s voice, while other times a whole Christine monologue came to him unbidden, as if she were right at his elbow giving directions. He’d finally opted for the candy. If Doreen didn’t want it, she could send it home with Cliff. The important thing, the way he understood it, was to not show up empty-handed.
Doreen accepted the box and said, “Oh, how thoughtful. Thank you, Dan.”
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
Hello Love Page 20
