“I need you. Here. Please. Now,” Kira said, her jaw tight, hardly letting the words slip through her lips.
“Funny thing, I’m just down the street,” Nicole said.
In no time, Nicole stood in the tiled kitchen. She held a plastic bag that wafted the sweet and sour smell of Chinese take-out, but stared, mesmerized at the granite countertop littered with what now amounted to evidence.
“I had a meeting in Boston, though I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to break away. I thought I’d come and check on—”
Kira lunged for Nicole and wrapped her arms around her. She cried on Nicole’s shoulder, the familiar grief mixed with relief, and a new element. Anger. A friend had come, serendipitously, to, perhaps, her most difficult trial yet—betrayal.
The women relocated to the living room; certain the array in the kitchen would have robbed them of their appetites. A symphony in her mouth, the Chinese food tasted far better than the crackers and assorted pantry items she’d barely been subsisting on over the last few weeks. In her grief, she was unable to bring herself to the market. Now, fury brought on a new appetite.
“I’ll tell you everything, but first, let’s eat.”
“I see you’ve been keeping things orderly,” Nicole said, referring to shelves of photo albums and the coffee table books hidden within stacks of boxes on her last visit. Kira had arranged them artfully with bowls, a tasteful lovebird sculpture she and Jeremy had received on their wedding day, a couple’s golf tournament trophy they won at his family’s country club, and several framed photographs of family and friends. The moment she started thinking about Jeremy’s death, a lump rose in her throat forcing itself passed anger. She pushed the white take-out container aside.
“It was the only thing that I could do without thinking,” Kira said.
Nicole set her Lo-Mein aside. “Tell me everything.”
However, before she did, Kira returned to the kitchen, retrieved Jeremy’s urn from the counter, and demoted it from the mantel to a table toward the corner of the room, like an insolent child sent to a time out.
“He should hear my heartbreak,” she said seriously.
Nicole looked slightly amused.
Anger, an unfamiliar companion, licked like fiery, hot flames at the edges of Kira’s mind. Her lips sunk into the flat line they’d become accustomed to. Anger and sadness vied for domination.
Kira explained the computer, the wallet, and the cell phone. Like Sherlock Holmes, Nicole pieced several things together.
“On Friday night, there’s the call from you around nine p.m., and at 9:47 he got gas from the Shell station. Then he met Viveca from Dartmouth, possibly at a club called Ashe. Then his phone shows he responded to a text from Ainsleigh from Brown at 10:55, agreeing to meet her as well. And a text out to Blain at eleven asking, ‘Where the hell are you? I’m getting hammered. Come for the fun, man,’” she read verbatim. She clicked through these various communiques and then again, just to be sure.
“Son of a bitch.” Nicole’s words mimicked Kira’s anger, but a part of her, the wife who’d pledged herself to Jeremy, or perhaps the mind that wanted to deny pain, kept her quiet.
As if Nicole could read Kira’s mind she said, “Kira Speranza, you’ve been in this house suffering for the better part of a month, and no doubt losing someone you love is heartrending, truly, but all of this is proof.” She motioned to the laptop. “At your wedding, I saw him—” she stopped, reading Kira’s expression. She took a breath and let her hackles settle. “He was flirting with Justine. I heard from William, who was at the bachelor party, that he was—” She fluttered her hands around searching for the right word. “Debaucherous. He—” but she stopped again. For now, Kira had heard enough, her vacillating emotions having shifted back to sadness.
“Would you like some wine?”
The smooth red tempered the despairing loss and the dark anger, mellowing Kira with curiosity.
“I wonder if there’s anything in his office that might explain things,” Kira said plaintively. If there was anything else, Kira knew Nicole would help her process it.
When they were younger, Nicole was dauntless, always up for adventure and danger. Kira, who lived lawlessly on the commune, avoided trouble and rarely stepped a toe out of line. She witnessed enough oddities in her daily life that she had no desire to seek them out. Nicole, who had rules and expectations to break, was the one who tested boundaries and charged forward fearlessly.
Nicole edged her upstairs.
The smell of the office: paper, leather, and wood polish, all a distant reminder of the Jeremy she thought knew, overwhelmed her.
Nicole flipped on the light.
“Where to start?” Nicole said absently gazing around at the shiny desk, leather reading chair, the filing cabinet, the books, the awards, certificates, diplomas, and a surfeit of trophies. “Rather self-indulgent, isn’t it? It’s a bit of an ego-trip in here.” She snorted.
Nicole also had the ability to cut through to the brutal truth, a trait Kira seldom allowed herself. Kira looked at the space differently, not a single photo of her and Jeremy was on display.
Nicole poked around, not finding anything unusual. She went through the boxes at Kira’s feet and again, nothing out of the ordinary: notebooks, birthday cards, keepsake tee shirts, and photos of teenage Jeremy with girls and friends before they knew him.
Nicole jiggled the handle to the oak filing cabinet, but it didn’t budge. She walked slowly along the bookshelves, her head tilted to the side reading the titles.
Feeling dismal, looking at all the memories of young Jeremy, Kira absently watched Nicole slide a leather-bound book out and read its back. Then just as she was about to replace it, a slip of paper fluttered to the floor. It had the letters CL and an address on it written in Jeremy’s tidy writing. Kira didn’t recognize the location.
“Hmm, we’ll hang onto this.”
“Well it’s not like we’re running an investigation. Jeremy isn’t a criminal,” Kira said, hedging.
“Depends on how you define criminal. He broke your heart, twice.”
***
Kira’s dreams that night were a disturbing confluence of young and present-day Jeremy, women, and salty rainfall.
The next morning, Kira awoke to the muffled sound of her kitchen alive with the makings of breakfast. For the tiniest of moments, she imagined Jeremy downstairs, ready to surprise her with breakfast in bed. As quickly as the fantasy flashed into her mind, she recalled he’d never done anything like that. In fact, she couldn’t come up with a truly romantic moment in their entire relationship.
The smell of fresh coffee, orange juice, and eggs with cheese brought Kira back to life. Nicole motioned to a box of doughnuts. “I sneaked down the street to that bakery, the one on the corner. It’s so old-fashioned and quaint. For some reason, I really needed a chocolate frosted. Woke up early; apparently my body forgot it’s the weekend.”
After the take-out the night before and breakfast, Kira felt nourished and cared for. While she savored the meal, she noticed the evidence, as they were calling it, was conspicuously absent. Kira poured a second cup of coffee.
Nicole cleared her throat. “So, I was thinking. This may sound a little crazy, but what if we sent a message to all those women on Jeremy’s dating list on the Ivy League website instructing them to meet us, or rather him, tonight at Jeremy’s office. A little rendezvous. Then we can tell them in person that he was a creep, you’re a widow, and determine which one is missing, that may lead us to the woman he was with that night. Maybe this will give you some answers.”
Nicole had a plan. It was bold. But Kira couldn’t bear the thought of it.
“I don’t want to meet them. I don’t want—”
“The truth?”
Kira nodded. The weight of that single word was almost more crushing than the grief she’d shouldered. “But—”
“The truth will pull you out of the back and forth between sadness and anger.”
“Hurt. I know. It will. But I’m here with you. We can do it together. Plus, if they know what an asshole he was, maybe they’ll think twice about who they date.”
At that, Nicole’s cheeks flushed, the recent memory of her mother having an affair with one of her colleagues, still fresh. Her parent’s worked it out; they’d gotten through the pain. Kira just wasn’t sure she had the strength. Yes, she was angry, but the part of her that still grieved losing him had not fully processed the new information. She felt torn and confused, not ready to confront the truth.
“I may have found the key to that filing cabinet up in the office.” Nicole held up a small silver key.
After cleaning up, they ventured upstairs, a sense of foreboding increasing with Kira’s every step.
Once in Jeremy’s office, Nicole slid the key into the filing cabinet.
“Voila,” Nicole said opening the drawer. She pulled out a few files and an old newspaper with his rowing team on the front. Nothing appeared unusual, until she reached underneath a book and found a cache of DVDs, each titled with a woman’s name in uppercase handwriting. There was Heather, Denise, Bunny… It went on and on. Kira knew what Nicole was thinking, the four-letter expletive that paired well to emphasize the word asshole.
“What do you think?” Kira asked dumbly, nonetheless.
“Kira, I think Jeremy was a man-whore,” she said deadpan.
Kira glimpsed the dark humor of Nicole’s joke causing a sound she hardly remembered to erupt out of her. She laughed until she gasped for breath. Nicole joined in and those moments of laughter stretched across Kira’s heart like a Band-Aid, a salve to her wound.
Nicole brought food, a warm embrace, and now they shared laughter, what her grandmother argued was the best medicine, something conspicuously absent from her relationship with Jeremy.
Nicole grabbed a ruler from the desk drawer and poked at the DVDs as if they carried some undesirable contagion.
“I count twelve. None of the names match the ones downstairs, though. Ah, I stand corrected; there’s Britney and Candace here, which explains why he wanted to meet both of them together.”
“How could I have been so stupid? So naïve?”
“Don’t beat yourself up. Jeremy was slick. I thought as much when you first introduced him to me, but you said he was the one, so—”
“You trusted me. I trusted me—my judgment. I feel duped, tricked by him and my lack of perception. I just wanted—”
“The perfect man,” Nicole said. “The perfect marriage. It’s a myth,” Nicole said delicately.
“The house—everything I didn’t have growing up, everything I thought would make a family, make me complete.”
“You already are.”
“You’re so wise,” Kira said choking back tears.
“You were in college. You didn’t really have much experience with guys back home. Of course, he flattered you. He was desirable. All the girls in your sorority encouraged you. They wanted him. The guys wanted to be like him. By certain standards he was a catch.”
Slumped in the leather chair, Kira put her hands over her face as if to lift the invisible veil of ignorance or shield herself from the whole ordeal.
Chapter Six
After a refreshing shower, Kira returned to the kitchen where Nicole sat facing the window having a hushed conversation. Nicole spotted Kira and quickly hung up.
“I hope that wasn’t insensitive. I didn’t want to draw attention to my relationship, all things considered, but that was Nate, he sends his love.”
“Oh, Nicole, I’m so sorry to pull you from your life and have you tangled up in this mess.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re my best friend. I’d do anything for you. Including figuring out some way to get closure on what appears to be a rash of crazy cheating by your late husband. Nate is fine, and he wants me to be here, to help you.”
Nate’s kindness heartened Kira, despite her present questionable take on men. Nate was an amazing person, a committer. Though they hadn’t married yet, he’d asked several times. Even though each proposal was unique and more outrageous than the last, she’d declined each one. She claimed she was assessing her belief in marriage, maybe even more so after this.
Kira glanced at the sheet of notes Nicole took from Jeremy’s laptop.
“I’ve taken a good look at the emails, the IM’s, the texts, and cell phone messages. I’ve devised two plans that can work independently or together. It’s your choice to do either, both, or none at all
Kira nodded, relieved by Nicole’s take-charge attitude.
“I have to head home tomorrow. I want to leave knowing you’re feeling good, better than you have been, and you’ll be able to go back to work. This world needs you, sweetie. Although Jeremy was the worst sort, you’re lucky, your life goes on, and well, he—” She glanced toward the living room where the urn sat. “He’s gone.”
Her words never felt truer, although somehow the loss still stung, deeply. Kira wasn’t sure she wanted to face any of it, but she remained open to Nicole’s ideas. Almost anything would feel better than the daytime lows and by night, the even deeper depression she’d been experiencing.
“Here it is, Plan Alpha—we contact each of the women on Jeremy’s Ivy League Singles page and have them meet him at tonight. An evening tryst in an empty office,” she said conspiratorially before continuing. “We explain what’s happened and hope they’ll see things in a sisterly way. Perhaps in doing so, you’ll move closer to forgiving him.”
Kira staggered, she hadn’t even arrived at the F word.
“How would talking to them help me forgive him?”
“You’ll see that Jeremy’s purpose in seeking out other women was meaningless. The flings were to make up for some deficiency he had. Not something wrong with you. I know you’ve beaten yourself up questioning what you could have done differently. But trust me, it wasn’t you. This was not your fault.”
She was right, Kira knew, but Nicole’s words didn’t permeate the confusing layer of self-doubt and sadness that lived under the anger. She picked up the general meaning, but couldn’t carry them to her heart.
“Not ready for that, huh?”
Kira closed her eyes and shrugged.
“Maybe it won’t help now, but it might in the long run. We aren't going to yell at them and call them a bunch of dirty bitches, but meeting them will confirm what the computer is telling us, and then later on there will never be speculation. Someday you’ll be able to put a very traumatic and unpleasant experience to rest. So you can heal.”
Kira understood, but in an abstract way. Nicole had her on the fast track to getting well, when in reality she felt as if the world moved slower than ever, and she’d reached a standstill.
“If we can determine who the woman in the car was, well, I know it might sound like a tall order, but you may have questions, and it might be helpful to have someone who can answer them. They might not be ones you want to hear, but it’s better to know the truth.” If Nicole ever went into politics, she’d have Kira’s vote. Yes, she was biased, but Nicole served as the enemy of ambiguity.
“Plan Beta is Blain.”
Kira retracted at the sound of his name. Her face twisted into a scowl.
“I know you two tolerated each other. Okay, hated each other, but maybe he has something to say, something we don’t know about Jeremy. Who knows, maybe he’ll tell us Jeremy was a sex addict and had been in a treatment clinic and this was a relapse.”
Kira cracked smile. “Sex addiction is real and it’s a painful disease. I should know; sometimes I watch reality television,” she said.
Nicole laughed. The conversation changed course as Kira revealed the secret pleasu
re.
“Really? Reality TV? I never pegged you for that. Seems beneath your high-brow cleverness and discernment.”
“I dabble from time to time.” Kira sighed. “But I’m afraid I recently lost the rights to the titles, clever and discerning.”
“No way.” Nicole shook her head. “That’s not the Kira I know. Anyway, then there’s Gamma—which would be a combo of the two.”
Kira gazed out the window thinking each through.
“What will it be? It’s only ten o’clock. We could go all in.”
Urged by her friend and weighing the other option, endless torment and tears, Kira felt a rare jolt of courage. She glimpsed her future self, free from the ache of loss and the burn of anger. Nicole opened the path to forgiveness, however hard the journey might be.
“Okay. You contact those lusty ladies online and I’ll call Blain.”
“Sounds good. Call me in for back up if you need it.”
After fortifying herself with a deep breath and a couple squares of the dark chocolate Nicole kept on hand for emergencies, Kira scrolled to Blain’s number on Jeremy’s cell, and then tapped it into her own. It rang. She imagined him hesitating when he saw her name.
“Blain here, what?” he said answering.
“Hi Blain, this is Kira.”
“I know.” Cold. So cold. What could she expect; he didn’t even approach her at the funeral.
“I was wondering if we could meet later. I want to talk.”
“About?” Kira looked to Nicole, but she clicked away on the laptop tricking Jeremy’s list of women into a rendezvous.
“Jeremy.”
He made a sound of irritation, but then said, “Sure, I’ll meet you at Café 101.” Kira remembered this being a popular study spot near their alma mater.
“Is three okay?”
“Fine.” He hung up.
Kira steeled herself for seeing him in person. Over the phone proved difficult enough.
Nicole clapped her hands together. “Done and done. How’d that go?”
“What is it with people who don’t say goodbye at the end of a call? Do they just assume the conversation is over?”
To the Sea (Follow your Bliss) Page 4
