by Steve Richer
Yes, she had to be somewhere, doing the things that made her happy.
Which apparently wasn’t too much to ask at all.
~ ~ ~ ~
“Hey, Tom. You okay?”
He looked rough, standing in the doorway, holding the door as if about to slam it shut again in her face. He clearly didn’t want to see her. Probably didn’t want to see anyone right now—she wouldn’t take it personally.
“Oh. Libbie. Look…”
“Listen, I hope I’m not overstepping here, but I care about you guys. You’re the sweetest couple. I… I heard your voices last night. Raised voices. I just wanted to be sure that you’re okay. I know things have been a bit stressy around Alice recently, with the Mapleview pitch and all. And that business with Rusty…”
Yes, she’d heard the raised voices, but only because she’d been listening in at the air duct. She didn’t explain that part though.
His shoulders slumped. If she knew about the row then that put her on the inside of this, in his mind. He could talk.
Or at least, she hoped he felt that way.
“You want to talk?”
Still he hesitated.
“Why not come downstairs? Change of scenery. I have a pot of coffee on. And I went by Zak’s earlier.” Zak’s was a local bakery, Tom’s guilty secret when he was working from home.
He followed her down, pulling a sweater down over his head before smoothing his mussed up hair.
“It was nothing,” he said, as she opened the apartment door. “Just a few tensions hitting the surface. We don’t fight.”
“It’s fine,” said Libbie. “I know what it’s like. I love Alice to bits, but she’s all or nothing, isn’t she? I’ve seen how hard she’s working. That must make things very hard for you.”
“Behind every great woman…”
“…There’s a great man.” He smiled now.
She took the jug from the coffee machine and poured two cups. The box from Zak’s was on the breakfast bar. Cream-filled donuts, Tom’s favorite.
“Does it bother you that you fought last night? You know, given how you say you never ordinarily fight.”
“We’re good. Just a lot going on.”
She loved that he was still in denial, or at least lying about it to her. That meant his inner turmoil was so much more intense.
Enough to tear a guy apart.
“That’s good to hear. You two are so perfect together. You’re so good, Tom, supporting her when she’s clearly so stressed.”
She could see his shoulders lifting. He really thought she believed that. Believed another person saw that Alice was wrong and he was right.
So easy!
“It must be tough, though, when you know you’re in the right, and you’re only trying to do the best thing.”
He took a bite of his donut. “These are so good,” he said.
The guy had such a sweet tooth—another side of him he kept suppressed around his wife. If everything else failed, Libbie figured, she could lead him to a slow, slow death through obesity and heart disease. Death by donut and cheesecake.
“You been together long?” She knew how long, to the day. Sometimes you didn’t ask questions for the answers, though. Sometimes you did it for the effect.
“Married a bit over six years,” he told her, and she saw from his expression that just being reminded of the good times made him so much more aware of how bad they were now.
“That’s sweet.”
“It’s a whole lot sweeter than that. We’ve known each other since we were kids. Overlapping friendship groups, then we were friends for real, right through high school.”
“Childhood sweethearts!”
“Not sweethearts. We didn’t date back then. Just friends. That all came later.”
“But still… It’s like you were fated. Always meant to be a couple. I knew you guys were right together. Whatever happened last night clearly was just a blip.”
That pained look on his face again. It was like kicking a puppy, both incredibly easy and every blow hurt.
“We drifted apart, though. Went away to college in different towns. Lost touch. Dated other people. Nothing ever felt right, though, with anyone else. It was as if the benchmark had been set too high.”
“Aw.”
“And then we hooked up again. Same line of work. Professional circles overlapping, like history repeating. We even ended up working for the same firm for a time.”
“You guys!” She wondered if she was laying it on thick before deciding it didn’t matter.
“I love her. Always have.”
“That’s clear.” Would it be rude to puke now?
“I don’t want to force her away again.”
“Again?”
He faltered. Met her look, then looked away. He hadn’t meant to say that.
“We had difficulties before now.” He seemed to be picking his words carefully. “Like you say, Alice is all or nothing, and sometimes I can be too. We’ve hit some lows together. Battled through the hard times. But we came through. You know what they say. If it doesn’t break you, it—”
“—leaves you scarred for life and vowing revenge?”
He paused for a moment, long enough to pick up the jokiness in her tone, and then they both laughed.
“Sorry,” she said. “I was fooling. I don’t mean to belittle what you’re saying. You two are clearly meant to be together. It is such a beautiful thing to see.”
“I really do love her.”
“That’s… reassuring.” Now it was Libbie’s turn to mirror the look he’d given earlier, the one that said too much had been given away.
“Reassuring?”
She didn’t answer. And just as he’d done earlier, she avoided his look, knowing it would make clear to him that she was hiding something.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” And when, in the entire history of people saying Oh it’s nothing did it ever turn out to be nothing?
“But…?”
“Really.”
“What is it?” That hint of irritation in his tone was perfect. She knew he’d be willing to shake it out of her rather than let it lie.
“Just…” She was milking it now, she knew. But that desperate look on his face was just too delicious.
“It’s Alice,” she said. “But it’s nothing.”
She had him dangling. Waiting.
“Alice and that guy.” Leave him to fill in the gaps.
He was taken aback. “Walter?”
That hadn’t taken him long at all.
“It’s just… I was puzzled. The other day. When we met up for lunch. I was messing with one of my cameras while I waited. And then the two of them came out—but out of a different building than the one I was expecting.”
She had her laptop nearby. Flipping the lid up, it came up with the picture she’d preselected.
Alice. Walter. That look of intimacy in their faces. Their bodies about as close as they could be without touching.
Standing in the lobby of the Easy Day Hotel.
“I’m sure it’s innocent,” she said. “I didn’t want you to see this. The hotel’s just across the square from Pierson Newport and it has meeting rooms and conference facilities. I’m sure they were there on business.”
“Pierson Newport has meeting rooms.” Tom’s voice was low, controlled. As if he was having to work real hard to keep it that way.
“It’s just… You’re such a nice guy, Tom. Honest, down to earth. The kind of person who sees the good in others so much they sometimes overlook the bad, if that makes sense? I’d hate to see you get hurt.”
He was still staring at the screen.
“I’m sure there’s an innocent explanation. Maybe Pierson Newport are going to use the hotel’s conference facilities for a big meeting about the Mapleview account or something? I know Walter’s been helping on that, even though it’s not his area.”
It was like Chinese water torture, every word another drip. Every suggestion of innocent explanations a rem
inder of the alternative.
“Are you okay there, Tom?”
Staring.
His eyes caught the light differently now, the film of moisture thicker, threatening to spill over.
Still staring at the picture on the screen.
Alice and Walter, their bodies so close, their eyes locked. So much more subtle than the porn star O of surprise she’d given Alice on that other picture. This look was more intimate, more personal. More loving.
Even if she said so herself, it was a work of art.
And as they say, the camera never lies.
But the photographer does.
Chapter 21
The day didn’t start well for Alice, and then it only got worse.
Her head hurt. Lack of sleep, and the exact opposite of a lack of whisky. Libbie coming by with a full bottle of Alice’s favorite scotch had been just what she needed at the time, but now she regretted it. That girl had a subtle way with the refills!
And Tom’s glowering mood this morning hadn’t helped.
Why was it okay for him to storm out of their room in the middle of the night, but not when she did it the next night?
She knew better than to expect reason and logic from him when his mental balance swung like this, but still… That didn’t make it fair, or easy to deal with. She was going to have to confront this. Find a way to tackle it without him blowing up again.
Tom needed help.
They both did.
Alice and Tom had always known they would be together forever. They had plans. They talked about what they would do in their retirement, the trips they would take, the dream home where they would live.
That was how it was going to be.
Everyone saw them as the model couple.
You’re too sweet was how Libbie described them.
She couldn’t imagine a future life that didn’t have Tom at its center.
And it scared her that she was starting to wonder if she would have to do just that.
She was early in the office, as she always was these days. Sitting at her desk, watching the main open-plan area filling up. Catching the occasional eye, the smiles and nods. The smell of freshly-brewed coffee and overpriced muffins. People knew she was working hard and they knew what a difference the Mapleview account would make for the company.
It felt good to be at the center of things. To have people’s respect and support. Working in the corporate real estate sector wasn’t exactly a spectator sport, but this was as close as it came.
It was nice to have something she was good at. For a time, she even managed to push aside her fears for her marriage and her concern for what was going on in her husband’s head.
When her desk phone rang and it was Ruth, she didn’t think much of it. “Mrs. Granger? Mr. Tuckett’s asking if you’d mind stepping through for a brief meeting.”
“Oh, sure. I’ll be right through.”
Michael Tuckett was her boss right now, but if she stepped up to VP they’d be on equal terms. That would take some getting used to after all this time with the company, but she was starting to believe that she deserved the opportunity.
Right now though, she found him intimidating, sitting there behind his wide oak desk, fixing her with gray eyes from beneath tangled eyebrows. His hair was thinning, his jowls generous, and his body seemed almost melted into the seat as if he’d grown in situ.
“Mr. Tuckett?”
He nodded at a seat, and she sat.
“Everything okay, Alice?”
The big boss guy never started a conversation like that unless something was wrong.
“Sir?”
“At home? Your health? Because there must be something to explain your performance on Mapleview.”
She felt sick. Felt her vision blackening as if she were about to faint.
What was he talking about?
“You’re running behind schedule.”
That wasn’t fair. Tuckett himself had agreed to a revised schedule when the Mapleview people had requested changes and then had been late on delivering their figures. She was bang on the new schedule, and he knew that! And she’d been working all hours of the day, night and weekend to achieve that.
“And when I asked for an interim report, you sent an unfinished draft.”
But that was the nature of an interim report, particularly when it was requested at the last minute. The clue was in the word interim.
She resisted the urge to justify herself. She understood this wasn’t a debate.
“And even then there are key elements missing. Overlooked or forgotten, I don’t know. If that kind of sloppiness gets through to Mapleview, at best they’d take it for incompetence. At worse, fraudulent misrepresentation.”
“Sir?”
“The Deer Island amortization. Completely ignored. That skews the whole representation. All the projections are thrown off-kilter. I don’t know where your head is, Alice, but it’s not where it should be.”
Deer Island? But she’d spent half a day on that. Yes, she’d drafted the projections in a separate spreadsheet because it was such a complex element, but she knew it was integral to their business case. She’d fed those calculations back into the draft report. She knew she had.
Michael Tuckett wasn’t the kind of man who wanted excuses or explanations, let alone contradiction. He wanted things done right.
But she had.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Tuckett. I’ll need to check that report. Get it right.”
He nodded, clearly not satisfied. How could he trust her work in the future?
“I don’t want this happening again. If we lose financing on this one, that hits us across the board. Just like last year.”
That was so not fair. She had never let this company down.
But she knew… this was not a debate.
“Don’t disappoint me, Alice.” His tone was softer now. She knew he had a heart, even if it was mostly made of stone. “I wouldn’t have put you on this if I didn’t think you were the right choice. Don’t make me question my judgment.”
“Sir.”
When she walked from his big corner office, she felt everyone’s eyes on her. Burning into her. How did they all know she’d screwed up? Had word gotten around somehow? Had they heard the exchange?
Or was it simply that it was so obvious in her face and the way she walked, defeated, back to her own office?
She’d run those figures. She’d included them in the report.
She knew she had.
But when she sat at her desk and pulled up the report she saw immediately that Tuckett was right.
It wasn’t obvious at a glance, unless you knew what was missing, but it was a serious oversight. It made the projections look so much better. It made it look as if she’d been window-dressing the report. Deliberately misleading by omitting a big risk factor.
She didn’t understand.
“That sounded bad,” a voice said, making her look up.
Walter stood in the doorway of her office, leaning casually on the frame. So they’d heard. They’d all heard.
“I screwed up.”
“That’s not like you.”
“I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“You’re the juggler.” An old joke between them. Walter insisted he’d never known anyone as adept at juggling different tasks and responsibilities as Alice.
“I rushed things. The interim report. I missed some figures.”
“That’s even less like you.”
She’d been preoccupied. Tom. The Whitetail Lane project. The business with Rusty. She didn’t need to burden Walter with all that, though.
“Maybe I’m just not cut out for operating at this level. Maybe I should take a lower profile behind the scenes.”
“No,” he said, smiling, coming into the office and nudging the door closed behind him. “I’m the backroom guy. You’re the superstar. I thought we’d established that?”
That made her smile, at least.
“So what
went wrong?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t. A whole set of figures missing, skewing the projections so it looked like I was presenting a falsely positive view of our pitch. I don’t get it.”
“Did you submit the right file? An earlier version, perhaps?”
She should have checked for that. She checked the file’s properties now. It was the current version, the version she’d considered ready to hand over.
“A corrupt file?” she floated, clutching at straws.
“Files don’t corrupt like that,” said Walter. “File corruption is random. It doesn’t neatly excise chunks of reports and tidy things up so you’d never know they were missing.”
She knew immediately what he was saying. “Only people do things that neatly.”
Was there jealousy within the company? Someone who might want to make her look bad?
Walter nodded. “Does anyone else here have access to your files?”
She shut her eyes for a minute and considered the question. Pierson Newport had shared cloud storage, but every member of staff at Alice’s level had a secure private area. “No. It’s password-protected. No-one can get past that, can they?”
If anyone knew, it was Walter. He shrugged. “If you’ve been careful with your security, you’ll be safe from any casual intrusion. But most security can be cracked if you know what you’re doing, though.”
They both knew she wasn’t a computer whiz like him, but she knew enough to follow safe practice.
“Anybody else have access? Maybe from your home laptop?”
Again, she knew Walter well enough to read between the lines. Tom knew the Pierson Newport systems, and he might easily have a grudge, but he’d never do anything to sabotage her big project! She could have all kinds of doubts about her husband, but never that.
“Libbie,” she said, instead.
“The perfect tenant?”
“It sounds stupid.”
“But?”
“You’re right, I do have access to the files from my laptop at home. The other night I was working at home but some files had gone missing. An entire folder—the one that contained the interim report and all the associated documents.”
“And Libbie?”
“She studied computers at NYU, something called… Interactive Media and Technology, I think. She used to work on an IT help desk. She recovered the files for me.”
