“He’s back.”
“Who’s back?”
“Richard Nixon.”
Chapter 6
“I’m so sorry about this.” Casey hurried down the sidewalk toward her car.
“Stop apologizing.” Lincoln walked beside her, helping her into her wool coat.
She reached her car and hit the remote on her key ring. The car’s door locks clicked open. “You should go back in. Have your dinner.”
“Yeah. I’ll have my veal and your salmon while you chat with Richard Nixon, raised from the grave.”
“I know it sounds ridiculous. I know no one is there, but he sounded scared. I have to go home.” She opened her door before he could open it for her.
She put her hand to her forehead, feeling so bad for running out on Lincoln like this. She really was having a good time. She didn’t want to go, but she had to. She had contemplated calling Jayne, but her sister rarely answered her phone and was slow calling back. Besides, if their father was really upset, Jayne wouldn’t be able to calm him down. Only Casey was able to do that.
“At least let me pay for the meal,” Casey told Lincoln. “I really am sorry.”
“Get in the car,” he ordered. “Are you sure we shouldn’t call the police?”
She climbed into the driver’s side, looking up at him, her hand on the door handle. “And tell them that Richard Nixon is in my backyard? Last week Dad swore there were sheep in his shower stall. When I showed him there weren’t any sheep, he said I had hidden them in another room to make a fool out of him.”
“At least let me follow you home. If there is someone poking around your house, you shouldn’t be verifying the fact.”
“That isn’t necessary.” She slid the key into the ignition.
“What if it is Richard Nixon? I’d like to meet him.”
She hesitated. She was careful about giving out her home address and phone number because she liked to practice what she preached. Single women were too free with that information. But she had his personal information, even his office number and partners’ names, and this was really a second date. Lincoln didn’t seem like the type to stalk an ex-girlfriend.
“Okay?” he asked, taking her hesitation as a maybe.
“Okay,” she agreed. “I’m going to take Route One north, then four-oh-four west. I live in Long Meadow Run.”
“I got it. I’m parked half a block behind you. I left my credit card with the maître d’. I’ll grab it and be right behind you. You go.” He closed her door.
Casey sat for a second getting herself together and then started the car.
She pulled into her driveway twenty minutes later. Having caught up with her, Lincoln pulled in behind her in a bright blue Mini Cooper. She raised the garage door, drove into the garage, but left the door up for him. She used her keys to let herself into the laundry room. An entire drying rack of panties and bras caught her attention as she hurried through the room with Lincoln right behind her.
He politely ignored the Victoria’s Secret fall collection.
“Dad?”
Frazier gave a bark of greeting and barreled into the hall, meeting Casey before she got to the living room. The Weather Channel was on so loud it was a miracle the dog even heard her.
“Dad!”
Frazier barked and danced a side-step, excited they had a visitor.
Casey found her father sitting on the couch eating from a bag of pretzels. He had two opened cans of soda on the end table. When she picked up the remote and lowered the volume, he glanced up at her as if surprised to see her.
“Dad”—she sat down on the couch beside him—“where did you see the man?”
“What man?” Ed glanced at Lincoln, who stood at the edge of the living room rug. Frazier circled Lincoln, sniffing him. “Him? I’ve never seen him in my life.” He looked back at the TV.
Casey glanced at Lincoln, an apologetic look on her face.
He smiled and put his hand out to Frazier. The dog came to him, tail wagging and tongue lolling.
Casey returned her attention to her father, knowing the big boxer wouldn’t harm Lincoln. The dog was all muscle and bark and brawn, but he was sweet as a kitten. “Dad, you called me on my cell phone and said that there was a man looking through the French doors in the dining room.” She hesitated. “You said Richard Nixon was watching you.”
Ed turned back to her, crunching on a pretzel as he contemplated her words.
Casey waited.
“Yeah,” Ed agreed, expressing none of the fear Casey had heard in his voice half an hour ago. “He was there, but now he’s gone. Frazier growled at him and he ran away.” His gaze wandered back to the TV. “I thought he was dead,” he mused.
Sighing, Casey got up, leaving the remote on the couch. This conversation was going to be pointless. They usually were, and she saw no reason to further embarrass herself or her father in front of Lincoln. “I really am sorry,” she told Lincoln.
“Look, you apologize once more and there’s no way I’m asking you out again,” he warned. “So how about I take a walk around outside the house, make sure everything looks okay, and then we whip up something for dinner, because I’m starving. Unless, of course, you want me to go.” He pointed to the door. “I can leave if you want me to.”
“No. No, please stay.” She grabbed his arm, then shyly released him. “I’ve got some chicken breasts and bok choy. You like stir-fry?”
“Love it. As long as there’s no Brussels sprouts involved. Got a flashlight?”
“Sure.” She walked back to the kitchen and took a red heavy-duty flashlight from a drawer. She handed it to Lincoln and followed him to the laundry room.
“Lock the door behind me.”
She looked up at him.
“Just to be safe. I’ll knock when I come back.”
She opened the door to the garage. “You sure you’ll be okay? You want…some kind of weapon or something?”
“What? You mean like a gun?”
She frowned. “I don’t have a gun.”
“Good. Because I hate handguns. I think they should be outlawed. I usually vote Democrat. I wouldn’t have voted for Nixon even if I’d been old enough to vote. I hope that’s not a problem.”
She grinned. “Not a problem. My sister’s a Democrat. I still speak to her.”
He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. His mouth was pleasantly firm. He was gone before it registered in her mind what he’d done.
Casey locked the door, tossed her clean undergarments in the dryer to hide them, and went to the kitchen to see what she could dig up for dinner. By the time Lincoln knocked on the back door, she was busy slicing chicken breasts.
“Nothing looks disturbed. Windows and doors are all secure.” He followed her into the kitchen and put the flashlight back in the drawer. “You think he really saw someone?” He leaned on the counter and popped a chunk of carrot from the cutting board into his mouth.
“Hard to say.” She dropped the chicken into the wok and it sizzled. “Probably not. As I said, he gets confused.” She squeezed a garlic press over the chicken, and the kitchen filled at once with the pungent, slightly sweet aroma of garlic and chicken.
“Mmm.” Lincoln leaned over the stove inhaling. “Smells great. Need help?”
“Nah. I’ve got it. No recipe. I’m being creative.” She waved a wooden spoon.
“You mind if I talk to your dad? I won’t scare him or anything, will I?”
“No, it’s fine. Go ahead. Just don’t be offended if he’s nonresponsive. Sometimes he likes to talk, sometimes he doesn’t.”
“Not a problem.”
Lincoln went into the living room and Casey started a pot of quick-cooking brown rice. For an impromptu dinner, she thought the meal was coming together pretty well. She’d found a decent assortment of vegetables in the bin in the bottom of the refrigerator. As she chopped, she listened to the timbre of Lincoln’s voice. He was doing most of the talking. She couldn’t hear exactly what h
e was saying because the TV was so loud, but occasionally she could hear her father respond.
At one point, Casey walked into the living room to ask Lincoln if he liked his stir-fry spicy. She didn’t want to scare him off with hot pepper flakes the first time she cooked for him. She found him and her father sitting side by side on the couch, both crunching on pretzels as they watched a ski report for Vail.
Lincoln told her he loved spicy and went back to watching the ski report. Casey had to pry him away from The Weather Channel twenty minutes later. They had a nice meal at the dining room table, though her father declined to join them. He had eaten earlier and refused to leave the couch. Lincoln did convince him to check out a special on volcanos on a different channel.
In the kitchen, as Lincoln and Casey washed the dishes, they chatted. They talked about her job, and he seemed impressed by all the community outreach the hospital was doing for women. She found out that he lived on his grandparents’ property in a restored farmhouse and that his house was environmentally green. He laughed when she admitted that she didn’t know what all that entailed, but that she tried to recycle.
Once the kitchen was clean, Casey wasn’t exactly sure what to do with Lincoln. Her father was still watching TV. She didn’t want to invite Lincoln in there—the TV was too loud for them to talk. She could ask her father to go to bed, but that process could sometimes be long and tedious.
Casey ended up not having to decide what they should do, because after starting the dishwasher, Lincoln walked into the living room and told her father good night. Ed didn’t respond, but Frazier escorted Lincoln to the door.
Chuckling as they stepped out onto the front porch, Casey ordered the dog back into the living room. Then she stood in front of the door hugging herself for warmth.
“Thanks,” Lincoln said. “For dinner. For the evening.”
She started to say something but he held up his hand, silencing her. “You think I’m kidding. Don’t apologize again. I want to ask you out again, but I’m a man of convictions.”
She exhaled. “Thank you,” she whispered. He was standing less than an arm’s length from her and he moved a little closer.
“This is the dating part I’m really not good at. Do I kiss her? If I do, does she think I’m moving too fast?” he mused aloud. “If I don’t, does she think I don’t like her?”
Casey was shivering with cold. She moved closer to him, smoothing the corduroy of his jacket lapel. “In this case, you kiss her because she wants to kiss you,” she said softly, looking into his blue eyes, “but she’s too chicken to make the first move.”
He took her in his arms and kissed her lightly. When her mouth lingered over his, he went with his gut feeling and kissed her harder. His gut had been right. Another kiss and Lincoln stepped back. Casey’s mouth was tingling. Her whole body was tingling.
“Can I call you tomorrow?” he asked as he cut across the porch.
“You’d better.”
He walked down the steps backward. “Go inside and lock the door behind you. I’m not going until I know you’re safe inside.”
Casey went into the house and locked the door. From behind the sheers in the living room windows, she watched Lincoln back out of her driveway.
Angel sat on the couch in front of the TV. Everything was fine, but then all of a sudden, Charlie got up, went into the bedroom, and came out with his jacket on. “Where you think yer goin’?” she asked suspiciously.
“What’s it to you?” Charlie shoved his wallet into his back pocket.
“Come on, baby.” She sat on her knees on the couch facing him. “I’m just askin’.”
“It’s none of your damned business!”
She glanced down the hall. Her little boy’s door was shut, but he’d screamed on and off for an hour when she’d put him to bed. She didn’t want him up again tonight. “You don’t have to holler like that! You’re gonna wake up Buddy.”
He balled up an empty package and threw it at her. “Goin’ out for cigarettes.”
“You already went out for cigarettes.”
He yanked open the door, and sounds spilled into the living room. Kit, next door, and her old man arguing. Somebody’s baby crying. Kit’s dog barking. They weren’t allowed to have pets, but people had them anyway. Angel lived in public housing. The place was small and loud and ratty, but it was all she could afford, working at the flea market with her sister.
“Come on, Charlie. Come sit next to me.” Angel patted the lumpy place beside her on the plaid couch. The couch was new—well, new to her. She and her best friend, Shonda, had borrowed a truck, and gone all through Georgetown the night before garbage pickup. It was amazing all the good stuff people put out on their sidewalks to get rid of. Angel got the couch. Shonda got a rocking chair and a bookcase for her little girl’s room. The couch was a little stained, but she knew that with a bedspread or a sheet or something thrown over it, it wouldn’t be bad at all.
“We got two more beers. I don’t want anymore. You can have ’em.” She pointed to the two cans, still in the plastic ring, on the coffee table. She’d had to trade WIC coupons for the beer because she didn’t have any cash, and she felt bad about that because the coupons were for milk for her little boy. But Charlie liked his beer. He said after being in jail all that time, he needed his beer.
“I don’t want that warm piss.” Charlie walked out.
“You better not bring that good fer nuthin’ brother of yours back here!” she shouted after him.
He slammed the door.
Angel reached for another beer.
I wait at the red light, fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel to the tune on the radio. I rev the engine. I am wired. Eager to go. To get moving, though where I am headed, I don’t even know. Just away from here. From my life. From the person I profess to be. I think about the project I am working on and wonder if it’s ready for a test run. Bomb making can be tricky. One can read a great deal of the particulars on the Internet, but it’s also about using your hands. When I am ready, I am considering carrying the task out myself, rather than hiring a messenger. No one will suspect me, I know, even if I walk right into a school or other public building carrying it under my arm.
I am a good actor. My voice, my body language, the way I talk; sometimes I even convince myself that I am that man others see.
But I know the truth.
And the truth will set me free.
I smile at the thought of the words learned decades ago in elementary school.
My life has recently taken an interesting turn. I have met a woman. I like her in ways that I have never liked anyone before. To me, Casey is not just a sexual object, as women generally are. I am certainly attracted to her, but I sense there could be something more between us than I have experienced with other women, even those I shared so-called long-term relationships with.
I watch her when she doesn’t know I’m watching. When she doesn’t even know I’m there. Like the other day in the cafeteria at the hospital. She was so pretty, so flirtatious in an innocent sort of way. I watched how the plastic spoon touched her lips, how her tongue darted out to lick the last drop of chili.
Even though she does not see when I’m watching, I wonder if she senses my presence.
At last, the light turns green and I shift, hitting the accelerator.
My attraction to Casey has put me in a bit of a dilemma. I really don’t have time for her right now. Time for a relationship.
And the truth is, I don’t entirely trust myself with her. Sometimes, when I lie in bed at night thinking of her loveliness, I have dark thoughts. I think about blood. Hers, spilling onto my bed sheets. Her life spilling into my hands, flowing over the sides of the bed like a great fountain.
These sinister thoughts startle me.
Mistakes in judgment lead to prying questions. Watching eyes. Watching eyes will end the fun and I have no intention of ending the fun. The only watching eyes must be mine, and mine alone.
A
nother red light and I tap my brake pedal.
Against my will, images of Casey flash through my head. The blood again.
I see myself holding her in my arms, her head thrown back as the last droplets of blood fall.
I think about her father and I wonder what the old man would think.
Chapter 7
“So, how’s it going?”
“Good.” Casey smiled, putting her hands together, entwining her fingers.
“Yeah? You still seeing the new guy? What’s his name, Lincoln?” Mandy sounded more like a girlfriend than a psychotherapist.
“I am.”
Mandy stood near the window watching Casey, who sat in a comfortable chair in front of Mandy’s desk. “And…”
“And what? We’re dating. He’s nice. I’m nice. We’re nice together.”
“Casey, you know how I feel about wasting your time or mine.” Mandy picked up a copper watering can that had a long spout and tipped it over one of the many potted plants that grew in her office windows. It was the south side of the building, perfect for growing indoor foliage. “You’ve dated a total of one guy since you were sixteen. This is a big deal.”
“But I was with John for two years. That should mean something.”
“It should.” Mandy nodded. “But it took you sixteen years to really give dating a chance again after Billy. That’s why you started coming to me in the first place.”
Casey glanced at a little clay pot on the desk. Molded from a single rope of clay, the crude creation had obviously been made by a child. “Jacqueline or Dannine?” She ran her finger along the delicate edge.
Mandy, the same age as Casey, thirty-four, had twin daughters six years old. She was expecting another child, a son, in three months.
“Dannine made it. Now back to the boyfriend.”
“He’s not really my boyfriend.” Casey sat back. “I mean, I really like him. I think he likes me. We’ve been going out once or twice a week, talking on the phone, e-mailing. But nothing’s been…you know, formally said.”
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