by Shari Lapena
After, he watched from behind the curtains as the cop took a long, lingering look at the house and got back into his cruiser and drove away. Then Tom had done two things. He’d searched online for a local criminal lawyer and made an appointment. And then he’d torn the house apart.
It had taken the better part of the day—with a break to visit Karen in the hospital. The kitchen had taken the longest. He felt through all the cereal boxes, the bags of flour, rice, sugar—anything that wasn’t sealed. He took everything out of every cupboard and drawer and looked all the way in the back. He felt unseen surfaces for anything that might be affixed to them. He looked at the top shelves of closets, under the rugs and mattresses, inside suitcases and seldom-worn boots and shoes. He went down to the basement, breathing in the musty air and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. There wasn’t much down there—just the laundry room and a few boxes of junk. They used it mostly for storage. He went through everything. He even looked behind the furnace. Finally, he went through the garage. The whole time he was searching, he was in a strange state of disbelief about himself and his situation. What the hell was he doing? What was he looking for? He found nothing, nothing at all. He felt foolish, frustrated, and ashamed.
And relieved.
When he was finished, he tidied everything up again the way it was before, so that Karen wouldn’t know what he’d done. And then he’d gone to pick her up at the hospital.
When the steak is done, Tom carries it inside and runs upstairs to tell Karen that supper’s ready.
They settle in at the kitchen table to eat. Tom offers her red wine but she shakes her head gently. “Oh, right,” he says. “I forgot—no alcohol while you’re on pain meds.” He puts the wine aside, and gets them sparkling water instead.
Tom looks at his wife across the table, her short brown hair cut in a pixie, bangs falling across her forehead, the lopsided, rueful half smile on her face. If it weren’t for the bruising, he could almost believe that nothing has changed.
It’s almost like it used to be. But it’s nothing like it used to be.
—
Karen wakes very early in the morning, before first light. She gets up quietly and pulls on a robe. She closes the door behind her and makes her way downstairs to the kitchen.
She knows she won’t be going back to sleep. She puts on a pot of coffee and stands looking out with her arms folded, comforted by the familiar sound and smell of the coffee brewing, waiting for it to finish.
As dawn breaks, there’s a light mist rising from the back lawn. She stands looking out the glass doors for a long time, trying desperately to remember. She feels as if her life might depend on it.
Chapter Nine
Hey,” Tom says, quietly entering the kitchen and seeing Karen at the kitchen table with a cup in front of her. It looks like her coffee has long gone cold. He wonders how long she’s been up.
She raises her eyes to meet his. “Good morning.”
She looks charmingly disheveled in her robe. He feels so grateful to have her here, to have her in his life at all, when he’d been so afraid of losing her the night of the accident. But it feels fragile, too, like they’re walking on glass. “How did you sleep?”
“Not great,” she admits. “You want some coffee?”
“Sure.”
She gets up and kisses him on the mouth, exactly the way she used to. She pulls away from him, leaving his head spinning. She pours him a cup of coffee and starts to make breakfast.
“No, you sit down. Let me do that,” Tom tells her firmly. He begins toasting bagels and cracking eggs into a frying pan. “I’ve got to start going back into the office again soon,” he says apologetically. “I wish I could stay home with you, but it’s really busy at work right now—”
She says, “No, that’s okay, really. I’m fine. I don’t need you to be looking after me all the time. I promise I’ll take it easy.” She smiles at him reassuringly.
Tom has something else he needs to tell her; there’s no avoiding it. “There’s one other thing.” He pauses, looking up from the frying pan at her.
“What?”
“I made an appointment for us to see a lawyer.” He sees the sudden flicker of fear in her eyes.
She bites worriedly at her lower lip. “When?”
“This morning, at ten.”
She slides her eyes away. “Oh. So soon?”
“It’s a serious charge, Karen,” he says.
“I know that, you don’t have to tell me,” she snaps.
Suddenly they are both tense. Tom wishes they didn’t have to see a lawyer, that there had never been an accident, that she’d never run out of the house that night—he feels a flash of anger at her—but what’s done is done, and now they have to deal with it as best they can. He realizes he’s clenching his jaw, and tries to relax. He keeps his feelings to himself.
—
The law firm is in a high-rise office building not far from their house. Karen has been silent for the short drive. Tom doesn’t say much either.
It’s already hot, but there’s nowhere to park out of the sun. When they head inside, the cool, air-conditioned building is a relief. They take the elevator to the sixth floor.
When they get there, the waiting room is empty. Tom watches Karen out of the corner of his eye. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t reach for any of the magazines on the low table. She sits tightly in her chair, waiting. It doesn’t take long.
“Mr. and Mrs. Krupp, you can go in now,” the receptionist says, and leads them to an office door that she opens for them, then closes behind her.
Inside, the office looks like the office of any other lawyer—not unlike that of the real estate attorney Tom used to purchase the house on Dogwood Drive before he met Karen. There’s an enormous desk, with files neatly stacked all over it. Behind the desk, the lawyer—Jack Calvin—a man with curly salt-and-pepper hair whom Tom judges to be in his midforties, rises to shake hands with each of them, then gestures for them to sit.
“What can I do for you?” he asks. The lawyer looks at the two of them curiously. There’s a keen intelligence behind his sharp eyes. Tom can almost see him thinking, What is this nice couple doing here in my office?
“I called yesterday, about the charge relating to my wife’s recent traffic accident,” Tom says when Karen remains silent. Being in a criminal lawyer’s office seems to have cowed her.
“Refresh me,” the man says, not unkindly. “I get a lot of traffic offenses. My bread and butter. Especially DWIs. Is that what we have here?” He flashes a quick, appraising glance at Karen.
“No,” Tom says, and begins to explain about the accident. “There was no alcohol involved at all. But unfortunately, she was going over the speed limit, and—”
The lawyer cuts him off. “Sorry—maybe let her tell me what happened, in her own words.”
Tom glances at Karen, who seems to tense up. The lawyer watches her expectantly. When neither Tom nor Karen says anything for a moment, the lawyer glances back and forth between them and asks, “Is there a problem?”
“Yes,” Karen says, finally speaking. “I don’t remember the accident. I don’t remember anything about it.” She frowns apologetically.
“Really?” Calvin says.
“I can’t remember anything about that entire evening,” she says. “It’s just a blank.”
“It’s true,” Tom says. “She’s got a severe concussion. She only came home from the hospital yesterday.”
The lawyer looks at them, as if amazed. “Is this for real? Or is this a defense you’re trying on? Because you don’t need to do that. I’m your lawyer. Leave the defense to me.”
“This is not something we’re trying on,” Tom says firmly. “She has amnesia. But the doctors are pretty sure it’s temporary, and that she’ll get her memory back.” He looks at Karen, sitting pale
beside him. She’s getting that pinched look that, since the accident, signals the onset of a pounding headache.
“I see,” the lawyer says. He looks at Karen curiously.
Tom hands him the ticket they got from the police. Calvin reads it over quickly. He looks up. “Pretty sketchy part of town for a woman like you,” he says, looking at Karen.
She sits perfectly still and straight. The lawyer turns to Tom. “What was she doing there?”
Tom says, “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know,” the lawyer repeats. He studies both of them as if he doesn’t know what to think. There’s a long silence. Finally he says, “This is pretty serious. Reckless driving—you don’t want to mess around.” He thinks for a minute. “I tell you what. I will need a retainer today. And then I’m going to delay the court appearance until she remembers what she was doing there and why she was driving like that. Because there may be a perfectly good reason for it—or at least a mitigating one. And if there isn’t, we need to know that, too.”
Tom glances at his wife, but she’s now looking down at her lap. He reaches for his checkbook.
“If you do remember anything,” the lawyer says, directing his comment to Karen, “please write it all down so that when we meet next time it’s fresh in your mind.” He adds, “And call me when you do.”
Karen nods. “Okay.”
“Or—perhaps you’d like to see me without your husband present?”
She shoots a sharp look at Calvin. She shakes her head, and says, “Of course not. I have nothing to hide from my husband.”
Tom watches her carefully. Does she mean it?
They settle the retainer, and as they get up to leave, Calvin asks Karen, “You don’t have a record, do you?”
She turns and answers him, looking him right in the eye. “No.”
The lawyer looks back at her, and something in his appraising eye worries Tom. He realizes that the lawyer doesn’t believe her—he doesn’t believe her at all.
On the drive home from the lawyer’s office, the air is thick with the tension of unanswered questions. Tom used to love driving with Karen—some of his happiest memories are of them together, in this car, driving out to the country for a weekend tryst, bags packed in the backseat, her head tilted back, laughing. . . .
It’s almost a relief when Tom’s cell phone rings. He takes the call. Then he turns to her apologetically. “I need to go into the office for a bit.”
“Of course.”
“You okay?”
“I have a headache.” She closes her eyes and rests her head against the back of the seat.
Tom drops her off at home. He leans over and kisses her before she gets out of the car. “Take it easy. Have a nap. I’ll try to be home early.”
She gets out of the car and waves at him, squinting in the sun, as he backs out of the driveway. He waves back and drives away down the street, worrying about what the future holds. Wondering about what secrets his wife might be keeping.
Chapter Ten
Once he’s gone, Karen turns toward the house and lets herself in. The appointment with the lawyer has unnerved her; he obviously thought she was lying. She presses her fingers to her tired eyes. She makes her way to the kitchen and opens the freezer and grabs the ice pack they sent home with her from the hospital. She’s been using it off and on, for the swelling on her face. Now, she puts it to her forehead. The cold feels good. She sits down at the kitchen table with her eyes closed and holds the ice pack to her head, moving it around slowly, trying to relieve the thudding pain.
It’s such a hot day, sweltering. She can feel herself perspiring in her blouse, even with the air-conditioning on. Maybe she should turn it up. As the pain in her head abates slightly, she opens her eyes. She stares at the kitchen counter, the one she had replaced when she moved in. She still loves looking at it—its smooth, glossy black surface, flecked with silver. But now, what she sees is an empty glass beside the sink.
She stares at the glass, then glances quickly around the kitchen, but nothing else looks other than it should.
The glass on the counter by the sink wasn’t there when they left this morning for the lawyer’s office, she’s certain of it. Because before they left, she and Tom—mostly Tom—had tidied up the kitchen and put the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and wiped down the counters. She hates when dishes are left out on the counter. She’s a bit of a neat freak. And she knows that she had a last look in the kitchen before joining Tom at the front door and leaving to see the lawyer, because she came back to make sure the sliding glass doors were locked. She always checks that the doors are locked—which is why it was so unnerving when Tom told her she hadn’t locked the doors behind her on the night of the accident. Or turned off the lights. Or taken her purse. If only she could remember!
She picks up the glass tentatively, looks inside, holds it to her nose and sniffs. It’s empty now, but there was water in it, she’s sure—as if someone had come in and helped himself to a glass of tap water from the sink before heading back out into the heat. Her head is pounding, and she suddenly feels dizzy. She tries to grab the counter, and clumsily drops the glass. It shatters loudly on the floor.
She stares down at the broken glass by her feet, breathing in gasps, her entire body trembling. Then she turns quickly and runs to the living room and grabs the phone. She hits the speed dial for Brigid’s number.
“Brigid!” she says, when Brigid answers. “Can you come over? Hurry!” She doesn’t even try to tamp down the fear and panic she’s feeling. She just wants Brigid here with her, right away. She doesn’t want to be alone in the house.
“Sure, I’ll be right there,” Brigid says.
Karen stands impatiently outside on the front porch. Within seconds, she sees Brigid rush out of her own door and cross the street. Thank God for Brigid.
“Jesus, Karen, what is it?” Brigid says. “You’re white as a sheet.”
“Someone’s been in the house,” Karen says.
“What?” Brigid looks taken aback. “What do you mean?”
Karen urges her inside. “Someone was in here, while Tom and I were out this morning. I just got back. When I went into the kitchen—” She can’t finish what she’s saying.
“Did you see someone? Was there someone in the kitchen?” Brigid asks.
Karen shakes her head. “No.” She’s calmer now that Brigid is here. How fortunate she is to have such a good friend right across the street. Karen knows that whatever kind of trouble she might be in, Brigid would drop everything and race to her side. She wishes she could tell her why she’s so frightened. But she can’t tell her best friend, or her husband, the truth.
She watches Brigid approach the kitchen and stop just inside the doorway, silently looking around. After a moment, she comes quietly back to Karen’s side. “Karen, what happened?”
“I got home and went into the kitchen. There was an empty glass on the counter. It wasn’t there when we left this morning. Someone put it there, and it wasn’t me or Tom.”
“Are you sure?” Brigid asks.
“Of course I’m sure! Do you think I’d be this upset if I wasn’t sure?”
Brigid looks back at her with concern. Then she glances toward the kitchen and back at Karen. “How did the glass get broken?”
“I picked it up to look at it, and then I got dizzy—and I dropped it.”
Brigid looks at her uneasily. “Maybe we should call Tom.”
—
Tom drives home as fast as he reasonably can, his mind racing. When he arrives he gets out of his car in a rush and sprints up the steps to the front door. He bursts into the living room and sees Karen lying down on the sofa with the ice pack on her forehead, Brigid standing nearby.
“Karen, honey, are you all right? What happened?”
She struggles to sit up. She hands the ice pack to
Brigid, who automatically takes it from her to put back in the freezer.
“I don’t know,” she says. “I came home and found a glass on the counter. I’m sure it wasn’t there when we left this morning. I thought someone had been in the house.”
Tom moves toward the kitchen, stopping outside the doorway when he sees the mess of broken glass. He catches Brigid’s eye as she closes the freezer door and walks cautiously around the glittering shards.
Karen comes up and stands beside him. “I dropped the glass,” she says.
Tom looks at her with concern. “Are you sure it wasn’t there before? It could have been,” Tom says. He tries to recall if he’d helped himself to a glass of water that morning, and left the glass out on the counter, but he can’t remember. He’s got so much on his mind, details like this are slipping away from him.
“I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head. “I was so sure. I took a last look in here before we left, to check that the back doors were locked. I thought everything was put away—”
“Come, sit down,” Tom says, taking her back to the sofa, while Brigid starts sweeping up the broken glass. He leaves Karen on the sofa and searches the entire house. Nothing is missing. Nothing is out of place as far as he can tell.
When he returns to the living room Brigid is sitting in one of the armchairs across from Karen. She’s dressed for the heat, in cotton capris and a tank top, her long brown hair flowing to her shoulders. As he watches, she pulls her hair into a knot at the back of her neck. Tom turns to Karen. “I don’t think anyone’s been in here,” he says gently.
Karen looks at him and then shifts her eyes away. “What, you think I’m imagining it?”
“No,” Tom says calmly. “I don’t think you’re imagining anything. I think you don’t remember clearly whether there was a glass there before or not. We’ve both been drinking a lot of water in this heat, either one of us could have left the glass on the counter. I might have—I don’t remember.” He reminds her gently, “You’re still recovering, Karen. Remember what the doctor said—you could have some problems with short-term memory after the accident for a while, too. Maybe the glass was there before and you don’t remember.”
