Never Let You Go(26)

After that we started meeting once in a while on our own. When the weather was nice we practiced outside. I found him intriguing, was surprised at how much I enjoyed our workouts, and briefly wondered if it might grow into something more. He drove me home once after I had a flat tire, and lingered in the foyer while we talked. When I thanked him later with a bottle of wine, I thought he might invite me to enjoy it with him, but he never did, and we settled into a great friendship. Usually we have a coffee after we’re finished. That’s when I learned that he used to be a psychiatrist. He must have been a good one. I’ve probably told him more stories about my life with Andrew than anyone else. And he’s shared about his daughter.

I’d seen photos of Katie at his house. She’d been a beautiful girl, with his straight nose, wide smile, and dark coloring. She’d fallen in love with an older man as soon as she graduated and spent the next couple of years embroiled in a volatile relationship. Marcus suspected her boyfriend abused her, but she denied everything and pulled away from her family. She’d called Marcus the night she died, saying she wanted to come home. He’d been on his way to pick her up when he heard the sirens. Her boyfriend had shot her, then himself. She was only twenty-two.

When his marriage dissolved a year later, he also decided to quit psychiatry—“I felt like a fraud. I couldn’t help my own daughter, how could I help anyone else?” Marcus gave everything to his ex-wife, Kathryn, and spent the next few years traveling. I can’t imagine how hard it was for him to lose his daughter, then his wife. They must have been very much in love at one time—he told me it was his idea to name Katie after Kathryn. But he seems at peace with his pain.

Tonight Marcus goes around the room and works with each woman until they get every move down perfectly, but I’m not myself, my punches are off, and I miss a few blocks.

“You okay?” Marcus says. I nod and he holds up the pads and I throw a few hooks. “Again,” he says. I pause and his eyes meet mine. I’m always amazed at how quickly he senses my moods, good or bad. My daughter is the only other person who can do that.

I thump the pad a few more times until Marcus finally nods his approval and moves on to the next woman. After class I help Marcus take the equipment out.

“So you going to tell me what’s on your mind?” he says.

“Stressful weekend.” I’d called Mrs. Carlson on Sunday and she confirmed nothing was missing from her house. She’s still shook up and is going to stay at her sister’s for a couple of weeks. I’d called the officer myself and she told me she’d only been able to match my prints and Mrs. Carlson’s. She hasn’t been able to locate Andrew yet, but I don’t think she’s looking that hard. I mean, as far as she’s concerned, Andrew hasn’t done anything wrong.

“Andrew broke into my client’s house. He was inside when I was cleaning. He did that thing with my keys—he left them on my purse.”

“Shit.” He stops in the middle of shoving a box into the corner. “You call the police?” It’s started to snow softly, the flakes drifting down in the light from the open door and landing on his black hair and melting into his close-cropped beard. He brushes them off distractedly

“Right away, but they didn’t find any fingerprints.”

He shakes his head. “I had a bad feeling when you started skipping workouts. Guys like your ex-husband don’t just go away. I should’ve said something.”

“This isn’t your fault. I let down my guard.”

“Well, don’t do that again. Make sure your alarm is set every night.”

I nod. “I was hoping you still had time to work out this week?” Marcus has a home gym with top-of-the-line equipment. I’d become lazy when Andrew hadn’t made any attempts to find me. That was my first mistake. One I didn’t plan on repeating.

“Of course.”

“It’s all coming back, you know? The fear, the anger. I really thought it was over and he’d moved on. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You’re far from stupid, but anger is good. We can use anger.” I like the glint in his eye, the determination.

I nod and throw my shoulders back. He’s right. I’m not going to let Andrew make me feel like a helpless victim. “See you Wednesday.”



Greg comes over the next night, bringing a big bottle of local wine. He prides himself on finding ones with the most amusing names, like Red Monkey Velvet, or Purple Panda. It won’t be expensive—Greg doesn’t make much money as a driver—and I like that he’s never trying to impress. I pour us each a glass while he builds me a fire, then we sprawl on the couch. The wine is good and I would love to finish the bottle, but I’m raw from not enough sleep the past few nights. Too much wine would wreck me.

I tell Greg about the weekend, downplaying the events, and switch subjects. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want him to worry, but it’s more that I don’t like the helpless feeling of stress and frustration that invoking Andrew’s name creates inside my chest. Besides, that’s not what this evening is about. I don’t need Greg to be a consoling ear or a sympathetic sounding board.

We don’t talk a lot. Our relationship has mostly been about having fun. When we get together it’s always something simple, dinner and a movie at his house or mine, maybe a walk. He’s a few years younger than me, in his early thirties, and doesn’t seem to take anything too seriously. I still laugh when I think about how he literally landed on my doorstep after he tripped on a loose step. He was so embarrassed when I opened the door and found him hopping around and clutching his knee. The next time he came with a package—and a hammer.