Before She Knew Him(8)

Hen shut down her computer and stepped out onto her screened front porch, glancing toward the Dolamores’ house next door. There was no car in the driveway, but, like their own house, there was a single-car garage at the end of the drive. Still, she remembered seeing a smallish, dark car there the night before. How was she going to find out the truth about the fencing trophy? She could try to sneak into the house while Matthew and Mira were away, or better yet, she could get herself invited over by Mira again. Maybe she’d send her an email, asking if she could take a look around their house again, to get some ideas about decorating. They had the same layout, after all.

It was warm outside, warmer than it was inside the house. Hen pulled off her sweater, sat on one of the rocking chairs, and tilted her face to the sun. She was in that position when Lloyd returned, dripping with sweat and breathing heavily from his run.

“I love it here,” he said, as he held on to the porch railing and stretched out his legs.

“This house or this town?” Hen said.

“Both,” he said. “How about you?”

“Both as well,” she said, and stood up. The warm breeze held the smell of someone’s cookout, and Hen was suddenly hungry.





Chapter 4




Mira rarely went into his office, but Matthew found her there on Sunday night. She was brushing her teeth, looking at the books on the shelf.

“I need something new to read,” she said, foam flying in specks off her lips. “Sorry,” she said, and left the office.

She came back, toothbrush discarded. Her hair was pushed back under a headband, and her skin was clean of makeup, still shiny from the moisturizer she put on her face every night.

“How about this one?” Matthew said, handing her The Pillars of the Earth.

“It’s so long,” she said. “Plus I need a paperback.”

“What time’s your flight?” Matthew asked. He’d just remembered she was leaving the next day for Charlotte.

“Not till three in the afternoon. I have the whole morning free.”

“Have you read The Daughter of Time?” Matthew handed her an old beat-up paperback; on the cover was a toppled chess piece, the king.

“What’s it about?”

“It’s a mystery novel, but it’s about Richard the Third.”

“Okay,” Mira said. “I like it. It’s small.” She flipped open the front page. “Who’s Christine Truesdale?”

“I don’t know. I bought it used.”

Mira, reading the handwritten inscription, said, “‘Christine Truesdale. Finished March 17, 1999. Five stars.’ Well, she liked it, anyway.”

“You’ll love it. It’s very good.”

“Hey, what happened to your trophy?” Mira said, looking at the mantelpiece where Dustin Miller’s fencing trophy had taken center stage. Matthew had replaced it with a mounted replica of the Rosetta stone he’d bought at the British Museum.

He said, “I just got sick of it, I guess. Thought I’d switch it out.”

Mira stepped forward and touched the Rosetta stone. “Hen from next door was pretty interested in that trophy, did you notice?”

“I didn’t, no.”

“Maybe she was a fencer.”

Later, in bed, they both read their books, Mira starting The Daughter of Time while Matthew was finishing A Distant Mirror, probably the third time he’d read it. He loved all history, but nothing stirred him so much as the Middle Ages, something about the ubiquity of death, the cheapness of life, the rawness and aliveness of that time.

“You think we’ll see them again?” Mira suddenly said.

Matthew knew she was talking about the neighbors, about Lloyd and Hen, but he said, “Who?”

“Hen and Lloyd, from next door.”

“I’m sure we’ll see them again. Plenty. They live right next door.”

“You know what I mean. Socially.”

Matthew and Mira had very few arguments—neither of them was remotely confrontational—but Mira did frequently bring up the fact that she wished they had more friends. She’d never brought it up when they’d been actively trying to have children, but she did now—quite often—after they’d decided that a child was not going to happen.

“I don’t know. It wasn’t the most sparkling evening, was it?” He felt bad as soon as he said the words.

“What? You didn’t think it was?”

“It was fun. It was fine. It just wasn’t . . . there wasn’t necessarily a spark.”

Mira rubbed a finger against her temple. “I thought I had a spark with Hen. A little bit, anyway. She was really interesting, didn’t you think?”

“I did. You should get together with her. We don’t need to do things as a couple, always.”

“Yes, I know. It would be nice if it worked out, though.”

“Ask her to lunch sometime,” Matthew said.

“I will,” Mira said, then added, “You were not a fan of Lloyd, huh?”

“Eh,” Matthew said. “He was okay. Struck me as a poor match for Hen. He lucked out there.”

“You always say that.”

“I’m usually right.”