Friends Like These(51)

Peter crawled across the bed. “I missed you,” he said, pushing his weight hard against me, his mouth over mine. All of it, exactly the way I liked.

I woke up with Peter still curved around me, damp chest pressed up against my back, heavy leg slung over my thigh. I felt at ease for the first time since we’d left the city. Peter was distractible. And immature, though he was actually a couple years older than me. But whatever was going on, we could work through it.

The sun was higher now, no longer glinting off the water. Peter was snoring lightly, in that sweet way he always did after we made love: like a little boy, or a small dog.

I did wonder how close he really was to finishing up his book. And, yes, an agent had compared Peter to David Foster Wallace, but she’d only read the first chapter. I’d read the first two, and they were very good— I think. Honestly, they didn’t make that much sense to me, but what did I know? The problem was, Peter’s idea of “finished” and actually being finished weren’t always the same. This was the reason my dad didn’t like him. He believed, above all else, in finishing things. I should have considered this before: that attention to detail wasn’t Peter’s strong suit. This thing with the contractors could be a real problem.

I nudged Peter with an elbow. He stirred, breath catching before snuggling closer to me. I lay still, pretending he’d just woken on his own.

“So, the contractors?” I began.

I don’t know anything about any boards, Peter had responded to my first text last night. After my second set of texts about the money the contractors were owed, he’d called. We were at the Falls by then. He said that he had no idea what they were talking about, that he’d paid everything that was owed. I might have believed it more if he hadn’t sounded so nervous, or if I hadn’t heard the sounds of a crowded bar in the background after he’d told me he was staying home.

“Peter?” I asked. “Hello? The contractors? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

When I pulled away, Peter rolled onto his back, an arm covering his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I just— ” He lowered his arm and looked at me so sincerely and so sadly. “I want you to know that I love you— very much. You have to at least promise— before I tell you— that you believe me on that. You do, don’t you?”

My stomach was somersaulting as I hastily slid out of bed. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to know the truth. I stepped toward the windows and looked out over the river. It was perfect— the house, my life with Peter. Or it could be. Maybe even still.

“What happened, Peter?” I asked, crossing my arms as I turned back from the windows. Peter had to know that this was serious. I wasn’t some fool. “Tell me the truth, now. All of it.”

Peter leaned back against the headboard.

“Remember how I told you Liam was starting a juice bar?” he began, tentatively.

Did I remember that? Maybe. I knew a Liam.

“Yeah,” I lied.

“Well, Liam needed some cash to cover the security deposit for his lease. It was this perfect little spot in SoHo. Right near Balthazar, off Lafayette. You know, one of those slivers of a store, almost like a closet?”

“Okay,” I said. “And?”

“Well, anyway, if that spot didn’t work, Liam was going to have to go with like a truck or something, but then you always have to be worrying about where to park and that’s pretty hard to— ”

“Peter.”

“Liam was supposed to get the money right back to me. He’d calculated exactly what he’d pull in that first week, more than twenty thousand, conservatively. He was going to have it back to me in plenty of time to pay the contractors . . .” Peter put his arm back over his eyes.

I turned back to the window, looking again at the view that Peter had selected specially because, he thought, with all the stress of working for my dad, I could benefit from some nature and peace in my life.

“Let me guess. Something didn’t work out?”

“The juice bar got shut down by the Department of Health on the first day,” Peter said quietly. “Some glitch with the refrigerator thermometer. I’m so sorry, Jonathan. It was your money. I had no right to— ”

“It was my money.”

But the money doesn’t matter. That was also right there on the tip of my tongue. But I could not write off $11,000, even if Peter had taken the money to help someone. Not if we really were going to get married. We couldn’t have a life where Peter did things like that without discussing them with me first, a life where he lied to me.

“As soon as Liam told me he couldn’t pay me back, I called the contractors and told them to stop work on the deck,” Peter said. “But they said I’d still need to pay them the full eleven thousand because they were already out for materials. And they were not at all happy.”

“I’m getting that sense,” I said. “They tried to burn down the house last night.”

“What?” Peter jumped out of bed and came over. He looked so worried. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yes— I’m fine. They just lit the boards for the deck on fire.” I motioned to the side of the yard. “Luckily, it didn’t spread to the house. I think they were only trying to scare us.”