Nine Lives(17)

Five minutes after they’d gotten home, and after Nancy had paid Michaela and sent her on her way (Matthew deliberately never looking at her), he got a call from Pete Robinson.

“Michelle can’t find her phone. You guys didn’t pick it up off the table by any chance?”

It turned out that Michelle’s phone, the same model as Nancy’s, was in Nancy’s purse, alongside her own. Pete said that he’d drive over to get it.

“I’m so embarrassed,” Nancy said, and slurred the word. She was a little drunk, Matthew realized, a rare event.

“It’s no big deal. It’s not like you were trying to steal it. Were you trying to steal it?”

She smiled and asked if Matthew would wait outside for Pete. “I just want to go upstairs and get straight into bed.”

Matthew put on his warmest sweater and went outside with the phone to wait. The Robinsons’ Volvo pulled up, and he was surprised to see Michelle get out of the driver’s side. He came down the flagstone path and met her with the phone.

“I thought you’d be Pete,” he said.

“Disappointed?”

“No.” He handed her the phone.

“Pete wanted to watch his highlights, and he probably shouldn’t be driving anyway. I’m not sure I should be driving, but I guess I’m officially addicted to my phone.”

“We all are.”

They stood for a moment, the night silent around them, and Michelle suddenly said, “Matthew, how are you these days?”

Because the question surprised him, Matthew, without thinking, said, “I’ve been better. I worry about the kids, and Nancy, she’s … I guess I worry about her, as well.”

“It’s not my place to say it, but I think she’s hard on you.”

Just hearing those words caused something to tighten in Matthew’s chest. “She’s upset at me all the time and I don’t know why. And I don’t know how to stop it.”

“I’m not a marriage counselor,” Michelle said, “but if I was, I’d say that it’s not your fault. It’s not up to you to stop it.”

“I know that intellectually, but I don’t always feel it.”

“Understandable.”

“How about you and Pete?” Matthew said.

She hesitated, then said, “He’s been a good father, but he hasn’t looked at me in years. All he’s interested in is sports.”

“Have you talked with him about it?”

“I have. He promises to do better, but nothing changes, and now I feel selfish for even wanting more. Do you talk with Nancy?”

“I don’t think she sees herself the way that I see her, the way that other people see her. I don’t know … I don’t know what to do. But, no, I don’t really talk with her.”

The lamp above the front door, fitted with a motion sensor, went out, and Matthew and Michelle stood in the dark. He knew that if he took just a half step forward they would be kissing, and that he’d never be able to take that back. But he also realized that Nancy already thought he was cheating with any number of women, so maybe he should just go ahead and do it.

He took a step forward just as Michelle did, and they began to kiss.





7





FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 9:25 P.M.


Ethan had ignored the text from Ashley, saying she was back from visiting her parents and did he want to grab a drink. Instead, he’d sent a text to Hannah, begging her to come over to his place. He hadn’t heard back.

While he waited for the burrito to heat up in the microwave, he cracked open a Shiner Bock. As far as he knew, Ashley and Hannah, despite living together, weren’t particularly good friends. That didn’t mean that Ashley was going to be okay with the fact that he used to sleep with her and now he was exclusively sleeping with her housemate. But maybe she wouldn’t mind too much. He thought of calling his oldest friend Marcus and asking him if he thought it was possible to pull off the roommate switch, but he could already hear Marcus’s mocking laughter.

While waiting to hear from Hannah (God, he loved her aloofness), he did some deeper Google searches of the names that had been on the list he’d handed over to the FBI earlier in the day. One of the names had been Caroline Geddes, and he wondered if it was the same Caroline Geddes who was an assistant professor in the English Department at the University of Michigan. There was a picture of her, dark hair pulled back off a wide forehead, and with a half-smile on her face that looked—what was the word?—secretive, maybe. Ethan felt a click of recognition looking at her. Not that he’d met her before necessarily, but that he somehow knew her already.

Her faculty page included an email, and he sent her a quick message:

Caroline, Did you get a strange list with your name on it? If you didn’t, please ignore this awkward email. If you did, my name was on the list as well and I don’t know why. Email me. Ethan Dart



He closed his laptop, not expecting to get an email back anytime soon, and went and crouched in front of his record collection, looking for something to listen to. What was he in the mood for? He picked Joni Mitchell, playing side two of The Hissing of Summer Lawns, and when he rechecked his emails he was surprised he already had a response from Caroline.

Yes, that was me. An FBI agent nonchalantly took it away and wouldn’t answer any of my questions. What about you?