The Golden Couple(60)

Polly is still sipping her wine, but she has now pulled out her phone. I’d give anything to be able to see the screen.

“… to drink?” I catch the tail end of the bartender’s question to the dark-haired woman.

“Actually, I’m picking up a take-out order. For Matthew Bishop?”

The name sends a shock wave through my body.

Don’t react, I warn myself, quashing my instinct to whirl around and stare at the woman.

This intersection of Polly and Matthew can’t be a coincidence.

“Sure.” The bartender checks the paper receipt stapled to a brown paper bag by his register, then carries the bag to the woman. “Medium-rare burger with lettuce, avocado, and tomato?”

“I think so.” The woman hands over a credit card.

“Don’t worry, it’s his usual.” The bartender smiles at her as he swipes the card through a machine. “Matthew must be busy tonight; usually he comes in himself.”

“Yeah, he was just walking out when he got a call from overseas.” The woman signs the receipt.

“Tell him Jimmy says hi. And I’ll have his Scotch waiting for him next time he comes in.”

I catch sight of the credit card as the woman tucks it back into her wallet. It’s an American Express corporate card, but I can’t see the lettering that identifies the company.

I don’t need to, though.

I pull out my phone to confirm what I already know: Matthew’s company, Bishop, Simms & Chapman, is located in the elegant building directly across the street.

I move a few feet to my left, so that Polly’s view of me is almost completely blocked by two men who are at a high-top table near the edge of the bar area. Before I wasn’t too concerned about her spotting me; now it’s vital that I stay concealed.

I watch the dark-haired woman as she disappears through the door, my mind scrambling to sort the information I’ve just gathered into a cohesive narrative: Matthew must be a regular here on nights when he works late. He probably sips a Scotch at the bar, chatting with the amiable bartender, while he waits for his food to be prepared. Then he brings his styrofoam container back to the office and puts in a few more hours.

But tonight, he sent someone else—an assistant, or a junior colleague—to retrieve his dinner.

His routine changed at the last minute.

I observe Marissa’s assistant take another sip of wine, wondering when she’ll realize that Matthew isn’t going to wander into the restaurant tonight.

What was Polly’s plan? To pretend to “bump into” him and invite him to join her at her table?

It might have worked.

Although I can’t believe for a moment that Matthew would ever be attracted to someone such as Polly; she may be operating under a delusion. Or her motives for this attempted encounter could lie elsewhere entirely.

I wait for another twenty minutes, until Polly signals for the check. I watch as she slides her wallet out of that hobo bag. The taped-up note must still be tucked inside.

Polly tucks some cash in the leather folder and exits Giovanni’s.

When I follow a moment later, I take a final glance at her table, watching as the waiter clears away the wineglass. Polly didn’t even bother to finish her drink; the lipstick-stained glass is still half-full.

I stand by the exit to the parking garage, shielded by a railing, and watch as Polly’s VW Rabbit exits. She turns north, heading back in the direction of Maryland.

I’m not surprised. There’s no reason for her to remain downtown.

How disappointed Polly must be, I think. She has to feel as if her evening was wasted.

Mine, though, has gotten a lot more interesting.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


MARISSA




MARISSA POURS HOT WATER into her mug of tea and settles on the love seat in the family room. Her gaze drifts to the new couch, then her eyes jerk away. She’s grateful the replacement has finally arrived, but it looks so much like the original piece that it still unsettles her.

She’ll get a few throw pillows, she decides, to mix things up. Matthew won’t mind; he leaves the decorating to her.

It has been a long day, beginning with her oversleeping and awakening muddy headed, and culminating with Bennett’s Cub Scout meeting. At least that had gone well. On the coffee table now rests Bennett’s blue uniform with its adorable ascot—“It’s a neckerchief, Mom!” she can almost hear Bennett chiding—a travel sewing kit, and the badge Bennett earned tonight for tying knots.

Even though he’d had to practice with an old bungee cord that she’d cut down to the size of the missing white rope, he’d easily passed his test.

Usually, this time of night awards Marissa a sense of peace: her son is tucked snug in bed, the house is clean and orderly, and she finally has a few moments to herself.

But something feels off.

Maybe the room is haunted by the memory of the act she committed here. She shakes off the thought and picks up the sewing kit, but it takes her three tries to pass the blue thread through the eye of the needle. She wonders if anyone will notice that her stitches aren’t smooth and even.

A crack of thunder seems to shake the house. Marissa looks at the silvery rain streaking down outside, wishing Matthew were home. He tends to drive too quickly, and he’ll be exhausted when he finally leaves the office tonight, which is a bad combination on wet roads.