The Vanishing Year(33)

It fleetingly crosses my mind that I’ve had a much more “hellish day” than Henry, and I remember the way his hand cupped Pink Spandex. The hand that is now snaking possessively around my neck and across my shoulders, his fingertips massaging into my collarbone. It also occurs to me that he has yet to ask if I’m okay.

“I understand. I should go, anyway. I’m sorry that we had to meet under such unfortunate circumstances. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Whittaker.”

“Please call me Henry. Let me walk you out.” He claps a hand on Cash’s shoulder and steers him toward the front door. “Were you at the CARE benefit, then? I’m sorry, there were so many people there that night.” Their voices fade into the living room, then the hallway, until I can’t hear them anymore. I marvel at Henry’s smoothness, his voice is warm butter, but I shiver. I hear the front door latch open and shut and seconds later Henry appears in the doorway. His tie is still closely knotted and I think about how other men would pull it loose, unbutton that top button, sink into a chair, and get wrinkled. Henry never gets wrinkled. Even his boxers are starched.

“Are you sleeping with him?” His face is dark, his eyes look black in the fading kitchen light.

“What?” The question throws me off guard. “No. Are you sleeping with a girl at the gym?”

He advances toward me, his fists clenching and unclenching. He reaches up, his warm hands pushing hard against my shoulders. “Don’t play games, Zoe. What is going on?”

I’m tired. “Nothing, Henry. Nothing is going on.” I break free of his grasp and hold his gaze, backing up against the sink. Trying for casual.

“Cash is just a reporter?”

“Yes.”

“Is he the reporter who saved your life? With the car?”

“Yes.”

“What was he doing here?”

“Trying to get more information about CARE. He’s building it into a full feature.” The lie is effortless. If nothing else, hiding has made me slippery, adept at lying and quick on my feet. Sometimes it unsettles me, but today I am thankful. As the words leave my mouth, I realize I’ve just made the decision not to tell Henry about finding my mother. It is unplanned.

Henry scrutinizes me, his eyes narrow. “Does it occur to you that Cash was there when you almost got run over by a car. And he was here today, when the apartment was broken into. Does this strike you as odd?”

“No. It doesn’t,” I snap. He says nothing back.

We’re locked in a staring contest, he and I. He’s not asked me about my “girl at the gym” comment, and I can’t figure out why.

His shoulders slump and he cocks his head. “Zo, please. Let’s stop attacking each other. I’m sorry for being out of touch today. Are you okay? How did all this happen? You didn’t see anyone, did you?”

He reaches over and thumbs my cheek. His hand feels warm, inviting. I close my eyes, try to forget the spandex girl, his rage at seeing Cash, his reaction to me, his almost-palpable hatred. I want to forget it, but I can’t.

“Henry, you haven’t even asked until right now if I’m okay. Where the hell have you been?”

“I’m sorry, Zoe.” He pulls me into an embrace and I breathe in his fresh-laundry, lemony Henry-ness and I remember that I love him. “I’ve been in a lockdown meeting, no one in, no one out. Those things are brutal. We were in there for almost four hours.”

I look at the clock. It is close to four. It was possible. With very tight timing. I don’t know what to think.

“Can you call Penny? See if she can get a crew in here to clean up? I can’t do this, Henry.” I can do it, of course. When I lived in Hoboken I cleaned a rich couple’s house every week. I’m not opposed to housework—in some cases, I revel in it. I just don’t want to. Let Henry spend his money, it comes so easily to him. I wonder if Henry knows I used to be a housekeeper. I wonder if he remembers Evelyn was basically a version of Penny. I can’t remember what I’ve told him.

“Of course. Of course. God, what if you had come home early?” He pulls me against his chest. “This is the second time in a week I could have lost you.”

“I’m sure that’s overstating it.” I turn my face to the side and return his hug, one-armed. Halfhearted.

“Let’s go away. We can ride to Pennsylvania tomorrow. Get out of town, I’ll call in to my meetings tomorrow. We’ll open up the country house.”

The country house. Henry’s four-bedroom “cabin” in the small town of Fishing Lake, Pennsylvania. It’s a family home, owned by his parents and passed down. He grew up there, I think. I’ve only been there once, one fleeting weekend, in mosquito-laden July. All I remember is oppressive heat.

“Henry, I don’t know. Officer Yates might find something or need something . . .”

“Then we’ll come back. It’s only an hour and a half. Zoe, I’m worried about you. First the car, now this. I want to keep you safe.”

All I hear is I want to keep you.

I could fight him. I could. I would win. Henry doesn’t forbid me from anything ever. But I think back to what I’d said to Cash. I feel untethered. Because the truth is, the only person I have in the world is Henry. He is my root.

Slowly, I nod. “I’ll go pack.”