All the Beautiful Lies(43)

“I’m deeply skeptical of any book that doesn’t begin with a corpse.”

Harry had heard his father say these exact words, or something close to them, many times. “No, really. Why?”

His father frowned, thinking. “It’s my religion, I guess, since I don’t have a real religion. The world is chaos, and then a detective comes along and restores order. Or he doesn’t, and that’s really my favorite kind of mystery story.”

Harry had finished A Kiss Before Dying by the time he returned to school that year. It turned out to be one of those books in which order is restored, but not before a lot of damage had been done. Harry liked the book, but it had left him feeling empty and sad. Instead of bringing it back with him to Mather, he’d left it in the bookshelf in his room. He pulled it out now, looked at his father’s inscription: To Harry with love from Dad. He quickly closed the book and put it back on the shelf. A few months earlier, Harry thought he knew his father, inside and out. Now, he realized he didn’t know him at all.

His phone buzzed, a text coming through.

Come by tonight any time. Just ring the front doorbell and I’ll come let you in.

Harry wrote back—okay—then went back downstairs to check on Alice.

She was still in the sunroom, still tucked up asleep on the short sofa in the same position. She looked deeply asleep.

While Alice slept through the afternoon, Harry tidied up around the kitchen, finding a frozen pizza in the freezer, and cooking it for dinner, even though he wasn’t hungry, and doubted that Alice was, either. When she finally awoke, she wandered into the kitchen, empty glass in her hand, and asked Harry what time it was.

“Dinnertime,” he said. “You really slept.”

“I dreamt I woke up and you were gone, and I started to look for you, asking everyone I knew, but everyone told me you’d never existed. And then I was asking about your father, and it turned out he never existed, either.”

“Scary,” Harry said. “Are you hungry?”

“Maybe in a minute. I’m going to go see what’s on the TV.”

Alice turned on the television to the only channel she really watched—HGTV. A couple—a striking blonde and her dark-haired husband—were putting an offer on a California ranch house they wanted to renovate and flip. Harry brought Alice a plate with a slice of the pizza on it. “Thank you, Harry. Who knew you were so handy in the kitchen?”

“It was frozen.”

“It’s what your father used to make for dinner when I wasn’t around.”

“Oh,” Harry said, wanting to apologize. Instead, he said, “So you really think it was Annie Callahan’s husband?”

“I know it was. I think I knew it when I first heard what happened to your father, but I didn’t trust myself.”

“Do you think she was the only one . . . the only other—”

“She was the only one I found out about, but I don’t know. I assume she was it. Your father and I had a good marriage, but I think that over time maybe he’d fallen a little bit out of love with me. At least it felt that way; he began treating me more like a friend than a wife.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“You don’t need to be sorry about anything. It wasn’t you. And if it makes you feel better, I can tell you that I think your father only ever loved one woman, and that was your mother, Harry, not me.”

Harry didn’t say anything right away. He’d never heard Alice talk so openly before. “I think he was in love with you,” he finally said. “He said nice things about you.”

She half smiled, and something about the expression made her look young and vulnerable. “Thank you, Harry. I appreciate it. Look, I’m exhausted right now. I just want to watch some television for a while. You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course. I’m sorry.” He got up to leave the room as Alice turned the volume up. He was returning to the kitchen when she said, “You’ll watch with me, won’t you?”

“Oh. Okay.” Harry got himself a beer, and put a slice of the Mediterranean pizza on a plate and returned to the living room. He almost sat in the leather recliner, but it had been his father’s chair, so instead he sat on the other side of the couch from Alice. Together, they watched the show in silence, Alice’s attention not even wavering during the commercials. As soon as the show ended, another one started up instantly. Same couple, different house. Harry stood, stretched, and asked Alice if it was okay if he took a walk. Without turning away from the screen, she said, “Has it stopped raining?”

Harry tried to remember if it had rained that day. He hadn’t been out of the house. “I don’t know,” he said. “I need a little fresh air, regardless.”

“Go, Harry,” she said. “I’ll be fine.” She sounded a little doubtful, though, and for a moment Harry considered just staying with Alice. He felt bad for her, and she seemed to need him. But she had the television, for now at least, and he’d be back soon, he told himself.

He cleaned his plate, looking out through the window that was over the sink. The sky was filled with dusky light and towers of pink clouds. The window was cracked and the air that was coming through it felt cool, almost cold. He went up the stairs to his room, where he changed into his best jeans and pulled a V-neck sweater over his T-shirt, then left the house, the sound of Alice’s program still coming from the living room.