All the Dark Places(2)

Cal smiles and stands. “You know me, my friend. I’ll get it.” He turns to Scott, who sits next to Elise like an elder statesman. “You want a beer?”

“That would be great,” Scott replies.

There’s an easy rapport among the eight of us, and I smile as I carry a tray of mushroom and Gruyère crostini and place it on the coffee table. I refill my glass and try to enjoy the wine and the focus on Jay. I admire his total comfort with people. I guess that’s why he’s such a good psychologist. People trust him, know that they can. His easy smile and kind green eyes don’t hurt either.

We’ve had a few drinks, eaten through half the food. The conversation has moved past the “What’s new?” phase when Laken leans back in her chair, her long legs extending to the edge of the coffee table.

“So, Jay, how’s the book coming?”

He takes a deep breath. “It’s coming, slowly.” His gaze shifts to the fireplace, where the flames snap and flare.

Jay’s writing a book based on one of his grad-school papers. He doesn’t talk about it, or his work, much really. That’s all part of his boring, stuffy side, he says.

“Isn’t it about some pretty creepy stuff? Abnormal psychology and gruesome crimes?” Laken asks.

Jay grimaces. “Some of it’s pretty intense.”

Elise straightens in her chair, eyes on Laken. “Abnormal psychology encompasses a wide range of behaviors, not all of them violent or particularly disturbing.” A momentary tension crackles in the room. Barely there, but I feel it as I look from face to face. Kim leans forward and fills the silence.

“I had an aunt,” she says, swallowing a sip of her drink, “who kept the fur she brushed out of all her dogs in a bag in the hall closet. My brother and I found it when we were kids. Scared the shit out of us. It had been there for like thirty years. Six dogs worth.”

That makes Jay laugh. Kim is good at that. “The mind is a curious thing,” he says and stands, picks up the nearly empty tray. “We need more food!” Something in Jay’s voice has me on alert again. Something’s been on his mind all week, but whenever I asked him about it, he brushed me off with a smile and said he was fine. I follow him into the kitchen, wander to the door, and look out across the backyard.

“The light’s on in your office,” I say, gazing at the old structure. The detached garage sits in the snow at the end of the driveway. No cars inside, just Jay’s desk, a space heater, and other things he needs to furnish his home office.

“Must’ve left it on when I was working earlier.” He uncorks another bottle of red. “I’ll get it later. I might do a little more work after everyone leaves,” he says, eyes on the wine as he refills his glass.

“Tonight?”

“For a little bit. I was in the middle of something when I had to come in and get ready for the party. Shouldn’t take me long.”

I move over to the counter, put a steadying hand on the edge. I finish my wine and hold out my glass to Jay. His eyes meet mine, and I smile, reassure him. “I’m fine, really.”

He fills my glass, sets it on the table, and wraps his arms around me. “I have everything I need right here,” he says.

Cal and Josh walk into the kitchen. Josh raises his empty glass. “What’s the holdup?” He laughs. “Can’t keep their hands off each other,” he says to Cal.

“Do you blame me?” Jay says, brushing my long hair back over my shoulder.

I pull myself free and walk to the fridge. “Time for this, birthday boy.” I set the box on the counter, lift the cake out. It’s a canvas of sky-blue fondant with a garden of glistening orange and yellow flowers.

“Whoa. That’s incredible. Be a shame to cut it,” Jay says.

“They do a great job at André’s,” I say, removing a knife from the cutlery drawer.

“Chocolate or vanilla?” Cal asks.

Laken walks into the room. “God, Cal. It’s Jay. Chocolate!”

Cal shrugs. “Maybe he got adventurous.” The kitchen fills up with the rest of our friends, and I reach for the birthday candles.

Jay grabs my hand. “It would be a shame to ruin that beautiful cake with those!” But he’s smiling. “What the hell? You only turn forty once, right?”

*

I know there is something wrong when I open my eyes and don’t smell coffee. Jay isn’t beside me in our king-size bed. He usually wakes before I do, but there’s always the aroma of his favorite drink permeating the house. Jay’s one of those people who sleeps only four or five hours a night. An inveterate coffee drinker, he downs five or six cups a day, enough to give most people a serious case of the jitters, but he thrives on it. I’ve gotten conditioned to that morning scent filling the house and my lids popping open, like clockwork.

The kitchen is cold, coffeepot sitting on the counter, empty and untouched.

“Jay?” I call, my voice echoing through the house. My heartbeat kicks up. I walk to the back door, peer outside. The door to Jay’s office is wide open. I fly down the porch steps and across the yard, my bare feet churning through the snow.

I stumble across the threshold. He isn’t here.

“Jay?”

No answer. I move farther into the room, past the desk and space heater. Then I see him, lying on the floor, blood spattered on the wall and in a pool around his head. I drop to my knees, grab his hand. “Jay!”