Together Alone (4 page)

Celeste remained skeptical. “To look at him, you’d never know he’s anything but loaded. He was like something out of a magazine the other night.”

“Clothes are his weakness,” Emily allowed. “Clothes and cars. But he doesn’t gamble, and he doesn’t come home with lipstick on his collar.”

“He doesn’t come home, period.”

“Sure, he does. He’s home most weekends.”

“Will he come home more, now that you’re alone?” Kay asked.

“How can he, with Jill’s bills? He has to work harder than ever.”

Celeste made a noise. “Doesn’t it get you down, that he isn’t there more? At least I have an alimony check to warm my cold hands.”

Yes, it got Emily down. She and Doug had been inseparable, eons ago. But she couldn’t dwell on the past. “It’s not so bad,” she said. She yawned and stretched, then set her elbows on the table and grinned. “I have the bathroom all to myself. Besides, things will be different with Jill gone. For the first time in years, weekends will be just Doug and me. Good quality time,
fun
, like the old days, just the two of us.” The prospect gave her hope.

Kay sighed. “I’m envious. John knows nothing about fun.”

“John is wonderful,” Emily argued.

“He’s a cop. Life is one long investigation.”

“He is decent, upstanding, and honest.”

“Oh yes,” Kay granted. “He’s also a master worry-wart. He sees the underside of a lettuce leaf. Why do you think I pour myself into my work? If I listened to half of what he says, I’d be basket case. I don’t even have Marilee to distract me now. I’d die without a job.” She focused on Emily. “You need one.”

“Doug doesn’t want me to work.”

“If he isn’t here, what difference does it make?” Celeste asked. “If he isn’t here, you can do what you want.”

“But I respect his feelings. We’ve discussed it. I’ve offered, but he says no. It’s a matter of pride.”

“Pride? Hah! He feels threatened.”

Emily laughed. “He does not.”

“He’s worried that if you get a job, you might succeed at it and eclipse him. It was that way with the book.”

“No, it wasn’t. I did that book as a favor to John. It was never intended to be anything big.”

“You wrote a book,” Celeste argued, “and it was published. That’s one hell of an accomplishment.”

But Emily didn’t see it that way. “I ghost-wrote it. Sam and Donnie were the ones who did the police work. They told me their story. All I did was take down their words and neaten them up.”

Kay started to speak, stopped when their food arrived, resumed the minute the waitress left. “You did more than that, Emily. John knows it, Sam and Donnie know it, and I’d warrant Doug does, too. You listened to Sam and Donnie’s ideas, you interviewed people and verified facts, then you put everything together. You were the only one who sat at that typewriter, night after night, after Jill was in bed. It always bothered me that your name wasn’t on the cover.”

“I didn’t need it on the cover,” Emily protested, laughing again. She picked up her spoon. “It was inside. That was enough.”

Celeste stared at her. “If it was me, I’d have milked being a published author for everything it was worth.”

“But the work meant something to me. I didn’t do it for the money or the acclaim. Believe me, I was perfectly happy with the mention I got. I don’t aspire to be in the limelight.”

“You may not,” Celeste said, “but I do.” She raised a piece of English muffin and held it daintily, though she wasn’t first and foremost a dainty woman. She was tall and slim, with a direct gaze and a fresh mouth. She rarely wore makeup, couldn’t bother with much more than a French braid, and made so little attempt to attract men that they were invariably attracted. While Kay leaned toward blouses and skirts and Emily toward tunics and leggings, Celeste was more comfortable in jeans and a simple white shirt. “Ladies,” she declared now, “my time has come.”

Emily exchanged a bemused look with Kay. “Your time for what?”

Celeste set down her muffin. “Living. Without Dawn to nag, I have undirected energy.”

“She just
left
,” Kay said, as Celeste had moments before, but Celeste ignored her.

“I’ve been looking at my life, really looking, turning it inside out and looking at it that way, too. I’ve been waking up with the sun, in a stone-gray empty house, thinking about what I want to do. For starters, I’m getting my nose fixed.”

Kay’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“But
why?
” Emily asked.

“Look at this nose. It’s an ugly nose.”

“But you’ve had it forever. It’s part of who you are.”

“Not anymore. As of Thursday morning, it’ll be narrowed and shaped, along with this.”

Emily couldn’t see what she was pointing at. “What’s that?”

“My double chin.”

“I don’t see a double chin.” To Kay, she said, “Do you see one?”

“No. You’re nuts, Celeste.”

But Celeste was insistent. “I see the double chin, and I see the ugly nose. The fact that you two don’t is irrelevant. I’m the only one who matters. It’s my self-image.”

Emily couldn’t argue with that. Still. “You really don’t need any of it, Celeste.”

“But I want it. And when the swelling’s gone down and the stitches are out, I’m having streaks put in my hair.”

“Gray ones like mine?” Kay cracked, though Emily was hard put to differentiate between sandy and gray in Kay’s hair.

“Blonde ones,” Celeste said. “I’m going with a lighter brown as a base color and blond streaks. Lighter is younger. Except for you, Emily. You always look sixteen.”

Emily’s sable-colored hair was thick and glossy, blunt-cut an inch below her earlobe. Two minutes with a blowdryer and the ends curled under. She had worn it that way since she was, well, sixteen.

“And after my hair is done,” Celeste announced, “I’m buying clothes.”

“New jeans?”

“Only if they have gold studs running up and down the legs, and even then, only if there’s a matching top that buttons down to here.” She pointed to a spot below her breasts, then added in an undertone, “Or unbuttons. Whichever.”

“That isn’t you,” Kay said.

“Why not? Why can’t I change?”

“Why would you want to?”

“Because I’m
bored
with me.”

Emily was wary. “Where are we headed, here?”

Celeste grinned. “Men. I’m starting to date.”

“Celeste,” Kay chided, “you already date.”

“I go to dinner or a movie with friends who happen to be male. I wouldn’t call them dates.”

Emily humored her. “If those weren’t dates, how will these be dates?”

“They’ll be romantic, for one thing. I’m putting an ad in the paper.”

“You aren’t.”

“Celeste.”

“I am. I want wine and roses and music and poetry. And sex.”

“Not healthy,” Emily warned. “Things have changed since we were kids.”

“Physical needs haven’t. Mine’s been on hold for seventeen years. A few more, and I’ll be too old to care. The way I see it, it’s now or never.”

“Are you looking for a
husband?
” Emily asked in search of a method to the madness.

Celeste made a face. “Are you kidding? And let Jackson off the alimony hook? No way. I want some fun. That’s all.”

Kay folded a rasher of bacon into her mouth. Emily pushed a blueberry around with her spoon.

“You guys disapprove,” Celeste said.

Emily set down the spoon. “Putting an ad in the paper is dangerous. You won’t know what you’re getting. The personals are an invitation for crazy men to prey on lonely women.”

“What if I put an ad in a reputable publication, like something for Harvard alums.”

“You didn’t go to Harvard.”

“So?”

“So, someone responding might not have gone, either.”

“Come on, Emily. There are ways to cull out the bad ones. I’ve researched this. Trust me. And anyway,” she said more smugly, “if
you
guys help me cull out the bad ones, I can’t go wrong.”

“Whoa,” Kay said, “do you know what John would say if he heard you were doing this? Do you know what he would say if he thought I was helping you?”

Emily agreed. “The idea of this makes me uncomfortable.”

“That’s because you’re married. If you’d been single like me all these years, you’d be excited. Come on, you two. I’ve been good. I waited for a winner to waltz into town, and when he didn’t, I settled for driving the church van on Saturday nights. Dawn is gone now, so it’s not like I’m setting a bad example.”

“But the
personals?
”

“Well, look, what are my alternatives? You know this town as well as I do. There aren’t any eligible men here, at least not any with spirit, and I want
spirit
.”

“John hired a new man,” Kay offered. “He just got here.”

“No good. Our uniforms stink. Now, if our guys wore jodphurs and helmets, and rode motorcycles like the Staties—”

“This guy won’t be in uniform. He’s a detective. From Manhattan.”

Emily hadn’t heard anything about a new man on the force. “A detective? Is he here on a special assignment?”

“No. We lost one of ours to the FBI. John is simply appointing a replacement.”

“From Manhattan?” Celeste asked. “Is he single?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How old?”

“Early forties.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

Kay laughed. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with him?”

“If he’s in his early forties and still single—”

“Who do you think your ad will attract?” Emily asked, still upset by that idea, but Celeste wasn’t done with Kay.

“If he’s in his early forties and still single, and he’s leaving New York City for a place like this, something must be wrong with him. He must be up on charges of misconduct. Or he’s burned out. The last thing I need is a has-been.”

“He isn’t a has-been,” Kay insisted. “John says he’s at the top of his field.”

“Then why did he leave New York?”

“Because his wife was killed in a hit-and-run accident, and he has a young child to raise, and he didn’t think he could handle doing that in New York.”

“How awful,” Emily said, imagining well the havoc in his life. “How old is the child?”

“Little. Under two.”

“How
awful
.”

“I’ll say,” said Celeste. “Hell, I’ve just gotten my freedom. I’d be crazy to get involved with a man with a child.”

Emily felt a stab of annoyance. “If he’s just come off the death of his wife, and he’s changed jobs and moved to a strange place for the sake of his daughter, I doubt he’d want to be involved with you, either.”

“Gee, thanks.”

She let out a breath. “You know what I mean, Celeste. Anyway, you’re right. He isn’t thinking freedom the way you are. Score one for him. You make me very nervous.”

“Not to worry,” she said. “The surgery’s being done Thursday. Will you guys visit me?”

“Come Thursday, I’m a career woman again,” Kay reminded her. “It’ll have to be after school.”

“And you, lady of leisure?” Celeste asked Emily.

Emily smiled. “Lady of leisure. Cute.”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“No more so than before. There are things around the house that I’ve been putting off until Jill left.”

“Don’t touch Jill’s things,” Kay advised.

“I don’t dare. She was very clear on that.”

“Well, she’s right. The books say kids need to know that their personal space is secure.”

“It’s just her closet. It’s a
mess
.”

“No matter. When she comes home the first time, everything should be exactly as it was when she left.”

Emily sighed. “Fine. I won’t touch hers, but there are other closets to clean. And the basement. And I want to repaper the bathrooms.”

“Let Doug do that,” Celeste said.

“When? I’m the one with the time.”

“I think you should do another book,” Kay decided. “Does your editor still call?”

“Every few months, but just to talk. We’re friends.”

I read the note she sent along with that bottle of champagne. She loved working with you. She didn’t need to say that.”

“Okay, so we got along, but that doesn’t mean she wants another book, and even if she did, what would I write about?”

“Open the newspaper,” Celeste suggested. “Pick a crime.”

“True crime is hot,” Kay added.

But Emily shook her head. It wasn’t only Doug’s pride that kept her from looking for work. “I really do want to fix up the house. And when that’s done, I’ll tackle the room above the garage.” She would be busy for months.

“You really are renting it out?” Celeste asked.

“The space is just going to waste.”

“Talk about inviting strangers into your life.”

“We could use the money.”

“For God’s sake, Emily, you aren’t indigent.”

“Jill’s school bills make Doug nervous.”

“Yet he won’t let you work?” Kay asked. “I don’t understand him.”

“He knew this day was coming,” Celeste complained. “He should have had her tuition all stashed away.”

“How could he do that?” Emily asked. “We’ve always used his income to live on.” She defended Doug out of habit, though she was annoyed herself. They lived frugally. His business had grown steadily. She didn’t understand why they were so strapped.

But if the money wasn’t there, it wasn’t there. She sighed. “It’s only the room above the garage. It won’t be so bad.” With a sheepish smile and a one-shouldered shrug, she said, “It might actually be nice. Beat the silence. You know?”

I
T WAS A SILENCE FILLED WITH VOICES SHE
couldn’t hear, an eerie quiet barely breeched by the smooth slur of the jazz sax wafting from the stereo in the den. She turned up the volume and listened, with the small of her back to the doorjamb and her arms crossed. Closing her eyes, she let the beat take her away.

But not for long, never for long. This was where she needed to be.

Peeling her spine from the wood, she began an aimless wandering from room to room. Earlier, she had talked with Jill, who was on her way to a dorm dinner and sounded excited, and with Doug, who was on his way to a client meeting and sounded rushed. She had heated the beef stew Myra delivered. She had watched the evening news. She had folded Jill’s freshly laundered sheets—there was a line to be drawn on the leave-her-room-alone rule—and put them back on the bed.

After arranging the pillows neatly at its head, she had stood for a while holding Cat. Its fur was matted and its whiskers sparse, one eye gone, its tail shredded. She remembered reading
The Velveteen Rabbit
dozens of times, with Jill close by her side and Cat close by Jill’s. No doubt about it, Cat was as loved as that rabbit.

Surprising, that she had left it home. Kids brought stuffed pets to college. Hadn’t Jill’s roommate—“she’s
so
cool, Mom”—brought two? Then again, if Jill wanted her room at home preserved, there was no better watchdog than Cat. So Emily had gently placed it on the pillows, making sure that its time-worn body was securely propped.

She went down the hall now, past one closed door, the bathroom, and the bedroom she shared with Doug, to the stairs. The runner was worn. Emily remembered when it had been new. The thought made her feel old herself, absurd, given that she was barely forty. But she didn’t have children at home anymore, which meant that she was, in theory, semiretired, which was an
awful
thought. She had always been highly directed.

Discouraged, she sank into the living room sofa. It, too, was worn, though not worth recovering. She and Doug didn’t entertain often. He wasn’t home enough.

She sighed as her gaze settled on the mantel. She picked out photos from the crowd there, recalling when each had been taken, and the memories kept her company for a time. Then they faded, and she was alone.

She thought of taking a bath. She had rarely had time for that, raising Jill. Or she could read a book. She had a stack on the dresser, four good ones to choose from.

The windows were open to the late-August night, to the chirrup of the crickets and the slurp of the pond. Earlier, there had been the drone of a lawn mower, done now, though the scent of cut grass hung thick in the humid air.

Sitting in the dark of night, so quiet and still, she felt as though her life had come to a screeching halt. In quick succession she had been daughter, student, wife, and mother.

What was she now? A wife without a husband? A mother without a child?

But Doug would be home at the end of the week. And she talked with Jill on the phone.

Rising from the sofa, she rubbed her damp palms together and peered out the window. She tried to see if anyone was coming, but the night was too dense to see anything from here, so she straightened her T-shirt behind the overall shorts that hung loose from her shoulders, stepped into a pair of sneakers, and slipped out the door.

The neighborhood was still. From the front gate, she looked down the chain of neat picket fences. No two segments were exactly alike in style, height, or state of repair, but they coalesced to form a ghostly trail that beckoned in the inert night air.

She started down the street, leaving behind Myra’s house with its tiny nightlight glowing from an upstairs window, then the Wilsons’, the LeJeunes’, and the Hinkleys’. She studied the shadows as she walked—front yards, side yards, wooded thickets between—but nothing moved, nothing cried.

At the end of China Pond Road, she turned right onto Walker, then left onto Sycamore until she came to LaGrange, where, at the high stone wall of the Berlo estate, she turned right again. A light mist had begun to fall, but her feet knew the way and weren’t stopping. Her eyes slipped between the elegant old Victorians she passed. She counted down as she had, pushing carriages so long ago—eight, seven, six, five—until she passed the last house and reached the corner.

To her right, on the next block, was the hulk of the fire station, and tucked beside it, like a holstered weapon, the police station. She passed it by, then passed two blocks of stores. At the curb, heart pounding, she stopped.

The post office was ahead, a pretty brick building that glittered in the mist, with a parking lot so roomy and open as to invite patrons to visit, and beyond the post office and the block of stores used by all yet considered no man’s land, was Grannick’s college half.

Turn back
, came a cry from inside, but her feet wouldn’t move. She was riveted to the sight of the students who, even in the mist, came from the campus for a late night cappucino or pizza.

With a cry of raw envy and an even deeper sorrow, she whirled around and half-ran, half-walked back in the direction from which she’d come. She distracted herself by ticking off the stores she passed, one after another, one block, then the next. She was approaching the police station when a cruiser came from behind her and drew to a stop just ahead. She slowed as she reached it, then, with a breathless little sigh, stopped.

“Hi, sweetheart,” came a kindly voice from the driver’s window.

“Hi, John.”

“Out for a walk?”

She tucked her hands behind the bib of her overalls, looked out across the street, and shrugged. “Guess so.”

“Startin’ to sprinkle,” he said in that same kindly voice, more friend than cop, more father than friend. “Climb in. I’ll give you a lift home.”

Brushing the dampness from her eyes, she rounded the cruiser and slid into the front seat. Once they were on their way, she said, “It was too quiet at home. It made me think.”

He drove slowly down the street. The wipers arced intermittently, allowing for a blurring before reality came clear.

“Hard, with the girls gone,” he said.

“Mmm. The days before they left were so busy. Now, nothing.”

“Where’s Doug?”

“Chicago.”

“When’ll he be home?”

“Thursday night.” The cruiser turned left off LaGrange at the Berlo estate, onto Sycamore. John studied the road ahead. Emily studied him. He wasn’t in uniform. “Why are you out so late?” she asked. He normally worked days, leaving nightly rounds to his deputies. “Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I was restless. My place was quiet, too.”

“What’s Kay doing?”

“Reading.”

Emily smiled fondly. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

John made a right onto Walker and drove along at an exemplary pace. “She likes to read. Says it’s important. For school.”

Kay had a successful career. Emily didn’t envy it exactly. But there was something to be said for having a whole other life. “She’s very good at what she does.”

“Huh.” He turned left onto China Pond and cruised until he reached the house at the end on the right.

Self-conscious now that she was safely home, Emily said, “Thanks, John. I’m glad I didn’t have to walk all the way home.”

“You’d have got wet.”

“Probably.”

“Think of that next time. Better still, call us next time. We’ll meet you halfway.”

“Not if Kay’s reading.”

“Then I’ll meet you myself.”

“I really am okay,” she insisted. “I don’t want you worrying about me.”

“If not you, who, now that Marilee’s gone?”

Emily opened her mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come. The truth was that she treasured his watchfulness.

Leaning across the seat, she kissed his cheek. Then she slid out of the car, closed the door, and ran through the drizzle to the house.

Kay called first thing Tuesday morning. “John said he gave you a lift last night. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Emily said. It was a new day. She felt better.

“Want me to come over?”

“No need. Things just crowded in. But I’m okay now.”

“When’s Doug due home?”

“Thursday night. I want to do some baking, actually.”

“Strawberry-rhubarb pie.”

“How did you guess?”

“It’s the first one of yours I ever tasted. Doug’s favorite. You were making it for him way back when. Hey, I have some shopping to do before school starts. Why don’t you make your pie, then come with me. We’ll do lunch.”

“I’d better stick around here, in case Jill calls.”

“Did she say she would?”

“No, but I’d hate her to get the machine and think that I’m suddenly out running around now that she’s gone. I want her to know I’m here if she needs me.”

Kay was quiet for a minute before saying a soft, “Don’t do this to yourself, Emily. Jill will love school.”

Emily anchored nervous fingers on a fistful of the huge T-shirt she wore. “I hope so. But I worry.”

“So do I. More about you than the girls. You need to get out of that house.”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Well. Don’t panic if you see a police car pull up. John may stop by.”

“Oh, Kay. He doesn’t have to. I’m
okay
.”

“You know how he is. He may just have to see for himself. You’re his new personal cause, now that Marilee is gone. He’s a little lost, without her here to wait up for at night. He’s driving me nuts, hovering around.”

Emily caught a movement at the kitchen window. “There he is, just pulled into the driveway. In the cruiser. In
broad daylight
. How can he
do
this to me? Myra will be out in two seconds wondering what’s wrong. She sees
everything
.”

“That’s good.”

Yes and no, Emily thought. Mostly yes, when Doug was gone. Like John watching out for her by night, Myra did it by day. She would be terrified when she saw the police car.

“I’ll catch you later,” Emily told Kay and hung up the phone. She pushed open the screen door to find John mounting the steps. “I was just on the phone with your wife. I really am fine. You two worry for nothing.”

“Good. But that isn’t why I’m here. Tell me about the space over your garage. Is it really for rent?”

Emily frowned. “Not yet. Not for a while. Why?”

“I may have a tenant for you. He’s been looking all over and can’t find anything he likes.”

“He’s not about to like this. It’s still months away from being livable.”

“Can we see it?”

We?
Emily glanced at the cruiser. A man was twisted in the back seat, behind the screen designed to restrain dangerous criminals. “John,” she cried, “what did you
bring?
”

“He’s a good guy, Emily. You know I’d only bring around the best. Come meet him.” He had her elbow and was drawing her outside.

“I can’t. I’m waiting for Jill to call.”

But he drew her on. “This’ll only take a minute.”

“If I don’t hear the phone—”

“I’ll be listening, too.”

“I’m not wearing shoes.”

“You never do.”

“But this is totally premature. There’s weeks of work to do up there. I’m not looking for tenants yet.
I
’m not looking for tenants at all. Doug’s the one who wants to rent.”

“Figured that,” John murmured just as the man from the back seat slipped out and straightened. “Ignore the stuff on his face. He says he doesn’t have time to shave so he’s growing a beard. That’ll change, once he gets organized. Emily Arkin, Brian Stasek. Brian’s joining the force. Detective.”

The new detective from New York. Emily tried to remember what else Kay had said, but all she could think was that he didn’t look like a detective. He looked tired and more than a little disheveled. He also looked vaguely disreputable, thanks to the stubble on his face, a wrinkled shirt, and torn jeans. But if John trusted him enough to have hired him, Emily supposed he had to be okay. He certainly had incredible eyes.

“Nice to meet you,” he said in a civilized enough voice.

“Same here, but I’m afraid John should have called before he brought you over. The space I have won’t be ready for a while.”

“Let’s take a look,” John said.

“But if he needs something now—”

“The other things he’s seen have been pits.”

“Trust me. This is worse.”

“Can I see it?” Brian asked quietly, and something about his tone brought her around. It was weary. She almost imagined he didn’t have the strength to raise his voice more. And then there were his eyes. They were the palest of blues, with silver flecks and shards of sheer desperation.

Relenting, she said, “I have to warn you, it needs work.”

He ran a hand through his hair, which was dark blond and thinning on top, though not unattractively. “At this stage,” he sighed, “I’m looking for potential. Nothing else has even come close.”

A sound came from inside the cruiser. Moaning, he ducked back inside. When he emerged this time, he held a child.

Early forties, Emily remembered now. Dead wife. Young child.

She caught in a breath at the sight of that child, who was young indeed, and looked nearly as disheveled as her father. Emily’s heart went out to them both, but it was the baby to whom she was drawn. She was a beautiful child, disheveled and all, with clear skin, delicate features, and tousled brown curls so like those Jill had had that Emily felt a pang of longing.

“What’s her name?” she asked, coming closer.

“Julia. Julia, say hello to Emily.”

Julia chewed on her fist and stared at Emily with the same pale eyes as her father—only hers weren’t so much desperate as somber.

Emily smiled and touched her cheek. “Such a sad little face.”

“She’s not very happy with me.”

“Uh-oh. What did you do?”

“I mean, overall. She wants her mother, but her mother’s dead.”

“I did hear that. I’m sorry. It must be hard for you, too.”

“It wouldn’t be so bad if I could find a place to stay.” Pale pleading blues pinned her to the spot, releasing her only to focus on the garage.