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“I’m afraid she’s not here,” Tom says.
“When will she be back?”
“Probably not until next summer.”
The answer’s as unexpected as a door slammed in my face.
“She’s gone?”
“She went back to our apartment in the city,” Tom says. “Left early this morning.”
I take a few more steps closer to him, noticing a red patch on his left cheek where Katherine had punched him. Considering that, maybe her departure shouldn’t be a surprise after all. I can even picture the events leading up to her decision.
First the fight, ending with a haymaker to Tom’s face.
Then my phone call, likely made after she’d already decided to leave. Thinking about her brief appearance at the bedroom window, I now see that strange wave in a different light. It’s entirely possible it was a wave goodbye.
After that there could have been some frantic packing in the darkness of their bedroom. Finally, just as she was about to leave, the fight flared up again. Both of them trying to get in their last licks. During that final showdown, Katherine screamed. It might have been from frustration. Or from rage. Or simply just a release of all the emotions she’d had pent up inside her.
Or, I think with a shudder, maybe Tom did something that made her scream.
“What time this morning?” I say as I eye him with suspicion.
“Early. She called me a little while ago to say she arrived safely.”
So far, that tracks with my theory about when Katherine left. What doesn’t track is Tom’s Bentley, which sits beneath the portico that juts from the side of the house. It’s slate gray, as sleek and shiny as a wet seal.
“How’d she get there?”
“Car service, of course.”
That doesn’t explain why Katherine hasn’t called or texted me back. After last night—and after making casual plans to meet again for coffee this morning—it seems unusual she hasn’t told me herself that she went back to New York.
“I’ve tried reaching her several times today,” I say. “She’s not answering her phone.”
“She doesn’t check her phone when traveling. She keeps it in her purse, silenced.”
Tom’s response, like all of them so far, makes perfect sense and, if youthink about it too much, no sense at all. Six days ago, as Ricardo drove me to the lake house, sheer boredom kept me fixated on my phone. Then again, most of that time was spent Googling to see if any liquor stores in the area delivered.
“But you just said she called you from the apartment.”
“I think she wants to be left alone,” Tom says.
I take that to meanhewants to be left alone. I’m not ready to do that just yet. The more he talks, the more suspicious I get. I zero in on the red mark on Tom’s cheek, picturing the exact moment he got it.
Him jerking Katherine away from the window.
Her lashing out, punching back.
Was that the first time something like that happened? Or had it occurred multiple times before? If so, maybe it’s possible that Tom took it one step further just as dawn was breaking over the lake.
“Whydid Katherine leave?” I say, being purposefully nosy in the hope he’ll reveal more than he’s told me so far.
Tom squints, scratches the back of his neck, and then folds his arms tight across his chest. “She said she didn’t want to be here when Hurricane Trish passed through. She was worried. Big house. Strong winds. All this glass.”
That’s the opposite of what Katherine told me yesterday. According to her, it was Tom who was concerned about the storm. Still, it’s certainly possible me talking about being without power for days made her change her mind. Just like it’s also possible she’s not into roughing it as much as she claimed.
But then why is she gone while Tom remains?