Page 77 of The Housekeeper

Chapter Thirty-two

I phoned Harrisonin Whistler as soon as I got home, desperately needing to talk to him about what had gone down. Was I overreacting, letting my imagination get the better of me?

Really, Jodi,I heard my sister say.Don’t you think you’re being a bit paranoid?

“Hey, babe,” he said, sounding rushed. “Can I call you later? I’m supposed to be having breakfast with some of the other writers, and I’m already running late.”

I checked my watch. It was twelve-thirty, which meant that it was nine-thirty on the West Coast. “I guess. It’s just that—”

“Everything go okay today?” he interrupted.

“The funeral was fine. It was afterward…at my dad’s. Tracy says I’m being paranoid, but…Hello? Harrison? Are you there?”

“Listen, honey. I want to hear all about it, I really do, but I’ve gotta run. Can we talk later? Is that okay?”

“Sure,” I said, even though it wasn’t. “Love you,” I added, but he was already gone.

I replaced the receiver and walked around the main floor of the house, straightening things that didn’t need straightening, emptying the dishwasher, putting on the TV and zipping throughseveral dozen channels before turning it off again, searching for tiny superheroes and errant pieces of Lego under the sofa, trying to occupy my time before I had to pick up the kids.

My cellphone rang. “Harrison?” I asked, answering without checking the caller ID, thinking that my husband must have thought better of his casual dismissal and decided the other writers could wait a few more minutes while he listened to his wife.

“Not Harrison,” the familiar voice said into my ear.

My body suddenly vibrated with girlish tingles. “Roger?”

“Am I catching you at a bad time? You’re obviously expecting a call from your husband.”

“No. I just spoke to him, actually. He’s in Whistler. At a writers’ festival. Is everything all right? The agent I spoke to about you said you’d stopped looking for a condo…”

“That’s not why I’m calling.”

“Okay,” I said, not sure what else to say.

“I’ve actually been wanting to call for weeks now. Well, since the last time I saw you, if I’m being honest.” He gave a small chuckle. “But I decided it was probably better if I didn’t.”

“What changed your mind?”

“I saw the notice of your mother’s death in the paper,” he said. “And I saw that the funeral was today. I thought I’d call and see how you’re holding up.”

“That’s very kind. Thank you.”

“So…how are you doing?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“To be honest, not all that great.”

“You want to talk about it?” he asked.

Yes!I shouted silently. “Not really,” I said aloud.

“Okay.” Then, “There’s another reason I’m calling.”

I waited, too afraid to ask what it was.

“I’m leaving Toronto.”