Already Gone (5 page)

At first I think it’s a dream.

Diane is in the house, standing across from me with her jacket folded over one arm. There is a suitcase at her feet, and she’s smiling. She picks up my glass and the empty Johnnie Walker bottle.

“You look comfortable,” she says.

I am, but I know I won’t be in the morning.

I tell her this, and she laughs, then leans in close and presses her lips against mine.

“I love you, Jake. Some surprise this turned out to be, huh?”

The words don’t sink in right away. Diane’s skin is soft and smooth and achingly real.

“I miss you,” I say.

“Good night, Jake.”

She lets go of my hand, then turns off the reading light and slips away toward the stairs.

I tell her I’ll see her on Monday.

“You never know,” she says. “Maybe sooner.”

The next morning I walk into the kitchen and head straight for the coffee. Diane is standing at the sink with her back to me. The empty Johnnie Walker bottle is next to her on the counter.

“Tell me you poured that out.”

Diane laughs. “Sorry, that’s all you.”

“Jesus.” I turn away and take a drink from my cup. The coffee is strong and hot and I feel it all the way down. “Can’t believe I did that.”

“Do you remember me coming in last night?”

“I thought it was a dream. If I’d known you were coming home early, I would’ve been in better shape. I don’t know what possessed me.”

“Doug Peterson, probably. He’s a bad influence.”

“How do you know I was with him?”

“You don’t exactly have a long line of friends.”

She’s right, of course.

Diane comes up behind me and runs a hand along my back. “How are you feeling?”

I go through a mental list of every part of me that hurts and say, “I’ve been worse.”

“Good.” She leans in close. “Because I have plans for you tonight.”

I look at her, hopeful.

“I thought we could go out, somewhere nice,” she says. “It’ll give us a chance to talk.”

“About what?”

“About us and everything that’s happened.” She looks at me. “Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”

“Are you going to tell me you want a divorce?”

Diane flinches. “Of course not.”

I stare at her, silent.

“Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think,” I say. “When you left, I thought you needed time to make a decision about us.”

“That wasn’t the main reason, but you’re right. I needed time to think.” She leans against the counter and crosses her arms over her chest. “Sometimes it seems like we don’t know anything about each other.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“But you don’t tell me anything, either. I don’t know anything about you, your family, none of it.”

“There’s nothing to know about my family. I told you what happened with my mom, and my dad was in jail more than he was out.”

“What about you?”

“All that’s in the book.”

“Not all of it.”

“No, but everything that matters is in there.” I pause, say, “Look, I was an angry kid and it got me in a lot of trouble, that’s it.”

Diane watches me, silent.

“Is this what tonight is about?”

“Tonight is about us going out, having fun, and talking.” She steps closer. “I miss you, that’s all.”

“You don’t want a divorce?”

She smiles, shakes her head. “No.”

“You sure?”

“Completely.” Diane slides around me, then presses her lips against my ear and whispers, “But no more secrets between us. We’re in this together.”

Her voice fills me.

I put my arm around her and hold her close.

I won’t let her go.

Never again.

That afternoon, Diane and I are sitting out on the deck watching the leaves fall when the phone rings.

“Ten bucks says it’s Doug.” I lean forward and push myself up from the chair. “He’s probably calling to see if I made it through the night.”

“Tell him we need to talk the next time I see him.”

I laugh, then cross the kitchen to the phone and pick it up.

“Mr. Reese?”

I was wrong, it’s not Doug.

“Yes.”

“This is Detective Nolan. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

His voice sounds far away, but cheery. It almost makes me forget the problems he’s caused at the university, but not quite, and for a moment I feel the anger flare in my chest.

I manage to hold it back and say, “Not at all.”

“Good, that’s good.”

I hear him pull the phone away from his mouth. There is a muffled sneeze, and when he comes back to the line, he sounds like he’s talking through cotton.

“Damn cold,” he says. “Kicking me when I’m down.”

I keep quiet and wait.

“Listen, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to touch base on the news.”

“What news?”

“You didn’t read the paper?”

“No, should I?”

“You probably wouldn’t have seen it anyway,” Nolan says. “They buried the damn thing.”

“What happened?”

“Our mystery man was found last night, facedown in the river, shot in the back of the head.”

“Mystery man?”

There is a rustle of paper. Nolan clears his throat and says, “Thomas Wentworth, forty-six, wife, two sons, both off at college back East. He was some kind of high-level executive, CEO type. I’m looking into it.”

“Who killed him?”

“It looks like a random robbery. We found his wallet about thirty feet from his body. His ID was inside along with a few pictures of his family, but no cash or credit cards. He’s got a tan line on his wrist, but no watch. They probably took that, too.”

“You think it’s the same guys who came after me?”

“The thought crossed my mind, but he’s still got his wedding ring, and all his fingers.”

“Are you making a joke?”

“Maybe I am.” Nolan laughs. “You know what they say, laughter keeps you from screaming.”

“I’ve never heard that one.”

“I might’ve made it up.”

I wait for him to go on. When he doesn’t I say, “So what can I do for you?”

“Unless you can tell me anything about Mr. Wentworth, not much.” Nolan clears his throat and coughs again. “But while I’ve got you on the phone, can you tell me where you were last night?”

“I knew there was more to this.”

Nolan doesn’t speak.

“I got home around nine. I was alone.”

“You got anyone who can verify that?”

“Nope.”

“Where was your wife?”

“On a plane coming in from Phoenix.”

“What’s in Phoenix?”

“None of your business.”

Nolan sighs. “Anyone at all know you were at home?”

“After nine? Not really. The cab driver who dropped me off. Doug Peterson, I suppose.”

“Dropped you off?”

“Doug and I went out for a few drinks after work. We ended up taking a cab home.”

“That’s very responsible of you.”

I open my mouth to start a fight, but I stop myself and say, “Anything else I can help you with?”

“Not unless something comes to you,” he says. “You have my number.”

I hang up and walk back outside.

Diane watches as I cross the deck to my chair.

“Who was it?”

I tell her.

“He was checking in,” I say. “Still no leads on my case.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

I don’t say anything else.

We agreed, no more secrets, but I can’t bring myself to tell her about the police finding Thomas Wentworth’s body. I have no idea how she’ll take the news, and I don’t want to take the chance that it’ll upset her again.

Right now, she’s home and we’re happy.

I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.

Over the next few weeks, life starts to return to normal. The doctor removes the bandage on my hand, revealing a thin, crescent-shaped scar and a smooth layer of skin where my finger used to be. He asks be about a prosthetic finger, but I tell him I’m not interested.

I’ve never minded scars.

Faculty meetings, classes, and student conferences take up almost all my time. I don’t get to see Diane as often as I’d like, and that wears on us both. She says she doesn’t mind, that she understands, but it’s not true.

She does mind. We both do.

One Tuesday after class, I call home. I let the phone ring several times, and I’m about to hang up when Diane answers. She is out of breath, but her voice sounds warm, and I feel my day melt away as she speaks.

“What were you doing?”

She tells me she was out back, cleaning the garden.

“I wanted to get to it before the snows come,” she says. “I barely heard the phone. I didn’t think I was going to make it.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“It was close.” She pulls the phone away, coughs, then she’s back. “I almost killed myself on the steps.”

I laugh, but she doesn’t think it’s funny.

We talk for a while. I tell her about my classes, and she tells me about her plan for the garden next year. I can hear the excitement in her voice and it makes me smile.

“Do you want to help? We can do it together. It’ll be our project.”

“You don’t want me anywhere near your garden,” I say. “I have a black thumb. Everything I touch dies.”

“You just don’t want to do the work.”

“I’ll help if you want, but you’ll regret it.” I turn toward the window and look out over the campus and the slow thread of students passing below. “Just don’t say I didn’t give you fair warning.”

“Consider me warned,” she says. “But all it takes is a little patience. You’ll be fine.”

“We’ll see. Patience isn’t my strong—”

There’s a pause, then Diane says, “Are you there?”

I don’t answer her.

I barely hear her.

I lean against the windowsill and focus on the two men sitting on the bench in front of my office. The big one, leaning back with his hands behind his head, and the little one next to him, wrapped in a khaki army coat. It’s the first time I’ve seen them since the night in the parking lot, but I have no doubt it’s them.

Diane asks me again if I’m there.

This time I find my voice.

“I have to go.”

“What?”

I move away from the window and say, “I have to call you back.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

I hesitate before I say anything, and that gives me away. Diane can tell when I’m hiding something, and she asks again.

This time, I tell her the truth.

“Are you sure it’s them?”

“It’s them,” I say. “I’m going down there.”

This makes things worse, and the next time Diane speaks, I can hear the panic in her voice.

“Jake, don’t.”

“It’s okay. I just want to talk.”

“What?”

“They’re right outside my office. What do you want me to do, pretend they’re not there?”

“Call the police. Let them handle it.”

“Like they’ve handled it so far?”

“Please.” The panic is fading from Diane’s voice, replaced by sadness, deep and tired. “Don’t go down there, Jake. Promise me.”

I walk back to the window and look out.

They’re still out there.

“Goddamn it, Diane.”

“Jake, promise me.”

I stare out at the two men and try to stay calm.

“Jake?”

A group of girls walks by, and the big guy leans in and says something to the little one in the army coat.

He laughs, and I hate him for it.

“Jake, answer me.”

Diane is crying now, and it brings me back.

“All right,” I say. “I’ll call the police.”

Diane is still crying.

“I thought this was over. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

But it is, and we both know it.

Something long buried is worming its way back into my life, our life. I don’t know who’s behind it, but I’m going to find out.

Just not today.

Today, I’m going to call the police.

“I want you to promise me something, Jake.”

The tears are gone, but the sadness is still there.

“What’s that?”

“Promise me you won’t get carried away,” she says. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just promise me,” she says. “Promise me you’ll control your temper.”

“Jesus, Diane, I told you I’d call the police and I won’t go down there. What else do you want?”

“I want you to promise me.”

“Fine, I promise.”

Diane is quiet.

I’m about to tell her I need to get off the phone if I’m going to call the police, but she speaks first.

“I love you, Jake.”

There’s something in her voice that I don’t like, something final, and I start to worry.

“Listen, I’ll call the police and come straight home. We can talk when I get there, okay?”

No answer.

“We’ll laugh about all this someday. You’ll see.”

Diane pauses. “Just remember your promise.”

“Diane, I—”

The line clicks, and she’s gone.

I stand there for a moment, staring out the window with the phone pressed against my ear. Then I walk back to my desk and set the receiver in the cradle.

I hesitate before I pick it up again and dial the number for the police. I go through all the right steps, just like she asked. It’s not how I want to handle it, but I gave my word.

The police haven’t been able to do anything, and I don’t see that changing this time.

And I’m right.

By the time the police arrive, the two men are gone.

After the police leave, I walk home. I keep an eye out for the two men the entire way, but there’s no one outside. The streets are deserted. The only sounds come from the wind and the scatter of dead leaves shuffling across the sidewalk as I pass.

When I get close to my house, I see that Diane’s car is gone, and something inside me falls away.

I force myself to keep moving, but each step feels heavier than the last. I want to believe she parked in the garage today, but I know it’s not true.

She’s gone.

The front door is unlocked, and I push it open and step inside. The house is quiet. I call Diane’s name, but there’s no answer.

I let the door close behind me, then I walk into the kitchen and look out the window toward the garden at the far end of the lawn. Several yard bags are lying on the grass, and there’s a rake leaning against the alley gate, but there’s no sign of Diane.

I call her name again.

Still nothing.

I walk out to the hall and open the door leading to the garage. My car is inside, but Diane’s is gone. Even though I’m not surprised, I don’t move for a long time. I tell myself she just went out and that she’ll be back any minute, but I know it’s not true.

I close the garage door, then walk back to the kitchen and search for a note. I check all the obvious places, but there’s nothing.

My thoughts roll over each other, one after another, and I can’t keep them straight.

If she left, where did she go?

I head down the hall to our bedroom and go straight for her closet. Diane’s clothes are inside, hung in a row. I push them aside, looking for her suitcase. It’s on the floor, right where it’s been since she got back from Phoenix.

I feel some of the tension inside me melt away, and for the first time that afternoon, I smile.

If she didn’t pack, she didn’t leave.

All at once, the world seems lighter.

I run my hand along the line of her clothes, feeling the fabric, soft and smooth under my fingers. I look for something I’ve seen her wear before, something I can attach a memory to, but nothing looks familiar.

It doesn’t matter.

She didn’t leave, and that’s all I need to know.

I’m still smiling as I close the closet door. And even though my breath catches in my throat when I see the dark spots on the carpet, all bad thoughts are still a long way off.

It’s not until I bend down and touch one of the spots with my fingertip, pulling it back wet and red, that those far away thoughts come screaming forward, tearing into my mind and closing off the entire world.