Love Me With Lies 03 Thief (2 page)

There is a moment of shocked silence before she responds. Her voice is overly happy. “Caleb, it’s the right thing. Thank God it came around again. You turned it down the last time for that girl — what a mistake that wa-”

I cut her off, tell her I’ll call tomorrow after I’ve spoken to the London office. I take one more look at the ocean before I head home. Tomorrow I’m going to London.

But, I don’t.

I wake up to pounding. At first I think it’s the construction going on in my building. 760 is remodeling their kitchen. I crush my head beneath my pillow. It does nothing to mute the sound. Swearing, I toss it aside. The pounding sounds closer to home. I roll onto my back and listen. The room rocks on its axis. Too much scotch — again. The pounding is coming from my front door. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and pull on a pair of grey pajama pants I find lying on the floor. I cross my living room, kicking aside shoes and piles of clothes that have been gathering for weeks. I fling open the door, and everything freezes. Breath … beats of heart … thought.

Neither of us says a word as we size each other up. Then she pushes past me and starts pacing my living room, like showing up here is the most natural thing in the world. I’m still standing at the open door, watching her in confusion, when she turns the full battery of her eyes on me. It takes me a minute to speak, to realize this is really happening. I can hear someone using a drill in the condo upstairs. I can see a bird making its way across the sky, just outside my window, but I tell myself that my senses are lying in regards to her. She’s not really here after all these years.

“What are you doing here, Duchess?”

I take her in; absorb her. She looks manic, her hair is braided down her back, but there are pieces of it that have come loose all around her face. Her eyes are lined in kohl, drenched in emotion. I’ve never seen her wear her makeup like that before. She throws her arms wide; it’s an angry gesture. I brace myself for the string of expletives that usually come with her anger.

“What? You don’t clean anymore?”

Not what I was expecting. I kick the door shut with my foot and run a hand along the back of my neck. I haven’t shaved in three days, and all I’m wearing is a pair of pajama pants. My house looks like a college dorm.

I edge my way to the sofa as if this isn’t my living room and I sit down, uncomfortably. I watch her pace.

Suddenly, she stops. “I let him loose. I put him back on the street. He’s a fucking psycho!” She slaps a fist into her open palm on the last word. Her foot touches an empty bottle of scotch, and it rolls across the hardwood. We both follow it with our eyes until it disappears under the table.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she asks, looking around.

I lean back and link my hands behind my neck. I trace her gaze to the disaster that is my condo.

“You should have thought of that before you took the case.”

She looks ready to punch me. Her eyes start at my hair, work down to my beard, linger on my chest, and scoop back up to my face. All of a sudden, she’s sober. I see it fill her eyes, the realization that she came here and she shouldn’t have. We both make our move at the same time. She bolts for the door; I jump up and block her.

She keeps her distance, tucking her bottom lip under her teeth, kohl eyes looking less sure.

“Your move,” I say.

I see her throat spasm as she swallows her thoughts, swallows ten years of us.

“All right … all right!” she says finally. She walks back around the couch and sits down on the recliner. We’ve begun our usual game of cat and mouse. I’m comfortable with this.

I sit on the love seat and stare at her expectantly. She uses her thumb to spin her wedding band. When she sees me watching — she stops. I almost laugh when she pulls up the foot of the recliner and slouches backwards like she belongs here.

“Do you have a Coke?”

I stand up and get her a bottle from my fridge. I don’t drink Coke, but I always have it in my fridge. Maybe it’s for her. I don’t know. She pops the cap, pressing the bottle against her lips and chugging. She loves the burn.

When she’s done, she wipes the back of her hand across her mouth and stares at me like I’m the snake.
She’s the snake.

“Should we try being friends?”

I open my hands and tilt my head like I don’t know what she’s talking about. I do. We can’t stay away, so what’s the alternative? She hiccups from the Coke.

“You know, I’ve never met anyone that can say as much as you, without a single word coming out of his mouth,” she snaps.

I grin. Usually, if I let her talk without interrupting her, she’ll tell me more than she intended.

“I hate myself. I might as well have been the one to put Casey fucking Anthony back on the street.”

“Where’s Noah?”

“Germany.”

I raise my eyebrows. “He was out of the country for the verdict?”

“Shut up. We didn’t know how long they’d take to deliberate.”

“You should be celebrating.” I lean back and sling both arms across the back of the couch.

She starts to cry, stoic-faced, tears pouring like an open tap.

I stay where I am. I want to comfort her, but when I touch her, it’s hard to stop.

“You remember that time in college when you started crying because you thought you were going to fail that test, and the professor thought you were having a seizure?”

She cracks up. I relax.

“You did your job, Duchess,” I say softly. “You did it well.”

She nods, gets up. Our time is over.

“Caleb … I-”

I shake my head. I don’t want her to say she’s sorry for coming, or that it won’t happen again.

I walk her to the door.

“Am I supposed to say I’m sorry for what happened with Leah?” She looks at me through her lashes. Her tears have clumped her mascara together. On another woman it would look sloppy, on Olivia it looks like sex.

“I wouldn’t believe you if you did.”

She smiles; it starts in her eyes and spreads slowly to her lips.

“Come over for dinner. Noah’s always wanted to meet you.” She must see the skepticism on my face, because she laughs. “He’s great. Really. Bring a date?”

I run my hand over my face and shake my head. “Dinner with your husband is not on my bucket list.”

“Neither was defending your ex-wife in a lawsuit.”

I flinch. “Ouch.”

“See you next Tuesday at seven?” She winks at me and practically skips out of my condo.

I don’t agree, but she knows I’ll be there.

Damn. I’m whipped.

I call my date. She’s running behind schedule as usual. I’ve seen her twice a week for the last three months. It came as a surprise how much I enjoy her company, especially after what happened with Leah. I felt done with women for a while, but I guess I’m an addict.

We agree to meet at Olivia’s instead of driving together. I text her Olivia’s address while I trim the beard down to a goatee. I go for James Dean and wear blue jeans and a white shirt. There is still a tan line where my wedding band used to be. For the first month after the divorce, I found myself constantly feeling for the ring, having a moment of panic every time I saw my empty finger and thinking that I’d lost it. The truth always choked me, like a mouth full of cotton. I lost my marriage, not my ring, and it had been my fault. Forever became five years, death till us part became irreconcilable differences. I still miss it, or maybe the idea of it. My mother always said I was born to be married. I rub at the empty spot as I wait for the elevator in her building.

She’s still in the same condo. I came here once during Leah’s trial. It’s about three times the size of mine, with floor to ceiling windows that overlook the ocean. She’s a show off. Olivia doesn’t even like the ocean. The closest I’ve ever seen her get is to stick in her big toe. She’s on the top floor. I clutch the bottle of wine as the elevator pings and the door slides open. She’s the only one on this floor.

I take inventory of the hallway: a pair of men’s tennis shoes-his, a plant-his, a plaque on the door that says
Go Away!
-hers. I eye it all warily. I would have to be on my best behavior — no flirting, no touching, no undressing her with my eyes. I’d just have to focus on my date, and that shouldn’t be a problem. I smile to myself as I anticipate Olivia’s reaction. The door opens before I can reach for the bell. A man fills the space. We stare at each other for a good ten seconds, and I have a brief moment of awkwardness. Did she forget to tell him that I was coming? Then he runs a hand through his semi-damp hair, and his face moves into a smile.

“Caleb,” he says.

Haon

I give him a once over. He’s a few inches shorter than I am, but he’s stockier — well built. Dark hair, cut short — there is gray at his temples. I peg him at about thirty-five, though I know from the P.I. I hired that he’s thirty-nine. He’s Jewish, if his look didn’t tell me that, the Star of David around his neck would have. He’s a good-looking guy.

“Noah.” He holds out his hand. I grin as I shake it. The irony that both of our hands have touched his wife gives me a bit of a mean edge.

“She sent me out here to get these,” he says, scooping up the tennis shoes.

“Don’t let her know that you saw them. She’s a Nazi about mess.”

I laugh at the fact that her Jewish husband is calling her a Nazi and follow him inside. I blink at the foyer. It’s different from the last time I was here. She’s replaced all the cold white and black with warm colors. It looks like a home — wood floors, rugs, knick-knacks. Jealousy rips through me, and I push it aside as she comes trotting out of the kitchen pulling off an apron.

She tosses it aside and hugs me. For a scat of a second it feels right, her coming toward me with such determination. Then she holds her body stiff, instead of letting it melt into me. I can’t help but feel thwarted. I have to taper my smile, which always spreads hard and fast when she’s near. Noah is watching us, so I hand her the wine.

“Hello, Du-Olivia. I wasn’t sure what was for dinner, so I brought red.”

“Malbec,” she says, grinning at Noah. “Your favorite.” I see genuine affection in her eyes when she looks at him. I wonder if that’s how I looked at Leah, and how Olivia stood it for all those months during the trial.

“We’re having lamb,” she says. “So, it’s just perfect.”

The doorbell rings. I immediately feel more cheerful. Olivia’s head shoots toward me and she looks in my eyes, trying to decide what I’m up to. I allow a slow smile to spread across my face. I’m finally going to get my answer. She either feels what I do, or she doesn’t. Noah retreats a few steps to open it, and we stay with our eyes locked. Her body is frozen, tense, anticipating what I am about to deliver. I hear my date’s voice behind me. Olivia’s eyes skirt past me to where Noah is temporarily blocking her view of my date, then he steps aside, and I see what I was waiting for. Olivia shocked, Olivia disarmed, Olivia angry. The color drains from her face, and her hand shoots up to her collarbone to grab at her necklace — a simple diamond on a chain. Noah arrives at my shoulder, and I turn to smile at Jessica. Jessica Alexander.

“Jess, you remember Olivia,” I say. She nods and genuinely beams at the raven-haired villain that knocked her out of my life like she was a bowling pin. “Hello, stranger,” she says. She lurches forward and embraces Olivia in a surprise hug. “Long time, no see.”

Jessica Alexander found me on Facebook. She messaged me to say she was living in the Miami area again and wanted to get together for drinks. I was drunk when I read the message and responded with my number. We met up the next day at Bar Louie. She looked the same: long hair, long legs, short skirt. My college taste still appealed to me, and so did her personality — which was surprisingly even sweeter than I remembered. I needed a nice, long dose of sweet after the last two vipers I loved. Neither of us brought up the baby, but I did tell her about Estella. What I gathered was that she had no idea about Olivia’s part in our breakup. We saw each other regularly after that. We have yet to share a bed.

I watch Olivia’s face over Jess’s shoulder. She has always had a knack for self-control. And then she does the damnedest thing. She laughs and hugs Jess back, like they’re old friends. I’m in such a state of shock I almost take a step back. Noah is watching everything unfold with mild curiosity. We are all just characters to him, no doubt.