Over the Fence (13 page)

I wasn’t smiling later. I was late getting home, only to discover Kourtney wasn’t there, either. Her house was dark and there was no response when I called to her over the fence. By ten o’clock I was beyond worried. After no response to my texts and having my calls go straight to voicemail, I began to pace. I turned on the laptop but she wasn’t signed into chat. Alternately, I paced, and stared at the silent screen, while running my hands through my hair in worry. Where could she be? She said she was coming home.

My stomach tightened as I thought of what could have happened. An accident: maybe something happened at work, or she became ill. Groaning, I realized nobody would know to contact me. She could be hurt and I wouldn’t even know it. I started to look up the contact information for the local hospitals, but stopped. How could I even inquire if she had been admitted? I didn’t even know her full name. I reached into my pocket for my memory key, knowing her name would be registered on her computer. Except, my pocket was empty; I had left it on my desk, after I sent her the file.

Cursing, I began pacing again. I didn’t know anything about her aside from the few personal things I had gleaned from our conversations. I knew her voice. I knew her sweet laughter. I knew how her caring ways made me feel. But nothing about her—personally. Nothing I could use right now to find her.

Standing up, I walked into the kitchen, grabbing a beer. I took a deep swallow and tried to calm myself. Maybe she went for dinner with a friend and lost track of time. Maybe there was some big discovery at work and she was deeply entrenched in lab work. Both of those were valid possibilities—except somehow, I sensed, if either had happened, she would have sent me a text, or left me a message. She knew I expected her home tonight and I would worry.

I sat down on the sofa, exhausted. The early mornings, watching to make sure she was okay after her run, were catching up with me. I was tired, hungry, feeling stressed, and I could feel a headache coming on. I rested back against the cushion, closing my eyes, unsure what I should do next.

My eyes snapped open as the sound of Kourtney’s ringtone drifted across the room from the desk where I had left my phone. I got up, stumbling as I lunged toward the edge of the desk, grabbing it, already speaking as I raised it to my ear. “Kourtney? Where are you? Are you okay?”

Her voice flowed over me like a calming wave. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

I glanced down at my watch, shocked to see it was after midnight. I must have fallen asleep.

“I don’t care about that. Baby, where are you? Are you home now?”

Silence. I closed my eyes when I realized what I had called her.

“Kourtney?”

“No, I’m in Vancouver.”

“What? What are you doing there?”

“Mark got sick.”

I snorted. “Well, I’m fucking sorry about Mark, but what does it have to do with you being in Vancouver?”

Kourtney sighed. “He was to present the paper I wrote for this medical convention, Nat. He wasn’t feeling very well this morning, and he was too ill to travel by lunch. They sent me in his place—there was no one else who could go.” She was quiet for a minute. “I didn’t want to go.”

“Fuck, Kourtney, I was so worried. You weren’t here—I couldn’t get hold of you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Do you know they make you turn off your cell phone before you get on a plane?”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Yes, I knew that, but you could have sent me a text, so I didn’t worry as much.”

“Didn’t you get my note?”

I glanced around as if I expected to find something sitting on the desk. “What note?”

“The one I left with your care package.”

“Kourtney, what are you talking about?”

“I left you some stuff on your doorstep.”

I shut my eyes. “I haven’t looked at my doorstep. I always use the door from the garage when I come home from work.”

“Oh, well, it was windy and I was afraid to leave it on the fence. I figured you would see it on the doorstep. I never thought . . .” she rambled. “It happened so fast, Nat, and I wasn’t really given a choice. I had to rush home, pack, and get to the airport—I barely made the plane. I’ve been traveling since mid-afternoon. I just got to the hotel.”

I sighed as I sat down, feeling relief now that I knew she was all right.

“It’s okay, Chefgirl. I’m glad you’re safe. You must be tired, though.”

“I’m . . . Yeah, I am.”

I could hear more than exhaustion in her tone. She sounded tense. “Why do you sound so nervous?”

“I hate speaking in front of people. I’m not good at it. The deal is: I write it, someone else presents it.”

“I bet you’re better than you think.”

She snorted. “I doubt it.”

I frowned. “You are always too hard on yourself. You have a great voice, Kourtney. You’re smart and witty. You wrote the words. No one would know them as well as you do. You’ll be brilliant,” I assured her.

“I wish I had your confidence,” she mumbled.

“I believe in you. You can do this. I know you can.”

“Thank you,” she breathed.

“When are you coming home?” I asked, unsure how long she would be gone.

“Thursday.”

“That’s three more days. I’ll miss you.”

“I left you food, Tomcat,” she stated wryly.

I liked her endearment. “It’s not the food I’ll miss, Kourtney. It’s the cook.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“No. Only speaking the truth.”

“I’ll . . . I’ll miss you, too,” she whispered, so low I almost didn’t hear her. Her hushed confession made my heart soar.

“Nat?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I . . . can I call you again?”

“Anytime, Chefgirl. Day or night. Text me, too. I won’t make it through the next few days if I don’t know what color socks you’re wearing,” I teased.

“Okay, go back to bed. Don’t forget to get your package.”

“I’ll go right now. What are you going to do?”

“Um . . . practice the presentation for a bit, then go to bed.”

“You, ah, don’t have to use PowerPoint or anything, do you?” I grimaced, thinking about how stressed out it would make her.

“No, Annie does that and she’s got it covered.”

“Good.” I didn’t want to let her go yet. “Call me if you want a captive audience to practice on.”

“You’d listen, wouldn’t you?” Her voice was filled with wonder.

“For as long as you wanted me to.” I chuckled. “Or until I fell asleep. Whichever came first.”

“I think the dialogue would put you to sleep. Unless you love big medical words and a lot of statistics, it’s kind of dull.”

“Doubt it. I know the person who wrote it. Nothing dull about her.”

“Good night, Nat.”

“Night.”

I hung up, gazing around the room, feeling strangely lost. A thought occurred to me and I sent her a text.

What hotel are you staying at?

The Crowne Plaza.

Room number?

1416.

Last name, please.

Why?

Because I should know. Please.

Whyte.

Sock update?

Plain, boring, white.

I smiled.

Nothing plain or boring about you. Sleep well, Kourtney Whyte. I wish it was Thursday already.

Me, too. Night x

I stared at the small x for five minutes, wondering if she even realized she had added it. Then I got up and retrieved my package from the front step. I was amazed that despite the rush she was in and how nervous I knew she would have been, she had thought about me before leaving.

Inside the basket was a large casserole, some cookies and a note.

Nat-

I had to go out of town to the medical convention.

I don’t want to go.

I had the casserole in the freezer—it should keep you going until I get back. You have to bake it. I was saving the cookies for you but thought you would enjoy them while I was gone. A good substitute, right? Sweet and they won’t give you any lip.

Please take care of yourself. I’ll call you when I get to Vancouver.

I’m sorry for the short notice.

Chefgirl

I put the casserole in the refrigerator and grabbed a cookie, munching it as I walked down the hall to bed.

I sent one last text before I hit the mattress.

The cookies are great, Chefgirl, but I would far rather be subjected to your lip. There isn’t anything sweeter than that. Call me tomorrow.

I hesitated. Then I added it.

Night x

9 a.m.

You awake, Chefgirl? I know you’re 3 hours behind me.

Yes.

Are you going for a run?

Yes I am—why?

Be sure to take your phone.

I will.

Promise?

Nat, I run every morning. I’ll be fine.

Running around this quiet, little subdivision is one thing—Vancouver is a big place—it’s dangerous. Keep your phone on and don’t have your music on too loud. Pay attention to your surroundings.

How did you know I listen to music?

Shit.
I couldn’t exactly tell her I noticed the earbuds in her ears the other morning while I was watching her run, so I decided to go with the most obvious thing I could think of.

Most people do while running—only stands to reason you do. Text me when you get back so I won’t worry.

You don’t have to worry about me.

Well, I do. Get used to it. Text me.

OK. Thank you.

Anytime.

12 p.m.

Chefgirl, my co-workers are indeed weeping over today’s leftovers. One offered to cover the next virus cleanup to trade.

Sounds like a good deal.

Nope. Not happening. He had a (gasp) frozen mac and cheese. Can’t let that shit pass my lips anymore. Do you make mac and cheese?

Yes.

Would you make it for me?

Yes.

I knew you would. x

I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t respond to that, so I forged ahead.

What time is your presentation?

In 2 hours.

You OK?

Nervous.

You’ll be great. I know it. Then it’s done.

Until tomorrow. I have to present to two different groups.

By then you will be a pro. You can do this. You’re brilliant.

Thanks, Nat.

Anytime, Kourtney.

1:50 p.m.

Nathan?

Hey—you okay?

I can’t do this.

Yes, you can.

I racked my brains, trying to figure out a way to help her. I dialed her number, frowning at the stress in her voice when she answered.

“I’m right there with you, Kourtney.”

“What?”

“Keep the cell on; lay it on the podium beside you. I’ll listen. Pretend you’re talking to me over the fence the way you always do.”

“Really? Doesn’t it cost a lot?”

“Nah,” I lied effortlessly. “My plan is an all-inclusive one.”

“They’re calling my name now,” she blurted, panicked.

“Go. I’m right here,” I assured her. I plugged in my headphone jack and continued to type away, listening to her begin to speak; her anxiety evident in the slight tremble of her voice.

She was right; I had no idea what she was talking about, but I found her voice captivating. For the first few minutes, there was a strange repetitive noise and it took me a moment to realize she was running her thumb over the cell phone. Gradually, the noise stopped as her speech lost its panicky edge and she became engrossed in the topic in which she was speaking. I worked away as I listened, my pride growing during the question and answer period at the end. She really was clever, answering all the questions without hesitation. She knew her subject matter. At the conclusion, she picked up her phone, asking if I was still there, sounding relieved when I answered.