Someone Is Watching (18 page)

I feel the color instantly drain from my face.

“Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean …”

“I know.”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. My mother’s right. I need to think before I speak. I’m really sorry, Bailey.”

I take a long, deep breath. “How long were you there?”

“Less than a month. Uncle Gene pulled some strings, got me out early. He denies it, of course. He pretends to be such a hard-ass.…” She begins flipping through the stations. A succession of images assaults my eyes as one channel disappears into another. “So, your turn. Think you’ll ever have sex again?”

Truthfully, the thought of having sex again terrifies me. The idea of a man,
any
man, even Sean, touching me in an intimate manner sends spasms of revulsion through my body. “I hope I’ll enjoy sex again one day,” I say, but my words sound hollow and unconvincing, even to my own ears.

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Can you make it an easy one?” This is worse than therapy, I think.

“Did you like sex before you were raped?” Jade leans forward, staring at me intently, the television temporarily forgotten.

“Yes.”

“Did you have orgasms?”

I want to tell her this is
really
none of her business, but I don’t. Instead I answer the question. “Sometimes.”

She sighs. “I’ve never had an orgasm.”

“You’re sixteen,” I remind her.

“I read that some women
never
have orgasms. Maybe I’ll be one of them.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

She giggles. “So whose fault would it be if I don’t, the guy’s or mine?”

“I don’t know that it’s a question of fault,” I begin, choosing each word with care. “It’s more a matter of finding out what works for you and what doesn’t, and being able to express—”

“Did you have a lot of lovers?” she interrupts, my answer clearly much too long and earnest to sustain her interest.

I do a quick count. “Does six qualify as a lot?”

“Are you kidding? For a single woman your age that’s, like, nothing.”

“What about you?”

She is silent for several long seconds. “Promise you won’t tell my mother?”

I nod, regretting now that I’ve asked the question.

“Just one,” she tells me so quietly I almost don’t hear.

“Just one?”

“I know. My mother thinks there’ve been, like, what—twenty?” She sits up ramrod straight. “You promised you wouldn’t tell her.”

“I won’t. But frankly, I think she’d be relieved.”

“Who says I want her to be relieved?”

I laugh.

Jade looks offended. “You think this is a joke?”

“No, not at all. I just meant … She worries about you. That’s all.”

“She worries about everything.”

“She does?”

“You seem surprised.”

“I guess I am,” I admit. Claire always seems in such control.

“She worries about money, mostly,” Jade says.

I feel a stab of guilt. It’s because of me that Claire worries about money. It’s not right I have so much and she so little. “So, tell me about this guy,” I say in an effort not to think about such things. “Is he the one your mom caught you with?”

“Nah. He was this boy in my English class last year, but his
family moved to Arizona in July, and that was the end of that. No big loss. I mean, the whole thing was pretty forgettable, although they say you never forget your first love.”

“They say a lot of things. Most of them aren’t true.” I pause, thinking of Sean. “I think it’s your last love that counts.”

She seems to weigh this thought seriously, her forehead creasing in concentration. “Are you in love now?” she asks.

Am I? I used to think so. “I don’t know.”

The phone rings, and I jump.

“Want me to get it?” Jade’s hand stretches toward the end table. I nod as she checks the caller ID. “Somebody’s ears were obviously burning,” she says, picking up the phone and handing me the receiver. “It’s your boss,” she mouths.

I think Bailey’s banging her boss,
I hear Claire say.

I take the phone, press it tight against my cheek, as if trying to prevent any words from escaping. “Hi,” I whisper, my heart already pounding. I’m seized with the notion that Sean was somehow able to hear everything Jade and I have been talking about. I signal for Jade to leave the room, but she stubbornly refuses to take the hint. Instead, she leans forward, elbows resting on crossed knees, her eyes fastened on mine.

“How are you?” Sean asks.

“Good.”

“I thought I’d stop by later, if you’re going to be alone.”

“I’d like that.”

“Around five?”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll see you then.” He hangs up without saying goodbye. Sean was never one for beating around the bush, in the courtroom or anywhere else. His philosophy has always been, Keep it simple. Make your point. Then get the hell out.

“What sounds good?” Jade asks as I drop the phone to the bed.

I shake my head. It’s one thing to talk about Sean with my sister or my therapist. But I draw the line at discussing him with a sixteen-year-old girl.

“He’s coming over, isn’t he?”

“Jade …”

“Now? Is he coming over now? Do you want me to leave?”

“He’s not coming over now.”

“But he
is
coming over.”

“Around five,” I admit, recognizing it’s a lost cause to do otherwise.

“You want me to stick around?
Kidding,
” she says immediately. “I’ll be long gone by then. Promise. And just so you know,” she adds, “anything you tell me is just between us. Like with your therapist.”

I smile. “You’d make a very good therapist.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely.”

“How about a private investigator, like you?”

“I think you’ll be great at whatever you decide to do.”

“Thanks.”

“And just so
you
know, whatever you say to me is strictly confidential as well.”

She uncrosses her legs and leans back against the pillows, returning her attention to the TV, the channel back to
The Millionaire Matchmaker.
One episode is just ending and another beginning. “I like you,” Jade says without looking at me.

“I like you, too.”

—

It’s almost six o’clock when Sean knocks on my door. Jade left almost two hours ago. I’ve showered and changed into a pair of white cotton jeans and a loose-fitting gray jersey. I’ve even made a stab at blow-drying my hair and applying a bit of makeup. The result, while not a total success, is not an unmitigated disaster. At least I don’t look as if I’m about to keel over dead.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says as I open the door to let him in.

In the next minute, I’m in his arms. He is holding me very gently, as if he is afraid too much pressure on my back might cause
it to break. His lips brush against my hair, although they don’t linger. I feel his breath against the skin of my neck. I lift my face to his, and he kisses me tenderly, although briefly and without passion, as if he is aware another man is hovering, waiting to pounce.

“How are you?” he asks.

“Better, now that you’re here.” I take his hand, guide him toward the living room.

“I can’t stay long.”

“I figured as much.” I know he likes to be home in time to tuck his daughters into bed.

“I was hoping to get away earlier, but you know how it is. Something always comes up just when you’ve got one foot out the door.”

We sit side by side on one of the sofas, our fingers touching, although just barely. “Are you very busy at work?” I ask, although I already know the answer. He is always busy at work.

“The usual. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Hopefully I’ll be back in the office soon to help out.” I do my best to sound more convincing than I feel.

“Take your time. There’s no rush.” He lifts his hand to caress my cheek. Instantly I feel my jaw clench and my ribs constrict. “Sorry,” he says, returning his hand to his lap.

“It’s not you,” I offer.

“I know.”

“It’ll just take time.”

“I know,” he says again.

I take his hand in mine, guide it back to my face, press it against my cheek, then kiss his open palm. Is it possible that Elizabeth Gordon is right about him? Could this affair be my attempt to understand my mother better?

“What were you thinking just now?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

“Yes, you were. I could see all this stuff going on behind your eyes.”

I laugh to hide my embarrassment at being so easily read. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just so glad to see you.”

“How are you feeling … 
really
?” he presses.

The easy answer would be to tell him I’m feeling better. But the truth is I feel the same as I did yesterday and the day before that. The relief I felt when talking to Elizabeth Gordon was only temporary. “Better,” I lie.

“Well, you certainly look better.”

“Makeup.”

“No, it’s more than that. I’m seeing a bit of the old spark coming back.”

We see what we want to see,
I think. “I went to a therapist this afternoon. Elizabeth Gordon.”

He shakes his head at the name. “Don’t know her. Any good?”

“I hope so.”

“I think it’s a good idea, that you’re seeing her,” he says after a pause. “I think it’ll help.”

“I hope so,” I say again. I wait for him to ask what we talked about, to grill me as Jade did earlier, but he doesn’t. Does he wonder if we talked about him? He doesn’t ask that either.

“Any interesting new cases?” I ask after a silence of several seconds.

“Not really. Same old, same old,” he adds for emphasis, as if to convince me I’m not missing much.

“No juicy office gossip?”

He hesitates. “None that I can think of.”

“What?” I ask.

“What?” he repeats.

“You thought of something,” I tell him, a repeat of our earlier exchange, although our roles have reversed. “There was all this stuff going on behind your eyes.”

“Just trying to see if I could come up with anything sufficiently juicy. Guess you’ll have to talk to Sally about that sort of thing.” He looks toward the window, stares absently at the horizon.

I’m holding my breath. We’ve never had a problem talking to each other before. Words always flowed so effortlessly between us. Although truthfully, we never had much need for very many words.

“I ran into your brother this morning,” he says finally.

“Heath?” I haven’t heard from him today. I wonder how his callback went, if he got the Whiskas commercial. I hope he did. Heath needs for something good to happen.

“Gene,” Sean corrects.

I grimace. I’d forgotten about Gene. I’m used to thinking I have only one brother.

“He asked how you were coming along, if I’d spoken to you since that memorable afternoon here.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“That your recovery might proceed faster if he’d drop his lawsuit.”

I can’t help but laugh. “And what did he say to that?”

“That he was open to discussing the matter whenever you felt up to it.”

“Lovely. I feel better already.” I’m reminded of Claire, her worries about money. “Do you think I should settle?”

“I think that’s entirely up to you and Heath.”

“My father would have a fit. You know he would. You were his lawyer.”

Sean shakes his head. “Your father was a stubborn man, Bailey. And much as I respected him, he wasn’t always right.”

“So you think I should settle?” I repeat.

“I don’t think you should decide anything until you’re feeling stronger. Just remember that there’s lots of money to go around, and it’s your health that’s important here. At some point, it might be best to cut your losses, make peace with your family, and move on with your life.” He reaches over and pats my knee. “I should go.”

“Now? You just got here.”

He checks his watch as he rises to his feet. “It’s getting late. The girls …”

“… like their father to be home to kiss them goodnight.”

He’s walking toward the foyer. I reach out and grab his hand, feel his fingers sliding from mine as he moves to open the door. “Listen. There’s something I have to tell you. I’m going away for a week.”

“What? When?”

“We leave Saturday. It’s this family cruise Kathy booked months ago. The Caribbean. Believe me, this was not my idea.”

I bite down hard on my lower lip to keep from saying something I’ll regret.

“I’ll miss you,” I tell him. What else can I say?

“I’ll miss you, too.”

He leans over and kisses me. The kiss is soft and tender, longer than the one he gave me when he arrived. I can’t help wonder if there’s something more, something he isn’t telling me. I long to grab him close, to keep him from leaving. My arms stretch toward his neck. But he is already pulling away from me, and my hands brush ineffectually across his shoulders as he steps across the threshold.

“Take good care of yourself until I get back,” he says. And then he is gone.

I run down the hall to my room, grab my binoculars and stare down at the street, watching for his car. But it is dark, and one car looks pretty much the same as the next. I watch them as, one after another, they disappear into the night, taking their secrets with them.

It’s just after midnight, and a light rain is starting to fall when the lights go on in the apartment across the way. Immediately I raise my binoculars to my eyes, watching as Narcissus enters his bedroom. He’s not alone. A woman is with him, but I’m pretty sure she’s not the same woman he was with last night. This woman appears both taller and thinner, although she has the same long, dark hair as the previous one. She seems to be laughing, but I can’t tell for sure.

I adjust the lens to get a better look. The circles refuse to align properly. Everything remains hazy. Maybe it’s the rain. Maybe it’s because I’m so tired. Earlier I pulled the desk chair from my office into the bedroom, and I’ve been dozing in it on and off for the last few hours, alternating between the worlds of dreams and reality, unable to decipher which is which, equally uncomfortable in both.

The fog surrounding me suddenly lifts. The rain disappears. Everything becomes crystal clear, so clear that I find myself standing right behind the young woman with the slim build and long, dark hair as Narcissus offers her a drink. I can even make out the
painted olives decorating the side of her glass as we reach for the drink together. I feel it cold against my fingers.