Come Home (25 page)

“See you. Thanks again!” Jill raised her hand to hail a cab, standing in almost the same spot where she’d seen the black SUV. The shards of her BlackBerry couldn’t be far away.

“Take care!” Officer Mulvane called back, and the three men took a left, walked back down the street, and disappeared around the corner.

Jill kept her hand out, stalling until the police cruiser steered around the corner and took a right onto the highway. She waved to the police as they drove past, and when they were out of sight, she turned around and scooted back up the street to the garage. She yanked on the door, which opened easily because of the innersole, then she ripped it off the jamb and hurried to William’s Mercedes. She didn’t know what she’d find, but she wasn’t going home without trying.

She reached the car, ducked down to feel under the bumper, and found the spare-key box. She slid open the tin lid, took out the big black key, and aimed it at the trunk, chirping it unlocked. She opened the trunk and looked inside. Nothing. It was massive and looked clean as new. She felt around the black interior to make sure, but there wasn’t anything inside or hidden. She closed the trunk, then hustled to the driver’s side and slipped into the seat. It was dim inside the car, but she didn’t want to turn on the interior light, in case someone saw her.

She eyed the interior, and it was immaculate, smelling faintly of Armor All, a car fetish of William’s. She looked in the door’s side compartment, but there was nothing in it except a pack of gum. She opened the lid of the center console, and it contained only a pack of Kleenex and a navy plastic envelope, which she picked up and looked inside. It held the car’s registration and proof of insurance.
NEIL STRAUB
, both read, and the address was the apartment building. She looked down at the signature on the registration.
Neil Straub,
it read, but it was clearly William’s handwriting. Jill stuck the papers into her flattened purse, then reached over and pressed the button to open the padded glove compartment, where she spotted the glint of a gun.

Jill reached inside and pulled it out, dismayed. She’d never held a gun before, and this one was black, compact, and lethal, with cross-hatching on the handle and a small trident on the side. Beretta, it read underneath. She’d never known William to have a gun, but now he had two, and she wondered why he felt the need for so much protection. Her gut told her that his double life had to have played a role in what happened to him, and she prayed that whatever he was doing hadn’t jeopardized Abby, too.

Jill put the gun back in the glove compartment, which contained nothing else but a thick owner’s manual, so she shut the compartment’s door. She turned around and checked out the backseat, which was clean. There was nothing on the floor in back, either. She turned back, eyeing the dashboard, which had an array of smooth buttons, giving her an idea. She plunged the car key into the ignition and twisted it on, and the dashboard came alive.

NAVI
, read one button, the navigation system. She pressed it, and it brought up a list that started,
ADDRESS ENTRY
. She scanned the list until she got to
ADDRESSES FROM MEMORY
, scrolled to highlight the selection, then pressed. There were no listings, not even
HOME
.

Jill didn’t believe it for a minute. William loved gadgets, and it seemed unlikely that he’d never used the GPS system. She glanced at the odometer, which glowed 30,393 miles, a lot of driving to not use a GPS for. She strolled down to
LAST DESTINATIONS
and pressed the button.
NONE
, it read.

Jill thought about it. There must have been a way to wipe the memory from the GPS system, and if so, William must’ve done so. She wondered why, stumped. She inhaled, thinking. Then she breathed in again. Armor All wasn’t the only smell in the car. There was a sweeter scent, then Jill remembered his girlfriend.

She shifted over the console, climbed into the passenger seat, and flipped down the makeup mirror. There was nothing stuck underneath. She checked out the compartment on the passenger side door, and hit paydirt. The compartment had stuff in it, but she couldn’t see what it was in the poor light.

She scooped the stuff out and arrayed it on her lap: a Laura Mercier lipstick, an eyelash curler, a black tube of violet-scented hand cream, and a white plastic bag from Sephora. She opened the bag, but it was empty, and she assumed it had contained the makeup, bought on the run. In the bottom of the bag were receipts, and she pulled them out and read them. One showed cosmetics and beauty supplies, for a total of $136.98, and the other was the thin receipt from a Visa customer copy.

Jill’s gaze shot to the bottom of the receipt, where it had been signed by the customer.

Nina D’Orive,
it read, in a lovely, flowing script.

Chapter Forty

Jill emerged from a cab at Penn Station, eyeing the rush-hour crowds. If the black SUV had followed her to William’s apartment, it could follow her here, and she scanned the cabs, limos, vans, and cars all around her. She spotted three black SUVs but couldn’t see the drivers, and it made her nervous. Worse, she wasn’t any closer to finding Abby, and what she’d learned about William made her heartsick, for Abby.

Jill hustled to the curb, threaded through the commuters flooding into the station, boarded the escalator on the run, and kept moving. She hit the ground floor running and made a beeline for the ticket booth in the back, but the line was too long. She hustled to the ticket kiosk, eyeing everyone around her with suspicion; the burly man in a suit that strained at the seams on his upper arms, the sleepy hipster with the oversized black glasses and guitar case, the young woman in an unseasonably heavy sweater, who seemed to watch her every move.

Jill didn’t know whom to suspect, so she suspected everyone, then it dawned on her that there could be more than one person following her. They could be working together as a team; in fact, they had to be. There was no way one person could have followed her from her car to the train to the apartment building. She glanced over her shoulder as the ticket printed out, but suddenly people starting surging in three different directions, regrouping as quickly as a school of tropical fish.

“Acela to Washington, D.C., with stops in Newark, Princeton, North Philadelphia, Philadelphia,” blared the loudspeaker.

Jill joined the crowd surging forward, then squeezed her way into a human funnel as each passenger showed his ticket to the conductor. She filed in behind an older woman as the escalator carried them down to the bowels of the station, where she hurriedly boarded the train and took the first empty seat, next to another older woman, who immediately pulled out her knitting.

Jill set her purse on her lap and looked out the window. The train was still boarding, and all she saw on the platform was darkness broken by an array of shifting shadows. She closed her eyes, and a wave of exhaustion washed over her, born of anxiety and fear. She flashed on Abby’s face and prayed she had called her phone or Victoria’s, or had finally come home.

Jill kept her eyes closed as the train started to move. She didn’t feel safe enough to fall asleep, but the car began to rock slowly back and forth. She forced her eyes open and found herself resting her cheek in her hand while the noise and chatter of the other passengers grew distant. In her mind’s eye, she could see Abby, younger and grinning until her rubber bands showed, then Abby morphed into Megan, who morphed into Rahul, and all of the children became one, and they were all happy and whole and healthy, living without danger, disease, or death, rocked in her loving arms, back and forth, forever and ever.

And in the next minute, Jill had fallen asleep.

Chapter Forty-one

Jill got home to a house quiet except for Beef, who barked his way down the stairs, in excitement. She knew Sam was home because his car was in the driveway, but he didn’t greet her. “I’m home!” she called out, hopeful.

“Up here!” Sam called, from upstairs.

“Be up in a minute,” Jill called back, relieved they were on speaking terms. She set down her purse and keys, patted Beef on the head, then hurried into the kitchen to check her messages.

She went to the wall phone, picked up the receiver, and pressed the number code for her messages, but they were all telemarketers, not Abby, Victoria, or any of her patients. She hung up, went to her laptop and moved the mouse to wake it, then logged onto her email, skimming it quickly. Again, there was nothing from Abby or Victoria, but there were two emails from patients. She read them quickly, but they could wait for an answer. She checked for Rahul’s results, but they hadn’t come in yet, which concerned her. Her appointment with Padma and Rahul was tomorrow.

Jill went to the stairs, anxious to see Sam. She didn’t know how he’d react to her knowing about William’s double life, or how she would tell him. It struck her that she hadn’t felt so awkward about seeing him since their first date, years ago. She climbed the stairs, thinking about it. She’d finally felt ready to go out again, but had been on one bad blind date after another, putting herself out there, keeping her chin up through the heavy drinkers, the men still in love with their exes, and men who expected her to sleep with them on the first date, since they were both adults now. She’d almost lost heart the day she’d arrived at the restaurant, early as usual, and spotted Sam already sitting at the table, wearing the plaid tie he’d told her he’d have on, and the thing that gave her a spark of hope was that he was reading a book.

Sorry I’m late,
Jill said reflexively, slipping her shoulder bag on the back of the chair and extending her hand like it was a job interview.

Sam smiled, rose, and shook her hand.
You’re not late, I’m early. I’m always early.

Jill smiled, sitting awkwardly, then she noticed the title of the book.
Angela’s Ashes,
by Frank McCourt, which was one of her favorites.
I love that book.

Me, too. I’m re-reading it. It’s so beautifully written, and it reminds me of how lucky I am in my life. How much human beings can endure and still survive.

Jill felt exactly the same way, but didn’t say so, thinking it would sound too cute.
So, well, hello, Sam Becker. You’re in diabetes research? How wonderful.

Thank you.
Sam closed the book and set it aside.
But I don’t think of what I do that way. That permits the disease to define me and my work, and I concede nothing to the disease. I’m trying to beat the disease.

So then what do you do? How do you define your work?
Jill felt awkward again, like she’d stuck her foot in her mouth, though Sam’s smile was even warmer.

I’m not in diabetes research, I’m in people research. I research people, to help them fight disease, so that someday they’ll live happy and healthy lives. They deserve that chance. At the very least, to survive.

Jill nodded.
Like the book, I guess.

Yes, right.
Sam blinked.
I never made that connection, before now. Thank you.

Jill smiled, flattered.
That’s what books do, isn’t it? That’s why I love to read. They bring us closer to ourselves.

And closer to each other.
Sam smiled, then laughed, flushing.
Wait, hold on. That’s not a line or anything. I hope it didn’t sound that way.

No, not at all,
Jill assured him, meaning it, but she didn’t add that she’d liked the sound of it, and when he’d said it, she’d felt a little thrill, a flash of emotion too small to warm her heart, but enough to fill it with light, and that was how she came to think about Sam himself, after she’d gotten to know him and had fallen in love with him, that his soul filled hers with light, and always would.

Jill was standing at the threshold of their bedroom, and Sam was packing his black rollerbag, which lay open on the bed like a thick book, one side filled with folded shirts and slacks, and the other with shoes. She stood at the threshold as if it weren’t her bedroom, too. “What’s this?” Jill asked, her mouth dry.

“I’m going to Cleveland.” Sam looked up, his eyes cool and distant behind his reading glasses. He was still dressed from work, in a blue shirt, loose striped tie, and Dockers. “Lee got sick and I have to help present his paper.”

“Oh.” Jill wasn’t sure what to say. “It’s a conference, so you’ll be back when? A day or two?”

“No.” Sam picked up a sneaker from the floor and wedged it inside the bag. “I thought I might get a jump on it and go see Steve.”

“But that’s this weekend.”

“Come on, Jill.” Sam stopped fussing with the sneaker and met her eye. “We both know you’re not going to Austin if Abby’s still missing, and I assume she’s still missing or you would have called me. Am I right?”

“Well, it’s true, if she’s still gone, I’d feel funny leaving—”

“That’s what I thought. So why should I fly home for one night, then leave for Austin alone?” Sam zipped the black netting over his shoes. “Megan’s at Courtney’s, and she’s fine. She called you, but you didn’t call back, so I told her it would be okay to sleep over. I thought it made the most sense for tonight, since I had to leave.”

“I dropped my phone, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sam closed the top of the suitcase, then zipped it, which for some reason, was never a good sound.

“Sam, I’m sorry. This is so crazy what’s going on, with Abby gone. I found out William had a double life, a secret identity in New York.”

“Really.” Sam picked two novels and his electronic reader off the bed, then slid them inside the exterior flap of the suitcase and zipped it closed.

“I went to the New York police but they—”

“Stop.” Sam picked the suitcase off the bed, set it on the floor, then brushed off the comforter. “I have to catch a plane, and I’d prefer it if our last words to each other weren’t about your ex-husband.”

“Okay.” Jill sighed, resigned. “So you’re still angry.”