Don't Go (22 page)

“Let me help,” Danielle said quickly, pushing the pills into a pile. “You take your pill, and I’ll put these away.”

“Thanks.” Mike’s mouth was too dry to swallow the pill, so he slugged some coffee, and Danielle put the pills back in the bottle and handed it to him.

“Here we go.”

“Thanks.” Mike sat down, returned his attention to the email, and realized he could chart the chronology of the affair, so he scrolled to the oldest email from Mac702, and clicked
OPEN.
It read:

It was great just talking to you. As I mentioned, if you could use a hand at the house, I’m free to come over, anytime. Call on my cell. It’s better and quicker than email. Text is also fine.

“So the 999 cell number was Mac702’s, but he didn’t sign his name. Damn!”

“Wonder where he works.” Danielle puckered her lips.

“So do I. His identity isn’t obvious from his email address, so it suggests that it was somebody she knew.” Mike thought aloud. “She obviously just had a conversation with someone about needing some help around the house, or something like that, so she wasn’t surprised when she got his email.”

“Could be.”

Mike clicked to the
SENT
file to see how Chloe had responded, which was:

I would love that! I’m afraid of heights and the last time it snowed, it almost broke the gutter out back. Yikes! Thanks so much for your help!

Mike felt a pang, reading her words. It was just how she talked, open and friendly, and seeing it in print was like being in her presence. He got lost a minute, remembering her. He’d be crying if not for the Oxys.

“It’s not like she was looking to cheat.”

“She didn’t say no, either.” Mike clicked on the next email from Mac702, which read:

I never had so much fun in my life. You’re an amazing mother and amazing artist. I didn’t mean to open up so much but you brought that out in me. Can’t wait to see you again. Please make those muffins?

“You jerk,” Mike said to the screen, starting to see red.

“Still no name. Go to the one on November 11.”

“Veteran’s Day. How ironic.” Mike opened the next email from Mac702, which read:

That was the best day ever. You have only yourself to blame that I overstayed my welcome. You’re simply the most beautiful, fascinating woman I have ever met.

Mike had to look away, out the window. The sun was blindingly bright, making golden streaks on the snow’s crust, not strong enough to melt it. He wished he could be like that, so that none of this got to him, not the emails, Emily’s tears, the loss of his arm, or Phat Phil and Oldstein. He wished he had a heart made of Kevlar. He returned his attention to the laptop and scrolled over to the
SENT
file, to see how Chloe had replied:

Your words are way too kind. I have to admit I opened up a lot, too, but I think that’s part of being alone so much and worried about Mike. Please forgive.

Mike read her email again. It made him feel better, seeing that she had at least mentioned him and was missing him. “I wonder whether Mac702 was married, too. It’s possible, and that could be why he’s using the screen name instead of his real name.”

“It’s certainly possible.” Danielle lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve heard stories about husbands with secret email accounts and phone numbers. I have a friend whose husband used drop phones, for talking to his mistress.”

“That could be why the cell phone was out of service, like those calling cards we used at base. Maybe it was a phone nobody knew about, not even his wife, assuming he was married.” Mike scrolled to the next email, which came the next day, on November 12:

I know we just hung up, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I know you didn’t mean things to go so far, but I couldn’t help myself. I know you regret it, but I’m hoping I changed your mind on the phone. This is the beginning of something amazing and you deserve to have the love you need. You can’t blame yourself for needing to be held. I’m falling in love. Say that you are, too.

“Oh, man,” Mike said, but it came out like a long, slow moan. He could read between the lines. They had slept together. He raked his hair, wanting to tear it out by the root.

“I’m so sorry, Mike.”

“This makes me sick.” Mike couldn’t look over at Danielle, and he realized that he couldn’t read in front of her. “Danielle, I changed my mind. Would you mind if I read these alone? I don’t think Mac702 is going to mention his name, if he hasn’t already.”

“I understand, sure.” Danielle sighed, meeting his eye. “I’m sorry about this, but I believe in Chloe. She didn’t love him, she loved you.”

“Thanks.”

“Let me know if you need anything, or if you find out who he is.” Danielle got up, left the room, and closed the door behind her. “See you later.”

Mike confronted the screen, bracing himself. He went to the
SENT
file, found Chloe’s email to Mac702, and clicked
OPEN
:

You almost changed my mind on the phone, but I admit I’m not thinking straight. What happened between us was wonderful, but it was also wrong and I don’t want you to be misled. I feel horrible today, guilty. I appreciate the comfort and affection and closeness we shared, but it can never be more than that and it should never happen again.

Mike swallowed hard. He scrolled down, noticing that there were no emails the weeks of November 18, November 25, December 2, and December 9. If Chloe died December 15, when she was about a month pregnant, the child would’ve been conceived sometime the week of November 11, early in the affair. He clicked to the last email to Chloe from Mac702, which read:

I can’t begin to tell you what these times we had together have meant to me, and I think you know anyway. I heard what you said today, but I can’t end this so easily, and I don’t believe you want to, deep inside. You’re not answering my texts or calls, so I had to resort to email, but please just see me one more time, to talk about this. I don’t want to throw us away.

His blood started boiling again. Chloe had tried to break off the affair, but this guy wasn’t taking no for an answer. Mike clicked ahead to the
SENT
file to read her last email to him:

I’ve listened to your messages but you have to respect my wishes. Please don’t come over or drop in again. This relationship was wrong when it started, and continuing it only makes it more wrong. I know that you are not the answer to my loneliness or depression. I have to get back on my feet. Please respect that, and I wish you all the best. Good-bye.

Mike felt the his love for Chloe coming back. He began to understand why she’d done what she’d done, because she’d been lonely and worried about him. It wasn’t because she didn’t love him, it was because she’d needed him more than he realized, maybe even more than she’d realized. Chloe was a casualty of war, too. He no longer judged her, he forgave her, and the very notion eased his heart.

His anger went immediately to her lover, who had insinuated himself into her life, their marriage, and even their bed. She’d been vulnerable and weak, and he’d taken advantage of her. He logged out of her email and into Facebook as Chloe, because he knew her password was Emily1000. He hadn’t had the heart to deactivate her account and he’d been hoping it would help him find out who her lover was, someday.

Chloe’s Facebook page popped onto the screen, and he scanned the sad RIP postings, which he had read when he was in Afghanistan. He double-checked to see if any had been posted by someone named Mac or a guy who had Mac in his first or last name, but there weren’t any. He clicked over to her Facebook Friends and scanned them, too. There were two Mac names, one MacGonigle and another MacTeer, but they were women. Still, he wasn’t giving up that easy.

He logged out, went back to Chloe’s email account, opened the last email from Mac702, and hit
REPLY
, then wrote to him:

This is Chloe’s husband, Mike. I’m back. I don’t know who you are, but I’m going to find out and I’m coming after you. If you’re married, I’m telling your wife. I’m bringing the war home. To you.

Mike hit
SEND
, then got up, a man on a mission.

Chapter Forty-one

Mike parked his Grand Cherokee at the end of his old street, cut the ignition, and eyed his house, which had been bought by a couple with a baby girl. There was a white minivan where Chloe’s VW had been, and he pictured the family sleeping in his bedroom, with their child in a crib like Emily’s, then he shooed those thoughts away. He was here because one of the neighbors might have seen a strange man or unusual car at the house, which could give him a lead on Mac702.

He tucked his left sleeve into his jacket pocket, pocketed the keys, got out of the car, and walked down the street, toward Neil and Malika Gustin’s house, a stone colonial with a slate roof. Neil’s maroon Lexus was in the driveway, and the sidewalk had been shoveled, which was no surprise. Neil was always the first to shovel, and Chloe used to tease him.

Neil’s making you look bad again. Get your butt out there! Use the Backsaver!

Mike knocked on the door, which was opened after a moment by Neil, who broke into a wide grin when he recognized him.

“Mike, come in, we heard you were home.” Neil was tall, thin, and African-American, and he had on jeans and a Penn sweatshirt because he was on the faculty. “So good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too.” Mike came inside, shaking off the cold, and Neil shut the door behind them. The family room was snug and warm, and his sons Jason and Luke flopped on the plaid couch, watching cartoons in their pajamas. Mike was surprised at how much they’d grown. “Hi guys, how are you doing?”

“Boys, say hello to Dr. Scanlon.” Neil gestured to Mike. “You remember, he used to live across the street, then he went into the Army. You should thank him for his service to this country.”

“Thank you, Dr. Scanlon,” the boys said in unison. Luke, who was younger, piped up, “I play Call of Duty. I’m on level four.”

“Way to go!” Mike smiled, and Neil put a hand on Mike’s back.

“I’m so sorry about Chloe. It still seems so hard to believe.”

“Thanks. I feel the same way.”

“It’s good you’re home safe. Malika will be sorry she missed you. She’s running errands with the baby.” Neil’s eyes were a soft brown, and he had more crow’s feet than last year. “I heard you got a medal. Congratulations!”

“Thanks.” Mike guessed Neil had heard about his arm, too, but he kept his sleeve in his pocket anyway.

“You want some coffee or something? I’m supposed to be fixing the sump pump and I need a break.”

“No, thanks, I won’t bother you. I was just wondering if you saw any strange cars or anything around the house, the month before Chloe died. Like any strange men, or anything like that, helping her around the house.”

Neal frowned. “I don’t think so, but I’m in town all day. Malika would know, and I’ll ask her.”

“Great. It could’ve been on the weekend, too.”

“No. I didn’t notice anything or anyone new.” Neil ran a palm over his hair, which he kept short and natural, with new silver strands at his temples. “Why do you ask?”

“Some cash that went missing.” Mike was improvising. “I figure maybe it was a workman or someone helping her around the house. Did Malika mention anything like that, like some new guy helping her with the house?”

“No, not that I know of, or remember.” Neil shook his head. “I’ll ask Malika when she gets home. Maybe Douglas or Susan saw something?”

“I’m about to ask them. Well, I’d better go, thanks a lot. Have her call me, my number’s the same. Thanks again, Neil. Stay well.”

“You, too. Stop in anytime, especially if you can fix a sump pump.”

“Sorry, I’m only a surgeon,” Mike shot back, until he remembered he wasn’t anymore. He left the house and hustled across the street to Douglas and Susan Steingard, who’d come out to shovel. Susan was sweeping off her Toyota 4Runner and she turned with a big smile when she recognized Mike.

“Mike, what a surprise!” Susan rested the broom against the car and gave him a warm hug. She was a small woman in a puffy blue parka, with a knit cap pulled down to her round blue eyes. Freckles dotted her nose, red at the tip from the cold. “I was just thinking of you the other day, because I heard you came home. Thank God! How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks. How have you guys been?”

“Terrific. The girls keep me busier than when I was a lawyer. They’re in fifth grade now.” Susan gestured at their daughters, who were playing in the snow in the front yard. “They’re making an iPad. They’re lobbying.”

Mike laughed as Douglas made his way down the driveway in an orange parka and Sorrel boots, holding a windshield scraper. His red ski cap made a crooked cone on his head, and his glasses were steamed up at the bottom rim, nearest his cheeks.

“Mike, good to have you home!” Douglas grinned. “All hail the conquering hero.”

“Hardly, sir.” Mike always liked Douglas, a tax lawyer at a big firm in Philly. “How are you?”

“Same old, same old.” Douglas was on the short side and wiry. “I entered my first Iron Man and finished by nightfall.”

“Of the same day, even,” Susan added with a sly smile.

“Congratulations.” Mike cut to the chase. “Here’s what I came to ask. Some cash went missing from the house before Chloe died, and I’m thinking maybe a workman took it or someone helping her out. Do you remember seeing any workmen or new guys around during that time? Like a car in the driveway, one you hadn’t seen before?”

Susan frowned, in thought. “No, not really, I don’t.”

“It would have been around Thanksgiving or the holidays.”

“No, I don’t remember anybody unusual. Your brother-in-law was there, but nobody new or strange.” Susan’s fair skin flushed. “I wish I had seen her more often around that time, but the holidays get so busy. That’s why it was so shocking when she…” Her voice trailed off, and her pretty face fell. “I always wish I had been around that day, but I was shopping.”

Douglas put an arm around Susan, looking at Mike. “I’m so sorry for your loss, too.”

“Thanks, maybe I’ll go see the Kulls, on the off-chance that they saw something.”