Dry as Rain (10 page)

Perhaps attractive people were more likely to have married well and could afford to travel. Of course many of those who had to fly for business probably worked in sales. Salespeople did much better if they were easy on the eyes.

Even at Thompson's Imports, the best-looking men closed the most deals. An unfair fact that had served me well. My above-average looks certainly hadn't impeded my becoming salesman of the year five times in a row and eventually landing a promotion and nice income. Of course it had also brought temptation over the years, which until recently I had been strong, centered, and in love enough not to succumb to.

I ran a hand through my hair as I scanned the small crowd gathered around baggage claim C, searching for the short blonde. As usual, I heard Kyra's sister before I saw her. Marnie had a boisterous belly laugh that made those around her laugh too.

I stood waiting, remaining anonymously behind her as a businessman at least ten years her junior flirted. She wore a fitted blue dress that showed off her toned forty-five-year-old body. When the man yanked a leopard print suitcase from the conveyor belt, she stepped back.

His gaze slithered over her tanned legs as he set the bag beside her. She thanked him for his help by giving his cheek a motherly pinch and warning him of the hazards of drinking from plastic bottles. His boyish face turned shades as he laughed. Like many others before him, he'd mistaken her obsessive paranoia for a quirky sense of humor.

Her hair brushed her shoulders as she turned around, looking directly at me. It took a few seconds before recognition washed over her. Her arched eyebrows dipped in confusion. “Eric, were you on my flight?”

I took a deep breath and smiled. “No, I'm here to give you a lift.”

She looked around. “I thought my sister was coming.”

“I wanted to pick you up myself.”

Frosted pink lips curled into a suspicious smirk. “Why?”

Without answering, I glared at the businessman, or more accurately—boy, still ogling her. This guy had some kind of nerve. For all he knew she and I were a couple, and here he was undressing her with his eyes right in front of me. When he noticed me staring daggers at him, he snatched up his briefcase and moved farther up the conveyor belt.

I grabbed the hard plastic handle of my sister-in-law's suitcase and started walking. The click of her spiked heels followed.

I looked back over my shoulder. “You look well, Marnie. How was your trip?”

“It was good,” she said from behind me. “I met a man.”

This wasn't exactly earth-shattering news. She was always meeting someone or other. It was another of her not-so-little eccentricities. “Who's the lucky guy this time?”

“You say that like—”

“Like you're a serial dater? You are.”

“Don't make it sound so sordid. His name is Adrian. He lives in Paris . . . for now.”

I asked no questions. For one, I figured she would tell me all about this flavor of the month whether I did or not. For two, I already knew the basics. He would be attractive, dark, blind to her eccentricities, and rich. Marnie had a pretty good case of obsessive compulsive disorder, among other things. She only dated men with money because, despite her successful fashion career, she was deathly afraid of being poor. The only thing she feared more was actually walking down the aisle. That, meteorites, and even numbers.

“I can pull up front if you want, but I'm parked pretty close,” I said.

Appearing on my right, determinately keeping stride, she smiled. “I wouldn't want you to go to any trouble. Besides, 76 percent of accidents involving pedestrians occur right outside the front door.”

Even though I felt fairly confident she invented the statistics she often quoted, it did no good to argue with her. “Besides hooking another live one, how was France?”

She tossed her hair theatrically. “Fabulous while
I
was there. Everywhere I am is fabulous, Eric. You know that.” Anyone hearing our conversation would assume she was conceited, but I knew her well enough to know she was both kidding and as full of self-doubt as a person could be.

“Keep telling yourself that and then at least one person will believe it.” I turned and winked to show I was teasing. To Marnie, being ribbed was equivalent to being hugged.

She had no jovial retort, for a change, as she followed me the short distance to my parking spot.

I loaded her suitcase in the back of the SUV, and she climbed into the passenger seat. We sat silent while I drove and she texted back and forth on her BlackBerry. Though her behavior would be considered rude for anyone else, I knew it was just her OCD at work. She had to know that everything was in order or it would drive her over the edge she constantly teetered on. Anyway, I was glad to have her distracted. The ride to her house was too short for a meaningful conversation, and I would need her full attention.

Two traffic lights, three stop signs, two rights, and one left later, we pulled into the driveway of her Victorian. She finally slid her phone back into her purse. I parked beside her Mercedes, while she glanced behind her at the stack of my suits and dress shirts—still on hangers—piled on the seat behind us.

Sunlight caught the diamond pendant dangling from a delicate chain against her collarbone. Sparks of prism color flared in every direction. I wondered which in her long line of disposable suitors had given her the expensive gift and how long it took him to regret it.

She scrunched her nose, humor gleaming in her eyes. “Let me guess, you cheated on Larry too, and now you're living out of your car.” She covered her mouth in mock dismay. “Oh no, you're not going to ask to move in with me, are you?”

I turned off the ignition.
Not when there's a perfectly good bridge I could jump off just down the street.
“Actually, I'm moving these things back home.”

She couldn't have looked more surprised if I'd just claimed to be Princess Diana reincarnated. Her mouth dropped, making her look like a teenager who was about to say, “No way.”

I let out a deep breath that I felt like I'd been holding for days. “We need to talk.”

Her eyes turned into tiny brown slits. “What have you done to my sister now?”

Shadows darted along the dashboard cast by swaying leaves from a nearby maple tree. I focused on them rather than her. “May I come in?”

“You may want to tell me out here. Inside, there won't be any witnesses if I kill you.”

“I'll take my chances.”

A waist-high iron fence outlined the perimeter of the yard. The gate squealed as I pushed it open, rolling her suitcase behind me. She strutted ahead, stabbed the wooden stairs with her spiked heels, and unlocked the front door. I followed her inside, squinting as my eyes adjusted to the stark contrast between spring sunshine and the dimly lit home. I set her bag by the front door as the room slowly came into focus.

The place seemed even drearier than I remembered. The ceiling painted deep green, heavy drapes, and an overkill of dark wood was to blame. The hardwood floor was stained the color of pecan; so were the doors, the trim, and even the round table perched in the middle of the foyer. Despite being set against the backdrop of bright floral wallpaper, the room still managed to make me feel like we were deep in the woods, hidden from the sun under a thick canopy of branches and leaves. Adding to the rainforest effect was the musty smell permeating the room.

Marnie lifted her chin and sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?”

“What?” I lied.

“That terrible mildew smell.”

Knowing where this could lead, I shook my head.

“You're a terrible liar.” She moved to the table resting atop a thick, wool rug and slid her hands under it. “Come on and grab an end. I had this carpet shampooed before I left. I guess the stupid thing never dried all the way. It's probably full of mold now. I'll be dead by morning if we don't get it out of here.”

I looked at my watch. I was supposed to meet Danielle in half an hour. I didn't have time for Marnie's melodrama, but I knew if I didn't help her, she'd end up giving herself a hernia trying to go it alone. I grabbed one end of the table, and together we lifted it off the rug. For a piece of furniture that looked so solid, it was deceptively light. Probably made of pine but stained to impersonate hardwood. “Kyra thinks you're picking her up for dinner soon.”

Her mouth twisted. “Who told her that?”

“You're a smart girl. Who do you think?”

“I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.” Together we carried the table into the adjacent kitchen and set it on the tile floor.

Creases left by the ridges under the table marked my hands. I rubbed at them. “That you're smart? Well, you are.”

She walked back into the foyer. “No, that I'm a girl.”

I followed. “And you said I was a terrible liar.”

“Good one.” She wiped her brow as if she'd worked all day, then motioned to the rug. “Would you mind dragging that thing outside so it can air out?”

“Sure,” I said halfheartedly. I grabbed the end of it and began to pull. It weighed more than I could have imagined. By the time I'd hauled it outside and left it on the brick patio, I was sweating.

When I came back in, Marnie stood in the dining room, counting the flowered teacups sitting atop a hutch. “There's one missing.”

Yeah, like someone would break into her house and steal one stupid cup. “No, there's not; count again,” I said, but she was already in the process.

“You're right, there's seventeen after all.” She gave the hutch one last look, then opened the French doors, which led to a sitting room. It was the one cheery place in the entire house. A large, arched window looked out over a generous yard. The sun poured in on white wicker furniture and the three prancing horses posing along the far wall. Each had been painted in vibrant, fanciful colors and speared in the center with a pole that once held them to their carousels.

Marnie motioned for me to sit on the wicker couch. It creaked under my weight.

She took the chair across from me. “You want something from me. What is it?”

My sister-in-law might be compulsive, but she had a way of cutting to the chase. I picked up a magazine from the glass table before me, glanced at the list of America's richest on the cover, and tossed it down. “What makes you think I need your help?”

She played with her diamond studs. “Don't you know I can smell even the smallest amount of blood in the water? Why do you think my friends call me the shark?”

“I think you mean the shrew.”

“Well, at least you're thinking. That's an improvement. So, tell me what you've done.” Though she smiled warmly at me, there was suspicion in her eyes. Although I knew she loved me and wanted to see Kyra and me work things out, she loved her sister fiercely, and her loyalty would always lie with her first.

Wringing my hands together, I recounted Kyra's accident and Dr. Hershing's advice.

Marnie wore a strange look through the entire recounting, but for a change she didn't interrupt. When I finished, she bobbed her crossed leg up and down as she studied me. “So, let me get this straight: my sister has forgotten that you cheated on her, and you want me to not remind her?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, partly as a reaction to stress, and partly to not have to look at her. “It was just an e-mail,” I said for the hundredth time. And that was true as far as she knew. “I'm not going to beg you. I don't even know if it's the right thing to do myself. I'm just telling you what the doctor said.”

“I'd like to speak with him myself.”

I wondered if she already knew him. After all, she'd been to every other shrink in town. “Of course.”

“I'll need his number.”

I slid my wallet out of my back pocket and searched through the array of credit and business cards. Not finding Hershing's the first go through, I filed through them again. I knew the fact that I couldn't find it looked suspicious.

Marnie ran her hand over the mane of the carousel horse beside her chair. “Eric, is there anything else you're not telling me? Now's as good a time as any to come clean.”

I thought of Danielle and what I'd done, but of course I couldn't tell her that. She'd freak, kick me out of her house, and then what? I needed her help, for Kyra's sake.

I finally gave up on finding his business card and put my wallet away. “It's probably listed,” I said lamely.

She squinted at me.

How was I ever going to get through the night? I was already feeling completely spent in round one, and I still had two rounds to go. “Look, I'm telling you the truth. I don't know what to do. Take Kyra out to dinner and see for yourself. She's acting like she's madly in love with me. She doesn't remember the discord between us. It's . . .” I began to choke up.

She leaned forward, pity shining in her brown eyes. “Okay, calm down. I won't say anything until I talk to her doctor.”

“Dr. Hershing says she'll probably remember anytime now on her own.”

“And if she doesn't?”

I sighed. “I know it's crazy, but I'm kind of hoping she won't. Not everybody gets a second chance like this.”

Marnie narrowed her eyes. “A lie is like a rotting body, Eric. Eventually the stink always gives it away.”

I wasn't sure what her metaphor meant exactly, but I got the gist of what she was getting at.

“I'm assuming you'll wait until I have her out of the house before you try to sneak your clothes back in?” she asked.

I nodded. “Hopefully she hasn't already been in my closet.”

“It's too bad there's nothing in your closet to hide,” she said.

Twelve