Lying With Strangers (15 page)

THEY MET FOR A SATURDAY LUNCH AT FUGAKYU, A POPULAR JAPANESE
restaurant in Brookline whose peculiar name usually elicited an indignant “Excuse me?” from anyone unfamiliar with it. They shared the house specialty, salmon- and tuna-filled maki rolls. It was a small place where patrons at other tables could have easily overheard, so Peyton kept the lunch conversation light. Her father, however, had apparently sensed that something was gnawing at her. He was the one who suggested they go for a walk after eating. They strolled side by side up the wide and tree-lined sidewalk on Brookline.

“Everything okay with you?” he asked.

“No, actually.”

“You want to talk about it?”

She kept walking, saying nothing for a few steps. “You mind if I ask you something personal?”

“Why would I mind?”

“Did you and Mom ever name the baby who died?”

He almost tripped on the sidewalk. “No. Where did that question come from?”

She stopped at a bench near the entrance to the park. “Sit for a minute?”

He took a seat on the bench, but Peyton remained standing. “You don’t have to answer this, but there’s something I’ve wanted
to know for a long time. And right now, where I am in my life, I need to know more than ever.”

“What?”

“Do you ever wish Mom had never told you the baby wasn’t yours?”

His mouth opened, but no words came for several long moments. “How did you know it wasn’t?” he asked, barely audible.

“I just knew. The way we moved out of Boston as soon as Mom started showing. The lack of joy in the house before the baby was born. Mom never did set up a nursery. It seemed there was always a cloud over the pregnancy. Then after the baby died, everything was just as hush-hush. Am I right?”

He looked past her. “Yes. You’re right.”

“Like I said, you don’t have to answer. But do you ever wish Mom had just never told you?”

“I hate to admit it. But I guess knowing made it easier for me to deal with the way things turned out.”

“Put that aside if you can. Just look at it from the standpoint of her infidelity. Would that be something you wish you had simply never found out about?”

“Is this about me? Or is it about you and Kevin?”

She tried to look him in the eye but couldn’t.

“Did Kevin cheat on you?”

“Dad, please. This is really hard for me.”

He nearly growled. “Don’t tell me your mother was right about him.”

“Nobody cheated on anyone. It’s more of a perception problem.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s too complicated. I just want to know how you dealt with it. In hindsight, are you glad Mom told you?”

“All I can tell you is that I’ve forgiven her. That’s all that matters.”

“Because she told you. Is that why you forgave her?”

“No. That’s why we stayed married, but that’s not why I forgave her.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Her contrition made it possible for my ego to get out of the way. But that has nothing to do with forgiveness. I forgave her because I loved her.”

They exchanged a long, soulful look. Peyton took a seat on the bench beside him. She couldn’t help but think of all the times in her life she’d heard people say she’d inherited the brains from her mother.

“You’re a very wise man.”

He let out a mirthless chuckle. “Or just an old fool.”

“Not in my book,” she said as she laid her head on his shoulder. “Not ever.”

The summer’s longest heat wave was over. Sunday joggers were everywhere. Kevin and Steve Beasley had just finished a pickup game of basketball in the park and were cooling down, one shooting jump shots till he missed while the other rebounded. Steve was a second-year associate at Marston & Wheeler, a member of Ira Kaufman’s litigation team, like Kevin, but a few years his junior. They’d worked together on various cases throughout the year and had become friends to the extent of sharing lunch twice a week and shooting hoops every other weekend.

Kevin took aim from the free-throw line. “No time on the clock. Tie ball game. Make this shot, and the Celtics win the world championship.”

“Miss it and you buy me and my fiancée dinner at our favorite restaurant.”

“Hope you’re not hungry.” Kevin let it fly. Off the rim.

“Damn.”

“Will that be cash or charge, sir?”

“Depends on whether you and Jeannie want fries with your Happy Meal.”

They exchanged a smile as Kevin took a seat in the grass just off the court. Steve toweled the sweat off his face and plopped down beside him. They watched in silence as a mother duck and five ducklings waddled across the court.

“You want to get some lunch?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll give Jeannie a call if you want to invite Peyton.”

“Nah, Peyton’s at the library. Some research paper she’s working on with the chief resident.”

“She puts in a lot of hours, huh?”

“Comes with the job.”

Steve opened his jug of Gatorade and took a sip. “Do you ever wonder—ah, forget it.”

“What?”

“It’s not my place to say.”

“Say what?”

“I’ve debated whether I should say anything. But if it were me, I’d want to know.”

“Well, now you’ve done it. Either you’re going to tell me what you were about to say, or I’m going to have to beat it out of you.”

He took another sip. “All right. Remember a couple of weeks ago when Ira called you at the Waldorf and shipped you off to Los Angeles?”

“Yeah. You filled in for me.”

“Right. In fact, I just took your room, remember? We didn’t even bother with guest registration.”

“So what are you trying to tell me? There’s going to be a room charge for a three-thousand-dollar hooker on my next AMEX statement?”

“Actually this is pretty serious.”

Kevin’s smile faded. “What is it?”

“The morning after you left, Peyton called. She was looking for you. It was a strange conversation.”

“In what way?”

“I told her you were in Los Angeles and how I’d taken your room. I kept getting these long periods of silence after everything I said. She seemed distracted. And then toward the end of the conversation, I heard a man’s voice in the background.”

“A man?”

“Yeah. I don’t know who it was.”

“Did you hear what he said?”

Steve paused and nodded. “That’s what makes this so difficult.”

“Just tell me what he said, damn it.”

“He said, ‘Don’t be shy, I’ve already seen you naked.’”

Kevin went numb. “Then what happened?”

“She got flustered and tried to blame it on the TV.”

“Maybe it was the TV.”

He shot a knowing look. “It wasn’t the TV.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I can tell the difference in the sound.”

Kevin looked away, unable to speak. It was as if some huge hand had reached up from his stomach, pierced his heart, and grabbed him by the throat. Then he had another thought and was immediately suspicious. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Like I said, if it were me I’d want to know.”

“Did you discuss this with Ira?”

“Of course not. It’s personal.”

Kevin narrowed his eyes. “Did Ira put you up to this?”

“What are you talking about? Ira has nothing to do with this.”

“Two days ago Ira came into my office and threatened to fire me because he thought there were too many unflattering parallels between Marston and Wheeler and the fictional law firm in my novel. He told me to cancel the book or prepare for war. Two days later, his favorite young associate informs me that my wife is cheating on me.”

“Do you think I’m making this up?”

“My book is about a woman who cheats on her husband. Funny coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Look, I’m sorry I said anything. Just forget it.”

Kevin rose and quickly packed his gym bag. “Forget it? Not for a long time.”

“Come on. You’re falling off the deep end.”

“I just can’t believe you did this.”

“All I did was tell you something as a friend.”

“A friend wouldn’t have waited two weeks to tell me, at least not if it had really happened. I know what this is about. Ira declares war, his soldiers go to battle.”

“Now hold on.”

“Nice to know whose side you’re on.” He threw his bag over his shoulder and headed for his car.

SUNDAY WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HER DAY OFF, BUT SHE HAD VOLUN
teered to help the chief resident with an article on the increasing incidence of adult-onset diabetes in children. Everything she needed was accessible from her computer. Articles, reports, studies, patient histories. Just a click of the button and they’d appear on her screen via the Internet or from a CD. For Peyton, however, it didn’t feel like research if, at least at some point during the project, she didn’t find herself in the silence of a library surrounded by real books.

The hospital library was deserted, typical for a Sunday in summer. She was at an isolated carrel reviewing the online version of an article from the
Journal of the American Medical Association Journal
article on her notebook computer when an instant message popped up. She hated when that happened. Invariably she’d be in the middle of something important whenever one of those unwanted boxes would take over her screen with some silly message from a friend who just wanted to chat. The Internet may well have revolutionized communication, but in some ways it was a throwback to the old days of party lines, a time when you could just pick up the telephone, find out who was talking, and jump right in. Except that on the Internet, people could travel under any screen name they wanted.

The instant message read, “hi. u there?”

She didn’t recognize the sender, but people could change their screen names at will or even get more than one. Whoever it was, he was an experienced chat-room typist, all lowercase, letters and numbers substituting for words. Peyton was too much of a perfectionist for that. She typed, “Who is this?”

“u wouldn’t come 2 me, so i came 2 u.”

“Still don’t recognize the name.”

“it’s new, like yours.”

That only confused her further. On the advice of the hospital security director, she’d changed her screen name after the Johnson stalking episode, just as she’d changed her phone number, pager number, and the lock on her apartment. But that was months ago.

“thought we could use a fresh start,” the message continued.

That answered it for her. She wished he would go away, but it was clearly not going to be an easy break. “It’s not possible.”

“y not?”

“That’s just the way it has to be.”

“how can u still feel that way after all this time?”

“It’s hardly been any time at all.”

“been forever. i been trying 2 win you back 2 long.”

“Stop it. We’re not in high school anymore.”

There was a long delay. Peyton wondered if he’d signed off. Finally, the response built on her screen, one letter at a time. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

Her fingers froze on the keys. No more cutesy chat-room typing. This was getting weird. “I know it’s you, Gary.”

“It’s not Gary.”

That chilled her. “Who is this?”

“You got my rose, my message on your locker. You must know.”

“Sure. I know it’s Gary.”

“It’s
NOT
Gary!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’ll prove it. Look out the window.”

“Will you please just leave me alone?”

“Just do as I say. Keep your computer online. Go to the window overlooking the garden and look outside.”

Instinct told her to log off. She was tired of being manipulated. But the way this was escalating, she might someday need proof that Gary was harassing her.

“Okay. I’m going.” Slowly, she rose and walked to a reading area by the wall of windows that overlooked the garden. It was a small, urban-style green space surrounded on all sides by buildings in the hospital compound. Trees, birds, and flowers turned it into a little oasis. Two teenagers were throwing a Frisbee on the lawn. A cancer patient with an IV pole was taking a slow walk alongside her parents toward the sculptured otters that reclined in the center fountain. Peyton saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Her anger rose as she realized he was playing games. Quickly she retraced her steps through the reading area, past the bookshelves. She stopped just a few feet away from her carrel and nearly gasped. Her computer was gone—and all her work with it.

On impulse, she ran to the main entrance and peered down the hall toward the cafeteria but saw nothing. She ran back inside and checked the library’s rear exit, which led to the alley. She saw only parked cars and Dumpsters. A block away, traffic was moving steadily on Longwood Avenue, an easy escape route.

Her heart sank at the realization: She’d been distracted and scammed. It was the common thief’s oldest game. But she knew this was no common thief.

“Gary, you son of a bitch.”

Peyton reported her computer as “missing” to the hospital, on the off chance that a janitor or someone else might find it lying around. She didn’t bother with a formal police report. The cops rarely did anything to recover stolen items of insured personal property, and she preferred to keep her troubles with Gary under
wraps anyway, at least until she confronted him and confirmed he was the thief.

Gary lived within walking distance of the med school library. In ten minutes she reached his apartment and knocked firmly on the door. She heard footsteps approaching. He was home, but that didn’t rule him out as the culprit. He could have raced home with her computer, switched on the television, and jumped in the easy chair.

“Peyton?” he said. “What a surprise.”

She glared. “Where’s my computer?”

“What?”

“Somebody just played a little game with me at the library and stole my computer.”

“Are you accusing me?”

“You knew I was working on this study. You knew I’ve been going to the library every Sunday for the past month.”

“So did a lot of other people.”

“Nobody else is petty enough to engage in sabotage.”

“Gee, you say the nicest things.”

“This is getting way out of hand,” she said. “Just give me back my computer, and we’ll forget this ever happened. But if you keep standing there like a jerk pretending you don’t know anything about it, I’ll report it stolen. I’ll tell the police and I’ll tell the hospital who I think took it.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, right.”

“Don’t test me.”

“I didn’t take your stupid computer. But if you want to accuse me, fine. Dig your own grave. In six months you’ve dropped from being the superstar resident to the resident troublemaker. You shot the clinic nurse in the butt and got the hospital sued. Andy Johnson ended up killing himself over you, and rumors are still flying about whether you two were sexually involved. And now you want to drag the hospital into a spat between you and a nurse who very recently carried you dead drunk back to his apartment.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“A little. Too bad about your computer. But I think you put it best ten years ago, the first time you dumped me: Goodbye and good luck.” He closed the door in her face.

On one level, Peyton was angry enough to beat down the door. But mostly she was shocked by the depth of Gary’s resentment toward her. His past gestures toward friendship obviously belied deeper, unresolved emotions. Her efforts to remain his friend had apparently been interpreted as nothing more than teasing by a “manipulative bitch” who just wanted to keep him around in case, someday, she decided to climb into bed with him. It hurt and confused her, and it underscored the fact that she had much bigger problems than a stolen computer. Gary was right in one respect. She was down to her last strike—with the hospital and her husband.

Quietly she walked away, fearful that the man she’d once considered her best friend at the hospital was now determined to see that she got everything he thought she deserved.

And he seemed to have her exactly where he wanted her.