Surviving Valencia (13 page)

He continued chewing, now and again punctuating his meal with swallows of orange juice or coffee. He did not appear upset in any way. Well, maybe a little upset with me. But he was not acting like someone who had anything to hide. I sighed.

“Do you know that when we were in Madison the boy at the coffee shop gave me my coffee for free?” I asked.

He looked impressed. Guys are so suggestible. If one guy liked me, five would like me. If one guy called me a bitch, they would all think I was a bitch. “Really?” he asked.

I looked down at the napkin in my lap, suddenly unsure as to whether it had happened to me or someone else.

“Are you ready?” Adrian asked, setting some money on the table.

“I guess.”

“You didn’t touch your pancakes.”

“Well, I hate pancakes. You know that.”

“Let’s go,” he said.

So I was no detective. Great at starting fights but really terrible at solving crimes. I wished I could put those photographs in a part of my brain that could be boarded up and forgotten. I had spent my whole adult life trying to overcome my childhood, and now a bend in reality had rewritten it as even worse. Horrific and tangled. Needing to be acknowledged and solved.

I was afraid I simply could not do it. I didn’t want to. I just did not have it in me. Not smart enough, not strong enough. Valencia and Van could have stepped up to this kind of pressure. Either of them would have known what to do and they would have had no trouble making the right decisions. But I wasn’t that motivated or clever. I wanted to go to sleep and awaken to find that someone else had taken over while I was dozing. The right person would be arrested (not Adrian), my sister would be found happily living in some cottage in Maine (amnesia having wiped out a few years of her life, but otherwise unharmed), and all other loose ends would have been neatly tied up.

“What’s going to set today right again?” Adrian asked me.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t want to be in a fight.”

“We’re not fighting.”

We were back in the car, on our way home. Our windows were down and the smell of flowers from the gardens we were passing filled the car. Adrian likes to take detours and today he was driving us past some old mansions. I closed my eyes and inhaled, the hot car and the warm breeze feeling good after being in the icy restaurant.

“Do you want to stop for some ice cream?” he asked me. “You must be hungry still.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

We drove down to the river and parked the car.

“Wait, I’ll get it,” said Adrian. He got out and met me on my side of the car, opening my door like he used to when we went out somewhere fancy for dinner. He reached in and took my hand. Together we strolled along the cobblestones by the river. He steered us into the shop with the elderly ladies instead of the cute young girls as a silent peace offering. I ordered a waffle cone with two scoops of mint chocolate chip and we sat down on a bench by the river. He put his arm around me. I wanted to melt into him; instead I sat there rigidly, eating my ice cream. It reminded me of being little. Really little. Four or five years old, riding in the car with Van and Valencia. Our mother warning us not to get ice cream on the upholstery.

“Adrian, this reminds me of this one summer,” I began, but was cut off.

“Excuse me, are you Adrian Corbis?”

We looked up to see a middle aged man with a thick, old-fashioned camera case strap cutting across his middle like a seatbelt. He wore an over-flowing fanny pack drooping below his big belly.

“That’s me,” said Adrian.

“I just read about you in here,” the man said, waving a magazine I wasn’t familiar with. “I brought this from Grand Forks and here I am on the plane reading about you and it says you live in Savannah, which I find interesting since I am on my way to Savannah as I’m reading it, and now here you are. Impossible! So do you have any big art shows coming up? Say, would you folks like to get a drink? I’m here ‘til next Wednesday and I don’t know a soul. This must be your wife. Hello, hello,” he stuck out his thick hand to me which I shook reflexively. Then he took Adrian’s hand and pumped it hard twice.

“We’ve already got plans we’re about to head off to, so we’ll have to pass on that drink, but it’s certainly nice to meet a fan,” said Adrian. “I hope you enjoy your stay here.” He stood up, pulling me up with him, and started to walk away. I stumbled on the cobblestones keeping up with him. A splash of mint chocolate chip landed on my chest. Adrian was normally quite a bit chattier than this with his fan club, and I felt a flutter of panic in my chest. The man fell in step beside us.

“My name is Bob Chance, but everyone just calls me Chance. I’m staying just three or four blocks over from here. Say, what’s there to do around here? Any nightlife to speak of?”

“There’s plenty to do at night,” said Adrian, not looking at Mr. Chance. “You should pick up a paper and take a look. Well, we’re headed this way, so nice meeting you and you have a good stay.” With that, Adrian grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me sharply into a side street. I dropped my cone.

“Adrian, be careful!” I said, but he wasn’t listening.

Bob Chance stayed by our side. “What kind of projects are you working on right now, Adrian? Anything big? Do you have a studio where people can come and watch you work? That would be a big hit, I imagine.”

Adrian kept walking without answering, pulling me along.

“I used to paint,” the man continued, keeping pace alongside us, his camera bouncing wildly. “Dabble is a better way to put it. It takes a lot to make it. I got to hand it to you: Not many folks could make it like you have. You’ve got to ride the wave as long as they’ll let you. That’s just a little piece of advice from me to you.”

We reached our car and Adrian unlocked it with the little automatic opener and headed to the driver’s side without opening my door for me. I got in while Mr. Chance complimented our car and asked what kind of gas mileage we got. Adrian slammed the door and drove away, practically running over him.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“People ought to learn to keep their distance!” said Adrian. His face was covered in welts.

“Adrian, you’re breaking out in hives!”

He looked back in the rearview mirror and slowed down a little. “Honey, you need to keep your guard up too,” he told me. “Not everyone is just some innocent fan. Some people are dangerous. It’s no joke.”

“Okay.”

He wiped at his forehead and exhaled, turning to me like he had something to say, but he said nothing.

“Where is this coming from?” I asked.

“I’m starting to think we need to take our security more seriously. Get one of those home protection services. Maybe put a fence up. Get a big dog. Whatever it takes.”

“You’re serious?”

He drove past our house slowly and kept going. “Do you mind if we drive around for a minute?”

“I don’t mind.”

“People know me. It makes some of the crazy ones want to mess with us, you know. We seem happy and some people don’t like that.” He looked over at me and touched my face. “I love you and it’s my job to keep you safe.”

“You made me lose my ice cream cone,” I said.

“I’m sorry. Should we get you another one?”

“No. I’m all right.”

Adrian wiped at a trail of sweat running down his temple. “Did you see the way he kept up with us? Most people would get the hint that they’re not welcome.”

“He seemed like a fan. Just a fan,” I said.

“You can’t always tell that easily.”

“So you think he wanted to hurt us?” I asked.

“No. I mean, I doubt it. But we need to be careful, that’s all I’m saying. Listen, the last thing I want is for you to become scared. I just want you to be aware, that’s all. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Is there any reason you’re so concerned? I mean, it’s just, I’ve never seen you get worried like this before.”

“I always worry a little. I just don’t say anything.”

“Okay.”

We drove around in silence until Adrian belched and started to laugh. “Too many fucking pancakes,” he said.

“Adrian?”

“Yeah, Honey?”

I looked out the window, the words choking in my throat. “There’s something I need to tell you,” I whispered.

“What is it?” he asked.

Instead of confiding in him, I heard myself say, “It’s about the twins. Do you ever think about what you were doing that Thanksgiving when my brother and sister died?”

“You’re thinking about that again?”

“Yeah, I still am.”

“I suppose I was with my family. I usually went home for Thanksgiving before I was married.”

“Do you mean your parent’s house?”

“That or my grandparents, or some aunt or uncle. It just depended on what happened to be going on.”

Adrian’s relatives were in Madison, Cedar Rapids, Chicago, Minneapolis. He could have been anywhere across the Midwest.

“Do you think you were in Minneapolis?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe if I sat down I could figure it out but I can’t remember right now. But honey, back to what I was saying, I think someone might be trying to mess with us and I don’t want to overreact, but, you know, I don’t want to underreact either. I just want to be careful.”

“Trying to mess with us?”

He drew in a deep, seemingly painful breath. “I’ve gotten a few letters in the mail.”

I nodded but did not say anything.

“I should have talked to you about this sooner, but I didn’t think they were anything to get excited about. They’re just stupid letters.”

“Go on.”

“Twice I got letters with photos of me having lunch with a client and they said something about me having an affair. Like, some idiot was hoping I could be blackmailed over that. They were ridiculous. So, I thought I had a grasp on what was going on, but then I got something else than kind of threw me. It seemed like it was from the same person and it had a picture of you with your head ripped off and ripped into little pieces. That rattled me. But it seemed really amateurish. I showed them to the police, just to be safe, but nothing ever came of it. They said most likely that kind of thing is something bored kids do.”

I nodded some more, glad I had not gone to the police. I was caught for a moment in my own little world over what Adrian had just told me. Me, with my head ripped into little pieces? I felt flattered to have not been left out for once.

“Are you sure it was me?” I asked him, not convinced.

“Yeah, I recognized your clothes, then I put the pieces together and it was you.”

“Where was I? What was I wearing?”

“You were wearing a sun dress with a blue sweater over it. You were sitting by the river, on a bench, reading.”

“So someone followed me. Here in Savannah? Oh my god, I remember that day! It was really warm. It was before we went to Madison. I had no idea someone was following me and taking my picture. Wow. That’s scary,” I said.

“Yes it is.”

“How could you have kept this from me?” I had a faint notion that I was being hypocritical but I didn’t care.

“You’re right. I absolutely should have told you.”

“I mean, really, Adrian. It involves me.”

“You’re right.”

“You should have said something.”

“I know. I guess I was under the impression, though, that you may have already known,” he said, locking eyes with me for a moment.

“Why would you think that I knew? I didn’t know! I had no idea.”

“Because of the way you were acting so strangely about the mail when we got back from staying at Alexa’s.”

I shrugged.

“You know, most things like this just pass and are forgotten,” he continued, “and life goes on like it never happened.”

“Most things
like this
?”

“I just meant that most things pass, and everything works out fine.”

I had nothing to say to that.

“Well,” said Adrian, falsely cheerful, “if Bob Chance is who he says he is, that means I got a write up in the Grand Forks newspaper that I didn’t even know about. That’s pretty cool.”

“But sad that no one tried to contact you for an interview. What kind of reporting is that?”

“True. No one gives a hundred percent anymore.”

Adrian turned down a street I did not know, and put the windows down. “Nice evening it’s turning out to be, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I said, amazed at the banal turn of our conversation. I wasn’t having it. “Do you have anyone in your past who would want to do something bad to us?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“Where are the letters postmarked from?” I asked.

Adrian gave me a peculiar, sideways glance. “Um, I don’t know if I looked.”

“Really,” I said, unable to keep out the incredulous edge.

“Really.”

“Will you let me know if you get any more?”

“Yes.”