Tell No Lies (27 page)

"What is it about her, Jack?"

Her question took him by surprise. She'd suddenly turned a corner, taken a new, more direct route to a destination he'd been trying to avoid. He couldn't find words fast enough.

"There's something different about both of you. Something different
between
you." She held his eyes; there would be no circling around the issue. "And I'm not the only one who thinks so, either."
 

He swallowed, and it felt like a walnut going down his throat. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. People have said things to me."

He shook his head, denying any understanding, denying the accusation. "What are you talking about? Who? Who has said things?"

"Well, the most recent was Maria."

Jack let out a soft grunt, but Claire continued as if he were no longer part of the conversation.

"I think her exact words were:  'You are such an awesome wife not to be bothered by how close Jenny and Jack are.'  Yes, I'm sure she used the word
awesome
."
 

Jack relaxed a bit; if that was her evidence, she didn't even have a case. "Well, she'd right," he said gently. "You are awesome. A lot of women would be bothered by our friendship, I guess." She didn't appear flattered; more like skeptical. "That's it?" Jack asked.

She shook her head. "Frank."

"Frank?"

"Yeah."

"What did Frank say?"

"He claims that you told him we had a threesome going on."

His jaw dropped and he pulled his hand away from her grip, averted his eyes. "Unbelievable. Frickin' unbelievable."

"Well?"

"Well
what
?" The question came out loudly and much angrier than he'd intended.
 

"Did you tell him that?"

He grunted, shaking his head in denial, but unable to say no truthfully. "How in the hell did it come about that Frank said something like that to you?"

"He was drunk," she said flatly. "It was at one of those fundraisers this summer. He had a few too many drinks in him, and you know how obnoxious he is anyway. You were talking to her, and I guess he thought I was feeling neglected or something. I don't know. He—"

"Were you?" He forced himself to look at her again.

"No." She stared back for an instant before she continued. "He started rambling about how he thought Jenny had the hots for you and that when he suggested that to you, you told him we . . . well, you know."

"He's such a fuckin' asshole," he said, looking away once more.

"Did you tell him that?" she persisted.

"Yes, but it wasn't like that."

"Like what?"

"It wasn't some sort of veiled acknowledgment about me and Jenny, for Christ's sake. He was being obnoxious, so I was just being obnoxious back at him."

She nodded; she was willing to accept that.

They both fell silent, as if neither quite knew where the discussion had led them or where they should go next. Jack heard maids in the hall, cars honking on the street outside the window.

"Claire?" She turned to him. She'd stopped crying for now, but she wiped at the expectant tears still poised for release. "Does it bother you? My friendship with her?"

She shrugged sadly. "It didn't used to. I trusted you. I even trusted her." She paused. "But then when people started saying things like that to me, I began to wonder if maybe I'm just naïve. Or too trusting." She shrugged again. "And it's just that, what she did with the letter . . . that she could make you react so . . ." Her voice trailed off and she looked right at him. The late-morning sunlight made her blue eyes appear transparent, and he imagined she could see straight into his soul with those eyes. "I don't know.
Should
it bother me?"
 

In that instant he recognized that Jenny had become an obsession. He knew it now, as he knew the color of his eyes or the date he was born. He hadn't wanted to admit it because that was exactly what had happened with Claire, that day he saw her for the first time in the Pit. He hadn't wanted to believe he could feel that way again, that there was anyone other than his wife who could inspire such emotions in him.

Will it get better
? He needed to believe it would; he needed Claire to believe it would, that
he
would. If Jenny was an obsession, he could control it. It was a choice to make, and he determined right then to make the right one. He reached for Claire's hand.
 

"No. It shouldn't bother you." He touched her hair. "Okay? Nothing about me and Jenny should bother you."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

HE WENT BACK to the scene of the crime. That's what inexperienced criminals did, wasn't it? It took him just over a week to get up the nerve, but he went back. He was relieved to see her car in the same spot, despite the late hour.

He sat on the hood and waited for her. What a difference a few months made. The air, which had been heavy and wet the last time, now filtered coolly and easily through his nostrils. The garage seemed darker. When he lay back against the windshield, he noticed that the light fixture on the ceiling was broken. Something had shattered the dingy plastic globe that covered the bulb—a gunshot, or perhaps a rock. All that remained were the sharp, jagged edges of half the globe and the dangling filaments of the bulb. He pulled his coat tighter.

He tried to think of what he would say when she arrived. How to tell her that he had to stay away from her? How to explain that, despite their promise to each other, he couldn't forget what had happened in this garage and that her presence in his life was messing with his mind? Should he just come right out and admit that he couldn't stop thinking about her, and the only way he knew to solve the problem was to banish her completely? Or would that make it worse? Maybe the thing to do was lead her in the other direction, blame the situation on everyone else. He wondered whether to tell her about his conversation with Claire, to explain that others were starting to talk and that he'd decided the only way to protect Claire, to preserve his marriage—which, he needed to make her understand, meant more than anything to him—was to end his friendship with her. But how could he say this with hurting Jenny, or worse, making a fool of himself if he'd called it all wrong? After all, perhaps what he thought of as an unspoken but undoubted attraction between them was really one-sided on his part. Maybe he'd turned a simple kiss into something much more. What if she didn't even know what the hell he was talking about?
 

He turned when he heard the elevator. Jenny stepped off, walking tall and moderately fast. She wore a long black coat over her black pantsuit. On her shoulder she carried a black bag large enough to hold files. Her black hair was gathered behind her head. Except for her face and hands, all he could see was black.

When she saw him, still some distance away, she hesitated. She turned to see the two others from the elevator getting into a car together. She approached cautiously, shoulders erect. As she came closer, her body relaxed. "Jack?" she called softly.

He didn't respond. The other car passed him on the way to the ramp; oddly, the possibility that he might have been recognized didn't worry him as it had the last time.

When she reached the car, she stayed a few feet away, next to the driver's side door.

"What are you doing here? What happened? Is something wrong?"

He shook his head.
Nothing's wrong, everything's wrong.
What should he say?
 

"What is it?" she asked, her voice more urgent. "You're scaring me."

"Where have you been?" The words came out more accusatory than he'd intended.

She looked behind her again, as if watching for something.  "I. . ." She hesitated.  "I had a late meeting."
 

He jumped down from the hood and extended his hands to her. "We need to talk."

She set her bag on the ground and stepped closer. When their hands touched, he realized he'd misstepped. If he was going to rid himself of an obsession, he shouldn't have touched it. He shouldn't have even gotten near it. The words—the absolute wrong words—tumbled out.

"I need to dance with you again."

It wasn't at all what he'd intended to say, but once he'd said the words, he knew they were true. He felt goose bumps travel like an unstoppable tidal wave up his legs and down his arms and he could think of nothing except being with her. Not just being in her presence, but being with her as one, feeling her body lean against him as it had when they'd danced in this same spot last April. He wanted to make everything else disappear and sway to the music again with her, go round and round until they fell down laughing from dance-induced vertigo. He wanted to lie down on that gigantic bed of hers, sink with her into the layers of blankets and pillows and comforters she had piled on top, and as they made love, hold her head so she couldn't look away. He wanted to drown in the vortex of her eyes.

They stared at each other and he could see her breath in the air. She didn't answer him, and he started to panic. He realized, with horror, that he'd just propositioned her.

"Jenny, please." He just wanted her to say something, anything. Tell him to go home.

She looked down with eyelids slow and heavy. "Get in. We'll talk when we get there."

They drove in silence for the ten minutes it took to Lafayette Square. He glimpsed her profile out of the corner of his eye, but she just stared at the road and gripped the steering wheel. He asked himself what he was doing, but he couldn't come up with a sensible answer.
 

"Be careful, the cats might try to get out," she said at the front door, as if he were merely a girlfriend she'd invited for dinner. But the cats were nowhere to be seen, and after they went in and she'd locked the door behind them, she turned on a light and walked around closing the blinds. She hung their coats in a small closet near the front door.

"Did you have dinner?" she asked. On the way to the kitchen, she kicked off her shoes and threw her suit jacket over the stair railing.

"No. I'm not hungry."

"You will be." She opened a drawer and fished around for a take-out menu. "Thai okay?"

He nodded. He watched as she placed the call without asking him what he wanted. When she hung up, she took a bottle of wine from a small rack on the counter and searched a different drawer for a corkscrew. She poured two glasses and handed one to Jack.

"Have you thought this through?" she asked.

"Some things you shouldn't think through." Even as he said it, he knew he was wrong.

"This isn't one of them." When he didn't respond, she said, "Where are you supposed to be right now?"

"On my way to Jeff City for a seminar tomorrow."

She took a longer sip of her wine. He heard the clock ticking on her kitchen wall.

"You're very selfish." Her voice was matter-of-fact. What did she mean? Was she talking about Claire? He didn't want to think about that right now. "You only think about what you want, and you plow on ahead, oblivious to how your actions might affect others. You think if you just turn on that charm, then it's all okay."
 

"I'm willing to accept the consequences, if I have to. But it doesn't have to affect anyone else. No one ever has to know." With these words he realized that somehow he'd already moved beyond worrying about the ramifications.

Her eyes narrowed. She set her wine down hard; a few drops splashed onto the counter. "Goddammit, I'm not talking about Claire. What about me, Jack? How do you know I'm willing to accept the consequences? Did you ever think about me?"

"Jenny, you're all I've been thinking—"

"Stop it. Just stop it. Don't you understand what I'm trying to say? Tomorrow you'll go back to your perfect little life, but what about me? I'm not interested in being someone's mistress." She paused, blinking to hold back the tears. "Especially not yours."

When he made no response, she said, "What do you think? Because I'm single, it's not a big deal for me? Just another fuck?"

"No. I know it's not like that."

She put her hands on her hips. "What's it like, then? Tell me."

But he couldn't tell her. Because she was right—he hadn't given it much thought from her point of view.
All you have to do is say the word, and it's yours
. Maybe he'd misunderstood. Maybe he'd read much more into that statement than she'd ever intended.
 

What should he do now? He would get on his knees and beg to stay, if he had to. He couldn't imagine leaving. Nothing would ever be the same, but in a different way than if he left the following morning. If he didn't find the words to explain himself right then, he'd never have the chance, much less the nerve, to explain tonight's actions later.

"It's like  . . ." he began, not knowing what to say, just fumbling his way through.

She put her hand up. "No. Please, don't say anything." She gently rubbed at the outer corners of her eyes. She picked up her wine again and took a long drink. What was he supposed to do? He wondered if he should call a cab. He waited for her to tell him to leave.

"I don't know," she said finally. "It just seems so calculated."

He wanted to laugh, but didn't. Nothing had seemed calculated to him, at least not until he'd gotten into her car at the garage. How could he explain to her why he'd ended up there, waiting for her on the hood? How could he explain that he hadn't intended for this to happen? But he sensed an opening, so he stepped closer to her.

"Jenny, I didn't plan this. I swear. I've thought about it for a long time, but I didn't plan it. I went to the garage tonight to tell you that we need to stay away from each other. I didn't go to end up here. You have to believe that. Something just happened, I don't know what. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it just seemed so right. It felt so right that night last spring in the garage, too. I've been going crazy for months, thinking about it. I know it's ridiculous, I know it's wrong. I can't explain it, really, not in a way you'll understand."