Her Dead Boyfriend, page 21
“So, how’s it going with Mark?” That wasn’t so hard. Maybe I should be an actor instead of a writer.
“Good… I mean, great.” Fiona reached across the table and dipped a finger into the chocolate sauce. “Mm,” she said, after sticking it in her mouth. “Even though we’ve only been seeing each other for such a short time, things are starting to get serious.”
“I’m so happy for you.” I stuffed the last piece of cannoli into my mouth, while my mind plummeted off a cliff. Fiona must be exaggerating, surely.
She handed me a napkin.
Someone’s cell phone started blaring a Star Wars-themed ring tone.
I laughed, but Fiona knitted her brow. Her smile had disappeared.
“Is something wrong?”
“It’s probably nothing…”
I held my breath.
“It’s just that Mark’s been very moody, lately. Either he’s been too exhausted to come over or when he does, all he wants to do is watch movies on Netflix. But I’m not worried. I’m sure it’s just all the stress from working in an emergency room.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“Sometimes, I worry about being a doctor’s wife. I think it could get lonely after a while, if he’s never home.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” My mind was a blur, but I tried to focus on what Fiona was saying. “You haven’t been seeing him very long.”
“I know, but I can’t help thinking about the future. You know I’ve always wanted lots of children, but I wonder how much time he’ll have for being a father. What do you think? Am I overreacting? Maybe you’re right and I’m getting too far ahead of myself. I really value your opinion, so please don’t hold back.” Fiona finally paused to catch her breath.
I bounced my legs up and down under the table. Listening to Fiona’s extended monologue had really tested my patience. If she knew the truth, she would be shocked. I did not think Mark was Fiona’s potential future husband, because he was mine. But a sliver of doubt worked its way into my brain. Could Mark ever be faithful to just one woman? Another disturbing thought crept into my mind. Why was he so moody and exhausted? Had Mark been sleeping with other women besides Fiona and me? The image of his female colleague I’d seen chatting and laughing with him that day at the hospital flashed into my mind. But I quickly dismissed such paranoid thoughts. He was a doctor. Being exhausted came along with the job. How could he possibly find the time to fool around more than he already was?
“If you really want me to be upfront with you…”
“I do.” Fiona leaned forward, fiddling with one of her new earrings.
“…I think it’s far too soon to be contemplating marriage and kids. Give it more time. I mean, how well do you really know him?”
“I know, I know. But my heart is telling me that Mark’s the one.”
I sipped my latte and another thought struck me: What if Mark had decided to mend his ways after losing that young patient? What if he had given Fiona the diamonds as a way of making up for his transgressions? Maybe Oliver was right, and Mark really did love Fiona.
“I know he isn’t perfect, but he’s perfect for me. I just can’t help it. I’m head-over-heels in love with him. He’s just so irresistible, don’t you think?”
I choked on my mouthful of coffee, and some of it went down my windpipe. I coughed into a closed fist.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I wiped my teary eyes with a napkin.
“Now, tell me all about Oliver. I’ve been totally monopolizing the conversation and I really want to hear about you two.”
“We’ve been spending a lot of time together—”
“And he obviously adores you.” Fiona jumped in. “But how do you feel about him?” The skin creased between her brows, as she waited for my response.
“I’m fond of him. He’s a sweet guy. And considerate. And an excellent listener.”
“It sounds as if you do like him, but you’re just not admitting it to yourself. Don’t play hard to get too long, Erin. You don’t want to lose him.” Fiona gave me a warning look.
Her condescending, teacher-tone grated on my nerves.
“Men like Oliver don’t come along very often.”
You can have him, and I’ll take Mark.
“I wish you could be as happy with Oliver, as I am with Mark.”
Mark is mine. Fiona’s delusional faith in Mark seemed both patronizing and pathetic. On the other hand, I realized, it was possible that I was the one deluding myself. The next time I saw her, she might be wearing a diamond on her finger.
Fiona glanced at the time on her phone. “Unfortunately, I need to get back to work.” She quickly finished her coffee and stood up. “We have so much to talk about these days. Maybe the four of us could go out sometime soon?”
“Sure, that’d be fun.” I stood up and walked out with her onto the busy street. We stood facing each other on the sidewalk, as cars and trucks whizzed by. “I guess we’re headed in opposite directions.”
Fiona leaned over and hugged me. “Call me soon, okay?”
When I let her go, Fiona stumbled backwards off the curb and directly into the path of an oncoming T-bus.
The driver screeched his brakes and stopped just in time.
“Yikes, that was close,” I said. “Are you okay?”
“Look at me. I’m shaking like a leaf.” Fiona stepped back onto the pavement, then fixed her eyes on me. “It almost seemed like—”
“You need to be more careful. I’d be devastated if anything happened to you—and so would Mark.”
Chapter 51
The intimate Italian restaurant, on Hanover Street in North End, Boston, consisted of a long, narrow space with high ceilings. We were sitting at a table in the corner, and the waiter had just opened the bottle of wine Oliver ordered for us.
“Just a small glass for me.” I didn’t want to end up in bed with him again, especially after Angus’s warning. I wanted to keep my wits about me.
Oliver lifted his glass and smiled across the table at me. “I’d like to make a toast: To a wonderful evening with a wonderful woman.”
I reddened, but clinked my glass with his. “To a wonderful evening.” I took a small sip, then put my glass down and scanned the menu. “It’s going to be hard to choose. Everything sounds so delicious.” I was trying to decide between butternut squash ravioli or gnocchi with braised rabbit, when a petite, attractive blond approached our table.
“Oliver. I can’t believe it’s really you,” she said, in what seemed an overly flirtatious manner.
“Rachel. It’s so good to see you.” He stood up, placed his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her on one cheek and then the other. “This is my girlfriend,” he said, turning and pointing at me.
Did he really just call me his girlfriend?
“Rachel and I knew each other at university.”
“Knew each other?” Rachel raised her eyebrows and poked her elbow into Oliver’s ribs. “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. You always were too modest. I had a massive crush on Oliver during our last year of university,” she said, glancing at me. “But he was too busy studying to even notice me.”
Sipping some wine, I gave Rachel a curious look over the rim of my glass.
Rachel swung her eyes back to Oliver. “I always wondered what you were up to. I’d love to catch up with you sometime, if Erin doesn’t mind?”
“It’s fine with me,” I said, shrugging.
“Can I get your number?” Rachel asked, passing him her phone.
Oliver obediently entered his number into her list of contacts. She waved goodbye and sashayed over to the bar to rejoin her group of girlfriends.
“Sorry about that,” he said, sheepishly. “I haven’t seen Rachel in so long; she caught me by surprise.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I smiled and shrugged. “You should definitely call her and meet up for a coffee or a drink or even dinner, if you want to.”
Oliver drank some wine and glanced over at the bar, where Rachel was laughing with her friends. The waiter arrived to take our orders, and we both became temporarily distracted by the dinner menu. When we had made our selections, the waiter departed to give the kitchen the order. An awkward silence fell between us and was only broken by the arrival of our appetizer. Since we both loved fish, Oliver had ordered a grilled seafood salad for us to share.
“How’s life at the bookstore?” he asked, stabbing his fork into a scallop.
“Maddie got a new tattoo.”
“Oh yeah? What did she get?”
“A Chinese dragon on her left shoulder blade.” I bit a shrimp in half.
“The girl with the dragon tattoo.”
“Ha, ha. Very funny. She says it’s a symbol of good luck.” I picked up a crab leg. “Maybe I should get one.”
“Don’t you dare.” Oliver almost choked on a mouthful of food.
“Relax. I’m just teasing.”
Eventually, the waiter cleared our plates and delivered the main course shortly afterwards.
“How’s your work with the police force going?”
“I helped them install spyware.”
“Spyware?” I ate some gnocchi with rabbit.
“They can use it to track someone’s movements,” Oliver said, pouring us both more wine. “Using cell phone GPS.”
“Someone… as in a suspect?”
“Yep. In this case, they used it to track drug dealers.”
I tapped a fingernail on my wineglass. Angus’s story about Oliver cyber-stalking an intern flashed into my mind.
A while later, our plates were empty. “All done?” Oliver threw his napkin on the table.
“Yep.” I patted my stomach. “It was delicious, but I’m full.”
“I’ll get the bill.” He summoned the waiter.
We walked outside into the cool autumn air. When I shuddered from the cold, Oliver put his arm around me. It had been a pleasant evening, but I wanted to get home and do some writing, which had become as much of a compulsion as thinking about Mark.
“I know it’s the weekend, but if you don’t mind, I think I’ll call it a night.”
He gave me a hangdog look. “I hope all my work talk didn’t tire you out.”
“No, it was really interesting.” I smiled up at him. “It’s just been a long day.”
Pulling me into his arms, he whispered in my ear, “I don’t want to let you go.”
My back stiffened.
“Are you sure you’re not upset about Rachel?” Oliver took a step back and looked down into my eyes. “I don’t have to see her, if it bothers you.”
On the contrary, I was all for it. If Oliver started seeing Rachel, he’d be less hurt when Mark and I ended up together. I shook my head, then stretched out my arms and yawned.
“Well, as long as you’re sure—”
“I’m sure.”
“Do you want me to get you a taxi?” He was still holding onto my hand.
I nodded.
Reluctantly, he released my hand and moved to the curb. After hailing me a cab, he gave me one more hug and a kiss. “You’re sure I can’t come over?”
“Not tonight. But thanks for dinner.” I walked towards the waiting car.
As the cab pulled away from the curb, I saw Rachel emerge from the pub and pounce on Oliver like a hungry hyena.
Chapter 52
I got into bed and opened the drawer of my bedside table. That’s strange. I could’ve sworn that I left my journal in the drawer. I always hid it away when I finished a writing session. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to find it and read it. I yanked out the drawer and tipped the contents upside down on the bed. But it wasn’t there. I raced around the room, examining every surface. Where was it? And then I saw it, sitting on the top of the dresser. But I had no memory of putting it there. God, I really need to get more sleep. I grabbed a pen, then cozied up with Keeper on the bed and started writing.
I started to make plans for my − or rather Faith’s − wedding. Max had not proposed yet, but I knew he would soon. I began sketching designs for my bridal gown. Using a graphite pencil on thick, fibrous paper, I drew off-the-shoulder gowns with long, luxurious trains. The rough, toothy surface of the paper allowed me to create areas of light and shadow, giving my drawings an aura of romanticism.
But my sweet dreams were marred by the pungent smell of my sister’s rotting corpse. The stench permeated the walls of the house; it seeped up through the floorboards and out of the wallpaper.
And sometimes, during the night, I thought I heard Faith whispering to me, “Help me, help me.” And other times, I heard her ask, “Why did you hurt me?” But I was not going to allow the tiny twinges of guilt about my sister’s murder, ruin my future happiness with Max.
“What’s that horrible odor?” Max asked, when he came over to visit one night.
“I think there’s a dead rat decomposing behind the walls,” I replied. “I’ll have to get it fumigated.”
“That’s a good idea,” he said. “But it’ll have to wait until you get back.”
“Get back from where?”
He handed me a pair of plane tickets. “I’m taking you to Iceland.”
My mouth hung open, as I stared at the tickets in my hand.
*
As the plane prepared to take-off from the Boston airport, I took a deep breath and looked out the window. I lifted my hand to fiddle with my hair, forgetting that I had cut it all off. Instead, I jiggled my legs to relieve my restlessness. I was not exactly afraid of flying, but the idea that my life, and the lives of all my fellow passengers, were in the hands of unknown pilots did give me pause. Strapped into the rear fuselage, a claustrophobic tin can, I took a few moments to take stock: If I died on this flight, would I have any regrets?
Suddenly, I was jolted out of my morbid ruminations when a strong hand grabbed hold of mine.
“Are you okay, Faith?” Max asked. “You seem tense.”
I glanced over at Max and smiled. “I’ll be fine, as long as you’re next to me.”
*
“Can you believe it? We’re here!” Max said, like an excited school-boy.
I smiled back at him, but my body shivered as we waited in line for our rental car. I was glad that I had brought one of my sister’s light, winter jackets, as the temperature was quite cool, despite the warm Gulf stream. From the window of the airplane, I’d caught a glimpse of the Atlantic Ocean and a snow-covered peninsula just before we landed.
Our first destination was a visit to a geothermal spa. On the way, we drove past endless miles of black, moss-covered, lava rocks.
“The landscape has such a bleak beauty,” I said.
It seemed almost post-apocalyptic. Iceland was a remote island, where people still believed in ancient magic. I had read on the internet that strange, invisible elves hid in the cliffs and rocks. Trolls lived in dark, underground caves carved out by lava and these vengeful monsters turned into stone if exposed to the sun.
When Max and I arrived at the Blue Lagoon, I was amazed by the milky-blue water and the fog-like steam rising from the sulfuric pool. We were greeted warmly at the entrance and given towels and directions to the change rooms. Max and I parted, briefly, going into our separate change rooms, before meeting up at the pool.
We slowly descended into the hot water together, hand-in-hand.
“Did you miss me, darling?” Max asked.
“Of course, I did.” I was excited to be at the spa and immediately covered my face with the silvery-gray silt, that was said to rejuvenate the skin.
“How do I look? Do you see any improvement?”
“If it’s possible, you look even younger and more beautiful than ever.” Max playfully splashed some water in my direction.
I beamed at his flattery. Even though I knew he was teasing me, I did wonder if the clay really had any effect. Sipping on the pint of Gull ale Max had bought, I felt myself begin to relax from the combination of warm water and the alcohol. Max snuck in a few kisses, and we held hands under the warm water.
*
I had been up half the night writing and was just about to drift off to sleep, late Sunday morning, when my phone pinged with a text from Fiona.
Hey, are you busy? Can you come over? It’s important.
I wondered what was up. I had just seen Fiona a few days ago.
Sure. I’ll be there in an hour.
Reluctantly, I slid out of bed, then turned and grabbed my journal, which lay beside the pillow. I opened the drawer of the bedside table, dropped the journal inside and slid the drawer shut. After taking care of Keeper’s needs, it was time to shower and get dressed. I went to the bathroom and sat on the toilet, then stood up and stared down into the bowl. My mind reeled. Insomnia was no longer my biggest problem.
My period was late. And if it didn’t start soon, I’d have to take a pregnancy test. What if I peed on the stick and a blue line appeared? Mark had worn a condom, and I was on the pill. I googled birth control stats and discovered that condoms had a typical failure rate of 15%, but the pill was 99% effective. Granted, I’d forgotten to take it a few times. Still, the odds were against it. There was no way that I was pregnant. I decided to postpone the test for a few more weeks.
Chapter 53
“I brought you sunflowers.”
“They’re beautiful. Thanks. You’re always so thoughtful,” Fiona said, taking them from me after we had exchanged a light embrace. “But you don’t have to bring gifts every time you visit. Come on into the kitchen. I just made a fresh pot of coffee.”
We headed down the narrow, windowless hallway to the tiny kitchen. The floors were slanted and groaned with every step. The dreary one-bedroom apartment on Boylston Street had been built in the 1920s. The fresh flowers I’d brought would help brighten the place up.
“Hey, Erin.” Mark got up and gave me a quick hug.
My pulse thumped in my ears. Why hadn’t Fiona warned me that Mark would be here, too? My thoughts tangled, as I sat down at the Ikea kitchen table and tugged a hand through my hair.
