Carla Neggers - The Widow

Mattie got off his bike thirty yards from his house and walked it to his driveway. His butt hurt from the hard seat. He wanted to get one of those gel seats.

What he really wanted was to have his license back.

Doyle had refused to pull any strings to help him or look the other way. He could have-Mattie hadn’t run over anyone or anything. His blood-alcohol level had been just over the legal limit. What harm would it have done for Doyle to give him one more chance?

As he dropped his bike onto the grass in front of his crummy rented house, someone darted out of the dark shadows. He jumped back, almost screaming.

Grace Cooper put a finger to her perfect lips. “Shh. It’s just me.”

“Grace-man, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want anyone to see me.”

Of course not. He nodded like a fool. “I understand. I’ll be at your place tomorrow to mow the lawn. Why didn’t you just wait-”

“This can’t wait.” She spoke in a controlled voice just above a whisper. “Mattie, the FBI’s here, on the island.”

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from the front pocket of his denim jacket and tapped one out, noticing that his hands were surprisingly steady. “They are, huh? Daddy March knows them?”

“There are a lot of FBI agents. Abigail’s father can’t possibly know them all.”

“Bet he knows the ones sent here to check up on you.”

“They’re not checking up on me. They’re conducting a routine background investigation.”

She had on a long, shapeless sweater, its ice-blue color and the harsh light from the nearby houses washing out her face more. She wasn’t as plain as she thought she was, and she could be passionate. Mattie remembered just how passionate.

He knew she didn’t want to remember anything about their time together.

She crossed her arms over her chest, as if she knew what he was thinking. “Long day today?”

“They’re all long days this time of year. What’re you doing, besides worrying about what people are going to tell the FBI?”

“My father and I took the boat out today. The little one.” She licked her lips, looking away from him. “It’s a good time to be away from Washington for a few days. Things are quiet.”

“I’d like a nice lazy day.”

“We used to have days like that. Remember?” She turned back to him, a spark of affection in her eyes, surprising him. “You’d keep a camera with you at all times. You had such hope.”

“So did you,” he said.

“I still do. This appointment means a lot to me.”

“And to your father?”

“Of course. He’s very supportive. Mattie-I’d never ask you to lie…” She trailed off. When he didn’t speak, she shook her head. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have come.”

“The FBI doesn’t know about our affair.”

She lowered her eyes. “No. I didn’t tell them.”

“It’d come back to haunt you, wouldn’t it? An affair with the town drunk. The yardman. A murdered FBI’s no-account friend.” Mattie couldn’t believe the bitterness in his tone, how fast it had infected him. “I’m the guy you had because you couldn’t have him.”

She gasped. “That’s not true! That was never true.”

“No?”

“Of course not. Mattie, don’t say such a thing.”

But he knew it was true. He’d known it seven and a half years ago, when he’d had five months of bliss-pure heaven-with Grace Cooper. He’d had such high hopes. She’d planned to rescue him from himself, clean him up, show him off as her brilliant photographer lover, her salt-of-the-earth Mainer.

And when her eyes were closed, she could pretend he was the man she couldn’t have.

By unspoken agreement, Mattie had never said aloud that she was in love with Christopher Browning. But she had been, and for all he knew, she still was.

“Who knows about us?” he asked.

She winced visibly. “No one.”

“What about your brother? He’s a sneaky little shit. He knows everything that goes on around here.”

“Linc doesn’t know. We did nothing wrong. I just don’t want to expose you to unnecessary scrutiny.”

He grinned at her. “That’s your story, huh?”

She stiffened, dropping her arms to her sides, as much of a display of emotion as he’d get from her. She’d always had remarkable self-control. A Cooper trait. Emotion was for the lower classes.

Emotion was what got Doe Garrison killed.

It was what got Chris Browning killed.

Mattie had heard Jason Cooper explain as much to his kids around the kitchen table. Doe got herself worked up over a minor squabble, and she drowned. Chris got mad because of what happened to his wife, and he was shot.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell the FBI you slept with the town drunk.” His voice caught, annoying him. He didn’t care about Grace anymore-he’d stopped caring a long, long time ago. “And I won’t tell them you were in love with one of their own.”

“You’re odious, Mattie.” She didn’t raise her voice. “I want to have sympathy for you and remember what we had those few months with affection, without regret. But I look at you, and I just want to be sick.”

“That’s it? You want to be sick? You don’t want to club me on the head with a rock or shoot me in the heart?”

“I wouldn’t waste my time.”

She crossed her arms tight over her chest and stalked back out to the road.

“Did you drive over here?” Mattie asked her calmly.

“I parked around the corner. I told my father and Linc that I was running an errand.”

“Not worried the FBI’s following you?”

“No.” She paused, giving him a long, cool look. “I have nothing to hide.”

“Say it enough times and maybe you’ll believe it.”

He watched her swallow and thought he saw a glimmer of a tear, but she turned and walked away.

The woman had everything. Brains, poise, a sense of decency. Money. A future. But she couldn’t be honest with herself.

Mattie headed up his front walk. He was no judge of character, but he could recognize another liar.

Grace lied to other people-about him, for one-but most of her lies, the worst of her lies, were to herself. Like now, he thought. She was lying to herself about just how scared she was-of him, of her own past.

Had she guessed what kind of trouble Linc was in?

Mattie told himself he didn’t give a damn. Grace Cooper didn’t care about him. Fine. He didn’t care about her, either.

He headed into his little rented house. It could fit into the Coopers’ kitchen-of their summer house. Mattie had never seen any of their other houses. Jason’s place in New York, Grace’s in Georgetown, Ellis’s in Alexandria. But as well-off as they were, Mattie didn’t envy them. He didn’t want to be a Cooper.

He wanted to be a photographer.

He wanted a fresh start.

But as he pushed open his front door, he felt a prick of guilt at how he was getting it.

“Your husband had secrets.”

Abigail sat up in bed, fully awake after grabbing the phone on the second ring. “Who is this?”

“Just listen. Chris’s secrets got him killed. He wouldn’t talk to you. He wouldn’t talk to anyone.”

“Tell me more. Please.” She struggled to keep her tone firm but nonthreatening. “Don’t hang up.”

“He didn’t want to see you hurt.”

“Hurt how? Physically-or emotionally?”

There was no hesitation on the other end. “Both.”

“So he didn’t tell me these secrets?”

“He couldn’t. He loved you.”

She leaned back against her pillows and headboard, the early morning sun angling into her small bedroom through gaps in the curtains. The caller’s voice was disguised, as before. “How did you get my number here?” she asked. “It’s not listed.”