Lisa Scottoline - Everywhere That Mary Went

We leave Einstein’s chambers. Hank flees ahead of me to the elevator bank. As he forces his way into an elevator, I see that he’s in tears.

“Hank, wait!” I call out, running to the elevator. But the stainless steel doors close as I reach it, and I’m left staring at the ribbon of black crepe between them. I press theDOWN button.

I hear the voice. It sounds harsher now, less like Mike.What goes around comes around. You made an angel weep, now you’re getting it back. A phone call greets you at the door. An anonymous note shows up in your mail. And a dark car is tracking your every move.

Pong! The elevator bell rings out, silencing the voice.

The doors rattle open. The only person in the elevator is a steroid freak in a muscle shirt and mirrored sunglasses. Acne dots his shoulders and his hips jut forward suggestively as he leans against the side of the elevator. “Come on in, honey,” he drawls. “The water’s fine.”

“Uh, no. I’m going up.”

“Maybe next time, sugar.”

As soon as the doors close, I punch theDOWN button again. I slip thankfully into the next elevator, packed with honest citizens wearing yellowJUROR buttons. I grab a cab back to the office and spend most of the ride as I did before, looking out the windows, peering anxiously at every dark sedan on Market Street. When I get back to the office, Brent’s desk is empty. He has his opera lesson tonight; he says there’s more to life than shorthand.

I go into my office to empty my briefcase.

There, sitting at my desk, bent over my papers, is Ned Waters.

Ned’s green eyes flash with alarm as he looks up. The big clock glows faintly behind him.

“Mary. I was just leaving you a note.”

“A note?” My throat catches. Did Ned send the note I got this morning? Does he drive a dark car?

“I thought you left for the day. Your secretary was gone, so I couldn’t leave a message.”

“He studies opera singing.”

“Opera, huh?” Ned rises awkwardly. He replaces one of my ballpoints in their mug and snatches a piece of paper from my desk.

“Is that the note?” I set my briefcase on the file cabinet.

“Yeah.” He crumples it up and stuffs it into his jacket pocket. “But you won’t need it now. I can tell you what it says. I thought you might like to grab some dinner.”

“Dinner?” I don’t know what else to say, so I stare at him open-mouthed, like a trout.

“I heard you won an important motion. We could celebrate.”

“You want to celebrate my winning a motion?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Maybe because we’re competing with each other. You know, for partnership.”

He looks stung. “I didn’t even think of that, Mary.”

I sigh, suddenly exhausted by the intrigue, the guessing, the strangeness of my life of late. “I don’t get it, Ned. The last time we had dinner was in law school.”

He looks down for a minute, studying his wingtips. When he meets my eye, his gaze is almost feline in its directness. “I wanted to call you back, but by the time I got my courage up, you were practically engaged.”

It sounds genuine. I feel flattered and wary at the same time. I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. I try not to look like a trout, however.

“Isn’t that right?”

“Not exactly. I met Mike after you and I went out. And I didn’t get engaged all that fast.”

“No? You looked to me like you fell pretty hard. I remember seeing you doing research in the library, you looked like you were on cloud nine. Unless it was the sheer joy of working for Bitterman.”

“Not likely.”

“How could you stand that guy? I know he’s supposed to be a legal genius, but what a jerk. I heard from Malone he was a tyrant in the courtroom.”

“And out of it. He threw a fit when I wouldn’t do the research for his second article. Reamed me out in his chambers.”

“Why?”

“The law should be my first love, he said.”

“But it wasn’t.”

I think of Mike.

Ned clears his throat. “Anyway, you looked like a woman in love, even to somebody as dense as me. I figured I didn’t have a prayer, so I settled for being friends. What a guy, huh?”

“What a guy.”

His hands shift inside the pockets of his bumpy seersucker jacket. “So. Please don’t make this any harder than it is. Let me take you to dinner.”

“I don’t really go out, Ned. I mean, I don’t know if you’re talking about going out, but I-”

“Why do we have to label it anything? Let’s just have dinner together. We’re old friends, classmates, and we went out once. I’ve been remiss in not getting hold of you sooner, but- well, there was a lot going on.” He shrugs uncomfortably. “Let’s go eat, huh?”

I can’t decide. The silence is excruciating.

“Come on. It won’t kill you.”

“Tell me one thing. What kind of car do you drive?”

“Talk about a non sequitur!” he says, with a deep laugh. It’s a merry sound, happy and relieved, and shows his teeth to advantage. They’re white and even, I bet they grew in that way. “Okay, I confess. I drive a Miata.”

“What color?”

“White.”

“Do you have a car phone?”

“You want to see my W-2? I can afford dinner, you know.”

“That’s not why I’m asking, and we’ll split dinner.”

“So why are you asking? And no, we won’t.”

“Just tell me, okay? Please.”

“Of course I don’t have a car phone. The Miata is as pretentious as I get.”

So I agree, reluctantly.

Dinner turns out to be no fun at all in the beginning, when I’m busy worrying about whether Ned rents the car he follows me around in. Then he orders me a Tanqueray-and-tonic, and it eases my anxiety on impact. I begin to enjoy the restaurant, an elegant one overlooking Rittenhouse Square, and Ned’s conversation, which comes more easily than it used to. In fact, he’s changed a lot, as far as I can tell. He seems freer, more lively. We trade firm gossip, and he confides that he’s always been intrigued by Judy. An enigma, he calls her. I find this funny, since she’s no fan of his either. By the refill of my drink, I confess that Judy calls him Cool.

“Why does she call me that? I’m not cool at all.”

“Youare cool, Cool.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

He laughs. “This is mature.”

“Admit it! Look at you, you’re a preppie hunk. You’re like a J. Crew catalog, only alive.” I realize I’m flirting, even as I speak. It not only scares the shit out of me, it makes me feel profoundly guilty. I celebrated my first motion with Mike, and here I am, celebrating my second with Ned. And I’m still Mike’s wife, inside. I clam up.

Ned doesn’t notice my silence and launches into his life story. He tells me about his wealthy Main Line family and his father, who’s the managing partner of the Masterson firm. When he’s finished his Dover sole, he changes the subject, as if he suddenly became aware that he’d been soliloquizing. “Only two months to go until P-day. June 1st, the partnership election.”

I move a radish around on my plate.

“I didn’t think June would be a good month for you. Isn’t that when your husband-”

“Yes.” The anniversary of Mike’s death is June 28, but I didn’t think Ned knew that. “How did you-”

“I remember. I went to the funeral.”

“You did?” I’m not sure I want to talk about this.

“I didn’t think you’d mind. I wanted to go. Mike seemed like a very nice guy. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t think you ever met him.”

“Sure I did. You introduced us when he came by school to meet you for lunch. He rode his bike over. He rode a bike, right?”