Lisa Scottoline - Everywhere That Mary Went

“I missed you last night. I really did.” He kisses me again, but I pull away.

“You sent Judy.”

“To take care of you. But she’s no substitute, right?”

I nod. The roses are a cardinal red, and the underside of each petal has a dense and velvety texture. There are twelve in all. They must have cost a fortune.

“I did get you a muffin, by the way.” He wrestles with the pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a crumpled white bag the size of a hardball. “Blueberry.” He shakes it beside his ear like a light bulb. “It’s in three hundred and fifty-seven pieces at this point. Sorry about that.” He sets it down on my desk.

“Thank you.”

“You still don’t look happy. Was Martin giving you a hard time?”

“Uh, yeah. First he holds back on the two deposition notices, the ones I told you about. Then he tells me he’s the one who told Berkowitz to give me theHart case, not the other way around. I think he’s trying to save face.”

“How do you know?”

“How do I know what?”

“That Martin wasn’t the one to suggest it to Berkowitz?”

“That’s not what Berkowitz said. Implied, anyway.”

Ned looks skeptical. “Maybe Berkowitz wasn’t telling the truth. Maybe it was Martin who suggested you get the case.”

“I don’t understand. Why would Martin champion my cause, Ned? You saw him just now.”

“That was because he wants to fix me up with his daughter. It wasn’t directed at you.”

“No?”

“No. I’d take Martin over Berkowitz any day.”

“I’d take Berkowitz over Martin any day.”

We regard each other over the flowers. We seem to be lined up on opposing sides of a class war. It breaks the mood-which is a godsend, for what I have to do.

“Is this our first fight?” he asks, with a sad smile.

“Ned-”

“Then I have something to say.” He grabs the flowers and puts them on the desk. Then he walks over to me and takes me in his arms. “I’m sorry.”

I can smell his aftershave, familiar to me now, and feel the heavy cotton of his shirt. “Ned-”

“You don’t need a hard time from me this morning, do you?” He hugs me tighter, rocking a little, and I feel myself relax into the comfort of his arms. My hands slip easily around the small of his back. He wears no undershirt, which I love, and his shirt is slightly damp from the walk to work.

“The notes are missing, Ned.”

He kisses my hair. “No, they’re not. I have them.”

I pull away from him. “You have the notes, Ned?You?”

“Not with me. I put them in my safe at home, behind the picture of that old Lightning, at Wellfleet.”

“Where did you get them?”

“The notes? I went to the office after the memorial service.”

“Why?”

“I had work to do, honey. I was going to work the weekend, but we spent it in bed, remember? I stopped by your office and found them on top of your desk with a note.”

“But why were you even on this floor? Your office is on-”

“I don’t know. I just was.”

“Why did you go in my office?”

“On impulse, I guess. I wanted to be around something of yours. Look at your handwriting, you know. It was goony.” He laughs nervously. “What’s with all the questions?”

Fear rises in my throat. He has no reason to be on my floor, no right to come into my office. I imagine him rooting through my desk in the glow of the clock. I hope Judy isn’t right about him, but I can’t take any more chances. I steel myself. “Ned, I can’t see you for a while.”

“What?” He looks shocked.

“I want you to bring the notes to the office as soon as you can. Maybe you should go home at lunch.”

“What are you saying? What about us?”

“I’m…not ready for us. Not yet. Not now.”

“Wait a minute, what’s happening?” His voice breaks. “Mary, I love you!”

He hadn’t said that, not once the whole weekend, though I wondered how deep his feelings went. Now I know, if he’s telling the truth.I love you. The words reach out and grab me by the heart. I want so much for it not to be him, but I’m afraid Judy’s right. And now I’m afraid of him. “I need time.”

“Time? Time for what?”

“To think. I want the notes back.”

He grabs my arms. “Mary, I love you. I’ll get you the notes. I was only trying to help. I didn’t think they should be left out like that, where anybody could pick them up.”

I can’t look at him. “Ned, please.”

He releases me suddenly. “I get it. You think it’s me, don’t you? You suspect me.” His tone is bitter.

“I don’t know what I think.”

“You think it’s me. You think I’m trying to kill you. I can’t believe this.” He throws up his hands in disgust. “We spent the weekend together, Mary. I told you things I never told anybody else in the world!”

He falls silent suddenly. I look at him, and his face is full of anger.

“That’s why, isn’t it?” he asks quietly. “Because of what I told you. I was depressed, so now you have me pegged for a psycho killer. Oh, this is beautiful. This is really beautiful. Tell me again how proud you are of me, Mary.”

“That’s not it. I just need time, Ned.”

“Fine. You just got it.” He stalks to the door but stops there, his back to me. “Whoever it is, they’ll still be after you. And I won’t be around to keep you safe.”

I feel sick inside. He hurts so much, and it hurts to see him go.

“Is this really what you want?” he asks, without turning around.

I close my eyes. “Yes.”

“So be it.” The next sound is the harshca-chunk of the door as it closes.

When I open my eyes, I’m alone. I cross my arms and try to keep it together, looking around my office at the books and the files and the diplomas. They’re so cold, fungible. They could belong to anybody, and they do. Every lawyer here has the same rust-colored accordion files, the same framed diplomas from the same handful of schools. My eyes fall on the roses, so out of place in this cold little office with the clock staring in.

10:36.

I feel like I have to regroup, to sort out everything that’s been happening. I need to think things out in a safe place, but I can’t remember the last time I felt safe. In Mike’s arms. Another time.

In church, as a child.

In church, what a thought. I haven’t been to church in ages and had lapsed way before that. But I always felt safe in church as a little girl. Protected, watched over. The idea grows on me as I stand, frozen, facing the clock.

I think of the church I grew up in, Our Lady of Perpetual Help. I was a believer then. A believer in a God who watched over us all, the cyclists and the gay secretaries. A believer in the goodness of all men, even partners, and lovers too. A believer in our fraternity with animals, including cats who won’t rub against your leg no matter what.

I grab my blazer from behind the door and stop by Miss Pershing’s desk. “Miss Pershing, I’ll be out of the office for a couple of hours.”

“Oh?” She takes off her glasses and places them carefully on her shallow chest, where they dangle on a lorgnette. “Where shall I say you are, Miss DiNunzio?”

“You shouldn’t say, but the answer is, in church.”

For the first time, Miss Pershing smiles at me.

I hail a cab outside our building. The cabbie, an old man with greasy white hair, stabs out his cigarette and flips down the flag on the meter. “Where to?”

“Our Lady of Perpetual Help. Ninth and Wolf.”

“Lawyers go to church?” A final puff of smoke bursts from his mouth.

“Only when they have to.”

He chuckles thickly, and it ends in a coughing spasm. We take off in silence, except for the crackling of the radio. The cab swings onto Broad Street, which bisects the city at City Hall and runs straight to South Philly. Broad Street is congested, as usual. We stop in the cool shadow cast by a skyscraper and then lurch into the bright light of the sun. I crank open the window, watching us pass through light and dark, listening to the old cabbie swear at the traffic, and trying to remember the last time I was in church.