Linwood Barclay - No Safe House

“Your what?”

“My car. The Cadillac.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, it’s not exactly a hybrid where gas is concerned, and the insurance ain’t cheap, but damn it, I just wanted to hang on to my wheels.” He laughed. “You should see people’s faces, I show up to walk dogs in a Caddy.”

Cynthia asked, “So these dogs don’t go crazy when you come into the house when their owners are away?”

“You have to get to know them first, yeah, or they might go nuts on you. And I got one Doberman and a German shepherd — I don’t walk those two together — which are not the kind of mutts you want going squirrelly when you come through the front door.”

“So people give you their keys?” Cynthia said.

He pointed to a ring by the toaster with what looked like a dozen keys on it. “Some places I need the security code, too. But if they don’t mind giving that stuff out to their babysitter, they don’t mind giving it to me.” He sighed. “I must seem like the world’s biggest loser to you. Guy my age, and this is what I do. You know, I used to be worth hundreds of thousands? What I make in a week walking goddamn dogs I made in ten minutes. I could buy anything I wanted. I’d walk into a store, see a pair of shoes that cost three hundred bucks — I wouldn’t even think about it. I’d say, Yeah, I’ll take those. And I’d get them home, wear them once, find out they hurt my feet, and I wouldn’t even try to return them. Didn’t give a shit.”

Cynthia shook her head. “I don’t think you’re a loser. What do they say? Life’s a journey, and when you think about it, yours is more interesting than most people’s. Like you said when I first met you, you’re taking a breather. You won’t be doing this forever. At some point you’ll think, Okay, it’s time to move on.”

And that was when it hit her.

It was time to move on.

She was going to give up this apartment.

She was going to go home.

You didn’t solve your problems at home by moving out. You solved your problems by staying home and solving the goddamn problems.

I’m not going to run away. I’m going to go home.

“Cynthia?”

“Hmm?”

“You there?”

“Yes, I’m listening.”

“I said maybe you’re right. Everything just takes time, right?”

She nodded slowly, then said, “I’m going to move out this week.”

“And go where?”

“Home?”

“You’ve only been here a few weeks,” he said.

“It’s been a few weeks too long. This was... this was a mistake.”

“No,” Nathaniel said. “Maybe you had to move here to find out that moving here was a mistake. As goofy as that sounds. I figured you were here kind of clearing your head, figuring yourself out. Maybe living here has made you appreciate whatever it is you left. Your husband and — you’ve got a kid, right?”

“Grace,” she said wistfully. “I abandoned my family because I thought I was sick, but they’re the only thing that can make me better.”

“What do you take?”

“I’ve tried a couple of things, like Xanax, but I don’t feel right being on them. For me, I have to solve my problems on my own, without any artificial interference.”

“I meant in your coffee.”

“Oh!” Cynthia laughed.

“Cream, sugar?”

“Just black, thanks.”

Nathaniel removed the carafe and filled two mugs. He set one in front of Cynthia, then banged his forehead with the heel of his hand. “What the hell am I making coffee for? Tonight’s a special night for you. If you’re moving out, going home, that calls for a celebration.”

He took the mug back before Cynthia could touch it and emptied it into the sink. He swung open the door to the refrigerator and brought out a bottle of white wine.

“No, that’s okay,” she said.

“Nonsense.”

“Really, it’s—”

“Hey, look, it’s a screw-top pinot gris, and it’s already been opened. This isn’t as grand a gesture as it looks. Unless — you do drink, don’t you?”

She sighed. “I do.”

“Well, fine, then.” He found two peanut butter glasses in the cupboard, twisted the cap off the bottle. He glanced at the label. “A very nice vintage. March, I believe.”

Cynthia smiled uncomfortably. Having a coffee with this boy across the hall — and really, compared with her, he was a boy — was one thing, but sharing a bottle of wine, that was another, wasn’t it?

Stop it. He’s just trying to be nice.

He filled the two glasses, handed her one. “Cheers,” he said, raising his, clinking it lightly against Cynthia’s. “To fresh starts.”

“To fresh starts.”

“Mine’s just going to come a little later,” he said. “I used to belong to a wine club. Very, very snooty. My wife and I, we’d get invited to tastings, fancy cheeses and chocolate. They’d send me the latest chardonnay or merlot or whatever in these fancy wood boxes. Cost a fortune. This bottle here, this ran me seven bucks. And you know, it gets me drunk just as efficiently as the expensive stuff. Which, by the way, I do quite frequently, and often by myself.”

He tipped the glass to his mouth, emptied it in one go, refilled it.

“I was something,” he said. “And now I’m not.”

“I’m sorry, Nathaniel,” she said. “You got a raw deal.”

“Have I never told you to call me Nate?”

“I—”

He smiled, patted her hand. “Call me Nate.”

“Okay, Nate.”

“In some ways, it was a blessing. I was so stressed out all the time. Every minute was about work. I think, even if I hadn’t lost everything, I’d have found myself heading for a nervous breakdown. But I did lose everything. Ev. Ry. Thing. Worst of all, I lost Charlotte.”

“She’s your...”

“My wife, yeah. Once the flow stopped, man, she started looking for the exit. Ended up with this asshole — someone I thought was a friend of mine — who’s still got his platinum card. Runs a computer game company. Made that guy rich, and now—” He shook his head.

Cynthia didn’t know what to say.

“You ever lost everything?” he asked her.

She hesitated. “I know a bit about that.”

He grew curious. “Really? You had a fortune and then it was gone? Big house, fancy car? All that shit?”

“No. It wasn’t a financial loss.” She put the glass to her lips and sipped.

Nathaniel’s eyes softened. “Oh, sorry. Shit. But you don’t mean your husband and your kid. You’ve still got them.”

She moved the wine around her tongue, as if it cost more than seven dollars a bottle, then swallowed it slowly. “It was a long time ago. My family. I lost my family.”

“What do you mean? Like, your parents died?”

Cynthia had neither the energy nor the desire to tell the story. “More or less,” she said. “And my brother, too. I was the only one left. After that, I went to live with my aunt.”

“Jesus,” he said. “What happened?”

She shook her head.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s not even any of my business. God, I’m such an ass. I’m all ‘pity me’ and you’ve been through something probably a thousand times worse.” He grabbed his glass and the bottle and came around the island, parked himself on the stool next to her so their shoulders were just touching. Cynthia felt a kind of charge come off his body. “Really, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Don’t feel bad. What happened to you, what happened to me, they’re both life-changing. They’re both traumatic in their own ways.”

“Yeah, but still. Let me top you up there.”

Cynthia had had only half a glass but let him refill it. He’d nearly finished his second glassful and helped himself to more, which emptied the bottle.