Linwood Barclay - No Safe House

Cynthia agreed, to a point, but she still felt she owed Vince something for helping them seven years before. If Vince hadn’t helped Terry put together some of the pieces in the puzzle of what had happened to her parents and her brother, Todd, Terry would never have found her and Grace in time.

They nearly died.

The way Cynthia saw it, she owed Vince. For her life, and the life of her daughter. The least she could do was send a card. So she picked one up at the mall, as unsentimental a one as she could find, but wrote inside:

I was very sorry to learn about the passing of your wife, Audrey. You, and Jane, are in my thoughts at this time. But I also wanted to tell you that I’ve been thinking of you. You made a tremendous sacrifice on our behalf, and I remain immensely grateful. I understand you may not have been in the mood to hear that message when we last saw you, but it remains as true today as it was then. With every good wish in this difficult time, Cynthia.

She could have signed it from herself and Terry, but decided not to. The note, really, was from her. Even though she hadn’t told Terry about it, if it ever came up, she wouldn’t deny it.

Cynthia hadn’t heared anything back from him. And that was fine.

But a few days after she’d settled herself into the apartment, she noticed an old Dodge Ram pickup roll up to the curb as she pulled into the driveway. She’d gotten out of her car and saw Vince Fleming open the door and slide off the seat.

“Hey,” he’d said.

He was thinner and grayer — not just his hair, but even his pallor — and when he walked toward her, she noticed a deliberateness in his gait that suggested low-level pain.

“Vince,” she said.

“I was at a cross street back there, saw you drive by, was pretty sure it was you. Thought I’d say, you know, hello. But this — this isn’t your house.”

“No,” Cynthia said. “When I finish work, I like to sit on the porch with a beer. Join me?”

He hesitated. “No reason not to, I guess.”

She went up to her room, dropped her purse, kicked off her heels, grabbed two Sam Adams, and came back down in her bare feet. Vince was in one of the porch chairs staring out at the street.

She handed him a bottle, beads of sweat already forming on it in the humid air.

“Thanks,” he said.

Cynthia sat down, tucked her legs up under her butt, and put the bottle to her lips. “You doing some work around here?” she asked, like he was a friendly neighborhood contractor or something. If Vince was doing work around here, it was probably best to alert Neighborhood Watch.

“No,” he said, not looking at her. “Listen, thanks for the card.”

“You’re welcome,” Cynthia said. “I’d seen the notice in the paper.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Had she been sick for a while?” Cynthia asked.

“About a year.” He swallowed some beer. “Hot today.”

Cynthia fanned herself with her left hand. “Yeah.”

“So, you guys downsize? Renting a room? Doesn’t seem big enough for you two and the kid.”

“Just me.”

“Oh. So you guys split up.”

“No. I just needed some time.”

“Time to what?”

“Just some time.”

He grunted. “I get that. Sometimes it’s nice living alone. Lot less drama.”

“Jane still with you?”

He shook his head. “Nope. She’s living with some half-wit.”

“A what?”

Vince shrugged. “Half-wit, dipshit, fucktwat, whatever. A musician. Plays in a band. I don’t like it, her living with him. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but that doesn’t sit right with me.”

Cynthia asked, “Were you and Audrey married when you first started living together?”

“That’s different,” he said. “We’d been around. She’d been married before. Nobody’s business what we do at that age.”

“Maybe that’s what Jane thinks. That it’s nobody’s business what she does.”

He gave her a look. “Did I come here for you to bust my balls?”

“I don’t know. Did you?”

Vince glowered at her. “No.” Long pause. “I came by to apologize.”

“For what?”

“When you came to the hospital to see me. I was a horse’s ass. This might seem kinda late coming, but I take my time when it comes to admitting I was wrong.”

“Forget it,” Cynthia said. “All is forgiven.”

“Well, shit, that was easier than I thought it’d be.” He drew on the bottle. “So, I opened up to you. Now tell me what happened between you and Terry.”

“You call that opening up?”

“I said I was sorry. So what are you doing here?”

She settled back in the chair, watched a car go by. “I lost it. With Grace. I was... out of control. So I’m on a self-imposed time-out.”

“You smack her around some?”

She shot him a look. “I did not smack her around. Jesus. But I’ve been trying to control her every move. We’re fighting all the time.”

Vince looked unimpressed. “That’s what parents do. How else kids going to learn?”

“It’s beyond that. I’m fucked-up, Vince. You find that surprising?”

“What, you mean about that shit with your family?” Vince shook his head. “That was years ago.”

She eyed him incredulously. “Really? So I should, what, just walk it off?”

He looked at her. “Things got sorted out. Move on.”

Cynthia studied him with a small sense of wonder. “You should have your own show. Dr. Phil’s got nothing on you.”

“There you go.” Vince stretched out his legs. He seemed to be struggling to get comfortable in the chair. “I’m not trying to be an insensitive asshole.”

“It just comes natural.”

“But you have to move forward. No sense looking back.”

“How about you, then? You moved on? You nearly died.”

He twisted uncomfortably in the chair, lightly touched his abdomen with his free hand. “I’ve been better.”

He drank some more beer.

A Cadillac came charging up the street, turned into the driveway, and parked. Nathaniel Braithwaite got out, slammed the door, spent about half a minute brushing dog hair off his clothes, and approached the house. As he mounted the steps to the porch, he slowed when he saw Cynthia and her guest.

“Oh, hey,” he said. He glanced at Vince, nodded.

“Hi,” Cynthia said. “Nathaniel, this is my friend Vince. From high school. Vince, Nathaniel.”

“Nice wheels,” Vince said.

Nathaniel smiled. “Thanks.”

“Always liked Caddies. But not so much now. They’re trying to turn them into Kraut cars. I liked them when they were big and long and had huge fins on them. Like the ’59. Bit before my time, but that was a car. Thing spanned two zip codes.”

Vince craned his neck, took another look at the car, then cast his eye back at the house. Cynthia could guess what he was thinking. Nathaniel had a pretty nice car for someone renting a room in an old house like this.

“What line of work you in?” Vince asked.

“Used to be in computer software,” Nathaniel said.

“Not anymore?”

“I’m taking a break from all that.”

Vince, motioning to Nathaniel’s pants, said, “If you’re having an affair with a collie, you’re gonna have to do a better job hiding the evidence.”

Nathaniel looked down at himself. “Occupational hazard.”

Vince cocked his head, waiting for an answer. Cynthia didn’t feel it was her place to explain what Nathaniel did for a living now.

“I walk dogs,” he said.

“For what?” Vince asked. “Like, for a hobby?”

He shook his head, forced out his chin defiantly, struggling for dignity. “It’s what I do. I go to people’s houses through the day and take their dogs out for a walk.”