Laura Dave - The Last Thing He Told Me

“What are you doing?” I say.

“He’s just going to make sure you’re not wearing a wire,” Nicholas says.

“You can take my word for it,” I say. “What would I have to gain by wearing a wire?”

Nicholas smiles. “Those are the type of questions I don’t get involved in anymore,” he says. “But if you wouldn’t mind…”

“Raise your arms, please,” Ned says.

I look toward Charlie to back me up—to say this is unnecessary. He doesn’t.

I do what Ned asks, telling myself that this is like a pat down at the airport, someone checking me out for the TSA. Nothing to think about. But his hands feel cold, and the entire time he moves them down my sides, I can see his gun on his hip. Ready to be used. And I can see Nicholas watching. The protection dogs by his side, apparently ready to be used too.

I feel my breath catch in my throat, trying not to show it. If one of these men were to see my husband, they would hurt him. They would hurt him so badly that nothing I do now would matter. Grady’s voice runs through my head. Nicholas is a bad man. These men are ruthless.

Ned steps away from me and motions to Nicholas, which I assume means I’m all clear.

I meet Nicholas’s eyes, still feeling the bodyguard’s hands on my body. “Is this how you welcome all your guests?” I say.

“I don’t tend to have many guests these days,” he says.

I nod, straightening out my sweater, wrapping my arms around myself. Then Nicholas turns to Charlie.

“You know what, Charlie? I’d like some time alone with Hannah. Why don’t you enjoy a drink by the pool? And head home.”

“I’m Hannah’s ride,” he says.

“Marcus will take her where she needs to go. We’ll talk tomorrow. Yeah?”

Nicholas gives his son a final pat. Then before Charlie can say anything, as if there is anything to say, Nicholas opens the doors to his house and walks inside.

He pauses in the doorway though. He pauses in the doorway, leaving me with a choice to make. I can leave now and go home with Charlie or I can stay here alone with him.

These are my choices—stay with Nicholas and help my family or leave my family and help myself. It feels like a weird test, as if I need to be tested, as if I haven’t already gotten to the place where helping my family and helping myself have become the same thing.

“Shall we?” Nicholas says.

I can still leave here. I can still leave him. Owen’s face is in my mind. He wouldn’t want me here. Grady’s face. Go. Go. Go. My heart races in my chest so loudly that I’m sure Nicholas can hear it. Even if he can’t, I’m sure he can feel it—the tension coming off me.

There is a moment when you realize you are out of your depth. This is mine.

The dogs stare up at Nicholas. Everyone stares at Nicholas, including me.

Until I move in the only direction I can. Toward him.

“After you,” I say.

Two Years Ago

“Bailey, I love your dress,” I said.

We were in Los Angeles, having dinner at Felix, in Venice. I was working with a client on her house in the Venice Canals and Owen thought it would be a perfect opportunity for Bailey and me to spend some time together. This was probably the eighth time we’d met, but usually she tried to get out of doing more than just having a meal together. Usually, it wasn’t the three of us for a whole weekend. We took her to see Dudamel at The Hollywood Bowl, which she loved. And now we were having dinner at the best Italian restaurant in Los Angeles, which she also loved. The only thing she didn’t love? Doing it all with me there.

“That shade of blue looks so pretty on you,” I said.

She didn’t answer, didn’t even offer a rote head shrug. She ignored me, downing some of her Italian soda.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said.

And she was up, and gone, before Owen could answer.

Owen watched her go. When she disappeared around the corner, he turned toward me.

“I was going to surprise you,” he said. “But maybe this is a good time to tell you that I’m taking you to Big Sur next weekend.”

I was staying in Los Angeles for the week to finish work on my project in the Canals and then I was planning on flying up to Sausalito on Friday. We had talked about taking a ride down the coast to visit cousins of Owen’s. The cousins, he said, lived in Carmel-by-the-Sea—a small, touristy town on the end of the Peninsula.

“There aren’t actually cousins in Carmel-by-the-Sea?” I said.

“Someone’s cousins, probably,” he said.

I laughed.

“That’s a benefit of me,” he said. “I don’t really have any cousins anywhere. I don’t come with family at all, except Bailey.”

“And she’s a boon,” I said.

He smiled at me. “You really feel that way, don’t you?”

“Of course.” I paused. “Not that the feeling is mutual.”

“It will be.”

He took a sip of his drink and moved it across the table toward me.

“Have you ever tried a bourbon Good Luck Charm?” he said. “I only drink it on special occasions. It’s a mix of bourbon and lemon and spearmint. And it works. It brings luck.”

“What do you need luck for?”

“I’m going to ask you something that you’re going to say is too soon to ask you,” he said. “Is that okay?”

“Is that the question?” I said.

“The question’s coming,” he said. “But not like this, not when my kid’s in the bathroom, so you can start breathing again…”

He wasn’t wrong. I hadn’t taken a breath at all, worrying he was actually going to pop the question. I was terrified if he did that I wouldn’t be able to say yes. And I wouldn’t be able to say no.

“Maybe I’ll ask you in Big Sur. We’re staying on top of these cliffs, surrounded by oak trees, prettiest trees you’ve ever seen in your life. And you get to sleep beneath them, you sleep in yurts, which look up at all those trees, which look out on the ocean. One of them has our name on it.”

“I’ve never slept in a yurt,” I said.

“Well, you won’t be able to say that next week.”

He took his drink back, took a long sip.

“And I know I’m getting ahead of myself, but you should probably know, I can’t wait to be your husband,” he said. “Just for the record.”

“Well, I’m not going on the record,” I said. “But I feel the same.”

This is when Bailey came back to the table. She sat down and dug into her pasta, a delicious southern Italian rendition of Cacio e Pepe. It was a decadent mix of cheese and spicy pepper and salty olive oil.

Owen leaned in and took a huge bite, right off her plate.

“Dad!” She laughed.

“Sharing is caring,” he said, his mouth full. “Wanna hear something cool?”

“Sure,” she said. And she smiled at him.

“Hannah got us all tickets to see the revival of Barefoot in the Park tomorrow night at the Geffen,” he said. “Neil Simon is one of her favorites too. Doesn’t that sound great?”

“We’re seeing Hannah again tomorrow?” she said. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

“Bailey…” Owen shook his head.

Then he gave me an apologetic look: I’m sorry she’s being like this.

I shrugged: It’s really okay, however she wants to be.

I meant it. It was okay with me. She was a teenager who hadn’t had a mother for most of her life. All she had was her father. I didn’t expect her to be good with the prospect of sharing him with someone else. I didn’t think anyone else should expect that of her either.

She looked down, embarrassed. “Sorry I just… have a lot of homework to do,” she said.

“No, please, it’s fine,” I said. “I have a ton of work to do too. Why don’t you two go to the play? Just you and your dad. And maybe we’ll meet up back at the hotel, if you end up getting your work done?”