28

“I don’t understand, Kevin.” I’m standing in the foyer of our house, in front of the door. I’m a human barrier, a blockade of flesh and bones.

Kevin crosses his arms across his chest, placing his expensive new suit in danger of developing elbow creases. It’s dark blue, nearly black. His tie matches precisely. He looks like a G-man in a B movie. More a costume than a suit. But I don’t say this. I also don’t tell him how I barely recognize him, how the long hours he keeps is turning him into a stranger. How the way he shakes his head at me makes me want to cry. He pulls a face. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Explain it to me again.”

His eyes roll up and to the left. “I don’t have time for this. I have a dinner meeting.”

I throw my hands up. “Your client can wait for a few minutes.”

His eyes narrow. “You have no idea what my client can or cannot do. You haven’t the first clue about it, Kate.”

I swallow hard, my nerves fraying. He’s angry, and so am I, but I see the clouds gathering around his head, I see his eyes turn to granite, and I back off a bit. “You’re right, I don’t know. I need you to explain it to me; I need your help to understand.” I hold my hands out, palms facing him, to soften my words, to cool his anger. “Five thousand dollars is a lot of money.”

He snorts. “That’s your problem, Kate. You honestly think five thousand dollars is a lot of money. It’s not. It’s chump change in the circles I’m breaking into.” He snaps his fingers. “It’s a night out to these guys.”

I close my eyes and pull in a long breath, steadying my voice. “But you aren’t one of those guys, Kevin. You’re you. This is us, remember? You and me. We don’t spend five thousand dollars on a suit.” Despite myself I feel my bottom lip tremble. “You didn’t even talk to me first.”

He puts a finger under my nose. “Oh great, here come the crocodile tears. Do you honestly expect me to stand here with a client waiting while you have your little boo-hoo? This is crap, Kate.” He grabs me by the shoulders and shoves me away from the door. His fingers sink into my flesh.

I grab the lapels of his five-thousand-dollar suit.

He takes hold of each of my wrists and twists opposite ways. I cry out in pain and release his jacket. The material is crushed and wrinkled. He doesn’t let go of my wrists.

“You will stop this now. Do you understand me, Kate?” His low voice is like gravel in my ears. He gives me a fast shake. “End this now, or I’ll end it for you.”

I stare up at him. “What do you mean, end it for me?”

He lets go suddenly and I nearly fall backward. He steps toward the door, one hand on the knob. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

Some unknown horror floods my body. “Do what?” It’s a whisper.

He shakes his head. “This is the wrong time to talk about this.”

I reach out for him, and he takes a step back. I look down at my wrists, red and bruised from his hands, and pull my arms back. “Kevin, no.”

His body goes loose, relaxed, and I see it in his face, the decision he’s made. I push past him and open the front door. “Just go to your meeting.” I flap my hand, shooing him out the door, but he doesn’t move. He opens his mouth. I push the door wide open and pull on his arm. “Go, just go.”

“Kate, I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you—”

I clamp my hands over my ears. “You’re late. Go.”

He gives me a long, searching look, then walks out the door into the darkening evening.

My hands shook as I held the camera. A part of me wanted to throw it down, crush it beneath my heel. But I held on to it with strong, almost protective hands, staring at the images as I hit Play over and over again.

Every time I heard Kevin’s voice it was a fresh beating, a new assault. But I couldn’t stop. Each time the image moved to the bed I held my breath; maybe this time she wouldn’t be there. Maybe it would be me instead. Maybe it would be empty. But each time it was her saying, “Hey, lover.” It was her smiling up at the camera. Her reaching out for Kevin, imploring him to put the camera down and join her in the bed.

When the clip ended, my finger would hit Play again. Some suicidal part of me was searching out every morsel of misery, bathing me in pain.

I watched the scene until I could see each detail in my mind. I closed my eyes and replayed the scene. Each shade of beige. Each surface. Each sound. Each word. I felt sick.

I opened my eyes and felt a fresh jolt of surprise. While absorbed in the video, I’d forgotten where I was. I was in the bank, and Donna was on the other side of the door. My heart skipped a beat, and then started pounding hard, as if I were running a marathon. I stared at the door as if Donna might fling it open at any moment. Nausea swelled in my stomach. My body broke out in sweat. I grabbed the wastebasket and vomited into it.

I wiped my mouth with my sleeve. “I’ve got to get out of here.” I looked at the phone. What was the number I was supposed to dial? No. If I dialed the number—whatever it was—Donna would answer. She would come into the room. She would look at me, speak to me. I glanced at the wastebasket. The air was becoming increasingly unbreathable.

I sat on the chair and set the camera down on the desk. I closed my eyes. Immediately images from the camera sprang up before me. Her leg. Her arm. Her face. I bent over in my chair until my face rested on my legs and sobbed.

After a long while I sat up. A thought came: Just leave.

I grabbed the camera and my purse and headed for the door. I glanced back at the room. The safe-deposit box lay open, exposed to the world. Several pieces of paper were scattered on the desk beside it. A terrible odor rose from the wastebasket. I pressed my ear against the door and listened as I turned the knob in slow motion. I heard nothing. I pulled the door open a crack and with one eye peered into the corridor. Empty. Good.

I inched the door open a bit farther and stuck my head out. No one. Good. I slid out of the room and stood in the hall for a moment, getting my bearings. I started at the end of the hallway. Do I turn left or right? I couldn’t remember.

The hammering of my heart moved my feet down the hall. I turned right and kept my head down, walking fast toward the main lobby. I glanced up and saw Bunhead’s desk ahead of me. I put my head down and sped past her. True to form she never looked up.

I approached the bank’s main door and pushed. Nothing happened. The door wouldn’t open. Panic filled my lungs, choking me. They had locked me in! I stared at the door in disbelief. Outside a man approached the bank. He arrived at the door and pushed. It swung open silently, admitting him with ease. The door closed behind him while I stood dumbly staring at the sign affixed to the glass. Pull. I pulled the door open, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and ran toward my car.

I lurched at the car, throwing my purse and the digital camera into the front seat. I jumped in and went to turn the key. Where was the key? I wasn’t holding the key. I grabbed my purse and dumped its contents onto the passenger seat. No keys.

I could barely see through my tears. I groped the contents of my purse. Not there. I hollered out a scream of frustration. I just wanted to get as far away from the bank as possible as fast as I could.

Where were the keys? Did I leave them in the bank beside the safe-deposit box? The thought of having to go back into the bank made my stomach lurch. I thought I might vomit again. I’d walk home if I had to. I wasn’t going back in there. Think, Kate, think. Where are your stupid keys?

I gripped the useless steering wheel. Wait. A distant thought was dawning. “How’d I open the car if I left the keys in the bank?”

I pushed open the door and stepped out, banging my head on the door’s frame. With a hand on my quickly swelling forehead, I looked inside the car. The keys were lying on the driver’s seat. I’d been sitting on them.

“Idiot,” I told myself. And here I’d thought I’d been getting better.