grocery shop this week.”
Across the street, the door of Deco Bar opens and you emerge holding your cell phone to your ear. You stand on the sidewalk, looking around.
“How long until you’ll be home?” Thomas asks. His voice is gentle, his words unhurried. “I miss you and I’d really love to see you tonight.”
The amassed clues—the brevity of the meeting combined with Thomas’s unexpected request—allow hope to buoy to the surface.
Deco Bar and the café across the street are less than twenty minutes from the town house. But a debriefing is required from you before Thomas can be faced.
“I am just finishing up, Thomas is told. “I’ll phone you when I am in a taxi.
Meanwhile, you remain on the sidewalk, hugging your arms around yourself against the cold. Your expression cannot be deciphered from so far away, but your body language conveys uncertainty.
“Perfect,” Thomas replies, and the call is terminated.
You are still holding on the other line.
“Apologies for the delay,” you are told. “Please, continue.”
“He didn’t come there for a date,” you say. Your cadence is slower now; you have had time to shape your response. This is unfortunate.
“Thomas wanted to see me because he was suspicious. He caught sight of me at the museum after all. He knew it wasn’t an accident that I showed up at the diner. He asked me why I was following him.”
“What did you say?” The question comes out sharply.
“I flubbed it,” you say meekly. “I insisted it was just a coincidence. I don’t think he believes me. But Dr. Shields, he’s clearly a hundred percent devoted to you.”
Your job is not to form conclusions, yet this is too compelling to ignore. “Why do you presume this?”
“I know I told you I’d never been in love before, but I’ve seen it in other people. And Thomas said he was married to a wonderful woman, and that I should stop bothering him.”
Is it possible? All the worrisome signs—the late-night phone calls, the unscheduled visit by the woman with the swinging coat to Thomas’s office, the suspicious lunch at the Cuban restaurant—were simply a mirage.
My husband passed the test. He is true.
Thomas is mine again.
“Thank you, Jessica.”
The view from the window displays a winter landscape: you walking down the sidewalk in your black leather coat, the tails of your red scarf a splash of color against the night.
“And that is all you two talked about?”
“Yeah, that was the essence of it,” you say.
“Enjoy your evening,” you are told. “I will speak with you soon.”
Three twenties are put on the table—an enormous tip, inspired by the happiness that feels too big to contain.
As a cab is hailed outside the café, my cell phone rings.
Thomas, again.
“Have you left the restaurant?” he asks.
Instinct shapes my response: “Not yet.”
“I just wanted to let you know I’ve run into a little traffic,” he says. “So there’s no need to rush.”
Something in his tone triggers an alarm, but he is told: “Thanks for letting me know.”
Data is swiftly considered: Twenty-two minutes at Deco Bar. Too brief for a romantic interlude. Yet it seems unlikely that the contents of the conversation you reported with Thomas would require so much time.
You are barely visible two blocks ahead. But you are traveling in the opposite direction of your apartment. Your stride grows swifter, as if you are eager for what awaits.
You are in a rush, Jessica. Where are you going?
Thomas’s delay affords the opportunity to gather more information. And a brisk walk in the cool air helps to clear the mind.
You proceed another block. Then you rapidly spin around. Your head swivels from side to side as you survey your surroundings.
Only the dark cloak of nightfall and the distance separating us, combined with the fortuitous location of a cordoned-off building, which provides a shield, prevents you from noticing your pursuer.
You turn and continue.
Several minutes later, you arrive at another small restaurant called Peachtree Grill.
A man waits inside the glass doors to greet you. He is approximately your age, with dark hair, and he wears a navy puffy coat accented with red zippers. You lean into his open arms. He hugs you tightly for a moment.
Then you both disappear deeper into the restaurant.
You profess to be honest, yet you’ve never mentioned this man before.
Who is he? How important is he to you? And what have you told him?
How many other secrets are you holding, Jessica?
CHAPTER
FIFTY-TWO
Friday, December 21
My conversation with Thomas at Deco Bar was exactly as I described it to Dr. Shields.
He found me there at