was pleased to hear I’d secured a new place to live in Baltimore. We discussed my continued agitation over Natalie, and he urged me to give myself time to heal, reminding me that it wasn’t possible to rush through what he described as a period of grief. I tried to deny my angst, but speaking about her made my emotions rise to the surface again in a way that they hadn’t in days. I was shaky by the time I hung up.
And for the first time since she’d ended things, I broke down and wept.
* * *
Marvin Kerman returned my call later that afternoon. It was half past five and I suspected I was the last call of his day. When he identified himself, he nearly barked his name into the receiver.
“Thank you for returning my call, Mr. Kerman,” I responded. “I was hoping that you might be able to help me.”
“Unfortunately the truck has already been auctioned,” he said. “As my letter indicated, the process was an entirely legal form of recompense for services rendered.”
“I understand,” I said in a conciliatory tone. “I’m not upset about the truck, nor do I have an issue with the fact that it’s been sold. I’m calling to ask if you might be able to contact your client about something else.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
Again, I recounted the story of what had happened to my grandfather and my nagging questions about it. “I wonder if AJ or someone else may have cleaned the truck and put the personal items in a box or in storage somewhere,” I added. “I was hoping I could get those things back.”
“You’re interested in his personal effects, but not the truck or the money?”
“I’m just trying to figure out what happened to him.”
“I don’t know if any personal effects were saved.”
“Would you be willing to ask your client?”
“I suppose. And if there aren’t any personal effects?”
“Then that will be the end of it. I can’t chase clues if there aren’t any.”
Kerman sighed. “I suppose that I can ask him, but again, I can’t guarantee anything.”
“I would appreciate it. Thank you.”
* * *
Drained by my tears on Monday and wanting to avoid a recurrence, I spent the rest of the week on autopilot while trying to stay as busy as possible. With the principles of CBT and DBT ringing through my head, I exercised longer and harder than usual, avoided alcohol, and ate as healthy as possible. I pressed forward with the things I needed to do. The inspector came and promised me that he’d have the report ready by Monday, so that the contractor would be able to use the information to put together an estimate. I interviewed property managers and settled on a woman who also worked as a realtor and whose husband was a contractor. She assured me that she had the ability to oversee a construction crew and promised to walk the property at least once a week while I was in Baltimore. I still hadn’t spoken to Claude or Callie, but I figured I could do that any time.
On Friday night, while sitting on the porch, I realized that it had been fifteen days since I’d last spoken with Natalie. Again, I had trouble sleeping, and when I woke in the middle of the night, I decided I was tired of staring at the darkened ceiling for hours. Crawling out of bed, I dressed and noted that it was a little past two in the morning. After a quick trip to the honey shed, I hopped in my SUV and drove to Spencer Avenue. Parking down the block, I walked to Natalie’s property. As I approached, I wondered if she was with the Other Guy right now; I wondered if they were in bed, or if they were out on the town. I wondered whether she was staring at him in the same way she’d stared at me. All of it made it difficult to swallow as I set two jars of honey on her doorstep.
There was no doubt she’d know who had left them, and I wondered what would happen if the Other Guy found them. What story would she tell him? Had she mentioned me at all? Had she even thought about me in the last couple of weeks, or had I already become a half-remembered memory, colored with regret?
Trudging back to the SUV, I heard only the echo of my unanswered questions.
Chapter 14
Another weekend passed, another session with Bowen. I