At a bridge crossing the Columbia River, he reenters Washington state. Northbound, of course—he’s been going north. Going back to do things the right way.
The Dala Horse
For the last time, Tova boils water for coffee on her stove. Its lacquered top gleams, avocado green against the black coils, polished last night. Spotless. Could it possibly matter? It will almost certainly be ripped out, replaced by one of those sleek new ranges. No one wants a decades-old appliance, even if it works perfectly well.
Tova had been approved for accelerated checkin at Charter Village, something she’d lobbied after for weeks. Her premier suite would be available next week. She left them a telephone message first thing this morning, at whatever absurdly early hour she awoke, assuming she slept at all last night. The whole thing is a blur. Charter Village has yet to call back, but most likely it’s simply because their office isn’t open yet. It’s only just past seven.
Regardless, Tova has no intention of going.
She’s had a busy morning. Dusted all of the baseboards. Wiped down the windows. Polished the hardware on the cabinets, scrubbed every last doorknob. She should be exhausted, but she’s never felt more energized in her life. Without curtains or furniture, every sound she makes echoes against the naked walls and floors, and even the hiss of her spray bottle seems too loud. But keeping busy is good. Cleaning is always good. It’s something to do.
Where will she go? She’s supposed to be out of the house by noon. The movers who took most of the furniture yesterday have already been notified that there will be a change of destination. Thankfully, someone answers their phone at the crack of dawn. But what will that destination be? A storage unit, perhaps?
As for herself and her personal effects, Janice and Barbara both have spare bedrooms. At a decent hour, she’ll call Janice first. Perhaps she might alternate between them until other arrangements can be made. Her floral-print canvas suitcase, the same one she took on her honeymoon with Will, is packed and ready to go. The thought of spending the night in a bed that isn’t her own thrills and terrifies her, in turn.
When something rustles on the front porch, she startles. She sets her coffee cup down.
It can’t be Cat. Barbara sent a photo last night of Cat. He’s doing all right, although at first Barb had tried to keep him exclusively indoors and this agitated him greatly. So he comes and goes as he pleases. Tova still isn’t sure how to respond to photos she receives on her cell phone, but seeing Cat’s whiskered face, his yellow eyes with their hallmark look of mild disdain, had made her smile.
Then the doorbell rings.
When she opens the front door, she can’t believe her eyes.
Cameron’s eyebrows are creased anxiously, like Erik’s when he was nervous about a school exam. For a quick moment, something nostalgic catches in Tova’s throat, thinking of how many times she wished Erik would somehow appear on her doorstep like this. Tears spring to her eyes.
“Hi,” Cameron says, shuffling his feet.
All Tova can manage is “Hello, dear.”
“Um, sorry I was such a jerk the other night. You were right. I shouldn’t have left.” Cameron jams his hands in his pockets. “And sorry to show up here so early. I would have called, but . . . well, bizarre story there.”
“It’s quite all right.” Tova holds the door open with an arm that feels like it belongs to someone else. Like she’s out of her own body.
“I realize you owe me absolutely nothing.” Cameron’s voice is like a live wire. Buzzy. “But can you tell me what time Terry normally gets in? I need to talk to him. In person.”
“Around ten, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Ten. Okay.” Cameron lets out a long breath. “How mad do you think he is at me right now?”
“Not mad at all, I’m quite sure.”
Cameron gives her a confused look.
Tova shuffles across the foyer to where her pocketbook hangs on the otherwise-empty set of pegs by the door and pulls a folded paper from the front pouch. A conspiratorial smile overtakes her face as she hands it to him.
“My note?” His jaw drops. “You took it?”
She inclines her head. “Mind you, I shouldn’t have. But I did.”
“But . . . why?”
“I suppose some part of me didn’t believe you when you insisted you were the type of person who would shirk a job.”
“So then . . . Terry doesn’t know I left?”
“I believe he is none the wiser.”