She’s taking a second pass through the list of results when the phone rings in her hand. It’s Dr. Elisabeth Mitchell, her dean.
“I got your message, Annie. Is everything okay?”
“I’ve been thinking about your offer to take time off,” Annie says. “And I’d like to accept it.”
Dr. Mitchell is silent a moment. “I’m sorry for what you’re going through, Annie. When would you like it to start?”
“Immediately?” Annie suggests. “I’ve sent a few emails, asking others in the department if they can take over, and I’m hoping—”
“Don’t worry about your class,” Dr. Mitchell says. “I’ll teach it myself. And we can resume your fellowship when you’re back.”
Annie thanks her and hangs up, knowing it’s unlikely she’s coming back. For what? A life in Chestnut Hill, alone in that house? Before she can second-guess her decision, she opens her email, pulling up the message that arrived from her aunt and uncle late last night.
We’ve reserved you a plane ticket to Paris, her uncle wrote. The flight leaves in two days, giving you time to wrap things up. Maddie will pick you up and bring you to the house. The return is open ended. Just say the word, and we’ll buy it.
Thank you, Annie types. I’d like to come.
She hits send and polishes off the last of the beer as the door opens. She expects it to be Margaret, returning from getting her hair done by the stylist who comes every week, but it’s Josephine, carrying a basket of Margaret’s clean laundry. “Annie,” she says, seeing Annie on the floor, a beer bottle at her feet. “What are you doing?”
“Living my best life,” Annie says.
Josephine chuckles. “Good for you.” She flashes the laundry basket. “I was going to put these away, but I can come back.”
“I’ll do it,” Annie says, standing up. “I could use the distraction.”
Josephine pauses, giving Annie the look that says I read the newspaper article about your deadbeat husband disappearing and I’m not sure what to say. “How are you holding up?” she asks.
“Other than drinking warm beer at ten in the morning, pretty good,” Annie says, setting the bottle on the table. “I’m leaving tomorrow, for some time away. I’ve come to tell Margaret.” Annie stacks the laundry on the bed. “I feel a little sick about it, to be honest. She’ll have nobody to visit her now.”
“She’ll be fine, Annie,” Josephine says, reaching for the basket. “Everyone here loves her, and that volunteer comes twice a week to take her to bingo. We all call him her boyfriend.” She gives Annie’s arm a quick squeeze on her way out of the room. “We’ll take good care of her, promise.”
Five minutes later she’s busying herself with straightening the contents of Margaret’s bathroom, replaying Josephine’s words. Something is nagging at her. She closes the medicine cabinet and leaves the room. The hallway is quiet, and a young woman Annie doesn’t recognize is at the front desk. “Can I help you?” she asks cheerfully.
“Yes,” Annie says. “Josephine said a volunteer has been visiting my mother-in-law, Margaret Statler. I wasn’t aware of that, and I’m curious who it is.”
“Sure thing.” The girl looks down and taps at the keyboard. “Oh,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You mean Albert Bitterman.” She leans forward and lowers her voice. “Between you and me, that guy’s a pain in the ass.”
Chapter 48
Sam cuts into the last piece of tough, tasteless meat, listening to Albert roaming the house. He chews slowly, his bruised jaw throbbing, imagining how it’s going to feel to sleep in his own bed again. He can feel it, his first shower, the strong stream of hot water from the Kohler Real Rain showerhead he splurged on, like a man with $2 million on the way. Annie is next to him, lathering Pantene shampoo into her scalp—the same shampoo her mother used, and a scent so distinctively his wife. “Took you long enough to figure out,” she says, biffing the suds into his face. “It was obvious the whole time. He didn’t want to kill you. He wanted your help.”
“Right again, my brainy wife,” Sam whispers. He licks the last of the meat from the steak knife and holds it up to the light. “And don’t you worry, Albert, because help is on the way.”
*
Albert’s knock comes at nearly midnight, and Sam is ready. He sits up, sets the alarm for forty-five minutes.