Shadow of Doubt (3 page)

“As a matter of fact,” he said smoothly, “I was just leaving.” He squeezed past Ted, ignoring the venomous look in my mother's eyes. “I'll wait downstairs for a few minutes,” he whispered as he passed me. “Just in case.”

My mother watched him walk to the elevator and press the down button. She waited, holding the picnic basket with white-knuckled hands, until the elevator arrived and he stepped inside. As soon as the doors slid shut, she turned to Ted and said, “What's going on?”

“Nothing,” Ted said. His eyes skipped away from her and his ears turned red. He was the worst liar I had ever seen.

“Let me put it another way,” my mother said, speaking slowly, the way she does when she's trying to keep her temper leashed, to be as precise as possible with her questions, the way lawyers (like my mom) do when they're cross-examining an uncooperative witness. “What possible reason could you have for meeting with my ex-husband?”

I guess that Ted hadn't had much experience with my mother's super-tough lawyer voice, because he seemed startled by it, and instead of just answering the question, he attempted evasive maneuvers.

“How do you know he didn't just drop by?” he said.

“Mac? Why would he
just drop by
?” my mother said, as if the notion of my father appearing on a whim were as absurd as a giraffe suddenly appearing in her bathtub—which it was. “Does this have anything to do with me? Because if it does—”

She didn't finish her sentence. She didn't have to. Ted and I both knew what she meant: if my dad's presence had anything at all to do with my mom, Ted was going to be picnicking alone. If there was one thing that she refused to tolerate, it was my father interfering in her personal life.

“No,” Ted said. “Your name didn't even come up. I swear.”

“He didn't just drop by, did he, Ted?”

Ted shook his head. “I asked him to come over.”

“Why?”

Ted peered at my mother through the thick lenses of his gold-rimmed glasses. “It's a personal matter.”

My mother stiffened. “Personal? You invited
my
ex-husband over without telling me, and you're saying it's
personal
?”

Ted glanced at me. I think that's when my mom remembered that I was still there.

“Robyn, I need to speak to Ted alone.”

“Maybe I can catch up with Dad,” I said. She didn't answer. Nor did she look at me.

“Patricia,” Ted said, “all I'm asking is that you respect my privacy.”

“And all
I'm
asking,” my mom said, thrusting the basket at him, “is that you tell me what my ex-husband was doing here.”

They locked eyes like two playground bullies, neither one wanting to back down. I handed my mom the flowers, wine, and bakery box and hurried to the elevator. I found my dad in the lobby, engaged in conversation with Darren, the security guard. He did not look surprised to see me.

“Has your mother calmed down?” he said.

“I don't think so. But you're driving me home.”

My father pushed himself away from the desk. “My pleasure, Robbie,” he said.

It wasn't until I fastened my seat belt in my dad's Porsche that I asked, “What were you doing at Ted's anyway?”

He turned the key in the ignition and put the car into reverse.

“I can't tell you that, Robbie.”

“Why not? It's not like he's a client.” My father runs his own private security company and does very well at it. But he
never
talks about his clients—well, other than to occasionally boast about the famous ones. He shifted gears and steered the car toward the exit while I absorbed his silence.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “
Is
Ted a client? Why did he hire you?”

“You know I can't discuss my work with you,” he said.

So I was right. Ted
was
a client. But no matter how many times I swore myself to secrecy, my dad refused to tell me anything. The only thing I knew for sure was that Ted must have a problem—and that it must be a big one.

My mother's car was already in the driveway when my father pulled up at the curb, which told me that (1) she and Ted hadn't had much of a conversation after I left, and (2) she must have broken the speed limit getting home. She tends to drive aggressively when she's angry. I saw her peering out a window. She opened the front door when she saw us.

“I love you, Robbie,” my father said. “But do me a favor and get out of the car right now.”

I glanced up at the house. My mother had put a coat over her shoulders and started down the front steps.

“Please, Robbie?” my father said.

I opened the passenger door. “You owe me one, Dad.”

“Anytime.”

When my mom saw me get out of the car, she started to jog down the front walk.

“Mac!” she called.

My father reached across the front seat and pulled the passenger door shut. He was roaring down the street before my mom was halfway to the curb. She muttered something under her breath, shivered, and stomped back up the walk to the house.

B

en was at my house bright and early the next morning. My mother, in spite of the previous day's events, greeted him warmly at the door. Like Morgan, she adored Ben, and for a lot of the same reasons, except that to my mom, Ben's number-one attraction was that he wasn't Nick. In other words, Ben had never served time in a correctional facility. She didn't even seem to mind when Ben slipped an arm around my waist and planted a kiss on my cheek right in front of her.

“I'll have her home by six, Ms. Stone,” he said.

“And of course you'll stay for dinner,” my mother said, beaming at him.

A few moments later, while I was buckling my seat belt, Ben said, “Your mom is really nice.”

She is—when she wants to be. But I couldn't help thinking that she had never invited Nick to dinner.

We drove out of the city, heading north. The farther we went, the larger the spaces grew between homes, until we were looking at farmhouses surrounded by fields.

“I keep forgetting that everything isn't concrete and condos,” I said, gazing at the rolling hills and snow-covered fields.

“I come out here to hike all the time,” Ben said.

“Define ‘all the time.'”

“As often as I can. Winter, spring, summer, and fall—it's totally different every season, but always beautiful.”

When Ben finally pulled the car off the road, it felt as if we were the only two people in the world. There were no other hikers in sight, no other cars whizzing past us.

“If you come out here at any other time of year, you always run into lots of people,” Ben said. “But in winter people either head for the ski hills or they stay home. It's so peaceful.”

We pulled on hats and mitts, wound scarves around our necks, and shouldered backpacks packed with sandwiches, bottles of water, and thermoses of hot tea. Then, bundled against the elements, we set off up a snow-covered hiking trail. Ben took the lead. I climbed behind him, breathing in the crisp country air. We hiked for nearly an hour, mostly uphill, before Ben stopped and smiled at me.

“Put out your hand,” he said.

“Why?”

“Trust me.”

I stuck out my right hand. Ben turned it gently so that it was palm-up. He pulled off my mitten.

“Hey,” I said. The cold air nipped my fingers.

“You could do it with your mitts on, but it's better barehanded,” he said.

“Do what?”

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small bag.

“What is that?” I said. “Birdseed?”

He nodded and poured some into my upturned hand.

“Do I throw it?”

“No. Just keep your hand out like this.” He demonstrated. “It won't take long.”

Ben was right. Less than a minute had passed before a gray-and-white ball of fluff with bright black eyes flitted through the air toward me and landed on my outstretched hand. A chickadee, so small that it was almost weightless. Its tiny toes gently pinched my finger, its little head bobbed down, it snatched up a seed, and then,
poof
, it was gone.

“Wait,” Ben said when I started to lower my hand.

A moment later another tiny chickadee landed. Then another and another. Sometimes two little fluffballs pecked at the seeds in my hand at once. Ben watched me, smiling, until the last seed was gone.

“Want more?” he said.

I shook my head. “My hand is numb.”

Ben slipped my mitt back on for me and massaged my hand gently until it warmed up.

“Come on,” he said. “I want to show you a special place.”

We walked until we came to a dense growth of enormous cedar trees. The rich green of the foliage and the rust color of the bark stood out sharply against the pristine white of the snow. I breathed deeply, inhaling the cedar-y scents.

“Smells great, doesn't it?” Ben said. He slipped his arms around me. “Kind of romantic, don't you think?”

I smiled and looked up into his green eyes. He pulled me close and kissed me.

“You're the best thing that's ever happened to me,” he murmured.

I pulled back a little. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I like seeing you. I like being with you. The best days, Robyn, are the days when I know we're going to be together.” I let him pull me close again. That way he couldn't see the expression on my face.

I liked Ben. I liked when he kissed me. I liked when he held me. I liked that Morgan and my mother both liked him. But I was starting to get the feeling that he was more serious about me than I was about him.

He held me a little longer. Then he said, “Come on. Wait until you see the spot I picked out for lunch.”

The sun shone in a cloudless sky overhead, making the snow-covered terrain sparkle. My breath hung in white puffs in front of my face, but it didn't feel cold as I trudged up a hill and along a ridge behind Ben. Every now and then he turned and smiled at me, and I smiled back and reminded myself how sweet he was. He cared about other people. He volunteered at a shelter for the homeless where he knew most of the clients and treated them just like anyone else. I also reminded myself that Nick had walked out on me without a word of explanation and that Ben would never do anything like that.

“Well?” Ben said finally. “What do you think?”

We had been climbing steadily, but I had kept my eyes down most of the way, watching the uneven terrain, the rocks and tree roots that lay buried beneath the snow. I was breathing hard too. I'm in pretty good shape, but I couldn't remember the last time I'd taken a long—a
very
long—uphill hike.

I came to a stop beside Ben and looked around.

“Wow,” I said.

Ben broke into a blissful smile. “Beautiful, isn't it?”

What an understatement! From the edge of a high ridge we could see over the tops of pines and spruces to a frozen lake beyond. A long, narrow piece of rock jutted out like a huge finger over the landscape below. Ben walked to the end of it and gazed around. I stayed where I was, on more solid ground. But even from where I stood, I had a perfect view of the lake and of the land that rose around it, which was studded with more pines, spruces, birches, and firs. There wasn't another human being in sight.

“It really is nice,” I said, although it made me queasy to look at Ben as he stood at the edge of the finger of rock. Then, without looking down, he stretched out his arms and threw back his head. Slowly at first, and then faster, he began to spin out there on the edge.

“Ben! Ben, be careful.”

He whirled and whirled, his feet taking him around faster and faster.

“Ben!” My heart was in my throat. Was he crazy? What if he got dizzy? What if he fell?

Then it happened. One of his feet slipped off the edge.

“Help!” he shouted.

His eyes grew wide and his hands pinwheeled frantically in the air as he scrambled for something to grab onto. But there was nothing but air.

I lunged forward and grabbed at his jacket. My hand closed around the collar, and I yanked him toward me. I was terrified to look down. At first I was afraid that he was going to pull me over with him.

“What are you doing?” I said, relieved and angry and scared all at the same time. “You could have killed yourself.”

He looked at me and tugged me toward him. I resisted. My heart was pounding, and I was angry with him for spinning around out there in the first place. But he was stronger than I was and, despite my resistance, I found myself pressed against the front of his parka. I was breathing hard, but I didn't dare struggle. We were still out there at the end of the finger of rock. I didn't want him to fall.
I
didn't want to fall.

Ben started to tremble. At least, that's what I thought he was doing until I looked up at his face. He wasn't trembling at all. He was laughing.

“You think this is
funny
?” I said. “You scared me, Ben! I thought you were going to fall.”