Thought I Knew You (14 page)

I fell asleep soon after takeoff and awoke with a start to the plane touching down on the tarmac. Instead of feeling refreshed, I felt exhausted.

Sarah waited in baggage claim. She jumped up and down, clapping, when she saw me. She was dressed head to toe in white over a golden tan, looking ever the Beach Boys’ California girl, with her blond hair cascading in waves down her back. We embraced, and I felt tears in my eyes. I hadn’t seen her in over a year. With her in front of me, all the reasons I’d pushed her away the last few months seemed silly.

She held me at arm’s length. “You look awful!” But she was smiling.

“Thanks a lot. You know, I’ve been through a tragedy here.”

“Yeah, but do you sleep? At all? You look so tired!”

“If you tell someone they look tired, you mean they look
old
,” I protested.

“Well, you finally lost those twenty pounds you’ve been talking about for years. How does that feel?”

“Oh, Sarah, I’ve hardly noticed it. Isn’t that the shit of it? I can’t even enjoy being in a size smaller jeans. I’d take every pound back and then some to erase the last six months.” I pulled my red-wheeled suitcase off the conveyer belt.

“How do you look exactly the same?” I asked, shaking my head. “You don’t age; you don’t get fat. Have you had Botox?”

She laughed. “No, no Botox, I swear!”

She linked her arm through mine as we walked into the brilliant sun and led me to her car, a midnight blue BMW convertible.
Seriously? Good thing our friendship doesn’t have a competitive edge to it.
I let the warm California sun beat down on my shoulders as she drove. The seventy-degree weather felt rejuvenating compared to the cold gray of March in New Jersey.

“What do you want to do while we’re here, Claire?” Sarah asked.

I shrugged. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t know what I wanted.

“Do you want to sightsee?”

“I think so. I think I want this to be a vacation with the understanding that I have to go to the places where I know Greg stayed. And I might need a day to be on my own, following my hunches. Does that sound crazy?”

Sarah shook her head. “Sounds good to me. I did some searching, and I came up with a few things we could do. The zoo, and there’s a railroad winery tour. Gray whales migrate in the winter off the coast, so a whale watching tour is supposed to be amazing right now. And maybe a spa day. What sounds good to you?”

I waved my hand in a distracted
I don’t care
motion. I couldn’t concentrate. It was three-thirty in the afternoon, and all I wanted to do was start my hunt for Greg. I realized that was unfair to Sarah. “What about this? Let’s go to the hotel, and I can drop you off. You relax. I’ll take your car, if you’ll let me, and go do my Greg things. Then, I’ll come back and get you around seven for dinner.”

Sarah shook her head. “No way. I’m coming with you. If you ever do actually find him, I need to be there.”

“Ok, fine, but I get to kill him.” I grinned.

We headed north on I-5 North to Greg’s Valentine’s Day hotel, the Grand Del Mar. I tipped my head back on the seat rest and looked up at the sky, blue and cloudless.
Did Greg look at this exact same sky? Maybe mere miles from me?

I was unprepared for the lavish spread of the Grand Del Mar. A red adobe Spanish-style roof baked in the sun, and forty-foot palm trees lined the driveway, swaying in the gentle breeze. Elaborate stone fountains decorated the entryway. The luxury hotel was out of my league, out of
our
league. We’d stayed at a Hilton on our honeymoon.

A valet opened my car door. I felt self-conscious and out of place, as if I had come naked to the presidential inauguration.

Sarah gaped at the building. “What exactly are we doing here?” she stage-whispered.

“Honestly, I have no idea.” I touched the fifteen pictures of Greg in my purse and felt ridiculous. The Grand Del Mar was not a convention center hotel, and there would be no naïve southern belle at the front desk. The concierge would be a skilled trade master. We walked inside where a tall, frosty woman greeted us.

I stepped up to the counter. “I’m not sure if you can help me. But can you tell me if this man has stayed here recently?” I fanned the pictures in front of her.

She barely looked at them. “Ma’am, our guests greatly value their privacy, and I cannot tell you if anyone has stayed here or is currently staying here.”

I nodded as if I agreed with her. “I realize that, but this is my husband, and I’m not sure if he is alive. Is there any way you can look at the pictures and tell me if you have seen him in the last six months?”

She glanced down at the pictures, then picked one up, looking at it thoughtfully, her birdlike features intent on the photo. “Truthfully, I don’t think so. He doesn’t look familiar, but again, we have hundreds of guests a month. I’m sorry.” She handed the photo back to me. She did genuinely look sorry.

I took a shot in the dark. “Can you tell me if a Greg Barnes has been registered here in the last six months?” I asked, knowing what the answer would be.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. We cannot reveal the names of our guests.” She backed away from the counter to answer the phone. A dismissal. Over her shoulder, she said, “Feel free to look around. In public areas, of course.”

“Of course.” Sarah and I walked around the lavish lobby. I couldn’t believe Greg had stayed there. A room probably ran three or four hundred dollars a night. Greg, forever frugal, balked at a four-hundred-dollar car payment. Would he really spend so much on his mistress? If so, then he was two different people.

I scanned a row of pamphlets on a table in the corner. One caught my eye.
Golf with the pros on a Tom Fazio designed course.
I looked across the lobby, out the large bank of windows and doors, and into the generous gardens beyond. Green as far as I could see. Images flashed in my mind like tumblers clicking into place: a single white golf tee in the pocket of his work khakis, elaborate cursive,
The Grand
, as in Grand Del Mar.

Greg didn’t golf, at least not well, or often. At the time, I had dismissed the golf tee, thinking maybe someone had given it to him, or he had picked it up off the ground and meant to throw it away, the way someone might pick up a discarded wrapper, conscientious of littering. When was that? June, perhaps? I did remember that the day had been a hot one.

Absently, I walked out onto the patio overlooking the golf course. “He was definitely here. And I think he played golf here.”

Sarah trailed after me. “Greg didn’t golf,” she said automatically, with the confidence of someone who knew her friend’s husband well through the eyes of her friend.

I glanced at her. “Does this look like a place that lets a beginner whack around a ball for a few bucks a round?” She shook her head. “I think he did golf. I think Greg did a lot of things I didn’t know about.”

“This makes no sense,” she said.

Nothing made sense anymore.

Chapter 18

W
e stayed at the Hard
Rock Hotel. Sarah had insisted that I needed a serious injection of fun. The nightly rate was steeper than I would have liked, but I happily took it out of the inheritance fund. I harbored no guilt, particularly after seeing the splendor of his accommodations with his mistress. The interior of the hotel was slick and urban. Counters were underlit with electric blue, and the far wall behind the check-in desks was painted to look like a rock concert crowd. Thin men in black turtlenecks and tight black pants checked us in.

When we got to our room, I flung open the mini-fridge.

“Careful!” Sarah warned. “These places charge you for opening the door.”

Ignoring her warning, I pulled out an airline-sized bottle of Crown Royal and downed it in one gulp. I flopped backward on the bed, splayed like a starfish, wanting to sleep for days and weeks and months and wake up when I reached the bottom of the rabbit hole, when all the facts had been assimilated for me, and I could stop feeling unwillingly whipped around by circumstance.

Lying on the opposite bed, Sarah stared at the ceiling. “How’s Drew?”

I sighed. “He’s happy to let me use him, and it’s what I continue to do, I guess.”

Sarah had a crush on Drew, not a serious one, but the way she had a crush on everyone. She loved men. She loved Greg, and she loved Drew. She always joked that it must be so great to have two husbands. In retrospect, the joke must have needled Greg. Probably because it was true.

She playfully hit me in the face with a pillow and pointed toward the shower. “Get up. We’re going out to eat.” She wagged a finger at me. “Look, you wanted me to come to bring you some fun. So that’s what I’m going to do. You know what restaurant is in this hotel? Nobu! Where movie stars hang out!”

“Sarah, there are no movie stars in San Diego. You’re in the wrong city.”

Unsatisfied with my crabbiness, she pushed me into the bathroom. I turned the water on, letting the steam fog the mirrors. Though the bedside table read six o’clock, my body still thought nine. However, I wasn’t too tired to appreciate the lush bathroom amenities. With the marble countertops and an oversized shower tiled in deep variegated slate, it might not have been The Grand Del Mar, but it was the nicest hotel I’d ever stayed in.

“Hey!” Sarah called from the other side of the door. “Do you know the Black Eyed Peas designed a room in this hotel?”

I smiled in spite of myself, shaking my head. The shower felt wonderful, hot and strong. Uninterrupted. After drying off, I chose a simple black wrap dress from my suitcase, my new size eight. I may have been overwhelmed by my life, but I looked fantastic, the best I’d looked in years. I felt a stab of longing. For Greg? Or Drew? I didn’t know. For a man who loved me. I wished suddenly that I was not there in a fabulously trendy hotel with Sarah, but with Drew. My thoughts were marbles, shaking in a jar, ricocheting off one another: one marble for missing Greg, one for hating him, one for wanting Drew, one for wanting to pull the blankets over my head and sleep forever.

Sarah whistled when I emerged from the bathroom. “Woman, you look amazing!”

After a quick blow dry of my hair and some basic makeup, I not only looked normal, but possibly pretty great. Looking good helped my psyche. My melancholy faded, replaced by a fluttering in my belly that I vaguely remembered as excitement.

I admired Sarah’s nonchalance in choosing her clothes. She got ready in less than ten minutes, looking thrown together, yet wonderful in a way I could never pull off. She piled her hair atop her head in a trendy, messy bun and wore a white strapless sheath dress that made her seem positively willowy.

We headed downstairs to Nobu, and because it was Wednesday, we were able to walk in without reservations. We didn’t see any celebrities, and Sarah pouted. After dinner, we decided to have a drink in the hotel bar, which was surprisingly crowded. Apparently, we were staying at the only hotel I’d ever been to where the lobby bar was a chic place to hang out. Black tables and chairs with electric blue under-lighting dotted the room. The bar in the back held liquor bottles illuminated by neon lights, sparkling like costume jewelry.

I noticed the stares of men, and instead of my usual dismissal, I smiled encouragingly, returning their gazes. I nudged Sarah and nodded toward the corner, where two men sat at a table, both tall and good-looking.

She looked at me, astonished.
Yes, I notice men, too.
She glanced back at the table and gave the guys a small wave. I felt a bubble of excitement.
Oh, my God. I’m having fun. How long has it been?
We each got a martini, extra dirty with extra olives, and sat at one of the two top tables closest to the bar.

“Claire, you’re different.” She sucked the olives off her martini pick.

“I know. Losing a husband has that effect,” I said.

“No, not just that. You’re reckless; you’re angry. I mean, not right now, but in general…”

“Yes, I’m both. I can’t explain it. I think it’s part of the grieving process. I’m in therapy now. Isn’t that crazy?”

“Crazy would be
not
being in therapy in your situation.” She shrugged. “But you’re strong. I mean, you’ve always been a strong person, but you’ve erected this shell. I can’t explain it.”

“Oh, I think you’re doing a good job. Of explaining it, I mean. I feel like I have this armor now. I can’t rely on anyone; I even keep Drew at arm’s length. I haven’t called him since Christmas.”

“That was over two months ago! When was the last time you went a month without talking to Drew in your life?”

“Never.” I sighed. “I know it’s strange. I’m just trying to get through this first year. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m terrified of screwing up my kids.”

“It’s half over,” she pointed out.
“I think you’re doing a great job of keeping it together. For the girls, anyway.” She slammed her hand down on the table. “Where the fuck is Greg?”

I laughed. “I must ask that a hundred times a day.” I told her about Christmas and showed her Drew’s bracelet.

“He’s in love with you, Claire. I hope when all this is said and done and you’re in the position to move on that you do it with him.”

“Do you think I picked the wrong guy? From the beginning, I mean.” I twirled the olive pick in my glass, not positive I wanted to know her answer.

She wiped the sweat from her glass. “No, in the beginning and even for a long while after, you and Greg were good. You seemed compatible, easy, complementary. He was introverted; you were outgoing. He was so in love with you. Then… he changed. Last time I saw you two together, there was definitely something off.”

I searched my memory for the last time Greg and I had seen Sarah. February of last year, she came to visit for a week, the first half while Greg was away. I didn’t remember anything specific, but she was probably right. We’d been “off” for a while before that.

“Is there room at the table for two more?” a baritone asked from behind me.

I turned to see one of the two men from the corner table. He was tall, maybe six-foot-two, with glossy black hair and a dark complexion. His lanky form reminded me of Drew, except he was clean-shaven with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.

He extended his hand. “I’m Will, and this is Owen.” He jerked a thumb at the second man, who hovered shyly behind him.