Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
He paused, clearing his throat. I sensed his discomfort. “The gentleman who, ah, now uses Ali’s office.”
Sorrow panged in my chest. A stranger had taken over Ali’s desk. His place at the firm. I shouldn’t have felt surprised or wounded by the change, but I was. “Oh.”
“Whoever initially cleaned out Ali’s desk left them in a bottom drawer,” Jake told me. “I guess they’re not technically part of Ali’s personal effects. But when I noticed they had Ali’s writing in them, I thought I should check to see if you want them. I mean, maybe you don’t—”
“I do,” I interrupted. “I do want them.” The pages might be full of inconsequential notes, but whatever he’d jotted down would be something new from Ali.
“I’m on my way home from work,” he said. “I can drop them by in a few minutes.”
“I’m not home right now.”
“I’ll leave them on your front doorstep.”
As soon as the van was ready, I drove straight home, eager to see the notebooks.
There were three of them, nondescript with slightly worn gray covers.
I sat at the kitchen table paging through them.
I felt a pang to see the familiar writing, indiscriminate scratches that ignored the lines on the ruled paper.
There were some formulas, jargon, that meant nothing to me. Short work-related to-do lists.
And then I saw it.
Lizzie. 2 p.m. Angelino’s.
I felt lightheaded. There it was. In writing.
A meeting with Lizzie. I’d never heard of Angelino’s, but a quick search on my phone turned up a tucked-away Italian place by Lake Anne in Reston.
A location that was just out of the way enough not to be seen by anyone we knew.
I scoured the other two notebooks but found nothing else related to Lizzie.
When had they met? How long ago? I looked at the pages before and after the Lizzie notation to try to gauge when they’d gotten together at Angelino’s and why.
There was no indication. I went to my laptop and pulled up the credit card records.
I sorted through a year’s worth. And then the two years before that.
No credit charge at Angelino’s. Which didn’t necessarily mean anything.
If Ali wanted to be discreet about the meeting, he could easily have paid cash.
I went back to the notebook, to the page with Lizzie’s name on it.
The name “Comstock” was scrawled across the top of the page.
The notes suggested it was a client account Ali had worked on.
I reached for my phone to call Jake but then hesitated.
It would be easier for Jake to brush aside my questions over the phone. Maybe I’d get more answers in person.
The following morning, I showered and dressed with care, putting on slacks and a blazer, a uniform that made me feel more confident.
Going to Ali’s office, knowing he wasn’t there and never would be again, wasn’t easy.
I’d only visited the firm a handful of times over the years, because holiday parties and other work events were usually held off-site.
Once I pulled up to the building, I sat in my car for a few minutes staring at the place where Ali had spent so much time.
It was no surprise that I didn’t recognize the young woman in reception once I entered Ali’s firm, and she obviously had no idea who I was.
“May I help you?” she asked with a polite smile.
“Yes, I’m here to see Jake Barnes.”
“Is he expecting you? Do you have an appointment?”
“I do not have an appointment. My name is Amira Abadi. I just need a few minutes of his time.”
“Abadi?” A somber expression came over the receptionist’s face. “Are you Ali’s wife?”
“Yes.” I struggled not to show the emotion aching in my throat.
“I’m so very sorry for your loss,” she said with feeling. “We all loved your husband. He was always so pleasant and thoughtful.”
Had Ali fooled everyone else too? Or, despite evidence to the contrary, did I have everything wrong now? Maybe I was still an idiot, but a growing part of me felt there had to be more to the story, that Ali really was who I—and everyone who knew him—thought he was.
“Thank you,” I said. “He really enjoyed everyone he worked with here at the firm. Would you mind seeing if Jake can spare me a few minutes?”
“Of course not!” she said. “I’ll call him right now. Would you like to have a seat? Can I get you anything? Water, coffee, tea?”
I shook my head. “No, but thank you.” A few minutes later, a man I didn’t recognize appeared and spoke briefly with the receptionist, who pointed him in my direction.
“Mrs. Abadi? Is it OK if I call you Amira?” he said as he approached. The man was tall with reddish hair and a close-cropped beard. “Ali talked about you and the kids so much over the years that I feel like I know you.”
“Did you work closely with my husband?”
He looked perplexed. “Very closely. And my boys appreciated all of the hand-me-down bikes and skateboards that we got from you.”
I blinked. Ali gave hand-me-down toys to this man too? “And your name is?”
He shot me a strange look. “I thought you asked to see me? I’m Jake Barnes.” He put out his hand to shake mine. “It’s nice to finally meet you in the flesh.”