Chapter Five—Julie #2
I close my eyes. “Forget it.”
“No, Jules. I’m sorry.” She exhales. “I’ll look. I have a couple boxes in the hall closet. If I find anything, I’ll send it to you.”
“Thanks.”
Her voice is softer. “Are you going home?”
“Yes.”
“Is Dalen there?”
“He will be.”
“I’m glad. You shouldn’t be alone.”
I hear traffic through her phone now. “Drive safely.”
“You too.”
We hang up, and I sit there for another minute with the photograph in my lap.
I don’t look angry.
I was eleven and needed glasses. There’s a difference.
DALEN BEATS ME HOME. He’s in the kitchen with his sleeves rolled to his elbows when I walk in, and for one horrifying moment, I think he’s cooking on a Friday.
Then I see takeout containers. “Thank God.”
He looks up. “That’s a nice greeting.”
I grin. “I thought you were making dinner.”
He frowns at me. “I can cook.”
“You can apply heat to food.”
He pretends to clutch his chest. “Cruel.”
“Accurate.” I drop my purse on the stool and kiss him.
He catches my waist and keeps me there. “How was the rest of your day?”
“Normal. I highly recommend it.”
“Building security sent footage to our people.”
I pull back. “Already?”
“They’re reviewing it.”
“Anything yet?”
“No.”
I make a face and start opening containers. Italian. Dalen ordered from the place that makes the lemon pasta I like, which means he was either trying to cheer me up or bribe me into eating. Probably both.
I carry plates to the table while he brings the food. We settle across from each other, and I tell him about my call with Meg while I twist pasta around my fork.
“She remembered the photograph?” he asks.
“The cooler. Maybe the picture.”
“Does she have a copy?”
“She’ll look.”
Dalen nods and reaches for the bread.
I watch him tear off a piece. “You haven’t asked.”
“Asked what?”
“If I moved it.”
His hand stops.
I immediately wish I hadn’t said it.
Dalen puts the bread on his plate. “Did you?”
“No.”
“Then why would I ask?”
I stare down at my pasta. “I don’t know.”
He reaches across the table and covers my hand. “Your mom isn’t you.”
My throat tightens. “I know that.”
“You told me that last night.”
“I remember.”
His thumb moves over my knuckles. “Okay.”
I turn my hand beneath his and link our fingers. I don’t need another speech. I need him sitting across from me eating bread with one hand because I’m holding the other.
We finish dinner that way.
Afterward, I carry our plates into the kitchen while Dalen puts away the leftovers. My phone rings from inside my purse.
Meg is calling. I dry my hands and answer. “Did you find it?”
“No.” She sounds tired. “I went through both boxes. I have pictures from that summer, but I don’t have that one.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
She sounds exhausted. “I don’t know. You sound disappointed.”
“I was hoping we’d figure out where it came from.”
Dalen glances at me from the refrigerator.
Meg is quiet for a moment. “Maybe Mom gave it to you.”
“I would’ve been a kid.”
“I mean later. Before she died.”
I try to remember but can’t. “Maybe.”
“You have boxes too, Julie.”
“I know.”
“You could’ve put it behind the other one years ago and forgotten.”
I lean against the counter as Dalen closes the refrigerator door. “Maybe,” I say.
Meg exhales. “I’m not saying you did. I’m just trying to think of explanations.”
“I know.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No.” That’s mostly true. I can’t blame her for trying to find a logical explanation.
We talk for another minute before she says she has to shower and go to bed. When I hang up, Dalen is still standing near the refrigerator.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I give him a look.
He picks up the dish towel and starts drying the plate I washed. “Meg thinks you put the picture there?”
“She thinks it’s possible.”
“What do you think?”
I instinctively shake my head. “I think I’ve had that frame for maybe five years. If I’d put another photograph behind it, I would’ve seen it when I changed the picture.”
“When did you last change it?”
I open my mouth then close it. Dalen keeps drying the plate. “I don’t know.”
He nods.
The small motion irritates me instantly. “What does that mean?”
He looks at me. “It means you don’t know.”
“I know what a nod means.”
“Apparently, you don’t.”
I glare at him.
His mouth twitches.
“Don’t make me laugh. I’m irritated with you.”
“I noticed.”
I take the dry plate from his hand and put it in the cabinet. “I don’t remember when I changed the photograph. That doesn’t mean I put another one behind it.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
I close the cabinet harder than necessary.
Dalen catches my waist before I can move away. “Julie.”
“What?”
“You’ve slept badly all week. You’re scared, and now somebody has messed with something connected to your mom. You’re allowed to be on edge.”
I look at him. There’s nothing accusatory in his face.
That almost makes it worse, because I can hear the shape of the other possibility now. Lack of sleep. Mom. Forgetting things. “I want to go to bed.”
“Okay.” He lets me go.
Upstairs, I wash my face while Dalen checks the locks. I hear him moving through the house below me, testing the doors exactly the way I do.
When he comes into the bedroom, I’m sitting against the headboard with my phone. “No mystery intruders?” I ask.
“No.” He’s unruffled.
“Disappointing.”
“I wasn’t disappointed.”
I put my phone on the nightstand.
Dalen changes clothes and gets into bed beside me. He reaches for his tablet, then apparently changes his mind and leaves it on the charger.
I slide down beneath the covers as he turns off the lamp. Darkness fills the room.
My body tenses before I can stop it. Dalen doesn’t say anything. He takes my hand beneath the blanket.
I stare toward the side of the bed where I woke Sunday night. Nothing is there, but I still don’t close my eyes for a long time.
SATURDAY MORNING, I wake late enough that Dalen is already downstairs. I slept nearly eight hours.
I stretch, check the empty space beside the bed out of habit, then immediately get annoyed with myself for doing it.
My phone shows two texts from Laurent and one from Meg. Laurent wants approval on the Banfield wallpaper.
Meg sent hers at 7:21: Sleep better?
I answer: Yes, finally.
I get out of bed and head downstairs a few minutes later. Dalen is in the kitchen making coffee when I come downstairs. He turns when he hears me and smiles.
“Morning.” I walk straight into him and tuck myself beneath his arm.
He laughs and shifts the coffee pot away before I can bump it. “Good morning to you too.”
“I slept.”
“I noticed.”
“You didn’t wake me.”
“You needed it.”
I kiss his chest through his T-shirt. “You’re my favorite person.”
“I’ll remind you next time you’re angry with me.”
I give a stern look. “Don’t ruin it.”
He hands me my coffee, and I carry it to the island while he starts making toast. For the first time all week, I don’t feel like something is waiting for me.
Then Dalen sets a plate in front of me and asks, “Any headache?”
I look up.
He opens the refrigerator. “You said you slept eight hours. I wondered if you felt better.”
“I do.”
“Excellent.” He takes out the butter.
I lift my coffee mug. It’s a perfectly ordinary question. I know that. I also know he never used to track how many hours I slept.
Yesterday, he asked when I last changed a photograph...after Meg told him about Mom.
I watch him butter his toast. “Why?”
He glances over. “Why what?”
“Why did you ask if I have a headache?”
His hand stops only for a second. Then he puts the knife down. “Julie.”
I hate the way my stomach drops when he says my name like that. “What?”
He leans back against the counter. “You’ve barely slept all week.”
“So?”
“So headaches are common when you’re tired.”
“Did Meg tell you that too?”
He starts frowning. “No.”
“Did she tell you anything else about Mom?”
“No.”
I search his face, and he doesn’t look away. I want to believe that’s enough. I hate that I even have to want it.
Dalen comes around the island and stands between my knees. “I asked if you had a headache because you haven’t been sleeping.”
I nod. “Okay.”
He kisses my lips gently and goes back to his toast.
I drink my coffee, understanding the question shouldn’t bother me, but it does.
Since this started, the thing frightening me isn’t somewhere in the house. It’s sitting between my husband and me at the kitchen island.