Frankie #2
“Go?” Ash looked genuinely crestfallen. “We haven’t even had a dance yet! I’m sure those girls will play something recognizable
soon—”
“Maybe another time,” I’d said to him, going hot and cold all over at the realization that I was attracted to Ash Merit. Really attracted to him. And it wasn’t just that, earlier that day, I’d seen him tenderly cradling a wounded girl to his naked chest.
It was how he’d gotten rid of Debi. I needed to get away from him myself before I did something I might regret. “Good night.”
And then I’d fled. I’d bolted from the deck before he or anyone else could stop me. It wasn’t until just now, when I got back
home, that I realized I’d been followed.
Knowing I can’t avoid this conversation forever, I lean against the side of my car and wait as Ash PUTT PUTT PUTTs his way into his driveway, turns the engine off, and then gets out of his truck.
Just as I’d suspected, he doesn’t go into his own house. He immediately cuts across his front yard into mine.
“Hey, are you okay?” he calls to me. “You left without even saying goodbye.”
“I had a pretty good idea I’d see you again.”
I remain where I am. It’s after nine and quiet along Lakeview Drive. It’s too chilly for crickets—though I hear one or two
hardy souls giving it their best—and I know the DeLongs switch off their hearing aids for the night right after nine, when they put their grandsons to bed. There’s no one to overhear us—unless one of those runaway girls is lurking around somewhere.
But I don’t think there is. The night is cool and clear, a half-moon rising up from behind the trees and bathing the lake
in mysterious silver light. The lamp I’d left on in the living room window throws an almost perfect square of gold onto my
yard—almost perfect because there’s a cat-shaped shadow in the middle of it, where Daisy is still sitting on the back of the
sofa, watching me.
It’s into this square of light that Ash steps.
He still looks good. Too good. This is irritating. Or is my irritation with him something else entirely?
“Are you okay?” he asks again.
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“Because you bolted out of there like you saw a ghost. I know you don’t believe in ghosts, but—” He walks out of the square
of light and onto the driveway. “You still seemed kind of spooked. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“That’s tremendously generous of you, leaving your uncle’s engagement party just to come check on me.” I’m being sarcastic,
but he doesn’t appear to notice. “Not at all weird and stalkerish.”
“I’m not a stalker. I didn’t leave only to check on you.” He crosses the driveway to come stand beside me, not taking the hint through my body language—arms folded across my chest, ankles crossed—that I’m not exactly looking for company right now. “That party wasn’t my scene, anyway.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“No.” He comes to lean beside me, his back against my car, his own arms folded across his chest. It’s chilly enough outside
that I can see his breath. “I’m not really an engagement party kind of guy.”
I raise my eyebrows. He’s standing so close, I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to. To distract myself from doing
so, I ask, “Then why did you go?”
“Family,” he says with a shrug. “You know how it is.”
I do. But I’m not letting him off the hook that easily.
“You never mentioned that you have an uncle here in town. Is that why you bought a house in West Harbor, to be closer to him?”
Ash bursts out laughing. “To Derrick? No. Look, I know it’s weird that I have an uncle my own age. He’s my mom’s half brother. I told you that I can explain—”
“Oh, I’m sure you can. Like you can explain why you chased off Debi like that.” I shake my head. “She used to be my yoga instructor,
you know. Dual relationships aren’t unheard of in small towns where there aren’t enough mental health providers. So it wasn’t
totally off the wall for her to ask me if I would treat her.”
“Yes, it was.” I can see his expression in the moonlight, and it looks completely incredulous. “You may be a doctor, but you
don’t have some kind of duty of care to everyone in this town, especially someone like her.”
“What do you mean, someone like her?”
“The person who ran off with Dr. Dick!” Ash isn’t trying to keep his voice calm at all. He’s shouting his opinions freely into the chilly evening air. It’s a very good thing the DeLongs have turned off their hearing aids.
“Shhh.” I shush him automatically. “Keep your voice down.”
“Why?” he demands. “No one around here is going to disagree with me. I talked to all our neighbors today, and every single
one of them thinks your ex is a dick and is glad he’s gone.”
“You talked to my neighbors about Richard?”
“Sure. I wanted to make a good impression on them.”
“By talking about Richard?”
“Yeah. People bond over two things—things they love, and things they hate. And let me tell you, everyone in this neighborhood
hates your ex. None of them can believe how shittily he and that Debi treated you.”
“I knew it.” I push myself away from the side of my car and whirl around to confront him. “If you aren’t stalking me, then
how do you even know who Debi is?”
“Because I’m your neighbor. I’ve lived next door to you for a year. I basically watched your divorce happen in real time.”
“That’s impossible. You were never even here.”
“Then you weren’t paying attention.” He’s pushed himself away from my car as well. “I was here that day you couldn’t find
Violet—” He nods as I look surprised. “Yeah, I knew your cat. She used to sneak over onto my deck all the time to sleep in
the sun.”
“No.” The mere mention of Violet has caused my heart to shrink as if someone had wrapped their fingers around it and started
squeezing. “No, she didn’t.”
“Yes, she did. She was an old cat, and all she wanted to do in her retirement was sleep, so she’d chase the sun around all day, looking for warm spots to take a nap, and several of those spots were on my deck.”
“I . . .” How was this possible? How had this been happening and I never noticed? “I don’t believe it.”
“Why would I make it up? I told you, I’m a cat whisperer. All those times you came out into your yard calling to her because
you couldn’t find her . . . she was at my place. I’d pick her up and shoo her back to your yard so you wouldn’t worry.”
I feel the tight grip on my heart loosening a tiny bit. “I didn’t know that.”
“How would you? You were inside, online with your patients. I know because I’d see that little sign you put up on your front
door—the one that says, Quiet Please, In Session—for the UPS guys and the mailman so they wouldn’t knock and disturb you. That’s why I never came over and introduced myself.
I realize that was a mistake now.”
I feel as if I’ve slipped into an alternate reality, where down is up and up is down. This happens sometimes, especially when
I’m talking to patients who are convinced that payday loans aren’t inherently predatory.
“And I saw you chase after both the UPS guys and the mailman at Christmastime with tip envelopes,” he goes on, “to thank them
for being so accommodating—”
“You know I work from home,” I say, “and it never occurred to you to get your muffler fixed?”
He looks blank. “My muffler?”
“Your truck is so loud!” I cry. “My patients hear it every time, even through my earbuds! They think I live next door to a racetrack. But it’s not a racetrack . . . it’s you!”
He frowns. “See, this is the kind of thing that, if you’d told me before, I’d happily—”