"Is everything fried down here?"
"If it can be fried, believe me, someone will find a way. Last year, there was a place serving deep-fried butter."
She almost gagged. "You're kidding."
"Nope. It sounded terrible, but people were lining up to buy it. They might as well have been lining up for heart attacks."
She washed and rinsed the last of the cups, then passed it to him. "Do you think the kids liked the dinner I made? Kristen didn't eat very much."
"Kristen never eats much. And more important, I liked it. I thought it was delicious."
She shook her head. "Who cares about the kids, right? As long as you're happy?"
"I'm sorry. I'm a narcissist at heart."
She ran the soapy sponge over a plate and rinsed it. "I'm looking forward to spending some time at your house."
"Why?"
"Because we're always here, not there. Don't get me wrong-I understand it was the right thing to do because of the kids." And because of Carly, she also thought, but she didn't mention that part. "It'll give me the chance to see how you live."
Alex took the plate. "You've been there before."
"Yes, but not for more than a few minutes, and then only in the kitchen or living room. It's not like I've had the chance to check out your bedroom or peek in your medicine cabinet."
"You wouldn't do that." Alex feigned outrage.
"Maybe if I had the chance, I might."
He dried the plate and put it in the cupboard. "Feel free to spend as much time in my bedroom as you like."
She laughed. "You're such a man."
"I'm just saying that I wouldn't mind. And feel free to peek in the medicine cabinet, too. I have no secrets."
"So you say," she teased. "You're talking to someone who only has secrets."
"Not from me."
"No," she agreed, her face serious. "Not from you."
She washed two more plates and handed them to him, feeling a wave of contentment wash over her as she watched him dry and put them away.
He cleared his throat.
"Can I ask you something?" he said. "I don't want you to take it the wrong way, but I've been curious."
"Go ahead."
He used the towel on his arms, dabbing at stray droplets, buying time. "I was wondering if you'd given more thought to what I said last weekend. In the parking lot, after seeing the rodeo monkeys?"
"You said a lot of things," she said cautiously.
"Don't you remember? You told me that Erin couldn't get married, but I said that Katie probably could?"
Katie felt herself stiffen, less at the memory than at the serious tone he was using. She knew exactly where this was leading. "I remember," she said with forced lightness. "I think I said I would have to meet the right guy."
At her words, his lips tightened, as if he were debating whether to continue. "I just wanted to know if you thought about it. Us eventually getting married, I mean."
The water was still warm as she started on the silverware. "You'd have to ask first."
"But if I did?"
She found a fork and scrubbed it. "I suppose I'd tell you that I love you."
"Would you say yes?"
She paused. "I don't want to get married again."
"You don't want to, or you don't think you can?"
"What's the difference?" Her expression remained stubborn, closed. "You know I'm still married. Bigamy is illegal."
"You're not Erin anymore. You're Katie. As you pointed out, your driver's license proves it."
"But I'm not Katie, either!" she snapped before turning toward him. "Don't you get that? I stole that name from people I cared about! People who trusted me." She stared at him, feeling the surge of tension from earlier in the day, recalling with fresh intensity Gladys's kindness and pity, her escape, and the nightmarish years with Kevin. "Why can't you just be happy with the way things are? Why do you have to push so hard for me to be the person you want me to be rather than the person that I am?"
He flinched. "I love the person that you are."
"But you're making it conditional!"
"I'm not!"
"But you are!" she insisted. She knew she was raising her voice but she couldn't seem to stop it. "You have this idea of what you want in life and you're trying to make me fit into it!"
"I don't," Alex protested. "I simply asked you a question."
"But you wanted a specific answer! You wanted the right answer, and if you didn't get it, you were going to try to convince me otherwise. That I should do what you want! That I should do everything you want!"
For the first time ever, Alex narrowed his eyes at her. "Don't do this," he said.
"Do what? Tell the truth? Tell you how I feel? Why? What are you going to do? Hit me? Go ahead."
He physically recoiled as though she'd slapped him. She knew her words had hit their mark, but instead of getting angry, Alex set the dish towel on the counter and took a step backward. "I don't know what's going on, but I'm sorry that I even brought it up. I didn't mean to put you on the spot or try to convince you of anything. I was just trying to have a conversation."
He paused, waiting for her to say something, but she stayed silent. Shaking his head, he started to leave the kitchen before coming to a stop. "Thank you for dinner," he whispered.
In the living room, she heard him tell the kids it was getting late, heard the front door open with a squeak. He closed the door softly behind him and the house was suddenly quiet, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
32
Kevin was having trouble staying between the lines on the highway. He'd wanted to keep his mind sharp, but his head had begun to pound and he'd been sick to his stomach, so he'd stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of vodka. It numbed the pain, and as he sipped it through a straw, all he could think about was Erin and how she'd changed her name to Katie.
The interstate was a blur. Headlights, double pinpricks of white, rose in intensity as they approached from the opposite direction and then vanished when they passed him. One after another. Thousands. People going places, doing things. Kevin driving to North Carolina, heading south to find his wife. Leaving Massachusetts, driving through Rhode Island and Connecticut. New York and New Jersey. The moon rose, orange and angry before turning white, and crossed the blackened sky above him. Stars overhead.
Hot wind blew through the open window and Kevin held the wheel steady, his thoughts a jigsaw of mismatched pieces. The bitch had left him. She'd abandoned the marriage and left him to rot and believed she was smarter than he was. But he'd found her. Karen Feldman had crossed the street and he'd learned that Erin had a secret. But not anymore. He knew where Erin lived, he knew where she was hiding. Her address was scribbled on a piece of paper on the seat beside him, held in place by the Glock he'd brought from home. On the backseat was a duffel bag filled with clothes and handcuffs and duct tape. On his way out of town, he stopped at an ATM and withdrew a few hundred dollars. He wanted to smash Erin's face with his fists as soon as he found her, bloody it to an ugly pulp. He wanted to kiss her and hold her and beg her to come home. He filled the tank near Philadelphia and remembered how he'd tracked her there.
She'd made a fool of him, carrying on a secret life he hadn't even known about. Visiting the Feldmans, cooking and cleaning for them while she plotted and schemed and lied. What else, he wondered, had she lied about? A man? Maybe not then, but there had to be a man by now. Kissing her. Caressing her. Taking her clothes off. Laughing at him. They were probably in bed together right now. Her and the man. Both of them laughing at him behind his back. I showed him, didn't I? she was saying as she laughed. Kevin didn't even see it coming.
It made him crazy to think about. Furious. He'd been on the road for hours already, but Kevin kept driving. He sipped his vodka and blinked rapidly to clear his vision. He didn't speed, didn't want to get pulled over. Not with a gun on the seat beside him. She was afraid of guns and always asked him to lock his up when he finished his shift, which he did.
But it wasn't enough. He could buy her a house, furniture, and pretty clothes and take her to the library and the hair salon and it still wasn't enough. Who could understand it? Was it so hard to clean the house and cook dinner? He never wanted to hit her, only did it when he had no other choice. When she was stupid or careless or selfish. She brought it on herself.
The engine droned, the noise steady in his ears. She had a driver's license now and she was a waitress at a restaurant called Ivan's. Before he left, he'd spent some time on the Internet and had made some calls. It hadn't been hard to track her down because the town was small. It took him less than twenty minutes to find out where she worked. All he had to do was dial the number and ask if Katie was there. On the fourth call, someone said yes. He hung up without a word. She thought she could hide forever, but he was a good detective and he'd found her. I'm coming, he thought to himself. I know where you live and where you work and you won't get away again.