Thief .(3)

“Your move,” I say.

I see her throat spasm as she swallows her thoughts, swallows ten years of us.

“All right … all right!” she says finally. She walks back around the couch and sits down on the recliner. We’ve begun our usual game of cat and mouse. I’m comfortable with this.

I sit on the love seat and stare at her expectantly. She uses her thumb to spin her wedding band. When she sees me watching — she stops. I almost laugh when she pulls up the foot of the recliner and slouches backwards like she belongs here.

“Do you have a Coke?”

I stand up and get her a bottle from my fridge. I don’t drink Coke, but I always have it in my fridge. Maybe it’s for her. I don’t know. She pops the cap, pressing the bottle against her lips and chugging. She loves the burn.

When she’s done, she wipes the back of her hand across her mouth and stares at me like I’m the snake. She’s the snake.

“Should we try being friends?”

I open my hands and tilt my head like I don’t know what she’s talking about. I do. We can’t stay away, so what’s the alternative? She hiccups from the Coke.

“You know, I’ve never met anyone that can say as much as you, without a single word coming out of his mouth,” she snaps.

I grin. Usually, if I let her talk without interrupting her, she’ll tell me more than she intended.

“I hate myself. I might as well have been the one to put Casey fucking Anthony back on the street.”

“Where’s Noah?”

“Germany.”

I raise my eyebrows. “He was out of the country for the verdict?”

“Shut up. We didn’t know how long they’d take to deliberate.”

“You should be celebrating.” I lean back and sling both arms across the back of the couch.

She starts to cry, stoic-faced, tears pouring like an open tap.

I stay where I am. I want to comfort her, but when I touch her, it’s hard to stop.

“You remember that time in college when you started crying because you thought you were going to fail that test, and the professor thought you were having a seizure?”

She cracks up. I relax.

“You did your job, Duchess,” I say softly. “You did it well.”

She nods, gets up. Our time is over.

“Caleb … I-”

I shake my head. I don’t want her to say she’s sorry for coming, or that it won’t happen again.

I walk her to the door.

“Am I supposed to say I’m sorry for what happened with Leah?” She looks at me through her lashes. Her tears have clumped her mascara together. On another woman it would look sloppy, on Olivia it looks like sex.

“I wouldn’t believe you if you did.”

She smiles; it starts in her eyes and spreads slowly to her lips.

“Come over for dinner. Noah’s always wanted to meet you.” She must see the skepticism on my face, because she laughs. “He’s great. Really. Bring a date?”

I run my hand over my face and shake my head. “Dinner with your husband is not on my bucket list.”

“Neither was defending your ex-wife in a lawsuit.”

I flinch. “Ouch.”

“See you next Tuesday at seven?” She winks at me and practically skips out of my condo.

I don’t agree, but she knows I’ll be there.

Damn. I’m whipped.





I call my date. She’s running behind schedule as usual. I’ve seen her twice a week for the last three months. It came as a surprise how much I enjoy her company, especially after what happened with Leah. I felt done with women for a while, but I guess I’m an addict.

We agree to meet at Olivia’s instead of driving together. I text her Olivia’s address while I trim the beard down to a goatee. I go for James Dean and wear blue jeans and a white shirt. There is still a tan line where my wedding band used to be. For the first month after the divorce, I found myself constantly feeling for the ring, having a moment of panic every time I saw my empty finger and thinking that I’d lost it. The truth always choked me, like a mouth full of cotton. I lost my marriage, not my ring, and it had been my fault. Forever became five years, death till us part became irreconcilable differences. I still miss it, or maybe the idea of it. My mother always said I was born to be married. I rub at the empty spot as I wait for the elevator in her building.

She’s still in the same condo. I came here once during Leah’s trial. It’s about three times the size of mine, with floor to ceiling windows that overlook the ocean. She’s a show off. Olivia doesn’t even like the ocean. The closest I’ve ever seen her get is to stick in her big toe. She’s on the top floor. I clutch the bottle of wine as the elevator pings and the door slides open. She’s the only one on this floor.